Work Text:
Pulling his scarf a little tighter Cody continued to make his way from his little studio apartment to Antonio’s. It was a small coffee shop, nestled amongst a few other businesses on a strip a few blocks down. It had the best damn scones in the area. Arguably even better than the one’s over in Hoboken.
The clouds were overcast and the wind was making itself known as he continued the trek. His latest read tucked under his arm and a bag thrown over his shoulder. Once he got to Antonio’s he nudged the door open and found himself greeted with a wave from Eren, one of the baristas. He wouldn't go as far as to say he was a regular, but maybe he was. He liked to dip into the ambience of a local coffee shop and read for a while. “A double shot with almond milk, but decaf this time. I know, I know, it sucks the joy out of it.” Moving past Eren’s eye roll he continued. “Oh, fuck yes.” Cody grinned, having noticed the cranberry lemon scones available in the pastry case. “I'll take a cranberry lemon, Er. Thank you very fucking much.” Eren laughed under her breath as they rang up the rest of Cody’s order. They scribbled it on his cup and bagged the scones, tossing in an extra. “Since you're all enthusiastic about them, fuckin’ dork.”
–
Cody’s latest read was Virtues by Kenobi. It was a historical piece, mostly fictional and depicting a monarchy. Cody wasn't far into the novel yet, but he was enjoying it. Kenobi had a lot of works painting the flaws of various political forces, but he also dove into the realm of sci-fi. One of Cody’s favourites by the author was Soul to Shore, set on a planet that unfolded from the depths of Kenobi’s mind. This copy of Virtues was paperback, though he had eyed the hardback he liked the feel of this version of the novel. The cover art took inspiration from the Renaissance period, he traced it idley before removing his bookmark and getting lost within the pages.
Cody had a bookshelf nestled in a corner of his studio. It was adorned with a range of books. There were novels, collections of poetry, some short stories, and a few nonfiction pieces including a few textbooks. He had found it at a thrift store and added a few personal touches. He'd sanded it down before adding a couple coats of dark oak polish. Alongside the books sat a singular potted plant that Fives had gifted him. He’d been insistent that it just belonged there. “Succulents belong on bookshelves, it's their rite of passage.” The pot that it sat in had been bland, until Hunter got hold of a sharpie and went wild. It had just been a black one lying around the apartment. Though after that Hunter went out and bought one of the silver metallic ones and added to each line. It had looked wonderful. Wrecker added a few bright neon smiley face stickers. It still looked fucking wonderful.
Not all of his family lived in New York, but a few had also made the move. Most of them stuck in or around the heart of Manhattan. Cody had found himself in Hell's Kitchen. His brothers Rex and Fives lived just by Manhattan. His cousins Hunter, Wrecker, and the rest of their brothers lived in Brooklyn. New York, depending on the area, was lacklustre and blooming at the same time.
He let out a gasp, eyes darting around the page as he absorbed each word. He was six chapters in now, and the scandal was unfolding. Though it had been printed in large quantities, the book had the aura of one written via quill and inkwell. Cody found himself wondering how Kenobi wrote. What were his personal spins on artistry?
Cody tucked his bookmark back within the confines of the novel and took a sip of his drink, now lukewarm. He surveyed the area momentarily. Someone who he assumed to be a parent was ordering a beverage for themselves and a gaggle of three kids, all at heights below the assumed parent’s hip. Excited cheers rang out as Eren grabbed a few pastries for them.
Another customer came in, then. Cody glanced in the direction as he heard the chime above the door. His jaw damn near dropped as the cover of vogue himself stood in the fucking doorway. The man’s hair was auburn and mussed, the culprit being that Cody had already witnessed him run a hand through his hair. His skin was pale, but not just pale. It was as if the sun had never placed a kiss upon it. And damn Cody’s brain for never taking a moment away from a book because what was that? Well, he supposed he would roll with it. Michelangelo had once said “The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.” And there divine perfection stood, waiting for art to be created in his wake.
Cody let out a breath and nearly shook as he removed his bookmark again. His mind drifted to Kenobi as the man ordered his drink, a quad latte. He ran his fingers over the page, grounding himself in Virtues. Though he did not continue to read. Chapter 6 was just tapping into a crescendo and Cody wanted the words to have his focus. Cody continued to gaze at the book so that he would not continue to stare at the man who could very well hold the grace of a statue located by the Parthenon.
