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Chapter Text

Over the top of his book - glasses sliding down the arch of his nose - Lata gives her a flat stare, “Is this going to be a problem for you?”

“N-No!” Hands flying up defensively while her heart starts trying to wiggle its way up into her throat, Shirayuki stammers, “No problem. I’m happy to go. Excited, even.”

The words taste strange on her tongue. Sweet and nauseating all at once.

“Unconvincing, but-” gaze falling back down to his book, he waves a bored hand towards the door, “You leave tomorrow. Yuzuri already has all the booking information and tickets.”

“O-Oh, ah, okay.”  

Only receiving a faint grunt in response, Shirayuki takes that as her dismissal and begins to back out of Lata’s office on wobbly knees.

Tomorrow.

They leave for the convention. In Wistal. Tomorrow.

Flight response kicking into high gear, her anxiety begins urging her to go racing through the large campus corridors and out into Lyrias’ sprawling gardens, away from people and-

“Shirayuki-” Lata calls, intelligent eyes piercing through her feeble reassurances and hardly contained composure, as he looks down his nose at her, “It should be noted that, while I do not care what you two choose to do with your free time while there, I expect the both of you to behave yourselves.” He pauses, grimaces, then looks back to his book, “I’m sure you understand that as the faculty representing Lyrias, should anything… unsavoury, appear in the news-”

“It won’t.” Rigid, hackles up and fingers mashed together in front of her, she hisses between her teeth, “You don’t need to worry about, ah, that.”

He nods once.

Shirayuki breathes in as steadily as she’s able and slips through the door.

As soon as it falls shut behind her, she sags against it with numb knees and not enough air reaching her lungs. Beneath her fingers, her hair bauble is smooth and comforting.  

It’ll be fine. She can go to Wistal. She can do this. It’s not as though anyone from her past would have any interest in attending an exotic plant convention, so, as long as she keeps her head about her and doesn’t venture anywhere near her memories, everything should be fine.

Right? 

_____

The big city lights - all humming neon and flashing screens - are dazzling to the point of blinding; and, although her eyes water with protest, Shirayuki forces herself not to squint at every brightly lit storefront and jumbo-tron they walk past. It’s the least she can do, to not look about the city as if she were angry to be here. Because she’s not. Not really.

At one point in her life, this very city had been her home. These bustling streets and blinding lights had been a comfort, but, now-

“Don’t you miss it?” Yuzuri, smelling of smoked cinnamon and late nights, loops her arm with Shirayuki’s and sighs, dreamily, “I sure would. It’s so beautiful.”

“Nope.” With a tired snort, Shirayuki looks up at her friend who’s silhouetted against an enormous colourful ad for some new implant promising the ability to emotionally connect you to your partner; at the bottom of the screen, an elegant silver W glares at her. She rolls her eyes, “Wistal might be fine to visit, I guess, but,” she shrugs, as best she can with Yuzuri hanging off of her, “I’m not sure I would choose to live here, again.”

Yuzuri gives her a withering look, “Because of the city itself or-” 

“Both.” Dropping her gaze to the pristine white sidewalk beneath their feet, one hand coming up to finger the delicate bauble pinned in her hair, she swallows down the nauseous fluttery feeling trying to crawl its way up and out of her stomach. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she can’t do this. Even after all these years, maybe coming here wasn’t such a great idea. 

Sighing, loud and annoyed, Yuzuri releases her.

“Shirayuki, come on, Wistal is huge!” Taking a couple steps forward on the sidewalk, her friend throws her arms out wide, trying to make her point; passerby’s look up from their screens only long enough to hiss angrily about the ‘tourist’ and skirt around her. “There’re more than ten million people living here and the convention is only a few short days.” Walking back to her, throwing an arm around her shoulder, Yuzuri giggles, “Just relax. What are the odds you’re even going to run into anyone you know?”

Nibbling at her lip, trying to relax and force the memories of the past to leave her alone, Shirayuki blinks up at the city lights and nods; Yuzuri is right. They’re only here for a few days and Wistal is a big place.

The odds of her running into someone she knows is exactly slim to none.

_____

The theatre around them is - in comparison to what they left outside - incredibly dark. 

Aside from a few dim strips of LED running the length of the aisle, the intimate venue is lit only by a few house lights above; they all glow an ethereal sort of lilac, washing everything out into dull purple tones and violet shadows, while music, not unlike that belonging in an elevator, plays smoothly over the speakers.

A polished onyx stage stretches out directly in front of her, intimidating and impossible to tell where stage ends and shadows begin. 

“You lied to me.” Shirayuki accuses under her breath. Hands folded tightly in her lap and heart doing something strange down in her stomach, she casts a sidelong glance at Yuzuri, who, she notices with some level of frustration, looks entirely too pleased with herself.

“I did not. I said we were going to a show and we’re at a show.” Yuzuri smiles innocently enough on the outside, but, on the inside, Shirayuki knows she’s cackling. Her devil horns growing longer and pointier.

“I thought you meant a theatrical production. Like Rent. O-Or Wicked, or something.” Hissing, throwing a glance over her shoulder up the aisle towards the exit, her stomach flips to see the rest of the crowd being ushered in; the doors readying to close. If she runs, she might be able to make it.

As though sensing her flight-response acting up, Yuzuri latches onto her wrist with an iron grip, “Oh relax. You’re going to love it.”

Whirling on her, heart and stomach all packaged up into one nice bundle trying to escape out her throat, Shirayuki huffs, “Love it? Yuzuri, I don’t even know if I can wat-”

“ATTENTION.”

A voice booms over the speakers as the music cuts off and the lights flash twice. Yuzuri releases her with an excited squee, her attention focused on the stage directly in front of them.

“AT THIS TIME WE ASK THAT YOU PLEASE FIND YOUR SEATS AND TURN OFF ALL DEVICES AND IMPLANTS.”

The few stragglers bumble down the aisle and into their seats as the crowd around them begins the task of powering down; devices of all manner chiming as they’re shut off and stowed away in pockets and purses. Implants chirping and going dim where they rest and glow just beneath the skin.

“THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION. PLEASE ENJOY THE SHOW.”

After a moment of unnatural quiet - filled only by the impatient rustle of coats and occasional murmur of excitement - the house lights plunge them straight into darkness and Shirayuki holds her breath as the music begins to play.

_____

It’s not as horrible as she thought it might be. 

It’s nowhere near the production she was expecting when Yuzuri suggested catching a show in their free time, but it’s… entertaining, in its own way. The models are certainly talented and the show itself is, at times, rather artistic.

Suddenly, Yuzuri appears - pushing her way between two women who are chattering excitedly about which acts they found most provocative - and shoves a shimmering gold drink into her hand before taking a drink of her own neon green one.

Sniffing the drink cautiously, her mouth starts to water. Crisp apple and honey. Lips chasing after her straw, she hums, “What is this?”

“A drink.” Yuzuri shrugs, “I think that one was called a Nanaki. Pretty sure they’re inspired by the acts.” She takes a sip, her eyes shutting with pure bliss as she sighs, “And let me tell you, this one? Ayako? Hmmm, yeah, it is every bit as tasty as that man looked.”

Shirayuki frowns into the golden liquid, trying to recall if there’d been an act for a ‘Nanaki’ in the first half. She doesn’t think so, but-

The lights flash twice, indicating that their short intermission is quickly coming to an end; around them, people still standing in line for drinks or the restroom, glance about the room, a glint of worry in their gaze.

Without wasting another moment or waiting for the announcer to urge people to take their seats, Yuzuri grabs her hand and starts hauling her back into the theatre, down the aisle and toward their seats.

Somehow, miraculously, she doesn’t spill a drop of the golden drink clenched between her fingers.

_____

A single spotlight shines down on a lamppost, the sound of rain plays through the speakers and Shirayuki holds her breath; only, this time, she doesn’t do so for fear of what comes next, but rather in anticipation.

The stage spread out before her looks like it’s been taken straight out of her favourite movie and-

The first few notes hit. Gene Kelly sings through the speakers. Bass thumps in her chest. 

Her heart soars into her throat. Her eyes widen.

A man, dressed in a sharp grey suit and wearing an old black fedora, strolls out onto the stage, an umbrella twirling in one hand, the other playfully loosening his tie, as he confidently approaches the lamppost.

In one fluid movement, the man side steps across the stage, passing the towering lamppost, and easily sheds himself of his jacket. It flutters somewhere offstage, forgotten, as he casually saunters back towards centre stage; umbrella swinging lazily between his fingers and white button-down hugging him in all the right places, he holds tight to his fedora, pulled down just enough that he’s able to keep everything but sharp cheekbones and a killer grin, hidden in shadow.

Coming to a stop before the lampost, Shirayuki swears, she sees his grin deepen and, then, with a flick of his wrist, the umbrella opens, completely shielding him from view. Despite being in the first row - being closest to the stage - Shirayuki leans forward, as though it might help her see behind the umbrella; but, then-

As quickly as it’d opened, the umbrella snaps shut and-

And- 

“Damn.” 

She’s not sure if that was her, or Yuzuri breathing out the faint curse, but she doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, because he’s no longer wearing a shirt.

Or pants, for that matter. 

The suit is gone. All that remains is a pair of tight black boxers, the golden tie he’d been playing with and his fedora and Shirayuki is having a very hard time remembering to breathe as her brain screams at her, trying to drag her thoughts in a staggering number of directions, all at the same time.

First thought, he is incredibly hot. Like, the kind of hot where she’s wondering if he’s somehow been photoshopped.

Second thought, she knows he’s not photoshopped - not because of the large, silver scar resting over his heart - but because he’s always been this hot.

Third thought, she knows he’s always been this hot, because she knows him.

With one graceful movement, he grabs the lip of his fedora, takes it off with a flourish and tosses it off stage where the shadows swallow it up, before turning to face his audience with a grin that breaks hearts.

His gaze, as warm and mesmerizing as the one that haunts her memories, comes to rest upon her. His lips part and golden eyes widen, just as she whispers his name under her breath.

“Obi.”

_____

The tile is cool against her back. Her thighs. The bathroom lights hum dizzyingly above her and, somewhere in the back of what’s left of her frazzled brain, she knows she really shouldn’t be sitting on the bathroom floor.

She probably shouldn’t have run out of the theatre after seeing him, either, but-

Well, it’s a little late for that.

Struggling to fill her lungs, ducking her head between her knees and burying her fingers in her hair, she squeezes her eyes shut tight and tries to get a hold of her aching heart.

Wistal is huge. Over 10 million people. The chances of her running into anyone had been so slight that she’d actually started to believe she might survive this trip. She was starting to think that she could make it through the convention - and endure anything Yuzuri had planned - unscathed and heart intact. After all, she’d lived here - right in the heart of Wistal - for years and in all that time, she hadn’t run into him-

Hadn’t seen him, since-

Oh god. 

Hands grabbing fistfuls of hair and nearly upsetting her hair bauble, she grits her teeth. Tears burn all the way up the back of her throat, threatening to choke her, her breaths come out ragged and raw. The ache - constant and familiar as her own heartbeat - slowly begins to bubble up from the depths where she’s kept it under lock and key. Only, now, the key is lost and the lock is shattered, and that horrible ache spills up and over the barriers she’d built. It fills her. Consumes her.

Of all the people to have run into, why did it have to be him?

It could have been anyone else - Zen, even - and she’d have been able to walk away with her heart still whole and beating.

So, why did it have to be the only person capable of sending the wretched organ out to drown in the aching sea sloshing around in her chest cavity?

Why did it have to be Obi?

Why, after all this time - after she’s worked so hard to bury those memories-

“Shirayuki?” The bathroom door creaks hesitantly open; Yuzuri’s voice a cautious hush, “Love, are you in here?”

Trying to bury her face and her tears further into her knees, she groans. On the other end of the gleaming, glittering bathroom, Yuzuri sighs. Heels click against tile and, only a heartbeat later, she knocks softly on the stall door Shirayuki’s barricaded herself behind.

“You going to let me in and explain what the hell happened back there?” Yuzuri’s voice, although trying to come off as playful and annoyed, is tight with concern, “The show was just getting good and suddenly you froze up, looking like you’d seen a ghost and-”

“I-I know-” without coming out of her scrunched up position against the wall, trying to wipe her nose on her knee, Shirayuki sniffles, “Knew h-him.”

A long pause, then a whisper, “Who? The hot guy with the umbrella?”

Sob strangled in her throat, she draws her knees in tighter, trying to push back some of the ache that’s now trying to flood into her limbs and rob her of what little breath she has. Even knowing that Yuzuri can’t see her, she nods. Mumbles, “Mhmm.”

Yuzuri breathes deep, cusses beneath her breath and then a moment later, she’s grunting and shimmying under the door of the stall; once she’s finally managed to drag herself under the door, she all but crawls over to Shirayuki’s side and throws an arm around her shoulder, “Oh, love, you are a wreck.” A warm kiss presses to the top of her head, “Want me to go beat him up?”

Shirayuki laughs, wet and pathetic, but shakes her head.

Silence grows heavy between them; the air thick with Yuzuri’s questions and concerns. Leaning against her friend’s shoulder, thankful to have someone here, grounding her, Shirayuki breathes deep and ragged and wills herself to stop crying. She chastises herself for letting her surprise at seeing him get the best of her. For letting those feelings she’s kept safely locked away, out, so easily. 

Sitting up slowly, dragging the palm of her hand across her cheeks, trying to clear them of tears that still fall, she sniffles wetly, “That was Obi.”

Beside her, Yuzuri goes rigid. Her breath catching in her lungs as she gasps, “Fucking, shit, you mean he’s the one you-” 

“Yeah.” Shirayuki nods, head swimming with muted memories and a flash of recognition in burning gold, “That’s him.”

_____

Chapter Text

The office is too crowded, despite him being the only one in it. 

The lights are too bright, even though they’ve been dimmed to the point of barely being able to cast a shadow. 

And the roar of the crowd bleeds through the noise-cancelling headphones he’s hastily wedged in his ears; cheers and shouts for ‘Nanaki’ rattle about in his brain, deafening in their volume. On any other night, he’d bask in their praise. Answer their calls with another stroll across the stage, but, tonight-

Tonight, the name Nanaki means nothing. 

It’s a stage name. An alias. Something he hides behind to keep anyone and everyone from truly knowing him, but-

But…

She was there. Right there. In the front row.

He’d thought maybe he was just imagining things, again. That it was his heart, simply mistaking another red-head in the crowd for the one who lives within his memories, but… it was her. He knows, because when he suddenly found himself drowning in emerald, she’d whispered his name beneath her breath; and, despite his song playing on in the background and his earpiece lecturing him on missed cues, he’d heard her. Loud and clear.

Obi. 

