#but Shirayuki is absolutely one of those people who would spend a weekend worried

[sabraeal]

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Chapter 2

Written for @vfordii’s birthday....almost two months late. BUT THIS TIME I HAD A REALLY GOOD EXCUSE.

Chapter 1

Sunlight glares through the gaps in the blinds, slanting over the popcorn ceiling, and for once, since -- since everything happened, Shirayuki opens her eyes and knows exactly where she is.

Even more surprisingly, she doesn’t mind.

That’s not to say she doesn’t miss it, that even as she stares at the knobby plaster she isn’t wishing that it was tented hangings tacked over exposed rafters, that it was soft light filtering through the high window and shimmering curtains. She does, and a part of her always will, but --

But she can trade the scent of bacon and cedar and attic must for the vanilla and spice coming from the kitchen now, for the grassy smell of green tea brewing. For today, at least.

Glass jars clink open and closed, metal spoons swirl against ceramic lips, and she -- she gets up. For the first time in forever, it feels easy.

There are some things that she won’t be getting used to, not any time soon. One is how there is no longer a whole house between her and the kitchen, so when her door creaks open, Busha’s waiting, eyebrows lifted over the rim of her mug, arms crossed over the formica top of the galley’s bar.

“Well.” She sets the cup down on the counter, mouth twitching at a corner. “Someone is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning.”

It’s such a normal thing to say -- such a Busha thing to do, waiting to waylay her in the kitchen like this -- that she nearly forgets they aren’t back home, that this isn’t just every other weekend morning since she’s been a baby. Not until she sees how Busha’s eyes don’t quite settle on her, until she realizes that it’s only the creak of the door that let her grandmother know she was there at all.

“Mm,” she hums, aiming for positive but also noncommittal. Even still, Busha makes that knowing look, and even if it’s only directed in her general area instead of at her, it’s still annoying.

Shirayuki sighs, ducking into the kitchen. It’s only to be expected; when a boy invited a girl over in Busha’s day, they might as well have announced their engagement. So of course her grandmother assumes this is -- is romance, that after seventeen long years, Shirayuki finally likes a boy. She doesn’t even know his name, but Busha is already picking out china patterns, already planning out their Saturday date-nights and how he’ll come to dinner on Sundays, how they’ll go to colleges geographically close to each other and visit on long holidays and how he’ll propose the weekend of their graduation, all done up in their gowns and summa-cum-laude tassels. There will be a small, sweet wedding a year later, probably in a barn somewhere out where she grew up, and maybe even great-grandbabies --

Normal stuff. The kind of things Busha imagined for her mom, back before Mom went off and -- ah, well, had her own...less thought-out plans.

Busha starts her own humming as she bustles around the kitchen, almost unbearably pleased with herself, and Shirayuki would like to -- to straighten this out, to point out that her and Zen barely even talked as themselves last night --

But there’s no way to explain that her good mood isn’t because of Zen, that it isn’t because she kissed a boy or because she had a good night with her crush, but that -- that --

That for four hours, she was Lynet. Lynet, whose talents border both science and magic, who makes tinctures and casts spells and whose sister is trapped in their ancestral castle with an evil knight-slash-sorcerer, but at least her problems are fictional. They can be fixed.

“Where’s JaJa?” she deflects, plucking a muffin from the cooling rack. It’s still warm in her palms; she bobbles it to keep from scalding herself as she peels back the paper wrapper. The vanilla scent is even stronger now, and she can catch cinnamon and orange too, melty cranberries peeking out enticingly from the sides. “Is he still asleep?”

Busha’s mouth rucks up, annoyed. “No. He’s down around the corner for coffee.”

Shirayuki coughs into her muffin, glad her grandmother can’t see her grimace. Around the corner is Busha’s way of avoiding saying McDonalds, which is apparently where a bunch of the vets from the VFW meet every week. Ostensibly it’s some sort of coffee-cum-social-hour thing, which Shirayuki likes the sound of on paper -- after all, JaJa needs to have friends here in the city too -- but...

But she’s also not naive. If anyone misses the smell of bacon in the morning, it’s JaJa, and she has her suspicions that his friends might also be dodging the watchful eyes of wives and grown children. After all, she doubts that they’re all ordering salad, no dressing off the breakfast menu.

Busha isn’t stupid either, but she’s also not one to hurl accusations. Until she finds him with a receipt for a sausage and egg McMuffin with extra bacon, she’s happy to pretend he’s as faithful to his diet as he is to her.

