Work Text:
“Anakin, you’re going to hate me.”
Chin in hand, elbow leaning on the bar top as he waited for the inevitable, Anakin flicked his gaze from the random court show on TV over to Barriss, the host. He said nothing, but his glare definitely spoke for him.
“I had to seat you at table seventeen. They wanted a booth, and none of the servers are near that table.”
Fighting the urge to explain for the thousandth time that neither was the table anywhere near his section, he nodded. “It’s fine, I got it.”
The table was nothing out of the ordinary. He went over, fake smile and everything, got their drink order, and went back to the bar to make their margaritas. While he was salting the rim of one glass (“Extra lime, light on the ice, and is it possible we can move to that table instead? This one’s a little drafty.”), he heard a pronounced sigh come from around the corner and Ahsoka appeared, dropping a checkbook too forcefully on the counter.
“Stiffed again,” she said, and Anakin rolled his eyes on her behalf.
“I hate people.”
“Eighty dollar check,” she said angrily, “And I got them like five soda refills each. I did so much running around for them. And for nothing.”
“Don’t be silly, Snips,” he said in his most comforting voice. “Your misfortune means nothing as long as you’re putting money in the pockets of our corporate overlords.”
She nodded in aggravated agreement. “I hate this job.”
That was a damn understatement if Anakin had ever heard one.
Okay, look. It wasn’t really that bad on paper. He’d been working at The Temple, that type of popular chain restaurant that served food that tasted like it’d been microwaved and pretended it was a lot fancier than it actually was, for about two years now. Far from home and fresh out of college with a degree in mechanical engineering, he’d really just been looking for any restaurant job, hoping to rack up enough cash to move somewhere that actually had an active job market in the field he wanted. Application after application, and the only place that would hire him with no experience (how could you get experience if nowhere would hire without experience?) was that infamous corporate chain from all the internet memes. Well, he had to start somewhere, right?
At first, it honestly was pretty okay. Anakin got along well with most of his coworkers, and mostly tried to stay out of the drama, of which he swore there was more and more by the day. He’d started as a busser, then had been hastily trained as a server when they’d been short-staffed because all the college kids had gone back to school, and then eventually he’d started working behind the bar. And it was fine most of the time, except for when it wasn’t, like when both hosts had called out at the last minute and the to-go person wasn’t scheduled to come in for another hour, so he ended up doing the jobs of four people and getting paid jack shit for it, and the whole time the manager was stuck in the office on a conference call with their boss’s boss about how they were doing everything wrong and their sales numbers weren’t high enough….
Okay, really, this place wasn’t all bad. As a corporate chain whose CEO had more money than anyone could ever need, the benefits were good — relative to most other places in the industry, that was. He’d formed a couple friendships that he was pretty sure might be for life — Ahsoka was a few years younger than him but they were into a lot of the same stuff, and though Padmé had left a few months ago to go do an internship at a law office downtown, they still went out for drinks pretty often and had movie nights every now and then….
It had been a bummer when the coolest manager, Plo Koon, announced that he was being transferred to another store, but his replacement was infinitely cooler. Of all the management team (whom the front-of-house staff jokingly referred to as The Council), Obi-Wan was the only one Anakin really liked. Most of them were okay in his book, save for Mace Windu, the cranky general manager who was always breathing down everyone’s necks and and enforcing all the stupid, impractical corporate standards. Windu was always stressing about his boss, Yoda, an absolutely ancient old dude who was really into frogs and probably should’ve retired ten years ago; and Yoda’s boss Palpatine, an equally old creep who came down from corporate every now and then, who clearly had never actually stooped so low as to get his hands dirty and help out, and had definitely never been a member of the working class.