His real name. A name he hasn’t heard for years. A name he misses the sound of.

Obi. 

He used to love the way she said his name. Like it was a secret. Something to be treasured and protected. 

Something that was hers.

Obi. 

But that was years ago. Back when they’d been in school and their futures were shining as brightly as the lights of the city. Back when he foolishly thought, maybe, just maybe, she loved him, too, but, then-

A hand falls on his shoulder.

Startling, heart in his throat and yanking one of the headphones from out of his ears, Obi cranks his head over his shoulder and looks up.

Kind eyes, masked by neon-green contacts, appraise him; Ayako rumbles, “You okay? Never seen you freeze up like that.”

“Sure. Yeah.” Blinking sweat from his eyes, running a trembling hand through his hair, Obi hangs his head, breathes deeply through his nose, and desperately tries to get a grip. “Just had an off night, that’s all.”

“Sure, sure. Of course.” Making a sort of harumph sound, the larger man swings around, crosses his arms over his broad chest and settles himself on the desk; it squawks in protest. “And I don’t suppose it’s got anything to do with that red-head who went tearing out of the theatre looking like she’s seen a ghost?”

The air is too thin and brittle for his aching lungs. “No. Nothing.”

Ayako chuckles, “You’re a terrible liar, Nanaki. It doesn’t suit you.” 

A long moment passes where the only sounds in the tiny office are his own ragged breaths, tangling with the distant notes of a bastardized version of I Put a Spell On You and-

And god damn, he thought he was finally starting to get over her. 

Years, he’s spent, trying to forget her. Years of trying to move on. And he thought he’d been getting close, but, clearly-

Clearly he’s nowhere near.

Shoulders rounding, breath hissing out from between his teeth, Obi digs his nails into his scalp; one leg bouncing in time with his frantic heart. 

The table groans in protest again, as Ayako shifts to encouragingly kick Obi’s sneaker, “Who is she to you?”

Glancing up at Ayako from beneath his lashes, still trying to rein in his heart, the memory of that long ago night slips through his defences and presses itself right up against the insides of his eyes. Impossible to ignore. 

Large flakes of snow drift down from the heavens. A frozen river reflecting the bright lights of an icy city. The smell of peppermint coming from candy canes stuffed in the cupholders. Christmas paper, torn to shreds on the floor mats. Gifts resting on the dash. Bing Crosby playing through the radio.

The taste of hot chocolate on her lips. 

Fogged windows. 

Red and green nails fisted in his hair. Awkward angles. His name gasped against his neck.

Three words he could never take back.

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, trying to will the memory away, Obi whispers, voice hollow, “She was everything.”

Ayako whistles, low, “What happened?”

With a bitter laugh, Obi runs his trembling hands down his thighs and takes a stand; the grin he flashes Ayako is as fragile as his aching heart. “I wonder.”

_____

Sirens wail a few blocks over. Brick bites at his back. Couples walk past, arm in arm. And a puddle - seeming to reflect every light the sprawling city has to offer - stretches out beneath his sneakers as the sky overhead rumbles with the threat of more rain.

Obi shuts his eyes, leans his head back against the wall and fiddles with the stone pendant hanging around his neck as he tries to focus on breathing as steadily as he’s able to with his heart working to pummel his ribs to dust and his knees shaking worse than they’d been the first night he’d ever performed. 

Of all the terrible ideas he’s had, this might be his worst.

He should just let sleeping giants lie. Stop torturing himself. Years have passed without a word shared between them and it’s not like an accidental run-in is going to change that. She probably still hates him. Fuck, he’s willing to bet that that’s why she picked up and ran after seeing him. 

Opening his eyes, looking back up the sidewalk towards the brilliant neon lights and wide double doors of the theatre, he bites at the inside of his cheek; the stone between his fingers, warm and smooth. Familiar and calming. 

It’s not too late for him to leave. The crowd is still pouring out onto the sidewalk. People, laughing and chattering excitedly about their favourite performances; no one is paying any attention to the shadow brooding at the mouth of the alley. It’d be easy for him to throw the hood of his sweater up and slip into the crowd. It’s only a twenty minute walk home. In theory, he could be in bed, trying to forget this - and every other memory of her - in, like, twenty-six minutes, but-

But…

His feet are cement blocks. His heart, an anchor, tying him here to this moment in time. Willing him to wait and see her. Wanting to know if she does truly despise him or if time has eased her hatred of him enough that he might be able to say hello.

Maybe he can finally apologize to her. Finally tell her he’s sorry that he made her uncomfortable that night. That she felt like he’d pressured her into something. Let her know that he would have kept a handle on his feelings for her - kept things between them strictly platonic - if only he’d known. 

If only she’d been willing to speak to him, after-

After they-

Obi’s throat grows tight. Guilt balloons in his chest, crushing his heart, just as it had the day he was told Shirayuki didn’t want to speak to - or see him - ever again. 

The stone, smooth as it may be, digs sharply into his palm as he squeezes it. A ragged breath escapes from between his lips and the strangled bits of his heart ache. 

This is his chance to set things right. To apologize to her and maybe get some kind of closure. Tell her he’s only ever wanted her to be happy. Maybe even congratulate her on her marriage.

Eying the last few people exiting the theatre, looking for the tell-tale flash of red and finding only blondes and brunettes, Obi peels himself off the wall and stumbles to stand in the middle of the sidewalk; a thought plummets into his stomach like a rock, tearing his lungs to pieces on its descent. 

What if she’s already left?

He’d watched her as she stood up and tore down the aisle for the exit; his hand reaching for her, as though he might somehow stop her, and heart throwing itself against his ribs trying to get him to jump offstage and follow. 

She hadn’t come back after that. Neither had her friend, who’d paused only long enough to cast him a curious, hardened stare and collect their belongings.

What if he’s too late?  

What if-

The theatre doors burst open with a crash. Two figures come stumbling out. 

A flash of red catches his eyes and steals what little breath he has left in his lungs.

“Thanks, asshole!” The taller one - the same woman who’d gone chasing down the aisle after Shirayuki - glares at the doors, where he’s sure security is glaring back. 

“Yuzuri,” Shirayuki hiccups, cringes, then giggles, “Don’t fight. He’s just doing his job.”

After a moment of looking like she’d like nothing more than to put her foot through the glass, the woman mutters a few more curses before turning her attention towards the swaying red-head, still giggling in the middle of the sidewalk. “You’re sure you can walk, love?”

“Pfftt.” Waving off her friend’s concern, nose wrinkled with concentration - the look so intimately familiar after so many nights spent studying with her, it has the pieces of his heart trembling in his chest - she stares down at her feet and takes a couple of unsteady steps towards him, “I’ve totally got this, see, I-”

Frowning at the puddles stretching out across the sidewalk, head tilting slightly as she comes to a stop, Shirayuki rubs one hand across her eyes, then, cautiously, lets her gaze wander up. 

Green meets gold.

Lips parting in surprise, she stares at him a moment, like she’s not sure if what she’s seeing is real or not. Meanwhile, behind her, her friend - Yuzuri - is looking at him like she can’t decide whether to kick his ass into next week or not.

Obi swallows hard, drops the pendant inside his shirt and his gaze to his sneakers, and reaches up to dig his nails into the swell of his shoulder, “H-Hey, ah, M-Miss?”

Silence - or at least what passes for silence in a city filled with millions of people - surrounds them. His pulse thunders in his ears. Squeezing his shoulder, hard enough to hurt, he risks a glance at her through his lashes. 

She blinks up at him. Hands limp at her sides, emerald eyes wide and freckled cheeks flushed a painful shade of red.

“Long time no see, eh?” His voice cracks and-

And god dammit, why are words hard? Now is not the time to overthink. Just, talk to her. He used to be good at that. Come on, Obi. Pull it together. 

“You look, ah-”

Something plows into him; hard enough that it knocks the breath out of his lungs and sends the pieces of his heart rattling about his insides. Startled, thinking perhaps Yuzuri had decided to kick him after all, he inhales shakily and-

And the pressure doesn’t let up.

Afraid to move and scared to breathe, he cautiously looks down.

A tangle of red is pressed to his sternum; her hands are fisted in the back of his shirt and from where her face is buried against his chest, she sobs, “I’m s-so s-sorry, Obi.”

Hands held up - torn between wanting to scoop her up in his arms and comfort her, and being too terrified to even risk touching her - he chokes, “M-Miss?”

“Whatever it is, I’m s-sorry.” Wailing, hands grasping for more purchase, she sags against him.

“Ah-” 

Looking over to where her friend is watching them, she shoots him what he thinks is an apologetic grimace, mouths what might be “drunk” and then shrugs.

Jaw clenching and attention returning to Shirayuki, Obi runs a trembling hand down her back, “Whatever what is?”

Hiccuping, she pulls back just enough to look up at him with tears winding down her cheeks. Her lip wobbles, “Whatever you hate about me.”

Mouth suddenly far too dry, he gawks, “What?”

“I must have d-done something, to make you h-hate me, r-right?” Sniffling, her chest starts to heave; a fresh wave of tears spills up and over, “Did you j-just pretend to l-like me, so I’d s-sleep with you? Is that why you didn’t want to see me, again? Cause y-you pretended?”

“What are you talking about?” Something heavier and thicker and far more nauseating than dread begins to curdle in his stomach; the hand running comforting arcs along her spine, freezes. He whispers, “You were the one who didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“No, I loved you!” Shimmering emerald glares up at him. 

Her friend whistles a low, “Whoop, there it is.” 

And what’s left of his heart throws itself into his ribs with such force, he’s certain his knees will give out.

“I thought, when you said-” with a watery, pained sigh, Shirayuki rolls her head forward and presses her forehead to his chest again, mumbling, “When you said you l-loved me, you meant it, but-”

“I-I did.” Trying to keep his mind from spinning completely and entirely out of control, Obi stares down at the red nestled against his chest. “I meant every word.”

He wants to tell her to stop. Pause. Backup. Repeat. Maybe if he hears it, again, it’ll make more sense. Maybe if she says it, again-

“No.” Whimpering and rubbing her nose against him, her hands, still fisted in his shirt, tighten, “Zen said you told him you faked your f-feelings and you didn’t w-want to see me, again. That you didn’t really l-love me and- and-”

“He said that?” 

Shirayuki nods.

Anger swells, fast and furious, in his veins. The past roaring up, deafening. Sickening. 

A memory of a low, menacing conversation held; his back pinned against brick, indigo glaring up at him and a threat snarled between grit teeth. A head of silver walking away as his heart shattered in his chest. 

The hand, still pressed to her back, begins to tremble. “He… He told you I didn’t-” Obi laughs, short and furious. Clarity blossoms out from the phantom pieces of the heart that had broken, so many years ago. “Of course he did.”

Shirayuki hiccups and pulls back, sagging against his arms and blinking blearily up at him, “What’s that mean?” 

“It means-” Grinding his teeth down to keep himself from calling her husband a jackass, his jaw cracks. “Nothing. Never mind.”

Red-rimmed eyes widen as she gasps. “He s-said something to you, t-too, didn’t he?”

You know, she hates you, for what you did. Told me she can’t stand to see you, again. So if you come near her - if you hurt her - you’ll find that past of yours surfacing, got it?

Biting his tongue on some of his sharper comments, anger and betrayal still simmering far too close to the surface, but unable - and unwilling - to lie to her, he rumbles, “Yeah. He did.”

He almost wants to laugh at how flabbergasted Shirayuki looks as she drunkenly hisses, “W-what did he say? Was it m-mean? It was mean wasn’t it. Yuzuri and I will, ah-” hanging her head back, trying to catch sight of her friend, she eventually gives up, grumbles, swings herself back up and stares at him, determination marking every inch of her, “I’ll fight him.” 

Cautiously, one thumb rubs a smooth arc down her spine and he laughs tightly, “I’m flattered, but you don’t have to fight your husband for me, Miss.”

Somewhere down the sidewalk, Yuzuri snorts. Shirayuki goes rigid in his grasp as she openly gapes at him, “Husband?” 

Brows pinch together and lips pull tight as he searches her quizzically, “What, is he still your fiancé or somet-”

“Obi, I left him.”

All air vanishes from his lungs. He wheezes, “You… left him?” 

Blinking down at her, a war of emotions battling within him, he tries to recall if that gaudy ring that’d been splashed across every news station in the city, had been on her finger, but- 

His head spins as Shirayuki wiggles her hand out from behind him and waggles her ringless fingers in front of his face. 

“But I thought you two-” he rasps, heart and brain suddenly scrambling around in frantic circles, screaming, “But your engagement was in the news.”

“Mmmm.” Nodding, admiring her own naked hand, Shirayuki hums as though it’s the most casual thing in the world, “I left him at the altar.”

Obi chokes.

“It was beautiful. She was on a train, halfway to Lyrias by the time they figured out she was a no-show.” Yuzuri giggles and saunters up beside them, “A little birdy told me that it took a mighty pretty penny to keep that shit out of the headlines and even then-” she shrugs, smirking.

Mind shrieking at him that this is real - that she’s not married and off living a happy life with Zen - and heart working to crawl its way out from between his ribs so it might offer itself up to her, his gaze flickers between Shirayuki and Yuzuri as he stammers, “B-but why? You two, you were-”

“Miserable?” Yuzuri arches an eyebrow at him.

He grimaces. “I just… I thought-”

“I couldn’t do it.” Shirayuki goes back to burying her nose in his chest; her hands now holding handfuls of the front of his shirt as she slurs, “It wasn’t you.”

“M-Miss?” Cheeks scorching, heart - having given up its attempted escape between his ribs - steadily swells to the size of his chest and crushes his lungs. His knees wobble uncertainly as her words swirl over and over in his mind. 

Him? It wasn’t him?

But that’d mean-

Shirayuki hiccups again. The sound, wet and thick. 

Obi only has a moment to register the feeling of her back arching violently under his palm, before she promptly throws up all over his shoes.

_____ 

This part of town is nice. He’s always thought so. Still does. 

Honestly, if you ask him, aside from the sprawling pathways and parks down by the river, this is easily the nicest part of Wistal.

Shirayuki used to think so, too.

A long time ago, back when they were still in school - before that cold December night they’d spent together in his car - they used to walk down this same street, looking at all the houses. None of them look like they belong in the city. Not this city at least. And definitely not from this time period. Which, he thinks, is why it’s so enchanting.

They’re all older homes, with crumbling bricks and gingerbread gable trim. Large trees lining the street that change into the most beautiful and vibrant of colours, come fall.

Shirayuki used to laugh and say her dream house was the one on the corner. An old two storey, red brick, with a wrap-around porch and massive maple standing tall in the front lawn. She used to tell him that, when she lived there, she’d have one of those big comfy swings on the porch that they could sit on and spend their afternoons reading and drinking hot chocolate together.

