#where Obi drives Zen UP A WALL

[sabraeal]

Bro, you got any Obi/Kihal brotp headcanons?

I can only imagine them as the sort of friends who end up like siblings, and by that I mean, the kind of siblings who yell trash talk across the house and tell their shared friends how ANNOYING the other person is, but the second someone does something mean or rude to one of them, they are instantly drawn together by their mutual hatred of that person. HOW DARE THEY SAY THAT ABOUT YOU ONLY I CAN SAY THAT.

Kihal is just too straight-forward and passionate to really appreciate Obi’s sense of humor; she is a woman of ACTION and BELIEF and I think his sarcastic commentary would drive her RIGHT UP THE WALL, though after the fact she’d probably be like....all right. That was...almost funny. DON’T TELL HIM I SAID THAT, SHIRAYUKI, HE WOULD MAKE THAT STUPID SMUG FACE.

Obi isn’t someone who does a lot of aggressive confrontation, but you know that when someone finds something he does annoying, he just CANNOT HELP but do it ALL THE TIME. Oh does this bother you? How about this NEW ANNOYING THING? Zen’s figured out the best way to get him to stop is to embarrass him, but Kihal’s temper is just a little too hair-trigger to let her come to the same conclusion. Like every vacation in Yuris is Shirayuki staring at him after Kihal storms off, just being like, must you? And Obi just being like, well I can’t possibly imagine why she is upset, Miss. A total mystery.

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Hi! I recently read chapter 68 and there is one thing that bothers me. Zen asked Obi if he liked him and later if he liked Shirayuki. I can't speak Japanese and I don't know where to find this chapter in Japanese so I can't check what kanji characters Obi used when he said "like". I wanted to ask you if maybe you know the context in which he said he liked Zen and in what context he said he liked Shirayuki. I would be grateful for your response!

After consulting both our memories (because the full raws are no longer online) and our translator-on-tap (since none of us can read Japanese either), the word used in both cases is “suki,” which can be read as either like or love, as well as either platonic or romantic. It pretty much means “to have affection for someone.”

If you’ve watched a romantic confession scene, this is probably the word they used-- it’s actually the word Shirayuki uses in her scene with Zen way back in Ch 14. However, Japanese is a context-heavy language, and so as mentioned above, not every use of the word is romantic.

The official French version also chooses to use a milder “avoir de l’affection” for both instances as well, as apposed to using “aimer,” which also keeps the ambiguity of the original Japanese. However, given the context of the scene, we can guess that we ARE supposed to read this as romantic affection for Shirayuki (YMMV for Zen; I think that’s part of the point-- Zen is keeping it vague to give Obi wiggle room, and Obi is keeping it vague because it drives Zen right up a wall).

We don’t have an official English version yet-- that will be coming out in Vol 13 next May!-- but the same ambiguity will most likely be kept there as well.

[k-itsmaywriting]

Vessels: Chapter 5

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

CONTENT WARNINGS: child death mention, death mention, body modification, blackmail

Obi swallows. “You…you want to leave Wistal?”

Her gaze falls from the sky to her hands, limp on her knees and caked in city filth. “The better question is, is it even possible?”

“You’ve left before,” he says quietly. “With Yuzuri and Suzu.”

“But without a permit this time, they’ll never let us out. And we’ll die trying to escape through the sewers. The cliffs are rocky and steep and…and…” Shirayuki’s head spins with orbiting possibilities and consequences, swinging through space until she can’t keep up. “We can’t leave or Yuzuri and Suzu—"

Concern crosses Obi’s face and he leans forward, steadying himself on one knee.

Her heart and breath won’t slow down. “Kain Wisteria is going to threaten them and it’ll be just as easy for him and I…I can’t let that happen. I can’t just save myself. If the world is just going to keep being corrupt and there’s nothing I can do about it, then what’s even the point—!?”

She suddenly feels hands grasping hers. Her mind finally rests when warmth seeps into her fingers like earth, steadying her. With her breath trapped inside her chest, she looks up again and sees the gold of Obi’s eyes as he says softly, “There will always be a point.”

There’s a light in him that Shirayuki recognizes. She remembers it, just last week, when he listened to her talk about how she could find a way to end food shortages in the city with her research, but Obi saw more potential than she did. That there is a whole world of people outside Wistal who she could help too, because Obi and his parents were among them once.

She thought she was trying to save just Wistal, but Obi saw she was going to save the world. And the whole time, he believed in her.

Obi laces his fingers between hers, holding her hands tighter. “No matter what the world throws at you, you have to keep fighting. You have to keep trying. Because there will always be hope, a way out of things, a second chance – whatever it is you might need to make things better in whatever small ways possible.”

He says with a sincerity that Shirayuki almost thinks is…is strange. It’s not light taps on her shoulder, or silence that’s soft like the glow of neon through the curtains of their apartment. It’s stronger, more intense, cradling her heart in its hands – intimate. But it’s still Obi.

Ah, this is the person she fell in love with.

“You can’t give yourself up,” he breathes. “You’re the one that knows that.”

“But the Wisterias,” she whispers, “they have more control over me than I thought ever possible. I’m just a thing to them.”

“Maybe they wanted to make you that way,” Obi says, pressing their hands to Shirayuki’s chest. “But they can’t do that if they can’t touch you.”

Shirayuki tightens their fingers together, pressing her palm closer to his. “I belong to me. It’s only ever been that way. What I’m made of and what my history really is don’t change that. Is that what you’re saying?”

Obi nods once. “Yes.”

“And I…” she swallows, takes a deep breath. “They might’ve given me my compassion, sense of justice, initiative, ambition, and all the other things that make me who I am but won’t let them have me anymore. Not after everything they’ve done. Not when I’m my own person without them.” Her eyes flicker up to his and light fills both green and gold. “And I’m not done fighting yet.”

A ghost of a smile stretches across the corner of Obi’s lips. He doesn’t need to say anything for her to know he’s proud of her.

Hope and determination swirl in her chest, even though her hands still shake with fear. She breathes long, slow breaths, letting her lungs empty before she inhales again. Then, she lets go of Obi’s hands and wraps her arms around his back, resting her head on his shoulder. She whispers, “Thank you, Obi.”

Obi’s entire body tenses. But only for a moment, as in the next his warm hands are on her waist and they’re looking at each other again. “What are best friends for?” he asks with a smile.

The screech of braking tires suddenly cuts through the air. Shirayuki looks towards the entrance of the alley as Obi’s hands freeze against her skin. Before she realises it, their hands grab for each other’s again and they’re scrambling to their feet, pulling each other up while a car door opens and closes on the main street. Hearts racing again, they turn to run further into the alley, but—

“Obi! Shirayuki!”

Their feet pick up the pace but the voice shouts again, almost a scratchy growl. “Listen, I’m not here to hurt you!”

They turn the corner left, heels clacking against concrete behind them, but only a graffitied wall stares them down.

Shirayuki spins around, led by Obi’s hand, but Garrack is already blocking their way. Chest heaving, she throws something to the ground – a small rod that rolls towards their feet. It looks like the one Shirayuki saw in Garrack’s hand before she…

Obi glances at it once before he furrows his eyebrows. “There’s another shut-down key?”

“One for both of you, and another for Ryuu in my car.” She takes a deep breath. “All with the ability to find each other.”

Shirayuki steps in front of Obi, holding a protective arm behind her. “What are you doing here?”

At Garrack’s side, Shirayuki notices, is a bulging messenger bag. With a deep breath, she slips the bag off her shoulder and tosses it between them, landing with a loud thump. “I’m here to help you.”

Shirayuki cautiously extends her leg and flips open the bag. It’s stuffed from side of side with papers, not a single space wasted with a binder or folder cover. “What is this?” she asks.

“Every single file and report I could find on your android bodies, including every blueprint and piece of information you’ll need to survive outside Wistal. I know Obi knows how you work and how to fix you, but it’d be good to have them anyway in case something happens to him.”

She looks up at Garrack. “What made you think anyone was leaving?”

Garrack shifts her weight onto one foot. “It seemed like a logical course of action for you. You’re on the run from the most powerful men in the city, and it’s easier to hide outside than inside. And I know you’re not a quitter.”

I made sure of it, she doesn’t say.

“Of course,” Garrack continues, “if you don’t need it, I can take it back on Monday morning and say I was using them for reference – figure out what to do next with Ryuu’s brain. Or that I preferred to have Ryuu home for the weekend. And besides, Zen was the one who told me to go home, so it’s not like he’ll think I’m anywhere I’m not supposed to be.”

Behind Shirayuki’s arm, Obi is completely still. She stares Garrack down. “And what makes you think we can trust you so easily?”

“When did you turn me into an android?” Obi asks suddenly, stepping to Shirayuki’s side. “Who ordered it? And which parts of me exactly did you screw with?”

Garrack’s jaw sets, but she doesn’t look away. “Izana and Zen gave the job about a month after we finished Ryuu,” she says flatly. “The only thing done to your brain was that any memory of you being manhandled was erased and the gaps of time you missed while your body was completely replaced, filled. Your brain is from your original body, like Ryuu’s, and everything else you know about your life is true.”

Obi’s gaze falls to the ground as he clenches his fist in reluctant acceptance. But his voice is low and scratchy when he croaks, “I just can’t believe you did that to me.”

And Shirayuki’s heart breaks all over again.

“I don’t get to be sorry,” Garrack murmurs, so softly that Shirayuki barely hears her. “But I really am.”

The crease between Obi’s eyebrows deepens as he looks away, hands unclenching by his sides.

Shirayuki slowly reaches her hand out towards her side, until the back of her hand nudges Obi’s. She looks down at the messenger bag between them and purses her lips. If she takes the bag, then they might as well tell Garrack that they’re going to try to escape. And quite frankly, she’s not sure if Obi can trust her again.

So, she whispers to him, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“She’s right,” Garrack says, beginning to step back. “I hurt you, I betrayed you, you don’t want to tell me what’s going on. If you take it, then you take it, but if you don’t, I’ll be back tomorrow morning for it.”

Obi suddenly calls out, “Garrack, wait.”

They both turn to look at him.

“Tell me about Ryuu,” he says. “I know that you knew him, even though you never said it. Who was he? And how…” he swallows. “How did he get to where he is now?”

Shirayuki sees Garrack’s shoulders tense under her coat. Garrack takes a deep breath, lets it fill her shaky lungs before it tumbles back out, leaving her vulnerable in a way she probably hasn’t been seen in years.

“I was his guardian…of sorts. I knew his parents all the way through med school. But when Ryuu was about eleven they…they passed away. I was the only person closest to a relative he had, and he was the closest to a relative I had left too.” She swallows, “After all, we all lost our families to the meteor.”

Gradually, her voice grows quieter, shakier, until Shirayuki has to lean forward to hear her.

“Then, when he was thirteen, his school had a trip to the Yuris Islands and…” she chokes, her entire body beginning to shake. “There was a horrible storm on the way down, while they were driving down the cliffside and…”

Shirayuki’s heart drops to her stomach. “I’m so sorry…”

Garrack grits her teeth. “Every single child went missing. It was all over the news. But it wasn’t until a year later that…” she sucks in a shivering breath. “Izana, on behalf of him, Zen and Kain, came into the hospital I worked in and dragged me to Starlight and just…there he was. On a workbench with only half a body. They even bothered to fucking tell me that his brain was the only one that was good enough to use.

“They offered me a deal. If I agreed to join their project as their neuroscientist, I could have Ryuu back after everything was over. Even then, I knew deep down that it meant letting them keep hurting people in unimaginable ways. But I was willing to do anything to let Ryuu have another shot at life when really…I really…”

I should’ve let him go, she doesn’t say. And with a final gasp, Garrack breaks. Tears fall from her eyes as she hisses, trying her damnedest not to scream instead, “And to keep me on that fucking project, they threatened to erase my memories of him if I ever betrayed them. Because they know what he is to me. But now that Izana and Zen are asking me to change who he is entirely I just can’t do this anymore. Ryuu never even deserved this, but all I’ve done is bring him suffering.”

Obi steps forward. “Garrack, I’m—”

“Don’t say it, please,” she snaps. “This isn’t about me.”

Shirayuki watches as Obi looks back at her over his shoulder, a question in his eyes. Her gaze shifts to Garrack, who silently wipes her tears with the back of her hand.

Garrack was the only person Obi really trusted. He never really talked about anyone else on the project, so little that Shirayuki didn’t even know their names. He probably couldn’t complain anyway, had to make her think he loved what he was doing and helping the Wisterias reach their goals. But even when he did talk about Garrack, he never really made it sound like she was particularly happy either.

It’s clear to her now. Garrack has been hurting for forever, and when she lost all her love, she held onto the memories to bring back who she could. It’s what’s been driving her this entire time.

It’s what drove Shirayuki too – her memories of success and love for conservation drove her to do what she did, even if they were fake. And hiding from his is what made Obi drift in time and space like nothing mattered until he met her.

What drives the Wisterias, then?

Shirayuki ponders it for a moment…but decides it’s not her job to care.

So she says, “We’re leaving Wistal. And I think…” she presses her lips into a thin line. “…I’ll have to somehow take my research with me, or it will be for nothing but myself. And I don’t want that.”

Garrack slowly nods. “I see.”

“What if…” She looks up at Obi, whose eyes meet hers, fully trusting her even though he might not know what she’s thinking. “What if you and Ryuu came with us?”

Only after a moment, Garrack shakes her head. “There’s still something I have to do here. For Izana. He’s…been planning something big for a long time, and if he succeeds, he’ll change this city forever. He’s actually been asking me to be a part of it for a while, but I’ve been saying no.” She sighs. “Well, until now, that is.”

“You want to?” Obi asks, incredulous. “After everything he’s done to you and Ryuu?”

“I’ll be the only one staying. And it’s not really about wanting to help him,” she says. “It’s about hating Kain more. And I think the fact Izana is doing this at all means he does too, somewhat.”

“What exactly is he going to do?”

Garrack clenches her jaw. “I’ll have to tell you when there isn’t a single possibility someone might hear me.”

“But for now,” Shirayuki interjects, “I have a plan. We’ll need your help getting out. And Ryuu’s too, if he can.”

Garrack shoves her hands into her coat pockets and turns towards the open end of the alley. “He’s in the car.”

[nalufever]

One of a Kind: Chapter 1 of Guarding Miss Shirayuki

Fandom: Snow White with the Red Hair

Summary: Obi didn't know when he accepted the job of protecting Miss Shirayuki that he'd become so entranced with his charge. Yuki was smarter and more intriguing than any other person he'd spent protecting - but how could he ever have guessed Shirayuki would become so important? A canonesque romp of a story - exploring the relationship that could have been.

Chapter One: One of a Kind: Guarding Miss Shirayuki ~ This is the first chapter of three - Dedicated to my good friend @hidetheremote . You da best! Thank you for talking, listening and joining my salty rants! There’s two more chapters, so I hope you enjoy as much this as much as I loved writing in a fandom you adore. This section is about 5000 words ~ ^^

Obi spat, the thin stream of saliva and blood mixing with the old stains underfoot. He blocked out the shouts - some encouragement, some invective, and all easy to ignore. He'd endured five years of training, working his way up in the mixed martial arts ranking. No way was he going to blow his chance at the championship on account of some foolish yelling. All he had to do was beat this guy and he'd be in the title fight next month.

Hungry for the win, Obi's opponent danced left in the giant metal cage they occupied. Rushing forward, the man delivered a flurry of punches in combination with side-kicks. Voice gruff, he sneered, "You look tired."

With a feral grin, Obi shook his head. "M'not, but you must be." He raised his hands to protect his face and moved closer into Staniel's reach, surprising the man.

Staniel faltered, his next punch extending into the air where Obi had been. His arm pulled back but Obi had already thrown his arm and used leverage to toss him. On his back, Staniel cursed as Obi took total control, pinning him to the mat.

The bell clanged and the referee stepped in, bellowing the count, slapping the mat with every number. "...nine, ten!"

Obi sprang up with the official, his arm raised high. The crowd cheered, chanting, hooting, whistling. It was almost perfect. He searched the stands, imagining in the far off faces the features of long-lost comrades. Forcing a smile, Obi bowed his head in thanks.

Walking slowly out of the cage, Obi ignored his aches and pains. A hot shower would soothe his body even if it also encouraged morbid introspection. The dead were going to stay dead even if they still had space in his mind.

Alone again in his apartment, Obi shrugged off his clothes, leaving them in a heap and stepped into the welcome confines of the shower. Stinging needles of hot water washed away some of his melancholy. Head bowed again, Obi thought back to happier times. He'd been so young and naive - but no longer. Life had a way of teaching a student - it was either learn or die when your job was being a bodyguard.

Hands flat against the tiled wall opposite the shower head, Obi closed his eyes and pretended his tears weren't mixing with the water. Sighing, he stood straight, soaped and rinsed his body - regret wouldn't do anything but drive him crazy.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Shirayuki shifted the collection of binders in her arms and pasted what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face. "I'm actually close to a breakthrough on one of the problem area formulas."

"How many times do I have to insist you call me by name?" Zen sat back in his padded chair, crossing his legs. "We did attend the same college, no need to be so formal."

"I'll try to remember."

"Excellent, I've decided to give you some assistance with your project." Zen smiled, hand drifting to one knee and tapping. "Our company stands to make a fortune once it's complete. That means competing companies, like Daiichi Sankyo and Otsuka Holdings, will want to keep pace by whatever means necessary."

"My team is full, sir."

"I wasn't asking-" Zen continued, as if Shirayuki's interjection hadn't happened, "-I'm telling you, as of noon today, you'll have a specialist added to your team."

"With what kind of Ph.D?" Shirayuki set her binders on the corner of the vice-president's desk, sinking into a chair. "I formed this team myself, we've got all the major talent we need."

"He's a security specialist." Zen nodded in time with his still tapping fingers, his eyes locked onto Shirayuki's gaze. "This is non-negotiable. The amount of profit is astronomical - and you're our main asset."

"Let me understand, you're assigning me some sort of bodyguard?" Shirayuki pinched the bridge of her nose. "There's no way I need some beef-brained, thick-witted muscle bound moron underfoot in my lab or interfering with my team."

"I promise to spend most of my time improving my feeble brain and keeping out of your way."

Shirayuki whipped her head around, mouth dropping open. The man in the doorway wore dark dress pants and a crisp white shirt, fitted to show off a lithe figure - no bulky or ostentatious muscles - a fit and firm body. Blushing, she grit her teeth and ignored the jump of rocks in her stomach. "Adding a person at this late stage will upset my workers."

"Don't overestimate your role, Shirayuki." Zen chuckled and waved the newcomer to the other chair. "All management is on board with this decision - Obi here will become your personal assistant."

"With all due respect," Shirayuki fought to keep her voice level, "I have no need of an assistant. What I said earlier is still true. I -"

"If I may, sir?" Obi picked up the binders on the corner of Zen's desk. "We'll leave first." He stood with an impassive face, leading the way from the private office, through the maze of cubicles in the main part and down the corridor towards the area kept secured for members of the bioengineering team.

More than a bit pissed over following her unwanted 'assistant,' Shirayuki lengthened her stride, intending to pass. "I don't need you to carry my stuff. I'm capable of managing my own possessions."

Voice dry, Obi said, "Such big words from a smart science nerd. Are you sure this muscle-bound moron will understand?" Obi stopped and held out his burden to his new boss. "If you want your notes, please take them - but how else are you going to explain my presence to your team?"

Shirayuki reached to grab them - hands out, she hesitated, thinking. She huffed and jammed her hands into her lab coat. "I'll get rid of you somehow."

Amicably, like he hadn't challenged Shirayuki, Obi smiled. "Once this job finishes, I'll go away. You're not the only one displeased with this arrangement." Binders held against his chest once again, Obi inclined his head to the still fuming woman. "After you, boss."

Shirayuki hunched over her laptop and stared at the group designed molecule, comparing it to the previous incarnation and checking her notes for discrepancies. Imelda tapped her on the shoulder, making Shirayuki jump.

"Sorry boss, we're taking a lunch break."

"Cafeteria?" Shirayuki pulled up another diagram. "Bring me whatever." She focussed back into her work.

"We're going stir-crazy," Imelda waved her hand in front of the screen. "Raj is insisting on taking us to his cousin's place. We'll be back a bit late - you don't want to come, do you?"

"I'm two ideas away from solving the last problem." Belatedly Shirayuki remembered to smile and look at her second-in-command. "You guys go and have fun - you've been working really hard. You may as well come back even later. Go rest your brains." She made a shooing motion, and waved goodbye to her team.

The private powder room door opened and Obi exited, wiping his hands on his borrowed lab coat. "You sent them to lunch without you again. Don't they ever wonder why you stay on company premises? Normal people like taking time away from work."

"They'd be more surprised if I joined them." Shirayuki took off her glasses, absently cleaning them on the hem of her shirt. "It's more expedient for me to eat in the cafeteria. I hate losing time to food when I could be solving more important issues." She looked up in shock as Obi filched her glasses with dexterity any pickpocket would envy. Squinting, she frowned in confusion.

"You mean to tell me you're an antisocial nerd?" Obi blew a puff of air on Shirayuki's glasses. Pulling a proper lens cleaning cloth from his jacket, he polished and presented the cleaned glasses to Shirayuki. "You should let your personal assistant buy you lunch."

Skepticism warred with hunger - stomach rumbling, Shirayuki saved her progress and locked the laptop. "Might be the only thing you're good for."

Obi smiled and said nothing, allowing his boss to walk in front. For all her prickly attitude towards him and his assignment, Shirayuki treated her teammates well - and worked a damn sight harder than he'd expected. Not that he thought all beautiful women were lazy - no, he'd done his homework after taking the bodyguard job. Shirayuki came from a monied family. Wealth, status and impeccable breeding - she didn't need to work. This woman wanted to make the world a better place and had applied her smarts to learning something that would benefit everyone.

Maybe he shouldn't enjoy how her hips swayed as she walked. Her figure, even hidden as it was under a lab coat - it was curved in all the right places. Obi shoved down his appreciation into the box he'd labelled 'late night fun time.' She wasn't the spoiled rich princess he'd feared - but she was far out of his reach. His pedigree was muddy while hers was golden.

Halfway to the cafeteria, the Vice-President of Fujisawa Corporation stepped into their path. "Hello, Shirayuki and Obi!" Zen smiled warmly at Shirayuki and exchanged nods with Obi. "I have some business matters to discuss with you, Obi."

"We're going to grab lunch in the cafeteria right now, care to join us?" Shirayuki, still ruminating about polypeptides and molecular bonds, missed the serious undertones in Zen's words.

"Go save us a good seat, I'll join you soon." Obi waved off Shirayuki, keeping his inner glee hidden as her nostrils flared and she stomped away. Beautiful, smart, and prone to quick flare-ups of temper (as befitting her fiery red hair).

Zen wasted no time after shutting his office door. "I need you to provide twenty-four hour coverage." He strode to his desk, hand slightly trembling as he dug a key out of his pocket and unlocked the topmost drawer. "Here, take a look at this."

Face impassive, Obi read the threatening letter. He offered it back to Zen, "She's not going to take this well."

"She needs to be protected from knowing there's a death threat against her. You're getting paid well to shield her body, you can shield her mind too." Zen put the letter back. "She's not just a valuable employee, she's...she's special."

"I understand, sir." Obi took note of the light flush on Zen's cheeks, the man's starry eyes and wistful smile. "Shirayuki is a one-of-a-kind woman. Er, person."

"You were right the first time, she's a wonderful woman." Zen dropped into his chair and sighed, rubbing his forehead. "By any means necessary, keep her safe."

"Good work guys! Tomorrow is the weekend and that means I don't want to see anyone at work." Shirayuki laughed as several of her team parroted the same thing back to her, cautioning her against becoming a workaholic. "Fine, fine! I'll see you Monday." She waved them off, smiling.

"You going to take your own advice?" Obi smirked. Shirayuki had forgotten he was in the lab - or was he that good at staying silent? Either way, it was cute how she'd clutched her chest and glared at him.

This week of bodyguarding had been both heaven and hell. Miss Shirayuki was smart, personable and extremely capable - especially in regards to her work. Thinking about her, Obi had decided to keep a wall between them - needing the formal type of address to remind himself that the red-haired, smart, talented woman was above his reach.

