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It’s not often Obi has his Master all to himself.
He doesn’t mind the almost-perpetual presence of the others; he’ll never tire of the easy banter with Mitsuhide, or the sly teasing from Kiki; or, of course, the comforting aura from Mistress Shirayuki. But there’s something soothing and calming about Prince Zen - he was the first to place his complete trust in Obi, after all, to take him seriously as a person and not a body for hire.
It’s why Obi’s particularly looking forward to this evening alone.
The others have retired for an early night (Shirayuki no doubt with a pharmacological text propped up against her pillow), and it’s just Obi and Zen, seated together, on the balcony overlooking Wistal. Obi can make out the distant faint glow of the town’s oil lamps, the moonlight magnifying the effect tenfold. Nighttime is when Obi really comes alive; he’s a creature of the darkness, and he feels safest when he is not seen.
Having Zen look at him, though…he can live with that, and the safety that stems from it.
“Master,” he says at last, when the silence between them has gone on too long, “how are you feeling? Not too tired, are you? I wouldn’t want you to go without your beauty rest, after all…”
Zen scowls, but there’s no malice to the expression. “I’m doing just fine, Obi, thank you. Why? When you ask things like that, I can’t help but think there’s a reason behind it…”
“You know me too well, Master.” Obi can’t help but smile. “It’s such a beautiful night; it would be a shame to let it go to waste.” He stands upright and points towards the edge of town. There’s a bay nearby, a short walk where ships dock as they come and go; sailors often peruse the shops and taverns. But Obi also recalls the merchant there who rents elegantly-crafted rowboats, fit for two people at most, at all hours of the day and night it seems. The image has never left Obi’s mind, and he could never quite put his finger on the reason why.
Now, glancing at Zen and picturing how his Master would look across from him on said boat…he can put two and two together.
Zen sighs but stands as well, no doubt used to his companion’s antics. He places a hand on his hip. “What did you have in mind, then?” he asks, resigning himself to this little escapade.
Hopping onto the balcony railing, Obi towers above Zen, offering up his hand. He doesn’t want to give away the surprise just yet…but he still wants Zen to oblige at all costs. “The bay by the market’s edge, Master. It would be perfect for a late-night stroll, don’t you think?”
“I… suppose so,” Zen allows, “I’m just a bit surprised you’re so taken with the scenery all of a sudden.”
“I’m full of surprises, Master, you know that.”
And this time, Zen chuckles. “Oh, all too well.”
*
Zen declines Obi’s offer to carry him all the way to the bay. Instead the prince manages to keep up with Obi’s cat-like pace (and Obi resists the temptation to swing from tree to tree in hopes of making it there before all the boats are gone), and the pair are soon greeted by the water’s edge, where a handful of small rowboats are still docked - guarded over by a tired-looking young man.
“This is what you wanted to show me?” Zen asks, incredulous. He snorts. “You want to go swimming, this late at night?”
“You can go swimming, Master, but I had something else in mind.” Obi marches over to the young man and hands him over a handful of cash in exchange for a run-down on how the little tour functions. You have an hour before you have to dock back here, the man explains, so use your time wisely.
Obi plans to do exactly that.
He strolls back up to where Zen waits, confused, and waves him over. “Come on, Master. Don’t be scared! I know how to work these things. We’ve got a whole hour to ourselves.”
Zen just blinks, more perplexed than ever. “You…rented a rowboat?” he asks, incredulous. “If you really wanted to go for a boat ride, I could have just -”
“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I had you arrange everything, Master!” Obi protests, laughing as he looks to Zen expectantly. The Prince blinks again, shakes his head - as if to say, Am I really doing this? - and follows after Obi at last.
The water is low and calm as Obi all but hops into the boat, bowing to one knee as he extends his hand to Zen in a semi-serious display of subservience. But to Obi’s surprise, Zen accepts, the Master’s hand warm in contrast to Obi’s chilled palms. Even when Zen is fully on board, sitting on the small bench of a seat across from Obi, the latter doesn’t want to let go.
