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I should have just gone to Dex’s. I don’t even like Coruscanti bars.
Obi-Wan Kenobi wanted the ground to split open and swallow him whole, above all the throbbing in his temples courtesy of the amount of alcohol he’s consumed in the past hour and a half, thousands of voices of every language, accent and volume he could presently think of, pounded in his ears. This was about the thirteenth brawl to have broken out since the Jedi stepped foot into this bar to clear his head for the fifth time this month. Apparently, a rookie bounty hunter overstayed his welcome at the one table in the back of the bar which often housed some of the most talented in that field. Blasters, darts, bottles and cups of alcohol were flying about between the brawlers. Blood and dust scraped the bar tabletops. Medics, police officers, and presumably Jedi Knights in a few minutes swarmed the place. Obi-Wan sighed and put his hood on, nursing his seventh shot of the night as he slipped away from the main area of the bar to avoid being recognised. No one can know of his bad habits, his reputation at the Temple was far too frail to be toyed with further already. He couldn’t do that to Anakin.
Anakin.
What would he think of his Master if he found out Obi-Wan lets him be in the sparring rooms to run off to get drunk twenty times a month? What kind of mentor does that? Not only that, but that was after the fact he’d pleaded to be left alone with the whole ‘Master at twenty-five’, and ‘training the Chosen One’ sob stories. He cannot walk around scaring away the people who want to help him just to run off doing the exact opposite of helping himself.
Oh, dear. Sad and drunk do not mix well together.
He wiped his dusty eyes with the sleeve of his cloak and pushed his empty shot across the table. He took a deep breath and started to get up before a hand on his shoulder made him freeze in place. Oh, yeah, the Jedi were probably already here now, they were probably settling the fight and keeping the peace as always. But this wasn’t just any hand. Obi-Wan often feared Depa or Kit or Lumi would be the ones to stumble upon him in this place, and these three would most probably rat him out to the Council, and no, not because they hate him, because of course they don’t, it was because these three, specifically, doted over him like mother-hens quite often. The worst thing that could happen to Obi-Wan here is to get lectured on the vices of alcohol consumption by Master Depa Billaba. And thankfully, it wasn’t her who caught him now. In fact, it was neither Fisto nor Unduli as well. It was…
Obi-Wan whirled his head to see to whom the hand belonged, and his breath died in his throat. Out of anyone. Literally anyone. He could not speak. The look on his personal space intruder’s face was enough words for the two of them. Was the look one of disappointment? Surprise? Embarrassment? Or was Obi-Wan not the only one getting caught drowning his head in a thick cloud to avoid his tiresome reality?
“Obi-Wan? The hell are you doing here!?”
“I could be asking you the same thing.” Obi-Wan avoided Quinlan’s gaze as soon as their eyes locked, he hid beneath his hood and rested his head against the grimy table, thankful for the fabric of his hood not letting his face meet the unsanitary wood. This was never enough for Quinlan to stop pushing. “Don’t you tell me you sensed me here, because of course you didn’t.”
“Did, too.” Obi-Wan felt Quinlan pull out a chair and sit across from where he lay his head on the table. The other man sighed when he realised Obi-Wan wasn’t going to comply in conversation anytime soon. “Not like it’s surprising to find me in bars. I do most of my jobs in these places. Unlike someone.”
Obi-Wan groaned loudly. “Mm, yeah, okay. Quinlan Vos, the intergalactic non-drinker and perfectly sober Jedi Shadow has come to save me from my alcoholic peril. Way to go, Force!” Obi-Wan raised a fist in mock cheer as he lay his head against his arms while his voice came out muffled. Quinlan audibly winced.
“How many have you had tonight?” He asked in a small, stern voice. Obi-Wan scoffed.
“Who sent you here?” He lifted his head to cast him a glare. From Kit Fisto I would have expected this. Not you.
“Three people died and you sat there sipping your Corellian whiskey as if you were never trained to end such brawls. What the hell happened, Obi-Wan?” Quinlan returned the glare with another one which carried more venom.
“Quinlan, I’m clearly not expecting anyone here. Much less you. So leave me alone.”
“Such a shame intoxicated Obi-Wan is going to be around for a long time. I really don’t like the fellow.” Obi-Wan was not himself at all. How many times does he get drunk like this in the week? Why did Quinlan ever leave? What did the Council do for him to seek such things as substances to get his mind off of everything? Quinlan stood and moved his chair to sit beside Obi-Wan. He heard the man mutter a small, weak, ‘leave me alone’ and move his head away. Quinlan reached for his hands anyway. Obi-Wan lifted his head to stare at Quinlan, searching his face for clues, looking down at his soft, dark hands holding Obi-Wan’s calloused, pale ones tenderly. His chest flared, they were not seventeen anymore. They were adults, they must know better than to do this. He couldn’t, they couldn’t. This was wrong.
“Let’s get you home, shall we?” He began to get up, but Obi-Wan wouldn’t budge.
