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Chapter Text

Anakin was in his quarters, playing with some broken droids he had borrowed from the Temple’s trash with the intention to fix them, when he heard it. Somebody screamed. Well, not exactly – it was more as if somebody was wailing in the Force, so loudly that Anakin had to cover both of his ears with his hands, a vain attempt to block out the awful noise. Of course it was useless, he realized, that was not how you shut the Force out! Obi-Wan had been teaching him how to do it, how to raise his shields so that his brain wouldn’t collapse from trying to make sense of all the stimuli that he was able to pick up.

Obi-Wan. Why did his Master’s name ring a bell, in that moment? Then, all at once, it dawned on Anakin: Obi-Wan was the one whose desperate cries he was hearing. Their training bond was still new, just a rough draft of what it would be in the future, so that was why it had taken him so long to put two and two together.

“Shit,” he whisper-screamed, saying one of the many words he was not supposed to know before springing to his feet. Not bothering to put on his boots, Anakin stormed out of his sparsely furnished Padawan’s quarters and ran the short distance that separated him from his Master.

Being the middle of the night (it was way past his bedtime), there weren’t many other Jedi around, thankfully. Even so, those who saw him sprint past them tried to stop him, only to be hastily shoved away.

“Please, let me go! My Master needs my help!” he shouted, not bothering to turn around to see the baffled expressions on the older Jedi’s faces. It was forbidden to run through the corridors, after all. 

At that time, Anakin didn’t give two fucks about it – another wording he had picked up fairly early in his childhood on Tatooine. Spice traders and criminals of all kinds weren’t exactly the most polite people you came across.

Once he arrived in front of Obi-Wan’s quarters, he tried to arrest his momentum by grabbing onto the doorframe, which slipped from under his sweaty hands and resulted in him falling face-first on the carpeted floor. Without missing a beat, Anakin got on his knees and keyed in the code to unlock the door, which opened onto an empty corridor.

Unfortunately, or fortunately (depending on the point of view), his Master’s quarters weren’t quiet. In fact, he could hear someone’s horrifying gasps for breath, as if they were choking on something.

“Master!” Anakin called, rushing inside. The Force thrummed in response, but it was faint, and he stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the living room. The lights were on – unsurprising, since he knew that Obi-Wan loved to stay awake to read actual paper-books. He kept them on shelves that were ultimately out of Anakin’s reach but it was evident that they were well loved: their leather binding was gently worn and the pages were yellowing at the edges. 

That night, though, not a single one of them was missing from their spot on the shelf. No, it was Obi-Wan the one misplaced, crumpled on the floor, lying in a puddle of his own vomit. Anakin saw how red his face was, how puffy his normally thin lips were and that he was extending one shaky arm in his direction. The other was kept close to his body, Obi-Wan’s hand closed around his throat by reflex.

“Master! What happened? How–” he said as he fell to his knees in front of the older Jedi, who looked much smaller than Anakin remembered. His sandy robes seemed to swallow him whole, hindering his movements.

Obi-Wan grabbed his wrist and tightened his fingers around it, eyes wide in terror and pain, tears flowing freely from them. His Master heaved and tapped his neck, then moved his eyes to the side rapidly, multiple times, until Anakin understood what he was trying to tell him and looked back, noticing a shattered ceramic bowl on the floor. Its contents, sliced pieces of what looked like apples, were scattered around.

Oh, realized Anakin: Obi-Wan was having an allergic reaction to the food. He didn’t know much about it but, from what he could see, it was bad.

Panic flooded him, quickening his pulse and making him want to cry. He knew it was stupid and absolutely not helpful, still he couldn’t help it: his mother had always told him that other people’s pain got to him and crying was normal, that was just how he dealt with things.

Except, Anakin’s mind was blank, preventing him from noticing that the other was trying to get his attention. He could not think, couldn’t even breathe, so scared he was of losing Obi-Wan, his Master, definitely his only friend in the whole Temple.

Anakin felt helpless, again. Just like every time his mother had told him to turn around when Watto needed to make her pay for something he had done, or when he saw kids being beaten up in the dirty alleys of Mos Espa and had to look away because he couldn’t do anything to help. Because he was a kid, small, fragile, who could be made to disappear without anybody even noticing.

That was why he wanted to become the best Jedi in the whole galaxy, and he would, no matter the cost. Feeling helpless was his worst nightmare, and he couldn’t bear being useless a day longer.