Obi came to love watching her eyes light with passion as she wrote equations; the tip of her tongue making an appearance as she concentrated, how she'd push up her glasses and squint. It was hellish to be so close and be denied the physical contact he was dreaming of nightly.

"I know how to relax." Shirayuki lifted her chin. "See you Monday, unless you'd rather quit right now. Zen is blowing this product launch out of proportion. I don't need a babysitter."

"I'm sure you think that." Obi crossed his arms over his chest. "But you haven't ever tried my relaxation program."

"I'm good." Shirayuki's voice was flat and showed disinterest. "I have chores to do and no time to waste on you."

"Huh, didn't know you were a coward." Obi shrugged and waited - Shirayuki's nostrils flared. Oh, she was hooked. "For someone so smart, you're not willing to try other methods? Far be it for this muscle-bound moron to call you on your bullshit." Game. Set. Match. He made a show of checking his pockets for keys and tipped an imaginary hat. "See you Monday. Coward."

Shirayuki ground her teeth and seethed. What a high-handed, smug, sexy and rude bastard. "I'm not a coward."

"Good news, you're gonna love my relaxation program." Obi offered the woman under his care his arm. "Step this way."

Not exactly sure why she was going with Obi, Shirayuki decided she'd slip off once she got bored. A simple distraction and her unwanted personal assistant would never notice her leaving. Allowing him to take her somewhere was an anomaly. It had nothing to do with how cute the man looked. Nope! Nor his earnestness, or even how much she'd wondered about what he did on his own time. Uh-uh. This was her learning more about an opponent.

The sounds and smell of the underground gym hit Shirayuki hard. She'd been confused why it was several levels below the surface - and all Obi had said in answer to her questions was, 'no special reason.'

"Is there something wrong with the ventilation system?" Shirayuki did her best to breathe from her mouth. "I can recommend several new versions of air scrubbers - when's the last time this was serviced?"

Obi chuckled, ignoring Shirayuki's questions. The more he delayed answers, the more she'd be inclined to stay - or at least not want to escape at the first chance. He nodded to several competitors in greeting, making progress towards one of his oldest friends. "Beatrice! I'm glad to see you're still here at this hour."

"Well, ifn' it isn't our mysterious loner." Beatrice smirked, setting her weights onto the bar support. "What brings you here with a visitor? Not your usual Friday night type of date, now is it?"

"Date? No!" Obi flushed, his eyes widening as he looked back and forth between the two women. "This isn't a date - she's my current boss in need of some relaxation."

Shirayuki shifted her weight, lips pressed in a straight line. An uncomfortable minute passed. "Obi thinks I don't know how to relax." Her words were offered to Beatrice, but her savage look was given to Obi. "He's wrong."

"Yes," Beatrice nodded, "I can see that. Obi is so clueless when it comes to introductions though, wouldn't you say? Your name is?"

Face even redder, Obi rubbed his forehead. "Sorry Beatrice, may I introduce Miss Shirayuki of Fujisawa Corporation?"

Shirayuki thrust out her hand to the other woman, "Call me Yuki, pleased to meet you. No need to stand on outdated formalities."

"Agreed." Beatrice took note of Yuki's strong grip and enthusiastic shaking. "A pleasure for me as well. This gym could do with more females who know their own minds."

A bit chagrined, Obi looked like a deer caught in headlights. "I was wondering if you had a spare workout outfit to lend?"

"What's wrong with yours? Don't you keep extra spares?"

"Of course I do - but it's not really proper for me to offer man's clothes for a lady." Obi wished very hard for the floor to swallow him. "They're clean but not meant -"

"Clothes are just clothes." Shirayuki wasn't sure if she'd surprised herself more or Obi. "As long as they're clean - no big deal if they're men's or lady's." She smiled at Beatrice and dropped her expression down to borderline polite to look at Obi. "It's a bit more than rude to expect to borrow someone else's clothes without asking beforehand."

"I like her." Beatrice pinched Obi's cheek. "You should try to not fuck this up." She laid back on the bench and grasped her barbell, "I'm in the middle of my workout, so if you don't mind, I need my 'me' time." One smooth motion and Beatrice hoisted her weights. She winked at Obi. "Talk to ya later - maybe meet up when you and Miss Yuki have reconciled your differences?"

Obi met Beatrice's stare with a sinking stomach. "Yeah, that'll be soon, I'm sure."

Beatrice hummed noncommittally as she continued with her workout, dismissing Obi and Yuki from her mind - secure that sometime soon she'd be meeting up with them under vastly different circumstances. A more harmonious and happy sort - the kind you bring up in a toast to the bride and groom. She disguised a snort of laughter as effort and continued her bench presses.

Isolated in the empty changeroom, Shirayuki looked at the armful of clothes Obi had given her and smiled. Plain but serviceable t-shirt and shorts, dull blue in colour - but fashioned of moisture-wicking fabrics. She dropped them on the bench and took off her work clothes. Tonight was going to be interesting - and she'd never been so enthused to work-out before.

Obi hurried into his second set of gym clothes. Shirayuki had seemed interested in working out - but he'd be damned to take her acquiesce at face-value. If she was lying and ran out now, she might be captured by the scum threatening her life - and that would haunt him forever.

"I'm going to show you my usual work-out." Obi nodded, "Miss Yuki, this shouldn't be any harder than you can manage."

"How hard do you go at it on a regular day?" Shirayuki made sure to smile sweetly. "I'm sure I can keep up. Don't hold back on my account."

"Fine." Obi marched over to an unattended machine, adjusted the weights and changed the incline of the bench.

Shirayuki watched him, her smile losing its wattage as more people left the gym. "What's up with the mass exodus?"

"Friday nights aren't as busy - some people go out on dates instead of working around the clock like nerds." Shrugging, Obi pretended not to see Shirayuki frown. "Are you sure you should use such fancy words with a big dummy like me?"

"Don't distract me."

"Wouldn't dream of it." His dry delivery was at odds with Obi's smirk. He would dream of Yuki - and his imagination would spook her like nothing else. "This is a very simple machine, I would guess you've used something like this before."

"Obviously." Shirayuki tugged on the bottom of her borrowed shirt. "Who hasn't?" She gestured at her bodyguard to move aside. "All the time."

Obi hid his smile as Shirayuki sat backwards on the bench and did a very poor job of hiding her search for work instructions. She moved her feet further apart and made a show of rolling her shoulders and then tightening her shoelaces.

"All the time?"

"No. How long were you going to let me struggle?"

"I'll use it first - you watch and learn. Get up." Obi then sat facing forward and gripped the handles, admiring the attractive picture Shirayuki made. She stood with hands on hips, her little frown all the more adorable as she chewed her bottom lip. Obi demonstrated five reps. "Now you try."

Shirayuki nodded and sat, gripping the handles tight.

"Relax, no one's gonna try to take them from you!" Obi laid a hand on Shirayuki's shoulder, "Is this too much? There's lots of treadmills we could use instead."

"I've never enjoyed the more complicated gym machines." Shirayuki released her death grip, wiping her hands on her thighs. "I let my competitive nature get the best of me - but I don't mind if you get your workout in. I can get myself home from here." She made to rise, stopped by Obi moving closer - his face, normally so impassive, clearly chagrined.

"Hey, I was a little bit pushy too. But my offer stands - exercising makes for a great release of endorphins." In the back of his mind, Obi wondered how hard Shirayuki would slap him if he suggested the other (and better to his way of thinking) method to achieve peace. Damn, that would be glorious.

"It's been a long week, and I know I've had enough of your company." Shirayuki let a bitter smile twist her lips. "And I'm not in the mood to be babysat further."

"And here I thought we were connecting on a friendship level." Obi joked, forcing gaiety into his voice and actions. He shrugged, taking a big step backward. "Miss Ph.D. is a coward."

"Fine - I'll be running laps on a treadmill and you knock yourself out on that contraption." Shirayuki stood and raised her chin. "You'd better add more weights - after all, it isn't a good workout if you don't struggle."

"Pfft. Thanks for the words of wisdom." Obi watched Shirayuki secure a treadmill, pleased it was close - and began a light gym routine that switched him from machine to machine, all ringing Yuki's treadmill.

An hour of covert spying and exercise later, Obi, drenched in sweat (more from nerves than exhaustion) was dying for a shower. Shirayuki had cooled down from her run twenty minutes ago and was openly staring as Obi continued to use more equipment. Was he a bit of an exhibitionist, or was he pathetic? Why would someone so smart and talented care about him? If nothing else, Obi knew he wasn't that unattractive. Miss Yuki might at the very least decide to slum and sample his wares. Heh, Obi knew he was being ridiculous.

An itch between his shoulder blades made Obi wary. He inspected the perimeter of the gym for suspicious activity; only two men working together, one as a spotter and the other lifting. He'd lived long enough as a bodyguard not to ignore those sorts of sensations. Lived - that was the operative word. Taking a precaution that others deem unnecessary could be the difference between a big fat bonus cheque or riding in place of honour in a funeral procession.

"Babe!" Obi knew Shirayuki would respond - very possibly loudly - immediately.

"Sweetie-nugget," Shirayuki answered through gritted teeth. "Have you lost your mind?" She moved closer, arms crossed.

In for a penny, in for a pound. "Babe, you can yell at me later. Right now, you should listen to your man."

Obi stood and placed his hands on Shirayuki's shoulders, leaning within kissing distance. Praying it looked like he was fooling around, Obi whispered instructions. "We're leaving now - and whatever happens, follow my lead."

Her sweet breath tickled his ear, and Obi fought to control his libido. He was a battle-hardened assassin dammit - why did this woman derail him from his purpose?

"I noticed those two guys too - they're both big and bulky but only using half the weights you set for me."

Damn, Shirayuki was every inch a brilliant person. "We want to give them the slip without alerting them. Let's go and allow them to follow - but we'll cut and run once we move past the exit."

Shirayuki giggled, her lips dangerously close to Obi's ear for his peace of mind. Softly, she said, "You'll pay for this later."

"I can live with that." Obi prayed his luck would hold as he gave her a hug. "Might as well run the tab, huh? We'll act like lovers. Can you manage? You want your work badge, right?"

"You know you're dead, right? And yeah, I can't let that fall into the wrong hands. I could cancel it, but ..."

"Later. We'll discuss it later." Obi caught Shirayuki's hand and laced his fingers with hers. Making sure to take slow and easy strides, he lead her to the women's locker room. Taking care to seem oblivious to the two threats, Obi kept his back to them - as if he was totally unconcerned. He fished out his phone and began browsing.

Holding her street clothes and personal possessions to her chest, Shirayuki came out of the locker room. "I'm ready."

Obi kept hold of his phone, pretending to pay attention to that more than where they were going. "My keys are on me - there's nothing else I need to retrieve. Take my arm and play girlfriend, okay?"

Sensing Yuki wanted to argue but knew it wasn't workable now, Obi gave himself a personal bonus. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and placed his hand over where Shirayuki had attached herself to his upper arm. "You're a nasty girl! Can't believe you like knockin' boots before getting clean!"

They were mere steps away from the exit. The two burly men appeared to be discussing which machine to use next - as they ambled closer and closer to the exit as well.

"Takes one to know one!" Shirayuki felt flustered. She knew her reply didn't quite make sense, but it was the best she could currently manage.

In the gym's foyer, Obi hustled his charge down the corridor leading to the front entrance. "Hurry, they'll most likely split to cover both the front and back. If we can get out of sight sooner, so much the better."

Hands on the door, they both heard heavy footfalls pounding closer.

"Shit!" Obi thrust Shirayuki out first and clicked his car remote. Halfway down the block his vehicle chirped and unlocked. "Run faster!"

Obi looked over his shoulder - the larger of the two thugs was fumbling with some kind of sidearm. Together they pelted towards the car, Obi rolling over the hood to take the driver's side and Shirayuki collapsing into the passenger seat.

Two soft 'thwups' made the car shake. "Get down, more!" Obi jammed the key into the ignition and peeled away from the curb, laying smoke and rubber. Three more 'thwups' - dinging the bumper and breaking a tail light.

"I'm gonna have to assume they know where you live - I can't bring you to your home until they're neutralized." Obi glanced at Shirayuki. She was hugging her clothes like her life depended on it. Reaching over slowly, Obi patted her shoulder. "Lucky you, we're besties until this is solved."

"Did they change the definition of lucky? If not my place, then yours? There's got to be a better choice."

Obi was relieved to hear a bit of Shirayuki's attitude make a return. If she could make jokes it meant that she was rebounding from the horror of the two goons shooting at them. "You haven't seen my place, so don't diss my digs."

"Either I make snarky comments or I start freaking out. Your choice, sweetie-nugget." Shirayuki giggled, high-pitched and going higher.

"Call me darling." Obi glanced at his charge - she was caught off-guard by his comment. Now for some more foolishness. "My love, honey, or even dear would be acceptable. But don't call me late to dinner."

Shirayuki realized she was digging her fingernails into her street clothes, ruining them. She released her grip and let them slide down her legs. Only turning her head, she stared at her bodyguard. "You must be joking."

"Not joking." Obi took the next left and zipped down a small street - more of a lane, actually. "Well, a bit. Feeling better?"

"Yeah...I am." Her nerves were still jangling, but more from imagining herself using those endearments on Obi. More exactly, from imagining an intimate encounter with him...bare limbs twisted together...satiated...heated bodies and a climax scream torn from her throat after an hour of foreplay. Was this her body's reaction after encountering danger?

"I've got a defendable safe house - perfect for this situation." Obi let his tone grow jocular as he tested Shirayuki's resilience. "Unless you'd rather run away with me to some decadent top-flight hotel?" He gunned the engine and took a corner with more zip than needed. "Thanks for the silent vote of hell-to-the-no."

Shirayuki shook her head and slumped in her seat. "Take me wherever you need. I'm not going to be thinking and using logic until my heart makes its way back into my ribcage."

"Deal."

To be continued....

[fairytales-magic]

The gift that is LONG overdue! For the magnanimously patient @kiooart!! You asked for Mitsukiki (i chose romantic instead of platonic cause why not?) as well as a battle scene, so here it is! I hope you enjoy!! :D

It’s also up on AO3!

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Love Is A Battlefield

“A wedding in the midst of battle.” He told them. “Not completely uncommon, but definitely not something often heard of. When all hope seemed lost some soldier’s final wish would be to marry his beloved.”

She was not so easily convinced. “How can a marriage take place during battle? Wouldn’t their ladies be waiting for them back home?”

‘Not if they fought alongside them.’ He explained, poking at the fire with a stick. “According to soldiers, going to battle with their loved one is what made battlefield weddings so uncommon. Some recall seeing both couples captured and, before being dealt the final blow, they would request to be joined together in matrimony.”

Their group was silent, pondering over his words.

“Buuuut of course that’s just an old war soldier’s tale. Who’s to say if it’s true or not….”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kiki gripped the hilt of her sword tightly, pivoting her left foot and swinging her blade to block her opponents strike. One hard shove, a quick slice followed by another, and he was down. A steady fall of rain had began, quickly soaking through her short cloak to her skin. Arms and legs aching, chest heaving, hair undone long ago, Kiki gazed through her bangs to check her surroundings within the courtyard. She caught sight of Zen not far off fighting his own opponent, Obi near his side, fists raised and eyes focused as he took on one after another, vaulting over a half formed wall like he was part monkey. Alongside she found Kai and Shiira—guards of the Poet’s Gate—back to back with swords drawn as they held their own keeping soldiers from overwhelming their prince.

Ex-nobles with a grudge against His Majesty Izana for stripping them of their rank had rallied, whispering false stories to others like them in want of power, encouraging to take part in going to war against the crown. Were it not for the messages sent from Tanbarun with growing concerns over scout reports, things would surely be far worse than they already were. Soldiers on either side fell one by one as they continued to fight, the soil of Clarines stained red with their blood.

It was a very grim sight indeed.

As much as she hoped for a triumphant outcome, Kiki was not so naive as to be certain they would obtain victory. The entire west entrance had been captured by the enemy, forcing Clarines’ soldiers to hold their stance upon the outer east section of Wistal Castle. Numbers on each side were rapidly falling, neither managing to grasp the upper hand for long.

And while she hated to admit it, that fact alone terrified her. Taking up arms once more Kiki fought through the fatigue that tugged at her every limb, working her way back to Zen. The thought of her life ending now appealed to her about as much as it did the next person. She had so much more she wished to do, to protect, to be with.

To think she may no longer have that chance…

A sudden idea came to mind. Something Obi had once mentioned before that at the time sounded utterly ridiculous, but right now might serve as her only chance. Quickly scanning the area once more Kiki found him fighting not half a length from her, cutting down his nearest opponent, wiping the precipitation from his brow. Apparently unaware of the foe approaching from behind she rushed to guard Mitsuhide’s back, striking down the soldier with ease before turning to face him.

“Mitsuhide,” Kiki grasped her partner in a firm forearm grip, “will you marry me?”     

“What?!?” Zen and Obi yelled incredulously, both stumbling fending off opponents from surprise. Of all the things for her to talk of in the heat of battle, that was…not what they expected. Perhaps the fatigue was starting to get to her…

Mitsuhide’s face was the only thing which topped the others shock. He couldn’t have looked more dumbfounded by her words then if she’d just announced King Izana had been turned into a toad.

“I’m really not sure now’s the best time!” was all he could think to reply before the next soldier came at him, metal clashing upon metal.

Never, in the entire kingdom of Clarines, would Mitsuhide have dreamt Kiki of all people would be bringing the topic of marriage up in the middle of battle. And in regards to him no less!

“Now may be our only time.” Raising her sword, Kiki fought vigorously beside Mitsuhide until they had a moments pause, then turned to face him once more. “I love you.”  

A phase said so simply, yet with such affection he beheld in her eyes. Such love.

“I’ve made my choice. What’s yours?”

Mitsuhide gazed hard into his partners deep violet eyes. Her intense stare never wavered. She was dead serious. He felt his heart racing for a whole new reason, and it wasn’t due to adrenaline.

“Zen!” Mitsuhide called, the two aids to the second Prince squinted through the rain towards where he stood atop a short wall fighting. “Marry us!”

“I’m a little busy at the moment!” Zen yelled in exasperation, plunging his sword through the man’s center and withdrawing it quickly as another immediately came after.  

“Zen! Now!”

The only command that had ever been made by either of them. And done in perfect unison no less. Zen let out a growl of frustration. “Fine!” Bloodied sword in hand the second prince began.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of our Lord to join these two in holy matrimony!”

“Well this is happening. I’ll take this moment to reserve the right as ‘Best Man’ then.” Obi inserted himself into the mix, striking down three on-coming men with his shuriken.  

Not missing a beat whilst fighting separate opponents, Mitsuhide and Kiki reached out to clasp together their hands not holding a weapon.

Mitsuhide began first. “Kiki Serian, will you take me to be to be your husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health?” A parry, strike, then looked back at her. “To protect our Prince and stay by my side, as not just my partner but also my wife, for long as we both shall live?”

Spinning her under his arm, the two looked as though to be half dancing while fighting. A spin, trade places, slash, stab, duck and block. Their movements were fluid, perfectly timed, as though their minds were one. And at no point did they break hold of each other.

Kiki didn’t miss a beat. “I do.”

“Great!” Mitsuhide couldn’t help but grin, the small smile she sent making his heart take off in flight.

Kiki wiped her wet bangs away from clouding her vision. “And will you, Mitsuhide Louen, take me to be to be your wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health?” Blocking an oncoming sword with her own, Mitsuhide took the moment to thrust his blade into the man’s center. “Health being the less likely.”

Mitsuhide then wrapped his arm round her waist. Secure in his embrace, Kiki lifted both feet off the ground and with a sharp kick to the chest, sent the enemy hurling backwards.

“To protect our Prince and stay by my side, as not just my partner but also my husband, for long as we both shall live?”

His voice was deep, eyes steady with his answer. “I do.”

“Great.” Kiki smiled at him amiss the war-torn setting.

It was funny. They were to be married in the middle of battle, and yet Mitsuhide felt oddly comfortable with it all. Was he insane? Mayhaps so, but right there and then he felt just as she did. If they were to die then it would be joined as man and wife. Marrying his closest friend and confident. Marrying her greatest support and partner. It was oddly fitting in a way.

Their vows now complete His Highness Zen continued. “You have pledged yourselves to one another. May you never forge–i’m trying to conduct a ceremony here you swine!” Zen barked as a soldier made a swipe for his ankles, jumping to avoid the hit. A swift kick to the face and he was down.

“–the promises made this day.” Zen completed. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss—“

Zen paused to engage two oncoming men. Mitsuhide stepped wide and lunged at his attacker. Kiki moved a moment after and balanced on her partners bent knee with her own, hand on shoulder, body horizontally stretched to stab her opponent. Feeling Mitsuhide’s arm catch round her waist, Kiki turned to take his collar in her hands, both leaning in towards one another.

Right as she felt his breath brush across her lips yet another enemy came at them, driving the newlyweds to part.

“You may kiss—“ His Highness tried again but his attention was once more forced to focus elsewhere. Sensing movement behind her Kiki quickly struck down her opponent, continuing to turn sharply and swing her sword downward, only to clash against Mitsuhide’s as he turned the exact same moment. The two froze, both breathing heavily and staring at one another, finally a small gap in the endless fighting.  

“Just kiss!” Zen declared exasperatedly.

That was all the encouragement they needed. Taking his sword arm by the wrist Kiki pulled her partner close, his arms winding round her waist and back. They leaned in as one, lips parting in anticipation. Kiki let her eyes slide shut just as they were to make contact…

“Will you stop that! This has gone far enough!!”

Sharp words cut through the warzone’s illusion, bring four companions sitting round a crackling fire into reality.

A strikingly red-faced Mitsuhide glared daggers at Obi, who was taking great pleasure in his friend’s flustered composure.

“What do you mean Mister? It was just about to get good.” Obi grinned mischievously, not at all disheartened at his story being cut short.

“It’s pure nonsense and you know it!” Pointing his stick at the raven-haired attendant, the second prince’s advisor looked to be contemplating on whether or not stabbing him was worth the risk. Friendship be damned.

“I’d have to agree. Either one of us distracting Zen in the middle of battle for a wedding is just ridiculous.”

“That was your problem Kiki?!?”

Zen for his part gave an indifferent shrug, fixing up his bed for a night under the stars. “While i have no problem with a wedding should you choose to, i’d appreciate it being done properly and preferably not when we’re all in danger of dying.”

“We’re not–i’ve never even thoug—i jus–” Mitsuhide let out groan of defeat.

“Ya know Mister, they say the harder one tries to deny it the more true it actually is.”

“Obi!”

The second prince couldn’t help but lightly laugh, setting in for the night.  “Ok ok that’s enough storytelling for one night. Get some rest, all of you. We ride for Wistal castle at first light.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later the soft snap of a twig had Mitsuhide opening his eyes. Not that he had been asleep. No matter how long he tossed and turned, sleep was an elusive being. Rolling over to find his partner’s bed empty, Mitsuhide caught sight of her silhouette a ways off leaning against a tree, her attention on the glittering sky.

“Can’t sleep?” Mitsuhide joined her side, also gazing upward.

“Not yet.” “Mmm. Thinking about what Obi said earlier?”

The corners of Kiki’s mouth tugged up ever so slightly. “Not quite. But i’m guessing that’s all you’ve thought about.”

“I’ve been found out.” Mitsuhide was only mildly surprised she’d guessed what was on his mind. She always seems to gage what i’m thinking. Can even interpret emotions i have trouble putting to words. Perhaps she’s secretly telepathic.

“I’m no mind reader.”

His head whipped back to stare at Kiki. Wait what?! Now she’s inside my head??

Kiki turned to face her partner, her eyes boring into his own, that ghost of a smile still on her lips. “You’re just too easy to read Mitsuhide. Like an open book.”

Oh.

“Yeeeeeah, so i’ve been told.” He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, catching the shine of a shooting star as it raced across the black sky before disappearing as quickly as it came. Mitsuhide felt a strange sense of calmness in the familiar diamonds twinkling mysteriously. For some reason it reminded him of the mischievous glint in a certain golden-eyed friend. Thinking back on his earlier shenanigans round the fire, Mitsuhide couldn’t help letting out a chuckle, shaking his head fondly. “I just can’t help it. I almost can’t believe the crazy stories Obi manages to spin sometimes. Almost.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think he was that far off on some parts.” Kiki made a show of brushing off her clothes, her monotone voice cool and composed as always.

