Look, surely you knew I would do this: obiyuki -- some of us like being brought to heel
Her eyes itch, and when she closes them the spiky letters of this cramped hand illuminate behind her eyelids, haunting her even in a moment of rest.
Shirayuki groans. She will never be free of these blighted journals.
“Ah, Miss,” Obi drawls, every inch of his words soaked in trouble. “Look here.”
He shifts, and so does his magic. Her eyelids crack open, gaze fixing on where his open coat gapes, showing the shadowed dip of his clavicle, before winding down to the book in his hand. She leans toward him, still too far to see the writing, but his magic tickles her skin, soft yet spiny, like holding the boughs of a yew.
“It’s good you never gave that prince your maidenhead,” he tells her around a grin, “because this one here says it’s the seat of all your Cunning.”
“Obi!” She rears back, mouth pinched, but it only emboldens him.
“Which is funny, because this one over here, he says that it’s man’s seed in the womb that makes a woman able to touch the veil between worlds.” He lifts his gaze to meet hers, mouth only widening when he sees hers twitch. “Now, Miss, I’m sure if you’re ever having troubles getting through to the barrows, we can just call Master out to –”
“Stop it!” she admonishes with a laugh, clapping her hands to her reddened cheeks. “Don’t even joke –”
Her words wither on her lips as she hears only the echo of her own laugh. Obi sits, ashen-faced, knuckles white around the binding of the book. Her rabbit-heart quickens, swiveling in her chair to see what is over her shoulder, what specter of danger could turn her knight to stone.
There is nothing.
“Obi…” She turns back to him, and the answer is clear. It’s not something else, it’s her. “Obi?”
He shakes himself, as if waking from a curse, and gives her a strained smile. “Ah, it’s – it’s nothing, Miss. Don’t – don’t worry yourself about it.”
“It’s not nothing.” It had been hard to change the way she spoke before, to consciously not question him even in rhetoric, but not impossible or unpleasant. If there was something else to his geas now, she would learn that too. “I just don’t understand. I don’t think I asked you a question –”
“Miss, please.” His skin’s flushed a darker hue, nearly bronze in the lamplight, and she realizes he’s embarrassed. “Don’t –”
“I only –” The great machine of her mind finally churns the answer to the top. “I gave you a command.”
“It’s not –”
Her stomach turns. “Obi, I’m so sorry. It’s – the forest isn’t it? What we – we did in the clearing.” She should have known that would do something, even if not this. “I’m so, so sorry, I never would have –”
“Miss.” The desperation in his voice pulls her up short. “Please. It’s not…” He swallows hard. “Not anything you should worry about. Honest.”
“Obi–”
“I think…” He gets to his feet, strangely unbalanced. “I think I’m going to go see Suzu.”
Shirayuki watches him leave, mouth set in a line. She has to do better.
She does not mean to sting him again.
She is careful, in the weeks to follow.
It’s hard to remember when he helps her; she’s so used to being direct, for asking what she needs when she needs it with him, that it feels like wearing shoes on the wrong feet when she tried to force herself to obfuscate.
“Hand me that,” she says one day, high on the stockroom ladder, and all she hears is Obi’s harsh exhale before mugwort lays heavy in her palm.
“Oh!” She looks down at him, at the way his knuckles stand out against the rail of the ladder. “Obi, I – I shouldn’t have –”
“It’s fine,” he snaps, cheeks tinted dark. “I – it’s fine.”
It grows easier in time. It doesn’t help that she can’t make them into requests – not without stinging him – but come to me eases into I need your help here. Hand that to me becomes I need that herb.
Of course, that’s when the teasing starts too.
It’s her fault, the first time. I need you was a terrible opening to give him.
“Oh?” he purrs showily. “Only say the word, Miss.”
She doesn’t even think. “Stop.”
Her back is to him, but she hears the ragged pull of his breath.
“Oh, Obi –”
By the time she faces him, he’s entirely recovered.
“Miss,” he whines, hand pressed to his chest in feigned offense, “I was only saying I’m at your service.”
She stares, flat. “Good. I need you to come here and hold this.”
Everything after is him.
The teasing is a given; it’s always been his way to make her laugh until she begs for mercy, only now her stop and don’t say that makes the conversation stutter, makes him take a deep drag of air before turning a smirk on her and starting again.
When he helps her, he makes a habit of handing her everything within reach save what she asks for, until she reaches her limit and snaps, hand me the comfrey.
When he walks with her, he’ll linger too long, making a five minute walk across the yard into ten, into fifteen, wind howling around them, and she calls back, come on already.
If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear he enjoys it.
Two days after the most harrowing night of her life, Obi finally fills her door, head hanging sheepishly. “His lordship said you wanted to see me.”
She had wanted to see him the moment she finished that letter, the moment she read the words if you’re reading this, Miss, then things haven’t gone as plan. It was a routine patrol he had told her, two weeks before. A simple dip into the otherworld, now that the border is getting thin.
“I need you to sit on the table,” Shirayuki tells him, voice tight like a sheath. It quivers, ready to bare steel.
“Miss…” His hand floats to his side, where she knows a field dressing sits. “I promise, I’m well taken care of –”
“Sit.” It hits him like a slap, every line of him going tense before he hobbles to her table.
“Miss…” he tries again, breathless, but she’s in no mood.
“Take off your shirt.” She can’t recall the last time she was so angry. Even after Tanbarun, when he’d run off with Torou, she’d never felt so terrified, so certain he was lost to her.
He does as she commands, as she knows he has to – she’ll feel conflicted later, once she knows he’s safe, once her hands have touched flesh and tasted pine and honey and cold, but not now.
The poultice is little more than mud and herbs, and her mouth pulls flat. She knows the men he went with; she doubts this was done with any sort of deftness.
She reaches for it, and he flinches back.
“Let me look,” she grits out, giving him a warning glance. It’s too vague a command; she gets a good eyeful of the plaster, but as soon as she goes to touch it, he squirms away.
Her hand bands around his arm like iron, and she’s so angry she hardly feels the sting of his magic as she meets his eyes, as she says, “Sit still.”
She’s never seen his reaction this close before, and she – she is unprepared. His pupils blow wide, the gold of his eyes just a thin wire wrapped around black, and his skin flushes from cheek to breast. His breath comes short, panting, and she –
She’s not so maidenly to not know that is is no…no sting.
“Oh,” she breathes, feeling short of air herself. Her fingers linger on the muscles of his side. He doesn’t flinch. “T-thank you.”
“It’s…” He lets out a shuddering breath. “it’s nothing.”
“Right.” Shirayuki’s hands shake when she pulls away. Heat simmers unbearably beneath her skin. “Let’s just...get this cleaned up.”