Shirayuki's earthy, steady, and hardworking. She's sincere, as obvious as the first buds on a flower, and Obi isn't quite sure why that gets to him so very easily or why he finds that so admirable. Perhaps it's his own seedy background, dishonest work, knowing people who mean less than half of what they say, and none of it is joking.
It's the dishonesty that he's used to, not someone who can't hold liquor, who doesn't drink, who is too focused on the task at hand to catch wind of anything else, too preoccupied with sincerity and honesty than whatever else.
She's sweet in the way that nature can be sweet, gentle and yet still fully itself. And Obi isn't quite sure why there's something in Shirayuki that catches his eye every single time. There's something in her sincerity, her honesty, her dedication.
Something in the way, it sometimes feels like she's babysitting the plants, staying with them to collect her thoughts like they whisper trade secrets to her. And Obi stands firm at her side, not because he gets any of this, as it is all very much outside of his element, but because that's what he knows to do and because he wants to be by her side regardless.
She's quiet sometimes in the thoughtful way, in the she can't help but think deeper about something kind of way, and Obi is wondering despite himself if how gently she touches those leaves is how gently she'd touch him, the way hands interlock, the gentle innocence of it all.
And he wants to grumble against himself, but that would draw attention, so he keeps his lips sealed and watches as she works. Right now, it's not because she has to, but because she wants to. And he knows at the moment that he doesn't really have a task to do here. Not right now anyway.
And Shirayuki's humming quietly as she moves along, and Obi forgets sometimes that he shouldn't feel this way for the lady that almost seems as if she sprouted up from the ground herself, with how gentle she is with nature, and how attune she seems to be to it.