Obi always paid back his debts. In his line of work, having allies was a cold business, and yet, whenever someone did something for him, he always made sure to pay them back in kind. So somewhere along the way, he ended up serving the ultimate debt of servitude, when the Second Prince of Clarines saved his life on a fateful night. And even thought Zen insisted that it didn't matter if Obi paid him back or not, Obi couldn't help but feel obliged in the first place.

How else could he repay the weight of a life except with his own?

.

.

"...You're not angry with me?" Obi asked. On another occasion, he might have sounded desperate or apologetic, but on this particular night, there was only genuine curiosity in his voice. He stared at the deep red smudge on his wrist, and the matching stain that was on his master's neck. "Seriously?"

"How could I be angry with you?" Zen scoffed. "You've dedicated your whole life to me. The least I could do is be someone worth dedicating it for."

"I bit you," Obi said. He raised his smeared wrist for proof of the action, while his eyes were trained on the red droplets that were now gathering around Zen's collarbone. "You should hate me for that. Kill me, even."

"Do you want me to hate you?"

"No."

"Then why say it?"

"Isn't it normal to hate vampires, though?"

"Maybe," Zen conceded. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began to apply pressure to the neck wound, as if it were a normal occurrence. Yet from the way his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly and his shoulders hunched up a mite, Obi could tell that the sensation and pain startled him in more ways than one.

Was he being modest for Obi's sake? His eyes were golden again and glimmering with fear at the mere thought of it: the thought of his master, Zen, holding back for his sake and his alone.

What a terrible orderly he was.

"Maybe you're right. But I make it a habit to not hate everyone I come across," Zen said. "If I did that, I don't think I'd have any friends left."

"Friends—"

"You're dear to me, Obi. I hope you'll stay by my side after all of this is said and done."

He faltered. At this point, the blood on his wrist had dried and was starting to crust, but he ignored the itching sensation as he stared long and hard at Zen, trying to figure out what kind of brain was in that human skull of his—because whatever it was, it wasn't making any sense.

Yet he obeyed its will, all the same. "I wouldn't want anything else. I'll stay. If you'll have me."

"Good," the prince sighed. "Good, I was worried there for a second."

"Yeah, well, this doesn't usually happen with people I like. I'll try not to do it again—"

"Actually, I wouldn't mind it if you did."

Silence.

The blood on Zen's neck was starting to dry up, too.

Obi's throat felt dryer. "What?"

"Don't get the wrong idea! I just don't want you going out and biting random people," Zen snapped. "That is what you do, right?"

He didn't bother lying this time. "Right."

"That won't do at all. It's pretty much counter-productive to everything I'm trying to do here." He chuckled, gesturing to their general surroundings. Obi knew the structure and layout of the royal palace. He didn't need reminding that it was marble balconies and hallways he stalked at night, or that the tall iron gates were more like a landmark to him than they were obstacles.

Still, Zen had a point. Obi admitted to that, at the very least. "So what you're telling me is that...it's okay to drink from you?"

"Not only is it okay, it's that I don't want you drinking from anyone else."

"Does that include—"

"Including Mitsuhide and Kiki."

"Okay, but does that include—"

"Definitely not Izana, either. He'll actually kill you and it'll be really hard to stop him then."

"Fine."

"Good," Zen repeated. He sat down on a chair across from Obi's place on the windowsill, facing Obi who remained attentive and combat-ready—despite the lazy way he twirled a dagger in his free hand, and the way his other hand had remnants of royal blood on its golden skin.

From this angle, Obi could see that Zen was a little bit weaker than he first anticipated, with slight shivering and a scrunched-up expression. Either that, or he accidentally drank more from his master than he meant to. Regardless of the cause, he felt an odd wave of guilt rise up through him, and he knew that from this point onward, he needed to be more careful.

Yet Obi would be lying if he didn't say that he was secretly happy in having unlimited access to Zen's blood. As he licked off the dried spots from his wrist (and as he licked away at the streaks of blood on his master's neck and collarbone, too), he couldn't help but think that this arrangement wasn't fair at all, and Obi had been the only one benefitting from their relationship since day one.

Oh well, he thought to himself. It is what it is.

I'll have to work extra hard, in that case.

.

.

Obi didn't care if his fellow vampires were caught in the royal crosshairs. Alliances were short and succinct, all partnerships founded on business and formality. There were no hard feelings in the mercenary world or the vampiric one, and it just so happened that Obi belonged to both at the same time.

"You're a fuckin' traitor," one of them spat at him. Obi clearly remembered being their friend once upon a time, and how they both teamed up to take down a particularly dangerous vampire hunter back in the day. That memory felt so close yet so far away. "You're working with the enemy!"

