Chapter Text
“Hey Cody, there’s a guy standing in the flooring supplies aisle looking lost as hell, can you go see if he needs help?”
Cody sighs, stepping back from the lumber he was putting away and turning to look at his coworker. “How lost?” He asks, and his coworker smirks.
“On the verge of a breakdown, lost,” she says, that smirk never slipping. “Seems like your type. Very limp wrist, if you get what I mean.”
“There’s no way not to get it,” Cody grumbles and dusts off his orange apron. “Alright, I’ll go rescue him. Flooring supplies aisle, you said?”
His coworker nods and he walks off, rounding the corner to where the supposedly lost limp wristed man is. As soon as he turns down the aisle, he stops in his tracks, seeing exactly what his coworker meant. Standing in the middle of the aisle is, indeed, a man, in approximately three layers of sweaters and corduroy pants, with very ginger hair and a matching almost-beard, and a pair of wooden frames perched on his nose. He’s looking at the shelves of mortar in plain distress, one arm curled around his torso and his other hand rubbing his jaw, elbows tucked in.
Limp wristed, indeed. Definitely not their typical clientele.
Yeah, this man needs help. As Cody approaches, he notices the deep bags under the man’s eyes.
“Hey, finding everything alright?” He asks, and the man jumps like a startled deer, looking at him with wide eyes.
“Uh,” the man clears his throat. “Not really, no. See, I’m looking for, er, mortar...”
Cody blinks when he hears the man speak, definitely not expecting the scottish accent. He looks at the shelves the man was just staring at like they were causing him personal grief. “Well, you’re looking right at it.”
The man huffs, waving his hands at the offending shelves. “Well I can see that much!” He snarks, “There are just-- so many different kinds! Why can’t they just make one kind, I don’t… this is too confusing.”
“Well, it depends on what you need the mortar for,” Cody gently explains. “Different grades of mortar have different characteristics, like compressive strength, flexibility, bonding properties, etcetera. So the type you’ll need depends on the project.”
The man frowns. “The youtube tutorial didn’t mention different kinds of mortar…” he mutters, and Cody puts his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight to one foot towards the man.
“What’s the project?” he asks, and the man turns to look at him, seeming a little nervous.
“It’s, er, I need to replace the bathroom floor tiles,” he says. “We have water damage, and…”
Cody nods, looking back at the shelf and pointing. “If you’re laying tiles, then thinset would be best,” he says. “It’s a low grade but that doesn’t mean lower quality, it just has more adhesive and less power compression properties. Most people use it for tiles, both indoor and outdoor.”
The man nods along, but he still looks a little spacey and Cody figures most of this is going over his head. “Right…” he says, “so…” he tentatively reaches a hand out towards the shelf, squinting at the labels, and Cody smiles when he hesitates and retracts his hand.
“Here,” he reaches past the man to pull the recommended brand from the shelf and hold it out to him. “This should work.”
“Oh, thank you,” the man breathes, plucking the product from his hand, holding it with both hands around the handle of the bucket. Cody notes how stiff he still seems, and nearly smacks himself when he realizes what the reason must be.
“So, water damage, eh?” He tries to strike up some small talk, even though it’s really not his forte. “An old boyfriend of mine once found some really nasty water damage and mold under his sink. Nearly had to tear the whole bathroom up to fix it.”
The man visibly relaxes as soon as Cody mentions the b-word, nodding. “Yes, well, hopefully we won’t find anything so extensive,” he gives a light laugh, and Cody’s smile widens.
“Yeah,” he says, “So was the mortar all you needed, or is there anything else I can help you find?”
“Ah,” the man transfers the bucket of mortar to hold it nestled against his hip like a baby so he can pull his phone out from his pocket, and that is when Cody notices the gold band wrapped around the ring finger of his left hand. Disappointment strikes him like a little sting of static electricity, but it’s really not that major. He looks back up at the man’s face as he unlocks his phone. “I also need to pick up grout, new tiles, and the tools to replace them…” he lets out a heavy breath. “It’s going to be expensive, isn’t it.”