He’s often wondered if Zen ever knew that. If, maybe, he’d try to buy the place for her, one day, only to realize that-

“I’m sorry.” Beside him, Yuzuri huffs as she glares fondly at Shirayuki. “She was just so shaken at seeing you and I thought, ‘hey, alcohol tends to mellow her out’ and, well-” she gestures the length of Shirayuki and shrugs, “Maybe it worked a little too well.” 

“It’s fine. Really. I don’t mind.” Adjusting slightly so the woman passed out on his back and drooling against his shoulder doesn’t slip off, he grins, “This is far from the first time I’ve had to carry her home. Also, not the first time she’s thrown up on my shoes, if you can believe it.”

Yuzuri snorts. “Oh, I believe it. She told me, once, that she threw up in your shoes. Is that true?”

Obi grimaces, the memory vivid in his mind. “Yeah, that’s true. That was an interesting night. And a very long walk home.”

“I bet.” She laughs again, gaze still focused on where Shirayuki’s started to nuzzle her nose into his neck; it tickles, but he can’t find it in him to scrunch up or push her away. “You know, she tried not to talk about you. Desperately tried to keep that part of her heart hidden.” Shaking her head, a small grin playing at her lips, she breathes a laugh, “It always came out though, no matter how hard she tried.”

“O-Oh, yeah?” Obi’s cheeks heat to a new level and he drops his gaze down to the sidewalk, trying to focus on getting his heartbeat to match his pace and failing miserably.

“Mmm.” Yuzuri hums, thoughtful, “Usually it was after she’d had a couple drinks. And suddenly she’d get all flushed and have this fantastic story about something the two of you did together and she’d be real happy for a few minutes, living in that memory. And, then-” Yuzuri clears her throat and hums, “But you were always there in the little things, too. If you knew what to look for.”

“How so?” He croaks, unsure if his heart is strong enough to hear the response. 

“Well, for starters, I know that it wasn’t Zen who gave her this.”

A hair bauble - the hair bauble - he gave her for Christmas that year - that night in his car, with the smell of candy canes in the air and bing crosby crackling through the speakers and Shirayuki’s hot-chocolate stained lips against his - swings in front of his eyes. 

His throat tightens. The pendant resting just over his heart, burns his skin where it lays.

Breathing deeply through his nose, trying to ignore all the thoughts screaming in his brain that this proves she might still care for him, even after all these years, a thin laugh leaks out from between his lips, “And how do you know it wasn’t him? Did she tell you?”

“She didn’t have to. I could tell it wasn’t from him, based on how much she loves it.” The bauble disappears. “You know, she didn’t even wear her engagement ring unless she needed to? But this? This she wears all the time. And always fiddles with it when she’s nervous or in need of comfort.” Yuzuri chuckles, “She thought she lost it once at work and, I’m not kidding, the whole department dropped what they were doing to help her find it. She cried for like an hour after it was found.”

His heart aches in his chest.

They pass three more houses before Yuzuri speaks again. This time, quiet and soft, “Did he really say something to you, about her?”

Obi grits his teeth. Pointedly looks at the sidewalk stretching out beneath his feet. Shirayuki breathes against him, heavy with sleep and alcohol. He shudders, shuts his eyes a moment and sighs, “Yeah, he did.”

A long pause. “And you believed him? Without talking to her about it?”

“Let’s just say, he didn’t give me much of a choice.” He barks a frustrated laugh. “Not like it mattered in the end, anyways.”

Yuzuri remains silent, but her unspoken questions press down on his lungs, trying to wring answers out of him.

Another house passes before he groans and casts a sideways glance at her, “Look, I did something, when I was younger. Something incredibly stupid. And I thought I’d been able to outrun it but, apparently, I thought wrong.”

Her jaw hinges open, eyes widening with surprise. “Hold up, did he fucking blackmail you?”

He shrugs, as much as he’s able with Shirayuki sleeping on his shoulder. “More of an ultimatum? Basically, I was told that if I went near her, the school would find out about my past. Which would have meant instant expulsion. Maybe even arrest.” Grinning sheepishly, he clears his throat and ignores the way Shirayuki murmurs his name against his neck. The goosebumps that ripple up his arms. “As much as I wanted - needed - to hear it from her that she didn’t want to see me, again, I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk it. She was always pushing me to be better. She always believed in me and supported me, even knowing about all the stupid shit I’d done. And I wanted, so badly, to be the man she thought I could be. I knew, if I went to her and asked, I’d end up hurting her either way; because if what Zen told me was true and she did hate me, she’d be hurt that I went near her, and if it wasn’t true, but I got myself expelled or arrested, she’d find some way to blame herself for it.”

Yuzuri’s eyes glisten as she frowns at him, her voice still hauntingly quiet. “And it didn’t once occur to you that maybe you were hurting her by avoiding her and pulling away like that?”

“Of course I wondered; but, every time I caught her looking my way, I always just chalked it up to only seeing what I wanted to see. After all, aside from staring at me across the room, she hadn’t tried to contact or approach me at all.” Shirayuki’s fingers curl against his chest as she mumbles something unintelligible against him; his heart, already struggling to process all that’s happened tonight, beats painfully beneath her fingertips. “When her and Zen started dating, I just sort of assumed that it’d all been true. That she did hate me. And then news of their engagement was everywhere and-”

He breaks off with a weak excuse for a smile. 

Yuzuri moans and hangs her head. “What a mess.”

“Yeah.” 

Silence wraps around them again, save for the sounds of their feet slapping against the sidewalk and Shirayuki snoring lightly on his back. It’s not until they’re rounding the corner that Yuzuri sighs again, long and drawn out.

“So, you said something about it not mattering in the end anyways, what’s that mean?” She looks up at him, curiousity pulling at the corner of her mouth, “Did you go and get yourself expelled or something? Drop out and deciding stripping was better?”

“Despite what you might think, I was a pretty good student. So, no. I didn’t get expelled.” He gives her a flat look, “And do you really think I’d give her up, if my big goal in life was to become a stripper?”

She snorts, “You’re good at it, though.”

“Yeah, well.” Inhaling deeply, biting at the inside of his cheek, he stares up at the house. Up at the dark wrap around porch and the wide swing hanging at one end. Memories bubble up, threatening to consume him entirely, and it’s... it's hard to keep from imagining how things might have been different, if he’d just said fuck it and asked her if what Zen had said, was true. If she really did hate him and want nothing more to do with him. If he'd had the balls to ask, would they be sitting out on the porch on a night like this? Cuddling in the swing, drinking hot chocolate together? He sighs, hoping he doesn't sound too wistful, “I was in school for human kinetics. I wanted to be a physiotherapist. Graduated and everything, but-” he’d tried to get his foot in the door. Tried to become the man Shirayuki always knew he could be. “Well. It’s difficult to get a job in my field when the entire field seems to have a pretty good idea about the stupid mistakes I made when I was a kid. No one can prove anything, but, they still don’t want me.”

“Fuck, eh?” Yuzuri whistles, rocks her head back and looks up to the sky. “You think it was Zen?”

He bites his tongue, only barely able to keep an angry hiss from leaking out. 

Yuzuri nods, understandingly. “Yeah, he’s a prick. So, why’d you never leave Wistal? Try and get a job up north or something?” 

“I thought about it, a couple times, but, I dunno…” The old neighbourhood, filled with beautiful homes and ancient trees, drops off and quickly melts back into bright lights and glass buildings reaching up to poke holes in the night sky. Ahead of them, only a couple blocks away, the hotel they’re staying at rises up, some big white building that looks more like a spaceship than a hotel. “I just never left. I mean, it’s not like I hate what I do. I make a decent living. Most nights it’s actually pretty fun. And we do a bunch of charity shit, too, which is kind of awesome.” Carefully, he adjusts Shirayuki, again, bouncing her up a little higher on his back. “Plus, this city has a lot of, ah… memories.” 

Yuzuri nods, stares straight ahead and begins to worry her bottom lip between her teeth.

In comfortable silence, they pass by big neon screens, all showing ads for some new Wisteria product that supposedly lets you feel your partner’s emotions and-

“Did she really leave him at the altar?” Obi blurts out, without meaning to. His cheeks heat.

“Yeah, she did.” With a surprised chuckle, Yuzuri grins fondly at Shirayuki. “I was her maid of honour and, let me tell you, when she called to tell me she was on a train, halfway to Lyrias, I have never been so relieved.”  

One eyebrow raises and his lips pull into a lopsided grin, “So you really didn’t approve, huh?”

“I told her that as long as she was happy, I would support her decision.” She sighs, shrugs, then flashes him a shit-eating grin, “But I also told her I thought she was making the biggest mistake of her life.”

Obi nods, swallows hard and keeps walking, while desperately trying to ignore the way his heart swells and balloons in his chest. Shirayuki’s ‘it wasn’t you’ echoing through his head, over and over and over.

All too suddenly, the hotel looms before them. Warm light spills out from the large windows and stains the sidewalk. The doorman eyes them, judgmentally.

With a tired wave of her hand, ignoring the frowning doorman, Yuzuri gestures upwards, “I know you carried her all the way here, but would you mind coming up? I’m not sure I can get her there.”

“Sure. Yeah.” Trying to swallow his heart back down into his stomach, Obi rasps, “No problem.”

_____

This could be a problem.

“No-” Shirayuki grumbles and grips him tighter, yanking him down onto the bed, on top of her.

Holding his breath, willing himself to think about anything other than the fact that he’s lying on top of her and she’s nuzzling his neck and the heat building in his stomach is quickly turning into a growing pressure in his pants, Obi grabs a fistful of bedsheet and rumbles, “Miss.”

“Obi.” Whining, she threads drunken fingers through his hair and presses a sloppy kiss to the space below his ear.

Eyes sliding shut, wanting to give in and just curl up with her, he trembles.

Tongue and teeth nip at his neck. 

Moving around to the other side of the bed, Yuzuri chuckles, “Shirayuki, love, you’ve gotta let go of the hot stripper.”

“No.” Hiccuping again, fingers scraping pleasantly against his scalp, she wraps her legs around his waist and whispers something against his skin that sounds suspiciously like ‘love him’. 

Lungs forgetting how to function and heart not doing much better, he whimpers against her. “Miss-”

Sitting down on the bed, stroking her friend’s hair, Yuzuri coos, “You want him to sleep here?”

Obi goes rigid. Shirayuki giggles and nods. Her legs tightening to pull him closer to her.

The heat in his belly explodes and he’s certain she can probably feel him pressing up against her and-

“Then you’ve gotta let him go so he can get more comfortable, right?”

Shirayuki pauses, grumbles something unintelligible, then, slowly, begins to relax her hold on him.

Cautiously removing himself from her grasp, he hovers above her a moment. Foggy emerald stares up at him, a blush so deep a red it nearly matches her hair spills down her freckled cheeks and neck, and she grins dopily, “Is bedtime, Obi?”

“Yeah, it’s bedtime.” He can’t help but grin and laugh as memories of late nights, similar to this, swirl just behind his eyes. 

How many times had he fought to put her to bed? How many nights had he struggled to keep her there, with promises that he would stay? 

Closing her eyes, she puckers her lips and-

And, god dammit, that’s a first. 

Chest aching, he stares at her lips, and he so badly wants to kiss her, but-

Not like this. Not when she’s like this.

Easing himself off of her the rest of the way, he brushes a piece of hair from off her forehead and whispers, “Goodnight, Shirayuki.” 

She pouts. Whimpers. Wiggles about on top of the sheets, whining and huffing. And he can’t help it.

Even after all this time, he’s weak to her.

He shakes his head down at her. Chuckles. And gets to work trying to roll her far enough over so he might peel the blankets back and tuck her in, “Come on, wiggle-worm, you need to go to bed. Roll, please.”

Shirayuki giggles, rolls over once and throws her arms across Yuzuri’s legs with a content sigh, “Think he loves me?”

Yuzuri looks at him, one eyebrow raised. The grin she shoots him is dazzling and mischievous. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

Obi’s cheeks heat and his heart lodges itself in his throat so far up he fears that, even if he wanted to argue against it, he can’t without running the risk of saying something stupid and contradictory like, ‘she’s only the love of my life’. 

Lips sealed shut, he wrenches the blankets back and tries to silently coax Shirayuki into wiggling her way under the blankets.

_____

“Thanks, again.” Yuzuri leans against the door jam, arms folded across her chest; behind her, Shirayuki is starfished beneath the blankets and snoring happily. “There’s no way I would have been able to get her back here, let alone wrangle her into bed.”

Obi grins, rubs at the back of his head, “It’s no problem. Just happy I could help.”

Sharp turquoise eyes narrow at him, “You’re not just going to disappear, again, are you?”

Fuck, he should have known this was coming. Stomach clenching and heart shrinking, he stares down at his ruined shoes, “Look, it’s been years and we both know she probably won’t even remem-”

“You’re not going to disappear, again?” Yuzuri growls, “Are you?”

“Ahh.” Glancing up, somewhat surprised by the demanding tone, he grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs, “I mean, it’s up to her, if she wants me back in her li-”

“She does.” Exasperated, Yuzuri rolls her eyes at him and smirks, “Trust me. Give me your phone.”

Wide-eyed and still not sure if tonight has been real or not, he glances behind Yuzuri, again, to the woman sleeping soundly in bed, digs around in his pocket and turns over the device without a second thought.

A moment later, somewhere in the room, a phone chimes a happy tune and Yuzuri hands his back to him. “There. You have her number and she has yours. Text her tomorrow.”

The door is already closing between them by the time he manages to come back to himself with a flood of panic, “A-and say what?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Yuzuri winks, “Night, stripper.”

The door closes in his face and he’s left staring down at his phone and the new contact glowing on the screen.

_____

Chapter Text

The convention is enormous. And bright. And loud.

Gods, is it ever loud in here. Who needs to yell about plants? Why can’t everyone just whisper quietly about things? 

“How you holding up, champ?” Yuzuri sidles up beside her and shoves a paper cup filled with something warm into one hand and pries her other one open to deposit a couple of tylenols.

Shirayuki grimaces and glares up at her from behind her sunglasses, “Why did you let me drink so much? I’m dying.”

“Because I love you, that’s why.” Her friend snorts, “Quick question though, what do you remember from last night?”

“Ahm.” She frowns, drawing a bit of a blank. “Well-” 

A flash of gold. Strong arms supporting her. Warmth curling in her belly. 

Trying to buy some time and sort through the muddied mess of her mind, she pops the tylenol in her mouth and washes them down with a sip of burnt coffee. Her nose wrinkles and she nearly gags. 

At best, her memory is foggy. At worst, non existent. Which is likely not a good thing, based on the intensity of Yuzuri’s gaze.

