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The wide expanse of stars twinkle outside her window, glittering like goldstone. Shirayuki wonders if it’s her imagination or if the skies in the North truly are more arresting. The nights of Wistal were beautiful, yes, but fogged by firelight, paler perhaps than the shades of blue and purple she can make out here. Or was she just not looking? Her impressions could be shaded by the rarity of a clear evening in the North, or perhaps the memory of those early years in Clarines have faded. And yet-
And yet something about this night sky in particular strikes her.
She hugs herself, the heat of another body still soaked into hers long after they’ve returned to their respective rooms. Long after she has changed into her nightgown and set aside all the accoutrements of professionalism, brushing her hair until it crackled with static. Long after she stationed herself at this window, looking up to once familiar stars for answers.
Emotionally exhausted, but... happy. So, so happy.
It must be her imagination how she can still smell the wool and leather and wild that never quite left him. Can still feel his broad hand alighted upon her back, tentative as if anything more might break him. Can still feel the shape of his words murmured against her ear.
“Keep this?”
Shirayuki’s eyes squeeze shut, tight as the fist in her chest. Always, always, she would never think to do otherwise. She would keep it, treasure it, honor the bravery it took him to offer it.
Her grip tightens on herself, but it’s- not the same, not enough.
She can bear it no longer.
Shirayuki spins on her heels, flying towards the door connecting their rooms. Without a moments pause, she flings it open and there—
There are two wide eyes, staring into hers, hand hovering in the space between them.
“Oh. Miss. I—”
“Obi! I- Earlier. We were interrupted and I just thought—”
…that our hug wasn’t finished.
Embarrassment starts to creep up her neck, disbelief at her own reasoning. Hands flutter helplessly in that too large of an expanse between them, and she grasps at nothing for words, hoping to catch a more rational thought. But then she looks up at him, helpless. Between the two of them, he was always the better one at reading her meaning when she didn’t know what to say, and—
His eyes are red at the corners, glossy in the dim light.
The air pulls out of her lungs. He hugged her before. Just an hour ago. Held her, even. So she doesn’t think, she just… flings herself forward, arms wrapping themselves around his middle. He must’ve taken his night gown from Eisetsu’s place, the silk feels familiar. Far better than either of them could afford. She’s half a mind to scold him for stealing from their host, but—
But his ribs collapse under her hold, spine rounding as his body curls over hers. He pulls her closer. So, so gingerly. She doesn’t know how to tell him that her body can take his strength, too. That he can- that he can hold her the way his body needs.
He sucks a breath next to her ear as if in pain and alarm spikes up her spine. Did she hurt him??? Shirayuki braces her palms against his arms, arching backwards to take a look—
His hand tangles in her hair, pressing her face tight to his chest.
“Obi?” Her voice is muffled against his collarbone, sight blocked by the dark fabric of his clothes.
“Miss,” he breathes, voice hoarse, and it’s only now that she feels how he shakes, how he trembles, and—
Wetness spills onto her cheek. It’s not hers.
Not yet at least.
“I thought--” she chokes, wrapping her arms around him once more-- “that we weren’t done hugging it out yet.”
Laughter rattles out of him, his thumb stroking a line along the nape of her neck. “No, Miss.” Obi sniffs, his cheek resting against the crown of her head, and her eyes well. He can’t cry because that means she has to cry, too. “I don’t think we were.”