“Oh right,” Shirayuki mumbles around a bite of cranberry goodness, taking the mug of green tea her grandmother holds out to her. “It’s Sunday.”

“He should be on his way back soon.” Busha settles against the counter again, smiling over the rim of her cup. “It looked like you enjoyed yourself at that...game of yours.”

Shirayuki nods, practically shoving muffin in her mouth.

“I hope you thanked that Wisteria boy for a good time,” she tells her archly. Busha clearly doesn’t think she spent four hours on a particularly rousing game of Parcheesi. “You were over there a long time.”

A full mouth saves her from having to give an answer, at least. Between four-hour make out session with a cute boy and four-hour shared fantasy adventure, Shirayuki has a good idea of what Busha would prefer to believe was taking up her time.

“I will,” she chokes out around a swallow, because well -- she’s not wrong. She should thank the Wisteria boy.

Just not the one Busha is thinking of.

Hey.

Shirayuki blinks, and behind the lids of her eyes, the letters are tattooed there in white, teasing her with their strokes and loops. It’s been -- she tilts back her head, looking at the garishly red numbers on her alarm clock -- two hours, and all she has is -- is this. Hey. Three letters she’s been staring at for so long that they’ve begun to lose all meaning.

And -- for the twentieth time -- she deletes them. Who even says hey anymore?

Everyone, probably. Shirayuki groans, dropping her head into her pillow and just -- counting. Counting probably will help. She read that somewhere, maybe. Counting and breathing.

What would really help would be knowing how to do -- this. Texting like a normal person. Having friends like a normal person.

Not exactly something she’s ever had to do before, growing up where everyone had landlines and the only places she could possibly be after school were home or one of the three houses within walking distance that had kids her age. Hanging out hadn’t required a phone, just...walking down the ramble between their houses and making sure you didn’t twist an ankle in a gopher hole.

But she lives in the city now, where people have wi-fi and kids get kidnapped or something, and at the ripe old age of seventeen years old she’s supposed to know how to -- to use all this.

The first time she texted Kihal she’d written everything in a single block of text, like an email, and been promptly told she sounded like her fifty-year-old aunt.

That is not the impression she wants to give Izana Wisteria, whose house lights respond to vocal command.

With a steeling breath, she lifts her head, and scrolls back in their chat history. It’s one of the longest she has; a couple of times she actually has to scroll and then wait for it to load. By the time she gets to the beginning, she’s feeling -- steady, emboldened.

It’s fine; she can do this. She has done this. She just needs to see how she even started this whole conversation and --

Shirayuki, I presume This is Izana Zen told me you were interested in trying out tabletop

Her head drops. This is impossible.

SOS I need help

is it boy stuff?? tell me its boy stuff

no?

lie to me and tell me its boy stuff

I mean, there is a boy? but it’s not like that?

okay good enough proceed

is hey a good way to start a conversation or is that weird?

Shirayuki sets her phone down on the bedside table, settling back against her headboard. She doesn’t -- she doesn’t need to stress about this, not like she has been the last few hours. She has plenty of homework to get ahead on; she can just...set this all aside for a minute, let Kihal get back to her. It’s not an emergency --

She springs for her phone the second it buzzes.

i mean its pretty standard, she writes, and even though Kihal isn’t sitting here, talking, Shirayuki can hear her voice going flat, dubious. is this for flirting purposes or does this have to do with your weird nerd thing.

its not a weird nerd thing. Shirayuki grimaces. Lots of people play D&D now, it’s not just -- just a nerd thing. but I wanted to thank Izana for letting me play.

jsyk this is the most wholesome and nerdy thing you have ever done and i approve of you sticking to your aesthetic like this.

Shirayuki frowns. I’m being polite

i know i love it

She sighs, flopping into her pillows. This would all be easier if she got herself into normal situations, the kind she could just use google to navigate, but there’s no WikiHows for roleplaying. Or, well, this kind of roleplaying. She’d checked, just before she had to look up how to delete internet search history.

She doesn’t even know if she should say anything. Maybe D&D is a...a Fight Club sort of situation. The first rule about non-sexual roleplay is that we don’t talk about non-sexual roleplay. See you next Saturday.

It would at least explain the lack of, you know, literature.

i think you can say hey, Kihal replies, finally. zen should have given you a primer on this or something

Her hands clench. Zen.

She’ll have to see him tomorrow.

And be normal.

