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The boy, sandy blonde hair, stared up at him like he was the world. That nine year old boy who had left his mother, who was everything to him, to become a Jedi. Now the only person to be there for him was Obi-Wan.
And he wasn’t even sure he could be there for himself.
The young man stared at himself through the mirror. He pinpointed the small piece of burnt hair where his Padawan braid used to be, where Master Yoda’s green lightsaber cut through it in one swift movement. The entire ceremony Obi-Wan tried to make himself imagine it wasn’t Grandmaster Yoda performing the ritual, but his own master, alive and breathing. The green lightsaber that whizzed by his ear wasn’t Yoda’s, but Master Jinn’s. The voice speaking was his in a variation of his own Coruscanti accent, soft, gentle to the ears, but demanding of respect nonetheless. He tried, he tried so hard, but the young boy standing outside for him was a constant reminder.
Qui-Gon wasn’t here. He wasn’t out on a solo mission, or wandering the gardens when he had work and lessons to ignore, he wasn’t collecting a strange plant from a far off planet.
He was dead. A ghost that would continue to haunt him.
Obi-Wan brushed his hand through his hair one last time before exiting the refresher and entering into the small hallway, barely large enough to be called that. He could keep his old apartment with his master, he’d been told, but he wouldn’t let Anakin sleep in Qui-Gon’s bed. He wouldn’t allow it.
Something sat wrong inside him at the mere thought of the boy living in that space. Qui-Gon didn’t belong to Anakin, he belonged to Obi-Wan. The memory. The lineage. The closest thing to a son Qui-Gon had would not be this boy. Ten years. Ten years , Obi-Wan spent with his master. And this little slave boy had spent all of a few days with him before Qui-Gon decided that this was his new Padawan.
Was that really all he was to his master? An investment? A project that could be finished and cast aside as soon as something better came along?
The thought made his stomach churn as he walked back into his master’s (his, he reminded himself) bedroom. No, he couldn’t be, he meant more to Qui-Gon than that.
Nights spent at the dining room table with tea after memories of Melida/Daan plagued his nightmares for the hundredth time. Walks in the gardens. Hours in the training salles, sabers clashing. He meant more than how he felt in the moment. He knew it. He’d seen it.
So how could he be so easily cast aside?
(What he didn’t know was Qui-Gon’s pain the first time he realized Obi-Wan could be a knight. He was barely twenty three, and the man was finding it harder to teach his Padawan anything. Anakin was merely an excuse. An easy way to let him go.)
A knock sounded on his door, a soft thing, had he been walking around he might have mistaken it for his own footsteps. Obi-Wan slid the door open with the force to reveal his new Padawan, hair matted and sleep clothes ruffled. The sleeves were too long for him and it would have brought some sort of smile out of him had there been no malice towards the boy.
“Master Obi-Wan?” He spoke softly, tripping over the word master. He’d have to work that out, assuring him that it didn’t mean what it did but a week ago.
“Yes, Padawan?” Obi-Wan ran a hand down his face and sat on the edge of his bed. He waited for Anakin to move to join him but he stayed planted in the doorway. “Are you alright?”
He curled his fists around his sleeves. “I couldn’t sleep. Everything’s really… Really loud.”
Loud? It was the middle of the night, why would-
“In the force?” He nodded. “Oh Anakin, I’m sorry, come here.” He held out a hand, all discontent or anger towards the boy disappearing in moments when he practically barreled towards the bed. Obi-Wan let out a small “oof” at the sudden mass, but pulled him into a hug anyway.
“I miss Qui-Gon,” He mumbled.
Obi-Wan felt his chest get tight and a lump form in his throat, but he pushed past it. “I do too.” He ran a hand up and down the boy’s back like his master had done for him on the worst nights. He brought the too small thing he called his Padawan onto his lap, covering him in a soft layer of his force presence, hoping it might ease the ‘noise’ he spoke of. Teaching him shielding would be first on his list of things to do tomorrow. “Is that better?” He asked at the barely audible sigh he heard from Anakin.
He nodded into his robes. He still wasn’t leaving, then. “I’ll help you fix it tomorrow morning,” He promised.
“Can I stay here? Just for tonight?” A small whisper came from underneath his arms.
The grief was still there. The hatred- not towards Anakin, just the reminder he was to Obi-Wan- weighed heavy on his shoulders, as it would for a long time.
But with the mass that was a little boy from Tatooine snuggled against his side, Obi-Wan felt a little lighter. He’d heal, they both would. He was sure that someday he’d come to love Anakin like Qui-Gon had him. Even if all he was right now was a painful reminder, he wouldn’t always be.
“Of course, young one.” His voice was soft, he hoped in the same way he remembered his Master’s being when he needed someone to stay up with him, or lure him back into sleep. Soft, like a lapping ocean wave at midnight. Comforting through the violence it was capable of.
He hoped.
All he hoped was that he’d be able to be for this little boy what Master Jinn was to him, and what he planned to be for Anakin before passing the responsibility to Obi-Wan.
It still hurt, all the anxious thoughts he’d been pouring over since his master’s death, they all still sunk their teeth into his flesh and gave a painful reminder of who his master really was, but he could move on. With Anakin snuggled into his side, blonde hair just brushing up against his cheek, he felt the force sigh in relief.
Everyone would be okay. He’d become the master, and Anakin the Padawan.
Someday.