Snapping back to reality, Anakin focused on Obi-Wan, who was still wheezing and coughing and looked at him imploringly, begging his Padawan to help him. He had no idea what to do, but he could try and ask, even if he wasn’t sure his Master would be able to answer.

“What can I do, Master? How can I help you?” he tried and didn’t even care that he sounded tiny and pathetic, nothing like the fearless Jedi Apprentice he should have been. Obi-Wan shook his head and shifted the hand that still painfully squeezed his arm, lifting his up his sleeve to expose the commlink the Temple’s quartermaster had given him the week before.

Anakin was familiar with the idea behind them but this was so much more sophisticated than those he had tried to repair in Watto’s shop, he still had to figure out what buttons dialled whom and how. Obi-Wan tapped the central button and then a series of smaller ones in an order that Anakin would not forget even if he got brainwashed: he was never going to let something like that happen again. Whoever his Master had just called would be the first person he would try to get hold of in the future.

After a couple of seconds, someone he didn’t know answered.

“Master Che, here. What can I do for you, Obi-Wan?” a female-sounding person asked, perfectly calm. Anakin sniffled and tried his best to put together a sentence that made sense, his brain still a bit clouded from the panic.

The one person who had said that fear made your mind sharp was liar, of that Anakin was certain.

“I-I’m Padawan Skywalker, Master Che. I-I think my Master is having an allergic reaction to something he ate. H-He can’t breathe properly and puked on the floor, please send help, I don’t know what to do,” he stuttered, cursing himself for being such an utter disappointment to his Master. He had already given up his mother, the idea that Obi-Wan would be taken away from him too was unbearable.

He would be better; he would learn how to take care of Obi-Wan. That was the least he could do.

“Don’t panic young Skywalker, help is on its way,” Master Che replied and ended the call.

The wait for the Healers seemed endless. Anakin took his Master’s hand in his and counted the seconds, apologizing under his breath. For what, he didn’t really know. For his part, Obi-Wan laid back down on the floor and tried, uselessly, to take some deeper breaths, flooding the Force with positive feelings and reassurance Anakin knew he didn’t deserve.

He rubbed the back of Obi-Wan’s hand, like his mother had taught him, hoping that it helped calm the other down. Everybody said that Force was stupidly strong with him, some telling him that he would do great things in the future, while other Padawans thought that so much potential was wasted for somebody who didn’t deserve it.

Usually, he believed the former and got mad at the latter, sometimes even wishing that he could punch their ugly holes shut. That night, though, he was sure they had mistaken him for something he was not. The Chosen One, they called him, who was still so inexperienced with the Force that he couldn’t even understand what his Master was trying to tell him through their training bond. It all felt like pressure around his skull, indistinguishable from his own pounding headache.

Luckily, further musings were interrupted by a tall female Twi’lek entering the quarters. Master Che, if he had to guess. She looked almost scary, with so many chains and other stuff dangling from her lekku and robes, but it was with surprising gentleness that she pushed him aside to tend to her patient.

“You’ve been good, young one. Now let us help your Master,” 

He nodded and scurried back, trying to make himself as small and inconsequential as possible. Anakin watched as the Healer took a tube of something, with a needle at the end, and stuck it into Obi-Wan’s tight, keeping it in place as whatever it was inside spread through his Master’s bloodstream.

He knew it was just science, but to his eyes it looked like magic: from one moment to the other, Obi-Wan could breathe again. He didn’t look good, exactly, but at least he wasn’t choking anymore.

“There you go, Obi-Wan,” Master Che said and made a sign with her hand. Another couple of people approached (Anakin had been too preoccupied with Obi-Wan to notice them), carrying a hover stretcher. “Take him back to the Halls. Put him on oxygen, he needs it, then Diphenhydramine and cortisone.” she added, matter-of-factly. 

Anakin, while still a bit anxious, was fascinated with the Healer’s calm and found himself wishing to be able to handle emergencies like that, one day.

Once securely laying on the stretcher, Obi-Wan was quickly taken away to be furtherly treated. He even attempted to smile at Anakin but the still-wet tear tracks on his cheeks and reddened face ruined it, making him feel sad rather than relieved.

Weirdly, Master Che stayed behind. Anakin hadn’t expected, nor had wanted her to: he preferred to be left alone when he was upset. Sure, he didn’t despise being soothed back to sleep or hugged when he was hurt, at all. Still, in situations like these he found it easier to calm down if people didn’t pry. When they did, he tended to lash out.