He glanced up again and oh dear holy fuck, the man had acquired his drink and sat two tables over from Cody. He was wearing a knit sweater, with a collar from an undershirt peeking overtop. He was staring down now at a spread of papers across his table. There was a folder, a notebook, and an unfolded roll that contained different pens. The man looked up and met Cody’s eyes. Cody wished with everything in him that his phone would blare with whatever Fives had set his ringtone to on the last visit. Instead, his phone remained silent in his pocket. That was great. Cody cleared his throat and shuffled his book, nearly entertaining the idea of putting it in front of his face. The man arched a brow. “Do you like to read?”
Like was an understatement. Reading had become a part of Cody’s personality trait. It was a hobby. An escape. A means of knowledge. “I do. Yeah. Hand me a book and you won't be seeing me for a few hours.” Cody’s response was met with a grin that settled just on the edge of a smirk. He wondered if he could butt dial Fives. The man scribbled out a word and then wrote a few more, humming under his breath, or at least Cody assumed so. It was hard to hear over the ambience ricocheting off of the walls. “Would you like to read this, then?” He asked, holding up what he had been working on. “You write?” Cody asked while gathering his things. He made his way over to the table his new conversation partner was sitting at, and gestured vaguely at the chair across from him. “Do you mind if I sit?” The man tilted his head, and shoved the paper out at Cody. “You have to go read over there. Furthest corner.” He said. Cody picked up on his accent now. “Of course you can sit.” The man relented.
Cody took the paper in his hand. Papers, he realised. Bound together by a paper clip. The writing was hurried, somewhat dancing along the outskirts of cursive. It was legible. He took another sip of his drink. Realising it was low he finished it before beginning to read. The words were well put together, but seemed to be half written thoughts at the same time. Cody supposed this was the very beginning of a project. The thought brought forth a smile. He flipped the page and found himself engrossed in the story.
On the third page he pieced together that it was political sci-fi. The writing style felt very familiar. He wondered if it had been influenced by Soul to Shore? The further he read, the more it seemed like this work was less of an influence and more so as if it had come from the mind of Kenobi himself.
Kenobi’s style was distinct. The author did not limit himself to one genre, but each piece he wrote had a touch that was so distinctly him. Reading one of Kenobi’s books was like dipping your toe into the shallows of a pool only to then realise that was not enough, so you hurry to the deep end and dive headfirst into this new exciting world. Each chapter was captivating. He’d easily become Cody’s favourite author.
As a person, there was not much known about Kenobi outside of the content he produced. His pen name was Kenobi, and there were no current photographs of the man. He did not do public signings, and instead opted to send signed copies out from various post offices and agencies around the world. However, there were some articles that contained descriptions of the man online. Cody had stumbled upon these one day. He’d been reading what few interviews were available, and had found the description of Kenobi. He was said to be in his mid-fourties, with blue eyes, auburn hair, and swatches of freckles covering each stretch of skin. In the interviews Cody had read he seemed to be sarcastic yet gentle and inviting all the same.
Cody read the last paragraph of the booklet in his hand and then looked up, studying the man. Having read Soul to Shore numerous times now, somewhere over ten, there was no mistaking the writing style. His heart started to swiftly pound in the confines of his chest and fuck, he was going to have to deliberately call one of his brothers after this. “It's really captivating. If it's critique your after you might want to look somewhere else, I only have praise.” Cody slid the booklet back over.
“A shame.” The man tsked. “You were suppose to destroy my ego, not build it.” He tapped the edges of the papers, aligning them further before adding another paper clip. He shoved a few things aside and made space on the table. He propped his elbow on the tabletop, and rested his chin on his hand so that he could look directly at Cody. Cody swallowed, desperately trying to keep himself together. Though being on the receiving end of a look from a man crafted with hands greater than those of Rodin’s or even Donatello’s Cody barely stood a chance. “Your writing was shit.” Cody deadpanned. The man across from him guffawed, taking a moment to gather composure before responding. “Thank you.”
Cody smiled. “I haven't seen you around before. Do you come to Antonio’s often?”
“Ah, no. I live closer to Greenwhich. If you're ever in the area, I do recommend Organa’s. It's owned by a dear friend. I could write a sonnet dedicated to his bagels. In fact–” The man shuffled around some of the paper until he found a blank piece. He grabbed a pen and began to write. “I'm only joking. For now. I'll write it later, when I'm not enjoying your company.”
Cody swore under his breath, feeling his face flush. Still, he saw the opportunity. “Would you be willing to be a tour guide?” He asked, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “It's hardly large enough to get lost, but I would be willing to provide further companionship, yes.” Cody unlocked his phone and handed it over. He saw the man eye his copy of Virtues for a moment before passing his phone back.
‘Obi-Wan Kenobi’
He fucking knew that the writing styles were similar. Attempting to keep his shit together he offered his own name. “Cody, my name is Cody.”
“Well, Cody, it's a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you too, Obi-Wan.”