Cody winces in sympathy. “Yeah, I really can’t lie, it is. Especially if you want fancy tiles.”
The man groans. “Fancy tiles,” he looks up at the ceiling. “Of course my wife had to decide she wanted the most expensive tile you had. I think she did it just to be petty.”
Wife ? Cody raises an eyebrow. Oh, maybe he’s bi.
Or in the closet .
“Yeah?” he prompts, but the man sighs and shakes his head.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to…” he trails off, rubbing at his beginnings of a beard. “Could you help me find the rest of my shopping list? If it’s not too much trouble, I’m afraid I’m struggling to navigate this place.”
“That is my job,” Cody nods off to the side. “Come on, let’s go get you a cart.”
He can’t lie and say that this guy’s cluelessness isn’t at least a little endearing. Too bad he’s married, Cody’s coworker was right in that he is very much his type. Ah, well.
They get a cart and the man drops the bucket of mortar in it with a grunt. Cody leads him over to the grout, the two of them making small talk along the way. The redheaded man is definitely better at it than Cody is. The more they talk the more the tension seems to lift from his shoulders, and Cody is glad. But by the time they get around to picking up the tools-- of which the man needs a lot, as he has told Cody he has literally none of the necessary equipment on hand already-- that tension has come back, magnifying with every price tag.
“You’re not trying to upsell me here, are you?” The man asks only half-jokingly at one point as Cody hands him a hammer.
“I’m a wage worker,” Cody cracks a grin. “I don’t care if you buy our most expensive hammer or not.”
“Right,” the man chuckles lightly, but it sounds pinched. Cody glances down into the cart.
“Honestly, at this point you might as well just pay someone else to replace the tiles for you.”
This was obviously maybe the one wrong thing to say. The man drops his head onto his hands curled around the handle of the shopping cart, looking like he just wants to lie down on the floor, with a pained groan. “No, god, don’t say that, please,” he practically whimpers, standing back up straight again like he’s spring loaded. He pushes his hands up under his glasses, partially dislodging them, and scrubs his eyes, dragging his hands down his face. “Christ, but you’re right, though. What the hell am I even doing, I don’t know how to replace tiles!”
Cody puts the hammer back on the shelf, and the man keeps going, looking like he’s nearing his breaking point.
“I’m just going to do it wrong and mess it all up and then we’re going to have to pay someone to come in and fix it and do it all over again anyway and it’s just going to end up costing more and I will never, ever live this down…” the man bemoans. “Satine will never let me live it down, even though she’s honestly right and we should just pay someone else to do it that would be perfectly reasonable considering I don’t know what the feck I’m doing but I can’t raise the white flag now after I already swore I would do it because if she wins this argument then I will literally never have a single leg to stand on any other time it comes up but it’s not even the same but she’s going to insist it is and--”
He cuts himself off with a shaking breath, and Cody just stands there, really not sure what to do. “Uh,” he says, and the man looks at him, leaning heavily on the shopping cart, so plainly exhausted.
“I’m so sorry,” he sighs. “I didn’t mean to waste your time, really, but I-- I’m just going to have to put this all back. I’m just going to go home and tell my wife she was right, and…”
“Now hold on a second,” Cody says, gesturing with his hands. “What argument is this exactly, and why would losing it be so bad?”
The man looks off to the side. “It’s…” he sighs again. “Well, my wife and I are, fairly comfortable, financially speaking, but she grew up very rich and I grew up very poor so we have very different approaches to money. And her first thought is always to hire someone else to do, well, practically everything-- cook, clean, watch our child after school-- especially since she’s so busy with work. And I always say there’s no need to pay other people to do things we could easily do ourselves, not to mention spending large amounts of money at once always makes me nervous. But she doesn’t see the point in that at all, she thinks if you can afford to outsource that work, why wouldn't you? The back-and-forth has been going on for years, now, and… I just need to be proven right.”
