#teamsharing

She is also unlike her fellow peers in that she does not believe in separating the sexes after dinner, nor does she share port with her guests.

“There are better vintages,” she explains to his miss, her back turned pointedly to him. “If you aren’t mired in your own dying traditions.”

Lady Satomi may not serve port, but she does serve madeira.

She sets it in from of Miss with a wide smile and hungry eyes, calling it a fortified wine. It’s so sweet, so smooth that it takes Obi nearly half a glass to realize it’s fortified with port, and by then it is too late. Miss had already thrown back one glass and is very politely not managing to decline another.

He tries to warn her, to slide up behind her and explain that she was being plied with a wine too strong for her constitution, but Satomi is constantly watching, guiding her away under the guise of introducing her to yet another powerful acquaintance. Miss is so eager to be listened to that she hardly notices the game being played.

Obi returns to his corner, crossing his arms. Let Satomi play her game. In another drink, he’ll be interested to see just who will be dragging a boneless young miss back to her rooms.

“Obi,” Miss sighs against his ear, weight warm on his back. “You’re very strong.”

He isn’t exactly feeling that way at the moment. “With the number of times I’ve had to carry you to your rooms lately, I can’t see how I wouldn’t be.”

“Mm.” She hums pleasantly, her fingers gently tracing over the muscles of his chest. Even through the thick wool of his formal coat, it’s too much. “True.”

He bumps open her door with his hip, bee-lining for her bedroom. He knows better than to try to put her down elsewhere; she’s in the sort of giddy mood that will only spell trouble if he doesn’t put her to bed this instant.

The door opens, and Obi has immediate regrets.

“Ooh,” she sighs, which does nothing for his nerves, “the bed is so big.”

It’s an understatement; the bed is huge. At Tadashi and Hideo’s manors, his bed had been as large as any lord’s -- Ryouta’s as well, probably, if he could remember any of it -- but this is the size of two of those put together. He can’t even -- what does Lady Satomi even think his miss would be doing in this bed?

He puts her down, seeing the rumpled mess of her hair, the wine-flushed cheeks, the darkness of her eyes in the dim light, and -- ah, yes. This is what Satomi thought she’d be doing.

“Can you manage from here, Miss?” he asks.

She stares at him for a long moment, lips parted, her hands fisted in his formal coat for stability,

“Miss?”

“Oh!” A flush creeps up her neck, spilling over her cheeks. “Y-yes, I - ow!”

She’s pulled only three pins from her hair, but already his miss has pricked herself. The pins are blunted, too dull to draw blood, but Obi does not doubt for a moment that Miss will find a way.

“Turn around,” he tells her, fond smile curving his lips. “Let me help you.”

She offers her back to him, bowing her head so that he can reach the pins with ease. They glisten in the lamplight, golden against the deep red knot of her hair. He works quickly, deftly, eager to be out of the romantic lighting and into his own cold room.

“I bet that could fit all five us,” she says, excited, and that is worse, imagining himself sandwiched between her body and Master’s.

“I’d like to see you lure Sir into that,” he laughs, and she stiffens under his hands. “He’d probably make Master lay on the outside to preserve his virtue.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that.” Her voice is strange, almost guilty. “I meant the five of us at Lyrias. You, me, Suzu, Yuzuri and Ryuu. It would be nice…”

He blinks. “Yes,” he agrees, stilted. “It would.”

He pulls the last pin, and her hair tumbles down her back in one long, burnished ribbon. His palms itch to bury themselves in it; he rubs them against his coat instead.

“There you are, Miss.” He takes an exaggerated step away. “Ready for -- Miss?”

She hikes up her skirts, shedding beads as she crawls onto her bed. At his question, she turns to face him, eyes wide.

“Miss, shouldn’t you –” get undressed? -- “get ready for bed?”

She stares down at her dress, blankly, and then reaches behind her back, yanking at hooks and eyes that hold it together. His Majesty would have an aneurysm knowing that she was treating part of the wardrobe he call an investment like that.

Obi stands there for a few minutes, watching her struggle. “Miss –”

She flops back, sighing. “It’s too hard.”

“You can’t sleep in your clothes,” he insists.

“Well, I’m not taking them off.”

They’ve veered into the belligerent part of the evening. “I’ll help you.”

He tugs her up off the bed; a harder feat that he anticipates, since she has decided to flop bonelessly about like a landed fish, rather than let him help her. His fingers unlatch the hooks neatly enough, but it’s her that makes it a chore, twisting this way and that so that his hands keep having to scrabble for purchase. He’d say it was unintentional, save for the way she laughs.

She only stills when he yanks her against him, roughly shoving her dress off her shoulders and letting it pool at their feet. For a moment they both stand there, panting, him in his dinner clothes, her in her undergarments. She stares up at him, eyes so dark he only catches hints of green, gaping.

He turns her roughly, so that her back is to his front. “Hold on to the bedpost,”

She whimpers. Obi takes in a long breath before he goes to touch her again, this time to loosen the laces of her corset. It’s fussy work, and she grows restless, listing to one side and then the other; at one point she seems to forget that he is behind her and slides onto the bed.

“Stop struggling,” he grits out, unamused. She squirms even more, giggling, and he – he just wants to go to his own room, to forget what it feels like to have her warm and so close, but of course she can’t let him.

He can’t work like this. He gathers her up, pinning her against his body, and uses his free hand to pop the clasps at the front. She’ll complain the next time she wears it, grumbling that she’s sure to get a lecture on proper undergarment maintenance if Wistal’s tailor ever hears of it, but he can’t deal with her right now. He is not going to spend quarter of an hour letting her squirm against him just so that he can save a corset from inappropriate stretching.

