An extension of my Hanahaki AU (here); set after Shirayuki finds out about Obi's curse and before Zen's letter (although the arcs after Lilas aren't really included in the original fic).
This fic can be read on its own (but just know that Obi has Hanahaki, unrequited love for Shirayuki, and Shirayuki knows).
Ref: chapter 136 of canon. For obiyuki AU bingo 2026 @snowwhite-andtheknight
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âYour Highness.âÂ
Lord Gjilanâs voice carries quiet through the room.Â
âPlease take Sir Obi with you.â
The words come jarring. Lord Gjilan continues, detailing- no- undermining his ability to protect his Miss; rationalizing a reality that Obi has never quite considered in the near future. There is a ringing in his ears, a throbbing growing quicker by the minute. The words you are not needed here thrum endlessly in his chest, beating over and over, desperate to leave a mark.Â
For the first time, the familiar leash around Obiâs neck tightens, digs uncomfortably into his skin. Funny how it has become a constraint, when this is the first Master he has so willingly offered up his chains to.Â
Obi coughs, once, discreet. He feels Shirayukiâs gaze dart to him before returning to meet Lord Gjilan.
Zen then proceeds to make his excuses, a segue around the walls of Lord Gjilanâs strong defence.Â
Obi takes inspiration.Â
-
The night is cool, a soft breeze flowing through the estate. Obi takes advantage of the tinkling of wind chimes, jumps from rooftop to rooftop, feet light but steady. The guards are plentiful, but Obi has dealt with scenes much more treacherous than this. He covers his coughs as best as he can, pocketing stray petals in fear of leaving a trace. It wouldnât do to get caught - itâll make proving his point a much more toilsome endeavour.
Obi arrives at the office of the good lord, through a window that has been suspiciously left ajar. He steps in, looks around.Â
Empty. Huh.
On the table, a piece of paper with two lines written on them - the first, Sir Obi; the next, a location. Obiâs gaze slides over the words, jaw clenched. For all the hiding and sneaking around he has done for the night, Obi canât help but feel slighted. Or at least, annoyed. If Lord Gjilan knew he was coming, he couldâve done Obi a mercy to at least meet him where he expects him to be.
Well. Played around by nobles. Hardly a novel idea in Clarines.Â
Sure, heâll bite.
Obi retraces his steps, careful to go unnoticed once more. Reaching the pavilion, he lands behind the banister. Almost immediately, to his chagrin, Lord Gjilan acknowledges his presence. The greeting surprises Obi, less so that Lord Gjilan has come to realize his presence before Obi made it known, but more so at how heavily it grates on the anxiety that has settled like a second skin upon his bones. It screams of a quiet certainty, that Obiâs competence has a cap, one that Lord Gjilan easily takes measure of, skims the rim of a cup easily toppled over.Â
Nevertheless, Obi clears his throat, bites back his pride, and appeals to the lord of the house for grace. To stay with his Miss, not by the lordâs command, no-his leash is his Masterâs, but to at least have the permission of the man whose residence he is intruding on. If anything, to reduce the ire Lord Gjilan will surely lay on his Miss and Master should Zen insist for Obi to stay.Â
Thankfully, Lord Gjilan resigns quickly, with the condition that Obi simply stays out of the way. No problem, Obi thinks. He isnât the brains of this operation. Call him when the estate is under attack, or something. Or when someone needs an oversupply of blood-stained flowers.
Obi agrees, before turning abruptly and chokes out a particularly violent coughing spiel. From the corner of his eye, Lord Gjilan appears frozen, in concern - Obiâs not sure. Possibly with some semblance of recalculation of Obiâs capabilities, considering the ailment that has inconveniently emerged in the past minute.Â
And shame upon shame, Obiâs palm leaves his mouth with a full blood-spattered bloom, red petals barely distinguishing from their stains; the shade of them unmistakable. His fingers clench over the flower, ears burning at the thought of having shown his full hand to a man who has merely scraped the surface of the disastrous dynamic between himself, Master and Miss. Obi glances up and Lord Gjilanâs eyes are wide before they soften at the edges. Obi looks away; itâs not pity he wants, nor an old manâs sympathetic resignation at the stupid things an idiotic youth is willing to do for love.Â
Suddenly, a guard announces the unexpected arrival of a visitor. And to no oneâs surprise, Lord Gjilan calls her forward, already anticipating the interruption.Â
âGood evening, Lord Shinsu,â Shirayuki calls from several steps down of the pavilion.Â
Obi wishes he has the foresight Lord Gjilan so eerily possesses, for his Missâ sudden appearance has triggered an abrupt unravelling in his chest; a literal one, as if the vines encapsulating his throat have loosened momentarily - as they have been wont to do at an alarmingly increasing rate over the past weeks. Obi tightens his hold on the flower in his hand.Â
âI would like to make a request,â Shirayuki states, voice trembling yet as clear as the tiny bells chiming around them. Obi looks up, mouth poised to stop her. This isnât her battle to fight, nor a battle thatâs left, since Lord Gjilan has retracted his condition. Lord Gjilan, the man of the hour, however, shoots a palm up behind him, halting Obiâs words from leaving his throat.
What is he..?