He chuckles sardonically, running a hand back through his hair, and Cody’s eyes track the movement. “I know it’s awful and petty, but…”
Cody shakes his head. “No, no I get it,” he says. “And I see where you’re coming from. Rich people just-- it sounds like she doesn’t really see how her privilege factors into this.”
“Thank you!” The man cries. “Exactly! It’s so frustrating!”
It takes Cody a moment to pause and think about this. The idea occurs to him embarrassingly quickly, and it’s maybe not the best idea with the best motivations considering this guy is married, but after a good few seconds of considering, Cody thinks ‘fuck it’, and offers. “Look, how about this,” he starts, trying to sound casual and confident. “If you have your heart set on diy-ing this, I can help. You’ll still have to buy the tiles, but I can bring everything else-- I have my own equipment-- and show you how to replace them. That way you’ll be all set for any future tile incidents, minus the materials.”
The man stares at him with wide eyes, and for a second Cody inwardly shrinks, realizing how presumptuous that must have been to offer to a complete stranger, but then the man’s face breaks out into a blinding relieved grin, and Cody’s unruly heart skips a beat.
“Would you really?” The man breathes, all the tension cut out of his posture, and Cody nods. “Oh, thank you so much!”
He steps around the cart and grasps Cody’s hand in both of his own, and the first thing Cody notices is that they’re cold , despite the many layers the man has on, and the second thing he notices is that they’re soft. “Thank you, er-- I just realized I don’t know your name…” The man’s smile turns sheepish as he continues to shake Cody’s hand, and Cody smirks.
“I have a nametag, you know,” he says, and the man quickly glances down at the nametag pinned to his work apron and back up at his face.
“So you do.” The man lets go of his hand and grasps his own together in front of him. “This is very kind of you, Cody.” He says, and Cody resists falling on the floor in response to hearing his name said with this man’s voice. This was a bad great idea.
“It’s no trouble…” he trails off, and the man smiles.
“Obi-Wan,” he introduces himself, and Cody tucks the name away in a corner of his brain for safe keeping.
“Good to meet you, Obi-Wan,” Cody says, and Obi-Wan’s smile widens, and Cody notices, to his satisfaction and dread, that his cheeks take on a new shade of pink.
This was a bad great idea.
When Cody first arrives on Saturday at the address Obi-Wan had given him, duffel of tools and materials slung over his shoulder, he immediately feels intimidated by the… niceness of the townhouse. It’s big, and fancy, and he wonders if perhaps Obi-Wan had been downplaying just how comfortable he and his wife are. But he walks up the steps anyway, feeling out of place in his dirty boots and sawdusty jeans, and rings the doorbell.
He looks up at the townhouse, sandwiched in the row of them. It’s tall. He wonders if they own the whole thing.
It takes a few moments for him to get a response. He hears footsteps approaching on the other side of the door, and through the fancy glass he sees the vague impression in shapes and colours of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan opens the door and waves him in with an enthusiastic “Hello!” He still has those bags under his eyes-- if anything, Cody thinks they might be even darker.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Obi-Wan says as he leads him through their home. Cody tries not to look around like a tourist, but it’s a hard urge to resist. The whole place is clean to the brink of sterile, with modern furniture and few signs of actual living , all while just reeking of wealth. Art hangs on the walls that Cody assumes was expensive, interspersed by typical impersonal, unspecific modern decor. He’s brought up some stairs and down a hallway to a closed door. Obi-Wan turns to him and makes a ‘shh’ sign, then knocks gently on the door.
“C’min,” a small voice from inside calls, and Obi-Wan opens the door to reveal a child’s bedroom with a child inside. Cody waits in the hall as Obi-Wan goes in and approaches the little kid sitting on a large bean bag chair with a picture book in his lap.
“Hi Korkie,” Obi-Wan says, sitting on the ground next to the kid. The kid, who Cody would guess is maybe four or five, looks like him, with the exact same shade of red hair and all. “What are you reading?”
