[indent][indent][justify]Aramis didn’t say anything when Yumi finally looked down and realized the state she was in. The simple [color=4c87bf]"Ah..."[/color] drew a tiny shift in his expression — the faintest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth, as if he were suppressing a sigh and a laugh at the same time. Locke’s muttered comment summed it up well enough.

The rest of the work unfolded without drama. Hauling the Greatspur carcasses back to town. Turning them in. Bringing the last one home. Aramis moved through it with quiet efficiency, grateful for something practical to focus on.

Back in the kitchen, he settled naturally into the rhythm Locke established — chopping where asked, stirring when directed, offering occasional dry observations when Locke tried something questionable. It was… calming. Predictable. Safe ground after the chaos of earlier.

Then Yumi returned from washing up. And Aramis froze for half a second. Gone was the gore. Gone the blood-slick chaos. Instead she looked—well—he caught himself staring and looked away sharply before his expression could betray anything too obvious. He told himself it was just the contrast. The dramatic shift from battlefield carnage to… her. Clean. Bright-eyed. Smiling softly as she stepped into the warm-lit kitchen. That was all. Probably.

He cleared his throat and said something that, in hindsight, he immediately regretted:

[color=536dfe]“...ah. Good. You look... functional again.”[/color]

[i]Functional? [b]Functional?![/b][/i]

He shut his eyes for a moment as if mentally erasing the line from existence. He tried again, quieter: [color=536dfe]“...it.. suits you.”[/color]

Whatever that meant. Thankfully, the work resumed before he could embarrass himself further. Together, they finished the dinner — Locke leading with confidence, Yumi precise as always, Aramis steady in the background.

When Evie arrived, he stepped back, letting the moment be hers. Her reaction softened the room, her gratitude warm and genuine. Aramis accepted her hug with stiff surprise but didn’t pull away. As the four of them finally sat at the table, the meal glowing under the gentle lights, Aramis allowed himself a moment to breathe — really breathe. It was peaceful. Almost… comfortable.

He glanced, briefly, at Yumi across the table. Then immediately looked down at his plate, ears warming just slightly. He survived giant turkeys today. He was not prepared to survive that. 

He didn’t know what Thanksgiving was supposed to feel like but this? This felt close.
[/justify][/indent][/indent]