Mitsuhide tilted his head in curiosity, his eyes still fixated heavenward. “Really?” 

She gave a nod, turning her back towards him once more. “Mmm. I rather liked the idea of us getting married.”  

With that Kiki walked off, leaving a crimson-faced Mitsuhide stammering after her retreating form.   

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Obi you sneaky storyteller you. :P (hope that wasn’t too sudden of an end!) Please note this was completely, totally, and utterly inspired by Will and Elizabeth’s scene in Pirates of the Caribbean 3, with my own twist at the end.

But can you imagine if that HAD happened? After they’d won, the full extent of what just happened would finally hit Mitsuhide. Sort of a “Oh my gosh i married Kiki.” We’ve seen how flustered he got just sharing the same room as Kiki, can you imagine the scene with him sharing the same bed? ;D

Thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed!!

[zacekova]

Everything’s Fine (Really) FINAL CHAPTER

We are finally here, y’all. At the end. It only took a year and a half. Cue my deep sigh of relief. 

First 

Shirayuki was staring with vacant eyes at her computer, swearing that any second she would drag herself away from mulling over memories of looming heat and soft lips and start working. But it had been forty-two-and-a-half minutes and she had yet to follow through; things were looking grim for her to-do list.

The ringing of her work phone succeeded, at least, in drawing her attention away from the blank document on her screen. Shirayuki reached over and plucked the headset from her desk. “Hello?”

The answering voice was familiar but unexpected; he never used the phone system when he needed something from her, always made the trek from his office to the lab even for the smallest of things. I like to visit. And usually I need the break. He sounded calm, but with an undercurrent of excitement. “Hey, it’s Zen.”

“Hey,” Shirayuki said. “Do you need something?”

“Yeah. I just got a call from Obi, he says he’s got the evidence we need to solve the case and he’s bringing it in. Could you meet me in conference room four?”

Shirayuki hummed an agreement. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Did Obi say how he got the information?” she asked, suspicion churning in her gut. It was only last night that he’d shown up at her door, injured and bleeding.

“No, but I’m sure he’ll explain it all,” Zen said. “I don’t want a huge crowd for this, so don’t tell anyone else he’s coming yet. We’ll catch them all up on the details later.”

Shirayuki hummed again, gathering up the few documents she thought Zen might want to reference while they went over the evidence. “Sure thing.” She hung up the phone and shut down her computer, stopping on her way out of the lab to let Yuzuri and Ryuu know she was going to talk to Zen.

Zen, Mitsuhide, and Kiki were in the conference room already, Zen at the head of the table with Kiki to his right while Mitsuhide paced up and down the length of the room, drumming his fingers on his folded arms. At first glance, Kiki was her usual stoic self but she kept stealing glimpses at the clock up on the wall and clicking the pen she had poised over her notebook. Zen, in contrast, looked completely relaxed, slouched in his seat with his head tipped toward the ceiling and a serene smile on his face. It seemed he had faith in the validity of Obi’s claim and was now just relieved that the hardest part of this case was over. All that was left was the cleanup.

Shirayuki went to take the empty seat next to Kiki, pulling herself up to the edge of the table just as the door swung open and Obi came in. His cheeks were flushed, eyes alight with excitement and nervousness in equal portions and the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders reminded Shirayuki of the night before, of a single, quick kiss with the force of a thousand. Her face heated, feeling the ghosts of strong fingers on her hip and the warmth of soft lips, and her breath stuttered in her chest. She could stay calm through this. She could.

Zen rose from his chair, meeting Obi half-way and smiling. “I hear you have something for me.”

Obi nodded, mouth twisted in a grimace even while his eyes shined with excitement. “It’s Umihebi, my boss. I was called in last night to stand guard outside of one of her meetings. I didn’t know who else was there, didn’t recognize anyone who came in, but I had a feeling this was more important than the usual so I turned on the listening device you gave me.” Obi reached into his pocket and pulled something out, holding it out to Zen. “She didn’t think she had anything to hide so she wasn’t exactly subtle. I already checked the recording - it’s clear as crystal, there’s no way she’s getting away free.”

Zen held out his hand and Obi dropped a thumb drive into his palm. Zen’s fingers curled around it and he brought his hand up to tap his fist against his chin. “Thank you, Obi.”

Obi grinned, shrugging. “Just make good use of it, Master.”

Zen’s answering grin was all teeth. “Oh we will. I expect our role in this thing to be wrapped up within the week, aside from the court hearing.” He turned and handed the drive over to Mitsuhide. “Take this to Higata and let Shidan know that we should have our evidence in the next couple of hours. I’m sure he’ll want to inform the Captain right away and get started on drawing up all the warrants we’re going to need.”

Mitsuhide’s brow quirked. “You know full well that they can’t write any warrants until the evidence has actually been examined.”

Shirayuki covered her mouth to muffle her snickering, though Kiki made no attempt to hide her smirk.

Zen batted him away with mock-irritation. “Yeah, yeah, just get going.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Mitsuhide said, grinning, and trotted off toward the lab.

There was a brief moment of silence before Obi chuckled from where he was standing off to the side. He seemed nervous, suddenly avoiding everyone’s gaze and clutching his shoulder like he always did when he was uncomfortable. “Well, I guess that’s my cue,” he said. When no one commented right away, likely confused as to what he meant, he turned to leave.

“You know,” Zen called out, trailing off.

Obi looked over his shoulder.

“You did good on this Obi. Really good.” He paused and when Obi’s only response was to turn a little more and shrug, Zen smiled. “Would you like to do this kind of thing permanently?”

Obi shrugged again and grinned. “It certainly was fun, Master, but I don’t think there will be many mafia lords left in the city to take down.”

Zen shrugged. “That’s true, but that’s not really what I meant. Undercover investigators don’t get the best pay in the world but it’s probably not any worse than what you’re making now.”

Shirayuki’s eyes widened and she turned to take in Obi’s expression.

He was frowning, brows knit. “You can’t blame me for you career choices, Master.”

Zen laughed, rocking his weight onto one leg and bracing a hand on his hip. “I’m offering you a job, Obi.”

Obi gaped, eyes wide. “Why?”

Zen’s eyes were sparkling, giddy amusement radiating from him in happy waves. “Like I said, you did good on this. And I imagine it was pretty risky getting this,” he said, waving the thumb drive around, “without getting caught, especially considering the bandages I can see peeking out of your shirt.”

Obi looked away, one of his hands making an aborted move toward a particularly nasty cut Shirayuki knew wrapped around his shoulder, and shook his head. “It’s fine, Master, nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

Shirayuki cringed, sickened at the very idea of it, but didn’t comment. If Obi didn’t want anyone else to know the details of exactly what he had endured to get the information then she wasn’t going to out him. It wasn’t her story to tell.

Zen was shaking his head, smiling. “Regardless, this whole assignment was dangerous to you and you were under no obligation to risk your own safety like you did last night. But you did and that matters to me.” Zen shrugged. “You’ve earned my trust.”

Obi was staring, eyes wide in surprise, but Zen just barrelled on, either oblivious or too excited to stop once he’d started.

“I’d really like you to be on the team permanently, even if it’s only as an informant. The Captain agreed that you’ve done enough to warrant a position if you want it. And after today, I’m sure he’ll even be willing to negotiate on your pay, if income is going to be an issue.”

Shirayuki looked over at Kiki, surprised to find her smiling; she must have already known Zen would offer him a job. She turned back to see Obi still staring at Zen in surprise, only just beginning to comprehend exactly what he was being offered, and a tentative smile pushed at his cheeks.

“Are you sure it’s okay to give me a job like it’s nothing?” he asked, eyes twinkling with amusement but the lines of his face were still uncertain, cautious.

Zen scoffed. “You act like Captain Lugis was easy to convince.” His expression turned serious. “I put in the effort because Shirayuki trusts you and I trust Shirayuki. I happen to think I’m a pretty good judge of character and I know everyone on my team is too. I’m choosing to believe in that. To believe in you.”

They both fell silent, eyes boring into each other, searching.

Obi broke the silence. “Master, if you keep looking at me like that I’ll think you have ulterior motives.”

Zen sputtered and Kiki muffled a laugh behind her hand. He turned his face away, cheeks red, but continued on. “If you do decide to take up the offer, stop by my office and we’ll hammer out the details, yeah?”

Obi nodded mutely staring after Zen as he left the room.

Kiki stood up, giving Shirayuki’s shoulder a friendly nudge and Obi a perfunctory nod as she left too, shutting the door with a soft click and a pointed look.

Damn. Were they really that obvious?

Obi was standing frozen in place, lost in his head, but at the sound of the door closing he seemed to shake himself and dropped into the nearest chair with a weary huff, resting his forehead to the table. “I can’t handle this.”

Shirayuki chuckled. “Zen can be a bit overwhelming at first. You’ll get used to how he sweeps everyone along with him eventually.”

Obi sighed, rolling his head so his cheek rested against the veneer. One of his dangling hands came up to scratch his nose and he mumbled something that sound like “he’d be stealing my heart, too, if it hadn’t been already.”

Shirayuki flushed. “...What did you say?”

Obi whipped his head up, heat flooding his face and hands braced against the armrests of his chair. “Uhh. You heard that?”

Shirayuki nodded, tongue heavy in her mouth and sluggish to find words.

Obi’s chuckle was strained, awkward, and he palmed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. “How about you just… forget I said that. I tend to... exaggerate. And I think that was a bit premature, anway.” When Shirayuki nodded again, he breathed out a sigh of relief, offering her a shy smile. “I did say I wanted to talk to you about all of this again, though, didn’t I?”

“‘All of this?’” Shirayuki asked, certain by now that she wasn’t misreading things but still needing to hear it out loud.

Obi nodded. “This thing between us,” he said. “And what we want to do about it.” He dropped his hands into his lap, the muscles in his biceps flexing like he was clenching his fists.

The sudden realization that Obi was just as nervous about all of this as she was despite how confident he always came across, made Shirayuki huff out a laugh, the strings of tension inside her snapping in two. “I like you,” she blurted. “I really like you, Obi.”

His eyes widened, shock written all over his face for a beat, two beats, and then his features softened, a warm, happy smile taking over. “Yeah, I— Me too, Miss. I’d like this to be something more official.”

Shirayuki’s heart was pounding as she crept a hand across the table to brush over Obi’s where he’d set them down again, fingertips resting on the rough skin of his knuckles. “Official?”

“I want to date you,” he said, a touch of his earlier nervousness creeping back into the lines around his mouth and eyes. “I want you to be my- my girlfriend.”

And somehow, despite him not having said so, Shirayuki had the thought that what he was asking for was not something he had probably ever had before. He had experience, had years of flirting and sex and dating, but what he was asking for now was a relationship. Had he ever had something like that before?

Shirayuki pushed back her seat, stalking around the table under Obi’s wide eyes and bent over to push her lips against his, waiting patiently for him to get with the program and kiss her back.

He did, finally, and they traded soft, gentle kisses, Shirayuki’s hands braced on Obi’s chair and one of his hands coming up to curl a finger under her chin.

Shirayuki pulled away after a moment when both of them were breathing just a touch faster and their cheeks warm. “I’d like that,” she said. “I’d like that very much.”

Obi beamed, opening his mouth to reply when the door to the conference room flew up and Zen walked in.

“Shirayuki, I wanted to ask you about-” he stopped, eyes alighting on their position and widening. “Uhh.”

Obi shoved himself away so hard the wheeled chair carried him all the way to the wall, knocking against it with a thud that almost knocked him out of his seat, and Shirayuki bolted upright, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Zen’s gaze flicked between the two of them, considering, though his expression stayed neutral. “Um. I just wanted to remind you to finish that report you owe me.”

Shirayuki nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get it to you before the end of the day.”

Zen nodded back, gaze flicking between them again and expression slowly morphing into a grin, but he kept his mouth shut and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Obi slithered to the floor, boneless and weary, and groaned. “He’s going to tease us about this forever.”

Shirayuki’s heart warmed at that, the idea of forever spilling from Obi’s lips a tantalizing prospect no matter how much it was said in jest. “You’d have to stick around forever for that,” she said.

Obi grinned up at her, the weight of a heartfelt, eager promise in his eyes. “Oh, I plan to, Shirayuki. You’re not getting rid of me now.”

That was fine. That was very fine, indeed.

[thelionshoarde]

sunblock

What should have been a four hour drive had quickly turned to six thanks to Mitsuhide’s travel itinerary – it would probably have taken them all day if Zen and Kiki hadn’t pinned Mitsuhide to the wall outside of Zoinks! The Whackiest Tackiest Stuff! Museum while Obi stole the keys from his pocket and strapped himself into the driver’s seat.

“You’re not the only one who can drive manual,” Obi glowered out the cracked window as Mitsuhide tried, futilely, to open the locked door. “If we have to stop at one more kitschy landmark I will drive us into the ocean, so help me.”

Mitsuhide said, forlorn, “But it’s my jeep.”

Zen patted him on the back, entirely cheerful. “You gave up your right to be an adult after we spent half an hour at the petting zoo.”

“You cannot hold baby animals against me,” Mitsuhide grumbled, crossing his arms and glowering back at Obi. “They are so tiny. How are they so tiny?!”

“They were alligators, Mitsuhide. All that petting zoo had was baby alligators.”

“All right,” Obi piped in through the half-inch of open window, “I did like the baby alligators, I’ll give you that. Tiny, sharp tooted babies ready to devour you, I was a fan.”

The front door tinkled as Kiki emerged from the cool interior of the building, and threw a shirt at Mitsuhide’s head. It fluttered out of its neat folds as it slid down his face, and Mitsuhide caught it by the shoulders, holding it out to read: Zoinks! I’m so whacky and tacky!

“Thanks,” he said, ever so dryly.

Kiki grinned, sliding her shades back onto the bridge of her nose. “Any time. Also, I call shotgun.”

“Damn it,” Zen hissed at the same time Mitsuhide yelped, “But it’s my jeep!!”

By the time they made it to the beach house it was late afternoon, the sun still bright overhead. “Not quite the full day I was hoping for,” Zen observed, arms hooked over the open door and the hood of Mitsuhide’s ancient jeep, to peer down the sandy path between clumps of stubborn grass to the beach just beyond. He grinned. “But I’ll take it. Man, this was a good location.”

“Not bad at all,” Obi whistled in agreement, swinging Mitsuhide’s keys around his finger.

The door to the beach house opened, and Ryuu stood framed in the cool shadows of the arched entrance way. He looked reedy and awkward standing there in nothing but baggy, blue-and-yellow swim trunks. And a lot of sunblock smeared across his nose. He squinted into the light at them.

“Good, you’ve arrived. Now you can deal with her.”

And then Ryuu was off, flip-flops slapping against his heels as he bolted past the four of them and down the path to the beach as quickly as his coltish legs would carry him.

“The hell was that about?” Obi asked.

Shirayuki answered, stumbling out the open door and waving a foam visor – like the kind you could buy cheap from little novelty stores – and a bottle of sunblock in her other hand. “Ryuu!” she yelled, “I wasn’t finished. And you forgot your hat!”

“Oh,” said Zen.

“Oh, my,” breathed Obi.

Mitsuhide said, “He really should wear the visor, at least.”

Kiki slammed the back of the jeep shut, brandishing their brightly colored umbrella at the lot of them. “Get out of my way unless you want to become collateral damage. Shirayuki, do me first. I want in that water.”

“Damn it,” said Zen, “why are you so good at that?!”

Obi breathed out, “Oh, oh, please do me, too, babe. Yes, my body is ready for protection against those pesky UV rays. I surrender to your tender mercies!”

“Nope,” Zen said, jumping down from the jeep and looping an arm around Obi’s neck. “You can settle for my tender mercies instead.”

“Babe,” Obi leered, sunglasses slipping down his nose so that Zen saw the clear, golden shade of his eyes peeking impishly up through his lashes, “I can work with that too, trust me.”

Propping the umbrella on the stucco wall outside the entrance, Kiki followed Shirayuki inside, already shimmying out of the t-shirt she’d been wearing. Mitsuhide tripped on flat ground, cursing, as Kiki’s toned, mostly bared back disappeared. “Shit,” he grunted, catching himself against the cooler full of beer and gatorade. Then, “Oh, we need ice, still.”

“Are you – are you writing something on my back?!”

“Shh,” Zen hissed, sounding focused. “Do you want sunblock or don’t you?”

By the time they were all ready for the water Kihal had arrived, bike spitting sand as she skidded to a stop. She tipped her visor back and grinned at them all, shouting, “There’d better be cold beer in that cooler!”

“I got ice!” Mitsuhide promised, waving.

“Excellent,” she crowed, taking off her helmet and smoothing out her hair. She slung a long, tanned leg over her bike, boots digging into the dirt as she trudged toward them. “Gimme one, that was a long ass drive.”

“Jesus,” Zen wheezed, half-hiding behind Mitsuhide.

“Mm,” came Kiki’s hum of amused agreement.

Leather shorts really should not exist if they were going to be that distracting. Zen covered his face with his hands as Obi snickered, patting his shoulder.

“Want me to wait for you?” Shirayuki asked, overly full beach bag clutched in her arms and six plastic buckets full of miniature shovels and rakes looped onto her forearms.  “Suzu and Yuzuri are still going to be a couple of hours.”

“Nah,” Kihal said, unzipping her leather jacket and shimmying out of it. She accepted a beer from Mitsuhide, laying it against the nape of her neck. “I think I want a nap. You guys go have fun, I’ll catch up.”

“Are you sure?” Shirayuki asked. “I don’t mind waiting, I could –”

Kihal looked pointedly at Obi. Obi grinned.

“Babe, no one believes you for a moment,” he said, swooping down from behind her and picking her up, arms wrapped tight around Shirayuki’s bare thighs. She squealed, buckets flying, and then Obi was off, down the steps and the path, toward the beach.

“Beach,” Kiki said, insistently, picking up one end of the cooler and staring at Mitsuhide.

Mitsuhide blinked, picked up his end, and agreed, “Yes, beach. Shall we? I – oh, hey, whoa!”

“He’s gonna break his neck,” Kihal snorted, popping the tab on her beer as she and Zen watched Kiki drag him along at a fast clip.

Zen grinned. “She’d catch him if he fell. Of course, then he might pass out from – hnn,” he cut off, having glanced toward Kihal and finding himself distracted by the long line of her throat as she guzzled down her beer.

“Ahh,” she sighed, licking beer off her lips with a smirk. “Much better.”

“Uhm,” Zen said, blinking.

“Care to join me for a…nap, Zen?”

“Yes,” he said, following her inside and shutting the door behind them.

Later, as evening set in, everyone milled about in the living room, taking turns with the single shower. Obi came out in just a towel slung low around his hips and a surprised expression on his face to see them all sprawled on the couch, staring at him.

“Oh, goodness,” he drawled, “why, if I had known you all were waiting for a show I would have left the towel!”

“Please don’t,” Mitsuhide said, sounding pained.

Zen made a considering noise. “It’s not a bad view, really.” When Shirayuki stared at him, wide eyed and red as her hair, he blushed, hurrying to add, “I mean – he doesn’t bother with a towel in our dorm! He just – it’s not like I have a choice, all right!”

“Hot,” Kihal decided, eyes squinting as she no doubt imagined it. “I’m down.”

“Mitsuhide, cover your ears,” Kiki said.

“I can’t,” he mourned, hands over Ryuu’s ears where the younger boy was sitting on the floor, slumped back against the couch near him. Obi winked, and turned to go into the room claimed by him, Zen, and Ryuu upon arrival.

Half the couch gasped in unison.

Zen’s grin took up his entire face. There was no hope in restraining it.

“What?” Obi asked, pausing just at the threshold of the room. He glanced over his shoulder at them, patting at his ass with the hand not holding the towel up. “No, everything covered. What, what? What’s wrong?”

“Your – your back,” Shirayuki whispered, her face now an alarming shade.

“Uh, yeah,” Obi said, brows arching up in confusion. He turned back around to face them. “What about it? Did I get some new scars or something when I wasn’t paying attention? Please tell me if it’s like, in the shape of a dick because that could be embarrassing and more permanent than a sharpie.”

“No,” Shirayuki whispered even more quietly, sounding strangled. “Uhm!”

“It says –”

Kiki slapped her hand over Ryuu’s mouth. “Don’t ruin it, kid,” she murmured, smirking.

“Zen,” Obi said, voice rumbling low as his eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

Zen shrugged, still grinning. “Nothing really. Just…being helpful?”

Kihal held out her hand for a high-five, which Zen gleefully returned. The sound of it caused Shirayuki to jump, startled. She sucked in a breath and lunged for her beach bag where it had spilled half its contents by the coffee table at their feet.

She came back up with a big bottle of aloe clasped desperately in her hands and determination written across her face. “You’re sunburned,” she said, still a little breathless. “Here, let me – uhm, I can – just –”

“Uhm, sure,” Obi agreed, allowing himself to be herded into the room, eyes wide. “You can – uh, totally put – that – on me?”

The door slammed shut behind them.

When Yuzuri burst into the house, hollering, “We have arrived! The fun may now begin!” most of the group was half-collapsed, still laughing. Pursing her lips, Yuzuri put both hands onto her hips and said: ���Okay, what did we miss? What happened? Wait – where are Shirayuki and Obi?”

Ryuu was the only one seemingly unaffected. He looked up at Yuzuri and Suzu with a forlorn expression on his serious face, and explained: “Zen wrote with sunblock on Obi’s back.”

“Oh?” asked Suzu, tucking his chin over Yuzuri’s shoulder. “What’s it say?”

“Shirayuki,” Ryuu intoned, “kiss me, already.”

Yuzuri immediately began cackling. Suzu jumped back, arms in the air as he watched his girlfriend slowly collapse to the ground, still cackling with glee. “Best springbreak,” she gasped, “ever!! Well done, Zen!”

“Thank you,” Zen grinned, looking smug.

A thud came from behind a closed door, followed by another, like someone getting pushed up against a wall, and –

“Maybe we should go see about that bonfire,” Mitsuhide said hurriedly, ushering everyone off the couch and out the house. Just in time, too. Mitsuhide winced as he shut the front door, the thin walls of the beach house doing very little to disguise the low, drawn out sound of Obi’s moan. He turned, started down the steps to where Kiki was waiting for him, beautiful with the setting sun lighting her up.

He paused with a foot in the air, then turned, bounding back up the steps to open the door and stick his head back through. “Don’t forget to use protection,” he hollered, as loudly as he could, and grinned when he heard what sounded like a body falling off the bed. The muffled oath let him know it was Obi.

“You’re still bitter about him driving the jeep, aren’t you?” Kiki asked, reaching for his hand.

“Only a little,“ Mitsuhide admitted, grinning as he curled his fingers in with hers, heart jumping into his throat. “Race you to the water?”

Kiki was running before he’d even finished the sentence, but Mitsuhide was only a step behind, her grip on him sure and strong and effortless.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Pas de Deux, Chapter 7

Chorus practice lets out early that morning.

The hallway is abuzz, the anxious voices of her fellow dancers reaching new heights, bodies thrumming with excitement as they push slowly through the narrow hallway. The air is hot and stifling, begging for someone to open a window if only to release some of this gathered anticipation that grates on her already frayed nerves.

It’s as if the entire company is here.

It probably is.

“Could you sleep last night?” Yuzuri asks close to her ear.

Shirayuki shakes her head. “No.”

“When do you think they’ll post it?” she presses, obviously more capable of handling a sleepless night than she.

“Kiki said that she heard it will be up sometime before lunch.”

Yuzuri huffs. “If they know, I wish they would hurry up and just—”

A shriek slices through the chatter and Shirayuki’s head snaps towards it. She doesn’t have a chance to guess at its cause because the crowd of dancers is moving, pulling her from Yuzuri and pushing her forward and-

And there it is. A clean white piece of paper tacked up on Izana’s office door as it swings shut. Only about half of the company stands between her and their decision.

Shirayuki stands on her tip toes, squinting, and someone shifts into her vision, blocking her. Her lips thin, annoyed (why do tall people always stand in front of her?), and she tries to maneuver herself into a better place. The crowd is getting louder, cheers and cries becoming more pronounced and her heart beats stomps a rhythm in her chest. She needs to see it, she needs to know—

A hand bands around her bicep and Kiki is at her side, elbowing a path through the crowd, dragging her forward until they’re there; until the small clean print of a precise hand comes into view and she can clearly see it.

