Chapter Text
Obi-Wan knew that he was more fortunate than most people, just by virtue of being born in district four. His parents, proud middle-class anglers, taught him at an early age to be happy with what he was given.
He shouldn’t ask for mercy from the peacekeepers who showed you a friendly face one day and the butt of their rifle the next.
He shouldn’t ask for a helping hand from the wealthier merchants who would preach about community on festival days, but forced their neighbors - the same men and women who supplied their inventory - to sell their stock for less and less so that they could cut a larger profit.
Most importantly, he shouldn’t ask for things to change.
He shouldn’t want more than he has.
He is luckier than most.
~O~
He is lucky when he is thirteen and his name is called during the reaping.
He doesn’t think so at first.
He expects one of the kids that belong to the wealthy merchants that have been training for this, bragging about what they’d do when they volunteer this year or the next. Where are they now?
He doesn’t think so when his friend, Satine, is called up to the podium next.
She’s shaking next to him when their escort raises their hands like they’ve already won by virtue of being reaped.
He is lucky to have Mace Windu as his mentor. The man, eleven years earlier, had won his games by beheading another tribute.
In the week between the reaping and the games he takes Obi-Wan under his wing; taking what he had already learned from helping his parents at work and twisting it to make sure that he was prepared for the arena.
By the time he walks onto the hovercraft, Obi-Wan knows that he has the ability to kill another tribute. He just doesn’t know if he has the stomach to.
But he is lucky again when he wakes up in the arena and realizes that he’s in a rowboat, being rocked by the gentle waves.
He hadn’t even had to kill anyone. Satine dies in front of him the first night, killed when the tribute from two capsizes both of their boats.
He hadn’t thought much about it. Boats capsize all the time at home. He waits nearby for her to surface so that he can help her out of the water, but when she does come up it’s back first in a haze of red water.
The next few days he watches and counts the number of cannon blasts each night. The number of dead tributes continues to rise until he’s the last one alive.
In the end, all he had to do was wait. And be lucky.
~O~
The first few years after he won, the older victors from district four made sure to keep him out of the mentorship role even if they couldn’t keep him out of the spotlight.
He doesn’t even meet another tribute from district four until he is nineteen.
Aayla is younger than he was when he entered the arena; she only turned twelve a month before the reaping. He takes an immediate liking to her.
She latches on just as hard and they spend the train ride getting to know each other and preparing their strategy. They work the crowd at the train platform. He gives her tips to use during the interviews and he starts making friends with the sponsors.
Six days later he confidently waves her into the hovercraft. Two hours after that she’s dead.
He does not take it well.
After Aayla, he swears he won’t mentor another child.
He still helps in other ways. He gets very good at talking sponsors out of their money.Mace and the others leave the heavy lifting to him, working behind the scenes with the money and information he earns to ensure that the district four kids are well taken care of in the arena.
Then, the same year he turns thirty-four, a skinny teen leaves the arena with twenty-two kills to his name, a scar across his eye, and a bleeding stump where his right forearm should be.
Obi-Wan, like everyone in Panem, watches horrified as the obviously feral teen has to be incapacitated when he refuses to allow peacekeepers to remove him from the arena.
~O~
Anakin doesn’t try to make any friends; he barely looks anyone in the eyes and gives short one word answers when he is forced to answer a question.
Obi-Wan introduces himself during the party after the crowning ceremony. He’s not too impressed with the boy before him. Tall and wiry, he’s barely the same height as Obi-Wan. He looks like he weighs 100 pounds soaking wet.
The image of this same teen, soaked with blood, flashes in Obi-Wan’s mind. He can’t reconcile the two pictures in his mind.
He can feel his smile dip a little at the corners when they lock eyes. Anakin’s gaze is steely, none of the murderous rage from the arena has left him.
He leaves shortly after, shaken from the experience, and decides that he’ll avoid the teenager from now on.
After all, he’s not really here to make friends from the other districts he reminds himself. He’s here to make sure that the kids from district four don’t have to be lucky when they go into their arena.
~O~
The next year, he avoids his tributes, two volunteers who sneer in his direction anytime his name is mentioned.
Plo Koon, the oldest living victor from district four, mentors them both since Mace and Shaak Ti can’t make the trip this year.
The first night, on the trip to the capitol, Obi-Wan walks in on the two of them talking with Plo in the dining car. He stops in the doorway before they see him.
“Why is he even coming with us? I heard he’s too afraid to be a mentor,” says the male tribute.
“My older sister says that he only goes every year to party and drink,” that’s the female tribute.
Plo doesn’t look up from the paper he’s reading when he says, “Obi-Wan helps us with the sponsors. He’s been invaluable to maintaining our district's strong relationships.”
He can see the female tribute smirks around her food.
“I heard all about the help he gives the sponsors,” she says.
