#but really there is no better way to do Eisetsu Arc

[sabraeal]

Not Mutually Exclusive

[Read on AO3]

Written for @puffdragongirl‘s birthday! Robin has been wanting to read some conference Lyrias crew for years now, and despite my best efforts, I still only managed to get them to the hotel. But at least now I have this conference arc planned out 🤣

The seat belt sign flicks on overhead, its warning plain. Still, Shirayuki can’t possibly sit still for much longer; her phone tempts her, buried in the satchel the flight attendant so cheerfully helped stow beneath the seat in front of her. It would be nothing to reach down, to flip open the bag and hope it’s the only thing that slips out.

Another smiling attendant passes by, and she can’t help it, the temptation’s too great. Shirayuki descends the moment that crisp uniform shows its back, stifling a cry as both her chapstick and her coin purse make a bid for freedom. She stops them with the tip of her toe;. It’s a surgical procedure to nudge them back under the flap while she coaxes her phone out from underneath it, but Opa always said she had steady hands, even if she could never quite decide what to do with them.

The home screen blossoms under her fingers, and with a swipe, the email is right there in stark black and white.

Most importantly, it reads, each word making her pulse spike, please remember that the funding for your trip is coming through a grant from Bergstrom Holdings. It would be best to refrain from mentioning your connections with Wisteria Holdings Ltd., even personal ones.

Her case creaks under her grip. Izana may have a reputation for being inscrutable, but it’s impossible to miss the implication here: act like you have never met my brother, let alone done whatever left those marks on his neck last spring. He’d sent the emails days ago, early enough for it to also mean: and don’t show up with any new ones of your own while you’re at it.

Because that’s what a normal person would assume, wouldn’t they? It’s been almost six months since he’s had Zen flying into Miami on the regular, managing some project of Kihal’s while overseeing the company’s day-to-day operations. Just a few weeks at a time, every hour tightly scheduled, right down to meals and sleep.

But a couple would find some way around it. That’s what Izana expects; he’d tried the same thing when she’d been at Clarines too, heaping club upon club, duty onto duty. And still they’d found a way to sneak in narrow hours, to sacrifice a few moments of sleep so he could slip his hand into hers and look at the stars.

And yet, though the miles between them have shrunk to an hour in Miami traffic, nothing’s changed. She still spends her days split between wet lab and wetlands, writing up grant proposals and collating data into tables. He still takes work lunches and tables discussions, the boots-- or at least, designer shoes-- on the ground for his brother’s interests, making sure that Izana Wisteria’s will is done to the letter, or as close as his conscience allows. They may both look up at the stars, but it’s not side-by-side, fingers tangled to fill their empty spaces.

No, now it’s just texts, maybe a quick phone call if they can squeeze it in between meetings and emails and classes. The sort of catch up she has with Kiki and Mitsuhide, albeit with more days of phone tag. Despite all those years of stressful almosts, he’s gone from being her almost something back into being friends. Just that and nothing more.

It should be disappointing. No, it should be maddening that she put all that effort into becoming the Right Sort of Girl only for it all to fizzle at the finish line. But instead, instead--

Instead, she’s relieved. If they’re not something, then it’s okay to-- to want something else. To maybe glance over at the other end of the couch and wish she could will a look her way. That maybe one day, those cushioned between them might disappear, and he--

“You know--” her seat back inclines, accommodating the way Obi leans over it, grin Cheshire-wide-- “the Big Boss has got a way with words, Doc, I’ll admit it, but they’re going to turn on that No Electronics sign any minute now.”

Shirayuki startles at the sound of his voice, guilt and his grin setting her blood to simmering just beneath her skin. “I know, I know.”

Her cheeks are hot as she fumbles with the screen, stumbling through menus before Obi plucks it out of her hands and sets it on to Airplane Mode with two taps. His smirk is far too satisfied by the time he slips it back in her hands. “There you go, Doc. Now I gotta go make sure none of the other grandmas need help with their Jitterbugs or whatever.”

Her mouth pulls thin. “Are you supposed to be up? I’m pretty sure the seat belt sign is already on.”

“I like to think of that as more of a suggestion than a rule,” he says, dropping back down into his seat. “Really more like a guideline, I think.”

“It’s not.” Ryuu doesn’t look up from where he’s scrolling through the in-flight channels. “They can fine you up to ten thousand dollars for violating a federal aviation regulation--”

“Alright,” Obi sighs wearily, the sound punctuated by a metallic click. “I get it, Little Guy.”

The plane-wide intercom fizzes, and with only a breath of a pause, a woman’s voice warmly greets them. “Welcome to Flight 597 with service from Miami International Airport to New Orleans International Airport. If we could have your attention for just one moment--”

“Hey,” Yuzuri hisses, poking a pointed finger into Kazaha’s side. “Did you hear that? Scroll faster.”