She groans, throwing her pillow over her head. She not meant for this sort of pressure.

oh come on its not like he can judge he plays as a fantasy prince or whatever which is just like him btw i should have known that’s what zen wisteria does on weekends

I can still be weird somehow I shouldn’t talk too much about it but then does it seem like I’m not interested? I like playing Lynet

you are def worrying about this too much zen may be stratospherically rich but he’s an okay person or whatever im sure he’ll be cool

I’m way more worried about being the weird one

lol but wouldnt it be funny if zen turned out to be the weirdo? maybe he’ll want you to call him MY LIEGE omg

oh my goodness it would be Your Highness but oh my goodness

your pedantry is noted MILADY

There’s no reason to think he’ll be weird about it, really there isn’t.

But she can’t think of anything else as she stares up at her ceiling, tracing where the streetlight slots through the blinds.

lol what if he calls you LADY LYNET in front of like teachers, Kihal had written with an almost manic glee. what if he thinks lunch is like the ROUND TABLE omg this is too good

he didn’t before, is all she had to say, and even then, she knows it isn’t enough.

THAT YOU KNOW OF lol, Kihal replied. She hadn’t said much more on it, not until they’d said goodnight and she’d added, with an emoji that Shirayuki couldn’t help but feel like was a little too indulgent, have fun with your knight in shining armor

Shirayuki groans, rolling over. This is -- this is a tomorrow problem.

Hi. It’s Shirayuki. I just wanted to thank you for hosting this weekend I had a lot of fun

It’s while she’s watching the bare brick of her neighborhood give way to the smooth clapboard of the suburbs that she decides: she’s just going to pretend like nothing’s different. Sure, she now knows that Zen and Kiki moonlight as kingdom-saving royalty on the weekends, but -- but it’s not like that has to change anything. There’s no reason for her to assume things will be weird or -- or different, not until she’s there and it’s happening.

Her resolve lasts until her feet touch the pavement, until she sees the bronze lettering of Abel Wisteria High School stretch over the archway, and then --

Then her knees go jellied, heart fluttering a mile a minute. Maybe, if she manages to survive today, she can just convince Busha they need to move again.

Her thigh vibrates, and it takes her a long minute to realize -- her phone.

Glad to hear it 

Shirayuki stares for a long minute, trying to reconcile her nerves with -- with this. Izana Wisteria texting her in the full light of day.

It was unexpectedly refreshing to have a new player I trust I will be seeing you this Saturday?

She shuts her jaw with a click. Izana -- he wants her to -- to --?

She’s being invited back. Not just as a polite end to the session, but -- but --

The phone nearly flies from her hand as someone shoves past her, and she realizes right in front of the bus drop off is probably not the best place to be having this conversation. She just has to get to class and --

She grits her teeth. She just has to get to class, and manage to be normal with Zen and Kiki too.

No problem. She -- she can text Izana Wisteria now; she can do anything.

Hopefully.

“Shirayuki”

Every hair stands on end at the sound of that laconic voice, and not for all the nice reasons it usually does. This is it, the Bridge to Terebithia precipice; this all either leads to adventure or tragedy, and she never wanted to swing across the ditch to find out --

“Shirayuki.”

Her head swivels, and Kiki is looking as perfect as she always does, jeans tucked into tall socks tucked into boots, every button on her plaid shirt in its appropriate hole in a way Shirayuki has never managed. The hand she’s raised lowers back down to the desk, no hesitation or self-consciousness in the movement, just -- the surety that she’s been seen and her attention is wanted.

She turns back to Zen, and Shirayuki just -- wishes she could be Kiki for a day. To know what being that confident was like.

And it’s that that gets her legs moving, that makes her take the swing, sliding into the desk right in front of her. Kiki spares her a glance, a friendly smile tilting her lips, and Zen --

Zen looks like he might faint.

“Hi,” he manages after a long moment of working lips. “How was your --? You had a good --?”

He coughs, reddening under Kiki’s flat stare. “There was a weekend?”

“Yes?” she tries, wincing as her voice squeaks.

Kiki lets out an amused huff, folding her arms under her chest. “Zen want to ask if you had a nice weekend.”

“Oh.” She blinks, swiveling her neck toward him. “I see.”

“But he’s also aware he pretended to be King Arthur in front of you,” Kiki drawls, feet kicking up on the book rack under her chair. “And he doesn’t know if that was too weird for you.”

The tension rushes out of her all at once, and she smiles, relieved. “I had a great weekend.”