She struggles against him the entire time, and though he is both hot and bothered by the time he has finished, he is also annoyed.

He shoves his hands under her chemise, hooking into the waistband of her leggings, and yanks, dropping down to his knees. She clutches his head to her for balance, and it’s not until he’s pulled her legs free from their confines that he realizes just how – inappropriate the position is. She staring down at him, eyes glistening in the dim light, chest heaving.

He jolts upright, taking a few steps away. “Well, you should get to bed.”

She sighs, flopping back onto the mattress. “But it’s so big, Obi.”

“It is.” He knows better than to trust her non sequiturs when his miss is like this.

“It’d be a waste for only one person to sleep it in,” she pushes, a plaintive whine threading through her words.

“I have my own bed,” he tells her. “It would be just as wasteful for no one to sleep in it.” He does not speculate on how many beds are going unslept in this wing alone. It’s more apt to upset her than to win him the conversation.

“Mm, no.” She pats the other side of the bed. “If you sleep here, someone else can sleep there.”

“That’s not –” He sighs. “Miss, you should get to bed.”

“I’m trying to,” she tells him crossly. “Obi, what if something happened to me during the night? Should you be here?”

He knows she’s hinting at something more dramatic, but his thoughts drift to her waking up sick during the night, needing water and salt crackers and a warm presence. He pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a long breath.

“All right.”

He strips himself until he is in just his pants and shirt. He would rather no clothes at all for sleeping, but even if Miss didn’t complain, he wouldn’t – he wouldn’t want to give this Miss more opportunity for trouble.

“Obi,” she says, full of censure, “you hate sleeping with your shirt on.”

“I’ll live, Miss.” He’s pretty sure he won’t, if he doesn’t.

“I’ve seen you without your shirt plenty of times,” she reminds him. “I’ve touched you without --”

“I’m sleeping with it on.” He’s lucky she’s never seen him without his pants on.

“Obi.” Her face is so grave. “I won’t be able to sleep if you’re not comfortable.”

He sighs, peeling off his shirt. She grins, slipping under the covers, and he slides in the other side. She’s not wrong that they could both stretch fully across the bed and not touch. That, at least, should keep his wild thoughts at bay.

He sprawls on his back, closing his eyes and –

The mattress dips.

“What are you doing?” he asks, not opening his eyes.

“You’re so far away,” she complains. He jumps as one of her small hands hooks into his shirt. “What’s the point if you’re all the way over here?”

“What is the point of this at all, Miss?”

She doesn’t answer, just creeps closer, sliding against his side. Her head lays on his chest, leg hooking around one of his. He wants to complain, to tell her that she should stay on her side, but he hears the soft, steady rhythm of her breath.

I should have packed a scarf, or at least a hat. Shirayuki thought. Her attempts to keep her hood on were being thwarted by the wind pushing it off as she was riding.  Her ears were starting to burn from the freezing air, and her fingers were sharp from the piercing breeze. She gripped the reins harder and burrough herself into her jacket in an attempt to shield herself from the biting cold, but it wasn’t doing much.

Shirayuki almost regretted taking on this task from Garrack, almost. But Ryuu had really needed to pick up a shipment of kava root from Konavo and his current research projects were too tedious to be able to make the day’s journey to pick it up.  Besides, this trip would almost require that Obi would have to come along to accompany her, and she hadn’t seen a lot of him since he took on the new training position for the guards. She missed him, she found, and while he would still spend time at the pharmacy and check in on her regularly, they were not able to get into the same sort of mischief that they had previously.

“Miss, are you doing okay over there?”

Shirayuki looked over to Obi, he was riding his horse looking completely passive to the bitter cold air and Shirayuki found herself hating him a little bit for it.

“I’m just cold Obi, aren’t you cold?”

Obi grinned a little picking up on her frustration, “Not at all miss, in fact, I’m feeling quite a bit toasty myself.”

“Ugh lucky” Shirayuki grumbled, “I think I am starting to lose feeling in my nose.”

“Well miss, there are ways in which we could fix that.”

Shirayuki looked up at Obi as he brought his horse closer to hers and took off his scarf. He reached over, bumping his leg against hers, and draped it around her neck before reaching back over to his own reigns.

“There you go miss, make sure to wrap it around your nose to protect your face!”

“Oh… thank you Obi.” Shirayuki was a bit stunned, she could feel the heat of a blush creeping up her face and quickly wrapped the scarf around her to hide the evidence. The scarf was warm to the touch, and she found comfort in the fabric against her frosty cheeks. She took a deep breath, soaking in the warmth when she realized just how good the scarf smelled. It smelled of fir trees and spices, just like Obi when he climbed out of his favorite trees or had eaten his favorite meals.

Oh no, it smells like him. She thought, burrowing deeper into the scarf. And it… Obi...Obi smells good. Shirayuki didn’t know what to do with her new found realization. And while Shirayuki did appreciate the warmth returning back to her cheeks, she did not think that the warmth was worth the price of knowing.  

“We should be arriving to Konavo soon Miss, do you want to stop and get some food before we go pick up the kava roots?”   

Shirayuki hummed in response, still burrowed into his scarf hoping he couldn’t read her thoughts. “yes, I could use a hot meal.”

“Alright miss, we’ll find somewhere soon.”  

Shirayuki and Obi arrived at Konavo and started their search for food. The port town was quaint and colorful even in the dreary weather. The wind gusts picked up flags and curtains across the town and the unmistakable flutter of fabric could be heard as their horses walked down the cobblestone path towards the market.