"An enemy of Master's is an enemy of mine," Obi stated coldly. "Sorry."

And to no one's surprise, as the other vampire's head came to a slow roll at his own feet, Obi wasn't feeling very sorry at all.

.

.

Obi knew Shirayuki, of course. She had known Zen before he did, although they saw little of each other in spite of this. It wasn't that Zen forbade him from seeing her (except he made it clear that she was definitely off blood-limits), but rather that Obi made it a point to avoid her because she was a sweet human girl that didn't need to get mixed up with the likes of him.

Yet, there was a natural gravitation towards her that was almost unhealthy. Whenever Obi had free time—after finishing tasks for Zen, or early in the morning before the prince even awoke—he kept watch on her, and gazed with fascination as the apothecary went about her day, with not a care in the world except for making the world a better place, and getting closer to Zen, all the while.

He tried his hardest to avoid her, but she eventually spotted him, and it all went downhill from there. It was mostly Obi's fault, and he was so nervous from suddenly facing her head-on that he threw a knife at her, and fled the scene before she could realize what even happened. He got a huge scolding from Master after that fiasco, but the following morning, he apologized to Shirayuki, and made it known that the reason he attacked her wasn't that she was a bad person, but rather that he was one.

"I'm a leech, y'see?" Obi smiled toothily, the glint of sharp canines noticeable in the morning sun. "Although I swear I won't bite you. Master says not to, anyway."

He half-expected her to be offended, and dismiss him immediately with fear in her eyes.

She did no such thing.

Shirayuki only stared, and her beautiful green irises blew wide at the realization. Then she stepped closer, hesitantly at first, but too curious to remain apart any longer. "I see. I'm glad you finally talked to me, Obi. I hope we can be friends!"

What?

"What?" Obi's thoughts and words became one as he seemed unable to temporarily function. "What did you say?"

"I said I hope we can be friends," Shirayuki mumbled. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment—embarrassment, of all things—as she repeated herself. "I don't mind that you're a vampire. If Zen trusts you, then so shall I."

Miss, you're making a terrible mistake.

It's a good thing that I'm worse than that.

"Well then!" Obi smiled. "Here's to a wonderful friendship, Little Miss."

.

.

Her hair was bright red. Her blood was redder, and brighter. He wanted to feel them both, soft and spattered, beneath his cold fingertips.

He wanted her to break into a million pieces, just so he could patch them back up together himself.

He wanted her all to himself.

But his Master didn't want that, and he was contractually obligated to adhere to his master's wishes.

And yet, that did nothing to stop Obi from wanting.

And he did want her. Oh, he wanted her so badly.

.

.

The days got better. Obi stuck to his promise and didn't drink from anyone except Zen. Although, with the addition of Shirayuki in his life, it was getting harder and harder to resist temptation. Thankfully, though, he lost interest in all the others—Kiki, Mitsuhide, Haruto, even Little Ryu who he met right after Shirayuki herself—as his fangs became accustomed to one person's taste. Yet in spite of this, his heart began to yearn for someone else's blood, too.

There were times where Obi purposefully tested Zen's resilience and patience, and he did this by gradually increasing the amount and intensity of his feedings. Normally, they were done in private, away from the prying eyes of court officials and the nosy public, usually in Zen's room during the early morning and late night, where few dared to disturb him. His retainers Kiki and Mitsuhide usually picked up on the atmosphere before it happened, and miraculously excused themselves from the room every time.

The second the door closed behind them, Obi stood up, and leaned in close to Zen. They were similar in height, but Obi had the slight edge over his master, so he made a point of staying the prince's arm with his own firm grasp, and hovering near the length of his neck. His mouth slightly parted, eyes fluttered to a near close, as his voice rode in melodic cadences above Zen's skin—translating as hot, teasing breaths that curled up like fog against his flushed surface.

He hissed in reply, but there was a severe lack of conviction in his voice. "Obi! Don't mess around!"

"Sorry, Master is just so pretty from this angle, it's distracting."

"Keep talking like that and I'll hit you."

"Promise?"

Another snarl. "Obi."

"As you wish."

Obi laughed chastely, until the sound was drowned out by a fierce snap. It wasn't bones breaking, but skin. The righteous sound of taut, smooth, youthful skin breaking apart as overly sharp fangs pierced into them like knives. It was the sound of a body and soul yielding to the greedy touch of another. It was Zen slowly, slowly, slowly yielding to Obi—carefully leaning in so that access would be easier, ignoring the heat as it flushed his face and made his thoughts grow dizzy with equal parts admiration and desire.