And then she can’t.

She closes her eyes, tries to feel her body, and then opens them once more. Her vision swims and she tries to pull air into her lungs even though she’s not sure she needs to breathe anymore.

Her bones dissolve into nothing and she turns, looking around numbly, stopping and looking back up at the paper once more before turning against the press of the tide, the waves of dancers jockeying for their own view. Her eyes catch with Zens and he smiles, waving at her, but her eyes slide past him, looking more, trying to find a break in this sea of fair hair and fairer complexions.

When her eyes catch him, it’s just the top that is visible over the waves of spun gold, but her body reacts on its own, pulling itself towards him as if by a gossamer thread. The crowd doesn’t move for her but somehow she moves through it, shouldering her way through until she breaks out and there is more empty space between them than not.

A little flock of children are circling his knees – his Level 1 class must have just let out – and he is smiling, speaking to one of their mothers, and something in her chest breaks out, breaks free, moves forward to chase him down.

“Obi.” It comes out choked, barely there. Even she can’t hear it. She moves closer. “Obi.” Hardly no better than the first. “Obi!”

He hears her, she sees it in the way his patient smile falters, in the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks, and then he turns, stilted, the question in his eyes far more than anything he could ever say.

Her lips tremble. Her face feels wet.

But this time, she reaches out to him.

~ ~ ~

The bar is loud, the roar of voices out of place in the mid-morning light seeping through the narrow windows. Some sort of happy tune blares out of the jukebox and displace the aging gentlemen who appear as permanent to the space as the fixtures on the wall, driving them towards the darkened corners of the pub, their forms bent over their newspapers and brandy.

A cheer goes up, a call for another round.

Shirayuki laughs, watching Obi and Suzu down their pints in one go, money sitting on the bar between them. Obi slams his glass down just a second before Suzu and Suzu yells something indistinguishable, grabbing Obi in the crook of his arm and ruffling his hair with his knuckles.

Obi pries the other man off, his grin spread wide and he laughs, a loud sound that comes straight from his chest. Shirayuki’s grin falters, watching him like that, and turns her gaze down to her own drink, cheeks on fire and brain still dumb with the knowledge.

They did it.

Even now it doesn’t seem real.

Nikiya. Her hands wrap tight around her drink, pulling it close to her chest as if she could hold the moment she saw that name scrawled next to hers close to her heart forever.

Grandma, grandpa... are you watching?

Something lands heavily in the stool next to her and she jumps, startled, as the fairest head of hair in the company buries itself on folded arms with a groan.

Oh. Oh my. She didn’t even think to look. If he didn’t make Solar, what could he have possibly been cast—

“The Brahman!” Zen cries, his voice a muffled wail. “Izana made me the Brahman!”

Shirayuki grimaces, catching the bartenders gaze and making a quick motion with her hand, pointing at the lump next to her. He replies with a wink.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” she soothes, trying to school her face towards consolatory. “It’s good to have some diversity in your portfolio.”

Zen slowly lifts his head and gives her a flat look. “You sound like him.”

Her grin feels more awkward.

“That guy is such a creep!” Zen moans, planting his face back in his arms.

Shirayuki stifles a laugh. That much is true.

A pint of beer lands on the bar and Zen looks up, blinking. He’s face adorably confused, pulled down in a perfect pout, before morphing into sheepish grin and holding his glass up towards her in apology. “I hope the creepiness doesn’t color your opinion of me.”

“Zen,” she grins, clinking her cup to his. “Nothing could color my opinion of you.”

He smiles and they both drink. Shirayuki does her best not to wince at the flavor.

When she looks back at Zen, his expression has melted into a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you met your goal. I’m just,” he sighs, running a frustrated hand through his messy hair, “disappointed with myself.”

She smiles. Across the room, there’s a crash, followed by a roar of laughter.

Zen and Shirayuki stand, peering through the crowd as Kai and Shiira are peeled off the floor, wobbling unsteadily on their feet.

“What happened?” Zen demands.

Down the bar, Kiki turns towards him, her grin as wide as Shirayuki has ever seen. “They were trying to show off,” she calls. “Apparently, it is hard to do that Russian dance scene after a few drinks.”

Obi guffaws, leaning back. “You two obviously haven’t gone deep enough in your role,” he teases. “You can’t understand the Trepak until you can do it only when you’re drunk.”

The laughter is righteous. Kai catches himself against the table, his grin broad. “Then why don’t you show us how it is done, oh great one?” he challenges.

Obi hides his mouth behind his drink as cheers go up, goading him on, and shakes his head. “I haven’t had enough to drink yet!” he protests.

Shirayuki makes a disappointed sound. “That’s a shame,” she says, loud enough to carry. Obi turns towards her, his grin faltering at the edges. “I would really like to see.”

The bar goes quiet as Obi stares at her, blinking once, then twice. He’s so still that she’s not sure he’s even breathing, frozen as he is in time, and she shifts a little in her seat, heat creeping back into her cheeks. Then, stillness becomes motion, and he tilts the rest of his drink back, emptying his glass in one go. He gestures to Kai and Shiira. “Move that table back.”

~ ~ ~

There’s an art to dances like these that she never quiet conquered. The energy is electric, but it comes from the audience just as much as the performer; they feed off of one another, the clap of dozens of hands setting the pace and the performer both acting as the puppet and the marionette. Without them, he is but lifeless wood; but without him, they wouldn’t exist.

Obi is a master of striking that balance.

Eyes draw towards him, expectant and excited and he teases, his weight balanced on his heels, his arms spread in wide, and then he pulls them deeper, turning in tight fast circles, spinning backwards, ignorant to gravity and balanced precariously on just the edge of his boots.

When he leaps high, hands slapping his feet, the company cheers, the noise only becoming louder when he lands in a deep squat, legs shooting out lightning quick and Shirayuki knows at some level that Yuzuri has found her and is at her side, jostling her with a sly grin, but her eyes are fastened to the control of his core, the bulge of his thighs as he balances on nothing, the glean of sweat speckling his hairline and sheening the line of his throat.

Her mouth feels dry.

She takes another drink.

~ ~ ~

It’s over far too soon and Shirayuki is pulled out of her daze by a gentle tap on her shoulder. She turns from the cheering, the playful manhandling of the company’s new primo as the crowd descends on him, and looks up and up and up until she meets Mitsuhide’s patient gaze.

“Izana would like you and Obi to stop by when the studio closes for the day,” he says.

Her heart jumps in her throat and she feels giddy all over again. “Mm,” she nods. “I’ll tell Obi.”

Mitsuhide laughs. “Tell him to slow down the drinking, too,” he winks. “I don’t think Izana wants to just talk tonight.”

Shirayuki smiles bashfully. “I’ll do my best,” she replies.

He nods, glancing over her shoulder towards the crowd. His face flickers towards seriousness briefly before looking back down at her, tension creasing the corner of his eyes. “Well,” he says. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

She nods, confused as he leaves and slides off her stool to find Obi in the crowd. Maybe- her heart thumps- maybe they could have lunch together.. and talk. About this. About everything leading up to this. About everything that could come from this.

The mass of people is easy to navigate through here. She finds small holes large enough for her to fit through and comes out on the other side where she saw Obi last.

When she finds him, something makes her step skitter to a halt.

A woman, with hair down past her hips is smiling up at him with a cocked grin, and Obi’s face.. it is-

She doesn’t know what it is.

“Obi.”

He perks at the sound of her voice, turning towards her and she tucks her arms behind her back when the woman’s eyes settle on her as well.

“I, um-” she swallows. “Izana wants us at the studio tonight.”

His eyes are soft. “I wouldn’t miss it, Mademoiselle.”

Her shoulders raise to touching her jawline, and she smiles shyly. She takes a step closer, the invitation to lunch just on the tip of her tongue, but then the woman at his side moves a touch closer to him and she doesn’t understand it, but- but her heart drops like lead into her stomach.

Her feet turn to lead, too.

“I will see you then,” she replies with a professional bob of the head.

Obi blinks, eyebrows touching, but then he glances at the woman at his side out of the corner of his eye and his expression is... complex.

“Ah,” he sighs. “Okay then.”

[nicotinemaiden]

7. Something you struggle with.

The clash of his fist against the wall wasn't what hurt him the most that day. Sometimes he wondered why he keep doing this, torturing himself, but he knew he didn't need an answer because he already had it. Everyday it was becoming more and more difficult to fight against his own will. Every time he saw her sad or depressed because his Master didn't have time or didn't kiss her that day or didn't even come near to say 'hi” because he was in a rush. He wanted so badly to hug her, to kiss her, to tell her that he would make her the happiest woman in the universe, if she wish. But instead he had to joke around until she smiles again, he had to stay half the night in her room so she can sleep peacefully. He want to be there for her in any way possible but it was hard. Really hard. Lately she's been… even more lovely, making dinner for him, following his jokes, searching for him in a rush… Today she had taken his hand during their night walk through the gardens when he’d go pick her up from the pharmacy. It was just a subtle touch, their hands brushing, and, after looking at each other for a moment she glanced away, keeping their pace. Obi could swear he’d seen something and that something was driving him mad.

The ceiling in his room felt like a cage, everything around overwhelmed him. He lacked air and his mind was thinking way too much. After a couple of minutes he decided to jump over the window, falling in the backyard. He shouldn’t be surprised to discover he wasn’t alone but it was a company he wasn’t expecting. Her blonde hair fell over her eyes while she catched her breath from what it seems like sparring. With a tree, but sparring. “Miss Kiki.” “Obi.” He watched each other, understanding.”You look like you want to run away.” For some reason Kiki always knew what he was thinking, even if she doesn’t say anything about it. “And you look like you need to let off steam. Do I need to kick Mitsuhide’s ass?” A light smile. That was the most he can get out of her, now or never. “I think I would rather have you as a spar partner, if you’re not busy exiting the castle.” Adopting a battle pose, he smiled. “Alright, you asked for it.” With a half smile, he drawn out her sword. “Just don’t go easy on me.” “I will never”. The first move was hers, lifting her sword near his face in a movement he could easily avoid. With the next one he almost could hit her arm, but she dodged right in time. Their weapons collide, although Obi’s were much more shorter. They smile to one another, fierceness in their eyes. Normally their fights were elegant, like a dance, like a ninja fighting a knight, but this time they were all out. Both of them knew that the other wouldn’t hold on and that they needed this like a rainy day in a drought. Kiki managed to hurt her partner, leaving a small wound in his face. In return Obi left two: one on her arm and one on her waist, breaking her shirt a bit. “I call that a win.” Grinning, he offered his hand for her to take and get up but instead of that she nailed her sword to the ground and standed up. She pointed her sword at his wound, serious. “I call that a draw.” And then, they smiled.

He had gotten his air. What’s better, he had stopped thinking about his miss, at least for a bit. Now, he was thinking again about her because Kiki offered to heal his wound in her room ‘cause the pharmacy was closed at this time of night and, of course, he wouldn’t have anything, literally anything of first aid. He only accepted because he knew that his miss would be mad at him if she sees him with a wound. A bleeding wound nonetheless. But when they turn the next corner, he realize it was too late. The green eyes that met his looked confused, lost, worried.”Miss, why are you awake?” Obi didn’t want to sound as confused as he sounded, but he couldn’t go back. “I couldn’t sleep. I went to your room but you weren’t there so I was just… wandering around?” Kiki interrupted him before he could start saying anything. “You mustn't wander around Shirayuki, something might happen.” The redhead frowned, disagreeing with her. “You’re the one who’s bleeding.” “Yes but I doubt Obi would do this to you so you’ll have to worry about others threats.” Kiki was deadly serious. At his side, completely straight, she was near his jaw, almost menacing. He looked at her curious as to why she was being overprotective, but she said no more on the topic.”Well I think you don’t need me anymore.” Her eyes fixed in his before starting her way down the corridor. “Goodnight to you both.” Instantly, Shirayuki’s hand was inspectionating his wound. “We need to treat this Obi. Come.” He followed her, not without complaining. “It just a small cut Miss, this isn’t necessary.” “We have already been through this.” It was her way of telling him that she doesn’t care what he thought, she will be there for him, even if he thinks that he doesn’t deserve it. Why had she to worry so much? It just brought again all the thoughts he managed to forget for that little amount of time. But now, with her caring his cheek, her fingers brushing lightly against him, it seemed like the world just stopped. She was so close. For some reason her hand stopped its movement and her eyes were fixed in his, so deep that he feared she could read his soul. He wanted to lean forward, to trap her lips between his, to tangle his fingers in her hair. God, was this hard. Luckily for him Shirayuki leaned back, glancing away. If it wasn’t so dark maybe he could have seen her blushing. Because for a moment she forgot everything, for a moment she waited for him, she wanted him. Just for a moment where Zen didn’t exist in her mind. But Obi… Obi had won his fight, at least for today.

[sabraeal]

If All Else Fails Just Play Dead

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Swan Princess AU

There is a boy in her house.

Two boys, actually; not counting Uncle, who is the Margrave Entaepode, or Papa, who acts like he is, or Raj, who everyone simply tolerates because there are worse things than having the first prince adopt your heir as their particular friend, and all of them start with denying said prince what he wants.

(And also because when he’s not trying to flex all his royal powers at once, Raj can be almost tolerable. He at least believes in magic, which gives him a leg up over just about every other boy Shirayuki has known, save for uncle, even if he doesn’t know any himself.)

Sakaki is also not to be counted, though she feels bad about it, on account of how often she typically forgets that Sakaki is a boy and not just some boy-shaped furniture Raj travels with, like how he always brings his pillow and his favorite chair. She’ll have to remember to bring him some extra pastries from the kitchen as an apology.

No, these are two entirely foreign boys, shipped straight from the court of the King Who Isn’t, as her father calls him-- though not within his mother’s hearing. Shirayuki is resigned to make the best of it; Uncle asks for so little, and she is the Lady of the Manor, even if she only comes by the title from a lack of older women to fill it. If she must, she can entertain their guests, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it, not one bit at all.

A shelf rattles, jostling the books on their bindings. Shirayuki’s fingers nearly dint a page as she turns it, but she does not look up. To look up would be to give in, and even if she is charged with entertaining, she does not need to be the entertainment.

It rattles again, now with two giggles to accompany it. Excellent. It seems both her troubles are accounted for.

With a sigh, she collects herself. This is what is fair, after all. It is her duty to see after Entaepode’s guests, and Papa is already taking on the brunt of the Her Majesty’s needs, as well as the marquis’ that travels with her. Not that she would have minded if he wanted to switch; Queen Haruto at least seemed like the sort to enjoy a quiet afternoon in the library.

A leg swings over the top of the shelf, long and skinny and ending in a particularly scuffed boot.

Very much, Shirayuki thinks, slapping her book shut on the table, unlike her son and his companion. 

“You’re not supposed to do that.” She means to be mild, but each sound falls so waspish from her lips that it could sting. Oh, Uncle will be displeased when he finds out she was rude to their esteemed guests. “It harms the books.”

A sly, cat’s grin shines down on her as a second leg follows the first. “We’re just on the shelves.” Obi twitches his shoulders in a lazy excuse for a shrug. “It’s not like we’re ripping out pages.”

Of the three of them, he’s older-- oh, well, both boys are older than her, but he’s oldest. Only a few years shy of being a man in his own right; the sort of older that’s supposed to know better. Not that he looks it-- Obi’s supposed to be thirteen, but he’s barely an inch taller than Prince Zen, showing none of the stretch in his limbs that boys his age should before they come into their growth.

His feet dangle, just at the level of her nose, and uncharitable irritation itches in her thoughts. Maybe he’ll be one of those boys who’s small forever, a man in a child’s body. The sort of boy she’ll be looking down on instead of up at, should she get Papa’s height, or Uncle’s.

“The shelves are where the books live,” she tells him officiously, fists high on her hips. “And if you knock it over, then you might hurt your spine, or worse, one of theirs! Or even worse,” she adds with no little horror, “you might tear out a page!”

He blinks, those wide, gold eyes flashing like candlelight. “Huh.”

She conjures up Uncle at his most imperious as she says, “This isn’t a training yard.”

“How would you know?” The shelf wobbles, and a pale white mop heaves itself over it. The second Prince of Clarines is pinch-faced, like he’s always just finished sucking on a lemon, and pale as an invalid. She could believe he was bedridden, from the way he keeps waiting to be served. “It’s not like you’ve ever been on one.”

A breath hisses between her teeth. It’s not from lack of trying, she wants to say; her last birthday, Papa has trousers sewn for her, plus a shirt and waist. He’d promised her a sword, even traipsed her through the halls to the yard, but Uncle had been waiting right at the gate, mouth drawn to a forbidding line.

What are you thinking, Mukaze? She’d heard him growl, her ear pressed tight to the study door. My own heir, and you put a blade in her hand.

If she were a boy, you’d have thought I’d done it too late, Papa had replied, easy as always, the way that would drive Uncle mad. I don’t see the harm--

Of course you don’t. Uncle had never sounded so cold, so bitter as he did in that moment. You never do.”

Her stomach twists, slithering around like a nest full of snakes, only getting more knotted, more sick as she thinks about it. Uncle and Papa were close as brothers, surely--

Surely, she shouldn’t be worrying about this at all.

“Why are you wearing all that black?” she snips instead, ignoring the heat that licks up her neck. “It’s summer.”

It’s not doing him any favors either; all that thick velvet just makes his limbs skinny and his face more drawn, like he’s a skeleton rather than a boy.

The prince stills, legs no longer kicking, lips no longer flapping; just a steady, slow rise and fall of his chest. Obi-- a study of constant motion-- doesn’t even do that; instead he sits, utterly immovable, and stares.

With a voice chilled with the winter he’s never felt, His Highness finally says, “My father died.”

She’d known that, she had. His Majesty died a year ago, her Uncle even told her, their legs pressed tight on his study’s sofa. She liked doing that, lining bone to bone, like they might one day be a matching set, margrave and heir both. Another pair of shoulders to carry the burden of rule, after so many years of an absent, broader pair.

Her Majesty has ever been a bosom companion to this family, he’d continued, a strange tightness to his voice. Now that her mourning is over, she is bringing her youngest son to visit. I’m sure your father would be pleased if you became...as close as they.

So much for that. Uncle would be so disappointed-- not only had she scolded the prince, but she’d insulted him too, and--

And he had started it. Her mouth settles into a thin line, so like Uncle’s.

“So did my mother.” So long ago that she is barely more than a song and a scent. Still, there is no ceding ground, not to Prince Zen; every inch she gives him yields a mile, and he considers it his due. “And you don’t see me walking around in velvet during high summer.”

The prince’s skin is pale as moonlight, the envy of every maid in the manor, but it flushes an angry red now, his body trembling to contain him. “My father, he sputters, leaping off the shelf, “is more important than your stupid mother ever will be.”

Papa praises her for her even-temper. Just like your mother, he laughs, not as boldly as he is wont. You never let anything under your skin. Not like me. Though all our impulse certainly bred true.

Anger, Uncle would say in his soothing voice, every syllable measured, makes a man a fool. You would do well to eschew it if you can, my little girl.

So it is not that Shirayuki is angry; oh no, she is incandescent.

Her finger curl, carving pitted crescents in her palms. For once she is glad that magic is consigned to history books and scholars in their towers, for if she could but call fire to her fingertips, this whole library would be alight. Her mother may be more sense than solid to her, but there is not a stone here she has not touched, and--

Well, Uncle is right, but Shirayuki is content to be stupid.

“Maybe so,” she says, so calm, so even, just as Uncle might. “But at least people liked her.”

For a moment, Prince Zen looms, every line trembling, and she is convinced that he will raise a hand to her, that he will truly treat her as her father’s mouth has earned her. But instead he spins on his heel, stalking out of the library with naught a word.

Wrath leaves her at once, a spirit exorcised from her chest, and oh, she’s dizzy with the lack. Her hand reaches out, meaning to grab for the chair--

But another hand grabs it instead. Shirayuki had never noticed at what a patrician angle Obi’s nose sat, not until he stares down it at her, his face a smooth bronze mask.

“That,” he says, finally sounding his age, “was badly done.”

Had her father sat her down after that terrible, disastrous morning, and told her that one day she would consent to marry the prince, Shirayuki would have--

Well, she would have done something Uncle wouldn’t approve of, surely. And she had, when Papa sat her down not too long after the queen’s carriage disappeared into the horizon, and told her that their union had been agreed upon, dowry and all. But to think she would ever want to, that she herself would gladly make the plans-- impossible.

If only it had stayed that way. If only she had remembered why she’d waved him off at arm’s length every summer, why she’d tossed him in the pond when he tried to kiss her at fifteen and told him he’d have better luck finding a princess of his own species in there. At least then she might be able to scuttle this whole wedding, instead of having Papa and Haruto cluck at her pitifully when she asks, telling her that it would all work out eventually.

After all, hadn’t she loved him just last night?

Shirayuki huffs, rolling to her side. She’s no longer livid, which is an improvement; last night she’d thought quite long and extremely hard about how many tapestries she would need to tear from the walls to get a good, solid bonfire to catch and burn Wistal palace to its very stones. Once she started considering where the custodians might keep turpentine, or whether she could wheedle the key to the cellars out of the chatelaine, she’d forced herself to lay down. Few things had ever made her so angry that they couldn’t be solved by a good night’s rest.

Wrath and rage has cooled, but not to her usual levelheaded calm, the answer filling her with vim and vigor and a dangerous determination. Oh no, instead her fine barrel of fury has turned to melancholy, and with each minute that ticks by, she drinks a deeper draught.

Is beauty all that matters to you?

Even now her breath catches at the roiling confusion in Zen’s eyes. What else is there?

“What was I thinking?” Her fists clench at her sides, but it’s not enough, not until she brings them to her eyes and pressed down, colors sparking across her eyelids. “Why did I...?”

She thought he had changed. They all had, these last few years, hadn’t they? No longer the three children that had tripped over each other in her uncle’s halls, bickering and pinching and causing trouble wherever they roamed. Shirayuki’s temper had mellowed. Zen had grown taller-- or at least tall enough to please him. And Obi--

Obi should be here. And now he’s not, and it’s yet another why she has no answer to.

A timid knock brushes against her door, followed by an even softer, “M-my lady?”

Shirayuki pulls her fists from her eyes, blinking away the blur. “Come in.”

A small girl slinks inside, dark eyes wide and round. “M-my lady...” Her brow furrows. “Your hands are wet.”

She glances down, staring at the fingers laces so tightly in her nightgown. Her knuckles do indeed shimmer in the light, right where they had been pressed along her eyes. “So they are. I...suppose you are here to dress me.”

“Ah...” The maid loses her certainty, eyes darting around the room. “About that...”

Her heart leaps in her breast. “Has something happened?”

“Ah, well.” The girl winces. “There’s a bit of a, um, problem. With the arrangements.”

“The arrangements?” Shirayuki echoes.

“Ah...”

That’s when she hears the screams.

Her twelfth summer marks the moment that this arrangement becomes completely, irrevocably unfair.

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Branches shiver above her, the only sign of Obi a few flashes of black and buckskin and the leaves quivering in his wake. “You two have gotten nearly civil these days.”

“But you’ve gotten tall,” Shirayuki grouses, tucking herself between the roots of the old oak, book sprawled upon her lap. “Any day now you’ll be head and shoulders taller, and what if Zen’s the same? I can’t be the smallest.”

“Well.” She can’t see him, but she knows he settles above her, perched on a branch too precarious for his size. “You are a girl.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be tall.” A finger taps against the page, thoughtful. “Haruto is.”

“For a lady.”

“For anyone,” she corrects primly. “It’s fine enough for you to be tall-- you’re tolerable. But Zen...” She grimaces. “His height it the only thing that keeps him humble. The king isn’t tall, is he?”

“He is,” Obi informs her with relish. “Almost taller than my father, and he’s not done growing.”

She pictures it, Zen being able to look Haruka square in the eye, and shudders.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Shirayuki sighs, finger knitting in her lap. “Uncle should forbid you from coming. You can stay for now, but next summer is right out.”

It’s strange how even though she can’t see him, she can feel his grin on the air. “I’m sure nothing would make him happier.”