The Healer turned to look at him and crouched on the floor, getting to his eye level. They looked at each other for a while, not saying anything, until she offered a hand to help him up to his feet.

“I won’t try to tell you that you’ve been a brave, exemplary Padawan, tonight. Still, you found him before it was too late and managed to call me,” she said when Anakin was standing again, looking up at her face.

He opened his mouth to tell her the truth, that it had been Obi-Wan. That he had done absolutely nothing. Probably guessing his line of thought, the Healer raised a hand before any word could leave his mouth.

“And I think that this experience has taught you something, young Skywalker. Hasn’t it?”

Anakin, who kept being scolded because he talked too much, couldn’t find his voice. He nodded.

“Good. I’ll ask Obi-Wan for permission, of course, but should he agree to it, you’ll always be welcome in my Halls if you ever feel the need to learn something,” Master Che said, her tone devoid of any discernible emotion. Still, in the Force, it almost felt like she was smiling

Chapter Text

The night had been going just fine, Anakin thought grimly. It was Life Day, and he had decided to bake Obi-Wan’s favourite cake in the whole galaxy, a raspberry cheesecake. Its recipe, contrary to what many people believed, hadn’t been passed down to him by his mother. Food had always been scarce on Tatooine, even outside of the slaves’ quarters, and everything you ate was spicy, so as to cover the terrible taste it had at times.

Not all of it was rotten, clearly, but it was often a couple of days expired (two suns were not great when it came to preserving food). It happened, mostly, when some good soul took pity on them and saved a few rations which would be then smuggled in by some of the younger kids.

It was enough to keep them alive, but unpleasant, and after a while your taste buds just became insensitive to taste in general. That was why Anakin had developed a liking for all things delicate and avoided using spices when he cooked. Nonetheless, there were some dishes that his mother had taught him how to cook that set his mouth on fire and he loved them because they reminded him of her. Those were his go-tos whenever he was sad, or angry after a botched rescue mission.

Still, discovering how deliciously simple food could be had enchanted him. As a matter of fact, during his early years as Obi-Wan’s Padawan he could often be found standing in front of the kitchenette, hands buried in a bowl of flour with his face whitened and dirty. Obi-Wan had always encouraged him, saying that it was good for a Jedi to find himself a quiet pastime.

Anakin already had his droids and the trips to the Halls of Healings, but the cooking? That was because the Force felt lighter and brighter when his former Master tasted his cakes, cookies or the soups he made with ingredients from all over the galaxy. It was a challenge, due to the older man’s countless life-threatening allergies, but the smile on Obi-Wan’s face when Anakin told him that he had found something else that he could eat without booking himself for a trip to Vokara afterwards? Priceless.

That was why he had asked Ahsoka to keep Obi-Wan busy as he went to buy the ingredients he needed, because Life Day celebrated family, and for the Jedi it was more than just blood. A culinary gift was only right, and he had also packed Ahsoka’s terrible sweater as their little tradition required (every year, the one who found the ugliest one won a free dinner at Dex’s).

Too bad the galaxy had had other plans and now Anakin was sitting on the fresher's tiled floor, rubbing slow circles on Obi-Wan’s back with his mechanical hand as he threw up all the damned raspberries. Apparently, now he was allergic to those too, much to everyone’s dismay.

Anakin cringed as the other heaved again and coughed drily, spitting bile and what looked like blood but was the jelly he had spread in the middle of the cake. He couldn’t even give him the antihistamines yet, for Obi-Wan’s stomach had to empty itself of all its contents beforehand. Thankfully, it was only a mild reaction and his system had reacted before it was too late, which meant no Halls this time around. Which was a nice change, since they pretty much lived in them anyway, battle injuries and everything.

There had been so many close calls in the previous thirteen years, Anakin thought, handing Obi-Wan a piece of folded toilet paper to clean his mouth with. It was unbelievable that every year, every month sometimes, there was something new he couldn’t eat or be around.

Yes, because it wasn’t only food, but plants and random chemicals too: Obi-Wan’s body just didn’t agree with life in general and was trying its best to shut itself off. How could someone survive when the galaxy was actively trying to kill them? Anakin didn’t know and couldn’t even begin to understand how Obi-Wan managed to cope with it. He hadn’t lost his sense of humour, never complained when other people around him ate whatever they wanted without worrying about it, and treated his condition as if it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Vokara had trained Anakin in the healing arts so he knew that it was everything but a minor inconvenience. He had been there with Obi-Wan when the flowers of the Temple gardens were in bloom and caused his throat to close painfully, when he spiked a fever because his immune system sucked and left him vulnerable to flues that, at his age, should not have crippled him like that. 