On days like today, where Obi dared to venture further, he gradually strayed from the usual setup. Normally, the feeding would end there, before the prince became lightheaded due to the loss of blood. After all, they would need some time to revert back to normal afterwards. Obi would have to slake his thirst until the next feeding, and therefore clean himself (and his Master) up before people looked down on their relationship more than they already did. Then Zen would have to wait until the blood properly distributed itself back to the rest of his body, and fix his hair and appearance so he would be less disheveled, and more proper as his station required. On a normal day, that was what would have happened.

Yet on days like today, where Obi truly ventured further, he took the initiative, and pressed against Zen with his body and free hands, nudging him to the closest wall. Zen sputtered, but ultimately complied as he was helpless to deny Obi in the midst of feeding. His lanky frame felt like paper in Obi's hands, and he relished the thought of tearing into him with one careless swipe. Yet the vampire held back against all odds, and focused his energy and passion into draining the prince, rather than maiming him.

It started off with slow, gradual leaps, but Obi's hunger grew rapidly and exacerbated as his golden eyes were swarmed with crimson shades—his fangs protruding and digging deeper, his grip tightening around Zen until he heard his confused murmurs bleed into full-blown whimpering. Yes, Zen whimpered and the sound only worked to increase Obi's desire, frustration, and thirst in full as he drank more and more.

And more, and more, and more.

Zen gasped. "S-Stop. Obi, please—"

Obi didn't answer. He made no noise except for a guttural, monstrous grunt that passed through his stained lips. He pressed harder, firmer, and further against the prince, until he could feel Zen's skin bruising underneath his touch. The image of perfect peach tones dyed a sickening black and yellow hue made Obi's spine curl—made a chill rise up through him, the iciness of which shocked him back to reality.

Oh, he suddenly thought. Oh, I'm taking too much.

I've gone too far.

Desperately, Obi ripped himself away from Zen. The movement was rough, careless, and not at all like the practiced gaiety that Obi was known to carry himself with. He staggered backward, right hand raised to smudge the blood away from his mouth, left hand trembling as he realized what he had just done.

Zen, perfectly alive, was still greatly weakened, huffing and red-faced as if inebriated. It wasn't alcohol in his veins, though. Rather, it was a lack of blood causing shortness of breath and confusion, turning all his eloquents thoughts into mush as he slid down against the wall. It was a slow and careful process, until he hit the floor with a pathetic thud. He brought one hand to his bleeding neck, and the other was clenched into a frantic fist. The strength didn't last long, however, as Zen eked out one last whimper for help, until his hands dropped back to his sides, and his head fell forward in defeat.

Passed out.

Of course he was.

Obi was absolutely horrified at what he had done. Of course, he should have been grateful that Zen agreed to keep him alive at all. He should have been even more grateful that Zen allowed himself to be a drinking vessel for Obi, satisfying his vampiric thirst so random outsiders didn't have to fall victim to him, instead. He should have been extremely grateful that Zen never held anything against him, and gave him as much freedom as was needed in order for Obi to be satisfied, day in and day out. He should have been grateful.

Instead, he showed defiance, and went past a boundary that they both knew to be dangerous, yet Obi crossed the threshold, anyway. He was childish, selfish, greedy, and sinful for wanting Zen's blood all to himself. Never before had Master been put out of commission because of Obi's feeding, and never before did he have to plea for Obi to stop, until ultimately the vampire gave in—but not before draining Zen to the point of unconsciousness. He heard the soft heartbeat reverberating through the prince's chest. He heard the unsteady rhythm of life, greatly disrupted by the imbalanced blood levels, further disrupted by hot and heavy pulsations of longing and confusion melding into one. He knew that this sleep would be a painful one, and once Zen woke up, things would never be the same.

But Zen would have to wake up first, and despite all shame and regret, Obi would be there when it happened. Until then, though, he could do nothing but return the prince to his bed, and heal up the wound that was openly bleeding on the length of his neck. Usually, the aftermath of a feeding involved two small but noticeable fang holes in Zen's neck, followed by streams of dried blood that had to be wiped away with a wet cloth.

This time, however, there were four holes—two where Obi initially pierced him with, and another two when Obi forcefully pushed Zen against the wall of his own bedroom, and bit into him a second time with renewed fervor. Those holes were wider, deeper, and messier to start with. Seeing them as Obi did now was guilt-inducing, because he knew that they weren't supposed to exist in the first place. Yet in spite of all his vampiric powers—in spite of his innate charm, unnatural power, and amazing agility—there was nothing he could do to turn back time. This was a permanent mark on their history, and Obi would have to learn to live with it, just as he learned to live with every other decision he made in his life.