It would be gracious to describe his expression as long suffering. “I’ll have you know I’m going at the perfect pace.” Her finger stretches out toward him again, aiming for an even softer span of belly, but Kazaha catches her, slapping her hands away with all the strength of a breeze. “Some of us are actually trying to read the pdf, not use it as a Denny’s menu.”

There’s a noise Yuzuri makes, something that lives between a scoff and screech, and when she looses it in the cabin, soulless plastic casing amplifying the sound, it’s...a lot. They are a lot. “Shows what you know, you bougie freeloader. A Denny’s menu would never have so many words.”

“Ah.” It’s strange how Kazaha sounds in pressurized space; his typical unearned confidence sloughs off his words, leaving them tinny and small. “I wouldn’t know.”

When it comes to minding her business, Shirayuki operates on an expert level-- it comes with the territory of waking up to a house full of strangers every morning-- but the two of them are testing her skills. Yuzuri and Kazaha are like parallel lines, traveling in the same direction at the same speed but on utterly different levels, never meant to cross. And yet here they are, cozened up to each other, sharing the same screen.

It’s odd enough to even draw Izuru’s attention, her neck craning around her seat until she can half-look Kazaha in the eye. “You know, you don’t have to read all the talks right now. They are gonna shove copies at us the second we get through the doors.”

“And this is one of the biggest conferences in the field,” Suzu adds, a little too eager. “The thing’s going to be as big as a phone book.”

“I can’t possibly wait that long,” Kazaha snaps waspishly. “I have to visualize my schedule before we get there, otherwise I won’t know how to properly allocate my mental reserve.”

Yuzuri pulls back from his shoulder, nonplussed. “Do you like, even hear yourself? Or does all that just come out with no peer review?”

“Ah, a rebuke that might sting if it wasn’t coming from someone whose brain-to-mouth filter was perforated at birth.”

“At least my parents didn’t skimp on getting the stick surgically removed from my--”

“You know, Yuzuri,” Shirayuki starts, desperation pitching her volume loud enough to draw their stares. “It’s so impressive you’re planning this early. I didn’t even know you, er--” cared about the talks was far too blunt a take-- “had any speakers you wanted to listen to.”

“She doesn’t,” Kazaha informs her officiously. “Yuzuri is not concerned with the content of the talks, but the more, hm, superficial aspects of them.”

Shirayuki blinks. “Like...the quality of the slides...?”

Obi clucks behind her. “Doc.”

“Wha--?”

“Like the hotness of the speakers,” Suzu supplies, so casual. “Yuzuri’s using the schedule as a hook up directory.”

“The pdf is the only one with pictures!” she squawks, barely red at all. “Sue me!”

Izuru snorts. “Someone might, if you pick the wrong fuckbuddy.”

“H-hook up...?” Shirayuki can feel her mouth moving, but there’s no words on her tongue, her entire head empty save for, “But isn’t this an academic conference?”

She swings her gaze to Izuru, longing for some sort of assurance, but instead the woman just reaches across the aisle, patting her lightly on the knee. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“B-but, we have to work with these people--”

Kazaha chuckles, pressing a hand to his chest. “So innocent, so young. Shirayuki--” he leans over Yuzuri, a smug smirk tugging at his mouth-- “we don’t work with them, we email them. And once or twice a year, we all get in the same room, and a good portion of those highly educated, sometimes even tenured intellects decide to think with what’s in their pants for three to five business days.”

“Oh, please.” Yuzuri shakes her head, the golden stream of her ponytail slapping him across the mouth. It’s a mistake-- it’s not like she could plan that-- but Yuzuri doesn’t look particularly sorry either. “Just tell everyone you’re sour because you can’t get a single breathing human to let you in their pants, why don’t you?”

“I--”

“Kazaha’s right though, man,” Suzu’s disembodied voice informs her somewhere behind her seat. “Everyone hooks up at conferences. Nowhere’s safe! Last year they held it at Lyrias, and let me tell you, there are several bathrooms I will never look at the same way again. Those partitions are not sound proof.”

Yuzuri heaves a wistful sigh. “Maybe I’ll get to have one of those this year.”

“It’s overrated.”

Shirayuki cranes her head around her seat, blinking owlishly at Obi.

“What?” He tugs at his shoulder, shrugging beneath his own grip. “I speak from personal experience.”

“Really?” Yuzuri squawks, too excited. “Did you have to--?”

“Ryuu.” Shidan shifts in his seat, fixing them all with a meaningful look, the sort parents gave wayward aunts and uncles. “Maybe you should put on those headphones.”

“Hm?” He blinks up, eyes impossibly large, making him look years younger than sixteen. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Good.”