She squints at Yuzuri, questioning, “Not a lot, honestly. I remember running out of the theatre, because-” Obi. A sharp pain lances through her heart and she has to refrain from clutching at her chest, “Ah-haa, b-but after that it’s… it’s all sorta blurry. Why?”

“Oh?” To say Yuzuri looks like she’s about to wriggle out of her skin from excitement is an understatement. “So, nothing about, oh, I don’t know… confessing your love to Obi, who then, like a gentleman, carried your drunk-ass back to the hotel?”

Shirayuki chokes on her coffee. It burns as it works its way up and out her nose. She gasps, trying to cover her mouth, “W-what?”

“Mhmmm. It was an interesting night. You threw up on his shoes, too.” 

Shirayuki must pale a few shades because Yuzuri grins and elbows her, before taking a sip of her own burnt coffee. 

“Don’t worry, he was totally chill about it. Even laughed and said it wasn’t the first time you’d done that.” Exhaling sharply, grimacing and staring at her cup with disgust, she licks her lips and sighs, “And, I gotta say, I totally get it, love.”

Nose still burning from the coffee and head reeling, trying to piece together bits of foggy memory and getting nowhere, fast, Shirayuki stares at Yuzuri, “G-Get it?”

“Yeah. Look, when you played runaway bride from Zen, I’ll be honest, I was relieved.” She laughs and leans back on the bench, gaze flitting about the crowd of people walking in a steady stream before them, “But when you told me it was because of a guy, you’d known years ago. That you couldn’t go through with marrying Zen, because he wasn’t this Obi guy… I was more than a little skeptical. I mean, how could I not be? You’d never really even talked about the dude unless you were drinking and slipped up and, suddenly, you were going on and on about how he was the one who got away? But, I get it, now. Even after all these years, you two are just so-” she shrugs and takes another sip of coffee with a grimace, “I know you thought it was one-sided, but I can tell you it most absolutely is not. The dude is crazy about you.”

Mouth dry and a horrible churning feeling in her gut, she gapes, “B-But, Zen, he said Obi-”

“Zen’s a jealous prick.” Yuzuri growls and glares at her, “He lied to both of you. Fucking asshole even blackmailed the guy. That’s why he didn’t dare go near you.” Lightening up slightly, she sighs, gaze sad, “He was afraid of hurting you, more than he thought he already had.”

Shirayuki’s nauseous. And not in a hungover way. No, this is worse. Far worse.

This is the kind of sick that makes her heart ache and lungs feel too small for her body. The kind of sick that has her dizzy and on the verge of passing out.

All these years, she's believed Zen. Believed that what he told her was true. That Obi'd only used her. That he'd faked his feelings, just so he might sleep with her and-

And, really, it was Zen who'd used her. Zen who'd betrayed her trust and affections. And she was seriously contemplating marrying him.

Ugh.

Yuzuri'd been right - marrying him would have been the biggest mistake of her life. Well. Right behind letting Obi go in the first place.

Trying to keep from gagging or crushing the paper cup full of coffee in a fit of rage, she inhales deeply through her nose. Out through her teeth.

Maybe Zen's still living at the condo. She could pay him a visit. Give him a new asshole he so desperately deserves.

As though able to hear her thoughts, Yuzuri elbows her lightly, "Breathe, love. There's nothing you can do about it, now. Besides, I'm pretty sure if Obi ever sees him again, he'll beat the snot out of him for the both of you."

"And he'd more than deserve it. I can't believe I trusted him so blindly." Shirayuki growls into her cup.

Yuzuri snorts, understanding and sympathetic, "I can. You'd just been told that the man you're in love with wants nothing to do with you. Zen was there and kind and offered your heart a little comfort." She shrugs as though it's as simple as that.

Shirayuki hangs her head, moping, "I should have just talked to Obi. I should have demanded he tell me himself."

"Probably, but-" Another shrug, a soft smile, "The damage is done. All you can do, now, is move forward." 

Staring at the cup clenched in her hands, Shirayuki tries to focus on the growing pressure in her chest. The one that increases tenfold with every mention of Obi. Yuzuri is right. There's no way to go back and undo the mistakes already made, but if there's a way to move forward-

If she can somehow get him back in her life-

Find out if she means to him, what he means to her, even after all these years-

Clearing her throat, going for nonchalant and definitely not dying to know, she fiddles with the little plastic flap on the cup lid, “So, ah, last night...  when I, ahm-” not entirely sure which directly her brain is trying to pull her in, just that it needs answers, she swallows hard and rasps, “H-how did he, uh… react?”

“What, when you told him you loved him?” Raising one eyebrow at her, Yuzuri huffs a laugh and nods thoughtfully, “Yeah… I’m pretty sure you’re his one-that-got-away, too.”

“Oh.” Cheeks heating to an unbearable temperature and head throbbing, she stares down at her coffee, trying to figure out where to go from here. What to do, next. Does she show up at his work again? Look him up online somehow? Call his old number and see if it's still in service?

And say what? Good seeing you last night?

It’s not as though she remembers much of anything from last night. At least, not with any degree of clarity that she can say for certain it was real and it happened or if she’d just dreamt it. Although, the more Yuzuri says, the more she’s starting to think that none of the pleasant little scraps clouding her mind had been part of some wonderful dream. It’d all be real.

Right up to and including the bit where she’d practically hauled him into bed and necked him.

Oh god.

Beside her, Yuzuri all but groans, “Christ, stop looking like a kicked puppy. Just text him.”

“T-text him?” Mindlessly, her hand fumbles for the phone in her pocket. She may not remember much of the evening, but she doesn't think she was with it enough to ask for his number-

“You didn’t honestly think I’d let him just disappear, again, did you?” Another sip of coffee and disgusted grimace, “I told him to text you, but-” Yuzuri licks her teeth and winks, “Apparently he’s still having a fucking stroke over what to say to you.”

Fishing the phone out of her pocket, she pulls up her message history and stares numbly at the unregistered number at the top of the list; the only message in the thread, his name.

_____

Day two of the convention is proving to be worse than day one and, this time, it’s not because she’s hungover.

It’s because she’s impatient and nervous and every minute feels like an hour. A day. A week.

When Lata told her she’d be attending the convention with Yuzuri, Shirayuki had been terrified of her past and what piece of it might find her in the big city. But, now, she’s terrified for an entirely different reason.

“Hey, I think I’m just about done here.” Yuzuri, arms laden with a number of bags, elbows her and nods towards the exit, “You wanna head back up to the hotel room?”

Checking her phone, heart skittering to see a new message alert pop up on her screen from Obi, she does her best to ignore it as she glances at the clock, “Ah, it’s only 2:43 though? I thought there was still that big plant unveiling you wanted to see, the Audr-”

“Naw, it’s fine.” Waving a bored hand, she shrugs, “Heard a couple people say they saw it at the Tanbarun convention and that it’s nothing more than a glorified dionaea muscipula.”

Shirayuki’s phone buzzes in her palm, again. Gritting her teeth, trying to keep her giddiness from bubbling up and over into a grin, she hums, aiming for casual and not at all high-key freaking out and itching to get out of here, immediately, “I-I mean, if you’re sure. We do still have ti-”

“Oh my god, woman. Yes, I’m sure.” Struggling with the bags on her arms, Yuzuri adjusts to grab her hand and starts pulling her through the crowd towards the exit. “And answer your phone, please? The man only just managed to text you back without sounding like a total robot and now he’s probably low-key freaking out that you’re going to ghost him, tonight.”

“H-He won’t think that!” Shirayuki gasps defensively, even as her stomach winds itself into panicked little knots, “I told him that I was at the convention and might not be able to answer until later.”

The look Yuzuri shoots over her shoulder is unimpressed, at best. “And now we’re leaving, sooo-”

“Fine, alright. I’ll text him back. It’s probably nothing, anyways. Just, directions or something.” Trusting Yuzuri enough to guide her through the crowds of people, Shirayuki glances down at her phone and bites at her bottom lip to keep from giggling. 4 unread messages. All from Obi.

Most recent, 1 minute ago.

This might be a stupid question and I could be totally overthinking this, but you are actually planning to show up tonight, right?

_____

“You’ll be fine. Stop freaking out.” On the other end of the line, Yuzuri huffs.

Shirayuki bites at the inside of her cheek and squeezes her eyes shut; her free hand fiddles with the hair bauble hanging delicately next to her ear. “What if things are weird? Texting is very different than in person and-”

“They won’t be weird, you’re overthinking this.”

“But what if they are, Yuzuri?” Anxiety, thick and menacing, coils in her gut, “It’s been years and I honestly thought he hated me. And then I was drunk and I threw up on his shoes and-” she gasps, suddenly not getting enough air, “What if I don’t know how to talk to him, anymore? What if-”

“Stop, Shirayuki.” Sighing through the phone, Shirayuki can practically see Yuzuri’s eye-roll from here, “You’re both in the same boat, here. Just, go slow and see what happens.”

“Go slow. Right. Okay. I can do that.” She nods to herself and stares up at the elegant golden script etched into the glass above the door and the emerald canopies hanging over the sidewalk. She grimaces. “I can do this. It’s not like it’s an official date or anything, right?”

“Whatever you say, crazy.” Her friend giggles, “What’re you guys doing, anyways?”

“Uhm-” The door of the restaurant hisses open and a couple walks out, arms linked together and heads bent low with warm laughter. The inside of the restaurant, at least from where she’s standing on the sidewalk, is dim and elegant and intimate and- and Shirayuki’s stomach twists nauseously. “He’s taking me out to dinner.”

“Yeah, not an official date, my ass.” Yuzuri chuckles under her breath, then hums, “Where?”

“Uhm, the location he sent me took me to this place called The Black Trumpet?” She frowns up at the gold script and frosted windows, anxiety growing, “It looks fancy. Too fancy.” Another couple, dressed to the nines, brushes past her and heads into the restaurant; the woman scoffs something about the commoner standing outside and Shirayuki’s flight response flares. She grits her teeth as she hisses through the phone, “Like. Zen, fancy. Yuzuri, if this is where we’re going, I really don’t know if I can do-”

“H-Hey, ah, Miss.”

“O-Oh!” Startling, ending the call and cramming her phone in her purse, Shirayuki plasters on what she hopes is a convincing, enthusiastic smile and whirls around to face him, “Obi, h-hi, I didn’t, ahm, I didn’t hear you!”

Palms sweaty and heart about ready to leap out of her chest at him, she folds her fingers in the skirt of her dress to keep them from trembling.

For a moment, he just stares at her.

And all she can do is stare back. 

He’s in dark jeans and a fitted black dress shirt. No tie. Certainly not the level of attire she’s seen other patrons of The Black Trumpet, wearing. And, while she might be able to trick herself into believing it’s his first time here, too, and that he just didn’t get the memo about the dress code, that’s a lot harder to do when he’d already told her he’d made reservations for them at his favourite place.

Which leads her to believe he, at the very least, knows someone who works here. Likely the owner, as that would certainly explain why he can get away with being so casual, while everyone else is dressed in outfits that cost more than she’ll make in a decade.

“You look-” Obi’s lashes flutter and his cheeks tint pink as he whispers beneath his breath, like he’s not even conscious of it, “Wow.”

The heat of a blush works its way up her neck and into her cheeks. Her fingers bury themselves deeper into the material of her dress. She can do this. She wants to do this. So what, the restaurant he’s chosen is something straight out of her nightmares?

For years, she’s only ever dreamed about finding her way back to him and now, he’s here, standing before her with messy hair, a shy half-cocked smile that’s enough to make her knees wobble like jello and golden eyes that are warm and familiar, even after all this time and-

And oh good god, how did she ever think herself capable of forgetting or getting over him? 

And why did she give him up, so easily? Why couldn’t she ever work up the nerve to confront him? Why had she blindly trusted Zen?

Things could have been so different, if she’d only just been brave enough to ask him, herself-

“Miss, you look, ah-” he tries, again, the hand in his hair moves to grasp at his shoulder as his shy grin and blush, deepen, “You look beautiful.” 

Inhaling weakly between her teeth, she forces a smile and gestures, jittery, to him, “A-And you’re… you’re very-”

Well.

The few years it’s been since she’s seen him have been kind to him. Very kind.

Aside from two nights ago - most of which is, regrettably, still hazy - she hasn’t seen him up close and personal like this, since that night they’d spent parked down by the river in his car. 

The night he goofily sang her Bing Crosby Christmas songs and they’d sipped hot chocolate and eaten candy canes. The night he gave her her hair bauble and she gave him the stone pendant she’d made.

The night he told her he loved her and she’d believed it.

“Handsome.” She finishes lamely.

“T-Thanks.” Clearing his throat, blinking a few times as though remembering himself, he chuckles and rubs anxiously at his shoulder, “Find your way here okay?”

“O-Oh, yes. Uhm.” Waving up at the golden script and intimidating atmosphere beyond the enormous glass doors, she swallows hard and tries not to show him just how worried she is to set foot in there, “Yeah, I’d never heard of it before, so, the, uhm, location you sent definitely helped. It looks, ah… f-fancy?”

“Fancy?” Golden eyes flit across her face, then over to the restaurant beside them. His features flicker through a spectrum of emotions; first confusion, followed quickly by understanding, fear, worry and then, finally, a spark of something akin to amusement. “Ahh, yeah.” His lips part, a tight smile forming, as he offers her his elbow, “Shall we, Miss?”

Taking a deep breath, biting the inside of her cheek and dread boiling in her belly, she accepts his arm and, with wobbly legs, follows his lead.

This is what she wanted. 

Obi is what she wanted.

So, if Obi wants to take her to The Black Trumpet, then…

Then, she can do this.

God knows she’d endured far worse, when she was with Zen.

_____

This is… not what she’d been expecting.

Not even a little bit.

It’s the very definition of hole-in-the-wall.

Glancing around the tiny restaurant, amazed and awed by all the little trinkets hanging on the walls and ceiling, and heart swelling to the size of her chest, she whispers, wondrous and more than a little surprised, “I still can’t believe you. I really thought we were going to that… that other place.”

Across from her, Obi snorts into his beer, “Come on, Miss. Sure, it’s been a couple years, but you must know me better than that.”

Pulling her gaze down from the licence plates spotting the ceiling and the red bicycle hanging between strands of Christmas lights and stained glass lanterns suspended like colourful bubbles above them, Shirayuki gawks to keep from giggling as she flicks a crouton across the table at him, “That was the location you sent me!”