“Or me,” she admits, wistful. “What good neighbors Zen and I might be, if we never had to look at each other again. Save for weddings and births and funerals, of course. And you’d always be welcome, Obi.”

“Thanks.” He drops down one of his too-long legs, toes curling in the air above her, the only visible part of him. “But I wasn’t talk about the Young Master.”

Shirayuki blinks, mouth curving in confusion as she parses his words. “You can’t mean Uncle.”

Obi leans, just enough for her to see his dubious, arched brow. “Why not?”

“Uncle’s always liked Zen.” He’d been the one to calm her when she’d come crying, distraught that Papa would make her marry a boy as pompous as him. Plenty of boys grow out of their pettiness, little girl, he’d told her, smoothing the wild riot of her hair, at least as many that don’t. “Even now, he’s with him, showing him the march.”

“Only because your father asked him,” Obi says, settling back into the canopy. “The next Margrave Entaepode needs to know what his lands can bring. Especially if he means to bring them to his brother.”

Shirayuki frowns. “I’m the next Margrave Entaepode.”

“No,” Obi hums. “You’re the next margravine.”

Shirayuki is not sure what she expects when she walks into Clarines’ great hall, but it is certainly not carnage.

“What happened?” she breathes, picking her way over a toppled chair. There’s not a scrap of fabric that’s not torn, not a table nor chair without a wobble. Flower petals lay strewn on the ground, and the cake--

“Oh no,” she sighs, “I was so looking forward to desset.”

It’s toppled, every tier crushed to the stone beneath it, buttercream and jam and custard smeared up and down the aisle. It had been a gift from the Seirans; Zen had been so excited to know their much-beloved cook had made each layer with him in mind-- Except one, Obi reminded him, swiping a bit of cream from a spoon. You know who Cookie loves best.

“A beast did it,” the steward tells her, near to tiers. “Knocked it over, then even stopped to take a bite.”

“Three bites,” a maid chimes in. “Odd, it was. I could have sworn it thought about it too, just stood there looking as Cook came in, shouting to high heaven, and ate its share.”

Shirayuki glances down. “Flew? As in-- with wings?”

“Yes,” the steward agrees, “it had wings, and a mouth with cruel teeth.”

“There weren’t no teeth,” the chatelaine snaps waving the wailing man off. “It was just a bird. Swan, I think, from the size. And the meanness. Came in here like a holy terror, it did.

“It was a beast with teeth,” the steward insists, “and it bit one of the footmen!”

The chatelaine huffs. “What did you expect, trying to grab it like that?”

Shirayuki can’t help but agree; she’s bitten more than a man or two that tried to catch her as well. But that’s not what has her attention now; instead it is the cake on the floor, those three big bites out of it, baring chocolate sponge and raspberry custard. The layer Cookie made special. The one she thought would go to waste when...

“Where is he now?” At their looks, she amends, “I mean, it. The beast.”

“Outside,” the steward says, sending a narrow look toward the door. “A few of the maids managed to chase it out, but I’m afraid it will have gotten into the decoration-- my lady, where--?”

“I’d like to take a look,” Shirayuki calls back, slippered feet already carrying her to the door. “I, ah, think I might know how to solve this...problem?”

The steward blinks. “Is there some...Tanbarunian folk tradition for this? Ridding the grounds of a foul beast?”

Her feet stutter at the threshold, and she swallows down a laugh. “Certainly something for removing one fowl.”

At thirteen, Shirayuki will admit, Zen becomes tolerable. Not without extreme duress, and certainly never if Obi is around, but being in his presence no longer feels like slivers under her fingernails. Now it’s just that unpleasant drone of cicadas, the same that herald his arrival every summer.

“Are you supposed to be climbing?” she asks, settling herself at the base of the tree’s trunk, as always. “Your mother won’t thank you for ruining those trousers.”

Obi laughs, already deep in the canopy. “I think you mean his laundress.”

“I have plenty more,” Zen scoffs, levering his boot over another knot, giving him the height to reach the first branch. “And I think you’re only so cross because you can’t climb for beans.”

She retracts her opinion. His Highness has certainly not become tolerable in the least.

“Come off it,” Obi laughs, so easy in his bower. “Anyone can climb.”

Zen grins down at her with smug authority. “Not Shirayuki, she’s a girl.”

“So is Kiki,” Obi reminds him, “and if she heard you talk like that, she’d come up and throw you off that branch herself.”

“Kiki hardly counts as a girl--”

“--That’s not what Mitsuhide would say--”

“--And that doesn’t mean Shirayuki can,” Zen adds, tone brooking no argument. “She doesn’t even have trousers on.”

“Shirayuki can climb in a dress just fine.” Obi swings down, right to the lowest branch. Or rather, the second lowest, since Zen hasn’t vacated the first. “Come on, I’ll tell you how.”

She spares the tree a dubious glance. “Are you sure--?”

“Always. Don’t you trust me?” He lowers down a hand, callused and bronzed, and she takes it. “Good, now put your foot there. Now just...think up.”

She sends him a dubious look. “I don’t think it’s possible to just go up by thinking it.”

He grins down. “You’d be surprised.”

Shirayuki is definitely ruining her dress.

“You’re sure it’s up here?” she calls down, a worried swarm of footmen huddling beneath her. “Waterfowl aren’t really...tree-dwelling birds.”

“I’m sure, my lady,” one pipes up beneath her. “Took to wing, then hopped up the branches easy as you please.”

Shirayuki casts a long look up the oak, sighing. “Of course he did.”

One slippered foot lifts, hooking over a thicker branch, resting her weight right by the trunk.

“Just think up,” she murmurs, irritation rising with every word. “Just think up and it’s hardly anything at all.”

“HONK,” agrees the goose above her.

“Oh.” She blinks, taking in the sleek white body and the webbed feet tucked unnaturally beneath it. Well, not that the pose was unnatural, but the place. “You’re not a swan at all.”

“HONK,” the goose informs her, wistful this time.

“Be glad,” she says, reaching for him. “If you were any bigger, I wouldn’t be able to carry you, and you’d be stuck up here with your big wings and bad decisions.

The goose ducks it head, abashed. “HONK.”

“You better,” she starts, trying to wrangle a bird his size beneath her arm, “be exactly who I think you are.”

This close, her fowl friend doesn’t dare express his opinion at the only volume nature saw fit to give him, but instead, cuddles right against her neck. For one, weak moment, Shirayuki leans against the trunk, letting her head sink into his feathers. Please let this be him. If it is, she can worry about the how later. Maybe even the why. As long as he hasn’t abandoned her, there’s nothing--

“Not to interrupt you,” a lady’s languid voice drawls beneath her. “But I’m assuming that you might need some help getting down.”

Fifteen is when Shirayuki is made aware of just how utterly unfair her life will be from now on, now that she’s to be the wife of a prince.

“No, no,” Obi laughs, nervous. “I think the Young Master has it right this time, Miss. You can’t come.”

“Why not?” He’s gotten much taller now, taller even than when he arrived, and she has to look up to guilelessly meet his eye, much more than she’s used to. “If I can climb trees with you, I can splash around in a pond just fine--”

“Yes, but--” his mouth split into a pained grimace-- “climbing trees doesn’t involve taking off clothes. You can see how that might be a, hm, problem now, can’t you, Miss?”

“No.”

His exasperation is completely unwarranted, considering how exasperating he’s being. “You’re a lady.”

“One that can swim,” she counters. “We’ve done it before, I don’t know why it’s bothering you now.”

“Because you’re...” He waves a hand at her, a harried up and down, but she only stares back. “Of all the things for Master to leave to me...”

“I can keep my shift on,” she offers, “if that helps.”

“It really doesn’t, Miss.” Obi sighs, one hand coming up to rub at his shoulder. “Surely your father-- no, your uncle. Surely your uncle’s talked to you about how boys and girls shouldn’t, um...you know.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s just...” He takes a steeling breath. “Miss, you’re a woman now. You can’t be naked with men.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I said I would wear my shift. And besides, you’re not men, you’re boys.”

Obi head rolls heavenward. “Only to you.”

Shirayuki gives him a considering look and pulls out her trump card. “Would you let Kiki Seiran come?”

She doesn’t know this Kiki Seiran, not from anything more than what’s been said in her presence, but she knows-- whatever a man does, Kiki does, and better too. The moment her name leaves her lips, Obi drops her a helpless glare.

“Kiki,” he says, as if savoring the word, “doesn’t count. No one lets Kiki Seiran do something, she just does it, and we all live with the consequences.”

A fond smile flickers across his lips, and for no reason at all, her stomach twists. “You should marry her.”

Obi blinks. “Huh?”

“Kiki Seiran,” she says lightly. “It seems she’s really quite impressive.”

For a long moment he stares at her, unblinking. Then he coughs, one, twice, until it’s no longer a cough but roaring laughter.

Shirayuki stares at him. “Is something funny?”

“Oh, Miss,” he wheezes. “That’s some vote of confidence, but Kiki Seiran-- she’s not for the likes of me.”

The sick knot in her stomach dissipates into affront. “Why not? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Again, you really know how to compliment a man,” he teases. “But no count worth his acreage will marry his daughter and heir to a bastard. With her pedigree, they’re probably planning to marrying her to Elder Highness as we speak.”

“Well, that’s silly,” she huffs. “You’re worth a thousand princes Obi. Any lady would be lucky to have you.”

His smile wavers. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“You should bring her next time,” she decides. “I can talk to her.”

“Ah,” he coughs, shaking his head as he traipses after her. “That won’t be necessary at all.”

This is not how she thought she’d meet the illustrious Kiki Seiran, her wedding dress torn to rags and goose hugged tight in her arms, but it would not be the first time today fate thwarted her expectations.

“I’m fine,” Shirayuki assures her, slowly making her descent. “But do you have, um, water?”

One elegant brow arches. “Water?”

“Ah, yes.” She drops down before her-- oh, Lady Seiran is...quite a bit taller than she’d imagined, and at least twice as pretty. No wonder Obi always smiled when he talked about her. “Like a, um, lake? Or a river might do?”

“A lake?” Her gaze drops, mouth canting into a thoughtful line. “For your avian compatriot, I suppose. You think his home must be close by.”

“Yes,” she lies, because babbling about ancient texts she’s certain she was never supposed to see and magic of the blackest sort seemed a poor first impression to make. “It would probably, uh, help with the...destructive behavior.”

“He has left quite a spectacle behind. It will take hours to clean that up. Or days,” she adds with a pointed look toward the goose. “Your wedding seems to be thoroughly postponed.”

Good, she doesn’t say. This Kiki Seiran is Zen’s friend too, after all. And even if Shirayuki could have shaken him to pieces last night, she’s that too.

“Water?” she says instead.

It’s the right thing to say, since Kiki turns around, gesturing toward the treeline. “There’s a pond back there. Just follow the cobblestone path and it should take you right out to the dock.”

“Perfect.” Shirayuki takes two hurried steps before pausing, turning over her hip to add, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Kiki. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

There’s that brow again, lifted into an elegant arch Shirayuki could never hope to mimic. “Only good things, I hope.”

Her stomach lurches as she replies, “The best.”

[sabraeal]

Insult on Top of Injury

The Wide Florida Bay | Previous

Written for @vivianwisteria‘s birthday...which just so happened to be right when I was in the hospital, not able to work on anything. But at least this time it’s only a month late! She requested a Wide Florida Bay piece, specifically the moment Obi comes out to Zen...and how could I refuse >:3

This is a fucking disaster.

In his heart of hearts, Obi knew there was no way this conversation wouldn’t have hit like a brick, no matter when or how they had it. As much as Doc insisted that her and Zen were over, that they’d pretty much failed to launch in the first place--

Well, Obi had known that wasn’t the way Chief saw it. You don’t have a deep heart to heart on a yacht about liking the same girl without picking up a few things about how your romantic non-rival thinks things are going. God, he’d told him to propose to her.

Three-years-ago Obi was such a dumb fuck. Good thing no one listens to him.

Three-years-from-now Obi is going to be thinking the same fucking thing about him right now, he can just feel it. Well, as long as that asshole finishes his thesis, he can think whatever he likes.

He shakes his head, looking in the mirror. Now’s really not a good time to be yucking it up over how good Future Obi is going to have it, not when Present Obi is currently wondering if this bathroom is fancy enough for him to have a window to climb out of.

Not that he would. He’s left Doc out there, awkwardly making conversation with the happy couple and her shell-shocked ex-boyfriend, and though she has a gift for smoothing things over, this is--

It’s a lot. Especially when said ex-boyfriend didn’t realize that he’s been one for the last six months.

Fuck. Obi slams his palm onto the metal lip of the sink-- or rather, trough, since this isn’t just a fancy-ass fake Mexican place, but the kind that has rustic-yet-modern details like brushed metal trough sinks and exposed beams and something that might actually be adobe.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he tells the mosaic bird beneath his feet, and sticks his head right under the faucet.

Ah, that’s right-- the best part about fancy places like this is when he turns on the tap, the water is actually fucking freezing. And if no one is around to hear him yelp like a little baby when it hits his neck, so much the better.

“Fuck,” he gasps, rearing back out of the stream. “Fuck.”

Obi meets the gaze of his own reflection, and god, does he not need the judgement he sees right now.

“I get it,” he tells Mirror Obi, watching the water drip through the bristle of his hair, leaving tracks down his forehead. “I fucked up. Bad.”

Not like he could have done much. He’d wanted to believe Doc too much, wanted to believe that the past two years had all been leading straight to this, to them; that it hadn’t been a meandering path that circled around and sometimes even through her floundering relationship.

Still, he probably could have texted. Hey Chief, just want you to know I’m fucking Doc now. Just as good as I thought it would be. XOXO.

Oh yeah, that would have gone so well. He can just tell.

Obi shakes himself, water spraying over the trough. He’s gotta pull it together. He can’t stay in this fancy fake Mexican bathroom all night. Doc would kill him.

No, not kill-- Doc would never be so violent. She’d just give him that sad pout and say things like, I’m not upset, I’m just disappointed, and make him wish they had a yard so he could go sleep in the doghouse where he belongs. Whoever said, there are fates worse than death has definitely met Shirayuki when she’s disappointed.

He scrubs a hand down his face. Time to face the tapas. Ain’t like things are gonna go any less sideways in here.

The door easily swings open under his hand; it’s almost a disappointment. It lacks the proper gravitas of a man going to his own disembowelment.

A disembowelment that is going to happen about two minutes earlier than he expected with far less of a crowd, if Kiki’s expression is any indication.

“Kiki!” There’s a reddish cast to the shadows around her, thanks to the great big EXIT sign she’s underneath, which lends an artful level of menace to the situation. God, he wishes she wasn’t between him and the door. “Just getting some fresh--?”

She levers herself off the wall, swaggering right into his personal space. It’s both super hot and pants-pissingly terrifying; something that would be right up his ally if he both wasn’t in the best relationship of his life and bone-shakingly certain he was about to die.

“Go talk to him.”

He blinks. “Come again?”

“Go talk to him.” It’s strange; he’s always thought of Kiki as a giant, as a woman who maybe couldn’t look dead into his eyes but at least came close, but standing like this she’s-- small. Human. “Please.”

“I don’t...” He sighs, shoulders rounding. “What am I even going to say to him?”

“Everything,” she tells him, forbidding. “Anything. Just keep using words until this is better. You’re good at that.”

He chokes on a laugh. Sounds more like Doc’s specialty than his; whenever he runs his mouth off he just gets into situations like this.

“Princess, I would love to oblige you,” he manages, “but I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“We’re only here because none of you can just--” she makes an aborted gesture and steps up into him, so close he can smell the spice on her breath. “Make it possible.”

He laughs. “How?”

She pokes him square in the chest. It hurts. “Use. Your. Words.”

His hair dries the instant he steps outside, because if there’s one thing Florida’s good at, it’s being hot as fuck. And humid as fuck.

Use your words. Obi sighs. Easy for Kiki to say; she barely uses any. He’s been spouting them all night, and they’re still here: in a fancy tapas restaurant trying to masquerade as a humble taqueria, with Chief taking a long walk on its short pier. Literally.

Obi trudges down the stairs to the shoreline, hands buried in his pockets. Here he is, all dressed up-- he wore a button-down for this; hell, he wore slacks too, and that’s what really killing him before the breeze kicks up-- and still everything has turned into a shitshow. He ate his tapas, made good conversation, broke the news gently, and--

It’s no good. He can try as much as he likes, but the fuck up here is still him.

He drags his glare off his shoes when he hits the planks, and it’s like he walked right into one of those GQ shoots: Zen’s all artfully disheveled, leaning on the rail with the sort of brooding, thousand-yard stare that cameras love. He’s half-tempted to slip out his phone and take a pic himself, except that memorializing the moment he royally fucked up a friendship seems like a bad idea, psychologically. Definitely a choice the therapist back at Wistal would have spent a good hour on.

“Hey,” he says, trying to be casual, as if there was anything casual about chasing after your bro after you inform him you’re sort of fucking the girl he got off the plane thinking he was still dating.

He shakes himself. No, not-- it’s not fucking. He’s dating Doc. Seriously. God, this is literally the most serious he’s ever been. This is real.

Though, there is definitely a lot of fucking. A lot more than he’d imagined there would be, if the planets aligned and Shirayuki looked at him like how he looks at her even a little.

Zen stiffens, shoulders springing up to his ears like the pickets on a fence, like he can keep Obi’s bullshit out if he puts enough of a barrier between them. Which...fair.

Obi sidles up next to him, bracing his hand on the rail, and breathes. The salt stings his lungs, his eyes, and god, hadn’t they done this before? It’s only been three years, but that night on the Wisteria yacht feels like ages ago, like another lifetime entirely.

He had shitty feelings then too. Just blurted out I like Doc like an idiot.

Use your words, that’s what Kiki said. Obi grimaces. Look how well all that turned out.

“What’s the deal with the dock?” he says, regret instantly washing over him. Why on earth did Kiki think he could do this? “Like one of those big overhang decks? I could get that. But a dock? Seems excessive.”

The silence is disheartening, but Obi can’t say he doesn’t expect it. Small talk isn’t really a thing you do when everyone’s realized there’s been an overlap in boyfriend eras.

“It’s really more of a wharf,” Zen says, like he’s dredging up each word. “Lots of little piers all together.”

“Oh, well,” he drawls, mouth twitching. This he can work with. “Sorry. What’s up with the wharf?”

Zen shrugs, shoulders practically creaking from the effort. “It’s a thing waterfronts do. People have houses down here, and they like to have a reason to show off their boat to all the neighbors.”

Obi can’t help it, he stares. “So they drive it to the nearest fine dining establishment?”

Zen casts a confused look back at the restaurant. “I mean, it isn’t that nice.”

God, rich kids.

“If you say so, Chief.”

Silence settles over them, as comfortable as a wet blanket-- ugh, or maybe that’s just the humidity; they really should be having this conversation where there’s air conditioning. Or never. But never isn’t an option, not unless he wants to lose this, and--

And whatever else happens, he can’t. Doc might have been the one to clean him up and tame him, but Zen was the one that pulled him out of the dumpster. He had every reason to keep on driving, to leave him sitting in a vat of fried pickle juice, but instead he stopped. Instead he offered a hand.

It wasn’t a kindness he deserved. He’d known that then, and he knew it even better now. But Zen saw something in him, something not even he had seen, and--

And he needs that.

“So, ah,” Obi coughs, staring out at the marina across the bay. “Back in the restaurant. That was, ah, a lot, right?”

Zen doesn’t answer him, doesn’t even look at him, but Obi’s watching him from the corner of his eye, and he sees his mouth pull thin. Yeah, this was probably not the most graceful way to bring this up. Probably should have stuck with small talk.

He clenches his jaw. Whatever, in for a penny, in for a pound, and quite frankly if they don’t clear the air, Kiki might kill him.

“Yep,” he says, glaring out over the water. “You’re right. Just a whole ton. Really fucking heav--”

“This was my worst nightmare,” Zen croaks, the words nearly lost on the breeze. “You know that?”

Considering he wakes up in a cold sweat two nights out of seven, convinced Doc’s come to her senses and left him only to find out she’s gotten up to pee-- yeah, he knows that. Inside and out.

Probably...probably not the best time to say so.

“I knew the whole thing was a risk,” Zen admits, with a rueful laugh. “I mean, you told me you liked her, and I sent you after her anyway.”

Obi stiffens. “You didn’t send me here. Shidan offered me a spot, and I chose to come.”

“Right, sure, but I encouraged you,” he says, elbows leaning heavy on the rail. “I told you that you could do it-- that you should do it. And I-- I knew then too. Even without you telling me.” He laughs, wry. “I made the stars align to get you here.”

His fingers clench around the wood. It’s true, he knows; his grades had been good, Garrack liked him, Shidan liked him, but abroad programs were a long shot, and he was not the sort of pony the admin department was apt to bet on. He’d always known there must have been a nudge, a whispered word over canapes, but--

But he really could have lived without knowing it. “Doc was with you.”

“Sure, but I’m fifteen hundred miles away, and you look like-- like that.” He waves a hand at him, cheeks flushed. “And you were interested.”

The rail creaks under his grip. “I never--”

“No, of course not,” Zen sighs. “But all you have to do is breathe and panties come off.”

Historically, it’s a fair assessment, but it’s like he’s forgotten that it’s Doc, the last person on earth who would be swayed by rippling abs and solid pecs. For two solid years she happily went without any sexy time whatsoever from her long-term boyfriend and thought that was a good thing, and it had nothing to do with how well he filled out his jeans. Unfortunately. Would have made a whole bunch of things a lot easier if it had.

“If you’d been interested in me, I would have--” Chief turns a painful red-- “I mean, if I was a girl. Not--”

If Zen had known, he would have done more than eyefuck you for an entire year.

It’s strange how that’s all it takes for things to come into focus. It’s not about Doc, it’s not even about him, it’s--

“I just thought if this was going to happen, it wouldn’t have taken so long,” Zen continues, hunching over the rail. “I thought you’d just...jump each other or something, and it’d be over.”

--It’s about him.

“I should have paid more attention,” he sighs, morose. “I just thought that I knew you--”

“Hey, while we’re talking about stuff,” Obi blurts out, wishing he could stop hearing Kiki’s voice, wishing he could stop thinking, just talk about everything until this is fixed, “you know, stuff we haven’t talked about...”

Zen turns to him, wide-eyed, and god, this is a really bad fucking idea.

“You should know,” he says, striving for a casualness that isn’t even in the same zip code as his anxiety, “I’m bi.”

The word sits between them like a lead weight, like cement shoes.

“W-what?” Zen manages, and god, he’s almost purple.

“Listen, Kiki said that--” he shakes his head-- “never mind. I just-- it seemed like you should know, and honestly, it’s not like you can really get more mad at me at this point, so--”

“I’m not-- I’m not mad.” He is a little breathless, which is interesting to say the least, and there’s not an exposed sliver of skin on him that isn’t pink. “I just-- why are you telling me? It’s not like I’m-- that I--”

“Kiki said we were flirting all of sophomore year,” he says before the kid can hurt himself. “So it felt pertinent to the conversation, I guess.”

“What? I wasn’t--” he sputters before his words dry up. “Wait. We were flirting?”

God, he really has a type, doesn’t he? “Yeah. You know--” he turns to him, letting his mouth take a sly slant-- “before Tanbarun, I could have gone for blonds or red heads.”

Zen stares. “What does Kiki have to do with--? Oh.” His jaw goes slack. “Oh. So you were...?”

“Flirting? Yeah.” He slides closer, brow arched. “Thought I was being obvious too.”

Chief’s mouth works for a moment, eyes darting to take in this new distance, and he blurts out, “I thought you were joking!”

Yuzuri’s right; he needs to work on his game if the result is resoundingly, I thought you weren’t interested.

He grins, dropping his voice. “Ryuu says I like to joke, but I never lie.”

It’s fun to see Chief like this, stuttering and unsure, face so red he’s worried about what it means for brain function. “But you-- you said-- on the yacht--”

Obi doesn’t point out that the yacht was a good six months after Tanbarun, that by then he’d been long gone on Doc. Whatever potential had been brewing between them had cooled, Obi’s heart settling into the long haul of pining for a girl he’d thought would never see him as more than a friend.

Mostly because it’s funnier this way.