Zen’s face splits into a boyish grin, his cheeks pink. “Good. I mean, great. That’s great.”

“I’m glad we’ve gotten all that out of the way,” Kiki interjects, flat. “Maybe Zen can stop considering a last minute transfer to prep school.”

His head whips toward her, betrayal clear on his face, but -- but Shirayuki’s just so relieved that things are normal that she only laughs, only smiles and says, “I had a lot of fun. I hope I did okay?”

“Lynet was great,” Zen rushes to assure her. “Though I still think Gwenhwyfar would have been --”

“Boring,” Kiki supplies with a smirk. “It was a great call to make a character with both offensive and supportive casting -- after all, we’re all sort of...”

“Physically inclined?” Shirayuki offers. She doesn’t know exactly what all the classes do, but even from one session, she can tell whatever magic the rest of the party uses is generally for making them hit harder and better.

“That’s a gentle way to put it.” Kiki grins. “I’m looking forward to your quest, too. We’ve just been gallivanting around doing fetch quests for the past few months.”

“It’s for the people,” Zen mutters, a prince to the hilt. “It’s important.”

“Of course it is,” Kiki replies with no conviction. “But it’s about time we got something meaty.”

YES sorry autocorrect yes, I’ll be there on saturday

The enthusiasm is appreciated

I’m not imposing am I? I know I came in with a quest I don’t want to take over the game

Not at all No need to apologize for bringing in plot I admit I had been...concerned about the balance of the game A new player can upset the dynamic of a party But my fears were clearly unfounded

Oh...good

You and Obi fit in just fine

Her hands freeze over the screen. Obi. She hadn’t -- hadn’t forgotten about him, of course, not when Lynet spent a whole scene rolling around with his tiefling on the floor of her lab. It’s just -- just --

Even looking at his name makes her skin feel tight, makes her heart beat hard in her chest. And she...likes that.

Have you coordinated with Obi for this weekend? Izana asks, like -- like they’re some sort of unit. He told me you’re on the way. There is no need for you to take a bus.

Her fingers hover uncertainly. um not yet

Let me give you his number, Izana says, taking away her excuse before she can even think it. I look forward to seeing you both this weekend

She stares at the ten digits and bites down on a scream. Great, she manages. thanks

“Hold up.” Kihal’s palm waves in front of her face. “I’ve had to hear all about your nerd night insecurities re: the trust fund twins, but you’ve never mentioned cute college boy?” She sits back with a huff, arms folded over her chest. “I thought we were friends, Shirayuki.”

She wishes her skin were like Kihal’s; at least then she might have a chance of covering up the blush working its way up her neck. “I didn’t say he was cute.”

“You didn’t have to.” Kihal nips the phone from her hands, thumbs scrolling lightning fast. “Because if he wasn’t cute, you would have mentioned him before, but now you are freaking out about sharing air with him for like, tops ten minutes, so not I know he is.”

“It’s fifteen minutes,” she protests lamely. “And he did try to kill my character. He might be a jerk.”

“But still cute,” Kihal counters with a shrug. “And he already drove you home, so you know he’s not some asshole.”

“Well, yes,” she allows, hesitant. “I just don’t want to -- to inconvenience him or anything. He probably has better things to do than cart around a high schooler.”

“First, he’s going to the same nerd thing you are, so no. Second --” she drops the phone onto the table -- “doesn’t seem like it.”

hi its Shirayuki pick me up @7 on saturday?

def

She can feel the blood draining from her face. “What --?”

“Do you think he knows I mean the nerd thing?” Kihal wonders aloud. “Maybe I just got you a date.”

“That’s --”

“Man, maybe I should join your nerd night,” she mutters, leaning back on the bench. “Zen’s brother is hot too, right?”

SOS SOS SOS I don’t have anything to wear

wear? i thought this was just nerd night not a DATE

it’s not but i should wear something appropriate

what like a robe and a wizard staff or something

. . . .

i thought college boy isnt cute so it doesnt matter what you wear

it’s not about Obi being cute

oooooh so he IS cute nice

focus please its just Zen’s house is REALLY nice

omg what like the dress code is white tie by default because he’s got money

no it’s just intimidating there’s marble in the foyer, Kihal they say it foi-yay

this is like the best info I’m gonna say foi-yay a dozen times to wisteria on monday but seriously im sure whatever your wearing is fine you dress like a cute little elf naturally

is that a compliment?

if ur going to ur nerd night it is

“Shirayuki!”