Obi-Wan though. Obi-Wan was awesome. A British vegan in his late thirties who lived in the suburbs and liked simple things like drinking tea on the patio next to his manicured herb garden, Anakin had pretty much nothing in common with him. Now everyone’s favorite manager, he had seemed quiet when he’d first transferred to this restaurant shortly after Anakin had started, but it had quickly turned out he was absolutely hilarious. He had that sort of dry, witty humor that really helped ease the tension during the dinner rush, when everyone was yelling at each other for not stocking the takeout containers or venting that they’d gotten stiffed by a table that had them running around for hours. Obi-Wan seemed like pretty much the only manager that actually helped out, the only one who seemed capable of actually multitasking, the one who always stayed calm even when they were on a wait of two hours and the food was taking thirty minutes to come out.
He was also the one that you felt like you could let your guard down around. There was little of that one-step-up-the-corporate-ladder barrier like there was with the other managers, just because they were salaried and everyone else worked for shitty wages and tips. Obi-Wan was the one with whom Anakin could complain about how much he hated his job because Anakin was pretty sure Obi-Wan hated his job, too, not that he would ever admit it (“Hate is a rather strong word, don’t you think, Anakin?”). He was the one that would pretend he didn’t hear your complaining, the only one that wouldn’t go behind your back and report what you said to Windu and get you written up.
That wasn’t to say Obi-Wan didn’t take his job seriously. He totally did. It was just that, he treated you like a person, not just a cog in the capitalist machine. He didn’t freak out over numbers being too low, he didn’t pull you into the office and scold you for not selling enough desserts, didn’t get annoyed when you made a simple mistake because you have six tables and ten cocktails to make and three refills of bottomless salad to get. You could go to him with your problems and he would actually remember, and take action. He was the one who came up with ideas that would make the restaurant run more smoothly and make everyone’s lives easier. He was the one whose car you hoped to see in the parking lot when you arrived for your shift, only to disappoint you if it wasn’t there.
And, well, if Anakin did sometimes daydream about sucking Obi-Wan’s dick in the manager’s office with the door closed in the middle of the lunch rush, well, that was nobody’s business but his own.
When it was slow, which was less and less these days (yes Anakin knew that being busy was a good thing but he was starting to hate people and didn’t wanna deal with them anymore, why were they so needy) Obi-Wan would hang out in the bar with him and they would chat, about the restaurant and stuff sure, but also about way more interesting things like philosophy and politics (which Obi-Wan went on and on about how much he disliked, but kept up with anyway because “We should all be well-informed of the goings-on of our government, Anakin, no matter how much useless drivel these politicians are spouting on TV”).
And for the record, okay, Obi-Wan being an absolute snack was not the only reason Anakin liked talking with him. He was just a genuinely good person, and besides Ahsoka, really the only enjoyment Anakin got out of this shitfest of a job.
“Hey,” Ahsoka called to him, pulling him out of his thoughts as he was ringing in the food for table seventeen, “I think table three is looking for you.”
Of course they were, Anakin thought, even though he had just one minute ago asked them if they needed anything —
“Can I get another iced tea?” the burly-looking guy at the table said when he got over there, and in his most patient, kindest, friendliest voice Anakin said of course and by the time he had gotten back to the table with a fresh glass of it —
“Oh, and can we have more bread?”
“Sure thing,” Anakin said, fakest of fake smiles faking up his face. “Anything else I can get you besides that?”
“No, I think we’re okay.”
A trip to the kitchen, then back to the table with the bread —
“Can I have another ginger ale?”
UGH.
Fuck this job.
It was another long, exhausting night at work. His first table had been especially needy, asking for this and that and this and that and sending him to the kitchen about a dozen times. His second table had complained that their steak wasn’t pink on the inside, and Anakin had just barely managed to avoid saying “Well, you ordered it well done, sooooo….” Then he’d started to get backed up, when the hosts kept seating him because all the server’s sections were full and heaven absolutely forbid there be a wait on a Monday night so why not just give it to the bartender? And then the servers had started getting impatient because he couldn’t make their drinks fast enough because table two was driving him to what was really beginning to feel like slave labor and then as just pure, sweet, delicious icing on the cake, of course they hadn’t tipped him.