Inky blackness pools beneath the oars as Obi manages to part his hand away from Zen’s and begins to row. The bay is vast but not infinite, and he can still make out the town’s shops and lights in the distance, peppered by the trees gently blowing in the breeze. Objectively speaking, it’s a beautiful night. But all Obi can focus on, once he gets into the steady, repetitive rhythm of rowing, is Zen’s face: tranquil and deep in thought as he leans against one hand, elbow perched on his knee. The prince gazes across the bay, and Obi can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about.
“Are you getting tired, Master?” Obi asks eventually, hoping, deep down, that the answer is no.
Zen shakes himself and hums lightheartedly. “It’s impossible to let myself get tired when I’m with you,” he says, and Obi can’t tell if it’s a compliment or not. He’s never been good with this sort of thing; with letting himself feel emotions, let alone share them. He’s more about acts of servitude - of being useful, because it’s how he’s stayed alive this long. Obi is useful to Zen, he’s always tried to do whatever his Master asked…yet even the times where Obi felt his time was up at the prince’s side, Zen would go and reel him back in to stay.
Obi isn’t sure how to express the sort of gratitude that wells up in his chest whenever he glances at Zen’s delicate features. The prince has done more for Obi this past year than anyone’s done for Obi his whole life, but feelings don’t come easily to Obi - at least, not easily enough for him to know where they stem from.
His arms aren’t tired, but once they are far enough into the bay Obi stops and lets the little boat drift on its own for a spell - crosses and uncrosses his legs, tries to think of something witty to say to tease his beloved Master. But nothing comes out; because if Obi were to make yet another joke about how beautiful Zen’s eyes looked in the moonlight glow, he isn’t sure it would be a joke at all.
Instead, before he can think better of it, Obi grabs Zen’s hand where it rests in his lap. “I wouldn’t want you to fall in, Master.” Obi clicks his tongue and smirks. “You should hold on to me before you do.” He tries to keep his tone airy and jovial, but he catches Zen’s eye on the last word and the prince meets his regard with a starstruck gaze of his own.
Zen’s expression suddenly softens, and Obi swears he can hear his heart pounding in his ears. “I’ll be okay,” the prince assures him softly. “I always feel safe when I’m with you.”
“Ah, are you sure that’s a good idea, Master?” Obi manages to choke out, unable to match the solemnity of Zen’s tone.
But Zen is deadly serious, and before Obi can realize what’s happened, the prince has leaned forward until his face is inches from his. “I have not a shred of doubt.”
“Ah…” is all Obi can breathe out before Zen’s lips are on his own, warm and sweet and tender, unlike anything Obi has ever experienced before. He’s kissed many people, men and women alike, all in the name of completing a mission. He’s thought, many a time before now, that kissing was but a straightforward, meaningless gesture; lips on lips, achieving an end goal, nothing more.
Kissing Prince Zen Wistalia, though… if Obi had the mind to think right now, he’d have realized just how very wrong he’s been.
Zen is the one who breaks the kiss first, much to Obi’s chagrin; it’s like an out of body sensation, his extremities both on fire and numb at the same time, his heart racing in his throat, cheeks flushed against the evening breeze. He can’t speak a word, but he can’t stop looking at Zen’s face (his perfect, handsome face) - and the sweet smile and tinge of pink on his own complexion, even in the darkness of night.
“Obi,” Zen says at last, as he rests a hand on Obi’s where it rests in his lap, “I’m glad you brought me out here…even as late as it is.”
And Obi, when he is finally able to string together a coherent thought once again, nods and grins in response - giddy and lightheaded, but confident that the feeling stems from both gratitude and pure, unadulterated love . “It’s as you say, Master,” he says, forcing the steadiness to his voice. “It’s impossible to let myself get tired when I’m with you.”