Chapter Text
The moon is too bright.
It burns his eyes, even when he closes them against its glare. Here, in the darkest corners of the Palace, it slips in through the lattice of the windows, bypassing the shadows that stand by his side as sentry; in the spaces between, starlight conspires to fill the void.
He wishes it would stop - that he could find a way to stay it’s encroachment. But if it’s not the light, it’s the noise. It’s incessant here. The way leaves click against each other with the slightest fluttering of wind might as well be nails drawn across slate for how aware he is of each and every one of them. The drone of insects and russling of night things joins them, never ceasing until dawn. In this place, there is no drunken brawl spilling out into the streets to break their ceaselessness, no cackling whores or hoarse song to drown them out.
It’s enough to drive him mad.
Obi folds himself over his knees and tells himself again to just Go to sleep. It’s not as if he has not spent countless nights in conditions far worse than this; not as if he hasn’t itched with something far more real than whatever is currently squirming beneath his skin.
A boot scuffs against polished stone, far too close, and he’s awake, alert. Hand curling around the blades at his back, he bares his teeth, waiting for whatever cover the darkness offers him to give way...
“It’s good Miss Shirayuki is back,” sighs the low murmur of the night watch. “The stories that came out of Tanbarun were so frightening! Can you imagine? Pirates! Slave traffickers!”
“Ah, you shouldn’t worry so much,” comes a rougher voice, aged with the sort of sureness that a well fed belly breeds. “Our Prince would never let her be taken. Didn’t you hear how he charged out of the Palace in the dead of night?”
“Better if she had never been taken at all!” laments the first, and Obi grits his teeth, something far too uncomfortable to be named roiling about in his gut.
“Besides,” the second’s voice lifts in a tease. “All that would’ve needed to happen was for her to get word that you bruised your wrist again in training! She would have been home within the hour to scold you!”
The guard moans, a low whine like a kicked puppy. “Please don’t bring that up again.”
The voices drift away, Obi straining towards every word until they fade into the orchestra of insects. Muscles unwinding, he twists his blade between his fingers and sighs, laying it flat against his palm. The light traces it, caressing it from hilt to tip - the bevel smooth and the edge sharpened to one unbroken line, not a inch of it showing evidence of his deeds by it. Of his failures.
A curse escapes from between his teeth.
It wasn’t the moon. Nor the unnatural silence. No - he slides his kunai back home with its brothers - It wasn’t this place. It was who was in it. It was her.
Scrubbing his face, he stares at his hands; one gloved, one bare, and still - still - he can feel her weight against them. Can still catch that warmth if he but focuses on the centers of his palms. If only he was stronger, if only he had more skill, he could excise her from beneath his skin, cut the root and its damnable itching from his flesh and run, never look back towards this place, but-
But she looked him in the eye when he failed her. Gave him a second chance when others would’ve sent him packing.
If you say that again, I’ll take it personally.
Obi groans, head thumping against the wood at his back. His hand lands, limp, against his lap, and if only... if only he wanted to leave this place, he could just-
The wall at his back gives way.
Shapes dissolve into spinning shadows, the light of the moon one bright smear of light and silence before his back hits hard stone.
Blinking, lace trim comes into relief, the barest flash of shin and knees before cloth brushes his forehead and shadows fill his vision once more. He scans his eyes up, across the glow of a white linen nightgown in the night to two enormous green eyes staring down at him.
Huh. He wonders if this is what she feels like whenever she talks to Mitsuhide.
“Good evening, Miss!” he smiles his most charming smile - the one that would have the fruit stall owners shooing him away with a warning for his stuffed cheeks rather than calling the guard - throwing in a wave for good measure. “Isn’t it a bit late? Royal pharmacists need their beauty sleep, you know!”
“Obi.” She frowns down at him, brow knitting. If she was Torou, he’d tell her she’d get wrinkles doing that. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing?” he tries, flashing all of his teeth.
Her frown deepens, and that- that itching beneath his skin intensifies.
Laughter, nervous and tittering, bubbles out of him. “I was just, ah-” He rolls himself to his side, pushing himself onto his knees, and gestures broadly towards the emptiness at his back. “Enjoying the view? The moon is lovely tonight.”
Shirayuki peers past him into the dark of the hallway, at the narrow window and the column of light cutting across it. Something like disappointment flickers across her face.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says, her voice softer than he deserves. Her gaze drops, landing on him like a palpable touch. “I’m not going anywhere, Obi. No one is going to take me away.”
His smile wilts at the edge and he lowers his eyes, settling himself back onto his heels before her. “I know,” he replies. Swallows. “Because I won’t let them.”
He can still feel her gaze on his crown, searching, boring into him as if that alone will reveal his secrets. But little does she know, he’s always been good at keeping his own counsel, always been an expert at hiding what he does not want to be seen, and-
And there is a shift of cloth, her body sinking to the ground until her knees touch his. Jolting, he looks up, and her face- her face is set in such a way that the Palace around them disappears, replaced by deep mountain wood, nothing but the animals witness to his shame.
Does what I have to say not matter?
“You know,” she begins, just as serious as then. “When I was little, my grandmother was sick a lot. And I couldn’t see her sometimes.”
He blinks owlishly at her.
“So we made a game! A knocking game!” She clasps her hands in front of her chest, eyes sparkling and entirely too bright. “Every time I would miss her, I would knock on the wall nearest to her bed. And she would always answer.”
He doesn’t understand where this is going.
“And she would do the same,” Miss continues, voice softening. Pulling the door towards her, she reaches behind it, and knocks twice quickly, and once more after a beat. “Just like this. Each time was a little different. And she would know that it was me. And that I was safe.”
Obi stares at her, his face a wooden mask spent too long in the sun. It splits along the grain and he lifts his hand, holding her gaze, and repeats the rhythm. “Like this?”
She nods once, hesitant.
“The knock, Obi-” She pauses, biting her lips. “You have to remember. It goes both ways.”
He must’ve forgotten how to breathe, must’ve skipped a step for how airy his voice is when he asks, “Miss?”
That intenseness is back - a little watery, but there. It roots him into place, sinks him deeper into foreign soil that’s starting to feel far too familiar. “It’s part of the game. You can’t leave without telling your partner.” She sticks out her arm, pinky extended. “You have to promise not to go without saying.”
Without his permission, Obi reaches out, wrapping his pink around hers. It’s a shock, feeling his skin next to hers. “Got it.”