“Borka again,” the kid replies in a quiet tone of voice, still looking down at the book. Obi-Wan smiles and nods.
“Good choice,” he says. “So, Korkie, my friend is here now to help fix the bathroom, and it’s going to be very noisy while we’re working. Would you like to relocate to the living room, or the kitchen table?”
The kid nods and stands from the beanbag chair, closing the book and holding it against his torso. “Can I have my markers?”
“Of course,” Obi-Wan stands as well, and the kid walks out of the room. Though his eyes stay glued to the floor, he waves at Cody as he goes past. Obi-Wan follows, saying to Cody, “I’m just going to help him get set up, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Then he turns the corner after the kid, and Cody just stands there, hovering in the doorway. He looks around the kids room. It’s tidy, and the sheets on the bed are made. It’s kind of big for a kid’s room, Cody thinks, but maybe he's meant to grow into it. Multiple shelves and bins along the wall suggest a copious amount of toys, and the bookshelf next to the bed is full. The floor is completely clear of toys or trinkets, but in the centre of the floor is a large round rug that looks like a cartoony planet earth as seen from space.
Obi-Wan comes back, and Cody expects to be led further down the hall to the bathroom, but instead they go into the kids room, and Cody realizes that it has its own en-suite bathroom that was out of sight from the door.
Cody tries and fails not to raise his eyebrows at a little kid having an en-suite bathroom, and Obi-Wan must notice, because he looks a little embarrassed about the excess for a moment.
“Here we are,” he says, and Cody takes a look at the bathroom floor. Yeah, there is obvious water damage along the base of the bathtub, with cracks and gaps formed between the floor tiles. “So, first we have to pull out the old tiles, right?” He turns and looks to Cody for guidance, and Cody nods.
“Yeah,” he says, giving Obi-Wan a quick glance up and down. “Uh, you might want to get changed into something more casual, though. It’s going to be hard labor, you know.”
Obi-Wan looks down at himself, his knit sweater over his long-sleeve shirt and loose-fitting slacks, and then back up at Cody. “This is casual,” he says, and Cody thinks it would be mean to laugh, so he doesn’t.
“I meant, like,” Cody says. “Jeans.”
“Oh,” Obi-Wan chuckles. “I don’t own any denim, the texture doesn’t agree with me. These are the most casual clothes I have.”
Cody nods slowly. “Alright then…” he says. “Well, let’s get started.”
He sets down his duffel on the floor of the bathroom and opens it up, pulling out the tools they’ll need to remove the old tiles, and Obi-Wan pushes his sleeves up past his elbows. He hands him a spare pair of gloves and safety goggles, and Obi-Wan puts the goggles on over his glasses. Once his gloves are on as well Cody gives him a grout removal tool to start cutting the tiles out, pulling one of his own from the bag along with his own safety gear, and they get to work.
Cody does have to show Obi-Wan how to do each step, but once he’s been given the instructions, and watched Cody do it a few times, he picks up on it fairly quickly.
“You’re doing a good job,” Cody tells him once they’re almost done scraping out the grout, since some reassurance can’t hurt, and Obi-Wan turns his head and beams at him.
“Because you’re here,” he says, Cody has to clear his throat and look away.
Obi-Wan struggles a little more with actually removing the tiles, not seeming to be willing to do much more than simply tap the flat chisel with the hammer, yielding him little results.
“You have to put some force into it,” Cody says. “Or it’s not going to come off.”
“Sorry,” Obi-Wan huffs, trying to wedge the flat chisel further under the tile. He’s just going to break it if he keeps that up. Cody shuffles over to crouch beside him.