“I don’t want to go back yet, Quinlan, please leave me be.” Obi-Wan tugged his hands away from Quinlan’s, but the other’s grip was too strong, so Obi-Wan ended up pulling Quinlan closer, along with his hands. The chair screeched against the floor and halted when Obi-Wan realised what he’d done.
“Woah,” Quinlan breathed, chuckling airily. “Invasion of personal space much, huh, Obi?”
Obi-Wan slowly looked up from their hands to Quinlan. Quinlan’s spruce, sure eyes. Quinlan’s sharp cheekbones. Quinlan’s sunlight yellow markings. Quinlan’s… Force. Stop looking. Stop looking right now. You’re drunk, don’t do something you’ll regret. The more he stared, the more impossible it became to pull away. A crease was forming between Quinlan’s eyebrows, his eyes speaking words he was afraid to put out there. Obi-Wan hated the pity he felt coming from Quinlan. But he couldn’t ask for anything better than the warmth of the brown eyes staring into his. Obi-Wan frowned, tears gathering in his eyes.
His anger and sadness made up his mind far too quickly. He pulled his hands away from Quinlan’s firm grip and stormed out of the bar, tears flowing freely now as he ran through the streets of some seedy Coruscant level. He ran forever. He ran until he felt sick, and he knelt on a sidewalk throwing up everything in his stomach. After he got cleaned up with whatever he had left in his pockets, he sat on the sidewalk and buried his face in his crumpled robes.
Everything came crashing down on Obi-Wan Kenobi. The awful, cheap shots he had just chugged. The horrid pain building up in his temples. The vicious monster chasing him, always chasing him, too powerful for him, too fast, never backing down. Qui-Gon never even cared. Yes, he did! Maybe, but you’re failing him more and more by the day. I’m trying my hardest not to. Anakin is my first priority. My only priority. You’re not even prioritising him, you’re only getting piss drunk. That’s not what Qui-Gon wanted. Fuck cares what he wanted! He placed everything in my hands and expected me to be perfect. He never cared for me. He took me in as a charity case, the bastard had needed psychological help at that time. He ruined me.
And the compassion, oh, the compassion feasting away at his mind, heart, and soul. The compassion of not just any Jedi, no, not the compassion that is taught in youngling chambers, not the ‘I was born to bring peace to the people’ path which all Jedi tread, it was completely different in his case.
Obi-Wan loved. He loved quickly, easily, and eternally. He never stopped loving. It was his greatest strength, his worst fatality. He didn’t run away from Anakin because he feared him, no, he loved him. He couldn’t keep feeling helpless around him anymore, it was about time he grew a pair and figured out a way to train him, to be his friend, his Master, his father. He didn’t resent Qui-Gon for selfish reasons, he loved the man who walked many forbidden paths for him, but he did resent him, too. He didn’t run from Quinlan just now due to the fear building up in his subconscious which sent red lights at the thought of falling in love. Obi-Wan Kenobi never feared falling in love, mind you. He wasn’t just any Jedi. Yes, Obi-Wan Kenobi loved Quinlan Vos. He’s loved him all his life. Everything he’s ever known was somehow tied to Quinlan. Everything in his mind always leads back to his true love. He loved him so rawly and clearly. He wanted to scream it from rooftops, spread it like the morning news, tell the entire universe. All of them but Quinlan. He couldn’t. He wished he could. His heart ached and ached, never stopping once to spare him. The love stored in him, for his friends, family, lovers and loved ones, could be spread throughout the Galaxy and never run out. Has he ever been loved? Maybe. Force knows. Does he possibly have another destiny? Another purpose? No. He’s there to love. That’s enough for him. His love could move the sand dunes on Tatooine. His love could widen the tidal waves on Scarif. His love could green the forests of Takodana. His love, though, could not stop the river of tears pouring down his face onto the damp Coruscanti sidewalk, damn near changing the dry, modern terrain of the planet.
He didn’t know he wasn’t alone, but being brought to the circle of arms of the man he loved, a hand slowly guiding his head to the warmest chest he’d ever known, and the mouth he’d known too well whispering heaven in his auburn hair covered ears did not startle him at all. Not even did his own reluctant hands grasping the fabric he felt under his hands his entire adolescence and what has passed of adulthood for dear life make him feel embarrassed. They sat there for what felt like hours, Quinlan holding Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan crying and apologising and whimpering. ‘Please don’t leave me, please do not think any less of me, please, Quin, you’re all I have. You’re all I’ll ever have.’
He didn’t know when he was brought to Quinlan’s chamber, he didn’t realise he begged to sleep beside Quinlan, he didn’t quite remember that Quinlan eagerly agreed and promised to hold him all night, he believed he was dreaming when ‘I love you, my most worthy, hardest working kingdom at war in one man. I love you for all that you are.’ was tenderly spoken in his ear. He only remembered the warmth, he only realised the unconditional love, he only knew Quinlan.