“I was trying to figure out what a phone book was,” Ryuu admits, forehead wrinkling with curiosity. “Was there an actual, literal book? How would you update it though? They couldn’t just send them out regularly--”

“Excuse me.” Shidan raises his hand, flagging down the flight attendant. “When does drink service start?”

No matter how many times they do the math-- or how many times Suzu enthusiastically points out the flier for a party bus-- there’s no taxi that can fit them all at once. It’s only sensible to split four and four, flag down two vans and pack them to the brim. But still--

“You’re sure you don’t want to ride with us, Ryuu?” There’s hardly any room, but even though he’s been growing like a weed these past few years, he’s still narrow as one. If a dandelion can grow in a sidewalk, they can slip him between Obi and Suzu. “If we squish a little, you could always--”

“I’m fine.” He rolls his eyes to where Yuzuri clambers in, squawking as she stumbles past the two middle seats to the back. “I think riding with Shidan would be safer.”

“Hm, what do you mean?” Shirayuki asks, and she means it, she really does--

Right up until they are barrelling down the highway, the van’s frame shuddering between her feet, and Yuzuri blurts out, “But it’s like wall sex isn’t it? If you fuck in the bathroom.”

Ah. Hm. Maybe she should have gone in Shidan’s car too. They’re probably playing a rousing game of Name That Flora right now.

“Nah.” Obi shrugs, his shoulders broad enough to limn the seat back. “You can’t get good leverage, and when there’s a flat surface, it’s that fake marble shit. No one wants to put their bare ass on that.”

Suzu peeks around the passenger seat. “For like, bacteria reasons?”

“No.” She can’t see Obi’s face, not sitting behind him, but she knows the tilt of his head, the way his muscles bunch around his cheek on one side. “It’s cold as fuck.”

“Well, you’d just do it in the stall, wouldn’t you?” Yuzuri wraps her fingers around the chair back, like if she shakes him, a positive answer might rattle out of him. “Like I said, wall sex. Only easier, since you can brace your feet on the other side.”

Suzu’s forehead furrows. “That sounds hard.”

“Most people have upper body strength, Suzu.”

“No, no.” Obi shakes his head. “Suzu’s got a point. That’s like fifty percent more effort than I want to put into a casual hookup. Plus there’s a non-zero chance that the last asshole to use the pot didn’t flush.”

Yuzuri stares at him. “You can just flush it!”

“I didn’t say I didn’t!” he yelps, squirming away from her probing fingers. “It’s just a real mood killer. One time, I got in there and some guy had --” his eyes glide to where Shirayuki sits, and he makes a strangled noise-- “anyway, there’s no point when there’s beds. Or couches, if you don’t want them in your space or whatever.”

With a roll of her eyes, Yuzuri declares, “What a romantic.”

“You asked,” Obi grunts, hand massaging at his shoulder. “Anyway, if your curiosity is sated, maybe we can--”

“I just don’t understand.” The words fly from her mouth before Shirayuki can stopper them up, turning every eye to her. “Isn’t everyone here to work?”

“Well, sure.” Shirayuki is a connoisseur of patronizing tones, and she can hear this one loud and clear, well-meaning though it is. Yuzuri isn’t precisely talking down to her, but it’s definitely a tolerant tone, the one parents use with particularly smart children. The kind that says, this would be obvious to an adult, but since you aren’t...

“Think of it like this.” Their shoulders bump as Yuzuri leans close, a coy tilt to her smile “All these people are used to being the smartest person in the room, and suddenly they’re with all these other smart people-- maybe people even smarter than them--”

“HA,” Suzu snorts. “Find me a PhD that’ll admit to that.”

Obi grins. “You’d be hard pressed to find a grad student.”

“--my point is, you’re in a hotel filled with people who won’t find it intimidating that you can mark a turtle migratory pattern on a map just by looking at its skull. And it’s once a year, not where you live.” Yuzuri shrugs, as if the math is simple, as if everyone decides these things based on nice faces and opportunity. “It’s not precisely anonymous, but it’s as close as people who live on a grant cycle are likely to get.”

Shirayuki stares. “But it’s a work trip.”

Yuzuri shrugs. “What happens at conference stays at conference.”

The line at check-in winds through the lobby, the tail end of it spilling out toward the bar-- though not close enough according to Shidan’s longing looks. Shirayuki likes to call herself a social drinker-- though with the increased workload at the lab, her opportunities for being social have shrunk to ‘occasional’ at best-- but even she is feeling the siren call of the cocktail. Anything to keep her occupied; her only other option is to join Kazaha and Yuzuri’s game of ‘spot the speaker,’ and, well, she doesn’t have nearly as much interest as either of them. Not when she’s supposed to be looking for another face entirely.

