The night was still, the only sound the faint howl of wind scratching against the walls. Dinner had been eaten quickly, and with the day's work done, Lloyd thought he could finally rest.
He was just about to close his eyes when the door creaked open.
Moonlight spilled across the floor, outlining the silhouette of the woman standing in the doorway.
Sylvara stepped inside, her steps soft but deliberate. She flicked the lights on, and the warm glow illuminated her face.
"What's up?" Lloyd pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes.
"Um," she hesitated, fingers curling around the edge of her sleeve. "Do you have any clothes I can borrow? It feels weird wearing the same pair for the past few days."
Lloyd froze. His expression stiffened for a brief second, and without a word, he stood up and walked past her.
"Follow me."
His voice was calm, but there was a weight to it.
Sylvara tilted her head, puzzled, yet she followed as he led her down the hall. They stopped in front of a door. A door that hadn't been opened in years.
With slow, careful hands, Lloyd pulled a key from his pocket. The lock clicked open, and the door creaked as it swung inward.
Dust floated in the air like ghostly motes, disturbed after five long years.
The room smelled faintly of lavender, though faded, and every corner was neat, untouched. This was the room of his parents. The place he had sealed away along with the memories he couldn't bear to face.
Lloyd stepped inside, his feet pressing against the floor like an intruder in his own house. His chest tightened with every step.
He approached the wardrobe and opened it slowly. The faint scent of his mother's perfume clung to the fabrics inside, fragile but still there.
"Pick out anything from here," he said quietly, almost as if speaking louder would shatter something.
Sylvara sensed the heaviness in his voice. For once, she didn't tease him. She simply nodded and stepped inside, her fingers brushing over the old clothes.
Lloyd turned away, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. He leaned against the wall, taking a slow breath.
Five years… and it still hurts the same.
Moments later, the door opened. Sylvara stepped out, her movements light. "How do I look?"
She twirled softly. The light-blue nightgown clung gently to her figure, the hem swaying around her thighs. The fabric shimmered faintly under the hallway light, delicate yet elegant.
Any other man would have been flustered. Lloyd, however, didn't even blink. The room had wrung all emotion out of him, leaving behind only a quiet ache.
He didn't answer. Instead, he walked to his room, shoulders heavy, and collapsed onto his bed.
Sylvara pouted at his lack of reaction, then followed him. She turned off the lights and sat by his side, watching him bury his head into the pillow.
"Lloyd," she said softly, stroking his hair. "You'll suffocate if you sleep like that."
A weak laugh slipped from him as he rolled over to face her. His blue eyes were clouded, not with fatigue, but with something deeper.
"I know. I'm just… a bit emotional," he muttered.
Her teasing expression faded. Her emerald eyes softened as she cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin. "What's wrong?"
"It's nothing," he lied, gaze shifting away. "We should sleep. It's late."
"Lloyd," her tone sharpened, cutting through his deflection. "We may have only just met, but if we're going to live together, communication is a must. Rely on me. Even if it's just a little. I want to be someone you can trust."
His lips twitched into a hollow smile. "...I'm not one to dump my trauma on someone I just met. I appreciate it, but… some things are hard to swallow. Even after five years, I still haven't come to terms with it. It's pathetic, really."
Sylvara shook her head. "I don't think it's pathetic. Pain doesn't follow a schedule." Her voice softened again. "Even if you won't open up now, I can still offer my comfort."
"How s—" Lloyd started, but the words were cut off as Sylvara suddenly pulled him into her arms.
His face pressed against her chest, warmth enveloping him like a shield against the cold.
"I'm soft, right?" she teased gently, her voice laced with a smile.
Lloyd's ears turned bright red. "...Embarrassing," he mumbled into her.
"What was that?" she asked, feigning ignorance.
"I said…" His voice cracked slightly. "...thank you."
A tender kiss brushed against the top of his head.
"You're welcome~" Sylvara whispered, holding him just a little tighter as the snowstorm outside raged on.
After a few moments, Lloyd pulled back.
"That nightgown" He sat up, looking down at her. "It looks pretty on you."
"I know. It took you too long to admit it." She poked his chest.
"However" He continued. "Don't you think it's a bit too short? It's really, really, cold out here."
"I'm not stupid, Lloyd. I do feel cold, but I always have you to warm me up, right?" She snuggled into his chest, looking up with puppy eyes.
Lloyd sighed before giving in. They slept face-to-face, the warmth of their embrace keeping away the freezing cold.
...
It was midnight of the next day. Lloyd was out hunting for boars. He would sell the boar meat to make enough cash for seeds and other clothes.
Although selfish, he wanted to monopolize the effects of his crops. Just for now. Until he was strong enough to defend himself.
Slow and steady.
He followed the large footprints for awhile, seeing through the night quite easily. He eventually came across his target. Peaking above a bush, he saw a large, brown hog feasting on a dead pheasant.
The blood and guts disgusted him, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to already.
He steadied his shot, both eyes opened. Then, he shot. The bullet flied through the air and hit the pig's spine, dropping it dead easily.
A quick, clean kill.
Lloyd dragged the pig with difficulty. Fortunately, it was the dead of night. Most people would be fast asleep so he wasn't worried about a kill-steal.
Dragging the carcass was grueling. The hog's bulk scraped against the snow, leaving a long trail of red behind. His breath misted in the air with every step, his arms screaming from the effort, but he didn't stop.
Finally, he reached the edge of his small barn. An old wooden shed that stood behind his farmhouse. Its hinges groaned as he pulled the door open. The smell of hay and cold earth greeted him. Inside, it was dim and empty, save for some hooks, ropes, and an old wooden table stained from years of use.
Lloyd lit a lantern, setting it on a beam. Its warm glow flickered across the walls, casting shadows that danced with the wind.
He hoisted the boar onto the table with sheer grit, muscles burning. Sweat mixed with the cold, dripping down his neck.
The knife he used was sharp, worn from use but still reliable. He slit open the belly first, careful and precise, letting the heat of the animal's body escape into the freezing night air. Steam rose as blood poured out, dripping into a rusty bucket he had placed below. The stench of iron filled the shed, heavy and metallic.
Lloyd worked with practiced motions. Skinning came next. He peeled back the hide slowly, his fingers numb but steady, until the rough brown fur was separated from the pale flesh beneath. The organs were removed one by one; liver, kidneys, heart, each cleaned quickly and placed in another container. These could be stored for food or sold later.
The meat itself he carved into manageable sections, wrapping each piece in old but clean cloth. The bones he set aside. Nothing would go to waste.
When he was finished, the table was slick with blood, and his hands were stiff from the cold. He wiped them on a rag, breathing heavily.
The wrapped cuts of meat were stored in a large, battered cooler he kept buried under layers of snow behind the barn, nature's own freezer. He covered it back up with thick ice and hay to keep it hidden. The organs were placed in jars filled with cold brine, which he set inside his rickety fridge in the house.
The hide? He left it hanging to dry on a hook. It might fetch a price later.
By the time he was done, his body ached, and his breath came in shallow puffs. But the boar was processed, every piece accounted for.
He stepped outside, staring at the moon that hung cold and distant above. His fingers trembled, not from fear but exhaustion.
Slow and steady. That was his path.
Lloyd wiped the blood from his hands, shut the barn doors, and walked back into the house. Inside, everything was quiet.
He was exhausted, but really dirty. Sylvara was sleeping with Nora for tonight. He took a long shower before finally getting some rest.