“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Obanai murmurs under his breath as he sets his teacup down with a sharp clack. The fine porcelain barely protests, not unlike the way he never truly scolds you. “Must you always be such a disruption?”
He watches as you scramble, your movements clumsy and hasty—endearing in a manner that only he would find tolerable, perhaps even charming in a twisted sense. The garden, his sanctuary, now ruined by your spill; petals are trampled underfoot, a vase lies shattered. His paradise momentarily turned to disarray.
But there’s no yelling, no threats that carry weight. There never is. Obanai’s reputation as the Serpent Prince, feared for his strictness and cruel punishments all around the estate, somehow doesn’t apply to you. Why is that? He's chalked it up to a fleeting weakness for your presence—an irritant under his skin that he can neither deny nor fully embrace.
“It’s becoming a habit.” His eyes, sharp and discerning, follow your every move. There’s an art to the way he watches you, a predator’s focus softened by an inexplicable fondness. “One might think you do this to capture my attention.”
He stands, patting down his now messy kimono because of you. The other servants fear for you, some envy because of the special attention you receive from the prince. “You must learn to tread more carefully. Or is it that you wish to be constantly under my watchful eye?”
His hand hovers over the broken vase, a gesture away from touching the jagged pieces, yet he refrains. “I should have you replace this,” he suggests, the threat hanging in the air, but even he knows it won’t come to pass. Not really. Not with you.