“Here,” he suppresses a sigh and leans in close. Obi-Wan stills, and Cody takes the hammer from him, wrapping his hand over Obi-Wan’s holding the chisel. “Hold still,” he says, as if Obi-Wan could get any more still, their heads practically crown to crown, and draws the hammer back to give a hard WHACK to the chisel with the hammer, driving it hard under the tile and popping it up off the ground. Obi-Wan yelps at the sudden noise and movement, his hand jerking under Cody’s keeping it in place. “Like that.”
“ Ahem-- I see,” Obi-Wan leans away, and Cody hands him back the hammer and goes back to his own corner to keep working. After that, Obi-Wan still doesn’t hit it as hard as Cody, but enough to actually make progress, even if it is a little slow.
Eventually they get all the tiles out and put away to be properly disposed of, and Obi-Wan leaves to get the vacuum to clean the bare floor before they put down the thinset. Cody stands and stretches, leaning against the counter and taking a drink from the water bottle he stashed in his bag. He thinks about Obi-Wan wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist, unbidden, and kicks himself. As if summoned by his thoughts, Obi-Wan reappears, armed with the vacuum cleaner.
“Now this part I know how to do,” he smirks as he plugs it in.
Cody stands off to the side and watches as Obi-Wan efficiently vacuums the whole floor clear of dust and small debris.
“We’ve been at it for some time, now,” Obi-Wan says once he’s finished. “What do you say we take a bit of a break?”
“Sure,” Cody nods, and brushes the dust off himself best as he can before Obi-Wan brings him down to the kitchen.
It’s a nice kitchen. Big and open. Fancy, new appliances. Spotless countertops. The only traces of living are the breakfast dishes stacked in the sink, and the kid sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling in a large pad of paper with markers strewn over the table in front of him. “Hello, my dear,” Obi-Wan sweeps over and presses a kiss to his son’s round cheek. “I’m about to make some lunch for my guest, would you like some as well?”
“Yes, peas,” the kid smiles down at his drawing. Obi-Wan stands up straight and looks at Cody, who stands awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. “Do you like grilled cheese, Cody?”
“Uh,” Cody waves, “you don’t have to make me lunch, that’s fine.”
“Nonsense,” Obi-Wan smiles, already opening the fridge. “You are being such an incredible help, I have to return the favour somehow. Now, do you want yours made with caesar?”
“Uh,” Cody repeats, putting his hands in his pockets. “Sure, I guess.”
“Wonderful,” Obi-Wan takes out a bunch of different cheeses, caesar dressing, and butter. “You can have a seat if you’d like, this won’t take long.”
“Right,” Cody shuffles over to the kitchen table and sits down across and diagonal from the kid, feeling odd about the big, fancy house. Obi-Wan moves around the kitchen naturally, like this is his natural habitat. Cody turns his gaze from the man and instead looks at the kid’s drawing. It’s hard to tell what he’s drawing, he hasn’t known many small children to have a perfect grasp on line and form, but the kid caps the marker in his hand and switches it out for a different colour, so it must have some purpose to it. Pretty soon the kitchen is filled with the sound of butter sizzling and melting on the cast iron skillet Obi-Wan put out on the stove.
Cody shifts, propping his chin up on his knuckles. “So, uh,” he starts, looking around again, “What do you and your wife do, Obi-Wan?”
Obi-Wan glances at him over his shoulder, his focus remaining on the stove as he puts the sandwiches on the pan. “I’m a professor at Columbia,” he says, “and my wife is a lawyer.”
“Oh, yeah?” Cody sits up. “What do you teach?” My money's on English , he thinks.
“English literature,” Obi-Wan replies, and Cody gives himself a self-satisfied nod. “What about you, do you do anything other than working at the Home Depot? Any hobbies?”
“I’m a woodworker,” Cody says, “I build furniture and, uh, stuff.” He winces and looks down at the table, rubbing at the back of his neck. Damn this small talk.
“That sounds nifty,” Obi-Wan says. “Say, would you like something to drink? We have fresh lemonade.”
“Sounds good,” Cody says, and Obi-Wan leaves the sandwiches sizzling in the skillet to get a glass pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and opens a cupboard.