Once Zen was nursed back to a reasonable level of healthy, and once all the blood was wiped away (the collar of Zen's shirt had seen better days, but Obi dared not disrobe him now), Obi snuck out to the balcony, and perched himself on the railing as he overlooked the rest of the castle grounds with a stony expression.

If he was going to be punished later on, he needed to act soon, before it was too late.

He jumped down to the ground level, and sprinted to the single destination in mind.

The royal pharmacy.

.

.

News about Obi's accident with Zen would spread soon enough. In fact, he knew he left just in time, because he detected Mitsuhide and Kiki right outside the bedroom door, ready to step in and ask what was taking so long. When that happened, they would come across a strange scene: Prince Zen, passed out in his bed, recently fed from and highly weakened, with no sign of his vampiric messenger and servant, except for the minute traces of blood that stained the carpet and ruined his clothes. The doors to the balcony would be shut fast, and Obi's scent would be undetectable as he was halfway across the palace now, running in the shadows as he evaded the sight of all onlookers.

He stopped by the big, square window in the royal pharmacy, where the windowsill was adorned with flowerpots bearing blooms of various colors. He recognized a sparkling red flower that reminded him of a certain pharmacist, herself.

As he gazed into the window, he saw Shirayuki's figure off in the distance, taking inventory of various medicinal cabinets that were lined with powders and potions alike. Obi heaved a sigh, and then carefully tapped the window's surface.

Shirayuki jumped, and her beautifully green eyes were deliciously blown wide in fear and surprise, the look of which suited her greatly, and tempted Obi's heartbeat and patience to no end. He kept his mouth closed and his eyes even, however, as she walked over to him and opened the window with spread arms.

"Obi?" she asked him over the flowers. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to visit you, Young Mistress." He used his favorite nickname for her, one he used ever since their relationship deepened. In fact, Zen even assigned Obi to be Shirayuki's personal messenger and bodyguard, all while allowing them the freedom of interaction.

To think that he was using that against them now was disheartening, but he soldiered onward.

"I know, but aren't you, Zen, and the others usually busy during this time?" She leaned forward, and rested her hands on the window frame as she peered over the edge. "Did you need something from me?"

"You don't know the half of it," he murmured. In a louder voice, he spoke with the usual amount of cheer and cunning. "Yeah, well, Master is taking a rest so I thought I'd drop by. Can I come in?"

"You don't need my permission to come inside," Shirayuki insisted. She smiled as she took a step back, and nodded to him, anyway. "Of course. But next time, use the door."

"No promises," he told her as he leapt inside, with no small feat but his own. He shut the window behind him, and waited for Shirayuki to turn around before he drew the curtains closed, as well. "Are you busy? I wanted to talk to you about something important."

"I was finishing up inventory," she said. "Give me a few minutes and then I'll be all yours."

"Oh, Miss. I wish you'd watch your turn of phrase."

She swiveled on her heels, and shot him an incredulous look that only made him think worse things about her. "What do you mean?"

It took all the strength in his body—every ounce of his being and willpower—for Obi to resist biting her right then and there. It would be so easy, too, since Shirayuki was so much weaker than he was, and quite easy to take advantage of. It would be easy to steal the breath from out of her lungs and the blood from her neck, and even easier to unravel her, and make her want him to bite her over, and over, and over again. It would be too easy, which was why he needed to remind himself that she was a good person, and that he didn't need to destroy every good thing that ever came into his life.

"Never mind," he said in a bitter voice. "Just take your time and finish up."

.

.

"So, what is it you wanted to talk about?" Shirayuki sat down on a chair, while Obi perched himself on the counter across from her. Ryuu and Garrack were both out on lunch break, and work had been slow-going, for once in their lives. The opportunity of an easy day was a clear blessing from the skies.

It was just one of the many blessings that he knew he didn't deserve to have. Still, he answered her in earnest. "It's about Master."

"Zen? What about him?"

"Well, it feels weird telling you this, but Master and I got into a little fight."

She gasped. "No way! You did? But why—"

"It's my fault," Obi cut in. "I was being selfish."

Shirayuki frowned. "Selfish? You? Sorry, but I have to laugh. You're one of the most selfless people I've ever met, Obi!"

"Haha, if you say that, it sounds like you haven't met many people at all, Young Mistress!" He leaned back into the wall behind him, and spared her a string of giggles. They were half-sincere, but he already felt better just by talking to her. "The problem is the difference between Master and I, you see. Between our desires."

