10
Obi jolts upright with a gasp, his senses cutting through a dense fog of restless sleep, struggling to lock on to whatever had snapped him awake. He's certain a noise was responsible—less certain of whether or not he had merely dreamed it. Tossing the blankets aside and immediately thinking better of it, he stills his limbs and waits with bated breath, straining to hear over the pounding of his heart.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Something was wrong.
He turns to leap out of bed, slamming head first into something solid. Reeling from the blow he lashes out with his fist and pain explodes up his arm to his shoulder. He hisses through clenched teeth and staggers backward tumbling off the bed ducking into roll and crouching near the wardrobe against the opposite wall ready to spring at a moment's notice while the room went silent once more, save for his own haggard breathing.
A wall. He had punched the wall.
Why was his bed pushed up against a wall?
Obi shook his throbbing head, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to clear the last clinging tendrils of sleep and dream from his mind.
Ah.
But this wasn't his bed, was it?
Miss was sleeping in his room, and so he was sleeping here.
That's right.
And this room had no window, no exterior wall—so of course he couldn't hear the familiar lullaby of checkpoint banners snapping in the wind.
He nods to himself, mentally approving the assessment.
Obi staggers upright, swaying dangerously as the adrenaline rush began to subside. He reaches for the wardrobe to steady himself, wincing as a fresh knot of pain shot up his arm. Damn, his hand hurt. His head hurt. But it would keep until morning.
He stumbles across the room and falls back into bed, burying his face in the pillow, reaching with his good arm for the hastily discarded quilt. Still, exhausted though he was, he doubted he'd manage any more sleep...
How he hated that dream. Hated how it stretched him thin, how it scraped him raw, how it forced him to relive that night over and over and—
His eyes snap open a second time. There it was again. That little noise!
Only this time, it was closely followed by a thud.
Obi scrambles to his feet and bursts out of the room, tripping over nothing at all in his haste. He slows just enough to announce "Miss-I'm-coming-in!" before throwing open the door to the big bedroom.
Shirayuki tears desperately at the blankets tangled around her legs, trapping her where she tumbled off the bed. Obi rushes to her side, grabbing her waist to lift her free of the bed-curtains.
She shrieks and rams her elbow into his ribs.
The sharp blow forces the air from his lungs, but he just barely manages to not drop her, all while struggling to breathe and evade more flailing limbs.
An erratic jab nearly catches him square in the eye, and Obi sets her down gently as possible before scrambling backward to get out of the way. A quick glance around the room assures him nothing else is amiss, so he waits—crouched low to the floor, ready to move again if need be, and making a concerted effort to inhale more than a shallow sip of air into his starved lungs.
Shirayuki finally kicks free of the bedding and then—just like that—she abruptly jolts to a stop. And glances down at the blankets trampled into miniature mountain ranges beneath her toes. Then up, at the big four poster bed, with it's canopy curtains askew and even more quilts in varying states of disarray.
"...I fell." She shakes her head, running a hand through her mussed hair.
And turns, slowly, looking around the room, gradually regaining her bearings. When she spots him, she tilts her head and squints, her confusion evident in her eyes.
"Obi?"
"Wh, what?" he finally croaks.
"Why are...?" she scoots around to face him.
"um, you...bad dream?" he wheezes, voice still hoarse from want of air.
"...Ah." she blinks, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Right."
Another nightmare. Great.
"Yeah? Me too." Obi relaxes somewhat, rolling back on his heels and sitting. The movement jars his aching ribs, and he flinches.
"...I," she starts, then furrows her brow, rubbing at her elbow, remembering something, "...someone grabbed me. In the dream."
"Oh. That, was me. Thought you were...awake."
"What? You mean I—" Shirayuki raises one hand to her mouth, eyes widening in horror, "—I hit you?"
"It's my own, fault, but...where, did you...learn that?" he tries to grin, but it comes out more of a grimace.
"Kiki taught me."
"Miss Kiki." No wonder.
He tries to inhale properly, but the attempt turns into a low gasping hiss.
"But, Obi—I didn't break anything, did I?" she draws closer, worry written all over her pale face.
"No, no," he leans back, clutching at his side. Nothing was broken, per se—cracked, possibly. Definitely bruised. But not broken.
Probably.
"I am so, so sorry—"
"Seriously, Miss, I'll...be fine, just, give me a, chance..." he brushes off her concern with a wave of his hand, "...catch my breath."
"Ah—Obi, you're bleeding!" Shirayuki gasps.
"Wh—" he glances at his aching hand, only just noticing the blood scabbing around a split knuckle.
Then he looks back up at her face.
"Worry about yourself for once!"
"You worry about your self!" she retorts.
"It's—this is nothing!"
"No, it's not, let me see!" she reaches for him, but he evades her grasp.
"This isn't, the first time—!"
And that was precisely the wrong thing to say–
"Obi!"
–now she's even more worried.
"...All right, fine!" he extends his arm, conceding defeat.
Because not only was Miss stubbornly digging in her heels–
Fixating on the things around her was one of the ways she avoided dealing with her own worries.