He leans in, close enough that his breath stirs the baby-fine wisps at his hairline. “I said I liked you.”

He’d meant it, too, but not the way he would have months earlier, wondering if Chief’s furtive post-shower glances were as speculative as his were. On that yacht, his whole body had been quivering, an arrow ready to be loosed. He just needed Zen to point him south.

“I also said you had great eyes,” Obi reminds him, smirking. “And a great ass.”

Zen’s mouth pulls flat, and just like that the spell is broken. “You said you liked Shirayuki, too. And you definitely meant that differently.”

Yeah, he’d meant to say he loved her, but it seemed kinda gauche to say in front of her boyfriend.

“Maybe,” he teases with a shrug, “but you’re both my type. Stubborn, cute--” he slides his hand along the rail until they’re almost touching, looming over him-- “short.”

“All right.” Chief puts a hand to his chest and shoves. “Joke’s over.”

Obi stumbles away, pressing his palm to his heart with a theatrical gasp. “Why, your lordship, would I ever lie to you?”

Zen’s mouth pulls thin. “No. I know that you’re-- being honest about that. But you’re definitely trying to fuck with me.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks with a grin. “I don’t envy your complexion at all, chief. You give everything away.”

“Ha-ha.” Zen gives him a withering look. “First short jokes, now this. You definitely seem contrite.”

“Hey, I am. I never--” he shakes his head-- “we weren’t trying to hurt you. We just--”

“No, I get it.” He hangs his head with a humorless laugh. “I wasn’t part of the equation. I stopped being one a long time ago and then just...never noticed.”

Obi grimaces. It sounds so much worse when he says it, all out loud and stuff.

It doesn’t make it any less true.

Zen coughs, awkward. “Hey, uh, listen. As long as we’re being honest...”

Every muscle in his body tenses, but Obi takes a breath-- takes two breaths, because this is going to be heavy, talking about Atri, talking about what it’s like to feel like you’re carrying around a secret no one will understand-- and leans oh-so-casually against the rail. “Yeah?”

Nailed it.

Zen squares himself off, like he’s expect a fight-- no, like he’s expecting a punch, and he’s ready to take it--

“I’ve been seeing Kihal.”

Obi stares. “Uh, what?”

“C-casually!” he clarifies, springing back from the rail and shuffling down the pier like he hasn’t dropped an absolute bomb. “It’s not-- not anything serious or anything. Just, you know. Coffee. And dinner.” With a guilty expression he mutters, “And breakfast.”

Obi stands there blinking like an idiot. “Come again?”

“Listen, I know it’s...” He grimaces, realizing there’s no more rail to hold this far out, and holds up his hands instead. “I know I said that nothing had changed for me, but I guess--” he sighs, hanging his head-- “on some level I knew. Shirayuki was pulling away.

“That doesn’t make it right,” he continues, “but even though we hadn’t said anything, I knew it was over. No--” he shakes his head-- “I wasn’t even thinking about it. Shirayuki wasn’t even really a consideration.”

He can’t even think from how loud his mind is screaming. “So you came down here to...what? Break up with Doc?”

Zen grimaces. “I mean, it sounds so bad when you--” Obi glares-- “yeah. Yes. I guess. Something like that.”

“So what you’re saying,” Obi deadpans, “is that I suffered through that whole dinner, your huge ass guilt trip monologue, and this conversation...and you’re seeing someone else?”

“Well, gently,” he argues lamely. “Not like you guys, when you’re, you know, practically married--”

His arm moves on its own.

His palm juts out, taking Zen right in the chest, and he stumbles for a single step in his boat shoes before he falls ass-first right into the bay. A jolt of concern wracks him in the second it takes Chief to emerge, bobbing and gasping, linen shirt soaked all the way through to transparency, and is gone just as quick.

“What,” he gasps, hands flailing for the dock, “was that for?”

Obi grins. His arm might have moved on its own, but he definitely approves. “Really?”

Zen deflates, arms crossing over the planks to hold him. “Okay, this is fair.”

He crouches down, meeting his wide-eyed gaze. “You think?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Zen holds out his hand. “Just help me up.”

“My pleasure, master,” he teases, grasping his hand, and--

And it’s only once he’s tilting, boards no longer under his feet, that he realizes: that’s the oldest trick in the book.

From the pier, the shore had looked a lot closer. It takes a significant amount of actual swimming until he’s able to brush his toes against the bottom-- though he’ll admit, half of it is because there’s no cool, convenient way to swim with clothes on. Doggie paddle is inefficient, but actual strokes look like you’re trying too hard, so they make due with some weird combination of both with some freestyle cussing.

“So,” Zen coughs, once his own feet can touch, a good few feet after Obi can. “Did you like Mitsuhide too? I mean, since you wanted to kiss everyone?”

In Obi’s opinion, the fact that his top three sexual fantasies in Wistal involved either Zen, Kiki, or Doc showed some real discerning standards, like some real Gray Goose level taste, but he understands-- the point’s lost on Zen. He’s in his mid-twenties and can count the number of people he’s wanted to catch in a dark corner on one hand. They’re different people, it’s cool.

“Nah,” he sighs, shaking out his hair. Zen hisses as some of the water sprays him. “I mean, if I didn’t know him, I’d fuck him in a second, but--” he hesitates-- “No, wait, scratch that. I’d let him fuck me, but--”

“OKAY,” Zen yelps, pushing past him. “Conversation over! Too much information!”

Obi grins at his back. “You did ask.”

“Yeah,” Zen huffs, trudging faster, “and now I definitely regret it.”

“Hey,” he croaks, feet finally finding purchase-- as long as he cranes his neck up. It hurts like a bitch, but it’s giving him a great view of the shoreline. “Does that look like--?”

“Kiki’s waiting for us?” Chief finishes faintly. “Yeah, it does.”

He’d grimace if it wasn’t going to get more water down his throat. “Does she look...pissed?”

“I can’t tell from here.” Zen gives him a flat look. “Are you a betting man?”

It’s not much of a gamble with these odds. “How about we just swim up...super slow?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, quickly. “Sounds great. Let’s just take our time.”

The water laps at their thighs-- well, his thighs, Chief’s waist-- when Obi finally clears his throat and asks, “So Kihal.”

Zen tenses beside him. “Yeah?”

“You really--” man, this sounded better in his head-- “like her?”

“Yeah.” Zen sends him a wary glance. “I think...yeah. There’s something there.”

“Good.” Considering how much there it sounds like Chief’s experienced, there better be. “She’s good people. I wouldn’t want anyone to be playing around with her.”

To his everlasting surprise, Zen laughs. Has a good old fashioned guffaw right there as they marinate in fish shit and whatever runoff this restaurant is paying the inspectors to miss. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just--” he shakes his head, hair almost translucent between the sun and the water-- “she did not like you back in the day.”

“According to Doc, she thought I was hot back in the day,” Obi says, basking in Chief’s unstifled ugh. “And then was extremely betrayed when I ended up being an asshole.”

“That does sound exactly like her,” Zen admits with a begrudging fondness. Obi dares a glance in his direction, and-- yep, lovesick smile.

“I’ve since made up for it,” he assures him, hand pressed humbly to his chest. “But she also likes to text me every few weeks to remind me she could kick my ass.”

“Also sounds exactly like her.” Zen ducks his chin, awkward. “It’s good though.”

“I’d say so. I could live out my Zorro dreams if I let Elena de la Vega--”

“Please do not finish that thought,” Chief pleads, eyes rolled heavenward. “I just meant it would suck if one of my best friends didn’t get along with my girlfriend.”

Obi has to take a moment. A whole ass moment while he tries to remember how breathing and not crying work.

Chief claps him on the back, expression etched with worry. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He coughs, and ugh, some ugly cry phlegm comes out. “Just-- there’s pollen or something. My chest got all tight.”

“Right.” Zen squeezes his shoulder with a grin. “I know this is all-- weird.”

“Terrible,” Obi corrects.

“Right, it’s godawful.” He sighs. “But I won’t lose you over being dumb. Either of you.”

“Cool, yeah” He nods, and ugh, makes the worse sniffling noise. “Also-- girlfriend? I thought you said this wasn’t anything serious.”

He’s eaten lobsters less red than Chief, he’s pretty sure. “Shut up.”

“Somehow,” rings a cold voice from the shore as they pick their way over the sharp shells near the shore, “this is even stupider than I thought it would be.”

Obi winces. Ah yes, going slow would have been a great plan, if Kiki was going get to tired of waiting. Now she’s only had time to age her anger, like the wines in the Seiran basement.

Zen gulps, audibly. “It’s not my--”

She holds up a hand, whipping out her phone and flicking through screens so fast that a deep pit of dread forms in his gut. Oh, she’s not just pissed, she’s officious.

They are fucked.

“W-what are you doing?” Zen asks, faint. If he was a lobster before, he’s its ghost now, pale as a sheet.

“Ordering you an Uber.” She says it the same way men in the spy business might say waterboarding.

“W-wha--”

“I’m glad to see you’ve both worked out being idiots,” she tells them, mouth curving, just for a moment, into something like a smile. “But there is absolutely no way you’re getting into Mitsuhide’s car like that.”

Kiki regards the two of them, dripping into the bay in their nice clothes, from down the length of her nose. “The restaurant will lend you some towels for the ride. We’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

She strides away, disappearing up the stairs, toward the street.

“Well,” Zen sighs, dragging himself out. “That could have gone worse.”

“No.” Obi shivers, giving him a boost. “She’s just leaving the rest for Doc.”

Zen freezes, halfway up the retaining wall. “Oh. We’re fucked then.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, “now you’re starting to see the picture.”

[sabraeal]

The lead up to Obi being a *literal* dumpster fire that Zen then has to put out in early WFB.

The Wide Florida Bay | Previous

This club is shit.

It’s the best Clarines has to offer; this far out into the boonies, choices are thin on the ground, and if it’s between going to that slicked-up, herpes-infested purgatory in what passes for a city out here and this dinky hole in the wall, then well– Obi’d rather be sad than taking another STD panel, thanks.

(There’s the gay bar too, one town over, which is supposed to be clean, well-lit, and all the straight girls in his classes talk about getting shitfaced there, but– no. Not going there.)

So he drowns his sorrows here, which– he’s not even sad. Sure, that hippie little red head told him that he was a meanie, that he should go hug a tree as they left Haruka’s office, but joke’s on her– he can’t be shamed. If she thinks this is the worst shit he’s ever done, he’s got a prescription in his pocket that could tell her different.

Not that he’s gonna fill it. He’s beyond all that now.

There’s a pressure below the belt that tells him he’s about to be beyond this dance floor too. Some idiots say it’s taboo to break the seal, but he’s not drinking with any of those frat fucks tonight, and if he’s gotta piss, he’s gonna piss. And then have another drink, maybe. Dance a little.

He gets to his feet, and halfway through the lurch he realizes: he’s gonna be beyond this bar in a few minutes. He’s about three drinks past good decisions, and if he doesn’t wrap up his tab he’s going to be having one hell of a morning tomorrow. If he’s lucky, he’ll wake up somewhere he doesn’t even need bail to get out of. Or breakfast.

Obi nearly makes it, too.

Somewhere in the fog, he makes what seems like a solid decision: pay tab, call a cab, go piss. He even makes it up to the till, giving the counter a good knock to get the tender’s attention, and sending them off scurrying for the bill. He’s doing mad math in his head, wondering if he’s got enough cash to his name to pay for this and his ride home, numbers fuzzing when he thinks about it too hard, but he can’t drive even if he does have a car, and–

Red flashes in the corner of his vision, like a cardinal in a bush.

It’s impossible. A girl like that one wouldn’t be caught dead here, even on Ladies Night. Everyone here is skin or skintight, and she’s never met a cardigan she didn’t think looked cozy.

Still, he looks.

She’s right there on the dance floor, shaking her shaggy bob in a ring of her friends, the lights painting her hair a thousand shades of neon, but– he knows. He could pick out that color anywhere after the last few weeks. His mouth goes dry just looking.

You think you know everything, but all you do is take money from Harukaand make trouble for me, she’d spat at him, hours ago. You probably don’t know anything about mebesides my name and my face.

After the way she reamed him out this afternoon, he shouldn’t be thinking of even breathing within three hundred feet of her, let alone talk to her, but well– his feet have a mind of their own. He’s barely finished thinking about how it’s a bad idea when they carry him toward her, telling him he just needs the last word. One quick jab and he’ll be on his way to take a piss, feeling all warm and fuzzy about the world rather than whatever this is.

His hand lays on her shoulder, and before she turns the light flickers to another filter, and oh– it’s not her. This isn’t real red but the kind that’s poured out of a bottle.

“Yeah?” The girl’s voice is lost under the throb of the bass, but he doesn’t need to hear anything to pick up what she’s laying down. One scorching glance up him and he doesn’t even need her eyes to be green to know he’s got the go ahead to come closer.

He shouldn’t. It’s not her. It’s not going to get him anything, if it was ever going to get him anything at all. But–

But she curls in closer, smile coy and inviting, and what’s the harm? One red head is just like another.

And god knows he could use the distraction.

The door hits the girl’s back with an ugh; she must mean for it to be sexy, for it to sound like something between a gasp and moan, but it just remind him this hookup’s got an expiration date, and it’s whenever this girl manages to open her mouth.

Distantly, he’s aware that it’s not her fault; he’s look for something specific, a real niche fuck, if you will, and this chick is hardly in the same ecosystem. But it doesn’t really matter when his dick is playing will-they, won’t-they with every breath she takes, and it’s leaning hard towards won’t.

“Hey, aren’t you–?”

He grimaces. Time to hurry this up.

His hand darts out to brace the door before it can swing back into her, stumbling through with kisses that leave her clutching his shirt. The sinks sits just across from it, a long stretch of porcelain and sheet metal, and he hoists her up between two of them, teeth nipping down her neck and he locates the– ah, there it is.

“I was saying, hey, aren’t you going to say ‘it’s much nicer in here’ or–” he slams his fit into the side of the condom dispenser, grabbing the one that pops out– “ohh, or something?”

He grins, taking a real good care not to look at himself in the mirror as he says, “It’s not my first time in the Ladies.”

“Oh.” Her mouth quirks shyly as she leans back, rubbing herself up against him, right where he needs the reminder. “Well, I’ve never done anything like this before.”

That almost gives him pause, almost makes him step back and ask what she means, if this is what she really wants. A girl deserves better than a club bathroom for–

She smiles, all coy, and god, Red must really have him twisted all around if she’s got him believing a girl like this is some blushing virgin.

He lets his mouth spread wide and grabs the plunger he sees beneath the sink, jamming it through the door handle. Bathroom utility tools aren’t really on his list for hot hookup toys, but it certainly seems to do something for this girl. “Good thing I’ve got experience, then.”

Her reply is throaty, full, something that should really get him going, but instead all he can think about is how it sounds fake, like the sort of moan he’d hear on a pop-up at his high school library right before someone got detention.

Okay, he just– he needs to turn this around and just… get his whole shit together. He’s going to do this. He needs to do this. The last thing he wants is to have some former Sunday schoolmarm on his mind for any longer than he has to, and this is the perfect way to get Miss Marian out of his system.

His palms skim up her legs, pushing back the skirt that’s painted on her, and damn, she’s got fucking tights on. Because of course she does; he’d thought she was the tree hugger, and he can count on one hand he’s seen her without something clinging to her legs.

Whatever. He is not fucking with this sort of shit tonight.

Taking a good hunk of nylon in each hand, he tears it clear down the seam. He half expects to get scolded as he goes for her thong– after all, these tights are only fit for the trash after tonight– but instead she nearly bucks off the brushed metal, panting and carrying on so loud he wonders if she isn’t coming right here, right now, from just this.

She snatches the condom out of his hand, and if he’s had any lingering doubts about this girl’s lack of experience, they’re instantly dispelled with the speed she rips open the foil packet and rolls it on his cock.

He hisses, hands clenching around the counter, metal digging into his knuckles. Ah, that was a little closer to pain than he likes, but– it’s working for him tonight. Which is good, since she’s already got his head nestled between her lips and shows no sign of slowing down.

Obi grins. That suits him just fine. He’s never been a connoisseur of going slow.

With a roll of his hips he’s in her, and ah, yeah, this is– this is just like he remembers. She’s hot and tight and ready for him, already urging him deeper, her hands grasping at his shirt, his skin, trying to haul him closer. He practically laughs, drunk off the feel of it, of the way he can make a girl feel like this with just his cock.

No matter where he is, what sort of shit he’s in, he can always count on this: being balls deep is the best place he’s ever been.

He gets a good grip on her hair, pulling her right into his chest, and it’s even better like this, when it’s just sensation, when it’s just how wet she is and how good she feels and the sound of her moans echoing off the tile. Her fingers fist in his shirt, and he looks down, just once–

It’s a mistake.

It’s easy to catch their reflection in the mirror, to see the way his fingers twine through red that’s only the barest shade off, that in this light is so close to right he can’t help but think of her, how she’d clutch at him too, how it’d be her voice that surrounds him. Only it wouldn’t be like this; oh no, she can act all sweet for Wisteria, but she’d got in his face today, no fear. A girl like that wouldn’t just sit there and let him fuck her, oh no. No, she’d be say things like faster, harder, please. She’d be rocking into him, bringing him way too close far too soon, making him try to recite old matches to keep himself from coming right when she called his name–

Fuck. His hand clenches against her scalp, heart hammering hard in his chest. Fuck, she is just– she’s in there now, and she won’t fucking leave. It’d be bad enough if it was just this, just thinking about fucking her in this bathroom, trying to show her just what she was missing while she mined her rich boyfriend for a future she’d never see.

But it’s not. Because fucking her here would never happen. Girls like her don’t trust easy, not when they already know he’s trouble. And she’s definitely not the kind of girl who would jump into his bed for a hatefuck. He’d have to– to–

Woo her. Meet her at that coffee place she likes. Buy her a stupid fucking hot cocoa with whip and suggest she try a muffin instead of her plain ass bagel. Listen to her explain something about the nature of carbohydrates and how muffins aren’t as filling due to– who the fuck knows, structure, and then watch her light up as she find out it’s delicious. Thanks for recommending it, she’d say, blush lighting up her stupid cheeks, maybe even painting that throat of hers, and he’d think about kissing it but give her his number instead and–

Fuck. His head pounds now, every pulse of his heart palpable in his ears. He’s balls deep in a girl, and what’s getting him off is knowing how she’d be touched he brought her forget-me-nots to match pattern of one of her favorite dresses, that she might even reach out and touch his arm and say, no one’s ever given me something so thoughtful, and–

The plunger splinters into a thousand pieces.

The girl screams, though he doesn’t think it’s about that, not the way she’s rocking against him, holding so tight he’s sure that she’s gonna stretch out his shirt. He can’t be assed with worrying about that though, not when he looks over his shoulder, and a beefy man in a black shirt points right through the gap in the door. “Don’t you dare fucking move, asshole.”

Huh, looks like that wasn’t his heart after all.

“And don’t fucking come back!”

Obi stumbles into the alley way, tripping over his own fucking ankles and diving headfirst into trash.

He flops around, getting himself at least situated so he’s sitting instead of fucking planking in gross ass trash bags. With a sigh, he reaches down and zips up his fly, leaning back on his throne of refuse.

God, he still has to piss. And call a fucking cab. If one will take him smelling like day-old fried pickle brine.

He closes his eyes. This night could really not get much worse.

“Hey.”

He peels open an eyelid, taking in the popped collar, and the unironic boat shoes. With the way his vision swims, it’s really only the shock of white hair that places it for him.

“God,” he groans, sinking further into his new home. “I should have fucking known.”

Wisteria’s mouth pulls razor-thin. “Don’t act like I’m following your or something. I was just driving by.”

“Yeah, bro?” He laughs, staring up at the featureless night skin. Too much light to find a star to hold onto. Or maybe it’s just the downpour, fuck. “You just were driving around town at one ay-em, and you thought you might pull a Good Samaritan?”

“I had stuff to think about,” he huffs, half turning away. “And yeah, I saw someone in the trash. And then when I got out it was you.”

“Oh, so we both have regrets,” Obi drawls. “Just great, captain.”

“I didn’t say that!” He scowls. “I lied, I recognized you from the car. And sure, you’re a big fucking asshole, but I know…”

He stops, mouth clicking shut around the words. Good, he doesn’t need to listen to some rich kid-poor kid speech, especially not from Richie Rich himself.

“Come on.”

He looks up, seeing the pale hand outstretched in the dim. “I’ll take you back.”

Now that’s fucking funny. “Nah, nah. This is my home now! I belong here! I’m sure your girlfriend would agree!”

Lame Bruce Wayne takes in a deep breath, letting it go with the practice of someone who has seen the inside of a therapist’s office. Obi would know. “I’m double parked. Let’s go.”

Obi stares. He can’t be serious. He just tried to get this kid’s girlfriend expelled, or– or whatever it was Dean Haruka was doing. He can’t really mean to just…pick him up out the trash.

Still, the hand’s there, quivering a little in the rain.

“Well,” he drawls, palm clapping around his. “If you think your reputation can survive me, Chief.”

[sabraeal]

Neither the Hunter nor the Quarry

Fae AU | Previous

Obiyuki AU Bingo Magic AU

The taste of honey sits cloying on this tongue, sour as it ages. Obi spits, eager to be rid of it.

The wind catches, and he’s hardly had the chance to relish its absence before the spittle is thrown back at his feet. He can’t help but huff out a laugh, bemused. Most masters never thought about the skies of their domains save for their color and the spires they could thrust through them, but this Izana, prince of the daoine sidhe -- it seemed there was no angle that missed his omnipotent gaze.

Obi lifts a leg, surveying the damage. Ah, and he’d just polished those boots this morning. Lucky thing that he had no more good impressions left to make.

With the ease of habit, he pulls the shadows to him. Like a quilt sewn with fog,  they settle softly against his skin, more comforting to him than a mother’s touch. The crisp bite of autumn’s chill floods his senses, driving out the last of that sickly taste. That bit with the trees was an old magick, learned with trickery and made his own, but even still, it leaves a rank tang in his mouth.

Some fey take to magic like this -- aes sidhe, for one, born liars the moment they were brought into being, silver tongues dripping with honey as they spoke -- but sweet nothings has never been his way. He worked best with masks and mirrors, with sharp blades and deep shade. To put himself into the sun’s full view -- it had been uncomfortable, to say the least. Like a shoe worn a size too small.

Still, it served him well for this, as little as he liked it. Surprisingly potent, for such a little thing.

He takes in a breath and coughs. Not so surprising, really. This whole place stank of charm and glamour, each gust buffeting more of that sweet scent against him.

He lets out a huff, cozening himself between crenelations. That girl should thank him for this; no matter how fair of face these aes sidhe are -- and rumor had that these princes had that gift in spades -- they were not men. It was not so long ago, not to any of these fey, that mortals were prey. To more than were apt to admit it, they still were. It had been foolish of her to forget.

At least now whatever thrall they have over her would fade, and maybe one day she would find herself wandering out of this mound, back to the world of men.

Whatever still is left for her then.

The wind blows hard through the spires, and Obi tucks his nose beneath his scarf to ward off the chill. In the mortal realm, the land would stretch out before him like patches on a quilt, but here the laws that bind man’s reality are only passing acquaintances with those of the knowe. Despite the simulacrum of the sun burning brightly above the master’s palace, a light fog settles outside its gate, obscuring the road out to the city, only the tops of the ancient pines piercing through its cover. From the ground it would be merely another nice day in Wistal, overseen by their lord, but from above, well --

It seems His Highness Izana knows better than any that enemies may come from anywhere, even above.

Obi lets loose a sigh, rubbing gloved palms over his thighs, bracing his feet beneath him. Now with that unpleasant business concluded, he could go--

It stings him in his chest, a hard buzz that makes his teeth jitter and grind. He looses his footing -- him! -- and it’s only reflex that saves him, his hands sweeping out to brace.

He gives a hard pant, confused. That isn’t the choke collar of his geasa, but instead a whip’s lash --

His spell. Someone has broken his spell.

Obi scans the ground with a bird’s eyes. That fog might cover the lands outside the palace, but his quarry would be inside now, content with their cunning. The prince maybe -- the second one, the one who started this mess -- or one of his aides -- the daoine sidhe one, not the dog. How they had known so soon, he cannot even hazard a guess, but --

A flicker of red catches at the corner of his vision, like a cardinal through the bush.

