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Rain falls - and so do I

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Fiona Frost is as cold as her name makes her to be. 


“Nightfall” , the agent, is even colder.


She has an emotionless expression on her face at all times, her words are few and concise, and she dares not to show any sign of humanity within her being when she’s assigned to a mission as a spy. Ruthless and arrogant, with no weaknesses, as her training under agent Twilight had made her to be.


As he was supposed to desire.


From beginning to end, they were tailored to be together; the soft glowing light from the sky when the sun is below the horizon, right before night falls upon it. Therefore it's not like she didn’t try to understand, with that single minded vision of hers– how could he ever choose someone else when it was so clear that he was the only one for her.


Nightfall put her mind into it, her abilities, everything that made her to be one of the greatest spies alongside him and decided to study the only woman in his entire career that caught his attention. 


The woman of his desires; Yor Briar.


With hair as black as night and eyes as pure as blood, age 27. Ultimately single before she entered into Operation Strix and subsequently married to the identity Twilight took this time, Loid Forger. 


A city hall clerk who looks confident with the way she carries herself - with little to no openings as her astute eyes could tell - yet turns out to be insecure enough to not partake in gossip or conversation with her coworkers.


– A deficient partner for a man of his skills.


Fiona thinks she can do better. 


She thinks so time and time again, until that thought starts to disappear the more she observes her, and discovers more about her.


Yor. Briar. 


With hair as black as night and eyes as pure as blood, age 28. Married for a year and a half into Operation Strix, she has proven herself to be capable of every challenge that tries to destabilize the mission, even when she’s completely unaware of it. 


Yor is one of the strongest women Fiona has had the pleasure to ever see in a fight, the most horrible cook in all of history, and someone so gullible that Nightfall wonders how she has managed to come this far.


And she’s beautiful.


In all ways a human being could ever be. All the ways she couldn’t even dare to understand.


It doesn’t take her too long to realize it after that, even when she already knows that she’s not allowed to look at her like that. Fiona Frost has fallen in love with one fantasy after another and she’s not sure how to stop it.


…The same way she can’t stop the dark clouds from raining.


Not a sprinkle or a drizzle, but a full downpour, like standing in a waterfall. Although half-wet already, Fiona has enough time to take refuge under a tailor’s shop. It’s not exactly a necessity, she doesn’t get sick and she doesn’t mind her clothes getting  drenched, but she doesn’t dare to let herself be under it.


Last time that happened, tears dampened her cheeks as emotions decided to float to the surface for the first time in years. Now, Nightfall is not sure if she could hold that emotionless mask to dissimulate the ugly crying stuck in her chest, or if rain would ever be enough to keep on walking unnoticed. 


“Oh, Miss Frost?”


Her heartbeat jumps in surprise when she hears Yor’s voice. As expected of the woman that managed to catch her mentor, she couldn’t even feel her approach. Fiona turns slightly as she makes way for her under the roof, giving a level-headed nod of acknowledgement.


“It’s you.”


“Yeah” She says lightly, not knowing how much she’s been thinking about this. Yor takes a side-step to be right at her side, tilting her head with that pretty smile of her decorating her lips, “Lucky meeting you here.”




How can someone be so kind when Fiona doesn’t deserve any of it? If Yor knew how many times she tried to replace her, or all the bad things she has wished to happen to her, would she still smile so gently at her?


Nightfall doesn’t think so.


“It’s a bit cold, isn’t it Miss Frost?”


“It is.”


Short and concise, as she ever is.


Whatever spark of conversation could have been lighted from the bad climate is tuned down by Fiona's weird way of being. A silence almost as cold as the wind surrounding them stretches on, ticks inside her brain like a bomb that’s minutes away from exploding, and the tension Fiona feels is unbearably as Yor awkwardly stands there.


The agent observes her through the periphery of her eye as Yor Briar opens and closes her mouth, peeking at her like she’s not sure what to do now - a part of her wonders if she notices she’s being watched.


Briar sighs.


Fingers tense as nails digs under her skin; Nightfall recalls what happened last time it poured like this. How the words that left her mouth were nothing alike to what she thought to say, and how the regret remained buried deep into her heart months after trying to get over Twilight. 


For once in her life, Fiona decides to act - not for a mission, and not for someone else, but for herself.


“Yor Briar.”




“What would you do, in a case where someone you feel affection for doesn’t even turn to look at you?”


