#tanbarun arc is supposed to take place around thanksgiving break

[sabraeal]

Modern!AU where Shirayuki is studying for exams in pjs/Obi's clothes ( :') ) and disheveled hair and I guess he's just,,,enchanted

It’s not odd for Doc to skip dinner.

Zen starts fretting the instant she isn’t in front of the DC at their usual time, convinced it must mean that something is wrong, that somehow his brother or Haruka or this Raj kid have somehow kept her from eating dinner promptly at five. Obi considers it a public service that he doesn’t roll his eyes.

But ten minutes later she’s still not answering her texts. She’s not picking up her phone, even when Kiki’s the one who calls. That’s when he starts to worry, starts to feel something gnaw away at his belly, something that feels like fear.

“Don’t worry, Chief,” he says with a grin, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll go get her.”

Zen’s eyes narrow. “How are you going to get in? You don’t have a card for her –”

“Oh trust me.” He winks. “I’ll find a way.”

It sounds more glamorous than it is. All sneaking into a dorm takes is good timing and a smile, which says some pretty damning things about the security at this school. Considering how he managed to lock Doc out of the science building with little more than a wad of twenties, he isn’t overly surprised.

Doc lives on the fifth floor of seven, but he’s far too wired and worried to wait for the slow-ass elevator to mosey on down to the lobby. Instead, he sprints up four flights, barely feeling it until he hits the last landing. Her dorm’s not far from the stairwell, just around the corner from the lobby where it and the elevator come out to, but each step feels like a slog. His legs are jellied after that climb; tomorrow he’s going to wish he’d been kinder to his quads.

He turns the corner, rubbing at his neck – god, he’s twenty-two, he shouldn’t be getting cricks and falling apart at seams like this from a little jog – and his heart nearly drops through to his stomach.

Her door is wide open – a habit of hers that is more common than he likes – but instead of sugar-sweet lady songwriter crooning out lyrics about forests and mountains and other metaphors for love over twangy acoustic guitar, there is silence. Total, deafening silence.

His mouth makes to wrap around her name, but it shatters on his tongue the moment his gaze falls to the jamb. One pink terry-cloth sleeve splays across the floor, spilling into the hallway. His whole body tenses, adrenaline running through his veins with a roar. If someone has hurt Doc – if they’ve even touched her – they’ll be lucky if there’s something left of them to find.

Obi knows he can handle himself, knows intimately the way he can shithouse a person, but he’s not some idiot ready to fling himself into the fray sight unseen. He creeps up, silent – thanks, shitty childhood – and nudges her door open with the toe of his boot and –

“Oh my god,” he says, loud enough to make her look up despite the music blaring in her ears, “it looks like a girl exploded in here.”

“Obi!” Her voice is entirely too loud for the room, and he must flinch, since a moment later she pulls out her earbuds. “What are you doing here?”

He leans against the doorway, reaching so hard for casual despite his pounding heart, tugging at a shoulder as he shrugs. “Chief says it’s dinner time.”

“Oh.” She blinks. “You could have just called.”

“We did.”

“You –?” She glances down at her phone, shaking it awake, and grimaces. “Ah. I, um, was really focused.”

He looks down pointedly. Papers are scattered in a ritual circle around her, laptop cast off to the side with a mind-bending amount of tabs dotting the browser bar, and a large three-fold poster board lays splayed across the floor. It’s covered in graphs and large paragraphs of small text; he can’t help but think it looks familiar –

He crouches to get a better look, tilting his head with a squint to read the tiny text. “Is this Kihal’s data?”

She rocks back, running her hands through her damp hair. “Yeah. It’s for Tanbarun. Garrack says she’s confident that she can get Massachusetts to adopt the safety measures, but that’s nothing if we can’t get Connecticut to do something about it at the source, and if that doesn’t go through…”

Doc doesn’t look at the other half of the room, desk empty and bed neatly made, but she doesn’t have to; the weight of Kihal’s absence presses on them all the same.

“It’s not your fault, Doc,” he reminds her. He would know, he was there. “I’m sure the charges will get cleared even without this whole meeting shindig.”

She shakes her head, fingers knotting deep in her hair. “I don’t know. I don’t want to chance it.” She looks up at him, her bright eyes watery. “You know, she was the first person in her family to go to college? I can’t even imagine what she’s feeling right now. All because she wouldn’t take Brecker’s bribes.”

He can’t believe he hears himself say the words, “Just because you do the right thing doesn’t mean everything works out, not right away. It’ll take time.”

Like he has any room to talk. The his chest itches madly, and he pulls at his shoulder instead. It eases, just the slightest bit, becomes something he can live with.

“How long do you have?” he asks, letting his knees rest on the carpet. “Is anyone helping you?”

“No, I just —” she sighs – “Mitsuhide’s going to drive me down, but it’s not like he can help with any of this. He’s just there for, you know, moral support and transportation.” Her shoulders set in a tense line. “And you know, any of the stuff with Raj.”

Right. There’s a whole bunch of history there he’s only seen the tip of the iceberg for. Now’s not the time to dig.

“I could, um –” he needs to stop himself, needs to stop the words coming out – “help maybe? I mean, I’m in most of your science classes right? I can probably talk about, uh –” he catches the title of one of the pages – “salinity of the Connecticut River?”

She stares at him, eyes huge and wet with gratitude. “Do you – do you meant that?”

He nods, too late to back out now, big mouth. “Yeah sure.” He grins. “One condition though.”

“Oh?”

“You come down to dinner.” He stands up, offering her a hand. “I mean what happened here? It looks like you exploded.”

She grips his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. A flush works up from the base of her neck, turning her an intriguing pink. “I just – I came back from the shower, and then…got into my comfiest clothes and started working. I didn’t really have time to put things away.”

He laughs, sweeping his eyes over her to find something to tease her about – it’s hard, even with her fuzzy mismatched socks, with her flannel pajama pants covered in owls with cartoonishly huge eyes, with –

With –

“Is that –” He stops to swallow. Get a grip. Get a grip. “Is that where my hoodie went?”

She turns an even darker red, and that’s – that’s so much worse. She knows it’s his. She thinks it’s comfortable. She just – she is –

She’s wrapped up in his clothes like he wish she would be in his arms, and it’s awful, awful knowing she likes it.

“I can give it back, if you want,” she offers weakly. The red of her hair sets off the green of the fabric and she is just – she looks –

She’s perfect. She’s too perfect.

“Nah,” he says, dropping her hand, striving for calm. “Looks better on you anyway.”