Suddenly, she grew quiet. Although Shirayuki was smart and clever in her own right, there were some things that lay beyond her understanding. But she caught onto the desperate tones in Obi's voice, and pieced together the puzzle herself. Her voice was stuck somewhere in between curiosity and fear. "You mean it's because you're a vampire, right? Did you get into an argument over blood, or something?"

Even though Obi was the vampire in this situation, he felt bewitched by her. Whenever she spoke so earnestly, or made such thoughtful expressions, he only reacted by telling her the truth, and coming undone at her unbidden request. "I drank too much from him today. He's going to kill me for good."

"He wouldn't do that," she reminded him. "Zen can be scary when he's mad, sure, but he'd never do something to hurt you. He doesn't treat vampires like other people do."

"Neither do you," he pointed out. "No one here does. I mean, Count Haruka still hates me, but I consider that a good thing."

"See?" Shirayuki laughed chastely. "You've got a ton of people in your corner, Obi. I don't think he's going to hold this against you. I mean, you were probably really thirsty, and couldn't resist, right?"

"Right." He didn't have the heart to tell her that he fully had the power to resist—that he really shouldn't have gone to the lengths he did—except that he didn't want to. "It's just, he's really weak right now. It'll take the rest of the day for him to go back to normal."

"Oh."

"I guess it's because Master said I shouldn't drink from anyone else," Obi sighed. "He's too kind. I always promise not to drink from any of the staff, or any of the innocent townspeople. I just wander off and snag some baddies waiting to pounce on travelers in the forest, or something."

"You do?"

At least there was one thing he could be honest about. "I do."

"That's just like Zen, though," Shirayuki sighed with admiration. "Always thinking about others."

"I know."

"Well, Obi, if the problem is that Zen is getting tired since he's the only one you're allowed to drink from, I think that…"

Don't say it, Miss. Don't say it.

If you say it, I won't be able to refuse.

Obi silently willed to himself, Shirayuki, and the whole universe that she wouldn't give in to his unsaid desires right now. That if she only knew what he really thought, she'd know not to say the next words that would come out of her mouth, since she would be signing herself away to a life of misery and unhappiness.

Don't say it, he pleaded inwardly. Don't.

"...maybe I could help you."

His heart nearly stopped beating. His eyes gleamed with some strange emotion, and he pulled up his scarf to hide the wide grin forming on his face without permission. With a stifled tone of introspection and regret, he croaked out: "What do you mean?"

She turned as red as her hair, and stayed quiet for an entire minute before speaking out, herself. "Y-You could drink from me, too, if you want. If it helps Zen so he doesn't suffer by himself, then I'd allow it."

"I don't think you understand what you're saying." I want you so badly.

"I think I do."

"I could hurt you." If I start drinking from you, I might not stop.

"I know you won't."

"Zen will kill me." If I don't kill myself first for doing this.

"I'll talk to him."

"Shirayuki." You don't know how much this means to me.

"Obi," she said, with a noticeable hint of finality. "I know what I'm getting myself into. I want to help. Besides, how many times have you and Zen saved my life? How many times have you helped me? I think this is the least I could do for you."

"But Zen—Master—will actually kill me. I don't want to—"

"I'll talk to him!" Shirayuki repeated. She stood to her feet, but even then she was barely eye-level with Obi, who was still seated on the counter in front of her. "We can work something out."

"Do you really think it'll be that easy?" His voice was quiet and low, because he lacked the energy and the intent to speak up louder. To speak up against her. "You know how he is. It's going to kill him. Plus, I promised him I wouldn't. And I could never lie to him—"

"Then how about this? We don't tell him in the first place."

The words were poison filling the air, and Obi drank them up. He had to feign the feeling of doubt and confusion as he breathed out: "What?"

"Let's keep this a secret between you and me," Shirayuki insisted. He was sure that he hadn't done anything to charm her or influence her just now, but she spoke as if there was something else controlling the words coming out of her mouth. "No one else has to know."

"I…"

"Obi, please. It's okay."

"Are you sure about this?" Despite saying that, Obi hopped off the counter, and stood at full height. He towered over her, and he could see the shadows in her eyes turning into mixed parts fear and curiosity.

Oh, she was far too curious for her own good.

He wasn't good enough to point this out to her.

"I'm sure," she whispered, afraid of speaking loudly against him. Afraid that anything else would taint this moment, destroy the tension that hung in the air like crawling static. There was electricity between them, as there had always been something brewing beneath the surface. There was always longing, desire, secrecy, blood, and pain to be had when dealing with vampires. And for as long as Obi fantasized it, he never once thought in a million years that his dreams would come true.