So when it was time to start closing everything down, Anakin found himself praying to all the gods that he didn’t believe in that no one else would come for dine-in because even though they closed in twenty minutes they couldn’t turn anyone away, as demanded by the Holy Corporate Overlords…and he was so fucking exhausted that he barely had it in him to clean the floor.
At least sometimes there was a silver lining. At least Obi-Wan was closing.
And he had been an absolute angel tonight. He was hopeless at making drinks so he couldn’t help there, but he did diffuse the tension when a three hundred dollar to-go order was clogging up the kitchen, slowing all the other tickets down to a crawl, assuring tables that he would go personally check on the progress of their meals and hand deliver them himself….
And if Anakin noticed that Obi-Wan was absolutely lingering here after the rush ended, helping Anakin clean up even though surely he had a bunch of other manager things to do, Anakin maybe tried to act like he wasn’t totally over the moon…and if Obi-Wan then made sure to thank Anakin for doing such a good job tonight despite how stressful it was, Anakin was pretty sure he kept his cool and acted like it wasn’t a super big deal.
When it came time to close, and Anakin had volunteered to hang out even though he’d finished all his stuff (because corporate demanded no one be alone in the restaurant for security reasons) and he found himself leaning against the doorframe to the office, watching Obi-Wan finalize all the daily financial reports. Watching him work, thinking about the exhaustion, the ache in his back and his feet, the strain on his sanity, Anakin wasn’t sure why but he felt like he just had to —
“Hey…I really hate this job.”
Obi-Wan looked up at him with an amused smile. “I know, you say it almost every day.”
Anakin sighed. “Sorry. I’m not trying to put anything else on your plate, it’s just….” He turned away. “Nevermind. Forget it.”
“It’s all right,” Obi-Wan said softly, pausing quickly to write something down, then dropping his pen on the desk and looking back up. He gestured at the empty chair. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Slumping in the uncomfortable seat, Anakin shrugged. Suddenly, he couldn’t meet Obi-Wan’s eye. “I don’t know. I just feel like I’m…wasting my 20’s away, if that makes sense. I really don’t want to sound ungrateful, this is a decent job and all, although it’s really stressful sometimes, and the money’s good, but…I mean, not to make you my therapist or anything, but I’m just not happy here. Like, I’m actually miserable. I know I complain a lot but like, really. It’s just not for me.”
“Is there anything I can do to make life here better for you?”
Anakin shifted, honestly unsure. “I don’t know. You always help out like you did tonight, which I appreciate, but sometimes I just end up doing, like, three jobs at once and everyone’s expecting me to be on top of it all but I’m only one person, you know? And I’m only getting paid for one person even when I have to do takeout, take tables across the restaurant, make drinks, and bus my own tables too because we’re not staffing bussers for lunch….”
Obi-Wan was nodding along to the rant, his gaze wandering as if he were searching for answers, or analyzing what was being said. His elbows were on the arms of his chair and his hands were drawn together as if in meditation. “I agree with you that this restaurant has some structural problems,” he said, “And I have been bringing them up with the other managers. Whether or not they are empathetic, I cannot say. But you must know I am taking this seriously.”
“I know you are,” Anakin said honestly, and he really didn’t blame Obi-Wan for any of this — he was outnumbered, it seemed, by a management team that seemed insistent on not working as the team that they claimed to be.
“There isn’t much in the short term that I can do,” Obi-Wan explained, and Anakin honestly hadn’t really walked into this situation actually expecting anything to be done. Really, he just wanted to vent. Really, he just wanted to vent to Obi-Wan. He knew, instinctively, that Obi-Wan would understand.
“However,” Obi-Wan was saying, “I can promise you I will be mindful of all of this going forward. I already suspected some of what you have told me, and I will work to make things better, for you and for the entire staff.”
Anakin nodded, sort of dumbstruck actually, because he hadn’t had that many jobs before this but he’d never, once, had a manager like Obi-Wan. One who didn’t beat around the bush, who didn’t make things about himself, who didn’t divert the blame to another manager and claim to be innocent in all the structural problems. It was jarring, yes, but also very, very refreshing.
