Work Text:
The fight is done. We lost.
The smell of the smoke, the heat that came from not just the flames but the bitterness that bubbled inside of him for the first time, and the cries of his brother were still all so distinct to Obi-Wan Kenobi.
They plague his mind when he sits in the quiet, or when he closes his eyes at night. His fingers still tingle from the weight of a duty-bound weapon, now nothing more than a relic. All of what he once lived up to was gone, buried in the dust and sand.
Then there’s you who had found him on Tatooine and asked to stay for a short while. He was secretly hoping you’d ask to stay for longer, but he doesn’t hold much to his hopes anymore, not after the fall of the Order.
“My friend... he was a clone trooper,” fills the frigid silence are the words you speak, wet with tears, though you try to fight them, blink them away.
It had been silent in his small hut and he had been so deep in thought that he hadn’t noticed you begin to cry.
That constant ache in his chest—the one that's far more painful and gruelling than the wear of his skin, or the grey of his hair, or the soreness of his bones—pushes against him again, threatening to cave in.
“I’m sorry,”
Fingers brush away the silent stream off your cheeks, wiping them into nothing. “You need to stop saying that, you know?”
Brisk is the statement pointed to him, furrowing his brows.
“I mean it,” he says.
“You say it like it’s your fault,”
He can’t help that. He has lost so much in such a short time; his brother, his faith, his duty, and his heart.
But with you back in his life, a piece of it remains.
Though he hasn’t hoped in a long time, he hopes he can mend your heart, even a little bit. Maybe, too, you can stay.
The two of you are so broken but with words and with touch, you can fix each other.