The beautiful red would be beneath him, now. He could tear her to shreds. Hell, she offered herself as a shred to be torn. There was no hiding the tiny smile that crossed his face, which revealed his sharp canines and insatiable thirst in the same nanosecond. A flicker of red went over his eyes, and as he blinked—and as he closed the gap between them—Shirayuki couldn't tell if they were golden or bloody anymore.

There wasn't much of a difference to begin with.

"Well, Young Mistress, if this is truly what you want, I'd be happy to oblige." His words ghosted over her, warm air teasing at her fringe and tousling at the strands of hair dangling from behind her ears. Her face lit up and her shoulders tensed.

Was she making a mistake? If so, the intensity of his eyes and the closeness of his body were preventing her from really thinking about it. It was as if all her worries—all her fears, doubts, and insecurities—melted away from her, and turned into the cold and vapid air that lingered with faint warmth in between them.

She hummed under her breath, and nodded with half-awareness. "Yes, it's what I want."

Obi smirked against her neck. "Good." He relished the way that his mere breath and slight touch sent shivers down her spine, and caused a quiet mumble to escape her lips unbidden. She trembled, afraid of him, afraid of the emotion that she felt when he stood this close to her. Yet in spite of all her fear, Shirayuki was never one to back down from a challenge, even if this one gambled the essence of her life itself.

Obi wished he felt bad for what he was about to do. To her.

He moved forward, and pressed Shirayuki against the opposite wall, where she gasped as the sudden force caught her unaware. She blinked and sputtered, and looked up to see that her hands were held high above her head, and pinned to the wall with Obi's domineering grasp. She could barely wiggle her fingers, because there was a noticeably lean force pushed against it, rendering her arms immobile, causing heat to burn through her head and redden her face.

How adorable.

"Stay still," he murmured to her. "It hurts less when you do."

She didn't have time to nod as Obi swept in, and kissed the surface of her neck with a near whimsy. She almost laughed at the feather-light touch, but resisted the urge as she bit down on her lower lip, willing the fleeting joy to dissipate at once. In spite of her efforts, she hardly managed to stifle a whimper as Obi's last kiss melted into a bite, and she felt his fangs sink into her, stinging her with their porcelain edge.

It was as if knives were cutting into her, except the blood didn't drip freely from the source as it should. The blood was being drawn, and she could feel the warmth and essence of herself slip away into his mouth, gathering in a pool of blood that he drank easily and carelessly from. She felt an errant stream of liquid trail down her neck, and collect itself at her collarbone—staining the ivory cloth of her work clothes red, spreading out into concentric patterns throughout her person, reminding her she was ruined and bloody by her own admission.

Noticing this, Obi carefully retracted himself, and he admired the perfect fang holes left behind in Shirayuki's once-perfect skin. He saw the blood dripping down, and took this moment to readjust the two of them: releasing Shirayuki's hands, commanding her to be still, and reaching down to lick the blood that fell down to her collarbone. She yelped as his tongue dragged over the surface, and licked clean away the deep red colors that drifted downward over her. Before she could say anything else, however, he grabbed her face, and forced her to stare at him.

His eyes were deep, bloody, and red. She swore they were the most beautiful things she ever saw in her entire life.

He spoke. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she feebly answered. "I-I'm fine."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"...I don't know."

He raised his brows. "So...do you want me to keep going?"

"Are you still thirsty?" She threw a question back at him in a last attempt to regain agency over herself. "If you are, you can still...uh…"

"Fine. Just a little bit more, okay?"

"Okay."

"Haha. You're cute, Young Mistress."

"Me? Cute? I—"

"Actually, if it's okay, in this moment and this moment alone, I'll call you by your name."

She turned even redder, and this time, the blood had nothing to do with it. "W-What? Obi, I—"

"Is that okay, Shirayuki?" He teased her, neared her, and brought his lips to her neck, where he kissed other remnants of blood away. The holes were still fresh and wounded, and he would make sure to go back for a second round. But he looked away from them for just a moment, and glanced at her instead, relishing in the way that her entire being trembled and shook before him. "Is it?"

"Yes," she muttered, huffing quietly. "Quit teasing me already…"

"As you wish."

The sound of his laughter died down as he bit into her once more, with feeling. She gasped at the sudden contact, his fangs warm and wet, but chilling her like ice. This time, no blood strayed from where it should have, and Obi pulled away with a stained mouth and glimmering eyes. He took Shirayuki's right hand and pressed it against her neck, ignoring her protests as she would have rather fainted against the wall than be forced to deal with her own lack of lucidity.