She nearly drops the phone at the pound of Busha’s knock, fumbling it midair until it lands squarely in her palms. “I’m here!”

“So is your friend,” she says in that pointed tone Busha thinks is subtle. “He’s waiting.”

I gotta go, Shirayuki texts, shoving the phone into her bag. he’s here

She sprints into the kitchen, but it’s far, far too late -- Busha and JaJa are already at the door, all smiles, crowding Obi. Who looks...nice.

She’s only met him the once, but there was something about the baggy band t-shirt and torn jeans that seemed -- like him. Something in the way he slouched around in them like a second skin, kicking up his thick-soled boots on the chair across from him, like it probably didn’t cost more money than either of them had ever seen at once.

But he’s not wearing that now. Tonight he’s -- polished, button-down over a thermal shirt, non-ragged jeans, hair looking like a brush might have been briefly introduced to it before he went out the door --

It looks very...date-ish.

“Didn’t have to drive too long, did you?” JaJa is asking, tugging on his sleeve to pull him further into the apartment.

“Have you eaten yet?” Busha may not be able to see like she could before, but she can scent skinny boys. “We still have some kielbasa and cabbage on the stove. I’m sure you could have some while Shirayuki --”

Shirayuki stomps on her boots in record time, snagging a metal tin off the counter. “I’m ready!”

Obi startles, gaze jumping from Busha to her. His eyes go wide -- it’s got to be a trick of the light, how gold they look -- and he rounds his shoulders, the smallest bit.

“Hi,” he manages with a smile she might consider shy, if it wasn’t on him. “You -- you want to get going?”

“Oh, but surely you can stay for a little bit,” Busha insists, stepping aside so he can see into the kitchen. “I made cake --”

“SURE,” Shirayuki says, far too loud, pushing past her grandparents with a warning look. “I don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

Obi ducks his head, letting out a bark of a laugh. “Yeah, I think Izana feeds people who make him wait to the koi out back.”

She blinks. “They have koi?”

He grins. “Oh boy, you don’t even know.”

The only thing she needs to do in a car is sit, but even still, her body doesn’t seem to know what to do near Obi.

Her fingers wrap tight around the tin in her lap, the rolled metal lip digging into skin. She’d been doing well the walk down, looking at the google earth photos of Wisteria Manor Obi pulled up on his phone -- there is a koi pond, and even though she denies it, she really wouldn’t put it past Izana to feed some guests to it if they annoyed him thoroughly enough -- but now that they’re in the car, something...changes.

It’s like standing in front of the eel tank in the aquarium; she can feel the charge to air, like there’s something right on the cusp of happening but she doesn’t know what it is, won’t know what it is until -- until --

“What’s that?”

A long finger taps the lid of her tin, ting ting ting, and lightning zings down her legs, leaves them wobbly against her seat.

“Um,” she hums, trying to put her feet flat against the floor, trying to ground herself. “It’s -- cookies?”

A laugh huffs out of him, his eyes rounding. “Wow, trying bribery this early in the game? You that worried about your chances?”

“No!” she yelps, clutching the rim until the rolled lip leaves divots in the creases of her fingers. “It’s a host gift! It’s -- it’s polite.”

His teeth bear down in a grin. “That’s precious.”

She can feel the heat on her face, knows she’s burning from ear to ear and probably from chin to hair as well. “It’s not!”

His eyes flick over to her, and in the dark all she sees is gold before he turns back to the road. “Okay,” he says, insincere.

Her lips press down, a bulwark against her impulse to explain herself, to tell him this is the way she was raised, that she doesn’t understand how everyone here thinks of customary politeness as something -- something cute and rustic. Something exceptional.

That’s not really small talk material. She barely knows him. He doesn’t need all that -- that baggage from her, not when he’s doing her a favor.

She sneaks a glance at him from the corner of her eyes, taking in the brushed hair, the nice clothes.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, ducking her head.

His head swivels to stare at her for a moment. “What? Why?”

“For, you know.” She waves her hand nebulously behind them. There’s no graceful way to say for interrupting your date. “Back there.”

Narrow eyebrows arch toward his hairline. “Oh. Don’t worry about it.”

She grimaces. Sure, he can say that, but it’s not like --

“It’s cute.”

She stares. “Excuse me?”

“Your grandparents,” he clarifies, starkly reminding her of the embarrassing circus by the front door, how Busha had tried to feed him -- “It’s cute. Them seeing you off.”