Not just someone broke his spell -- she did. That little mortal girl. Unbelievable.

His lips quirk, amused. He underestimated her. Looks like he’ll have to discourage her the old fashioned way.

He draws the shadows tight around him, not like a blanket, but like a shroud. This time he would be careful -- he more than anyone should have known what a mortal might be capable of when he lingers so steadily at the threshold.

Cunning though she may be to so deftly untangle such a working, there’s no mage alive that can ignore a spell-breaking, She knows it too; she’s off like a shot through the arcades, disappearing behind liana and lingerer alike. Even with his sharp eyes, he catches mere glimpses of her, hair roan as hind’s rump, disappearing into the brush.

He takes bow into hand, mouth curling into a grin. Hind she may be, but he is the hunter, and though this misstep may have spooked her, he won’t make another. His arrows are heart-seekers, all.

The shadows shudder as he leaps to the next parapet, and then to another. It is harder with the way the sun shines overhead, burning away the shade, giving him little purchase where he lands. Still, he’s more than just a few tricks in a bag, more than just what magicks he could steal -- he’s skilled too, naturally agile. The shadows are a help, but his body alone is no hindrance.

It’s not hard to stalk her flight; unlike a hind, she takes the most direct route to safety, bounding past servants and sentinels alike, barely avoiding a tragic brush with the aes sidhe that populate this court. The guards may reach out to hold her, but she’s swift, dodging limbs as a deer does underbrush.

Ah, that’s the issue, working with amateurs -- never quite as good at their jobs as the situation needs. Still, he grins.

She may be fleet-footed, but oh, she is not the fastest one here.

Obi flies from shadow to shadow at a breathless pace, the world blurring around him as he fixes on his goal. There is only one way to deal with quarry in flight -- cut off their route of escape.

He hurls himself to a balcony, one that affords him an uninterrupted view of the tower that leads to the a youngest highness’s apartments. In this world, she has but one sure ally -- an elaborate, yet romantic, form of suicide in a place like this.

He grins. She’ll find that out soon enough.

A shaft of ash catches under his palm; his cache here is limited, but he only needs a single shot. Oak and elm and alder might fly true, but ash is the only wood that would hold what needed doing. His fingers pass over the shaft, the scent of copper and acrid smoke curling up from his working. He holds it up to the false light, assessing.

Perfect. Even a master would be hard-pressed to do better.

Red flashes again, that tempting glimpse of hind in flight, and he nocks the arrow, the strength of his whole chest pulling bowstring back to its limit. Ebon-black feathers graze his cheek; an unwelcome caress, an unwelcome memory.

He looses.

It strikes home. He grins to see her chest stutter, to see the way her jaw hangs slack. Her hands tremble as she reaches out, her touch so ginger -- but the runes flash on the shaft, and she flinches at the sting --

Right before she rips the arrow right out of the wall.

“What?” he breathes, soaked in disbelief. It’s not possible --

She takes a staggering step, her face rucked up in concentration, and then another, and another, until she’s moving at a run, sprinting up the tower steps.

“She’s not stopping,” he wonders, and for once, he laughs, even as the backlash leaves him breathless. He should have known; a girl like that doesn’t fear anything, not even death.

His lips peel back in a grin as he hunches over, bow and civility abandoned. It’s been so long since he’s had a proper chase.

He no longer keeps his distance, jumping from parapet to parapet -- no, this is personal now, and he flings himself down to the balconies, to the trees. Her hair is bright so close, like a fox-tail, a tease he can’t resist. He catches the sweet apple scene of her magic on the air, and, ah, how that makes his blood run hot beneath the too-delicate shroud of his skin.

Mortal lords train their hounds for this, to flush out the vixen and herd her in, to catch her but never give the killing bite --

But Obi is no lord’s dog.

Knives slide between fingers like claws, and his stomach surges with pleasure, the victory of a kill well done singing through his veins.

“Looks like you’re headed home, young lady,” he purrs, “one way or another.”

He pulls back his arm, tension coiled in every bone --

And she stares straight at him.

It’s enough to give him pause, but he only has a moment to wonder at the lack of fear on her face, at the annoyance --

And then she rips the shadows from him, like a bandage from a wound.

By shadow and shade, no one’s ever done that before.

She knows it too; as much as he goggles at her, she does the same in return. He’s struck by her, by the spray of freckles across her pale skin and the vivid green of her eyes, like the sun viewed through a leaf. She’s so small this close, even smaller than he suspected, but even so --

“Shirayuki!”

She jumps, whirling to face that shout, arrow tucked neatly behind her back. Obi jumps too, dragging at the shadows to shroud himself, to be invisible as the youngest highness nears, face the very picture of concern.

“Zen!” she gasps, voice as clear as a bell, sweet as a song, and --

And now is the time for his hasty escape. The prince complicates this whole competition far too much.

With a grin, he leaps to a shaded column, feet dangling over the balustrade. There will be time yet to finish this game.

After all, it’s only just getting interesting.

[k-itsmaywriting]

Vessels: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Content Warnings: references to PTSD, references to death

Obi wakes up to green.

He gasps, grabbing at the hands held on the sides of his face. But when he sees her eyes, he—he feels safe, like he can breathe again, but she’s looking at him so firmly. She’s saying something…that she needs him to run, that she’s trying to expose the Wisteria family, but suddenly she’s gone and Garrack is getting off the floor and running after her.

He tries to follow, sitting up and swinging his legs over the bench. But before he can jump on his feet, it all comes rushing back – he was hit by a truck, his shoulder was destroyed but he didn’t bleed, he’s an android – and he crumples to the floor, clutching his shoulder. His breath comes too fast, too shaky and it doesn’t fill his lungs properly.

He’s so fucking confused. Nothing makes any sense. But if Shirayuki is in the offices she’ll find…

Oh, no.

Obi scrambles to his feet and out of the room, following Garrack’s hissing stream of curses in the hallways. He cuts to the right and reaches his office door, which Garrack slams her foot into again.

“Shit!” Garrack stumbles back, the door still unbroken. Obi nudges past her and drives his in instead. His ears scream as he tries again, again and again, drowning in the sound of his voice calling Shirayuki’s name and pleading to the universe she doesn’t find—

The door swings open and knocks against his chair behind it.

In an instant, he’s on the ground with his hands on Shirayuki’s shoulders. She has a look on her face he has never wanted to see for as long as he lived, eyes wide but blank, empty in shock as she’s already limp in his hands.

Garrack steps into the room and pushes Obi aside. As he falls onto his hands, Garrack drives a sparking rod into the back of her neck that draws a scream from Shirayuki that pierces his ears.

Obi dives forward and catches her. He looks at Garrack as she collapses onto the floor, back against the wall. “What did you do?!”

“Forced shut down,” she breathes, rod slipping and falling from her fingers. It thuds against the carpet. “She was going to expose the android project to the public. Kain threatened her with your life to try to get his hands on her research and…” She swallows a lump down her throat. “Zen’s going to be here any minute. I need…I need to…”

It suddenly hits him. Garrack was probably the one who turned him into an android.

He has a decision to make. And with no one to trust, he has to make it now.

He snatches the rod from the floor and pulls Shirayuki onto his back. Garrack immediately lunges her arm forward. But before she can grab him, he kicks her hand away and runs out the door. He risks a look back over his shoulder as he nears the emergency exit.

No one is following him.

The first time Obi had a project meeting, he almost rolled his eyes in front of the Wisteria brothers’ faces.

Izana, dressed to the nines like Obi had expected he would, paced slowly around the front of the room as he listed all of his and his brother’s previous achievements as the directors of Starlight. Developed smarter, faster and better computers than ever before, advanced AI technology and highly personalized it to cater to the individual needs of citizens of Wistal.

“And now,” Izana announced, voice dripping with slyness, “we seek to advance our AI technology further than ever before, to see if humans have the means to enhance the survivability of the human body with technology. While we keep this project a secret now, if we succeed, we could significantly improve the quality of life for the people of Earth.”

Before Obi could groan internally about how he really just means the rich people in Wistal, he heard a pen drag slowly, heavily across paper. He looked from the corner of his eye to the person next to him, a woman with blonde hair half-wrapped in a bun with an iron grip on her pen. There was only a dash in its path, but Obi could tell by the dents in the page she drove the pen into the desk. But her face was completely blank.

“Ryuu may have had his difficulties on his first expedition to the Outside, we have added two new members to our team to ensure the success of this project. I would like you all to please welcome our new neurosurgeon and engineer, Dr Garrack Gazelt and Obi Nanaki.”

Izana lead the room into a polite applause as both Obi and the woman next to him stood, plastering bright smiles on their faces. Obi acknowledged all the faces, but none of them really looked at him.

After they sat down, Zen Wisteria stepped in next to further explain the second attempt at Project Ryuu – the new method to build him a stronger body to withstand the harsh environment of the Outside. And that there would be a new focus on an artificial brain that could function on its own, make its own decisions based on experiences, memories and a personality created for him. But like the original prototype, he would have a constantly updated conservatory database stored inside.

Now that was something he wasn’t aware of when he fixed him…

Obi looked again at the woman next to him, Dr Garrack Gazelt, and her stony, unchanging expression. Unlike the others, something about her told him she wanted to be in that meeting even less than he did, that it was killing her inside.

So, he caught her alone in the elevator afterwards.

Obi had leaned back into the wall as it made its descent. “The Wisteria brothers are quite the pair, aren’t they? Their father is the leader of Wistal, but you’d think with the way Kain inherited his father’s power, that at least one of them would follow the same path? Yet here they are doing…all of this.”

Garrack looked at him through the corner of her eye. “Izana became a member of Kain’s political party a while ago, since Zen turned 20 and he decided he could have a larger role in running Starlight.”

Well, shit. Looked like the Outside was late on that news.

“But another thing is they say this whole android thing is for the advancement of AI technology, but what exactly are they going to do with it? And why the focus on conservation?”

Garrack narrowed her eyes. “Rumours have been going around that Zen brought back someone from the Outside. It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Damn, is it that obvious?”

“I don’t think there’s a single person in this city who hasn’t heard of Izana’s recent engagement to Haki Baron,” she snorted. “She’s the director of an environmental research lab called Lyrias, that he funds for a lot. The connection is personal, but some people are starting to think maybe he’s not like his father and his before him after all.”

Obi cocked an eyebrow. “And are there any rumours going around that say that might not be the case?”

Her gaze suddenly hardened. “Izana is willing to use whoever he has to in order to achieve his goals. He might not get his hands dirty, but if someone can get him what he needs, he won’t say no, no matter the process.”

The air in the elevator suddenly felt too heavy on Obi’s shoulders. The tension was stretched and taut, like it could be severed with a single cut from Garrack’s tone.

“And then he’ll gift the final product to her,” Garrack said grimly, “like that somehow means no blood was spilled at all.”

The elevator doors opened on the bottom floor with a ping. Garrack stepped into the lobby and looked over her shoulder, “But it’s all just speculation. No one’s heard him say anything about what he’s going to do with Ryuu yet.”

But with the way she said it, Obi figured she wasn’t far off the mark.

Obi slowly loosens his grip on Shirayuki’s shoulders, watching her back fall against the alley wall with a soft thud.

“Shirayuki,” he whispers. “Can you hear me?”

A car zooms past somewhere in the distance and Obi flinches, looking around the alley frantically. Any car on the streets could be one of Zen’s by now, looking for him and Shirayuki, trying to take them back and keep…keep using them, controlling them.

God, like he’s allowed to talk. He’s been a part of it this entire time.

But Zen isn’t the only reason his mind and body are running haywire.

He’s deep in a narrow alley of Wistal’s Chinatown, he hisses under his breath. There might be cars on the main street, but there’s no way it’ll be of any immediate danger to him.

But still, his hand is sweating when he looks down at the metal key in his hand.

Obi shifts next to Shirayuki and gently tips her head forward, sweeping wild red hair away from the nape of her neck. He understands the gist of what he’s supposed to do with it – press the key to the back of her head, around where the mesencephalon is embedded further inside the brain, and activate the electric shock.

Taking a deep breath, he pushes the button.

Sparks spur through the rod and before Obi knows it, the last of Shirayuki’s scream is tearing from her throat. He pounces back in front of her. “Shirayuki, it’s Obi!”

She gasps, “Obi?” And for a moment she looks relieved, but then realization flashes across her face and she’s backing into the wall in fear, shaking her head. “No, no nonono, there must be a mistake…”

Heart aching, Obi backs away, all the way until he’s standing with his shoulder blades pressing into the other side of the alley. “It’s not a mistake. I’m sorry, but it’s not a mistake—"

Shirayuki’s head falls, shaky hands rising to hold her head. “It has to be…” she whispers. “This can’t be real. My life can’t not be real. I…”

“Listen to me,” Obi pleads. “You exist, just like I and everyone else in this world does. You’re alive, I promise you that—"

“—Because that would mean I didn’t live a life and nothing about me is me, just fabricated because Zen and Izana Wisteria wanted to see if they could make an artificial human brain and have it work on its own. But that…” she laughs, a bitter thing that twists out of her chest. “…what am I even saying? I saw the files.”

Obi can’t do anything but swallow down the lump in his throat. But watch smoky black dirt in her palms smear into her hair as she watches her world fall apart.

“So I had no grandparents who raised me, who I mourned for months after they passed. I had no house with a vegetable garden in the Wistal suburbs. I had no school where some people liked me but others tried to make me invisible.” Her breath shudders. “I didn’t work for anything I have. I didn’t achieve anything. I’m not who I am and I don’t do the things I do because I want to, but because I was programmed to respond to certain situations and care about certain things and certain people. Nothing is mine, not even…”

She stops for a moment, and Obi slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the ground. Then she raises her head, looking at him in shock.

And he’s sorry. He’s sorry that a brilliant, wonderful person like Shirayuki never existed and lived like she thought she did. He’s sorry that he lied for eight months, that he’s not the person she thinks he is, while she risked everything just to save him. He’s sorry that while she was in the world trying to save it, he was working for the people who let it die, who are still killing it.

He’s sorry he fell for her, despite everything.

But as he looks at her sadly, at her misting green eyes like the forests, all he can say is just that. “I’m sorry.”

“I was in love with you and this entire time you’ve been lying to me?!” Shirayuki screams.

Obi freezes, eyes wide as he stares at her. She…she what?

“That’s why Zen and Dr Gazelt looked at me like…like I was just pitiful.” She grits her teeth as tears begin to fall. “Don’t pretend you don’t know!”

“You weren’t supposed to love me,” Obi blurts, words tumbling out of his mouth. “Not in that way. I don’t understand how it happened but I…” He has never felt this, the way something clogs his throat until he can’t swallow. “I’m sorry…”

“Then what am I to you, Obi? What am I?”

Obi had imagined this day – the day Shirayuki found everything and she would look at him like…like this. Hair like her red anger and sickly green betrayal in her eyes that burns him like no fire in the world could. But still a fighter with teeth bared like knives between knuckles, trying to get closure, to make sense of her life and reality shattered under her knees like broken glass. In the beginning he had brushed it off – maybe it would never happen. And he knew that Garrack could clear memories and she was just a job. Just another person he had to lie to for survival. He was never one who got attached anyway.

Oh, how wrong he was.

In the empty alley darkened by the night, all he can tell her is— “Everything.”

Everything he can’t have and everything he abandoned. A force of nature in a world where nature all but died, in not only sunlight and fresh air but as well as its storms spun from ambition and passion.

“A second chance at life, a reminder of what it really means to live,” he says, holding her stare with his own. “So I swear to you now, I’ll never lie to you again.”

Shirayuki crosses her legs and lets her shoulders fall forward, slowly deflating. Her hands fall into her lap. “What about the last eight months? All your laughter and frowns, the movies and food and clothes you liked, your words of encouragement to me, were those all fake too?”

“No,” Obi says. “That was all real.”

She straightens against the wall, looking at him again. “I believe you. Then tell me, who are you really?”

He takes a deep breath, lets the city filth fill his lungs before it all spills out with the truth.

“My name is Obi Nanaki. I lived in the wastelands outside Wistal…”

15 years after the meteor devastated the earth, stories of regrown forests in the mountains began to circulate.

It was an unspoken rule that if they were real, they were not to be exploited. Those who dropped their metal scraps onto the sand and left their makeshift homes made of half-standing shopping malls to make the travel north were the free spirits of those who remained outside Wistal. Those who didn’t want the money, the trade, the society, who just wanted themselves and their loved ones to live in peace.

Obi’s parents were like that too.

Unable to bear the drought any longer, his parents packed their bags and told him they were moving to the mountains, dreaming of deep forests and rivers. But three weeks into the journey, they were spirited away, and Obi had to get up one day, bury them, and keep going without them.

Then, on the morning he turned 12, he fell into a vegetable garden and didn’t wake up for a day.

“Do you think he’s coming to?”

Obi dragged his heavy eyelids open. His head felt like it was splitting open and he was so, so thirsty.

In his groggy vision, two men leaned a little closer towards him. “Oh, thank goodness,” an old voice sighed with relief. “The boy’s waking up.”

“How are you feeling, kid?” the other man asked as Obi blinked his exhaustion away. He straightened a little, head dipping into the stream of sunlight seeping through the wood of the house. The light revealed dark red in his hair, like the rocks of sand at the base of the mountain.

From that day he opened his eyes to the night he ran away a few months later, he received only kindness. But it was kindness Obi didn’t feel he deserved.

So, feeling like a burden, he returned to the wastelands to scavenge for parts, learn how they came together and worked in bigger, better ways, and trade everything he could find under the blazing sun. Because maybe then, he had thought, no one expected him to stay anywhere for long. He thought he didn’t need anyone, and no one needed him either. Not like there were lush forests or waterfalls anyway – just cold mountain winds against bare stone and shrubbery.

He can’t really remember their faces either, anymore. It was 10 years ago.

So, Obi didn’t find it particularly hard leaving it all behind for Wistal after he miraculously fixed Ryuu in less than a day.

“What now, then?” Obi asks.

The streets are completely silent now, save for a few drunks stumbling past the alley and a car speeding past. But no one notices them sitting across from each other still.

“I guess we have two options,” Shirayuki says, “We either let Zen catch us and get reset, keep living the lies like none of this happened. Or…”

He narrows his eyes. “Or?”

Shirayuki’s head falls back, staring up at the smoggy night sky.

“…or we leave Wistal altogether. Just the two of us.”

[sabraeal]

The Place Where Hearts Divide, Part 1

A prequel to Each One A World We Never Met

Obi stoops, eyes narrowing as he considers the parchment before him.

Ring for service, please! it reads, letters pleasantly rounded, evenly spaced. Kazaha’s work, most like; he’s the only herbalist in the entire pharmacy with something like legible handwriting. It’s no wonder Sir is the one who answers Miss’s letters – he’s got a peck of young nephews. If anyone is used to deciphering the indecipherable, it’s Master’s foremost aide.

He sits back on his heels, taking in the empty chair behind the heavy oak desk, the overflowing baskets of prescriptions lining the wall, the loud hush of the reception room itself. Curious.

The bell grabs his attention next, small and silver with a polished handle; doubtlessly a humble thing next to what their noble patrons are used to. He leans closer, a bowed-out golden eye greeting him in the silver.

His palm itches beneath leather. A terrible mistake on their part, leaving this out here. He would have thought they had learned from last time.

Leather brushes polished wood, just for a moment, before Obi drops his hand to his side. It might be fun to drive the head pharmacist up the wall, but while Garrack Gazalt is fond of him, maybe even indulges him, her Wilant counterpart does not share the same tender feelings. If he annoys Masaki Marken, he can enjoy the pleasant experience of being escorted out by a half dozen apprentices -- and having his men tease him about it for months.

Besides, stealth is the better option. The high road, so to speak. Sometimes literally.

Today there’s no skulking necessary; he strolls into the twisty hive of backrooms and corridors and not a single herbalist stops him. They barely even spare him a glance, too busy buzzing around with crates far too heavy for scholarly arms to hold, or heads buried in charts that go on for pages. He hardly gets a hello, let alone are you supposed to be here?

Not that he hears the latter much, anyway. Only the newest apprentices don’t know about Mistress Shirayuki’s shadow.

His feet carry him the familiar way, winding past patient rooms and stock rooms, back towards where the master herbalists keep their offices --

But he never makes it. A flash of red catches his eye, and he swerves, stepping into a shelf-lined room that’s cold enough for his breath to steam.

“Close the door behind you,” Miss calls out, weary and stern, bent over a box he suspects might be inauspiciously empty.

“You first, Miss.”

She jolts, her suddenly boneless finger letting the stems in her hands flutter to the floor.

“Obi!” Her gaze darts from him to the scattered sprigs, as if assessing which would be the easier mess to clean. “I didn’t expect you here.”

“I wonder,” he hums, slipping a shim between the door and jamb, leaving only a sliver of space between them. He’s rescued far too many apprentices from the cold rooms to think shutting the door behind him is a good idea, whether Miss believes she has the keys or not.

Miss is already bent when he turns back, fruitlessly trying to sweep the sprigs together, huffing with frustration. He winds nearer, crouching at her side with cupped hands. For a moment, she hesitates, eyeing his palms with a strange sort of wariness before delicately dropping each stem in.

Feverfew. Much less than he would expect. Interesting.

“I didn’t think to find you here either, Miss,” he murmurs into the silence, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes.

She settles back on her heels with a sigh, her breath ruffling the flyaway strands that have fallen over her face. “I know,” she says, every syllable steeped in weariness. “The flu season is hitting early this year.”

One of her hands flutters uselessly in the air between them before brushing back her hair. It’s a bad one, if she’s already this flustered.

“A few sick rooms are already full, and our supplies aren’t due to arrive for a few more weeks.” Her head bows when she shakes it, like her thoughts are too heavy to keep it upright. “Masaki’s called for all the herbalists to come in, and we’re all stuck combing through our stocks to see if we can even make --”

“Miss.” He holds up a hand, quieting her as he lays the feverfew back in her capable hands. “I only meant that Jirou told me Master rode through the gates this morning.”

“Oh.” Her fingers clench, stalks bending beneath them. “I...hadn’t heard.”

“He hasn’t sent a messenger yet?” Obi brushes off his knees, levering himself to standing. Typical. “How very like Master. But Sir’s letter did day they’d be here today, if weather didn’t delay them.”

“Did it?” Her gaze slips from his, voice too casual, too practiced. “I had – I had forgotten.”

A giggle slips from her, high and tight, nervous, but when he leans toward her, brow furrowed with concern, she evades him handily, hurrying to make notes in her stock book.

“Miss,” he tries, finally. “Is something...wrong?”

“No!” she answers, too quickly, too eager to keep her back to him. “I just -- I’ve been very busy, I must have lost track of the days.”

He taps his fingers on the drawer, eyes fixed to how her bowed back makes a barrier between them, how she’s angled herself so that he cannot read what is on her face or the lines of her body.

Lost track of days. He’d heard that excuse enough coming to fetch her for dinner, to remind her she’d promised Yuzuri help with the novices in the hothouses, to inform her that it was time for all good little herbalists to be in bed. But this –

Miss has never forgotten Master, never shown anything but eagerness for each of their reunions.

His jaw sets, teeth settling with a clack. Something isn’t right.

“It’s been some time since we’ve seen Master,” he remarks, as if this were just some…casual conversation. “Hasn’t it, Miss?”

“Not so long.” He sees how her cheeks set, how tight she holds her pencil. “We were just in Wistal a year ago, for the wedding.”

“Ah, yes. I remember.” Barely. Who could have guessed His Majesty could hold his liquor like that. “But Master was so busy. I think I saw him more than you that whole week.”

She hums. “Most likely.”

“In fact --” he watches her closely – “we haven’t seen him much since he last came to Lyrias.”

“His position keeps him busy,” she agrees. “And Tanbarun is a diverting place.”

“Why, Miss,” he drawls, forcing himself to slink across the room, to lay hands on her shoulders. He notices the way she jumps beneath his touch, like a rabbit in a trap. 

But he ignores when the tension in her melts away, when she leans into his hands --

He steps away, hands dropping to his sides, safely away from -- from that. “Are you worried about Master becoming worldly since his appointment?”