Shirayuki tried to keep an eye out for signs that advertised food, but she was not interested lifting her head out of her protective shell for long periods of time. She followed Obi’s horse through the village until he stopped in front of a small eatery that advertised rich hearty meals. “Here we go miss, this looks promising doesn’t it?” Obi asked her, as he dismounted his horse and hitching it to a nearby fence. Shirayuki dismounted her horse with a sound of agreement while Obi led her horse over and hitched it next to his.    

They walked inside the eatery and were immediately assaulted by the smells of warm food and cheerful chatter, the wind a distant memory lashing at the windowpanes. Obi and Shirayuki took a seat near the stoves and ordered some warm tea and some soup; spicy soup for Obi and the house stew for Shirayuki.

The tea was brought out nearly immediately and Shirayuki was grateful for the warm cup to ease her aching fingers. Obi was in a good mood as well, watching her as he drank his own tea. It occurred to Shirayuki that he might want his scarf back.

“You know you are not getting this scarf back anytime soon Obi.” Shirayuki started, cozying into the scarf while taking another sip of her tea. “I’ve taken a liking to being warm again.”  

“Why of course miss.” Obi grinned, looking far too pleased for someone who had just been told that they were not getting something they owned back. “Whatever keeps my mistress warm.”

Shirayuki eyed Obi carefully, making sure that he wasn’t just teasing her and was going to take it back when she wasn’t looking. But Obi seemed content with his tea, and was relaxing into his chair. Perhaps it would be safe to not worry about the scarf… for now.

Their soup came out quickly, steam still rising from the bowls and paired with a small loaf of bread. Shirayuki looked down at the massive bowl full with meat, potatoes and vegetables in a thick broth, she could feel her stomach growl in response to the delicious smells. Shirayuki looked up at Obi who seemed similarly entranced by his own bowl, should could smell the spices from across the table.

“Well miss! Lets eat!” Obi dug into his bowl of soup, making pleased sounds and complimenting his food while he ate. Shirayuki couldn’t agree more, the food was just as delicious as it smelled, and she found she was a lot hungrier than she thought. As much as she was enjoying her meal, Shirayuki thought that Obi probably was a lot hungrier considering the rate in which he was scarfing down his food. She tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into her soup, humming happily as she chewed.

“How is your food miss? Are you enjoying it?” Obi asked, taking a break from his almost empty bowl.

“Oh it’s really good Obi, the meat is very tender, and the broth is heavy and delicious!” Shirayuki exclaimed happily, “Would you like to try some?” Obi stilled for half a second, just enough for Shirayuki to panic and try to correct herself. “Wait, no, that… that was… I didn’t mean…” Obi stopped Shirayuki from speaking any further with his hand on hers and an easy smile, “I would love to try some, would you mind?” Obi motioned with his spoon towards her bowl and she nodded quickly, not trusting her own voice. Obi reached over and took a spoonful of her soup, tasting it slowly. “Yes, you’re right it’s really good miss.” Obi grinned, “I don’t imagine you would want to try mine would you? Fair warning, it is very spicy.”

“No, no, it's alright I’m good with my own thank you.” Shirayuki stumbled out. “I’m not even sure if I can finish all of this anyways, it's just so much food.” Shirayuki scooped up a rather large piece of potato and plopped it into her mouth.

“Well you just let me know if you need any help!” Obi joked, “I never let any food go to waste!” He proved his point by finishing off his soup with a chunk of his bread.  

Shirayuki laughed, eating another several bites before deciding she was finished and sliding the half eaten bowl over to him. “Well then I might just take you up on that offer.” Obi looked very pleased with the second bowl of soup, and started eating it with just as much enthusiasm as the first.

“Here Obi, do you want to finish off the bread too?” Shirayuki asked, handing the piece of her loaf. Obi took the bread from her hands smiling, and used it to clean out the bottom of the bowl of soup.

Shirayuki laughed with joy, “Surely you must be full Obi! It’s such a large bowl of food.”

“Ah, well, miss, you never know when your next meal will be sometimes.” Obi teased, licking the crumbs off  the tips of his fingers.

Obi stilled for a moment, obviously shocked that he had said that outloud. Shirayuki was flustered too, her mind racing with the implications of his statement. She quickly went through all of the times she had seen him eat and how he reacted to being given food. She could feel the pieces fall into place, and a resolution set into her bones. Never again.

Obi coughed and looked around the shop, gripping at his shoulder “Miss, perhaps we should get going to the market?”   It was a weak excuse for a distraction, but she let him have it. They paid for their meal and headed back outside to face the wind and to complete their task. They decided to leave the horses at the fense, and to walk the rest of the way to the Market themselves since it was nearby. Shirayuki could feel the chill trying to lash out against her, but she kept warm in Obi’s scarf and her warm belly.

They arrived at the market and looked for the merchants who usually kept a large stock of kava root. She found the stall easily with the tropical fruits that was their main goods for trade. Sirayuki approached the merchant easily, asking to see what current stocks of kava root where in, and once obtaining them, looking over the baskets of kava root carefully. Once satisfied that the kava root were in good condition, she paid the merchant as Obi picked up one of the two satchels that they were bringing back.

As they were walking back to their horses, Shirayuki filled the silence by chatting about the kava root, informing the very attentive Obi on its main uses and how to tell whether or not the root will be potent enough for harvest.

Midway through her rant on how kava root is grown and propagated Shirayuki realized that she had been rambling. “I’m sorry Obi, you must be terribly bored, I don’t mean to bother you with all this.”