“True, true-” he nods, a shit-eating grin playing on his lips, “- but, in my defence-” plucking the crouton up off the bowling-lane-turned table, he pops it in his mouth with a satisfying crunch, “This place doesn’t really have an address. I mean, it's in a basement, off of an alley. GPS struggles to find it, so it was easier to just meet you somewhere close. And-” he chuckles and leans his elbows on the table; eyes glittering with his laughter, “And! I did say I’d made a reservation at my favourite place. Really, you should know me, better.” 

“Yes, but when you say we’re going to your favourite place and then send me an address for some hoity-toity restaurant, what am I supposed to think, hmm?” Lips chasing after her straw, she raises a challenging brow at him.

Golden eyes stare at her curiously over the top of his drink, raised halfway to grinning lips, “Despite all those years spent listening to me poke fun at places like that, you really thought my favourite place was The Black Trumpet?”

“Well, yeah, kinda.” Cheeks warming and heart fluttering, she takes a deep breath, shrugs and drops her gaze to her bowl of caesar salad. “People change and, I don’t know… it’s been years and-” 

“Hey,” Obi chuckles and nudges her foot under the table, “I’m only teasing, Miss.”

The breath in her lungs slips out as a quiet rattle, “I’m glad it wasn’t.” When he frowns, confused, she laughs, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders. Returning his foot nudge, an easy smile pulls at her lips, “You know, your favourite place. I’m glad it wasn’t The Black Trumpet. This place is… it’s amazing. I can see why it’s your favourite.”

Frown still in place, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and leans forward across the table, golden eyes searching her with an intensity that has her heart slowly crawling its way back up into her throat.

The smile slips from her lips and a nervous hand reaches up to finger the hair bauble, “W-what? What’re you-” 

The look he gives her is somber. He whispers, “Miss, I’m going to be real honest.”

“O-oh, uhm, okay?” Toes scrunching in her shoes, she slowly, cautiously brings her hands down, beneath the table, and folds them in her lap to keep them from shaking. Dread sinks low in her belly. Maybe The Black Trumpet is his favourite restaurant and he’d overheard her talking to Yuzuri and-

“I was absolutely scared shitless that you’d want to go to a place like that.” Obi’s face breaks into a sheepish grin and he laughs, “I’m not kidding, I’ve been debating all day, about changing the reservation.”

“W-what?” Eyes widening, she bites back a gasp of horrified laughter, “You… you thought I’d want-”

“Yeah. I did.” He nods, a mock grimace on his face even as his eyes fix her with a certain kind of fondness that has her leaning, slightly, towards him. “That is, until I saw the look on your face when you said you’d never heard of it and then, you know, I kinda figured you might be fine with this place.”

Mouth opening and closing a few times, searching for something to say, she shakes her head and giggles, “I was terrified we were going there! Like, I was trying to convince myself not to run, kind of terrified, when you showed up.”

“Well, then, I’m glad I caught you before you took off.” Relaxing into the booth - which is shaped like the rear end of a car - he smiles, the gold of his eyes downcast and hidden beneath his lashes, and swirls his finger along the top of his glass. He whispers, almost too low for her to hear, “Getting this right was a real concern for me.”

He doesn’t need to mention Zen for her to know that’s likely a large part of what had him worried. The Wisteria family lifestyle is nothing short of grandeur and she’d very nearly been a part of it. He’d thought - up until two days ago - that she was a part of it. 

It’s no wonder he’d been second-guessing himself, if that’s the type of person he thought she’d become. 

Swallowing hard, scooping up her fork, she starts poking around her salad and hums, “Well, really, Obi, you should know me, better.”

Obi chuckles; beneath the table, his feet tangle with hers and he rumbles, “Yeah, I’d like to.”

_____

The city around them vibrates with early evening activity.

People coming home from work. Taxis blaring their horns. Friends meeting for dinner. Couples carrying home this week's groceries and chattering about whatever show they’re currently hooked on. Ads, wrapped around buildings that stretch up endlessly into the orange evening sky, flip and change in colourful bursts of light; most for new Wisteria devices. All of them making her roll her eyes.

And, beside her, Obi is completely and utterly silent; which is strange, considering how animated he’d been, right up until the cheque came and they stumbled out of the hidden alley and onto the neon-lit street with bellies full of caesar salad and pasta and drink.

For a moment, she’d been panicked that perhaps it was something she’d said or done, to put that frustrated pull between his brows and tension in his shoulders, but-

But Obi had certainly been right. Even after all these years, she still knows him well enough to understand that, wherever he is - whatever is occupying his thoughts - his scowl is directed internally, and not at her. If he were upset with her, he wouldn’t be matching his stride to hers. Nor would he keep casting her occasional pensive and longing glances from beneath his lashes.

And he certainly wouldn’t have let her slip her hand into his, with no more warning from her than a soft hum. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Obi, startled out of his reverie, gives a tight laugh as his eyes flicker briefly to hers, then down to their entwined hands, before finally falling back down to glare at the sidewalk. 

A few more steps and he sighs, sounding torn, “It’s just- aghh-” stopping mid-stride, he blinks up at her with pained gold; hand gently squeezing hers, “Months ago, I agreed to do this event at work tonight, but now I’m here, with you and it’s… well, I think it’s going well and I-” he laughs again, breathless and a little shy, “I don’t want to walk you back, yet. I want to be selfish.” 

“So be selfish? I wouldn’t mind.” The words come out as little more than a whisper on what scraps of air she has left in her lungs, “Would work understand, if you told them you needed tonight off?”

“I can’t get out of it.” He pouts and starts slowly walking down the sidewalk again. “I already tried.” 

“Well…” Lips falling into a pout to match his, her heart sinks and deflates as she tries to think of a way to prolong their parting, even if it’s just a few more hours. He may claim to be selfish for wanting to spend more time together, but if it were up to her, she’d never go back to the hotel. She’s only just gotten him back, she doesn’t want to let him go so soon.

Obi sighs, forces a smile and shrugs; his thumb running a smooth arc across the skin between her thumb and finger, “It’s okay. You’re in town for, what, one more d-”

“What kind of event is it?” Shirayuki blurts out, far too loud and a little frantic, as she pulls him to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk again; people flow past them, completely unaware as to just how desperate her heart is to keep Obi near, “C-Could I come?”

Lips parting with surprise, breath catching in his throat, he stares at her a moment. The hand in hers, tightens ever so slightly. “S-Sure, I mean, if you want to. It’s, ah-” the tension from his shoulders slowly starts to bleed out of him; his adams apple bobs, “It’s our annual charity auction.” 

“A charity auction?” Heart trying to choke her, she nods enthusiastically, “That sounds fun.”

“R-Really?” Cheeks pinking, he clears his throat and stares back down at her hand in his, “O-Okay, well, I mean, if you’re serious about wanting to go, I’m going to have to do some setup stuff before, but you wouldn’t have to pay cover and drinks would be on the house and-”

“Obi, I want to go. I want to spend more time with you, too.” Giggling, trying to keep her grin from splitting her face entirely, she playfully bumps her elbow into his side when all he can do is gape at her with a blush sitting high in his cheeks, “You’re not the only one who wants to be selfish.”

“Right. Ah, okay. Well.” He coughs, gives her a lopsided grin and squeezes her hand, “Good. I’m glad.”

_____

The music withers and dies as the stage floods with what seems like millions of little violet fireflies; all of them dancing in a lazy pattern across the dark stage and backdrop. It’s only after she’s realized she’s forgotten how to breathe, that the fireflies disappear and the light quickly flickers to an emerald ribbon, then a navy galaxy and, finally a single spotlight. 

It focuses on Obi, briefly enveloping him in an ethereal glow that has her heart stuttering excitedly in her chest and-

“Okay! That’s good!” Obi shouts out over the seats of the empty theatre, over to where the lighting tech sits in his booth; they exchange grins and a thumbs up and the spotlight vanishes.

The house lights come up. Some danced up version of Lovefool starts pumping through the speakers and the crew of men Obi’d shooed off stage a minute before, crawl back out from backstage carrying stacks of chairs, tables and linen. 

Grin not quite covering up his concern as he turns around to face her, Obi runs a hand through his hair, takes a deep breath and then trots over to her.

“Hey.” Sweat marks his brow, his chest rises and falls a little too quickly and there’s a tightness to his shoulders and blush on his cheeks that fills her chest with heat, “You still doing okay over here?”

Swinging her legs gently, letting her heels bump against the large equipment box he’d helped her climb up onto twenty minutes ago, she takes a sip of the shimmering golden drink clutched in her hand and nods, happily. “Of course.”

He frowns, looking skeptical. “You’re sure?”

“I’m positive.” Giggling, she grips her drink tighter, just to keep from reaching out and grabbing hold of him like she wants to. 

It would be easy, she thinks. To pull him closer. He’s close enough that she can smell sweat mixing with cologne. So close that her fingers itch to touch him. To feel him. 

And, from where she’s perched on top of the giant equipment box, she’s certain that if he were to take just one more step forward, his hips would slot perfectly between her thighs and-

“I can’t get you anything?” Still skeptical, his gaze searches hers like he might find a different answer hidden within her eyes, if only he looks hard enough. “Another drink? Water? Headphones or-”

“I’m okay, Obi.” Without really meaning to, her fingers claim the distance between them and her palm flattens over his racing heart, “I promise.”

Obi laughs, shaky and more than a little breathless. The blush in his cheeks deepens as he reaches up to wind his fingers with hers. “I’m sorry, this isn’t exactly a romantic first date.”

“Who said it’s not?” Head tilting slightly, fingers curling into his chest, flames lick their way through her when his gaze dips to her lips and he inches closer; hips brushing her knees.

“Trust me, bringing you to a work event, in which I’m actually working, isn’t exactly high on my list of romantic gestures.” His chuckle, deep and longing, vibrates pleasantly through her fingertips. 

“Oh, so you have a list?” She teases, even as the warmth from her blush drips down her neck and beneath the neckline of her dress.

He grins, wicked and sharp and hungry. “I do.”

This is maddening. 

Grasping for more of the wrinkled material of his shirt, Shirayuki eagerly wets her lips as he stumbles another inch closer. “And, uhm, what would be at the top of that list, then?”

Golden eyes burn into her, hazy with want, as he tracks her tongue’s movement across her bottom lip. Jaw working, adams apple bobbing, his other hand lands lightly on her thigh and his thumb runs a burning arc over the lace adorning the hem of her dress. “I’d really rather show you, if that’s okay.”

She nods. Wiggles her way closer to the edge of the box, heart ready to leap right out of her chest. “It i-”

“Yo! Nanaki!” 

Both her and Obi freeze; their eyes widening and lips quivering into shy and sheepish grins.

“Got a sec? We found another box in the back and need to know what’s safe to auction and what we need to keep.”

“Coming!” Without tearing his gaze from her, he calls over his shoulder, then, gently, slowly - like he’s afraid if he were to move too fast, he might scare her off - he lifts and guides her hand up from off his chest until he’s holding it, hovering, just in front of his lips; he breathes, “I’ll be right back.”

And then he’s gone, trotting back across the stage towards the crew of men standing around a table piled high with a variety of boxes and props; and Shirayuki’s left sitting atop the giant equipment box, clutching her hand to her heart and trying to remember how to breathe, as the kiss he’d pressed to the space between her knuckles burns like a promise against her skin. 

_____

Obi’s being dragged off down the centre aisle, past rows of empty seats, to deal with some emergency at the front of house and is casting an apologetic pout over his shoulder at her, when another glittering gold drink pops up in front of her face.

Holding back an excited gasp, trying not to laugh as Obi’s pout turns into a dejected frown, she gladly accepts the glass and looks up to thank her new hero and-

And she nearly drops the drink. “Oh! Y-you’re-”

“Ayako. A pleasure.” The man, built like a tree, towers over her and goodness, she did not think he was this tall when he’d been up on stage. Nor did she realize his eyes are not, in fact, neon green, but are, instead, a deep mossy sort of green; though she supposes she should have clued in that he’d been wearing contacts.

“S-Shirayuki.” Next to his, her voice is a mouse's squeak. “Likewise.” 

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow raises, curious and knowing, all at the same time, “You’re that woman from the other night, aren’t you; the one who went bolting out of the theatre when Nanaki was up on stage?”

Apparently she’s already made a name for herself.

Palms suddenly sweaty and throat dry, she croaks, “Ahm, y-yes. That was-” she laughs, nervous and feeling more than a little foolish, “That was me.”

Ayako nods and settles himself against the side of the equipment box; his elbow knocks her knee as he crosses his arms over his broad chest and grunts, “Thought so. You know, you really fucked him up.” 

Heart clawing its way up into her burning throat and lungs starving for air, her lips pop open soundlessly, brain searching for some way to apologize, again, for what Obi’d gone through all those years ago- 

Ayako chuckles and playfully bumps his elbow to her thigh, “In the four years I’ve been here, I have never seen him choke like that.” 

“C-Choke?”

He hums, deep and low and thoughtful, “Yeah. One look at you and he froze up worse than a newbie. Missed like, six cues and ended up cutting his act short.”

“H-He did?” Shirayuki looks back up the centre aisle to where Obi had disappeared. Her heart stutters.

“Mhmm.” A row of perfect white teeth glint at her, “Guy was as shaken as I’ve ever seen him, which is dang impressive. So, naturally, I asked him what you meant to him - seeing as how one look had sent him tripping over his feet like that - and you know what he told me?”

Afraid to speak for fear of what might come out, she shakes her head.

The grin grows and he whispers with a wink, “Said you meant everything.”

She swallows hard, her heart - still lodged somewhere in her throat - is making it hard to breathe and-

“Ayako, you’d best not be bothering her.” Obi’s voice sounds like he’s teasing, but it’s tight, with a note of worry winding between the words.

“Course not, boss.” Shoving off the equipment cart with a grunt, Ayako shoots a sly grin over his shoulder at her, “Just needed to tell her a bit of a secret. Right, darling?”

Shirayuki chooses to ignore the ‘darling’ bit and glances curiously between Obi and Ayako, “Boss?”

“Ahh, he didn’t tell you?” 

She shakes her head, brows puzzling.

“Well, then allow me to say that Nanaki here is one of the finest managers this establishment's ever had. Certainly the favourite one around here. Works harder than anyone I know and they won’t even give him a damn night off to go on a date with a pretty girl. Sad, huh?” 

Obi groans. “Ayako-”

“Now, he’s been working the minute he set foot through the doors and I don’t know about you, darling, but I’m thinking he could use a quick break, you know? Has he given you a tour of the place yet? Shown you his office?” The look on her face must give something away because Ayako’s grin deepens and he winks once more, before setting off across the stage with a casual wave over his shoulder, “Don’t worry boss-man, I’ll go make sure the rest of the boys are ready and stay out of your hair. Just don’t be late for curtain call.”