“Hey.” She drags her attention back, right to Obi’s grin. “I think Doc has check-in covered for both of us, so do you guys want something from the bar?”

Kazaha splutters as Yuzuri twists around, her hair flying into his mouth. “Ooh, would you? When they were in Miami there were themed cocktails. I still can’t believe I let Turtles on the Beach get away.”

His eyebrows jump, intrigued. “Can’t make any promises about what they’ll have but I’ll see what I can do. What about you, Doc?” He leans in, placing a hand on her back, and it’s-- it’s shocking to realize how far that warmth spreads, thumb brushing her shoulder blade while his littlest finger rests along the waistband of her skirt. “See anything you want?”

It’s an innocent question, one he’s asked her a hundred times since he dropped into her life unannounced, always the one positioning himself between her and the till, like her greatest threat is buying her own hot chocolate. But today--

Today, a coil of heat unfurls in her gut, slithering south. She wants nothing more than to stop it, than to smother that heat right under her heel and let it smoulder to ash, but she can’t stop it, not even a little. Not now that Yuzuri’s been talking about-- about wall sex, about how nice it is to be held up by big, strong hands like she weighs nothing at all.

And just a few weeks ago that would have been nothing to her, just an entertaining idea for her to trip over the logistics of. But now-- now--

Now she knows how easy it would be to lift her legs, to let her weight become someone else’s problem. How it would be nothing at all for Obi’s heat to press her against the wall and keep her there, his head dropping to her shoulder as his breath skims out over her neck--

“Doc?”

She startles, blinking him back into focus. “Ah, I don’t...have a preference. Anything you think would be good. You know what I like.”

Mischief widens his smile, and oh, that-- that really shouldn’t do as much for her as it does. “Got it. Be back in a sec.”

She doubts it, considering how so many patrons seem to have the same idea. But she can’t complain, not when she clearly needs a minute. Maybe even four or five to give herself a good shake.

“Oh, hey, Shidan!” Suzu swings around to him, the conference guide nearly overflowing from his hands. “You didn’t tell me Garack Gazalt would be at this conference.”

Shidan blinks, staring down at the page. “Ah, yes. She did mention she’d be here later in the week. How did she put it--?”

“‘I have a few irons on the fire that need tending before I can come play,’” Ryuu offers.

Izuru snorts. “And then she referred to the guest of honor as something...impolite to say the least.”

“Ah yes.” One broad hand rubs at his forehead. “That.”

“I suppose that is going to stay at conference this year too?” Kazaha sniffs. “Or will we all get to watch you moon over--?”

“We’ve been over this, there’s is no mooning, we are professional colleagues--”

The line moves-- a whole group must have been checked in at once, considering the sudden void between theirs and the one in front of them-- but Shidan doesn’t. He’s far too caught up with sputtering through his explanation, the slightest hint of pink dusting his ears as he skirts around their undergraduate degrees, and though it’s rude to just leave the space there--

Well, Shirayuki doesn’t want to get involved. She has enough romantic problems without tangling herself up in the complicated, long-distance platonic life partnership of her PI. Or, well, whatever is going on there. She worked with Garack long enough to know that asking questions only leads to more work down the road.

She attempts to skirt around one side of them, hoping that maybe the two of them would pick up the hint, but--

But Yuzuri swoops in, seizing her wrist and dragging her until they nearly trip over the next group’s baggage.

“So,” she hums, too pleased with herself. “What about you?”

Shirayuki blinks. “What do you mean?”

“What are your plans?” Her mouth hooks into a devious smile. “I mean, besides that stuff You Know Who needs you to look into, and like, actually going to these talks for fun or whatever.”

It can be like this, talking to Yuzuri sometimes: like she’s just missed half a conversation. “What else is there?”

“Shirayuki.” Her fingers squeeze around her wrist, warm. “You and that Zen guy are like, done-done right?”

“Ah...” Her feet shuffle beneath her, restless. “I don’t know if it’s really...I mean, nothing’s been said, I just...assumed...maybe...”

Yuzuri scoffs. “Come on, he said goodbye with a handshake. If that doesn’t say over I don’t know what does.”

It would be useless to explain that she’d been the one to hold out her hand, and Zen was ever conscious of the angles cameras could hide, but--

But, well, maybe Yuzuri does have a point. “I...I guess.”

“Right, well, I know.” Her mouth hooks into a triumphant smirk. “And now you’re somewhere where no one is going to expect anything from you. You might as well take advantage right?”

There’s no words that can express how little the idea interests her, not to Yuzuri. “I don’t think...I’ll be doing that.”

“You sure?” Her eyebrow quirks up, followed by her mouth, and oh no, she’s walked into a plan. “Because if you wanted to, I’m sure Obi would oblige.”