The red color in his eyes drained back to gold, and he flicked away the last few droplets that remained on his fingertips. "The wound should close up soon. Keep applying pressure. Although, I guess I don't have to tell you that, do I, Miss Pharmacist?"

"No, you don't," she agreed, and wrestled the counter for a clean rag she could place against her neck instead of her bare hand. She was flustered: hair tangled, limbs awkward, work clothes stained beyond repair. Obi was sure she had a spare change of clothes lying around somewhere, and that she would calm down enough to stop shaking soon, but as for the hair?

He smiled, reaching out, and straightened her unruly strands of hair. Shirayuki jumped at the contact—still reeling from the recent feeding—but eventually gave in as she closed her eyes, and rested her head against his palms. "Hmm," she mused. "That was different than I imagined it to be."

"How did you imagine it?"

"I thought it would hurt more."

He laughed. "What if I was going easy on you, then?"

"As if," she scoffed. "Nice try, Obi. But I wasn't just messing around when I said I'd help you. So I'm sure you wouldn't hold back if you were really thirsty like you said you were."

I never said I was. "You got me there, Miss."

"Oh? We're back to the 'miss' now?" She raised a brow, and he resisted the urge to laugh right in her face. "What was that you told me just then...calling me 'Shirayuki' in that sultry voice of yours?"

"Haha, I have no idea what you're talking about." His heart was on fire, but he'd let the words slough off him like water. "I should get going. It might look suspicious if I stay here any longer."

"Okay," Shirayuki agreed. "I need to change out of this, anyway. Wouldn't want anyone to see me like this."

"Right."

"And Obi, don't think too highly of yourself."

He blinked. "Huh?"

"I wanted this, too," she reminded him. "So don't act like you're all on your own, okay?"

He sighed out, and gave a quick nod to dismiss her words, rather than to accept them. He was a monster through and through, and no matter how sincere or helpful Shirayuki was, nothing she did would change that.

"I'll keep that in mind," he promised to her; lied to her. "I won't forget."

.

.

He was ready for death. It was inevitable, as a living being, and even more inevitable as Zen's orderly. There was a definitive line crossed earlier, and Obi had done the cowardly thing and ducked out when the timing was right. He managed to secure more blood from Shirayuki, but that wouldn't matter much if his Master exterminated him before he got the chance to do it again.

Nevertheless, Obi faced punishment head on, and inhaled deeply. The noise was usually a hindrance to him—one loud, noticeable breath was all it took for the enemy to spot him—but today it was comforting. He thought of the air going in and out of him, and the air he'd soon lose should he confront Zen like he resolved to do. There was always the option of running away, but Obi had a debt to pay, and so he couldn't skip out on town like he normally did. In fact, putting himself in a place of servitude, and enjoying that station, no less, was something outside of the norm.

Would life have been as fun, had he not spent it with Zen and the others? Would it have been as exciting, had he not known Shirayuki and tasted her blood as he did? Would it have been better to stick with the usual group, a misfit motley crew of vampires that took on odd jobs as they came?

Those questions circled like hawks in Obi's mind, although the moment he leaped onto Zen's balcony, all the thoughts disappeared. The doors to the balcony opened swiftly, and standing there with a resolute expression and crossed arms was none other than Zen Wistalia, Second Prince to the Clarines Kingdom.

Obi was silent.

Zen spoke up. "Obi. You've been gone for a while now."

"Yeah," he answered simply. "Yeah, I left while Master was resting."

"We need to talk."

"Before that, I just wanted you to know that I'm willing to accept whatever punishment I'm about to receive. I kinda deserve it."

"Only kinda?"

"Okay," Obi conceded. "I really deserve it. Guilty as charged! Where's the guillotine, huh? The silver sword? The—"

Zen stepped forward, and Obi's heart leaped at the thought of sudden death taking the words out of his mouth. Before he could stutter, finish his jokingly grim line or misplaced words, or even take a single step back, Zen was already in front of him, and his hand was raised until it wasn't—until a firm force brought it down, and Obi felt his face fly and his head turned to the side.

Zen slapped him. He knew it from the warmth in Zen's fingers, which left lingering touches on the surface of Obi's skin. He also knew it from the way his eyes were now turned to the horizon, head swiveled to view the world from a sideways view, neck stretched against itself forcefully so.

It took a moment, but Obi slowly turned to face his master once again, utterly surprised at the fact that he was still in one—albeit injured—piece. "Master? What was—"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't want to kill you?" Brilliant blue eyes narrowed, and Obi felt naked. He tugged at his scarf, and hid his trembling mouth behind its fabric. It did nothing to lessen the blows of Zen's explosive anger, however. "Stop fantasizing about death and listen to me, for once."