Obi-Wan shortly finished up his work for the night, and didn’t seem to notice Anakin staring at him. For some reason it was just…impossible not to. Anakin didn’t think he’d ever met someone like him (or as attractive as him, but that’s, uh, not what this was about, really) in his entire life.
Chatting idly about something Anakin wasn’t really paying attention to on account of his heart suddenly pounding really hard, they went up front and left the building. The moon was out because of course it was, and some stars despite the light pollution, and it wasn’t quite romantic but there was definitely some kind of tension here, he couldn’t be the only one who felt it, and surely it wouldn’t be that off-base to do what he wanted to do, even though it was definitely not a good idea, but after the night he’d had he was seriously ready to face any and all consequences for doing something reckless and impulsive —
“Hey,” Anakin said after Obi-Wan had checked to make sure the door was locked. Obi-Wan looked up at him expectantly. Screw it, Anakin thought with finality before he said out loud, “Do you wanna fuck?”
If Obi-Wan were anyone other than himself, that ever-calm and collected hunk and totally composed type, Anakin was sure he would have balked at the suggestion. Instead, he simply raised his eyebrows with the wryest smile curving at his lips. “You’ve not forgotten I’m your boss, correct?”
Caution to the wind, Anakin shrugged. “We’re off the clock, aren’t we?”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said softly in a way Anakin didn’t think he’d ever heard him talk before, and he said it in a way that somehow, just Anakin’s name alone was the complete thought.
“Just tell me yes or no,” Anakin said, staring him down. “Do you want to fuck?”
Opposite him, Obi-Wan’s smile faded, and he looked around the parking lot as if searching for words, and even if all this failed and Anakin was reported and fired for trying to solicit favors from his boss then at least he would be able to say he’d singlehandedly rendered Obi-Wan Kenobi completely speechless. And he wasn’t trying to solicit favors from his boss, but if he did get fired for it, there was a part of him that wanted that to happen even if it would leave him unemployed again….
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said again after a moment, not connecting their gazes. “You are a kind, caring, and intelligent person, who is very capable of making good decisions. I know you’re feeling disillusioned with work right now —”
“Yes, or no.”
“— and I know that you have a tendency toward impulsiveness, but deep down I think this job is important to you, and that you don’t really want to throw it away.”
Anakin’s jaw tightened. No, no, no, they were not going there right now. They were not doing that. “I just want you to fuck me.”
Obi-Wan took just the slightest step toward him, and for half a second Anakin thought something might actually go his way for once —
But Obi-Wan just put his hand on Anakin’s shoulder and said, “Go home, Anakin. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Standing there, he watched Obi-Wan go over to his car, and by the time the taillights had faded into the distance, Anakin realized he hadn’t actually gotten a ‘no.’
Still, he absolutely called in sick the following day.
“What’s got you so depressed?”
Anakin looked up at Ahsoka across the counter and went, “Huh?”
Ahsoka shrugged. “I’ve just never seen anyone look so sad to be making a Mai Tai.”
Oh. Yeah, yup. That was definitely it. That was it, definitely.
Upturning the bottle of rum, counting in his head, Anakin shrugged right back at her. “You know how I’ve always managed to avoid all the high school drama here?” She nodded. “Well, not anymore, I guess.”
“Oooh,” she said, drawing out the sound. “Juicy gossip. Who with?” Anakin just shook his head mutely. “Oh, come on. You know I won’t tell.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Hey,” she said in a playful way. “If it is going to influence the finely tuned workplace culture we have meticulously sculpted here like a well-manicured lawn, I’d say it absolutely does matter.”
Anakin sighed, and glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “It’s Obi-Wan.”
“Whoa,” Ahsoka whispered. “Lover’s quarrel?”
Anakin rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might fall out. “I think your table is waiting for their drinks.”
“Oh come on,” Ahsoka said, ignoring him. “Dude spends half his time here hanging out with you in the bar. You’re not subtle and neither is he.”
Instead of responding, Anakin simply put the Mai Tai on her drink tray and walked away.