“Oh,” she sighs, trying desperately not to sound mortified. “Yes. That. Great.”

His eyes slant toward her, eyebrow cocked. “Was there something else?”

“I just...” She bites her lip. “I only mean that -- that I’m sorry you had to come pick me up.”

His brows furrow. It’s hard to tell in this light, but for a brief moment, illuminated by streetlight, she thinks she sees -- uncertainty. Maybe even something like regret.

“I mean, I’m grateful!” she assures him. By the dubious look on his face, she doubts it’s helping. “But since you were coming from -- from --” your date -- “somewhere.”

That makes him blink, make his eyes round in surprise. “Coming from somewhere?”

“Yeah.” She gestures at him, trying to encompass the whole...look. “You’re dressed up really nice.”

It’s not like she knows him well, and Obi’s skin in that sort of copper tone that makes sorting out this sort of thing difficult, but --

There’s some pink up on his cheeks. She’s almost certain of it. “I -- I always look like this.”

It’s not like she can really say with any authority how he dresses typically; aside from tonight, she’s only seen him the once, but -- but there was an easy casualness to the way he wore his torn up jeans, work boots crossed over at the ankle; and these clothes --

Well, it looks like someone’s got a rod down their spine. Or maybe -- a book perched on their head. Some reminder of what good posture looks like.

“But last week --”

“I was in a hurry.” His shoulders round over the wheel, making his voice little more than a mumble. “I dress nice all the time.”

She knows her mouth is hanging open, just slightly, but words are jockeying for place on the tip of her tongue; things like, I don’t think you’d say ‘dress nice’ if that was your normal.

“Ask anyone,” he snaps, defensive. “I do.”

She’s not sure what makes her want to prod at him like this, but she’s ready to, ready to tease him about how only Izana knows him, and he’d never spill his secrets unless it benefited him in some way, but she’s interrupted by the looming gates of Wisteria Manor. Obi leans out, getting them buzzed through, and by the time he’s back in the car the moment feels...gone.

It’s fine. Maybe she can suggest Beaumains gets a change of outfit too.

“What’s that smile for?”

She startles, twisting in her seat, right into where he’s leaning inquisitively over the center console. “Oh, um...”

It would be rude to tell him that she was daydreaming about how to tease him. Also, she seems to have misplaced her ability to word good getting so close to his grin. “I just...like smiling?”

He lets out a huff of a laugh as he turns away, throwing the car into drive as the gates clang open. He says something as they pull away, but something happens in the vicinity of the engine, a grindy clunking that sounds like gears failing to catch for a solid second, and she can only just make out, “...trouble.”

Her instinct is to open her mouth, to protest, but --

But instead she settles back against the seat, leaning her hand casually against her chin. Trouble.

“--do you really think I’d make bombs without some kind of protection?”

All she can picture is sharp, white teeth. “You are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met --”

Maybe it would be all right to be trouble. At least for him.

The Wisterias have a valet for their guests -- Obi argues with him on the veranda, reluctant to hand over his keys, even if it’s just to a well-loved Honda that probably saw its best days when Clinton was president -- but it’s still Izana who greets them at the door, polite smile firmly in place.

“Are those cookies?” he asks mildly, after inviting them to take off their hoodies, though he doesn’t readily provide a location to which they’ll go.

“Yes!” Shirayuki pipes, hunching her shoulders over the tin. “I thought -- it would be polite?”

Izana takes the tin as if he half expects it to explode. “I didn’t expect you to be the sort that resorted to bribes.”

“It’s not!” she sputters out, clapping her hands to her cheeks, wishing it could keep them from burning. “I just -- it’s a host gift.”

“A host gift,” Izana echoes softly, staring down at the snowman on the top. She probably could have found a less...festive box, but at the time, she’d thought it seemed friendly. “How lovely.”

For a moment, they all stand awkwardly in the hall. Then Izana glides into movement, gesturing to the hall beyond with a hand and nod of his head.

“Come on then,” he says, tucking the tin under his arm. “We’re just about to start.”

Shirayuki slips in front of him, headed toward the basement door as the boys fall into step behind her. They lag behind, just slightly, but not so much that she can’t hear Izana remark, “I didn’t realize you had plans tonight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Obi returns, cagey.

She can hear Izana’s eyebrow raise. “You’re all dressed up.”

She shouldn’t laugh, she shouldn’t, but --

“This is how I always look!”

She covers it with a cough, barely.

“Oh,” Izana says, so mild. “Of course. How silly of me to forget.”