Shirayuki inhales a surprised giggle, cheeks heating to unbearable temperatures as her brain starts trying to shove a number of fantasies - strictly reserved for when the ache in her chest grows to be too much for her to handle - to the front of her mind; one in particular manages to get itself wedged right up behind her eyes. It’s the one where he has her spread out on a desk, clawing at his back and-

And she needs to get a hold of herself. This is their first official date and they’re at his work and, besides, there’s certainly not time for that.

Desperately, she tries to ignore the scenes playing behind her eyes and the growing heat between her legs, and turns her gaze towards Obi.

Working to dig the toe of his sneaker into the stage and his fingers into the meat of his shoulder, the tips of Obi’s ears take on a pink tinge as he clears his throat and stares at her beneath long lashes, “Looks like I’ve suddenly got some time to kill. If you’re, ah, interested, I could show you around the place and maybe we could-”

“Yes.” She doesn’t let him finish. Doesn’t need to hear what they could do, for her to know what she wants to do. Her cup, still full, nearly spills over as she hastily sets it down and starts trying to wiggle her way off the equipment box.

She doesn’t get very far before Obi’s hands firmly grip her waist; skin burning where his palms rest against the thin material of her dress, she tries to remember that breathing is an important thing to do, as he slowly guides her off the box and down the front of him.

As her feet touch the floor, hands planted on his chest, Obi’s gaze flickers from her eyes, down to her lips. 

_____

Obi’s back slams into the door, one hand fumbling behind him for the handle, the other digging into her hip, as he pulls her bottom lip between his teeth and sucks.

With one hand fisted in his shirt, the other buried in his hair, keeping his head ducked down to meet her, Shirayuki moans, wobbles on her tiptoes and leans against him and-

She gasps as the door that’d been supporting them explodes inwards and crashes into the wall with an awful bang. Obi groans into her.

Stumbling into the room, allowing her to push him backwards through the dark office, Obi only pauses long enough to kick the door shut behind them as his hand - now free of trying to find the door handle - gently threads through her hair.

Beneath her fingertips, his heart calls to hers, just as it had that night in the back of his car and-

And she wants to cry for how ridiculously foolish she is for ever believing he faked how he felt about her. That he’d somehow lied about loving her.

That night in the back of his car, as he panted above her, with sweat just starting to bead at his temples and his chest heaving like he might never fully catch his breath again, as he whispered, soft and vulnerable, that he loved her…

He hadn’t been faking then and he’s not, now.

There is no faking this.

Obi comes to an abrupt stop, like he’s suddenly got nowhere else to go. Something falls to the floor with a dull thump and he breaks the kiss with a low moan, “Miss-”

“I’m sorry-” she hisses weakly and-

And she means it. Not about whatever they’ve just knocked over, but about everything else. Wholeheartedly, she’s sorry. Regrets how life had twisted and tumbled right out of her control. If she could go back and give herself a good shake, she would. Tell herself not to let him go without a fight.

Beg herself to talk to him. To hear, directly from him, that he wanted nothing to do with her.

Pressing a kiss to his lips, gentle and warm and slow, she only pulls back far enough to rest her forehead to his. Their noses brush. Their breath tangles in the scant space between them.

“Obi, I’m so sorry, I never should have believed a word Ze-”

“It’s okay.” The hand in her hair cups the back of her neck and he chuckles, the sound heartbreakingly beautiful and warm, “It’s okay, I know. I shouldn’t have either. I’m sorry I hurt you.” His lips chase hers, offering a sweet and understanding acceptance and apology tied up together in the form of a kiss. A thumb draws a smooth and steady arc along her hip. He whispers, lips still brushing hers with every word, “I never wanted to hurt you, Shirayuki.”

“I know.” 

Nodding slightly, leaning into him further, swallowing up his moan as she slips her tongue past lips and teeth, she’s hardly able to keep an excited shriek from bubbling out of her lungs as he gracefully swings them around. 

Lower back pressing into what she thinks might be a desk, her fantasy from earlier - still lingering just behind her eyes - bursts into sharp detail once more. Flames crawl and lick their way up her skin. 

Lips parting with a wet smack, the hand in his hair fists as he presses up against her, slips his hands down to the swell of her ass and lifts-

Her brain screams at her. Scene after scene - fantasy after fantasy - swirl dizzyingly in her mind.

She’s sitting on a desk. Or a table. Or-

Or a-

She doesn’t care. It’s not important.

There’s furniture beneath her and Obi’s standing between her thighs, his hands mapping out the curve of her ass and venturing along the lace that hems her dress and it’s… it’s real. It’s not just some picture she’s conjured in her head, meant to tide her over until the next time the feelings she keeps locked away deep within her, manage to break out and wreak havoc on her heart. 

This is real and he’s here and he wants her and-

She can feel him. Hard and wanting, pressing up against her.

“O-Obi-” She whines.

“Shirayuki-” Obi growls, nudges his nose against her jaw and uses teeth and lips to nip and suck a line of kisses along her neck, stretching from her jaw to her collar bone. 

She’s only just started to fumble with the top buttons on his shirt when the lights in the room flicker into existence and flash twice. Squinting up at them, she pants, “Is that-”

“Fuck.” Obi drops his forehead to her shoulder with an angry hiss; his breath is hot against her skin as he struggles to catch his breath, “Five minutes to curtain.”

“Oh.” Shirayuki swallows hard. The heat that had been building between them and fuelling her, doesn’t dissipate or disappear. If anything it burns hotter and brighter. It makes her lungs ache and her heart flop about her chest. Each word she speaks is a chore. “You really shouldn’t be late.”

“I know.” Even as he says it, he buries his face in the crook of her neck with an annoyed grunt and snakes his arms around her waist.

Still struggling to catch her breath, she drags her nails through his hair, delighting in the pained and wanting moan she draws out of his tired lungs. “How long do these events, ah, last?”

“Depends. An hour or two? More, if there are bidding wars.” His shoulders sag. “Which, there usually are.”

“It’s a charity event, don’t you want there to be bidding wars?” She half-teases, watching his shoulders deflate further.

“Not tonight, no.”

Nibbling at her lip, trying to at least get a handle of the flames threatening to consume her, she rasps, “Will you have to stay and clean up, after?”

The arms around her waist tighten slightly and he whispers, a note of hope in his tone, “I can do it tomorrow. And Ayako knows how to lock up.”

“You won’t get in trouble for that?”

Entirely too breathless, she giggles when he pulls his face from her neck, hair messy, cheeks flushed and a half-cocked smile pulling at his lips. “Nope. Manager, remember?”

The lights flicker a warning, again. Obi glares up at the ceiling with a huff.

Placing a hand over his heart, leaning in to dust a kiss across his lips as he looks back down at her, she grins, “Well, Mr. Manager, I’m pretty sure if you’re late and show up looking all disheveled, you will be in trouble. Shouldn’t you go change?”

“Change?” He frowns, looks down at his half unbuttoned, wrinkled dress shirt. Eyes widening briefly, he reaches up to rub at the back of his head; the tips of his ears reddening, “Ahh, right, so, I’m not sure I actually told you-”

She raises a brow at him.

“Ahh, we don’t just, uhm-” the fingers on her waist flutter and he drops his gaze to her lap, suddenly shy, “Well, see, the thing is, we auction off a lot more than just old props and stuff.”

The flames in her belly give a dull roar. “Like what?”

_____

“And, next up on our roster, a house favourite-”

The theatre erupts into excited shrieks and gasps. Women - and men - of all ages, gleefully clasp their hands together and lean forward, eyes glued to the stage with a hungry glint. 

Shirayuki’s stomach clenches around the flames Obi’d built within her. Her throat too tight for her to swallow without it aching; her heart, likely the culprit.

Ayako, currently playing MC, rumbles a deep chuckle into the mic. “This year, our Nanaki-”

Another wave of hoots and loud chants for ‘Nanaki’, swell through the air. 

Where he’s standing up on stage, just off to the side with the spotlight shining on him, Ayako pulls the mic from his mouth and hangs his head with a laugh.

The crowd has hardly settled when he tries again, “Nanaki’s donation this year is a ‘night’ out with him.”

There’s a ripple of fervent gasps. A couple of squeals.

“Take that as you will, folks.”

The grin Ayako flashes is meant for the crowd, but his neon-green eyes settle on where Shirayuki’s squirming in the lighting and sound booth beside the tech who keeps shooting her amused side-eyed glances. 

One eyebrow raises, almost challenging in nature, Ayako smirks at her and then the spotlight clicks off, plunging the theatre into darkness.

Beside her, her new tech friend chuckles, shakes his head once and presses a couple buttons, before muttering under his breath, “Boss is gonna shit.” 

Suddenly, a bass-heavy version of ‘Put Your Head on my Shoulder’ begins pouring out of the speakers. When the lights come up, again, the spotlight has been changed into thousands of little pulsing hearts that dance and float across the stage. 

And there, shirtless, with dark jeans slung low on his hips, little hearts splashed across his chest and hair still thoroughly mussed from their shared moment in his office, is Obi. 

He stands stock-still, chest not even rising and falling to betray that he’s breathing, and his lips are parted with surprise; a blush - evident even at this distance - has crept back into his cheeks and he gazes over the crowd. 

Gold meets green. 

He offers her the tiniest fraction of a helpless shrug. Apparently unaware of what his team had been planning for him. 

“What do you fine folks think? Think a night out with our dear Nanaki could turn into something more? Love, perhaps?” Somewhere in the shadows, Ayako hums, taunting and clearly enjoying his role in this, far too much. Obi, despite the fragile grin pinned in place, looks torn between wanting to leap into the shadows to strangle Ayako and wanting to crawl his way up the aisle to her. “What do you suppose we should start the bidding at? How much is a night - maybe even a lifetime - with Nanaki, worth? And remember, this is all for a good cause.”

She hears the meaning ribboned between the words. Understands that they’re meant for her.

She grits her teeth. Clenches her fists.

In front of her, a dozen hands raise. More, with each beat of her heart. A starting bid of $250 is called.

Ayako chuckles, repeats the bid. Calls for another and-

And, before she’s really registered what she’s doing, she’s standing on her chair in the booth, her hand raised high with a shout being pushed from out of her lungs that rings clear and true across the theatre.

Everything goes silent, save for a low whistle from the tech beside her.

Heads turn. Hands fall back into laps. Hearts break.

And, up on stage, Obi stares at her, his features slipping into something like shock. 

_____

“Yuzuri, I need you to tell me I’m not crazy.” The phone trembles in her hand. Her voice, though little more than a shell-shocked whisper, echoes and ricochets through the bathroom.

“Well that’s not going to work, you are crazy.” Chuckling through the line, missing the frantic lilt to her voice, Yuzuri hums, bubbly, “I think it’s a good thing, though, I mean-”

“No. Yuzuri, please. I-” she shuts her eyes against the blinding white tiles of the bathroom and grabs hold of the hair ornament hanging near her ear; the glass is smooth and warm in her palm, “I did something. A big something. And I need someone to tell me I’m not crazy for doing it.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, then, eerily monotone and quiet for Yuzuri, “Did Obi propose to you?”

Stomach instantly filled with dizzy, exuberant little butterflies and thoughts on what it might be like if he did, billow up and rob her of her breath, she gasps, “N-No!” 

“Did you propose to him?” The curious lilt is back. Definitely supportive in tone.

“Not exactly?” She may as well have, for the look on his face. For the looks on everyone’s faces.

Yuzuri chuckles, though Shirayuki swears the sound is more disappointed than cheerful, “So, if no one’s getting hitched, what’d you do?”

“I-” teeth grit down over the butterflies trying to escape out her mouth, Shirayuki rests her forehead to the cool tile of the bathroom wall. “I bid on a date with Obi.”

Another pause. Confusion radiates through the phone. “Weren’t you guys already on a date?”

“Yeah.” Wanting to bang her forehead off the tile or burst into tears - or a messy combination of both - she wets her lips, “But, he had to work a charity event tonight and I asked if I could come and then he was up there, auctioning off a night out with him and-”

“And you had the winning bid?” Now Yuzuri sounds like she’s grinning. Absolutely bursting with glee.

“Yeah.” Shirayuki rasps, still not quite sure how to feel about this whole thing other than the weird mixture of relief and horror that’s currently making her head hurt.

“How much?” Yuzuri whispers, eagerly.

Reliving the moment from five minutes ago, Shirayuki hears the low whistles around her. Sees Obi’s shocked face, as hearts dance across his chest and Paul Anka cranks out through the speakers and vibrates deep in her bones. She listens as Ayako calls the winning bid. Her winning bid. Feels it as the tech beside her suddenly grasps her elbow and asks if she’s okay as her knees turn to jelly and the room starts to spin.

“Five thousand.” She croaks. 

Yuzuri gasps.

The number doesn’t feel real. It just doesn’t. That’s more than she makes in a month. Two months.

Trying to coax her brain into thinking on how she’s going to afford this, is a chore. A painful one. And she’s halfway convinced that there’s no point in even trying to think on it, because each time she gets even remotely close to wondering - to thinking - on how she’ll manage, her heart gets all clogged up and eager in her chest, begging her to stop hiding in the bathroom and go collect her winnings.

“Oh. No. You’re not crazy, love.” 

Sounding more and more like she’s trying to keep from breaking down into hysterical giggles, her friend purrs through the phone.

“You’re fucking insane.”

_____

When she reenters the theatre, the house lights are all up and it’s entirely empty, save for the members of Obi’s team singing and dancing along terribly to a remix of ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’ as they work to tear down the event.

Stumbling down the main aisle, down to where the collection table remains front and centre, her heart begins to crawl its way up and into her throat with each and every step she takes. Eyes search the shadows of the stage for Obi, but-

“Congratulations!” The shirtless man behind the table grins, beckoning her over. 

Cautiously, she approaches and begins digging through her purse for her wallet. It burns in her hand as she pulls it out.

She’s going to be eating ramen for months. Years.

And with no sign of Obi, anywhere, she’s starting to worry that maybe it will have been for nothing. That, maybe, she’d freaked him out dropping that kind of cash without a moment’s hesitation. 

She would be freaked out. She is freaked out. It’s like her body had reacted without her permission. Suddenly, she was on her chair, eyes locked with Obi’s and shouting that absurd number, with no more thought in her brain than she had to have the winning bid.

And she did. 

There wasn’t even enough time for a bidding war to break out. She just dropped the number like a bomb and watched everyone else get blown to smithereens.

“Here’s your proof of purchase.” As the man hands her an official looking certificate he waggles his eyebrows and purrs, “Enjoy your winnings.”

“B-But I haven’t, ahm-” hands trembling worse by the second, she carefully tucks the certificate into her purse and pulls out her bank card; the plastic aches between her fingers, “I haven’t p-paid, yet?”