“Um, excuse me?” a woman at his table called, and by the time he got over there he just knew she was gonna say — “Can I speak to your manager?”
Fuck! This! Job!
“What if I quit?”
Obi-Wan glanced up from his papers with a look as if to humor him. This wasn’t the first night they’d closed together since That Night, but he’d made an excuse each time to avoid Obi-Wan like the plague. Tonight, everyone else was in a hurry to leave and Anakin had been the last to finish, so he figured he’d just stay. He had no other plans for a Thursday night, after all, than to drink himself into an embarrassed coma because he just couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone.
But Obi-Wan just shook his head and said, “No. I will not let you give up your future for me.”
“How do you not get it, though?” Anakin asked incredulously, his fingers curling around the doorframe in an anxious, iron grip. “This job isn’t my future, it’s my job. A job I hate, you might recall.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said in that way he always did. He raised a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t…I can’t do this while we’re working. Clock out and go up front, please? I’ll be right there.”
Wordlessly, Anakin stormed off, half a mind to break the stupid corporate rules and just leave Obi-Wan here, alone, like he clearly wanted to be. But instead he obeyed, waited on one of the benches near the host stand, glaring daggers into the floor.
Obi-Wan joined him a minute later, activated the security alarm, and walked with Anakin out the door. Outside, Anakin turned to him expectantly.
“Listen,” Obi-Wan said softly. “You understand the position I’m in here. I know you do. This isn’t because of you. I swear it.”
“So you do have feelings for me.”
Finally, Obi-Wan heaved a great heavy sigh. “Yes.”
“Then why?” Anakin asked desperately, desperate because this might be his last chance.
“Because while it may only be a job to you, to me it’s a career.”
“You hate it here,” Anakin countered. “You think you’re subtle, but it’s obvious to me. Don’t deny it.”
“I do not love it,” Obi-Wan conceded carefully, “But I have worked for it. I’ve put years in with this company, I can’t just throw it away now.”
“You want to teach,” Anakin said, maintaining eye contact. “You’ve never said it to me, but I can tell. You’re always going on about something educational, about history or sociology or philosophy. And what’s more, you actually go on in an interesting way. And that’s coming from me, and I hated sociology.” Despite himself, Obi-Wan chuckled, and Anakin couldn’t prevent a breathless grin. “You would be amazing at it, that’s all I’m saying.”
Obi-Wan smiled at him sadly. “Yes, I’ve thought about it on and off over the years. I’ve toyed with the idea of becoming a professor. But it isn’t as easy as simply throwing away everything that I’ve accomplished here.”
“So do it gradually,” Anakin said in earnest. “Get an online masters degree, or something. If it’s what you’re passionate about, you should go for it.”
Obi-Wan looked over him, that same gentle sadness lingering in his gaze. “And what are you passionate about, other than you apparent hatred of your workplace?”
Anakin shook off the question with what he hoped was a fake aura of self-assured confidence. “I don’t know anymore.”
“You majored in engineering, right?”
“Stop trying to guide me,” Anakin snapped. “You’re my boss, not my mentor.”
“Your boss that you’re trying to have sex with.”
“I’m glad you haven’t forgotten that part.”
“I don’t know how I could,” Obi-Wan said with one curious eyebrow raised at him. “You wear your feelings on your sleeve, you know.”
Anakin shrugged. “I never said I was a good liar.”
“Not to try to be your mentor, as you put it,” Obi-Wan said dryly, “But I think the one you’re really lying to is yourself.”
Huh?
That one caught Anakin off guard, and Anakin did not like to be caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean,” Obi-Wan said patiently, like a fucking mentor, “You don’t give yourself credit where credit is due. You are very, very good at your job, Anakin, and though I do not doubt that you dislike it, you have not been honest either with me or with yourself about what you want from me.”
Anakin just stared, blankly, into his eyes.