For that reason, Anakin had made a point of not telling Obi-Wan what he actually felt like to him in the Force when he used his crystal to heal him, purging his former Master’s body from whatever venom was making him sick.

Anakin could feel every collapsed alveolus, all the muscles aches and frayed nerve endings that caused him to be in pain every single day. To be fair, Obi-Wan probably knew that he knew, but pretending that everything was fine and war was not destroying both of them was better. It made things easier and spared Obi-Wan from feeling guilty about accepting his help, even if healing him was Anakin’s job, technically. Unofficially. 

All those years ago, Vokara had helped him find a purpose. His younger self had stopped feeling useless, because he could finally do what he felt like was his life-mission: helping people. By giving himself up, sharing the tiniest fraction of the ridiculous amount of Force that flowed through him, someone else got to see another day. Initially, he had expected to be thanked for it but Vokara had soon taught him that while some people would shower them with praise, others simply saw them as the glorified mechanics they were. A hard lesson, but it reminded him that what he was doing was not for personal satisfaction: a healer helped others because it was right.

It had also taught him that, sometimes, people were beyond saving. No matter how hard the Healers tried, some lives were meant to end at the time they did. When he lost his first Knight, who had been bitten by a kouhun, Vokara had told him to think of the machines he loved so much.

Some of them Anakin could not fix, because their circuitry had melted, or the structure was in such terrible condition that it was cheaper to just scrap it. Of course, sentients were a bit more complicated but the logic behind how it all worked was the same: bodies were almost-perfect machines, the result of millennia of evolution. Occasionally, they would malfunction and if all systems failed, you mourned the person, learnt from the experience and moved on. There was no point in restarting a heart if the person never woke up again.

Moreover, nobody was ever really gone (those were Yoda’s words, actually, but they rang true in the Force).

It had also broadened his horizons and helped him explore the true nature of selflessness, since the Jedi were all about it and he had been taught that it could take many shapes. A prime example was his former Master, his best friend, who by all standards was a walking medical impossibility. Anakin thought it was a miracle that Obi-Wan was able to even stand some days, but he did it anyway. Because he had people to save, droids to cut down and peace to restore.

Others came before him, always: he served the galaxy and would until the day he died. Anakin had a nagging feeling that he would keep helping from the nether of the Force too, because it sounded like something Obi-Wan would do.

It was also true that maybe, just maybe, Obi-Wan took it a bit further than necessary. He was so preoccupied with the war (with being High General and all) that he had developed this dreadful habit of using meditation to momentarily turn down his discomfort, which also caused him to become very forgetful when it came to taking his meds. Anakin knew that he didn’t do it on purpose – Obi-Wan knew how upset his old Padawan would get and wouldn’t dream of hurting him by putting himself in danger so stupidly. However, he did put himself in useless danger on the battlefield, but he got a pass for that. Most times.

Still, it was worrying how many times Anakin had to remind him that no, he hadn’t taken his daily antihistamine yet and yes, he was sure of it because he was holding the blister pack in front of his eyes and there wasn’t any pill missing.

Also, there was something that, really, he couldn’t wrap his mind around. Obi-Wan forgot what things he was actually allergic to. Not the foods he had been intolerant to since his youngling days, those he knew as well as his own name, but many of the recent ones like cinnamon and the common variety of saffron.

Once, he had to Force-pull a spoon from Obi-Wan’s hand, preventing him from tasting the Alderaanian risotto he had cooked for Ahsoka. Which was saffron-flavored.

He was already anxious whenever Obi-Wan ate something that wasn’t plain bread or cooked meat (spices and seeds were a pain in the ass and Anakin tasted every suspicious bite beforehand), he couldn’t handle having to worry about the other forgetting that he could die if the powder entered his bloodstream.

They had laughed about it because it was ridiculous, if one stopped to think about it. And Obi-Wan’s mortified expression and bashful smile had been enough to make him turn back around and continue cooking, even if they did nothing to alleviate the ever-present burden weighing down his chest.

It had been somewhat unsettling when their dynamic had shifted, turning Anakin into the occasional caregiver, but they had adjusted to it and embraced the reality of things the best they could. It was a universally known fact that nobody knew Obi-Wan as well as Anakin did, and vice versa: they were The Team. So it made sense for them to take care of each other like they did, balancing each other out. They would always stick together, and it was worth it. Always had been.