The grin slips into something far sweeter; a knowing and gentle sort of smile that, she thinks, must make him quite popular around here. He leans over the table towards her, dropping his voice low, “It’s already been taken care of. You don’t owe a thing, sweetheart.”

The card tumbles from between her fingers and lands heavily on the table, “W-What? But, I-”

“It’s on the house.” A familiar voice rumbles deep beside her and she jumps, fumbling for her card while she turns to face him.

“A-Ayako!”

A neon green gaze appraises her, amused. Arms crossing over his broad chest, he smirks down at her, “That was some bid you made. He really that important to you?” 

As she nods numbly - in response to both her ridiculous bid and the fact that Obi is incredibly important to her - she stares up at Ayako with glassy eyes, still trying to figure out exactly what he means by ‘on the house’.

The look on her face sends a grin to stretch across his, “Yeah, that’s about what we figured.”

“W-we?” She croaks, frowning. Mind spinning.

Ayako’s gaze flits about the theatre, one brow arched, “Who do you think paid your bid?”

Her jaw drops. Heart swells. 

Tears well up and rim her eyes and her lip begins to wobble as she follows Ayako’s stare. Each and every member of Obi’s team pauses what they’re doing to give her a nod and a wave. Some shout congratulations. Others laugh and shake their heads incredulously. 

Most just grin at her, fondly.

“You guys did this?” A tear slips free and winds down her cheek. “But why?”

“Because we wanted to.” He shrugs, eyes glittering happily, “Isn’t that enough?”

He won’t say so, but Shirayuki suspects that there’s more to it than just wanting to. Something to do with wanting to take care of Obi, as he’s always taken care of them, she thinks. Whatever their real reason, though, she’s grateful. 

Another tear. She sniffles. “Thank you.”

“Ah, go on.” The blush that climbs up into his cheeks is faint, but his tone’s lost that cocky sort of rumble and been replaced with a shy rasp, “Go collect your winnings.”

“Ahm, w-where-” Shirayuki looks about the theatre, again, and wipes the tear from her cheek. Every shadow is empty and none of the faces that stare back, belong to Obi. “Where is he?” 

A wave of low laughter goes rippling through the theatre and Ayako grins sheepishly at her, “Ah, Zeke’s got him locked up in his office. He kept demanding he pay your bid and, well, we couldn’t have that, could we, darling?”

Already climbing her way up onto the stage and practically running towards backstage, she calls over her shoulder to where Ayako is still standing, chuckling at the mouth of centre aisle. “Of course not!”

As she passes members of the team - people she’s only just met - they all flash her supportive grins with an occasional ‘have fun’ or ‘treat him right’ rumbled beneath laughter.

“I will!” She’s breathless and giddy.

Slipping beyond the curtain, dodging props and sets - narrowly avoiding colliding with the very same lamppost she’d seen Obi appear before two nights ago - her cheeks heat and her heart calls out through the shadows, down the long and narrow corridor to him. 

That’s why he was nowhere to be seen. He’d wanted to pay for her and his team wouldn’t have it. They kept him away long enough to settle her bid and wish her well and-

“Boss, cut it out, she’s fine!”

A voice - she’s assuming Zeke’s - echoes down the hall, accompanied by a bang that sounds as though Obi’s kicked at his door and a growl too low for her to hear what’s been said.

She grins, heart ready to beat out of her chest, and slides around the corner.

_____

Chapter Text

Assholes. 

He works with a bunch of assholes. Not only did they practically manhandle him into his office, but they’d stolen his wallet in the process and, now, Shirayuki is out there and she’s-

She’s-

Holy fuck.

Five grand.

She just dropped five grand on him. Five grand for a single, measly date with him. And, based on the way she’d damn near collapsed into Brin and then gone taking off down the aisle for the bathrooms, two things are clear. 

First, she hadn’t thought about it. She’d just up and done it, without a moment’s hesitation. 

Second, she can’t afford it. Not easily at least. 

Which is why, as soon as he’d walked off stage with numb knees and his heart clogging up his throat, he’d gone to the table and tried to pay her bid. 

Because, while he is flattered and thrilled - and, honestly, a little bit turned on - that she’d just up and drop that kind of cash on him if it meant he’d be out with her and not someone else, he can’t let her spend that much on him. He doesn’t want her to spend that much on him.

Especially not on something like this. Something he wants to do.

Because, desperately, he wants to take her out on dates. He’d even been planning to ask her when he might see her, next, but-

But he’d never ask her to pay. He’d never even ask her to pay for a $2 cup of coffee, let alone five thousand dollars for a single date.

There’s no way in hell he’ll let her pay this. She wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight and-

And he’ll transfer her the money if that’s what it takes. If it weren’t for these-

These ridiculous assholes, he works with, her bid would be squared away and he’d be pinching pennies for a while, but at least Shirayuki wouldn’t-

She wouldn’t have to-

Trying to take a deep breath, but finding it almost impossible to, Obi paces his office, wearing holes in the carpet. Gritting his teeth, fiddling with the pendent strung round his neck, he eyes the vent on the far wall, debating if he could somehow manage to wriggle his way through when, just beyond the door, Zeke chuckles and whispers something.

Obi pauses. Hands clench into fists at his sides.

Whatever’s been sitting out there, jamming up the door handle, scrapes like metal against tile and-

Shirayuki bursts into the room.

Before he can so much as breathe her name or properly take her in beyond just a flash of red and emerald and freckles standing in the doorway, her arms are looped around his waist and her nose is pressed against his chest.

“Obi-” The sigh she huffs sounds suspiciously like she’s trying not to cry. She trembles against him.

“Miss, I am-” one hand tentatively smooths itself against her lower back. He ducks his head and speaks into her hair, “I’m so sorry. These assholes, they locked me in here and- and I’ll wire you the money. You don’t have to-”

“No-” she shakes harder. Gasps against him, “Obi they paid the bid. That’s why they locked you in here. They wanted to pay it, not you.”

“They?” Trying to pull back slightly, just so he might catch a glimpse of her face, Obi’s heart begins to swell with gratitude. “My crew paid the bid?”

Shirayuki nods and he almost feels bad for calling them assholes. Almost. They may have paid for her, but they didn’t have to lock him up in his office. Or steal his wallet.

Pulling back, she grins up at him and- 

Ah, she wasn’t crying. She was giggling.

“You should go thank them.”

Hand moving of its own accord, his fingers ghost along the curve of her cheek until they wander over to brush against the glass bauble in her hair. The stone on his chest hums and burns. “Yeah, probably.”

Eyes fluttering halfway shut, Shirayuki relaxes her hold on him. “And then maybe we can grab some hot chocolate before you walk me back?”

“I’d like that.” Soft smile playing on his lips, heart wriggling about in his chest - overwhelmed by everything that’s happened the past few days - he clears his throat and starts to pull away from her. “That place you used to like is still open, and I don’t think they close until late. Want to go there?”

“Yeah. I’ll wait by the doors.” Shirayuki beams at him; before she lets him go entirely, she stands up on her tiptoes, wobbling ever so slightly, and dusts a faint kiss to his cheek, then whispers. “Don’t be too long.”

She’s turned and fluttered out the door before he’s able to find his voice.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t.” Chuckling to himself, fingers brushing along the skin where her kiss lingers, he takes off down the hall towards the stage.

_____

“You guys are all little shits, you know that, right?” 

As Obi slips his wallet back into his jeans with a sigh, Ayako playfully punches his shoulder.

“It was for your own good, boss. We were just looking out for you. And her.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Brushing him off, trying to keep the blush from his cheeks, Obi flashes him a grin then looks around at his crew; all of whom have paused clean-up for a moment and are looking at him with a mixture of fondness and, if he’s not reading them wrong, maybe a little bit of jealousy. Which, he can’t exactly blame them for.

Shirayuki’s smart, funny, talented and incredibly beautiful.

And, also, her bid has been the highest they’ve ever seen. By a large margin, too. Previous to her, their highest had been just shy of two thousand and it was for a weekend getaway with Ayako, up to his cabin in Wilant. Although, if he can help it, no one’s going to tell her that.

“Just so it’s clear-” Obi clears his throat. Rubs at the back of his neck. “I couldn’t have asked for a better team. I’m grateful to you guys.”

He gets a lot of head nodding in return and, beside him, Ayako rumbles, “We know.” 

“Good.” Obi inhales deeply. Shakily. Trying to keep his heart from knocking itself senseless as it slams into his ribs. 

“Come on-” laughing, Ayako throws an arm around his shoulder and starts steering him up towards the aisle, “I’ll walk you out.”

Obi turns to thank his team one last time, but they’ve all vanished, taking boxes and tables and chairs back through the building towards storage. He snorts and shakes his head, “You’re sure you don’t mind locking up?”

“If you’re suggesting you’ll stay and do it yourself, while you’ve got her waiting for you, I’ll punch you again. Harder this time.” One perfectly sculpted eyebrow raises, the rest of his face remaining perfectly stoic.

Shying out from beneath his arm, Obi holds his hands up in surrender and grins, “Please don’t.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They pass a few more rows in silence, the song coming from the speakers overhead saying something about never having to be alone, and Obi sighs, “Thanks, again. I do really appreciate it.”

“You didn’t honestly think we’d let her pay the bid herself, did you?” Lips screwing up, trying to keep from grinning, moss-green eyes appraise him. 

Obi shrugs a little sheepishly. 

Staring up the aisle, towards the doors and lobby beyond, Ayako hums, amused and thoughtful, “It’s funny, as soon as you walked in with her and I saw how she looked at you, I knew that she’d likely bid. And I figured she’d bid high. So, when you two were ah, occupied-” he chuckles and waggles an eyebrow at him, “I talked to the boys about splitting the bid - assuming she were to win.” 

“You did?” That’s slightly surprising, to hear that Ayako had been planning to pay the bid all along, knowing almost nothing about Shirayuki or their complicated past. 

“Mhmm. And they all agreed.” He shrugs, coming to a stop before the doors, “Seems to me, we all noticed the same thing.”

“Which is?” Obi croaks, his hand suddenly trembling and heart racing.

“You two are absolutely and without a doubt-” Ayako grins and pushes the door wide, revealing the lobby. 

Obi has to search a moment before he spots her, standing off to the side, admiring one of the giant potted ferns next to concession.

Upon hearing the door, she looks up a wide grin pulling at her lips and dancing in her steady emerald gaze.

Ayako gives him a slight push and chuckles, “Head over heels for each other.”

_____

It’s cooled off, significantly. The chill in the air is one usually saved for the end of fall, not the beginning of it. Though, despite how his teeth clench and goosebumps ripple beneath his sleeves, he can’t really complain. 

Fall is his favourite. Big sweaters and comfortable jeans. Pumpkin pie and apple cider. Cold noses and fingers. And, best of all, the leaves will start changing soon; his street will be a burst of natural colour in an otherwise digital, bland landscape.   

Beside him, drowning in his jacket, Shirayuki hums happily and then blows into her cup. “I haven’t had hot chocolate in ages.”

Taking a cautious sip, he sighs. “Me either.” Somehow, hot chocolate tastes better when he’s with her. Though he’d never really noticed until now. Then again, he hasn’t had a cup of it in years. Only ever sips, before he’d wrinkle his nose and put it down. He laughs, trying to recall when he’d last had a cup to himself, “Honestly I think the last time was-”

His stomach tightens. Heat curls through him.

Hot chocolate on her lips. Bing Crosby on the radio. Awkward angles and-

I love you.

“Ahhh. Yeah. It’s-” Obi chokes, stares down at the paper cup in his hand and wills himself not to squeeze it too tightly, “It’s been a while.”

“Me too.” Shirayuki’s voice is almost too quiet to hear. “I think-” she licks her lips and gazes up at him, “I think that was the last time I had it, too.”

Surprised, he looks over at her. A blush bleeds through her freckles and spills down her neck. The flames that’d started in his stomach quickly fill his veins.

He stammers, all too aware of how he’s burning from the inside out, “But you love hot chocolate?”

“I had a sip once, in Lyrias, but-” she shrugs. Pouts. “It didn’t taste the same.”

Chuckling, almost giddy with the knowledge that she’d had the same reaction he had, Obi slips his free hand into hers and squeezes, “Maybe it’s something to do with the company?”

Eyes widening with what might be mock surprise, she gasps, “You know, Obi, I think you might be onto something.” 

_____

“I’ve always loved this neighbourhood.” Hot chocolate long gone, Shirayuki walks along beside him, palm hot against his, as she stares around at ancient trees and gingerbread gable houses. “It’s like we’re not even in Wistal anymore.”

“I know.” Obi’s laugh is tight. Hardly any air escaping around the heart wedged in his throat. “You used to say your favourite house was this one. The one on the corner.”

“It still is.” Pulling him to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, she points up at the porch, “Oh, Obi, look, they even hung a swing up like I would have. See?” Sighing wistfully, she fixes her emerald gaze on him. Her smile a little sad, “Told you it’s the perfect porch for curling up with a book and a mug of hot chocolate. I bet they’re out there all the time. Especially this time of year.”

He can do this. Just ask her. Tell her. It’s not that hard.

“Do you-” he chokes. Voice coming out as a rasp. Trying again, he drops his gaze to the sidewalk beneath his sneakers. “Do you want to go in? I can make us some hot chocolate or, ah-” The tips of his ears burn. “Something.”

“What?” Shirayuki snorts, “Obi, we can’t do that. It’s like, 1am and I’m pretty sure the owners would kill us if we went knocking on their door, asking for a tour and hot chocolate.” Teasing, she starts trying to pull him down the sidewalk, “And we’re not breaking in.”

“I own it.” The words burst free, a little too loud and breathless. “I-I am the owner.” 

Daring a glance at her from beneath his lashes, he’s delighted to find Shirayuki gawking at him like she can’t tell if he’s pulling her leg or not.

Gods, his heart may just give out if she keeps looking at him like that.

Grinning sheepishly, digging his keys from his pocket, he nods towards the front walkway, “Do you… did you want to come in?”

Speechless, eyes glued to the house, she nods.

_____

“Obi, how did you-” dazed, like she’s in a dream, Shirayuki places her purse on the kitchen island. One hand fingers her hair bauble, the other rests over her heart, and her emerald gaze flits about the kitchen, taking in each and every detail. “Did you-”

Her question hangs in the air between them. Loud and unfinished. Did he buy it because of her? Did he buy it for her?

Unconsciously, perhaps she’d been the driving reason behind his decision that day, but to tell her he’d bought it for her would be a lie.

“I, ah-” grabbing two mugs from the cupboard, heart having a mild stroke in his chest, he shrugs, stiff, “I didn’t buy it. Not really.” 

