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By this point in the evening, it was entirely possible that someone - likely someone important - was on the search for Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. There was usually someone who wanted to discuss politics, or to talk tactics, or to offer their congratulations for some campaign he was already forgetting the details of, or to lambast him for some other campaign that he would never forget the details, or to simply chatter mindlessly at him so later they could say they had.
They tended to search the Senate for him, as discreetly as they could, combing through the rooms set aside for whichever function he’d escaped before moving onto rooms not set aside, but left conveniently unlocked.
(After truly dire parties, Anakin had been known to also search rooms with conveniently flimsy locks.)
Having failed to find him, they tended to put a word in the ear of one of his friends, and they - being his friends - would ignore them. Still, they’d do a quick once-over, just in case he seemed overly-stressed, checking bars in case he was taking advantage of the prepaid drinks and a Jedi constitution, glancing in the corridors he typically fled to when incapable of dealing with politicians for even a moment longer.
He was usually found not long after the search was struck up. He was - Ahsoka once remarked, when she’d thought he was out of earshot - almost like a Tooka. He’d wander off, but he’d always turn up eventually.
(This was not the most flattering description of himself that Obi-Wan had ever heard, but it was also not the least, and he was willing to let it stand.)
However, the point was that tonight, Obi-Wan would not be found. He was determined not to be found. He’d announced, loudly, that he’d had about all he could take of parties for one night and was retiring for some much needed meditation. Anakin had smiled fondly, squeezed his shoulder and called him old man , and sent him on his way, promising to catch him up later - though Obi-Wan knew full-well that Anakin would be with Padmé, and likely wouldn’t be home ‘til morning.
Which was fine.
It was fine because Obi-Wan was lying hand-in-hand with the Duchess of Mandalore in a Senate garden, shielded by a screen of green leaves and blushing flowers, pillowed by grass and moss, staring up at the night sky, and saying softly, “The stars truly are beautiful tonight.”
Inwardly, he squirmed. The stars… Honestly, what kind of half-arsed poet was he? The stars…
Satine only smiled. “It’s not often Coruscant reminds me of home,” she said, “but this…”
“The last night before we reached Sundari,” he remembered aloud, squeezing her hand - gentle, careful, half-afraid. “That last night we spent outside together… I’d never seen anything like it.”
“Your face when we stopped for the day, when you looked at the sky…” She trailed off, a half-smile on her thin lips.
He remembered. Remembered the absolute awe he’d felt when he finally had a chance to look . Remembered his Master’s fond laugh, the light tug on his Padawan braid that wasn’t enough to recapture his attention but was enough to have him leaning into Qui-Gon’s broad side. He remembered how, later that night, his Master had claimed to be going to bed - though he more likely lay awake, watching those same twinkling lights - and Satine had led him out and whispered old stories of older constellations into the still air. He’d listened, enraptured, until her voice had grown hoarse and she’d fallen silent.
That’s what he remembered. The two of them, together and silent.
“You can hardly blame me,” he said, rather than anything else. He chanced turning his face to smile at her, only to flush slightly when he caught her already looking at him, her blue eyes catching the moonlight. “I’d only seen one thing in the galaxy more beautiful than that sky.”
“Oh?”
He arched an eyebrow.
She huffed. “Ridiculous man.”
“Not ridiculous, honest .” He raised her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to the back. “I’ve never been anything but honest with you.”
She let the comment stand unchallenged - a kindness he chose to believe meant he hadn’t offended her today - and for the moment they just lay, silent and content, as the breeze washed over them.
“It's cold,” she said suddenly.
“Oh,” he said, swallowing disappointment as he started to rise. “Would you like my robe?”
She sighed dramatically, pushing him back into the grass. “All these years, Ben, and you still can’t take a hint.”
“Hint?” He blinked as she curled herself into the crook of his arm, resting her head on his chest. “Oh.”
“Oh,” she echoed, voice brimming with amusement.
He combed his fingers through loose strands of silken hair. “You could have just said that.”
“Perhaps,” she hummed, closing her eyes.
Obi-Wan could only smile. “I suppose I’ll let it go.”
Perhaps they’d stay here a while, dozing in the mild Coruscant night, wrapped in each other until the morning came.
Or perhaps they wouldn’t. They were busy people. They had only the moments they could beg and borrow and steal away from their duties, the seconds dragged out from the shadows. They had only what they could carve out for themselves.
Perhaps it didn’t matter either way. In this moment, they were together. The future was the future, and this was the present.
Nothing else mattered.