“Not at all, I like listening to you talk miss.” Obi smiled at her over his satchel of kava root. “ I like it when you share your interests with me.”

Shirayuki was filled with an unknown warmth, and could feel her blush creeping up her face again. She quickly hid her cheeks in his scarf and muttered a small reply back, trying not to think too hard about the bubbling feelings in her chest.

By the time they had secured the satchels of kava root onto the horses, Shirayuki had started to feel cold again and was not looking forward to the ride home. She reached up to touch her cheeks and sighed a little bit, wrapping the scarf around her face a little tighter. Hopefully the return trip will be better, she thought. She was startled when Obi came up behind her and turned her away from her horse. “Are you okay miss? Still feeling cold?”

“Just a little bit, not really excited for the ride back.”

“Ah well miss, I think I can help with that.” Obi grinned, the twinkle in his eye warning her that he was up to something. Shirayuki quickly got a good grip on the scarf, preparing herself for when he tries to steal it back. But instead of him going for the scarf, she found his bare hands on her cheeks. When did he take his gloves off? And why are his hands so warm? Shirayuki relaxed into his hands, closing her eyes and enjoying the warmth when her face was suddenly assaulted with warm, humid air. Shirayuki opened her eyes to look at Obi’s mischievous face, alight with a grin that spoke volumes about just how not-so-innocent he was in the matter. “Obi, did you just… did you just blow hot air on my face?!” “Why yes I did miss, I’m trying to keep you warm!” Obi responded, not doing a very good job of controlling his laughter.

“Obi… that… that does not help!”

“Oh sure it does Miss, wasn’t it warm?”

“Well yes…” Shirayuki started, realizing that it was in fact warm, even though it was cold again. “You know what Obi, you’re right, it was warm. Do it again.”

“Waa?!” Obi exclaimed, taking a step back from Shirayuki and retreating his hands. “You heard me Obi, it was warm, do it again!” Watching Obi fidget under her stare was entertaining, it was so very rare when she was able to beat him at his own games. But she was also still cold and Obi was being very incorporative. “Obii” Shirayuki whined pitifully. “I’m cold.”   Obi sighed, and pulled Shirayuki close into a hug. “Remind me why I shouldn’t tease you miss.” Shirayuki just muffled her laughed in response, stealing as much of his warmth as she could in before he stepped away. Obi released her and moved to go mount his horse, Shirayuki also doing so. She secured Obi’s scarf to her face and looked towards Obi as he lead the way out of Konavo.

It was precisely then, watching Obi look back at her with his most authentic smile, that Shirayuki realized just how fond her feelings towards Obi had become. She had always appreciated his attentiveness, and earnestness in her life. But she has also come to appreciate his gentleness, and his willingness to share with her, to help her in her goals. If she was going to be honest with herself, she has also come to appreciate just how attractive he is overall. She appreciated how easy it was to be with Obi, how comfortable they are together.

The day he was slashed across the chest he’d thought that perhaps that was the end of wondering. Even if he didn’t die then and there, the words would be gone. But the question persisted, fading back into contrast across the knotted scar. Fate clearly wasn’t done with him yet.

Even after his life started over, he still heard the question everywhere he went. The answer was a name (one that was nearly his), not a blade anymore, but his answers never got the reaction he’d started to hope for again without conscious decision.

The day that Suzu and Yuzuri showed off their paired phrases and told the story of their meeting (involving a case of mistaken identity and resulting in a truly impressive block of profanity immortalized on Suzu’s bicep), Shirayuki was quiet.

“Is something wrong?” He asked her, walking back through the chilly evening to her rooms. He’d known her long enough to tell the difference between the silence that meant to leave her alone and the silence of her waiting.

“I wonder, sometimes . . . about my soulmate.” She sounded almost embarrassed about it.

“I’m sure Zen is doing just fine, Miss. It won’t seem like that long until you get to see him again.”

She looked even more upset. “He’s not . . . “ She couldn’t finished the sentence, but Obi got the gist, and the world tilted a few degrees.

He was too off-balance for tact. “Not your soulmate? How? You . . .”

“Why do you think his brother objects so much?”

He’d always assumed Zen’s leisurely pace of courting came from the confidence that they were bound, that everything had to work out in the end, that they were meant to be together. But no, there was no excuse. It would serve him right if Shirayuki’s soulmate showed up out of nowhere and swept her away. No, that was an unworthy thought. He wanted them both to be happy, the way they deserved.

While he was fuming at Zen, Shirayuki had been dragging her feet and pondering. “I just wish . . . if I knew . . . it would be easier to make a choice. I’d know what I was passing up to be with him.” She kicked at a chunk of snow, which rattled into the road and broke. “I think I’m scared of what could happen when I find out.”

Without any logical process or reasoning, a suspicion slithered through his brain. He’d never seen her words. They’d both been talking to Zen at the same time they spoke to each other, but her first words to him might just have been . . . his. What if the reason he needed to be near her, the way he felt like he was missing a piece of himself the longer she was out of his sight, wasn’t just because he was hopelessly in love with her? He dredged his brain for his first word to her. It was a compliment, he was sure of that. He remembered smiling and applauding, there in the tree, ready to take the blame for his client and instead finding a new calling. His inexplicable insistence on staying, the uncharacteristic possessiveness he felt about her, the calm he felt in her presence and nowhere else; all these things suddenly blended into a new and terrifying whole. He had to ask, to know.

“Miss, can I ask? About your words?” Did she feel it too? All the times she’d looked relieved to see him, the times she expected his presence when even he didn’t know he was going to follow her. Was it just friendship, or was it a bond?