Lord Gjilan replies, âYour request - feel free to let me know if itâs a condition to fulfil your assignment here.â
Shirayuki looks taken aback. And Obi⌠Obi has no idea what this man is thinking.
âDoes this mean,â Shirayuki says slowly, â-that if you are unable to accede to my request, I would need to leave the estate?â
âYes.â
A pause. Then, âI understand.â
âProceed.â
Shirayuki then lowers her head and alarm bells begin ringing in Obiâs mind. Briefly, he is taken back to the swaying shadows under the canopy of the Tanbarun forests. A bright smile, a request, next time, youâll accompany me to the markets, yes? Him, tripping over a forbidden name, one he has countlessly called in his mind.
âGoing forward, when you see me with Sir Obi at my side, acting as my bodyguard,â Shirayuki pauses.Â
âPlease donât suggest that he might be replaced by anyone else.â
The words travel along the soft breeze, flinging wide the tassels and curtains obscuring Obi. He is still, jaw slack as Miss' words wash over him. And somewhere between the pounding of his chest and the fire burning the back of his throat, Obi knows. That every breath he takes will be easier now-lighter- silently absent of the thorns and vines and petals that have accompanied them for so long. That his lungs encapsulated by ever-growing tendrils will be released, at least for tonight, from their torment. That the petals wonât come.
Shirayuki then proceeds to shift his world another several degrees to the left. She continues to appeal to Lord Gjilan of Obiâs significance, depicting a presence worthy of titles from princes, as if accepting them required some herculean resolve on his part.Â
It did, but he doesnât recall ever telling Miss.Â
Shirayuki then places herself as a benefactor of this resolve, saying,Â
âHe somehow summoned the resolve to stand by me and follow me on my path.â
Hearing this, the heat forming at the back of his eyes spurs Obi to sitting, his back to the scene that has unfolded. In a faraway land, the cold seeping through his pants, the snow crunching as Obi places Zenâs dagger in front of him. The sunrise reflecting off his Missâ eyes, an agreement spoken freely. Obi thinks of the delight exuding from Shirayuki then, the unfiltered joy of having a familiar soul by her side. It was an age prior to her finding out the very nature of his offer, that he knowingly anchored himself to a sinking ship, one that will likely end with him drowning in cursed blooms.
Obi has wondered if Shirayuki has ever regretted her decision to let him stay once sheâd known.
âObi! See you tomorrow!â
Shirayukiâs voice cuts through his thoughts. Obi hears tomorrow and thinks forever- the fist holding the red bloom presses desperately against the tremble of his mouth. The edges of his vision blur and he blinks, eyes looking everywhere, in search of a touchstone of sorts- anything- to steady his very being and coming up short. And he smiles, because of course- of course- Miss has never gone back on her word, especially with the people she cares for. Obi being entwined in that should go without saying, but that in itself is an improbable blessing altogether.
Obi stumbles into standing, watching Shirayuki walk back to the estate with Lord Gjilan. Suddenly, she turns. He wonders if that is part of the curse too, the object of affection perpetually tuned in to the emerging blossoms creeping out from his airways. She begins walking to him instead, and Obiâs legs respond in kind.Â
They stop three feet away from each other. Obi scrambles to articulate the tsunami in his chest, fails, and attempts to evade this entire encounter altogether. And Miss- Miss is having none of it.Â
Obi chuckles, broken. âI guess.. I wanna say something in return, but I donât think I can put it into words.â
 Shirayukiâs eyes widen, before she sends him an earth-shattering smile.
âHey,â Shirayuki says. âThatâs okay.â
Obi sucks in a breath. He averts his gaze up, searches the night sky. Then, succumbing to the hand the universe has dealt him, Obi looks down and opens his palm, the cursed flower unfurling in his hand. He meets Shirayukiâs eye.Â
Shirayukiâs gaze is clear, no shade of doubt nor regret in them.
Obi takes a few steps forward.Â
A foot apart now, He pauses once more.Â
He points to his chest. Shirayukiâs eyes meet his.Â
âRight here,â Obi says. This curse, this imperfection, this sinking ship.
Another step. Obiâs arm encircles Shirayukiâs waist, hand landing gently at the small of her back. He presses her close, her chin against his shoulder. A soft inhale by his ear and Obi tips his head closer.
â...hold on to it for me, okay?â He murmurs.
Obi closes his eyes, gratitude for the woman flowing through him. It matters not the ever-flourishing garden in his lungs. It matters not the days he has left to live. If he is allowed the time left by her side, for her to be willing to bear this burden with him, to grow- together, Obi doesnât need perfection. He doesnât need easy-breathing. He just- needs her.
Shirayukiâs fingers trail his back before her palms hold him ever closer.Â
âOf course I will,â she says, voice thick with emotion.Â
Then all at once, she jumps deeper into the embrace, chin hooking over his shoulder, hands bearing some of his weight.Â
âOr maybe I should just take all of you with me!â
For a moment, Obi is stunned, the implications of her words rolling around in his head.Â
If only, Obi thinks.Â
I would give you forever if I could, Miss, he doesnât say.Â
Instead, he wraps his other arm around her, laughs, and bears some of her weight too.Â
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âEh?â
Lord Gjilan walks up to the two, post-embrace.Â
âLord Shisu!â Miss exclaims.