“N-no!” She whirls to face him, face red as her hair. “That’s not it at all --!”

“You know what they say about Tanbarun’s courts, after all,” he teases. “A garden of earthly de--”

“Oh, that’s quite enough,” she scoffs, slapping him lightly on the chest. “As if Zen would ever.”

Obi grins, trying to imagine it. A courtesan of Silk Street, decolletage lower than a levy in summer, trying to corner Master at a party. Master, ten shades of red all over, stammering to avoid her attentions --

Ah, it was only too bad they were assigned here. He’d pay good dill for a show like that.

“I just...” She lets out a huff, dropping her gaze once again. “Do you remember the last time he was here?”

Obi considers it. “We saw them just last year, for the --”

“No, not when we saw them last,” she says tightly. “But when they last came here. Before -- before Zen went to Tanbarun.”

The memories comes to him, as easy as knives to his hands. Before Master’s appointment as ambassador, when he’d told her he’d ask the Elder Highness about coming to Wilant. Back when Sir had told Miss Kiki he’d never thought of her as a woman, before he’d nearly ruined a royal wedding to stop her from having her own. Before things had become so different.

“Ah yes,” he hums, “when you and Master got snowed in.”

Her eyes flicker up to his then, fix to him. “And you and Mistuhide and Kiki, too.”

He grimaces. He’d been trying to forget; it had been a moment of weakness on his part, a rattle of his focus. He and Sir had arranged the whole thing, the private dinner, the private room --

But he hadn’t thought there would be that storm, that they might share it for the night --

He’d been weak. After all, Master was always meant to end up with Miss. His own heart wasn’t supposed to come into the equation.

“You know,” she murmurs, strangely quiet. “I was glad you were there that night.”

He stares. “Oh well,” he laughs, trying to recover. “I suppose I’d rather room with Miss Kiki too, if I was to be alone with anyone.”

Her mouth twists up, and her fingers clench along his coat. “It’s -- it’s not that. When I was with Zen, it was nice, but...”

His lips close tightly around the words, as if she’s not sure whether she should speak them.

“It’s only...” she says, whole body tense. “When we were alone, it felt...I felt--”

“Excuse me?” they hear just outside the door. “I’m looking for Mistress Shirayuki? She has a message from the castle.”

She steps away from him, blinking, like she’s stepped into full light from the dark.

“That’s me,” she calls out, pulling her gaze from his. “I’m Mistress Shirayuki.”

It’s harder to breathe the closer to the royal quarters they come.

Shirayuki has never had occasion to come to this part of the castle; aside from Izana’s rare tours north – he much prefers his requests to be spelled out in black ink on white, where vagaries are fewer and protests can be lost on the way south – the only regular habitant is Haruto, who even in her role as Protector of the North remains elusive. They’ve had occasion to meet a few times – mainly at night banquets, though the dowager queen had also invited her to a few private teas over the years, where Zen’s unspoken name was like a palpable weight between them – but she’s never been asked to her private chambers.

It’s weight on her now too; Obi keeps at her side, a comforting presence at the edge of her vision, but she sees the shadows on his face, the way his jaw is set. Even now she doesn’t know how to tell him how she feels, why her stomach no longer flutters but buzzes as they approach.

She want to see Zen, she does; she thinks of the haphazard way his hair falls across his forehead, the soft way he smiles, the dulcet tenor of his voice, and she is warmed by it. She misses it, misses quiet summer nights in the gardens, and the sound of his laughter from his office window.

But then he holds his hand out to her, soft save for the calluses on his fingers, and there’s not enough air in her lungs to keep her knees from knocking, to keep her stomach from churning. Snow keeps falling outside the windows, endless, trapping her here, and she should want this, this is what she has been working for, fighting for –

She just no longer remembers why.

“Miss.” Obi’s steps slow, and she realizes that the door in front of them is it, Zen’s chambers, the ones that would have belonged to the Lord of Wilant, had he chosen to take it –

“We don’t have to,” he reminds her. “I’ll never tell.”

There’s a thousand words she wants to say, but her tongue is too heavy, her thoughts buzzing like a disturbed hive –

“Let him come to you,” Obi says with a grin, leaning against the jamb. “A walk down to the pharmacy will do Master good, after all that rich Tanbarun fare.”

A laugh bursts from her, and she shakes her head. “No,” she says, rapping at the door. “We’re already here. And I’ve always wondered what the royal quarters look like.”

Obi grins. “Fair enough, Miss.” He leans in as the door begins to swing open, waggling his eyebrows. “I wonder if it will have animal heads all over it. Maybe even a polar bear.”

She bites down on a giggle. “That would be interesting.”

What is most surprising is not what is in the room, but who.

“Mitsuhide!” she gasps, moments before arms close around her, before she is swallowed up in the familiar scene of leather and soap. “I didn’t think you’d be coming!”

He flushes as they part. “Ah, well, it was on the way.”

“And he wanted to personally inspect his successor,” comes a languid drawl from behind, and Shirayuki grits her teeth. “You know how Sir Mitsuhide is when it comes to his duty.”

She peers around Mitsuhide’s body, catching dark hair and long limbs leaning back in a chair, perfectly at ease. “Sir Hisame. I didn’t realize that you would be...here.”

“Who else would Kiki trust with her precious prince’s protection?” Hisame asks, arching an elegant brow. Even standing in the same room as him makes her feel -- ridiculous, like she’s wearing sabots at a ball.

Her brow furrows. “You mean, you’re not--?”

“Please, Miss Shirayuki.” Hisame presses a hand to his chest. “Not even I would consider myself a fitting replacement for our shining paragon.” A smile creeps across his lips. “That distinction goes to our dearest Bergatt.”

Obi stiffens behind her. “Bergatt?”

“Tariga,” Mitsuhide clarifies, looking just as thrilled. “Zen wanted him to be given the position. As a show of good faith.”

“Is that what he is too?” Obi asks, too casual. “Good faith?”

“Come now, Sir Obi,” Hisame drawls, too amused. “I’ve never participated in a coup.”

“That we can prove.”

Hisame shrugs, entirely too pleased with himself.

The door to the bedroom swings open, and Zen sticks his head out, scowling. “I heard voices. You two aren’t arguing again?”

“Us?” Hisame gasps. “Never, my liege.”

Zen’s mouth pulls flat. “The what -- oh! Obi, Shirayuki!”

Obi swans out in front of her, sweeping a courtly ball. “You call and I answer, Master.”

Zen’s look turns incredulous. “Since when?”

“You wound me.”

“Rub some dirt in it, you’ll recover,” Zen says with a grin, before turning to her. “Shirayuki, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Her heart flutters painfully in her chest. “Oh? Should we sit --?”

“Privately,” he says, with a sideways glance at his aides. “If that’s all right.”

She looks to Mitsuhide, even Hisame, but neither of their faces give anything away. “Of course.”

Her head half-turns, emerald searching out amber but --

But she drags her gaze back forward, spine pulling straight. She doesn’t need -- need strength, not for just...talking.

She wants this.

Zen ushers her into his chamber with a familiar courtly flourish; it’s so subtly over-the-top she nearly misses his smile, the wink he gives her as she passes. Raj, she realizes with a jolt, feet stuttering beneath her. He’s making a joke about Raj.

The smile that lifts her lips is genuine when she turns to him, but it draws tight into a grimace as she watches the door pulls shut behind him, as it fully dawns on her just how alone they are.

Her heart leaps in her chest. It’s not that -- that she’s been avoiding being alone with Zen; they just are rarely in the same country, let alone the same room, and what events have brought them together have left little time for privacy. She’s just not...used to being alone with him, is all.

The door clicks shut, and it’s as if someone has dropped a puppet’s strings; Zen bows over, the wood at his back the only thing keeping him on his feet. A sigh trembles out of his lips, something between relief and weariness, and he forces himself upright, each step dragging as he trudges to the bed. He sits heavily, so hard that that the mattress lets out a gasp and –

And the gray light from the windows hits him just so, just enough to remember snow falling, to remember a pit of pillows, a crush of candles flickering around it, to remember let’s stay up talking, how does that sound –

He falls back, prone on the bed, and there’s just – just not enough air –

“Shirayuki,” he sighs, holding out an arm. “Come here.”

She should be – be eager to close this space between them, to fold herself up in his arms after so long –

--Can it..wait a bit? –

But her feet root her to the floor, firmer than any tree. It’s not – she’s not opposed to…something. It would be nice to be held close, to even – even be kissed. It’s only that she – she doesn’t know how to make herself move, how to close this distance –

Not anymore.

“You...” She licks her lips, frozen. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“I did. I do,” he assures her. “I just...I’m tired.”

“Oh.”

“I’m tired of being apart,” he says, and it’s not a clarification, just an addition. Another part of his weariness. “I just...want to be with you. For a minute.”

There’s none of that odd energy in him from the inn, from when she was so sure he would do something. There’s just...exhaustion. Resignation.

She nods. “All right.”

She crawls up next to him, laying her front along his side, letting his arm wrap around her. She’s surprised to be the warmest one.

“Is there something --?”

“Shh,” he murmurs, eyes at half-mast, pressing a kiss to her lips. It does not promise more. “Let’s just...be. For a moment.”

She can do that. She lays her head on his shoulder, tucking herself tightly against him. It feels...nice. Safe. Normal.

In minutes his breath slows, and she realizes he has fallen asleep. In another, her own eyelids are drifting shut.

Whatever needs to be said...it can wait. For later.

[sabraeal]

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find

“Name.”

The word itches in her ear as she stares at she box, stymied. She’s used to the ones at the apartments, where you press a button and talk, but this one is smooth, sleek, barely more than a speaker. It’s meant to not ruin the line of the gate.

Shirayuki shifts, staring up at the spear-points of the finials, the toe of one sneaker scratching at her ankle. She hadn’t known -- Zen hadn’t told her there’d be some sort of gate keeper. She’s known he was well-off -- hard to miss that, with the sort of gossip that went around him at the school -- but she’d thought -- Mcmansion. Three car garage. The usual sort of extravagance.

She was not expecting Wayne Manor, complete with wrought iron gate and stylized W, driveway stretching endlessly behind.

“Name.” Also complete with disembodied voice. “Just say it. We can hear you.”

That...does not make her feel any better. “S-Shirayuki.”

A sigh huffs out of the speaker. “Full name.”

“Shirayuki Nowakowski?”

“Are you expected?” the box demands, with about as much emotion as a toaster.

“Uh.” She stares at the brick wall, at the little spearheads on top of the gate. “I’m here for D&D?”

There’s no answer from the box this time, just a buzz as the gates swing open. It’s so slow she’d be waiting whole minutes if she was trying to drive up. As it is, she slips through the gap as soon as it’s big enough to fit her.

She turns back when she’s halfway up the drive, just in time to see it open fully, standing there like there’s an actual car to let through. She giggles at that, stumbling over some curbing, and –

“PLEASE DO NOT STEP ON THE GRASS!”

“Oh gosh!” she yelps, dodging the aggressive spray of a sprinkler. “It was a mistake!”

The sprinkler, for its part, is unmoved. Her left sock is partially soaked. A great impression to make the first time she does – whatever this is going to be.

Fun, she hopes.

Shirayuki’s seen a bunch of fancy entrances in her time. She grew up in a Victorian townhouse with full veranda, wrapping front to back, and most of the neighborhood was the same, save for where houses had been pulled down in the 50s to make room for pre-fabs.

Still, this isn’t -- this isn’t a porch, the wood musty and probably rotting in places, just waiting to give an unsuspecting kid a splinter they’ll never forget -- it’s a portico, all columns and statuary, like she just strolled up the lawn to Pemberley. There’s even a round-about that goes through it, so that cars can drive right up, and -- it’s a lot. Just a whole lot.

She gets to the front door -- real wood, she can tell, inset with tasteful stained glass that does not look like it came from Home Depot -- and fully expects a butler in full dress at the door, Jeevesian accent in full force as he asks, your coat, madame?

So she’s not expecting Izana. Not at all.

The number of things she knows about Zen’s brother could fit on the palm of her hand in nine-point-font, double spaced.

Bullet One: He’s older, not even in college anymore, though she’s not quite clear on what he’s doing now. Something important, from the way Zen always talks about him.

Bullet Two: He’s actually serious about this whole Dungeons and Dragons thing, or as he gently corrected after he first anxious text, Pathfinder. She never quite worked up the nerve to ask how long he’s been playing, but it’s long enough that he’s as comfortable modifying its rules as she is with a bread recipe -- he spent most of their first conversation trying to explain gestalt, but she really didn’t understand much beyond being able to start with two classes instead of one.

Bullet Three: He’s even more serious about Arthurian Myth, to the point where she’s sure he must have minored in it or something. He sent her the full text of Le Morte D’Arthur -- in English, thankfully -- as prep for the game.

Meeting him, she can now add bullet point four: he’s extremely, extremely tall.

“Shirayuki,” he says warmly, looming over her with almost a full foot of height. She’s seen him before, met him before, even aside from their late night texts about her character, but – not this close. Mitsuhide’s even taller, but somehow it never seems like this, like something she should be aware of.

“Oh!” she yelps, clutching at her hood. “I didn’t – you – I thought someone –“

“Security told me you were walking up the drive.” He says it so simply, like everyone has 24/7 surveillance at hand. “Can I take your…jacket?”

She shrugs her hoodie closer around her. “N-no! It’s fine. I get cold easy.”

He shrugs. “If you want.” He turns, clearly expecting her to follow. “Do you need me to validate your parking? Next time you can come right in. We have plenty of room, but I can send someone out to put a pass on your windshield. They’re a little strict about street parking here.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” she assures him, wishing her voice didn’t tremble. “I took the bus.”

His steps stutter on the stairs. “The bus?”

She stops herself just short of saying, do you know what one of those is?

He recovers. “I didn’t know there was a bus stop near here.”

There isn’t, but she doesn’t want to explain how she walked almost a half hour from the nearest one to here. “I don’t have a car. Or a license! So…”

“Hm.” She’s not sure what to make of that sound. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Shirayuki!” A chair clatters against the wall as Zen stands, slipping around the side of the table to…stand an awkward distance from her, as if he’s not quite sure he should hug her or shake her hand or – just let her exist in space. Mitsuhide, for his part, is half out of his seat too, while Kiki hasn’t moved an inch, only giving the barest nods as a hello. “I’m glad you could make it.”

She opens her mouth to say – well, something, she hasn’t really planned that far ahead, -- but –

“She took the bus,” Izana says offhandedly, sitting at the head of the table. It sets off a chain reaction across the room.

“The bus?” Zen’s face is a mask of horror. “Shirayuki, you should have said something. I could have sent a car around.”

She doesn’t miss how he says a car; it comes out so easily she’s not even sure if he knows that it isn’t normal for people to have drivers that can just…go pick people up. Without them there. It certainly doesn’t seem to faze Kiki, and though Mitsuhide makes a face, it’s a resigned one.

“Not to worry,” Izana drawls easily, spreading out his screen. “We have another player coming from that side of town. I’m sure he wouldn’t mine carpooling.” He glances up, gaze fixed over her shoulder. “Right, Obi?”

“There’s worse things than driving around cute girls.”

Shirayuki spins, staring up -- and up -- into a pair of gold eyes looming above her. He takes a step down, right beside her, and then he’s nearly normal height, only a head or so taller than her, mouth quirked into a grin.

Zen scowls. “Who is this?”

“Our other player,” Izana says easily. “You inviting Shirayuki reminded me you were very much missing another important role in your party, and I asked Obi if he’d be willing to fill it.”

Zen frowns. “Do you know how to play?”

His shoulders twitch, barely a shrug. “I played Skyrim at a friend’s house, once.”

Zen looks like he’d like to argue his credentials, but Shirayuki offers, shyly, “You’re already doing better that me.”

Obi stares at her, eyes round, as if he’s not used to -- to anyone taking his side. It last only a second, and then he’s back to his grin, back to his gaze sliding off of her like she’s furniture. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

You have heard of the great castle of Tintagel, but even the tales pale to the halls you are walked through. Everywhere, blue and silver hangs, a dragon and a lily sewn over every one, and when you reach the great doors to the throne room, over them is carved in bold script: Toujours Beau.

Always Beautiful. Always Good. The Pendragon way, it is said. You only hope that it is so.

You are instructed on how to approach the throne: head bowed, stop three steps from the dais, and perform an obeisance. You are glad to be reminded – you have long resisted your lessons, and now, when you need them, you wish you had paid attention.

You have barely dropped into your curtsy, when you hear a soft gasp, when you hear soft footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly you are being lifted upright.

“There is no need for that,” says the man that holds you. He is swathed in blue and silver, a coronet on his pale hair, and you know – this is Arturius, Prince of the Angles. “No women must humble herself before this throne.”

“My lord,” you manage, confused. His hands leave you, and already you breathe easier.

“Come, tell us what must be done,” he says, stepping back, taking his place on the dais once more. And empty throne, larger than the one he takes, sits beside his.

“My name is Lynet,” you say, “and my sister --”

“Lynet?” Zen frowns, craning his neck to see her sheet. “I thought you were going to be Gwenhwyfar.”

“I was,” Shirayuki says, gritting her teeth. “But I read around, and Lynette seemed a lot more –“

Interesting. Not that Guinevere wouldn’t have been, but – Lynette had possibilities. Possibilities that didn’t say healer girlfriend.

“We talked it over,” Izana interjects smoothly. “And Gwenhwyfar was more of a cleric/druid build, which Shirayuki wasn’t interested in.”

Mitsuhide’s brow furrows. “So what exactly are you?”

Force bursts from your hands, magic trailing like crystal flowers from your hands as the missiles shoot straight through the quintain. Sir Bedwyr stands next to you, solid as a wall, stymied.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had arcanists in Tintagel,” he says finally, smile wide.

“I’m not so bad with potions, either,” you offer, blood rushing to your cheeks. “And a bomb or too might be in my purview as well.”

Zen may not be pleased with her choice of character, but Arturius Pendragon, Prince of the Angles, is enchanted with Lynet, and hardly a half hour passes before he is pledged whole-heartedly to her quest to free her sister from dread enchantment.

Obi’s character has still not made his debut.

“Just what are you supposed to be?” Zen asks crankily, after they’ve had their break. “Do you have some quest or what?”

Obi looks up from his phone. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, mouth quirking up in a grin.

Izana glances down at his own phone before setting it aside.

“Shirayuki.” She startles, glancing up at him. “I’m going to need you to roll Reflex.”

“An arrow?” Arturius paces his study, incensed. “Someone dared to harm you in Tintagel, my own home?”

“I dodged,” you offer weakly. Morgaine, from where she stands, slowly shakes her head. His sister would know as well as anyone how intractable the prince could be in this temper.

“There was a message as well, brother,” she says, holding out the scroll. “’To our red haired guest…’”

There are more incidents like that over the next hour. Lynet locked out of her rooms in the tower, flower pots from high windows, all manner of accidents.

Obi keeps looking at his phone. So does Izana.

“You missed,” he says suddenly, while she’s preparing her bombs. “Shirayuki, I need you to roll me initiative.”

The knife hits your desk, rattling your alembic on its burner, and finally you cannot ignore it anymore. You whirl to face the shadows, unnatural in their corner, and spread the salve of true-seeing over your eyes.

It is a man, or something like, twisted ram’s horns curling back along his head and around his ears, eyes darker than night, only a slit of gold to mark them in his face.

“You!” you call out, no longer afraid, but – annoyed. “You are the one who keeps trying to kill me!”

He tries to run for it, but you’re ready, bag of tanglefoot bursting as it lands on the stone. He trips, wines wrapped around his ankles, struggling. You storm closer, immune to the touch of your own magic.

“Kill!” he coughs, smiling wildly as you lean over him. “Kill is such a strong word!”

“Apparently,” you deadpan, hands on hips. “Since you keep botching the job.”

“Botching?” His smile takes a wicked edge. “Is that what you think?”

You tumble, his hands around your wrists, hot and strong like bands of iron fresh from the fire. It tickles, really, you realize as you lay under him.

He stares. “Are you…?”

“I’m an alchemist,” you sigh, wriggling restlessly under him. “Do you really think I’d make bombs without some kind of protection?”

His grin breaks wide, into a smile. “You are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met,” he admits, the heat in his hands dying until it’s…almost pleasant. “Do you happen to have a sister?”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Gods --”

“Unhand her, scoundrel!” Arturius shouts from the door. “Never fear, Lynet, I heard your calls for help --”

You stares. “I didn’t call for help.”

Arturius stares.

“You didn’t?” Zen says, brow furrowed. “Are you --?”

“Yes,” Shirayuki sighs. “I thought I could handle it myself.”

“Mm,” Obi hums, pleased. “Beaumains certainly feels handled.”

“You’re certain you renounce your ways?” Arturius sighs, annoyed. “You won’t try to harm Lady Lynet?”

“Quite sure,” Beaumains the tiefling assures them, with little conviction. “No point after being caught. And if you pay me more coin than my last master –“

“We will.”

The room startles as Uther, King of the Angles strides in, resplendent even without his royal vestments. “I think it only makes sense that since you tried to take the life of Lady Lynet, that you should now be charged with protecting it.”

“Brother --” Arturius objects, but it’s cut short by a wave of the hand.

“There is no one better,” Uther tells him. “After all, even if he will not speak the name, he knows who plots against her, does he not?”

Shirayuki knows she should feel uneasy getting into a car with a man she doesn’t know, even if he’s apparently a friend of a...friend? But even though Obi’s spent the last three hours trying to kill her character, she sees his beat up Honda rusting on the side of the street and doesn’t even feel a twinge of doubt when she slips in.

“Sorry it’s not the town car,” he intones, not sounding anything like Izana, but still, she knows exactly who he’s imitating. “If i knew I was going to have a passenger, I would have at least stocked the minibar.”

“It’s all right,” she assures him, trying to smother her smile. “I think I would be afraid to leave fingerprints on the leather if you did.”

“God, right?” He shakes his head, pulling off the curb. “Our Overlord there tried to offer to have someone pick me up, and all I could picture was some butler rubbing his glove over the seat and pulling up dirt. No thanks.”

She laughs at that, tucking herself into the corner of the seat. It’s not a long drive to her part of town -- their part of town -- but it feels even shorter with Obi, who keeps her giggling almost the whole time.

“Beamains,” she says, eyeing him warily. “That’s not his real name, is it? You didn’t decide to call him Beautiful Hands.”

“He does have beautiful hands.”

She gives him a flat look.

Obi grins. “Beaumains has many names, and many secrets.”

They pull up in front of the apartments, and she tells him, “Sounds like an answer from someone who would name their character Beaumains.”

His grin widens, and there’s just -- something. Something more in the way he looks at her, like he -- he sees her. It’s almost soft, but not -- not the same softness Zen has when he looks at her, half-hopeless and half-determined, like she’s a puzzle to be solved.

He’s handsome like this. It’s a devastating realization, and she tries to -- to un-have it. If only to keep her heart from doing what it’s doing in her chest, to keep her hands from breaking out in this clammy sweat.

“Hey,” he starts, almost awkward, “you wouldn’t...”

He hesitates, eyebrows drawing down, like he’s -- he’s thinking.

There’s a part of her that just wants to bolt, wants to run up the walk and disappear inside to have an existential crisis in peace. But there’s another that wants to stay, that can’t help but wonder what all this -- this tension is. “I wouldn’t...?”

“You go to school with Zen, right?” he says, suddenly very...removed.

Her breath tangles in her chest. For no reason at all, we’re just friends sits uselessly on her tongue. “Yeah, I’m a senior.”

“Great.” Both of his hands grip the wheel, knuckles nearly white. “That’s -- great. I guess I’ll see you next week?”

She wants to ask what he was going to say, but there’s something about the way he’s turned, not quite looking at her, almost -- disappointed? angry? -- that makes her say. “Right, next week! Text me when you’re on your way.”

“Great,” he says as she slips out, closing the door behind her. She’s halfway up the walk when he calls out, “Hey, your birthday though...?”

“May!”

“Right,” he sighs, his whole body slumping into his seat, one hand lifting to his temples. “Right. Next week. Text before I come over. Perfect.”

He drives away, and Shirayuki can only wonder at the disappointment in her chest, at the way things feel unfinished.

“Oh well,” she murmurs to herself, hands trembling as she tries to fit the keys in the lock. “There’s always next week.”