"Okay."

"You could have told me that you were extra thirsty these days," Zen pointed out. "You could have given me a hint that 'hey, Zen! My throat feels like the desert and I could use some water-that's-not-really-water' or whatever hint you wanted to. You could have said something."

"..."

"Instead, you waited until you lost control, and made me pass out." Rather than sounding angry, Zen's tone noticeably shifted to something ambivalent, as his face flushed and the bitterness in his voice lost its edge. "And ran off like a kid that got scolded, or something."

"You're scolding me right now," Obi reminded. "It's not just a child's problem. Master is notorious for his temper, after all! You're kind of a stubborn guy, Zen."

"I don't need to hear that I'm stubborn from you of all people," he grumbled. "What I mean to say is that although it's not your fault if you get thirsty, you should at least take responsibility. If you told me earlier, I could have helped."

"...So, you're not going to get rid of me?"

"No, I'm not."

"...And it's okay to keep drinking blood from you?"

"Of course it is!" he snapped. "Who else will you drink from that I'll allow?"

No one, but that didn't really stop me earlier. "No one."

"Exactly. And you'd best believe that I'll make sure it never happens. Especially with Shirayuki. Just because she knows you exist, doesn't mean I'll let you take her blood as you want." His gaze was stone and his eyes were ice as he gazed over Obi, looking past him and into some unknown horizon that the other could never hope to see. Nevertheless, Obi ogled him in wonder, thinking to himself that it was impossible for someone as stubborn and irritable as Zen to still be charming and handsome as he was—especially in mid-lecture.

He thought it was funny that he was being told not to do something that he already finished doing. His mouth was still covered by the scarf, so he indulged himself by licking his lips, and tasting a leftover mite of Shirayuki's dried blood on his skin. It prickled his tongue, and flashed his senses alive like a signal flare. Although Zen was staring hard at him, Obi looked away, lest the brightening of his eyes and the excitement in his brows give away his dreaded secret: his forbidden promise shared with the royal pharmacist herself.

One that—in spite of the entire lecture he endured up until now—he would be certain to keep.

"I understand."

"Good. Now, I'd ask if you were thirsty, but you'll understand that I'm not in the mood to offer myself to you tonight." He turned his back on him, but not before shouting flusteredly over his princely shoulder: "I hope you know how embarrassing it was that Kiki and Mitsuhide had to nurse me back to health as if I was sick. And Izana stopped by, too."

Ouch. A visit from the elder prince was never a good thing, especially when it clearly meant that he only wanted to annoy Zen further. Obi simmered with sympathy as he spoke. "I won't let it happen again. I swear it."

"Thank you. That's all I ask of you," Zen admitted. Then he continued walking forward, his strong figure disappearing into the growing darkness of his domain. The doors closed behind him, and Obi felt a zephyr pass through him as it did. He waited until the winds settled down: those formed by the closing of doors, and those that formed in the crevices of his chest, as well.

When it became completely silent, he jumped up from the balcony, and began to climb the castle walls and roofs. He reached the highest point of the Wistal Castle—a small spire that stuck out from one of the main towers—and sat on the curved surface of the roof, with his legs hanging over the side. At this hour, the moon was bright and high in the sky above them, and the clouds were strung in meager wisps of their former selves. Obi found solace in those wisps, and wondered what it would be like to be whole for once in his life.

Leading a double blood life—openly drinking from Zen, and secretly drinking from Shirayuki—was surely the least honorable way to find out. There were voids and holes and chasms in his soul, places where the goodness in him split and left gaps for the light to filter through, like lace over glass. And those pinpricks of light, those weak rays that dared shine on him, came from the company of good people around him, and the energy of blood that constantly flowed through him.

Obi would never be able to give up Shirayuki. He was too fixated on the redness of her very being to let her go. But he never knew that he could also enjoy Zen in the same way, even though his snowy appearance was only red by Obi's own doing—even though it took bones as sharp as knives to break into him, and carefully wear him down bit by bit, until all the white became red, and all the red dripped down slowly and methodically down his frame like water.

Shirayuki and Zen were destined for each other, but that destiny tangled into Obi's life, too. And although they were easily some of the kindest and most generous people Obi had ever known, and although they clearly deserved much more than whatever egregious secrets and lies Obi spurned in the dark, he didn't have it in him to let them go.

He was far too fixated with the color red.

He couldn't wait to breathe them both in, again.

.

.

"Will you continue to follow me, Obi?"

"If it's for you and Mistress, I'm willing to head anywhere."