The man averts his gaze for a moment, before facing them once more.Â
âIâd like to apologize to His Highness Zen when we return to the estate,â he says. He glances briefly down at the flower still in Obiâs hand. Obi hides it behind his back.
â...and to you two too.â
Obi and Shirayuki share a look, mouths pursing in amusement. They then make their way back to their estate, footsteps lighter, now that they are aligned once more.
i hate it when i cant even write a poem about something because its too obvious. like in the airbnb i was at i guess it used to be a kids room cause you could see the imprint of one little glow in the dark star that had been missed and painted over in landlord white. like that's a poem already what's the point
There is not a surface upon his being that has not been marked by her fingerprints. It is in the way her smile has embedded itself in his soul. The way her laughter dances in his ears. The commonality of her spirit that speaks so much to the rarity of the times they live in, a luxury in the midst of chaos chewing away at their seams. So often he pulls and pulls and pulls at the sludge weighing him down, the hands that grasp at his throat, threatening to dismantle to ash the very psyche he has spent years and years refining and polishing and perfecting-
With her, he is afloat.
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âBakugou-kun!â she cries.Â
Katsuki has all but two seconds before his cherub of a best friend comes barrelling into his chest. He catches her, hands hesitating around her tiny form. She looks up at him, eyes squinted into a cheeky grin. His lips pull into a smirk.Â
âHey Cheeks,â he says.
Ochako smiles through her tears before burying her head into his jacket once more. âYou didnât tell me you were coming!â
âThatâs âcuz I didnât,â Katsuki mumbles into her hair, his ribs expanding as she squeezes tighter. âYou calledâŚso Iâm here.â
Katsuki doesnât hear her reply but distinctly detects a muffled âŚstupid All Might fan⌠He laughs and places hand on her head, pushing her back to look at him. There is a pout on her face that makes it difficult for his lips to stop trembling.Â
âAw Cheeks, I didnât know you missed me that much,â he says, traipsing around the awful hurt in his chest. He ruffles her hair before encircling his shoulders and crushing her to him. She squeals in turn, laughter spilling out.Â
âAlright, alright, I give, I give!â Ochako shouts, her mittened gloves patting at his back relentlessly. âLet me go so we can go get your stupid spicy ramen!â
Katsuki acquiesces, arms falling to his sides. She sticks her tongue out at him and dances out of his reach. Katsuki resists the urge to pull her into his arms again.
âI bet up in Hokkaido they donât have your famous, see: stupid name, Inferno Goblin Death-Broth Ramen,â she sing-songs.
âIâll have you know Inferno Goblin Death-Broth Ramen is a fucking solid-ass name!âÂ
âFucking stupid is what it is!â
âYou fucking come back here!â
Ochako runs, exuding joy in every footstep, delight trailing after.Â
huh. so it turns out ginger can be really really good at treating period pain. like, as effective as ibuprofen/NSAIDs good.
I'm the last person to say "just drink tea about it" but if cramps are kicking your ass and the painkillers need some backup...consider chugging a mug of hot water + ginger powder
"I'm not leaving because of the new butterfly villain... You and Adrien finally listened to your inner melodies, and today, they're forming a beautiful symphony. I'm happy for you two. But... I'm still in love with you Marinette. You're so radiant, so strong. How could I stop loving you?"
There are no bargains between lions and men. I will kill you and eat you raw.
"the man that was used up", the complete tales and poems edgar allan poe / "the autumn sonnets", collected poems: 1930-1993 may sarton / a memory of wind rachel swirsky / the great day of his wrath john martin (1853)
A/N: Wrote this as a love letter of sorts to Sorata. The AU here was inspired by this fic: Indelible.
â
What beauty it is to die a man marked by love than to live a life unblemished by indifference.
â
Obiâs mum has his name written on her arm.
When Obi reached the tender age of ten, she told him, whilst handing him a coal-stained piece of wood to paint each letter of his name onto the skin of her left arm, âThis is your soul mark. So Iâll always know youâre well and alive and thinking of me.â
She nudged him and he laughed, offering his arm to her as well. He watched as the word he has never used (obviously he wouldnât call his mother by her maiden name) formed on his dirt-crusted skin. The strokes seemed to glow once finished. His mother had run her hand through his hair then; Obi remembers her smile.
A year later, Obi watches as her soul mark on him fades with every beat of her heart. He watches as his name glows stark black against her pale skin, apparent even through his tears. When her name finally vanishes from his arm a few days later, his own still tattooed on a dead womanâs body, Obi swears he will never be so callous with his name ever again.
â
The first thing Obi notices is the very blank canvases of her arms. So much like his, his fingers twitch to wrap around them to check if they are empty through and through. Obi has borne names before - attempts to mark, to own, to say, âyouâd better remember who you belong to, boyâ - but they always fade eventually. Surely someone as sweet as her has some names to bear, people who care for her?
But each time he encounters Miss, Obi fixates on every point except the white skin of her arms. He searches for other things instead - a smile hidden behind a cloth mask, a twitch of brow when he flies a little too close to her irritation, a bell sunk to the bottom of a lake. When she fucking jumps out a window, her arms are the last thing on his mind.