“You don’t just want sex,” Obi-Wan said simply, as if it were so easy to just see right through Anakin’s soul. “You want love. You want someone who will treat you with love and respect. And the way you see it, I think, is that in this industry, you feel like a means to an end. You feel that people walk all over you, guests and corporate influences alike. So when someone came along that took interest in you as a person, not just as an employee, you latched on to that emotionally and built an image of me as someone who could give you what you wanted.”
Anakin did not know what to say. So instead of saying anything meaningful, anything that gave the implication that introspection was being done, he just said, “Thanks for the lecture, Professor. I just thought you were hot.”
Obi-Wan laughed, a real and genuine display of affection. His eyes twinkled under the harsh fluorescence of the streetlight a few feet away.
“You’re right,” Obi-Wan added, “That this job is not the one for you, and there is nothing wrong with that. And if you think leaving is the best choice for you, then by all means, hand in your notice. But if you wish only to quit because you want to be with me, I must ask that you have a touch more respect for yourself than that.”
This was…a lot to think about. For a moment, a long but somehow comfortable moment of silence, Anakin looked away, up at the sky where stars would have been if not for the light pollution. He felt so seen. So known, in a way that no one had ever made him feel before. And confused, too — he honestly, truly, had no idea what to do.
“Okay,” he said tentatively, swallowing a lump in his throat. He looked back at Obi-Wan. “Say I do give my notice for the right reasons, like you said. What then?”
Still, Obi-Wan hesitated yet more. “I don’t want to say anything that might influence you one way or another.”
“Oh, quit your corporate manager bullshit —”
“I’m not saying this as your manager,” Obi-Wan said, soft yet firm. He smiled. “Or as your self-assumed mentor. You must first learn to trust yourself, Anakin. Trust your instinct. Do what feels right for you.”
Anakin sighed, though not from irritation. Well, he was irritated, but he found that this time, it was directed at himself instead.
“Okay,” he said again, and nodded. “I’ll do what feels right.”
“Good,” Obi-Wan said, smiling in a way that emphasized the shadows of crow’s feet around his eyes. “I’m proud of you. Now, go home, Anakin. I believe you’re opening tomorrow.”
Ah, shit, he was. He sighed. Nothing like a close-open to make him excited for work.
Anakin handed in his two weeks notice about a month later, though he gave it to Windu rather than Obi-Wan. It was going to be hard for a while, he knew, but a childhood full of seeing his mom struggle to keep them fed had turned out to give him pretty good financial habits as an adult, if for no other reason than being terrified of not having the money if he ever really needed it. And sure, maybe quitting his only job with benefits and a retirement savings was the opposite of a good financial decision, but he had enough cash for a few months of rent and he’d start looking for jobs soon…after, you know, a little time to rest his mind….
His last day was an emotional one, to be honest. Ahsoka baked him a cake and had everyone sign a card which Obi-Wan handed to him personally at the end of his shift…and if Anakin noticed the little piece of paper folded inside the envelope along with the card, he maybe pretended he didn’t see it until he got into his car, where his heart was pounding so hard against his ribcage that he thought he might be sick…there were ten digits penned neatly into the paper, followed by….
You’ll find I don’t give my phone number out to my employees, so take care not to give it to Ahsoka, hm? I’ll hear from you soon, I hope. If not, then I wish you all the best.
Yes he would, Anakin thought, pulling out his phone, typing in the number and immediately scrolling over to the eggplant emoji.
Obi-Wan tended not to use his phone during work hours, Anakin knew, so it very much surprised him to immediately see a speech bubble and then —
I’ve never had a taste for aubergines. Perhaps this instead — and then a banana emoji.
Anakin thought he was going to die. Right here, sitting in his car, in the parking lot of the restaurant from which he had just quit.
He texted: what the fuck is an aubergine
A speech bubble —
Goodness, never mind it. Coffee later?
Anakin wrote: how about a cafe olay. get it LAY as in lay me down and do things to me
A minute of twiddling his thumbs later and his phone buzzed again —
You are hopeless. Café au lait, Anakin. Also, I shall take that as a yes. I’ll see you soon.
Yes, yes, yes yes YES. He most certainly would.