She was still looking at the ground, but one hand came up to clutch at her hood. She did that when she was self-conscious about her hair. “Just one word, really. I’ve heard it so many times when people see my hair. They look at me and go ‘wonderful!’ and my stomach turns.”

That was it, that was the word. He’d been giddy watching her best Haruka, and he’d been caught so handily, and the whole situation was just so delightful he hadn’t held back in his praise. “It’s not always about your hair, miss.” She turned to face him, eyes wide. “It wasn’t when I said it.” There was no way to keep the warmth out of his voice.

They were standing in front of her building now. Everything lined up, everything matched. She stared at him for a moment, then grabbed his hand and towed him through the door. His heart leaped and he tried to still it. There was no way to know if this would prove a blessing or a curse.

The moment her door shut behind them, she demanded, “Let me see it.”

“You’ve seen it before, miss.” Taking his shirt off made him vulnerable.

She stared at his boots. “I saw where it was, but I didn’t . . . exactly . . . look at it?” He smiled at her in spite of himself, his innocent miss, but her eyes rose to his as her hand drifted up to his chest, fingers just brushing the button of his coat. “Please?”

All laughter and teasing fled him. Mesmerized by her, he nodded slowly, then held his breath as she undid the buttons one by one, then slid his coat back over his shoulders. He let it drop, then intercepted her hands as they reached for the hem of his shirt. He got there first, and watched her eyes as he pulled it up. He couldn’t resist just a little muscle flex to watch her embarrassment, but then she started seeing scars and her eyes settled in that space between angry and determined where she was most unpredictable. Finally, the shirt reached his chin and his full chest was bare to her, scar, words, and all.

It was her handwriting. He could see it in her eyes, no need to ask. It had been right in front of him, in the mirror all this time, and he could kick himself but really what would he have done? One path, to not say anything, would have brought them to the same moment but with the added guilt of having hidden it from her. To reveal it right away might have shattered her budding relationship with Master. But realistically, Obi knows what he would have done. He would have run far and fast and never know what it felt like to love her, to have Master’s trust and Ryuu’s admiration and all the friends in Lyrias who had no idea what he really was. All the people who made him feel like he was more than just a tool. He opened his mouth to say something, fill the quiet with some kind of words and get her to let him put his shirt back on, but she interrupted.

“You can’t see mine,” she stated, voice and posture defensive. From the way she angled toward him, it must be on her back somewhere.

He shifted, ready to placate her, then gasped as her palm landed flat against his chest. Her hand couldn’t quite cover the whole sentence, but the scar burned under her chilly fingers. Usually touches there were muted, but tonight he felt like he could pick out her fingerprints. Another side effect of the bond, it must be. An idle thought about what her lips would feel like there went spinning off into the void, and he refused to chase it. Instead he dropped his shirt back into place, Shirayuki retracting her hand to cup it with the other against her chest.

“I’m not . . . going to ask anything of you, miss.” She looked like she needed the reassurance. He’d never lied to her and wasn’t about to start, but he didn’t know how he felt yet, much less what she wanted. “I will be by your side as long as you want me, in whatever role you need me. You said you wished you knew so you could decide and now you do.” His voice cracked embarrassingly. The problem was he knew too. He knew she could love him, the one thing he couldn’t let himself imagine.

She already knew him too well, intercepting his glance at the window and the tension in his stance. “We can talk about this more tomorrow, Obi.” She shifted as she leaned down for his coat, placing herself between him and the window. “Just don’t disappear, please? Don’t run away from me?”

Rogue, a slick black cat, comes racing around the corner at the sound of the door – but upon seeing that it’s her, he promptly screeches and walks away. She grunts as she moves the groceries into the kitchen, “Yeah, hello to you too fur-ball… Jeeze. I know you’re Obi’s cat, but I do share the rent – would it kill you to be excited to see me too?” she hears him meow lazily from the living room as if in response.

 With the groceries sitting in the kitchen, she returns to the hallway to slide the lock back into place and stretches, taking a quick peak at the clock. It was only 3:30, and Obi worked until 8, so she still had time to get everything done. “Still later than I would have liked to be home though.” The corners of her mouth tug up in a small smile; it had been an interesting day indeed.

 It was Obi’s birthday and she wanted to surprise him, however it had been difficult trying to make sure that he didn’t find out in the process. She couldn’t buy any of the supplies she needed, until today, or he would have known instantly; he was the worst for trying to surprise, he usually pieced things together so quickly. This year he had asked her not to do anything for his birthday, but when she realized that she had the Friday off and he didn’t, she couldn’t help herself. She hadn’t planned anything big, just a nice home-cooked meal for the two of them and some drinks.

 “Nothing he can be mad at, right?” she hums happily, turns the stereo on shuffle, and gets to work.

  About 25 minutes later Obi’s gift is wrapped and the cake is in the oven, timer set for 35 minutes. She looks down and grimaces, she has large dusty patches of flour all over her front. Sighing she makes her way for the bathroom to grab a quick shower.

   She stares down at the pink frilly bag on the bed, her hair dripping down her bare back. She had recruited Andi’s help in getting what she needed for tonight, and the younger girl had been more than happy to help. When they were walking around the mall trying to find a gift for Obi, Andi had insisted that she get a new outfit to surprise him with – which was when things started to get interesting. She had thought the younger girl meant something like a new dress, but when Andi started dragging her towards the lingerie store, she clued into what was being implied. It wasn’t like it was the first time she had walked into a lingerie store, but she had never actually purchased anything.