It is only later when her arms burn into his side on horseback that he glances down. Miss is quiet and her face is flushed. Her arms remain bare, though. As Obi lifts his gaze to Master, he thinks itâs only a matter of time.
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True enough, Master and Miss emerge from the woods, smiles wide, faces flushed, and the inside of their wrists proudly marked with the loop of letters forming each otherâs names.
Obi is glad, that is, until the next day when he sees Missâ left wrist hidden by a wrapping of silk, framed by an intricate string of beads. He turns and sees Master approach, donning a pair of fingerless gloves, the left one stretching to the middle of his forearm. The Wisteria crest haunts the back of his hands and Obi frowns.
âItâs easier this way,â Miss tells him later, a secret smile playing at the corner of her lips. And Obi understands, he does. But his chest aches alongside the downturn of his mouth - for the girl whose arms are bare, for the prince with the Kingdom burnished on his back, for the pair whom Obi has inadvertently given a piece of his soul to.
-
The fiasco in Tanbarun was spent waiting with bated breath, and with Master checking his wrist every hour. Obi does not remember most of it, having survived three days without sleep. The moment he sees her again, dress torn, hair in disarray, cut on face screaming out his failure â Obi does not dare to seek relief. He throws himself into recompense, removing himself from her presence whilst seeking revenge on the ones who had stolen her, twice over, from under his watch.
The sun sets eventually upon the battle long over and Obi hides in the shadows of the trees around the Mountain Lion village. He jumps from branch to branch in the guise of patrolling the surrounding area. He bides his time, awaiting the cover of night to take the final leap away from a trust broken beyond repair.
His name sounds through the woods like the clang of a warning bell.
Obi lands in front of Miss, no hesitation.
Miss runs up to him, panting. âYou didnât seem yourself on the way here. You had me a bit worried.â
He stares at Miss, willing her to see the guilt he is drenched in. An oblivious smile paints her face. Obi clears his throat.
âForgive me,â he says. âI was supposed to be your bodyguard. Your escort.â
Miss starts. âBut-â
A hand over mouth. âIt doesnât matter what you say, I wonât hear it.â
Then Obi voices his greatest failure.
âI was supposed to protect you.â
A beat. Then another. Obi removes his hand.
Miss lifts her head.
âSo it doesnât matter what I have to say?â
âThatâs right.â
âFine.â
Obi prepares for her final dismissal.
Instead, Miss gaze sharpens with something determined. Her voice is steel when she commands him. âNext time I visit Tanbarun, I want you to be my bodyguard again.â
Taken aback, Obi offers a well-thought out, âHuh?â
âI told you,â Miss continues, a smile stretched across her lips, so open and so bright in the dying sunlight. âWeâd see the town together next time, right?â
Then so quietly, she offers, ââŚand maybe one day, we can exchange names too? So we donât lose each other?â
âShira-â
Obi breaks off in a gasp, slapping his hand over his mouth.
He scarcely has time to get his feet under him again when Miss bows. âPlease, Iâm looking forward to it.â
Miss pays no heed to Obiâs world tilting a few degrees to the left, and continues to keep her head bowed. Obi scrambles for calm, forcing his arm down. He stares at Missâ arms again, one wrist wrapped in silk, the other persistently bare. His chest aches at her plea, one undeservedly poised to a man who has had too little to lose, what more a name. Still, still-
âIâll hold you to that, Miss,â Obi says, choosing to step into an unknown. The ground is shaky at best, but Missâ relieved smile sinks into his soul, and Obi feels another part of him surrendering once again.
â
âListen Obi.â Masterâs voice cuts through the air. âWhen youâre meant to be somewhere but then you go missing, that doesnât sit well with people - including me.â
Master faces him and immediately Obi is arrested by clear, unquestionable blue. âLearn that lesson soon or next time I wonât come looking for you.â
ââŚIâm sorry.â The words tumble out of Obiâs mouth, the ground suddenly giving way under his feet. His fists unclench, hanging limply over his knees. Master turns away once more with a sound of acknowledgment but the fire in Obiâs chest burns bright- so bright. He grips his wrist, thumb rubbing against the skin on his forearm. Obi inhales, chest expanding, and looks up.
âMaster-â
âObi!â Miss blows into the room, arms full of supplies.
Obi releases his arm in surprise. âMiss?â
âYour shoulder.â Miss walks over, setting her supplies down on the stair next to him. âShow me where you got hurt.â
Immediately on the defensive, Obi places his hand over his injured shoulder. âHuh? Itâs just a scratch- okay, okay, the shirtâs coming off, you can stop staring at me like that now.â
Gingerly, Obi removes his shirt and sits up. Master leaves the room, citing his need to check on the others. Miss sets to work preparing the dressing and Obiâs leg begins to bounce in the silence.
âMiss,â Obi breaks first. âAre you mad?â
Miss sighs. âNo, Iâm more relieved than anything.â
It doesnât sound like the full answer. âSo youâre disappointed then..?â
A huff escapes Missâ mouth next. She presses the cloth into his shoulder and Obi hisses at the sting. âI canât exactly say, âdonât worry me like thatâ, especially after all the stunts Iâve pulledâŚâ
Miss works silently after that, focused on dressing his mistake and covering the wound. Obi hones in on every dab, every press of cloth, every pass of breath over his skin. It begins as a flame threatening to spark an inferno in his chest.