“Can I have some, daddy?” The kid asks, and Obi-Wan smiles.
“Of course, dear.” He takes out a brightly coloured plastic cup and sets it down next to the larger glass he got for Cody. He pours out the lemonade and sets the two cups down on the table. Cody nods in thanks, and the kid immediately grabs his in both hands and gulps it down. Obi-Wan goes back to the stove.
Soon the grilled cheeses are done, and Obi-Wan cuts them into triangles with a small smile and sets the two plates down for Cody and his kid.
“Thanks,” Cody says, pulling the plate closer to him, admiring the perfectly melted cheese. The kid beams and digs in. “You’re not having one?” Cody asks when he sees that Obi-Wan has only made two.
“The skillet only fits two at a time,” Obi-Wan says. “I’m making mine now, you can go ahead and start eating.”
Just as Obi-Wan finishes constructing his sandwich, they hear the front door opening and closing, and Obi-Wan perks up. A few moments later a woman walks into the kitchen, her sharp heels clacking loudly on the stone floor. Immediately she sets a sleek black briefcase down on the table and goes straight to Obi-Wan, and they exchange a quick kiss. Obi-Wan smiles at her.
This can’t be anyone other than his wife. The woman goes to the kid next and hugs him tight, kissing him on top of his head. “Hello everyone,” she says, in a posh english accent. Then she looks up at Cody. “Hello,” she says to him with a small, cool smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you a friend of Obi’s?”
She’s tall, made taller by her high heels. Everything about her is thin and angular, even her hair, the fine blonde strands pulled into a sharp updo. Her suit is all clean, pressed lines. She definitely looks the part of a new york lawyer.
“Uh, yeah-- yes. I’m Cody.” Cody says, and the woman shakes his hand. What did Obi-Wan say his wife’s name was?
“I’m Satine,” she says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cody.”
“He’s helping me with the bathroom tiles,” Obi-Wan pitches in, and Satine nods.
“Ah, I see.” She says. “Yes, he insisted on doing it himself, no matter how much I insisted it wasn’t necessary.” Her laugh is high and light, and she ever so slightly leans a hip on the counter, looking down at the kid, who is still scribbling with intent. “Korkie, how was your morning?”
“What?” The kid says quietly down at his paper and pauses his intentive scribbling. Satine sighs.
“Don’t say ‘what’, that’s impolite. It’s ‘pardon’-- and how many times do I have to tell you to please look at me when I speak to you?” She scolds him, and Korkie quickly glances up at her before looking back down.
“Pardon?” He corrects, and Satine sighs again.
“Korkie…” She says with a tone of warning, and Obi-Wan looks away from the stove.
“Oh, leave him be, Satine, he’s alright.” He says, flipping the sandwich. Satine looks over at her husband, a slight frown on her face.
“It’s rude,” she says. “To not look someone in the eye when you talk to them. We have to teach him some manners.”
“It’s not hurting anyone,” Obi-Wan asserts. Cody looks between them as the back-and-forth picks up over the kid’s head.
“How am I supposed to know he’s listening if he won’t look at me when I’m speaking to him?” Satine insists, and Obi-Wan half-heartedly rolls his eyes.
“It’s not like it’s a set in stone rule, just get confirmation some other way. If he doesn’t like it then it’s not hard to make accommodations.”
Satine scoffs, putting a hand on her hip. “It always catches me by surprise that you’re the one that’s too soft with him,” she frowns. “And I always have to be the ‘bad guy’ just because I want our child to grow up with some sort of discipline .”
“There’s a difference between discipline and punishment and just being downright unreasonable.” Obi-Wan snarks back.
“I am not being unreasonable!” Satine snaps. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect some basic manners from our child! I can’t believe you, you know how frustrating it is to be labeled as hysterical just because I’m a woman who speaks her mind.”