Her eyes open in surprise at the tone of the sudden question, yet they shine a second after, overly excited to help. The tips of her ears blush at the cute sight, and Nightfall is thankful with the cold wind for letting her keep her emotionless expression as she says the most daring question she’s ever asked.


It’s a bit bittersweet - to watch as the person of her affections happily and unknowingly ponders over her feelings.


Yor takes her hands into hers a sign of support, staring right into her violet eyes.


“I think you’re beautiful, Miss Frost.” Her heart skips a beat and this time, she can’t stop the blush that rises to her cheeks – the agent is sure this may as well be the happiest day of her life, seconds before Yor continues, “and I think you have many other good qualities in you. A man that’s unable to see them does not deserve you.”


Fiona feels her heart as it sinks and breaks on the floor.


“I, uhm, I don’t know if that was good advice or if I'm in the position to give any sort of it,” Yor lets go of her hands, sheepishly smiling, “but I hope it may help you.”


Nightfall laughs at her, remembering the reason why spies never show their true feelings.


But Fiona accepts it, she buries Yor’s words into the depths of her being. To be noticed is both a blessing and a curse – for all her wrongdoings, she’s sure this too, it’s something she deserves.


Nightfall doesn’t dare utter a word after that. Fiona's lips curve upwards, a smile that’s barely there. She thinks she can understand Twilight now – because there it is, the tiny hint of real emotion seeping out from beneath as she says,


“Thank you, Yor.”


She notices that Yor is startled for a second. She wonders if she can notice how much of her smile is bitter and how much is sweet, if she can even see it at all – if she cares about any of it.


Yet as always, Nightfall can’t find an opening as Yor cordially smiles back.


“You’re welcome.”


The silence that follows isn’t as awkward as the first one. Fiona feels her courage starting to diminish as the seconds stretch on. Before it’s completely over, she decides to be brave once more.


“May I ask you something else?” Yor nods immediately, and Fiona thinks she’s getting the hang of asking things for herself, “Please do not call me Miss Frost.”


“Miss Fiona, then?”


“Just Fiona.”


Dark violet eyes and pure red intertwine as they stare at each other. In those brief seconds she lets her walls down, Fiona senses a silent understanding between them. The rain falls just a little less hard as when it started, but Yor takes a confident step outside the tailor’s roof. Nightfall watches in both awe and confusion as she closes her eyes and soaks herself in it.


“It’s refreshing. The rain, and this conversation.” Her words find an easy rhythm as they are said, soft-spoken and interlaced with a hint of affection that makes her shudder, “Thank you, Fiona .”


Her heart beats loudly on her ears, a genuine blush taking place on her cheeks as she too steps fully into the rain, even when she told herself not to. 


Then, like a prophecy, everything falls into place once the conditions have been met. 


Fiona’s hand acts on her own as she finds Yor’s cheek, pulling her closer. A warm breath hovers over their lips before they press together, slowly,  as their heartbeats become almost indistinguishable to one another - telling the same bad omen they thought of beforehand.


Fingers splay on the small of a back, wet clothes cling to their bodies as the sensation of warm skin underneath feels stronger in the middle of the cold. A tongue teases as the kiss deepens, heads spinning from the sheer tension of it all. 


Yor’s hands fly up to grab the back of her short hair as she gets kissed within an inch of her life, like she’s never been kissed before. Fiona’s hands hold her tighter, sliding her tongue, stealing one last moment before they pull apart from the loveliest dream she’s ever had. 


Breaths mingle together as Yor’s hands slowly, but surely drop themselves from violet hair, opting for gripping her coat instead. Her half-open eyes look a bit intoxicated, like she has discovered an option she didn’t know was there before. But Nightfall can see as well, as she opens them more, that’s it too late to take it.


And it hurts Fiona more than she could ever admit. She knew from the very beginning that she was not allowed to look at her like that, let alone feel her so close and so warm - so tempting, all at once.


Red roses ramble over Yor’s eyes, hands stiff with thorns as she lets go of Fiona’s clothes and takes a step back for her own good. Her soft spoken voice prickles into her skin, the heat of her touch fading all too soon over the strong wind.


“I should leave now.”


Tears mingle with the now gentle rain as it slides down her cheeks, falling and hitting the ground harder than Fiona ever felt before. 

Out of breath and out of mind, there’s no need to say anything else. They both know it already.


Yet the words leave Yor's mouth and stab her with an assassin's precision, like a needle puncturing whatever is left of her heart. 

“My husband is waiting for me at home.”