Smiling at the thought, Anakin looked back at Obi-Wan, who had finally stopped throwing up and was back to breathing kind of evenly. His face was still flushed and there were tears rolling down his cheeks, but his eyes looked calm and the Force wasn’t thrashing around anymore.

“You good?” he asked, squeezing Obi-Wan’s shoulder. The older man nodded slowly and lifted a hand, which Anakin caught mid-air.

“Better, thank you,” he inhaled, probably trying to slow down his heartbeat. “I’m so sorry Anakin, I’ve ruined Life Day. I didn’t think – ”

“It’s not your fault, Obi-Wan. All in all, we had a great evening! The stew was delicious, Ahsoka owes me a dinner and you liked the cake. Plus, we now know that raspberries are off-limits,” Anakin chuckled and squeezed his hand. “I’ll just have to come up with something new next time. I still have some secrets hidden up my sleeves, don’t you worry about it,”

Despite his attempt to lighten the mood, Obi-Wan didn’t look like he had it in him to laugh.

“Headache?” he asked, stretching out in the Force. Obi-Wan felt calmer than before, yes, but his usual golden signature seemed dimmer, more withdrawn. A telling sign that his former Master was using the Force to try and soothe his pains.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said and slowly stood up, Anakin holding onto his bicep in case he slipped or felt lightheaded.

“Wash your teeth, I’ll tidy up in the kitchen and then I’ll take care of it. Just had my crystal cleansed,” he said and smiled when Obi-Wan reached out to him and put a clammy hand on his forearm. He smiled, thin lips curving under his neatly-trimmed auburn beard.

“Thank you. Truly.”

Anakin covered Obi-Wan’s hand with his own and bowed his head, smiling. “Don’t forget to take your meds. Then go lie down, I’ll join you in a sec,”

Some would have considered it inappropriate for a former apprentice to give orders to the one who had been his Master, but Obi-Wan had never complained. He knew Anakin did it for his own good and was so extremely grateful for everything he did, because it showed him that someone cared. For so many years he had been nothing but a shadow and the fact that Anakin had seen something in him worth fighting for never failed to bring him close to tears.

Anakin had once retorted that, even if Obi-Wan refused to acknowledge it, there wasn’t anybody in the Order who wouldn’t go to unimaginable lengths to make sure he was safe. Everybody loved him, because he was such a good person that it was almost heart-breaking.

The older Jedi, when the topic was brought up, simply shook his head and changed subject. One day he would see just how cherished he was. Anakin had sworn it to the Force.

By the time he was done washing the dishes and instructing Obi-Wan’s cleaning droid to be quiet while it scooped up crumbs and dirt from their boots, Obi-Wan himself was already tucked under the covers. Due to the hernia in his neck, the only comfortable position he could sleep in was on his side with a pillow in between his legs and two under his neck. That way his spine would be perfectly straight and he wouldn’t wake up in pain.

When they were away from the Temple on months-long missions and forced to sleep on hard soil or military-issued cots, one of the things they usually did was use Anakin’s body and robe as makeshift pillows. It wasn’t ideal per se, but it was better than Obi-Wan sleeping on a flat surface.

Moreover, by being close, Anakin could stretch out in the Force and enter a deep healing trance that made it easier for people around them to sleep. That way, Obi-Wan and their clone troopers could relax and get the rest they desperately needed. It was nice to be all squished together, Anakin thought as he sat on Obi-Wan’s bed and took out his crystal, the Force always sang in approval when they did and the physical closeness worked miracles on his own anxiety too.

Rex’s distinct signature, together with Ahsoka and Obi-Wan's, grounded him better than anything else in the galaxy and banished the nightmares that sometimes tried to scare him awake. Without his friends’ help, he knew that he would have believed the visions of death, pain and suffering that he was fed with. Instead, thanks to the warm glow of love and affection, he was able to recognise them for what they actually were: harmless by-products of his own fears and worries. Nothing that couldn’t be dealt with.

“Okay, Master. Try to relax and open yourself to the Force, I’ll meet you halfway,” he said and when Obi-Wan nodded Anakin closed his eyes, tightening the grip on his lilac-coloured crystal.

Lilac, such a rare colour. It was bluer than Mace Windu’s unmistakable purple, which was a perfect balance between light and darkness. When you were a Healer and went to pick up your second crystal, you had to commute with the Force in a deeper way compared to the one required to give lightsaber-only ones their distinct colour. Not everybody could withstand seeing the real depth of the Force, especially if one was training to be a Jedi Knight too.