Brows tugging together, she shakily seats herself at the island and watches as he moves about the kitchen, setting milk on the stove to heat up and grabbing the hot chocolate powder he’d purchased this morning - just in case - from the cupboard.

He laughs, suddenly nervous, “A few years back, I was walking by and noticed that the grass hadn’t been cut in like, months. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d gone up and knocked on the door.” 

Pulling a bottle of bailey’s out of the cupboard, he raises a questioning brow at Shirayuki. She nods.

He continues, trying to keep his voice from betraying how nervous he is and failing.

“So, this little old lady comes hobbling out. And I’m talking like, late eighties, early nineties.” Obi chuckles to himself, mixing the powder up with baileys before checking on the milk, “Without really thinking, I asked if I could cut the grass for her. She told me she couldn’t pay me, but-” giving the milk a quick stir and settling himself against the counter, he watches as Shirayuki continues to fiddle with the hair bauble. “But I didn’t care. A house like this needs a lot of love, so I told her she could pay me with stories, if she wanted, and I’d do whatever needed to be done. She was thrilled and I started coming over a couple times a week to do the yard work and cleaning. I’d fix whatever needed fixing. Even helped with groceries and cooking. And, in exchange, she told me about her life.”

Shirayuki just stares at him, her cheeks flushed, eyes wide.

Biting at his lip, turning back to the stove and reducing the heat, he rubs at the back of his neck. His throat burns and chest aches. “And, when Evelyn passed last year... she left the house to me.”

“She left you the house?” Shirayuki gasps. “She didn’t have kids? O-Or grandkids?”

“Not that I know of. If she did, she never talked about them. And they never came after me for the house or anything.” Obi removes the milk from the stove, splits it up between the two mugs and starts stirring, “Trust me, when her lawyers called me and told me what she’d done, I kept waiting for some estranged relative of hers to come knocking, but-”

He shrugs, turns and places a mug in front of Shirayuki.

Trembling fingers wrap around it and she stares deep into the liquid.

For a moment, the house is still and quiet. The clock in the living room ticks. Floorboards creak and settle. And Obi’s pulse crashes through his skull.

He whispers, “You’d have loved her, I think.”

Startled, like she’s just remembered she’s here and not lost wherever her thoughts had led her, she blinks up at him. “Did she - Evelyn - ask you to build the porch swing?”

“In a way.” Taking a sip of hot chocolate, lips tingling with heat, he grimaces and taps his fingers against the side of the mug, “She got sick, two years ago. And she was always tired and struggled with breathing deeply enough - certainly in no shape to tell me stories, anymore. So, I laughed and told her it was my turn to tell her stories." He chuckles, low and somber, "And she’d sit and listen for hours, while I worked around the yard and whatnot.” He can still feel Shirayuki’s gaze on him when he mumbles, “I built the swing after I told her about you.”

Shirayuki’s staring at him, eyes glistening, voice thick, “Did she like it?”

Memories of Evelyn, wrapped up in blankets and cuddled up on the swing outside, asking him to tell her more about Shirayuki as she watched him work - her tired giggles whenever dirt got in his shoes or the mower wouldn’t start - flood him. 

He nods, smiling lopsided at Shirayuki, “Yeah, she loved it.”

_____

3am might just be his favourite time of day. It’s late enough that most everyone is home in bed and early enough that no one’s up and headed to work, yet. Of course, there’s the occasional call of a siren or drunken shouts of a house party gone on too late, but for the most part, the city is slumbering. It’s peaceful and quiet. 

And oddly intimate.

Shirayuki snuggles further into his side, pulling the blanket up to her nose. The swing creaks and sways with the movement.

Arm around her shoulder, holding her close, Obi laughs; his breath coming out as a faint cloud, “So, what’s the verdict? Do you approve of my porch swing?”

“Hmm.” Twisting slightly, so she can see his face, Shirayuki blinks up at him, sleepily, “Might have to test it out a few more times-” a yawn makes her shudder against him, “- you know, just to be sure.”

Obi pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, wanting to make a comment about how she’s welcome to test it out as often as she’d like, if it means getting to see her, but, instead, he sighs, “I should get you back.” Brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, ignoring the way his heart is wailing that it’s not ready to let her go, he smiles softly, “It’s late. Your friend is probably worried I’ve kidnapped you or something.”

Even in the dim light spilling out from the living room windows, it’s easy to see the blush crawling up into her cheeks. The way her lashes flutter as her gaze slips from his, down to his lips. “I-It’s okay. I, ah, I texted her earlier and let her know I might not come back tonight.”

“Oh?” Suddenly breathless, very much aware that Shirayuki’s leaning closer to him, he licks his lips, “And did she approve of you staying out with me all night?”

“Mhmm. Actually, she told me if I came back to the hotel, she’d lock me out.” Shirayuki giggles; her breath tickling his neck.

That’s an oddly satisfying response, considering she’d told him she thought Zen was a prick.

Pulling away from his side with a soft grunt and quiet whimper as she stretches, cool evening air rushes in where she’d been only a moment ago. She tilts her head to look through the window and into the living room; warm light reflects in sleepy emerald.

Obi barely suppresses a shiver as he grins, takes a stand and offers her his hand, “Nice friend.”

Her palm slips into his. Warm and comforting. The blanket - wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl - drags across the porch as she comes to a wobbly stand. “She’d get along well with Ayako.”

Chuckling and leading her towards the door, his lungs ache as his heart swells to squish them against his ribs. “Yeah, she probably would.” 

They’ve only just crossed the threshold - the door clicking shut behind them - when Shirayuki slowly turns towards him and loops her arms around his waist. The blanket slips from her shoulders with a hiss and puddles on the floor. 

Cheek pressed to his sternum, leaning heavily against him, she sighs, content, “It’s okay if I stay here?”

“Of course.” Hand smoothing out her hair, trying not to think too hard on the fact that she can probably feel his heart beating frantically in his chest, he tries to laugh, but it only comes out sounding pained and a little desperate. “Stay as long as you like.”

“Mmmm.” Nuzzling her nose against him, fingers clenching at his shirt and legs beginning to sag, she mumbles, “Forever would be nice.”

It would be nice. More than nice. Forever with her would be a dream he’d never want to wake from. But her words come from a place that’s already slipped halfway into dreams. She’s already half asleep and fading fast.

He knows not to let tired words inspire too much hope.

He knows and, yet, his chest swells and aches to think she might mean it.

“Come on,” Gently, slowly, he frees himself of her grasp and starts coaxing her down the hallway towards the bedroom; she stumbles along behind him, eyes shut and hand entwined with his. “Let’s get you to bed.”

_____

“Where’re you going?” Shirayuki slurs, face pressed into his pillow and one eye cracked open.

Obi pauses. Hugs the clothes he’d been quietly trying to collect, closer to his chest. It’s a mistake to look at her.

She’s curled up in his bed. Using his pillow. Wearing nothing but her panties and his shirt. And her hair’s splashed across his sheets in red waves and the perfume she’d been wearing sticks to her skin and is making everything of his, smell like her and-

And she’s looking at him with the faintest of smiles pulling at her lips. Sleepy and hopeful and caring and so, so beautiful.

“Couch.” He croaks, because it’s all he can manage.

Shirayuki frowns, then pouts. Then, with more effort than necessary, hauls herself up into a sitting position, grabs his pillow and starts bunching up the blankets, collecting them in her arms and huffing the whole time. 

It’d be comical if he weren’t concerned that any moment, now, she’ll topple over out of the bed and smack her head off the dresser.

“What’re you doing?” Obi’s brows raise, his lips pressing into a flat line. The clothes he’d been holding fall to the floor as he leans across the bed and grabs a fistful of the sheets, trying to steady her as she sways.

Shirayuki glares up at him; hair hanging in a messy halo around her head, “If you’re sleeping on the couch, so am I.”

Stomach curling with heat, trying to stomp out the embers before they grow into flames, he sighs, “You’ll be far more comfortable in the bed.”

“And so will you.” The glare doesn’t lessen. It doesn’t ease. Instead, her bottom lip juts out and-

And god, damn, he wants so badly to capture it between his teeth. Just as he had in his office. If it weren’t so late, maybe they’d continue where they left off, but-

He swallows hard, making a point to look anywhere but directly at her. “Well, yeah, but-”

“So stay?” Significantly more awake than she’d been a moment ago, she’s stopped trying to tear the sheets from off his bed and has, instead, started trying to wrap his hand up in hers.

Teeth grinding down and jaw twitching as her hands clasp warmly around his. Flames ripple out beneath his skin, while his heart begs him to stop overthinking this and just get into bed. To slip under the covers, wrap her up in his arms and hold her close. Still staring down at the sheets, he mumbles, “I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Really, I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, if-”

“Please stay?” Still holding his hand captive, she flops back down to the bed and grins dopily up at him. “I’d like it if you stayed.” 

It’s like the hotel all over again, only, this time, it’s not alcohol driving her to make these decisions. It’s not alcohol that’s speaking to him. Asking him to stay. 

This time, she’ll remember the evening when she wakes in the morning. And this time…

This time he can stay.  

She must see the exact moment he caves, because she releases his hand and hums, “Were you really going to wear pajamas because I’m here?”

Obi’s cheeks must be the colour of her hair for how hot they burn. He nods. 

“Then you still sleep in your boxers?” Gaze hooded, she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I do.” He hears the words before he’s realized he’s said them. They sound breathless and excited and sleepy and longing, all at once.

“Good.” Shirayuki grabs hold of the pile of sheets she’d collected and, without really trying to straighten them back out, wiggles her way beneath the mountain, “Lose the pants and shirt and get over here.”

“Okay.” Chuckling, nerves singed and hands trembling as they try to undo the buttons of his shirt, his heart is doing its best to overpower him and send him climbing beneath the sheets, clothes be damned.

After a minute of struggle, he finally frees himself of his shirt and lets it flutter to the floor as he begins working to undo his pants, but freezes when Shirayuki inhales sharply.

“Obi, is that-”

Fingers halfway to undoing the button on his jeans, he looks over at her, only to find her gaze focused sharply on his chest.

“Wha-” glancing down, his heart gives one loud and painful beat in his chest. “Oh. Ahm. Y-Yeah.”

The stone pendant she’d given him all those years ago - the one he only ever takes off when he’s up on stage, for fear of it being lost or damaged - rests just over his heart.

The sheets rustle and Shirayuki growls. “Pants off, then come here.” 

Obi’s already working to kick his ankle free and slide into bed beside her, before the thought has fully left her lips.

_____

“You’re sure about this?” Sweat curls its way down his back and dots his brow. He squints up at her, trying to see if there’s any regret hidden behind that beautiful smile of hers, “You can still change your mind you know.”

“Hmm, you know what, you might be right. I think I will change my mind. Pack everything back up and head on back to Lyrias.” Standing in the back of the truck, overalls torn in the knee and sweat making stray wisps of red stick to her forehead she rolls his eyes at him, “I mean, we’ve only been talking about this for a year, right? It’s not like I’ve really thought this out all the way through or-”

“Okay, okay. I just-” chuckling, he grabs the box she slides across the floor of the truck towards him, “I wanted to make sure.”

“Obi, I was sure the day you came back into my life.” One eyebrow raised and cheeks puffed out, she stoops to grab another box; hugging it to her chest and waddling over to the edge of the truck, she plops it down on top of the one already in his arms, then goes back for something lighter she might be able to carry. As she disappears behind a shelf, she sighs, “Plus, transferring to Wistal is a good thing. I told you Garrack is making me one of the lead researchers, right?”

“Yeah.” Arms beginning to tremble from the weight, he leans up against the truck and grins, “But come on, you know she’d have been stupid not to offer you the position.”

Shirayuki wiggles her out out from the depths of the truck carrying a laundry hamper filled with pillows and blankets; setting it down on the edge so she might hop out first, she sits on her butt and scoots forward with a grunt, “I know, but-” she slips down and lands lightly on the driveway, then turns back to collect her hamper, “Even if she didn’t promote me, I’d still have taken the transfer and moved.”

She’s already walking away, up the path to the front door, when he finally peels himself off the truck and follows; a grin on his lips, “Oh yeah? Who says I’d still want you to move in if you didn’t get that big raise?” He pants, laughing at the tongue she sticks out over her shoulder at him, “I’ve got bills to pay you know. Can’t have a freeloader moving in.”

Stepping inside, dropping the laundry bin and turning on him, she grins, mischievous, “Yeah, but you love this freeloader.” 

“And how do you know that?” Struggling to put the boxes down without outright dropping them, fire curls in his belly as her fingers dance along his spine. He teases, “You’re sure I’m not just faking my feelings?”

“Hmm, I’m positive.” She whispers in his ear, briefly tugging his lobe between her teeth, before she’s gone and walking away from him. “You should go close up the truck.”

Despite his cock eagerly pressing against his jeans, he chuckles, trying not to get his hopes too high, “But we're nowhere near done?”

“I think you could use a break. You work too hard.” Tossing one last look over her shoulder as she saunters down the hall towards the bedroom, he hears the clasps of her overalls snap open; the material already sliding down off her back and collecting around her waist as she disappears into the bedroom.

“Fuck. Yeah, I think you might be right.” The boxes, all but forgotten in his grasp, slip from his fingers and crash to the floor as he runs for the door, fishing the truck keys out of his pocket as he goes.

Shirayuki’s giggle follows him out the door.

Heart the size of his chest and cheeks aching from the grin that’s refused to leave his lips since he’d driven up to help her pack and move, two days ago, Obi jumps up and slams the truck door shut.

He’s already bounding back up onto the porch, past the swing, by the time the truck locks with a happy chirp.

Tearing his shirt off - hopping ungracefully out of his jeans - Obi leaves a trail of sweaty clothes in the hallway, and slips into the bedroom - their bedroom - wearing only his boxers and the stone pendant.

Shirayuki eyes him hungrily from where she’s reclined, naked, on the bed.

And although he wants to go to her - strip his boxers off and hop into bed - for a moment, all he can do is stare, admiring and appreciating every bare inch of her spread out across the sheets.

Sometimes it still doesn’t feel real. Like any moment he’ll wake and this past year will have just been a pleasant dream. And it’s moments like this where he’s terrified it is a dream. That he’ll wake and she won’t be here. Won’t be moving in with him. Won’t be laying in their bed, naked and waiting and-

“Obi?” Slowly moving to sit, she frowns up at him, concerned, “Are you okay?”

Unsure if his heart can stand much more, he slowly drags himself up onto the bed and crawls his way over to her; she gasps, excited as he hovers above her.

Gold searches emerald. 

A shiver tears through him as her hands reach up between them, fingers curling against his chest. He breathes, “I love you, Shirayuki.”

Her response is a kiss. Simple and soft and warm. 

And he’s never heard her more clearly.

I love you, too.