Then Miss calls his name, nothing more than a murmur, clear as a bell. Obiâs jaw clenches. He wants this. This freefall into a trust he holds for these people, his people - he aches for this- and isnât that just the scariest thing?
Miss questions him about the scar on his chest, a distant memory. Obi stutters through a non-answer, his consciousness still ringing from the pinpoint of his name passing her lips. Miss looks up at him in exasperation before placing a final bandage over his injury. As she retreats, Obi takes hold of her hand.
âIf youâd been dressing the wound back then, it probably wouldnât have left such a nasty scar.â
Miss looks down once more, eyes softening in forgone pity. Obiâs scar itches but he persists in squeezing her hand once, an allowance of sorts. He catches her eye. And with all the sincerity a man like him can muster, he releases a contract.
âIâm sorry I didnât return as promised. It wonât happen again.â
A breath, then pointing to his shoulder, âMiss, as a reminder, would you write your name here? Just so I donât get lost and know where to return to?â
Obi flashes a cheeky grin, hoping it buoys the gravity of the request, cushions the weight of novel words leaving his mouth. But Miss doesnât take the bait and chooses to bask in it instead, seeming to float with happiness as she acknowledges what this means for him. Obi coughs and looks away, a slight flush making its way onto his cheeks.
âOf course!â Miss replies, ethereal smile on face and all.
Days later, Miss hunts him down and drags him to the pharmacy. She sits him on a stool and orders him to take off his shirt, using a tone not unlike the one she used at the inn. Obi watches as she dips her pen into the ink pot, the loops seeping into his skin to take the form of a word heâs never let leave his mouth. When sheâs finished, Miss beams up at him before handing the pen over.
Obi grips her hand and gently pushes it down. A moment passes, but Miss nods. A silent message received, and the pen is returned to the ink pot. They share a secret smile of sorts before Obi puts his shirt on once again.
â
The day Miss leaves for Lilias is bittersweet. Obiâs uniform chafes at the neck and he pulls on the collar for the umpteenth time.
âStop that,â Mister admonishes. Obi purses his lips before leaning back on his hands, the warmth of the stone under his fingers seeping through.
Miss emerges through the doors, suitcases in tow. She approaches the four of them, smile wide. She explains His Majestic Bro-nessâ assignment in detail and Obi canât help but latch onto one fact.
âTwo years?!â Obi exclaims. âHoning your skills should take what, like a year, tops?â
He is still reeling when Miss catches them unawares. Looking at each of them, she says, âUmm - I was hoping to shake hands with each of you, if thatâs okay.â
Beside him, Miss Kiki murmurs, âHandshakes?â She then steps up to Miss and engulfs her in a hug. Miss lets out an adorable squeak, her face turning red. As Miss Kiki lets go, her gaze falls to the large bag next to Miss.
âBy any chance,â Miss Kiki says. âDo you have anything to write with in that big bag of yours? I would very much like to exchange names with you.â
Miss practically glows at the request before fishing out her trusty ink pot and pen and offers them to Miss Kiki. Miss offers up her forearm and Miss Kiki bends to write her name. Missâ name is exchanged in return, written on the same location as hers.
Obiâs heart seems to be beating out of his chest. He leans on Mister, hoping desperately that he may somehow put a stop to this. Instead-
âNo.â Mister betrays Obi. âI donât go for handshakes either.â
Mister rolls up his sleeve and walks towards Miss, giving her a semi-blank canvas to write on. Miss smiles up at him with gratitude, and proceeds to leave her name on his skin. Mister then returns the favour before engulfing Missâ tiny form in a giant bear hug.
Obi clutches at his shoulder.
The pair turn to him and Obi freezes. Miss approaches him, stepping into his space. The stare they share seems to span the length of an ocean.
Slowly, Obi lowers his arm and extends both of them out. Missâ mouth opens and Obi is endeared. Carefully, he wraps an arm around her and grips lightly at the top of her back. Miss, in turn, snakes both arms around him and presses him close. Obi closes his eyes and leans his head briefly against hers.
The vestiges of what anchors him to this place, Miss releases them with her words, and Obi finds himself letting go. For now.
â
âTell me, Obi,â Master says, hair gently blown by the oceanâs breeze. âDo you like me?â
âYes,â Obi replies.
Master coughs slightly. âNo hesitation, huh. Well, not that itâs a problem.â
Obi smirks. âI mean, you asked.â
A moment passes. The whipping of the Wisteria flag hung from its mast sounds through the quiet of the night, the stars its ever-constant backdrop. Master glances at him, eyes clear as day.
âWhat about Shirayuki?â
A pang slices through Obiâs chest. He stares at Master. Then turns back to the sea. Missâ face comes alive in his mindâs eye. He takes a breath.
âYes,â Obi tells him. âI like Miss too.â
To his credit, Master spends all but a moment looking shocked, and Obi canât help but tease. âDid you not know?â
Immediately, the shock melts off Masterâs face. Obi can almost hear Master questioning his intellect. Instead he says, âHow could I have when Iâve never asked before?â
Master then begins listing Obiâs faults, like looking out for Miss properly, and explains why heâd just shot a cannonball through Obiâs poor soul, asking about his feelings. Not that Obi hadnât planned on doing so - two years is a long time, after all.