Anakin’s perspective on things was unique, or so Vokara claimed. He hadn’t pledged his life to the Halls: he was on the frontlines most of the time and then came back when he could, his focus split between two different aspects of the same thing - saving people. By having seen the horrors of war first-hand, sensed many Jedi and clones die right next to him, he had touched darkness on a few occasions. 

It was nothing to be ashamed of, Vokara reminded him when Anakin admitted to feeling unworthy of her teachings. Jedi weren’t meant to fight wars and, at the end of the day, he was only human. For that reason, he had been one of the few individuals to have seen both sides of the Force when he had found his crystal on Ilum.

It had shown him that some healing practices stemmed from ancient Sith rituals that had been imbued with light over the course of centuries, teaching him how everything could be used to do good. No matter where it came from.

Stretched out in the Force, Anakin felt whole, at peace. He was everything and could sense all of the life forms around him, the younglings asleep in their beds and a couple of Padawans walking hand in hand down a corridor a few levels down. Anakin even found Grand Master Yoda meditating in his quarters, who welcomed the touch of his mind and answered with his own, nudging friendly against the endlessness of his consciousness.

Smiling, Anakin drew back and focused all of himself on the brightest of lights, the one at the center of his own universe. Obi-Wan, who was waiting patiently for Anakin and let his presence wash over him like the sea, with gentle waves that replenished Anakin’s strength and thrummed with affectiongratitudehappiness. Wishing to give him even more reasons to be happy, Anakin latched onto his signature and let the two of them become one in the Force.

Everything around them screamed of rightness, a powerful song that narrated their story. Taking care of his other patients wasn’t such a personal, spiritual experience: he was more detached and didn’t need to merge his soul with the other person’s. It was enough to let the Force flow from his body and use it to find what was wrong.

With Obi-Wan, though, he could let himself go and use his powers to their full extent. Their minds exchanged memories and feelings, enjoying how it felt to leave behind their mortal bodies and experience life as it was meant to. They now kept no secrets from each other, for they had seen how reticence could erode relationships and make them crumble under careless touches. Everything they shared was given freely, without asking to be made privy of things they weren’t ready to share yet.

Eventually, they would talk about it. They always did.

When he had to relieve people of their migraines, Anakin pictured himself smoothing creases in a piece of cloth – in this case it was Obi-Wan’s robe. He put both hands on the older Jedi’s temples and smoothed. He did it multiple times and folded the cape correctly when no visible imperfection remained. With a sudden surge in the Force, Obi-Wan gave him the mental equivalent of a hug: their life forces intertwined and tightened into a knot that seemed to resemble their Open Circle Fleet symbol. Obi-Wan’s golden presence at the center and Anakin around him without being suffocating – balanced and controlled.

After he was done checking if anything else was amiss, he withdrew from Obi-Wan and retracted back within the boundaries of his own body. Looking down at the older man, Anakin was pleased to see that he was already starting to fall asleep, tired and satisfied.

“That was one hell of a headache, Obi-Wan,” he said and, this time, Obi-Wan smiled back at him and lifted his eyebrows. And now it’s gone, thanks to you, he replied in the Force through their old training bond. Anakin nodded and squeezed his shoulder.

“Then that’s all, I guess. Want me to stay? I have some things to take care of but they’re not urgent,” he asked, tilting his head to the side. Sometimes Obi-Wan liked to stay alone with his thoughts, meditate himself to sleep, while other times he enjoyed staying up late to talk with him about this and that.

“Force-healing does leave me a bit groggy, but I’m not tired yet,” Obi-Wan replied, shifting forward on the bed to make space for him. “If you’re up for it, I’d love to pick up the last thing we were talking about. What was it? How to train a bantha to play fetch?”

Anakin laughed and laid down behind Obi-Wan, pulling him close to his chest. “Nah, Master. Don’t you remember? They will eat the stick. We were discussing my idea of adding a sauna on the Venators,”

Obi-Wan melted in his arms and chuckled, his short hair tickling Anakin’s face. “Oh right, and how utterly useless that would be!”

They kept bantering for a while, switching to more serious topics when need arose only to go back to making fun of how ridiculous they looked in their snow outfits. They whispered in the darkness, talking about nothing and everything for what felt like eternity until they both fell asleep, basking in each other’s light.