 She had felt a little weird going in to buy lingerie with Obi’s younger sister, but Andi had insisted that Obi wasn’t actually her brother and claimed that “If I don’t take you to do this, then you will never own a sexy set of underwear. You would think based on the colour of your cheeks that we were here buying something far more scandalous than frilly panties. Come on Shirayuki, it’s only underwear!”

 She pokes at the bag, unsure of what she had been thinking. She gives a flustered sigh, before wrapping herself in a towel and stomping her way to the kitchen.

 “If I’m going to do this, I want to have a glass of wine in me. Sexy underwear… That’s ridiculous. It’s just like regular underwear, but fancier. Right?” she groans, the red wine splashing pleasantly into the glass. She takes a few generous sips before making her way back to the bedroom to stare down the pink frills once again.

 When she had finally decided on a simple, black-lace set – Andi approved – they began making their way for the exit. If she had thought that buying lingerie with Obi’s younger foster-sister made for an interesting enough day, fate had decided otherwise. Not paying attention to where she was going, she had run directly into someone. 

That someone happened to be Zen. 

Flustered, she looked up to apologize, her words suddenly caught in her throat after meeting his shocked blue eyes. She could tell that he was trying to be natural with her despite the tension that had gathered around them. They exchanged some small talk out first, but it quickly grew into talks of what was going on in their lives. 

She happily told him that she was working as a doctor’s aide in a clinic, she was still with Obi and they had moved in together last year. She noticed the look of hurt that flashed in his eyes when she told him, but found that she didn’t care. After what had happened over four years ago, she had completely thrown herself into her remaining studies and spent all of her free time with Obi. When things started to get more serious with him and he shyly asked her to get an apartment together, she couldn’t have been happier.

 He composed himself quickly and told her that he was still seeing the same girl. She saw instantly that he didn’t look truly happy, and she felt sorry for him – everyone should find happiness. He told her that his family approved of her and were all waiting eagerly for him to propose, but he still wasn’t sure. 

He had coughed loudly and cut the conversation short, before quickly apologizing for everything he had done in the past. He seemed genuine with his apology, and she told him that she had forgiven him a long time ago – she only wished him happiness and luck. His eyes betrayed his surprise, and he awkwardly tried to switch the topic. Seeing her shopping bags, he asked her about her shopping ventures, which then led to her holding up the pink frilly bag and declaring loudly that “If purchasing lingerie means it was successful, then it’s been a good day!”

Andi had nearly choked on her laughter and Zen turned a bright red, before she felt the embarrassment start to settle in. Sensing that she was done with the conversation and needed help extracting herself, Andi gave a short goodbye and grabbed her hand to lead her towards the exit.

 She shakes her arms about, trying to rid her nerves. With music spilling from the other room, she takes another deep gulp of wine and tears away the tissue paper, letting the lacy black set, tumble from the bag. Before she can think any further on it, she quickly slips herself into the soft lace. She had been too nervous to try it on in the store and took a chance buying this size; she’s pleasantly surprised that it seems to fit her comfortably. 

She’s curious as to how the set hugs her curves and contrasts her long red hair – she quickly shakes her head, she didn’t need to know. The goal here is to surprise Obi, and she wanted to know how she looked, based on his reaction. She might just take it off if she sees herself now. She avoids the mirror as she makes her way to the dresser to put on a fresh pair of jeans. She stands debating on a top to wear, when the oven starts beeping in the other room, shrugging she throws on one of Obi’s comfortable black shirts. She can always change later. Grabbing her wine, she dances back to the kitchen before the cake has a chance to burn.

     “’Cause you are broken and I am such a wreck! I think we'd make a lovely mess! Bah bah bah!” She sways drunkenly and sings the words pumping from the stereo. Hopping clumsily off the counter, she cringes as her bare legs stick slightly, before making her way over to the vegetables sizzling on the stove.

 She pokes around the pan a bit, “Smells all good over here!” She feels the laughter start bubbling up to her lips, as she goes to pour herself another glass. “Oh, boo…” the overturned bottle gives a sad splash into the bottom of her glass.

 She looks at Rogue who is now sitting in the kitchen doorway, watching her with wide curious eyes. “I knew that partial bottle wouldn’t last... Good thing I bought another bottle. But Obi had best get home soon. He’s late.” She directs her gaze back up to the clock, 8:44. “If he’s not home soon, I’m going to eat his dinner and drink his wine.” Rogue meows back, as if egging her on. She starts to giggle again. “Speaking of wine, where is that bottle opener…”

 The last bottle had been a twist off, but she knew that Obi kept a bottle opener somewhere around here. She thinks that he had put it on one of the shelves in the living room after the last game night they had. Rogue trots after her as she twirls her way past the couch, to the shelving unit.

 “Now if I were a bottle opener, where would I live…” She has her tongue sticking out in concentration as her fingers fumble around on the shelf. Her hand brushes up against cool metal and thinking that she’s finally found it she yanks her hand back, “Aha!”

 She jumps back in surprise as the bottle opener catches on the small metal box she had given Obi for his Obi-Yuki gift four years ago, sending it crashing to the floor. She yelps as the lid pops open and she hears a small tinkling sound go skidding across the floor.

 She looks down in surprise at the open box, “What the – when did he open this…”

 For the last four years, the box had sat on his shelf, weld still in place – it had been one of the first things he unpacked and displayed, when they moved here. He had laughed and told her once that he didn’t want to break the weld, because that night was gift enough, and the box proved as a reminder of that.