At this, Master seems truly shocked and even comments on his upright-ness, to which Obi only blames the bunch of them all. They go back and forth a little - Master attempting to decipher Obiâs psyche and his inability to stay in one place, Obi attempting to dodge every understanding gaze Master shoots his way.
âIf youâve decided to stick with us,â Master says, handing him the other end of his proverbial leash. âThen let me make this clear-
âYou know well how Shirayuki is. She needs someone around that she can count on. And that person can only be you.â
Masterâs gaze almost shines in the starlight, the blues darkened by the night but as clear as day. He speaks Obiâs name and Obi clutches at his wrist.
âGoing forward, Iâm entrusting you with her.â
Obiâs knee touches the floor before any words leave his mouth. âFor you and Miss, I would go anywhere.â
The waves crash against the ship and Obi looks up to Masterâs satisfied face. Contrite, he offers his wrist. âMaster,â he says. Master nods in understanding.
Later, the two share an intimate moment under the candlelight below deck, Obiâs wrist exposed, palm facing up, and Master berating him with every letter scribbled onto Obiâs skin. And Obi laughs and laughs.
â
For all the talk Obi did about longing for his Miss to Miss Kiki, returning to Lilias after the whole ordeal with Touka and the twins seems less like a victorâs welcome and more like a sigh of relief. Obi will soon accept a bed over some knightâs honour for protecting the Second to the Crown, so he avoids his Elder Bro-ness (and any of his associated posse) like a plague. This finds him lounging around the gates, an apparent image of nonchalance - save his hand digging into his right shoulder and his foot bouncing against the stone wall behind him.
A flash of red enters his vision and immediately his hand goes up. âHey!â Obi waves. âOver here!â
Missâ steps echo through the corridor despite the crowd. When her hands wrap around Obiâs wrists, Obi finds a different kind of mark searing his skin. His left wrist, bearing Masterâs name, burns as she squeezes.
âWelcome back, Obi.â
Even without him looking into a mirror with his shirt off, Obi knows that the name inscribed on his shoulder is glowing. It pulses once, twice. And underneath, the muscle in his chest throbs in unison.
Obiâs hands go slack in her hold. Then immediately - stupidly - move to grab his Miss under the arms, picking her up and twirling her around. Hysteria leaves his mouth before being interrupted by exclamations of pain. Miss looks at him with concern when he finally puts her down, but Obi quickly redirects her attention to much more important matters - namely, Master.
A few days later, Obi, while Master catches up on his sleep, makes his long overdue visit to Miss as her patient. She checks on him, satisfied with the care he has put into his wound. The Olin Maris stone is subsequently returned to its rightful owner, but it is quickly passed back, Miss citing its usefulness to Obi.
âI didnât have any idea whether you were okay,â Miss says after returning the Olin Maris to Obiâs neck. She touches her clothed wrist. âI have Zenâs, yes. ButâŚâ
Obiâs heart hurts at the thought of Miss ever needing to check on her wrists for his existence.
âYou have Masterâs name - mine shouldnât matter⌠But-â Obi touches her name over his shirt. âI did think about coming back safely and Iâm glad I was able to.â
He looks up at her, attempting a grin that seems too fragile for his face. âIâm home, Miss! I think thatâs how itâs meant to go?â
Miss has a broken smile on her face that makes Obi want to wrap her up in his arms and squeeze. Instead, he relishes in her repeated words.
âWelcome home, Obi.â
â
In Lilias, the researchers are decidedly more liberal with whom they exchange names. The bonds forged between research papers, dim candlelights and furious scribbling are difficult to break beyond the high walls of the research city. More often than not, Obi finds collaborators taking delight in rolling up their sleeves, reaching over to conveniently placed writing instruments, and writing their names on each othersâ arms.
Similarly, anyone who has survived the cold of the North together warrants a name exchange. This finds Obi caught in such exchanges at the tail end of a night shift or after a particularly hard beating courtesy of Makiri. Obiâs arms become littered with far more words than he has ever had the privilege to carry, a lesser burden than the ones he leaves on others. He takes refuge in the fact that they are usually covered up by layers and layers of thick wool, and that they will fade without anyone knowing better.
(At least thatâs what he tells himself - when on more than one occasion, Obi sees his name standing out stark and dark on more than one comradesâ arms in the Lilias baths.)
This practice is not lost on his Miss, who excitedly stains her arms with ink, creating constellations on her skin as foreign to her as they are to him. She lovingly traces Yuzuriâs and Suzuâs names when she thinks no one is watching. Obi finds himself perching his chin in hand while she does so, chest warm at the thought of his Miss having people she loves love her in return.
(He pointedly ignores the silk wrapped around Missâ wrist, and he doesnât wonder whether the name underneath has lost any of its opacity. He doesnât. The trickle of letters arriving that bear the official seal makes it difficult, though.)
Her other wrist, however, remains achingly empty. And whenever Obi is in the vicinity of one of such exchanges, Missâ gaze somehow never fails to find his, a secret smile playing at her lips. Obiâs heart beats in his ears and he turns away, his hand digging into his right shoulder, lips pressed together.
