Epilogue

"You—!"

Shirayuki stumbles her way into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and still more than half asleep, propping herself up on the back of a chair. "You snuck out."

"I went out, Miss, there was no sneaking involved," Obi clarifies, leaning over the stove—cooking the meal that summoned her from slumber.

"That—that's not the point, Obi. You said you wouldn't!"

"I was hungry!" he complains, too loud to be taken seriously.

"Then why—why didn't you wake me up first?" she rubs at the corners of her eyes.

"Miss. I tried! You threw a pillow at me!" Obi sighs, long suffering. "Well, you flung it in my general direction."

Shirayuki doesn't remember that, but she did trip over a pillow on her way to the door, so.
"At least leave a note!"

"I did!" he protests, gesturing to the table with a spoon.

And Shirayuki glances down, spying the little scrap of paper. She scoops it up, squinting in silence for a few moments before looking back up at him.
"...I can't read this."

Obi wags his bandaged hand at her. "I tried my best, Miss. Honest."

"You're not ambidextrous?" She blinks.

"Only at knife throwing, Miss."

"Huh." She drops her gaze back to the table, a mess of food stuffs and medical supplies strewn across its surface.
"I... put these away. I think," she reaches for a roll of bandages, and studies it. "No, I did, because then I wrecked you at cards."

"Miss! Do you really have to rub it in?" Obi groans, still too loud. Then he smirks, twisting his shoulders to nod at the table.
"I got those out so you can wrap up my head."

"You don't need it," Shirayuki replies, placing the bandages back in the kit, "Neither do your ribs, really."

But he taps at his chin with his bandaged hand, like he didn't hear— "And maybe I'll put my arm in a sling… yeah. Should I limp, too?" He grins at her.

"Obi, that—" she peers at him, finally catching on. "That's going overboard. You're getting carried away."

"Miss," he pouts, "When have I ever gotten carried away?"

She stares at him, impassive expression unchanged. "I'm not going to bandage every inch of you."

And Obi cannot resist making full use of such a perfect opening: "Oh? Then what are you going to leave uncovered, Miss?" He winks, for good measure.

Color instantly floods her face. "If—Obi, if I put you in—in a full body cast, people will—well, they'll know—!" She stares down at the table, willing the heat from her cheeks before the next joke lands.

It doesn't. He has no immediate retort, and it's suddenly too quiet—the tiniest pang of anxiety blooms in her stomach. So she sneaks a glance in his direction –

"Miss!" he breathes, utterly elated.

"Obi, I'm not—" she tries to say it firmly, to find a tone that conveys just how serious she is, but she struggles, because –

Because his entire face lit up—like the sun emerging from behind a mountain, spilling light and warmth down into the valleys below—vanquishing the lingering darkness and shadow.

"Miss! I'll go get some plaster and—"

"N-nooo!" she squeals, bringing a hand to her face, to cover the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Forget—I mean it! Obi! Forget I said that!"

"Too late!" he guffaws –

"I'm—I'm putting my foot down! I'm putting both of them down!" Shirayuki stamps her feet, trying hard not to giggle.

And Obi just howls with laughter, before slumping heavily against the wall with a groan.

"Ahhh… no need to worry about my breathing, at least..." He gives his side a gentle pat.

"Nice hair, by the way." he grins at her, straightening himself.

"Ah." Shirayuki brings both hands to her head, feeling all the bumps and snarls. This always happened when she forgot to braid her hair before bed...

She sighs. "I don't suppose you have a comb?" she inquires, hopeful.

"Sorry, Miss. Never needed one," Obi scrubs a hand through his own wiry locks, scratching at the back of his neck.

"But, you slept well?" he asks, cautious. "Any dreams?"

"Nothing bad," she threads her fingers into the tangled mess, carefully separating the strands.

"Sweet ones, then?" he turns back to the cooking.

"Mmm. I was... at a recital. Or a play?" she muses, working through her hair. "Well, there was singing."

"Really? Was it any good?"

"I wonder..." She teases apart a particularly stubborn knot before slowly brushing it out.
"Well, I'll let you know next time."

end

Author Note: And so we've finally made it to the end! Hooray! Thank you everyone for reading, for faving, and for leaving reviews—some of you have followed along since the beginning, and that honestly blows my mind.

Writing this fic was a challenge, albeit a fun one—wrestling all the pieces into place and watching everything slowly come together. I've definitely learned a lot from it, and I hope you all enjoyed reading as much as I did writing!

As always, let me know what you think! :)