She hears Rogue meowing, he’s flipped over on his side, trying to paw at something under the couch. Sighing, she picks up the box and puts it on the coffee table before crawling over to peer into the shadows with Rogue. “What’ve you got there, fur-ball?” her hand gropes drunkenly beneath the couch until her fingers clasp onto something small, cool and metallic.

 Pulling the object out and pinching it between her fingers, it takes her fuzzy mind a moment to process what she was looking at. Her free hand comes flying up to cover her mouth as she gives out a short, happy sob. 

She can feel the tears start to well up behind her eyes – it was so beautiful.

He knew that his was his eyes, amber in colour and dangerous to look at. It suited him, although it didn’t exactly make him stand out from the crowd.

 Most people’s trait were their eyes. Different hues of green or blue, he had even seen a few violet sets in his travels. But it was always interesting to find someone with a unique trait. And hers was, without a doubt, the most fascinating he had come across.

 Her hair was a vibrant shade he had never seen before, it was peculiar really, the way it shone as it framed her face – he wasn’t surprised that he was hired to scare her away. Having a Unique in the palace, especially that close to a prince could spell disaster.

 He had crossed a few Semi’s in his travels, people who had shocks of colour in their lips or fingernails, but he had only ever seen one other Unique before; and he had been truly stunning to look at. He supposed his employers had thought so too, since they had been willing to pay a premium for a clean kill. He recalls how the Unique’s skin had glowed against the grays of the world, like a beacon in a dark ocean. It had been a shame to end such a beautiful life, but everyone has to make a living, right?

 This job was meant to be no different – do the job, get paid and leave.

 Ha. He couldn’t have been more wrong if he tried.

  It had been a month.

 One month since he caught her, and the world shifted before his eyes.

 She had been careless. There was no excuse for carrying a box that large when she was so sick. She had been completely fixated on helping everyone else and she had forgotten to take care of herself in the process.

 Master hadn’t allowed him to get close to her, which was understandable – he had shot an arrow at her. But she was remarkably enticing, making it difficult for him to keep his distance. She was brilliant and funny, kind and fearless – she was a Unique for far more than her colour-trait.

 He had been watching her as she lugged the box of paperwork down the corridor, wishing that someone would go help her, when she started to collapse. Damning what Master told him, he was by her side, supporting her, in an instant.

 In the brief seconds that his hands wrapped around her, the world shifted before his eyes. Bits of blue began ebbing away at the gray stained world and traces of brown bled into the box she was carrying.

 He had been trying to convince himself for the past month that it was all an illusion. The world around him had no colour, save for the colour-traits people carried. He knew that. There were, of course, whispered rumours in bars and bedtime stories told to children, that spoke of a colourful world.

 A world where the vast sky above was filled with a light blue instead of dull silver, and the fields of grass were swept up in various shades of green. Where gardens and forests bloomed with a thousand colours, and even the rocks were tinged with blue and violet.

 He had heard the tale, and its many variations, countless times during his travels. However, each whispered fantasy ended the same – there was a heavy price to pay for such beauty.

 Had it only been the traces of blue and brown, he could have buried the thought. He could have moved on and forgotten the whole thing, spending the rest of his time under Master’s employ without touching her again.

 But it was the way her eyes had changed in those few seconds he held her, that made him question if he had found it.

 For in that moment, he could have sworn that her eyes had transitioned from their soft gray to an intense green.

 He needed to touch her again. He needed to know.

  A few years ago, he had stayed in a harbor town for a particularly dreadful job, which led him to become a regular at one of the pubs by the docks. Job completed, he was enjoying a few final drinks before moving onto a new town with different faces, when a large Semi sat next to him.

 His colour-trait had been a dusting of small brown freckles across his skin. He introduced himself as Tompok, captain of a merchant ship and believer of legends. It had been tempting to ignore the man when asked if he had time to listen to an old sailor’s story, but something about him was intriguing.  

Perhaps it was the way he carried himself – most Semi’s and Unique’s try to hide their trait, but Tompok had proudly shown his mark. He claimed that he didn’t worry about his colour-trait because he knew it would fade into a world of colour, when he met the right person. He was quick to elaborate.

 He claimed that he had personally known someone who experienced the coloured world. He chose not to explain how the sky would turn blue or the grass shift to green, because everyone knew the stories. Instead, he launched into the telling of the man he knew and why the world would shift, if you let it.

 The man hadn’t noticed anything largely different in the beginning – it had only started off as an accidental brush of fingertips, and a soft pink glow in the other man’s lips. He ignored what he saw, not believing in the rumours of a colourful world. Months had passed, and he hadn’t touched the man since – but he began to grow curious. Although he had tried to ignore the faint pink that had stained those lips, he burned to know if there was more.

 He plotted to bump into the man again, to see if the world would shift like in the legends. Another week passed before the opportunity came, and when they collided the man saw a light blue begin to fan out across the sky, and pink lips. His curiosity spiked and he began searching for reasons to see the man, to touch him and see the world shift.

 It was around the eighth time that he began to notice the colours spreading and lingering. Even after the touch was broken, the colours would remain for a few moments before fading back to gray. Instead of small patches of pale blue sky, he saw a clear blue that stretched nearly to the horizon. The trees had started taking on blooms of green and brown. His lips always remained the delicate pink he had seen the first day. With each touch, he found himself wanting more.

 He wanted to see the bright colours hidden beneath the monochromatic world, and with time, he found he wanted far more than measly handshakes and accidental run-ins. He wanted tender moments and caresses, he started wondering what it would be like to press his lips to the soft pink he knew was beneath the gray.