The practice regains its weight the night Little Ryuu is challenged to a crossroads: to follow them on their traipse around the North, or to move to Wilant for research. He calls on both of them, climbs up a small hill to where they stand, waiting. And with stars in his eyes, he asks for their names to be written next to each other on the inside of his left forearm.
So he can see their names whenever he pulls his sleeves up to attend to patients, Little Ryuu explains, or when he retrieves herbs from the greenhouse. A reminder of who he has grown to be, and who he wants to become. And, Little Ryuu insists, their names have to be one after the other, because they come together.
Obi isnât someone meant for words like these, nor to have his name tattooed on a soul as pure as the boy in front of him. But Miss abruptly agrees for the both of them, tears in her eyes. Obi attempts a smile but covers it up by ruffling Little Ryuuâs hair before holding him close.
Little Ryuu holds out his pen and Obi and Miss look at each other, smiles wide.
âYou firstâ, they both say, already rolling up their sleeves. Obi pretends not to see the tremble of Ryuuâs lips and grins through the affair. He knows this mark will last for a while.
â
Obiâs very real fear that Missâ name will one day fade from his shoulder comes to fruition the day Lord Shinsu requests for him to return to his post by his Masterâs side. Somewhere far, far away - far from herbs and mystery boxes and strange plants. Where Obi becomes out of sight, out of mind.
Oh, if only his younger self could see him now; scrambling to dig his roots even deeper instead of up and out. Belatedly, Obi takes this realization as a sign of growth, though, whilst jumping from rooftop to rooftop, the feeling of being left behind never does fade. His mind blinks back to labored breathing, stale air, a sickly pallor and his name persisting in its existence amongst a room full of death. Again, he is being cleaved against his will - but this time, things may change if Obi fights hard enough.
He lands behind Lord Shinsu, exchanges barbs with him briefly, before moving to the main event. Obi pulls up his big boy breeches, straightens out his uniform blacks. He throws out his ace of spades, digging deeper into the soil at his feet. Obi clings on to Masterâs command, pulls at it any way he can, but in the face of Lord Shinsuâs unchanging expression, Obi feels like heâs dangling off a precipice, saved by the skin of his teeth, or rather, the mention of Masterâs name once again.
Lord Shinsu then lays out his conditions and Obi has no choice but to agree. After all, if this is as far his Masterâs name can get him, what more is he to expect from his own? Obi bows, sinking back to the security that he still belongs at his Missâ side, as long as Master wills it.
âGood evening, Lord Shinsu!â
Obiâs head snaps up. In the glow of the firelight, Miss stands out against the night sky, the stars glittering above her. She stands in the distance, hands clasped, and she seems nervous?
He watches her take a breath. âLord Shinsu, I come to you with a humble request.â
At this, Obi attempts to stop her, to tell her that itâs a done deal, thereâs no need to fight anymore. Clarinesâ favourite uncle gives him pause though, a palm up behind him. Obi grinds his teeth in frustration. Fresh from his most recent bout of submission, he clenches his fists and waits.
Some conversational martial arts later, the good lord finally allows Miss an opening to speak her truth. Unbeknownst to Obi, it is also the beginning of an end.
âWhilst under your service, Lord Shinsu,â Miss speaks to the floor. âAnd whilst Obi continues his service as my guard, kindly refrain from saying that to be my guard, anyone would suffice.â
What?
As stoic as ever, Lord Shinsu asks, âIs this with regard to what I said today?â
âYes.â Miss continues to have her head bowed.
âEven if thereâs someone better?â A pang goes through Obi at this. Because world on worlds, it is true; there are probably better guards in this manâs service. Guards who wouldnât have let their charge be kidnapped right under their noses, for one.
Miss immediately obliterates that train of thought with an affirmative. Lord Shinsu then reiterates what Obi clung onto so desperately earlier.
âIs it because Sir Obi is the only one who serves as Prince Zenâs immediate knight?â
The dagger around his waist has never felt as heavy. This is a role, he tells himself. A role graced upon the undeserving. Obiâs fingers twitch at his side, itching to trace the name branded on his wrist. To see that it hasnât faded, that Master knows him, that this responsibility is because Master caresâŚright?
âYes,â Miss replies, lifting her gaze. âIn the same manner the title âFriend of the Crownâ, bestowed by Prince Raj, was meant to act as a shield for me - the title of âPrince Zenâs Immediate Knightâ similarly exists as a reflection of His Highnessâ feelings.â
Something settles in Obiâs chest. Good, Miss understands his role. Heâs here on Masterâs command. This is where he is called to be.
But Miss continues. âBut for Sir Obi, to be able to accept a title as unique as this, it must have taken him a resolve equivalent to its weight.â
Obiâs mouth parts at this. Wait, Miss, he wants to say. But she isnât finished.
âAnd I know,â Miss speaks, voice resolute. âIt is with that same resolve that he has come to be by my side.â
The image slices through Obi; a snowy day with a dagger laid at his feet, the cold seeping through the cloth of his pants. Their chests heaving from the run through the forest, sunlight peeking through the branches. A question, Is it fine if I stay here?
