Chapter Text
It started with a tickle in the back of his throat. But Anakin didn’t pay any attention to it, not when there were more important things to worry about.
The battle they had just finished, the way that Obi-Wan was by his side, beaten bruised and bloody.
But still alive.
The way Ahsoka stood ahead of him, shielded from the worst of it so far, bouncing on her heels as she spoke to Rex, turning to look at him as he walked forward.
Other men moved about, in front of and behind them, their plastoid boots crunching on the dry dirt. The yells for medics, the cheer at seeing those who had made it alive. Anakin looked around, watching as what was once blue and white armor that was clean and spotless was covered in mud and dirt and grease and blood. A gunship landed in the distance ahead, kicking up even more dust into the air, clouding the light that was coming down from the planet’s sun above them.
It had started with a tickle in the back of his throat.
Anakin looked over at Obi-Wan and coughed a few times, but no one noticed, the sound of the war raging around them.
And Anakin didn’t pay attention to it either, not when despite going through hell and back, he was still enamored by the way Obi-Wan’s hair caught the light of the planet’s sun. The way that despite the dirt on his face, Anakin was sure that he could see a few freckles.
He cleared his throat and turned away.
The dirty was dry and crunched under his boots as they made their way back to the gunship. Anakin was tired, the kind of tired that sits deep in your bones, that weighs your shoulders down and makes you blink slowly.
He coughed again.
“Is the dust bothering you?” Obi-Wan asked, turning to face him.
Anakin looked down at the ground, watched as more dust was kicked up with each step that he took.
He shrugged.
“Probably,” he replied as he cleared his throat again.
“The sooner that we are all off of this planet, the better, I suppose,” Obi-Wan muttered, trying for a light tone but Anakin saw through it.
Saw the way that Obi-Wan set his jaw and narrowed his eyes. Saw the way that his shoulders slumped at the thought of everyone that they had lost.
“I was beginning to think that you were starting to enjoy being shot at for almost a month straight,” Anakin responded dryly, a smirk on his face.
“Shut up, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied as they stepped into the gunship.
The doors slid shut, kicking up even more dust.
And Anakin coughed again.
“Still coughing, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked as he slid into the seat across from Anakin in the mess hall.
The ship was beginning its night cycle, and the mess hall was mostly empty. There were a few men wandering about in small groups, getting caf or a snack to keep them awake through the graveyard shift.
And Anakin and Obi-Wan both had piles of reports to read through, which is how they both found themselves sitting at the metal table, alone but together, two steaming cups in front of them.
Anakin cleared his throat and shrugged. “I’m sure it’s not anything serious.”
Obi-Wan picked up the cup and eyed Anakin warily over the rim of it before taking a sip and setting it back down on the table.
“Well, I hope not, for your sake at least,” Obi-Wan replied.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anakin asked, crossing his arms over his chest, and raising an eyebrow, trying to hide the glimmer of hope that shined in his heart, wondering if Obi-Wan cared the same way that he did.
Obi-Wan sighed and rolled his eyes but smiled slightly as well.
“You know what I mean, Anakin, I just want you to be careful.”
Anakin looked away as he felt his face heat up.
“I am being careful,” he muttered, looking at a stain on the metal floor instead of up and at Obi-Wan.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Obi-Wan replied, and Anakin looked back up at him and huffed.
And then turned to cough again into his elbow.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan began and sighed.
“I know, I know,” Anakin replied as he dropped his arm back down, a smile gracing his face at the thought of Obi-Wan caring for him, but he quickly pushed it away, the guilt at feeling such things consuming his mind.
He didn’t show it.
But there was a tickle in the back of his throat.
Obi-Wan reached over across the table and patted Anakin’s arm. Anakin looked down, and then up at Obi-Wan, who was looking at him with a slight smile.
“Don’t stay up too late, alright?” He asked as he stood from the table, leaving Anakin alone as he began to walk away.
And Anakin watched him go, ignoring the tickle in the back of his throat.
But as he poured over reports, and the words and lines began to blur together, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Anakin stood coughing again into his elbow and contemplating if he should have grabbed a cup of tea instead of a cup of coffee.
It was minor, annoying, but his throat was starting to hurt slightly, and he wondered…
He stopped himself. He didn’t want to bother Obi-Wan who was probably asleep. Obi-Wan, who smiled at him in such a soft way, who placed his hand on his shoulder in such a way that Anakin had to do everything he could to resist leaning into the touch too much.
And now, doing everything he could to ignore the tickle in the back of his throat. He looked over at the door to the fresher that he and Obi-Wan shared on the ship, before muffling more coughs, grimacing at the strange taste in his mouth.
It was earthy, bitter, and fragrant. Reminding him of when he inhaled one of Padme’s perfumes on accident.
He coughed again, lowering his arm, and watching as a single petal, the color of a golden sunset fell forward, fluttering towards the ground and landing softly.
He swallowed thickly as he started at it.
There was a tickle in the back of his throat.