Love, Paradox

Braith guided Yumie’s gloved hands as the frying pan sizzled happily.

The kitchen filled with the warm scent of five spice, cubes of chicken bubbling in a glossy coat of sauce. Yumie had cooked almost everything herself so far, Braith’s hands steady over hers, guiding each motion. It left them in a constant embrace - his arms around her, chin just above her shoulder.

She was smiling.

“What am I doing now?”

“You’re flipping the chicken,” he said softly. “Making sure it cooks evenly.”

She nodded, careful, attentive.

“It smells amazing.”

He chuckled. “My mum used to make this for me. I figured it was a good place to start.”

Truthfully, he had no idea how she’d manage cooking on her own yet, no matter how much she wanted to. But he couldn’t deny how much he was enjoying this - teaching her, holding her, existing in a moment that felt dangerously close to normal.

They’d gone shopping earlier without incident. He’d even convinced her to buy a miniskirt - though she’d declared it strictly outside wear. In private, like now, she preferred a loose grey sweater and… whatever she felt like underneath. They’d bought food, basic necessities, small things that made the hotel room feel lived in.

Like theirs.

And yet.

He could feel the weight she carried. It never showed when they talked, but in the quiet moments it surfaced - her posture stiffening, her unseeing eyes never quite at rest.

But right now, she was smiling.

“That’s really special,” she said softly. “Thank you for teaching me.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied. “I’m enjoying it too.”

The pan crackled.

Silence stretched - just a moment too long.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah…”

He wished she could see the concern on his face.

“Are you sure?”

This time she shook her head.

“How many did I kill?”

The question hit him instantly.

“One.”

She turned her head slightly, surprised. “Only one?”

He nodded. “I tried to scare them off. One of them tried to shoot back.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

She was quiet for a moment - then nodded, firm.

“No more.”

He blinked. “No more?”

“No more.”

He smiled faintly, guiding her hands again as the chicken hissed beneath the spatula.

“Okay,” he said. “No more.”

She smiled back. “Thank you.”

Another pause.

“I’m sorry,” she added.

He tilted his head. “For what?”

“For being so against my purpose.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with that?”

She sniffed. “Well… I was born a weapon. I’m very good at being a weapon.”

She let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

“And I hate being a weapon. I’m such a paradox.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

She paused. “Huh?”

She couldn’t see it - but he was smiling.

“That’s what makes you a person,” he said gently. “You get to decide for yourself.”

She nodded. “I guess…”

“And going against the current isn’t exactly rare,” he added. “Not wanting to conform doesn’t make you broken.”

“But…” Her voice faltered.
“I’m not really in control, am I?”

His smile faded. “What do you mean?”

“Because you’re the one who controls my magic,” she said, nervous but honest. “I’m just… a tool.”

Silence settled between them.

And Braith realized she was right.

It hadn’t been Yumie who had killed those people.

It had been him.

The weight shifted. Braith’s mouth opened, then closed.

“I… I’m sorry.”

Yumie nodded. “It’s alright.”

He clenched his jaw, then reached over and turned off the hob - the chicken was done. He spun her gently so she was facing him, so he could look into her eyes even though he knew it made no difference.

“No,” he said firmly. “It’s not alright. It’s not fair.”

His voice trembled despite his effort to keep it steady.

“You haven’t killed anyone, Yumie. I have.”

The realization made his chest ache. He hated himself for not seeing it sooner - for letting that weight settle on her shoulders without question. But Yumie’s smile, thin and hollow, didn’t break.

“No,” she said softly. “It is alright. I’m the reason you have to kill people.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

“I’m sorry… I just threw a brick at you, didn’t I…”

He felt the sting behind his own eyes but swallowed it down, scrambling for the right words and finding none that didn’t feel painfully inadequate.

“No,” he said. “I deserved it.”

He took a breath.

“But you’re not at fault. You’ve never had control over this. I have.”

She choked on a sob.

“But… but you said I was my own person…”

He nodded. “You are.”

A pause.

“You’ve just been placed in the wrong hands.”

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself against him.

“I don’t think I’ve been placed in the wrong hands.”

He froze - then smiled and returned the embrace.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I just wanted to be sure.”

He let out a small chuckle, sinking into her warmth.

“How about this,” he said. “You call the shots from now on.”

She pulled back slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll be your sights,” he said gently. “You’ll be the one who makes the choices.”

She blinked - then smiled and nestled back into his chest.

“I like that,” she said. “Yes, please.”

He squeezed her once more, but she lifted her head again.

“Can I make a choice right now?”

“Of course,” he said. “Do you want me to narrate the scene?”

She nodded, smiling.

“Okay,” he said. “It’s evening. The sun is casting gold through the windows, and the smell of dinner fills the room. You’re standing in the kitchen, hugging your fiancé. The air is heavy, quiet. What do you do?”

She rose onto her tiptoes, her face drawing close to his.

“I kiss him.”

His heart slammed against his ribs.

For half a second he froze, staring at her waiting lips. Then he moved, drawn forward by a pull he didn’t bother resisting. He leaned in slowly, pausing just long enough for his breath to brush against hers - a silent warning - before closing the distance.

The kiss was soft. Warm. Gentle.

Not desperate. Not rushed.

Just a quiet promise formed in the aftermath of everything they’d survived in such a short time.

A moment neither of them would ever forget.