Obiâs first instinct knocks him to sitting, hiding himself behind the banister out of sight. While his legs have surely lost their ability to keep his weight up, Obi persists in that incessant need to shield himself from this. That precipice he was dangling from earlier? It crumbles under his hands and Obi grasps at air, only to find his feet landing on a trust so unwavering, so solid. She sees him so thoroughly, has delved into his innermost fears and wants, as if sheâs traced his name over and over, so familiar with its loops and syllables. He wants to crouch down and bask in it, he wants to crawl to her side into her embrace, he wants-
He wants to become worthy of this.
âObi!â Missâ voice rings through the night.
Immediately, there is a tightness behind his eyes heâs barred himself from for so long. The stones on the floor begin to blur.
âSee you tomorrow!â She calls.
Obi presses his fingers against his eyelids. The corners of his mouth tips upwards. Tomorrow, she says. Like it is a simple unending concept; like it is a given.
The wind passes through the tassels above him and Obi follows in its wake after the receding footsteps of his Miss. He stands, stumbles into a turn, and watches as Miss and Lord Shinsu make their way back to the residence. Itâs fine. Heâll see her tomorrow, preferably when his insides feel less like they are threatening to spill out through his throat.
Suddenly, Miss turns. Obiâs eyes widen. Did Miss grow a pair of eyes behind her head when he wasnât looking? Miss briefly returns to Lord Shinsu before taking wide steps back in Obiâs direction.
Obiâs legs follow suit, his eyes fixed on Missâ approaching form. After descending the first flight of steps, they stop. He canât go further- he canât. There isnât a stone left unturned in his being and thatâs too much for Miss to see up close.
âObi.â
âSee you tomorrow, Miss,â Obi quickly rehashes her earlier sentiment, tests it out briefly on his tongue. It escapes as a poor mimicry of the pulse behind the statement.
Missâ bewildered stare causes the edges of his smile - he is smiling, right? - to tremble.
âYou should head back with Lord Shinsu.â
âWhat about you, Obi?â
Ah, caught red-handed. Nothing escapes his Miss. Why does he even try, really.
ââŚthatâs right. I did promise to tell you when something comes up,â Obi mumbles.
He looks up. âI heard everything,â he says. âAnd thereâs something I want to say, but Iâm not sure if I can put it clearly.â
Miss blinks, once, twice, the stars in her eyes. Her face then melts into the most heartwrenching of smiles.
âItâs okay.â
Obiâs chest throbs, the tightness behind his eyes returning. He tilts his head up, hoping to stave off the blurred edges of his vision. Above him, the stars twinkle with no shame, their existence bright, persisting, plastered on a blanket of black.
It is with that same damn resolve that Obiâs legs move. He stops, just a whileâs away from his Miss. He hopes she meant it when she said he looks good in the firelight. Because if thereâs anything thatâll be next to his Miss from now on till time eternal, it should at least be something pleasant to look at.
He points at his chest.
âThis,â Obi murmurs, a silent prayer, an offering. âHere.â
Miss looks up in astonishment. Obi reaches out and tugs her to him, his hand pressed to the small of her back.
âCould you hold it for me?â
He presses into her warmth, closes his eyes. His Miss, who has held onto he who has no home; who laughs, cries, smiles, with him; who has taught him the beauty of holding on. Perhaps the resolve isnât so much a resolve, but a pull unavoided, a vice Obi so willingly offers his wrists to, to be pulled along, tethered, with nor so much a care. Who is he to resist? And now, he has surrendered all his cards, given every single part of himself to the girl in his arms, and he waits, with bated breath, for the answer he trusts her to give.
Both of Missâ hands land on his back. She holds him as if he is precious, and for the first time, as if he isnât going to disappear. She holds him like she is certain, that as much as she will keep him in her arms, Obi will keep her in his.
âOkay,â Miss says, voice suffusing joy. âIâll just have to keep holding you like this, then!â
Obiâs chest expands, fills, with the tingling of Missâ laughter in his ear. He holds her in earnest, just as she trusts him to. And responds with a laughter as free as her own.
Later, when they part, Obi gently grasps Miss' right wrist and cradles it over interlocked fingers. He brushes his thumb over the unblemished skin. A glance up, and Obi almost ducks his head at how Missâ face lights up.
âTake care of my name, Miss,â Obi tells her. âIt will likely never fade.â
Miss beams, certain, sure.
âIâm counting on it.â
â
Some fun(?) stuff about the AU that didnât make it into the fic:
Wisteria men usually do not have any names written on their bodies for purityâs sake - only Clarinesâ crest literally tattooed on their backs. Past kings (and queens) who have had names littered on their skin were frowned upon for being disloyal to the crown and at risk for treason. (Which is another reason Zen stares so intently when Shirayuki asks for Kikiâs and Mitsuhideâs names written on her arms)
Obi gets a lot of shit from Liliasâ soldiers in the bathhouses for having Shirayukiâs name written at such an âintimateâ place on his body. Obi usually just brushes it off and jokes that itâs âhis mistressâ brand on himâ.
Kiki and Mitsuhide have each otherâs names written on the backs of their sword-dominant hand. They exchanged names when Kiki decided to stick with Zen.
(the most unrealistic part of this AU is Liliasâ researchers wanting their names anywhere other than as first author of their publications)