 Years passed and with each new touch, the colours became richer, stronger. There were more of them too – he could see the violet flowers tucked in amongst the yellowing grass, and the way the sunset bathed the world in a soft orange. With each touch, his heart fell a little further in love and his world became a little more vivid.

 One day his curiosity and desire became too much to handle. A few too many drinks and he was able to summon the courage to kiss the man who brought such vibrant colour to his world.

 Tompok had stopped speaking then, eyes damp with emotion and fingers wrapped tightly around his drink. He was silent for a short length of time before confessing that he had been the other man, and not a day goes by that he didn’t regret what had happened. He had been a different man back then.

 His best friend had kissed him, and caught up in the moment asked if he could see the colours, too. Confused and taken aback, Tompok acted brashly. He pushed the man away and told him that the notion of a colourful world was a bedtime story told to entertain children, nothing more. The alcohol displaced his confusion, turning it into a bitter anger, and before he left he told the young man never to touch him again.

 A week later he received a letter. It was a letter detailing their story. It talked of how the world had shifted when they touched and why he felt he could no longer bear the thought of being near him. He had experienced a world full of colour and beauty, and he didn’t want to go back to the dull gray of before.

 It explained that when he kissed him, the world had exploded into colours so intense he felt that Tompok must have been experiencing the same thing. When it became evident that he was the only one, he realized that life had played a cruel joke on him. To be matched to someone, who gave your life colour and meaning, only to learn that they had not been matched to you, was maddening. He did not want to return to the dull grays and washed out whites, but he felt that if he must return, it would be easiest to do so when he was not so tempted by the colour.

 That was the day that Tompok changed. He now believed in the legends and told his story to anyone that would listen. He had never personally experienced the colours the world kept hidden, but he knew all too well that the price ran high for such beauty.

 He warned that if the colour ever sought him out, a choice would need to be made. If, one day, he found the world had shifted, he could choose to ignore it and move along or he could choose to seek the colour. He had cautioned that if one chose the chase, then they must be willing to pay the price.

 He called it Cor-Inesperada, or unexpected colour. It was the sign of a soulmate, and those that pursued the colour, paid with their hearts.

  His heart starts fluttering in his chest nervously. She wasn’t supposed to be out here. He had gone out to try and clear his head, to process what happened that afternoon. Yet there she stood, her hair vibrant even in the dark.

 His fingers itch to reach out and hold her, to make the world burn with an intensity only she could provide. He couldn’t do that though, so instead he talks to her about how she must be missing Master. He didn’t want to, but he needed to remind himself that although she brought colour to his life, it was another who brought it to hers.

 He retreats back into his room, using the excuse that it was late and they should both get some rest, but he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. He flops backwards onto the mattress, the scene from earlier filling his mind.

 When young princess Rona pushed Miss into his arms that afternoon, the library had exploded into a symphony of colour. Every book that lined the massive shelves shifting from somber to radiant. It was a shift far stronger than any he had experienced previously.

 After he caught her and she pulled back to look at him, he felt as though he couldn’t breath. He had thought the library was something to be astounded at, but it didn’t hold a match to her. Since no shift had been that powerful, he hadn’t noticed the small freckles across the bridge of her nose or the dark green and gold flecks around her pupils. She was breathtaking. 

 Her eyes were wide and thankful. Large emerald pools, drawing him in, swallowing him in their depths. Her cheeks carried a faint stain of pink – a delicate blush. It was something he had only seen small traces of before.

 His hand flexes with the memory. The colours of the world were getting stronger with every fresh touch and they had started to linger. The gray of the world hadn’t caught up with him for an hour after he caught her today, and even then he could still see light blues and greens fighting to stay 3 hours later.

 He knew that this afternoon had changed nothing for her, it meant nothing to her – how could it? Master was clearly the one who brought colours to her world.

 His heart constricts tightly in his chest. He had tried to stay away, to go back to the gray world he knew from before. He had even thought about leaving Master’s employ.

 But he knew he couldn’t deny it any longer – she was his soulmate. And he would never be able to tell her.

 Tompok had been right – the price for such exquisite beauty was a heart.

    She hadn’t realized he had been speaking to her, until he comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pressing a warm kiss to her temple. The familiar feeling of guilt sits heavy in her stomach.

 She hadn’t been paying attention to what Zen was explaining, because her eyes and mind were focused elsewhere. She turns away from the window, away from him, and gives Zen a soft apologetic smile. Feigning exhaustion, she excuses herself for the evening.

 Her heart is heavy, her mind lost in thought, as she makes her way down the empty corridor. She knew she wasn’t imaging the colours that bloomed when he touched her. She had grown up, knowing about the colourful world. She knew it wasn’t just a bedtime story.

 Her grandparents had explained to her at a young age that if the colours ever sought her out, she should pursue them, but she must always remain cautious. It was entirely possible for one to find their soulmate, but be unmatched – in fact, this was usually the case. Someone could come into her life and completely alter the way she saw the world, yet she may not have the same impact.

 She knew that Obi was her soulmate. The first time he touched her, when he caught her that day, long ago, she knew. But she needed to determine a way to figure out if she was his. If she was his too, that would drastically change things.

Her grandparents had been soulmates, as had her parents - which was a rarity. It was getting more difficult to find matches as time progressed, and truth turned to legend.

 If two people are found to be matched, they have what her grandparents called a split-soul.

 A split-soul is a soul that has been connected since the beginning. Before the world was born. Before the concept of time and society. They were connected in the world where colour existed and watched together as the world lost its way. They stood as one and watched the tides of change, as they washed in new eras.

 One soul divided between two bodies, carried across time.