Obi-Wan turns away from the stove, pointing with the silicone flipper. “I never said you were hysterical and you know I never said that! I don’t see why you have to make yourself out to be a victim in every single situation, especially when--”
They’re interrupted by the sound of the kid dropping his marker on the table with a clatter and squinting his eyes closed, covering his ears with a whine. The arguing immediately stops, Satine and Obi-Wan looking at each other with startled expressions. Cody looks between them, trying not to grimace.
Satine leans down to stroke Korkie’s hair. “Sorry love,” she coos, and the kid hunches his little shoulders more. She straightens with a sigh and fixes the jacket of her suit.
“I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” she says. “I was able to get out of the office earlier than I thought, but I still have quite a bit of work to do. See you all later, Cody, it was nice to meet you.”
“Oh, do you want any lunch?” Obi-Wan asks her, gesturing to the stove. “I’m making grilled cheeses.”
“No, I already ate.” She grabs her briefcase and walks out without looking at the rest of them, the sound of her heels on the stairs echoing through the house. Cody decides he doesn’t like her very much, and it’s not because he’s biased in any way at all. A moment passes, and then Obi-Wan turns off the stove and goes over to the kid’s side, bending down to be at his level.
“I’m sorry, dear,” he says quietly. “Is it alright if I give you a hug?”
It takes a second for the kid to peel his eyes open and nod, and when he does Obi-Wan immediately wraps his arms around him loosely, holding him close. Cody looks awkwardly down at the table. He hears Obi-Wan whisper, “your mother and I love you very much. We didn’t mean to fight in front of you. I’m sorry.”
The kid makes a vague noise, and Obi-Wan lets him go. “Do you want to finish your lunch?”
“Yeah,” the kid mumbles, picking up one of his half-eaten triangles and taking a small bite out of it. Obi-Wan smiles.
“Good man,” he says, and goes back over to the stove. He transfers the sandwich that was sitting in the skillet onto a plate. The bread is a little more toasted than Cody thinks Obi-Wan probably wanted it to be.
He sits down at the end of the table, and they eat in silence.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Obi-Wan says when they’re back upstairs and putting down the thinset. Cody hums in questioning and looks up at him, but Obi-Wan is resolutely looking down at the mortar he’s smoothing out. “Satine and I arguing like that, right in front of both you and Korkie… I’m sorry. That was very embarrassing.”
“It’s alright.” Cody says. “I mean, it was pretty awkward, but it’s fine.”
Obi-Wan looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. They put the mortar down in silence.
“Honestly,” Obi-Wan says as they put the tiles in, putting the spacers in between each one and using the level to make sure they’re not wonky. “This is a lot easier than I was afraid it was going to be. I’m thankful for your help, of course, very much so, but I feel a little silly for freaking out about it so much.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Cody says. “It was important to you that you did this right, so it makes sense to be stressed about it. And I’m happy to help, honestly.”
“I’ve never been good at this sort of thing,” Obi-Wan admits. “You know… quote-unquote macho manly things. I can’t even change a tire.”
“You should probably learn how to change a tire,” Cody deadpans, and Obi-Wan laughs.
“Will you teach me that, too?”
“Someone is going to have to,” Cody smirks.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan looks right at him, then down at the tiles and smiles. “Doing such a favour for someone who’s honestly a complete stranger-- you’re a good man, Cody.”
“Not really complete strangers anymore,” Cody says, and Obi-Wan gives a quick laugh.
“Yes,” he repeats. “Really, I don’t know how I’ll repay you for this.”
Cody reaches for the next tile and carefully inserts it in the row. “Why don’t you just buy me a beer and we’ll call it even?” He grins, and at that Obi-Wan really laughs.
“It’s a date, then.” The man says, and Cody smothers a cough.
Really, he has a feeling he should probably be running for the hills right now. Running far away from this fancy house and it’s dysfunctional inhabitants. But there’s just something about the way that Obi-Wan adjusts his glasses and his kind smile and his warm eyes that’s… drawing Cody in.
And he doesn’t really feel like running, anyway.