“Those are just rumors,” says the male tribute. “Right Plo? He doesn’t actually whore himself out to the sponsors, no one would believe that.”
Obi-Wan turns around and leaves before he hears what Plo says.
He knew when he saw them volunteer that this year would be different from the others. Harder in many ways.
The two children in the car behind him are not like him. They were not raised the same way, even though one of them - maybe the girl- grew up a few blocks away from him. They both chose this.
He has to run to the nearest bathroom to dry heave around the thought that comes into his head.
‘Maybe it will be easier to watch them die this year.’
~O~
The same year, Obi-Wan has a shadow.
He first feels the eyes tracking him in the common areas of the tribute center. When he looks around, paranoid, he finds Anakin’s piercing stare looking back.
‘He’s going to kill me’, is his first thought.
An Avox walks between the two of them, breaking the trance that he’s fallen into.
Obi-Wan turns to the elevators that will take him to the fourth floor. When he looks back, Anakin is still there, towering next to his two nervous tributes and staring at Obi-Wan.
The elevator doors start to close him in and Obi-Wan turns to watch Anakin watch him. Nervously, he leans back against the wall of the elevator and wonders what he did to piss off the other man.
~O~
The tributes are in the arena and Obi-Wan is sitting with Jango Fett, one of his regular sponsors, in a dark corner of a watch party when he notices a figure in the corner of his eye.
He removes his legs from where they’re draped over the other man’s and places his hand on Jango’s thigh to grab the bottle from the table and refill his drink. He’s not nearly drunk enough to need the help with his balance, but after a few years with Jango he knows what the man likes.
When he’s fully extended his arm to reach the bottle, he subtly tilts his head to see who’s watching him.
He’s only a little surprised to see Anakin, standing closer than everyone else knew to go when couples sat in this corner. He is surprised enough when Anakin makes eye contact with him that he flinches and nearly drops the bottle.
Jango laughs behind him and leans forward so that he can wrap his hand around where Obi-Wan’s is on the bottle. He pulls him back onto the couch and presses his lips against his ear.
“Should we put on a show for your friend?”
He closes his eyes and sends out a prayer that Anakin is far enough away that he didn’t hear what Jango said. Then he turns back to Jango.
“I think I want to keep you all for myself tonight.”
Please, please be far enough away.
Jango smiles at him and leans close enough that their lips are touching when he says, “I knew you missed me, baby.”
Obi-Wan looks back when Jango is pulling him out of the party to see Anakin watching him. He feels guilty and can’t decide why.
~O~
It comes to a head two days after that.
Obi-Wan has spent the last two days trying to dodge Anakin during group interviews and watch parties. Anakin has been following him from one room to the next; gravitating towards him during interviews and always watching him with that same unwavering stare.
Last night, he hadn’t even been able to get the attention of a gamemaker because she had been too scared of Anakin.
He is determined not to let that happen again. He has no love lost for his tributes this year, but this gamemaker is next in line to be head gamemaker. It wouldn’t hurt to build a relationship with her.
He spots her across the room at the grazing table that has been set out for the morning event. Anakin shifts behind him, ready to move when he does.
At a loss, Obi-Wan turns to the younger man. If Mace were here, he would have stopped this already and they wouldn’t be in this situation. But Mace isn’t here, so he’ll have to do this his own way.
“Anakin,” he says sweetly, sidling up close enough to the other man that he has to look up slightly to meet his stare. He pokes his tongue out to unstick his drying lips.
“I’m feeling a bit peckish. Would you like to join me while I get some food?”
Anakin, stiffer than Obi-Wan has seen him before, hesitates and then looks away from him. He isn’t sure because of the tan sun-soaked skin, but he thinks Anakin might be blushing.
Anakin follows him across the room, the sparse crowd moving as people notice Anakin walking towards them.
Once they make it to the table, he grabs two tiny plates and hands one to Anakin. Anakin doesn’t take it at first, but he pushes it into his chest and smiles at him when he takes it.
Anakin makes what he can only assume is an attempt to smile back. The smile is wide and toothy. It splits his face open and on a younger man it might have been boyish, but Obi-Wan had watched those teeth tear into the throat of another child just last year.
He can’t forget what he’s trying to do.
They walk around the table together. Anakin picks up more food than can fit on his plate and is trying to stack a mixed berry tart on top of a banana when Obi-Wan hands him his empty plate.
Anakin doesn’t take it. He looks questioningly at Obi-Wan and says, “No.”
He bounces the plate by the rim he’s holding and says, “Go ahead, I don’t see anything here that I can stomach.”
Anakin takes the plate and Obi-Wan helps him distribute the food between the two. Obi-Wan picks up a small scone and puts it on Anakin’s plate.
“I usually love these, but I’m afraid I might have overdone it last night,” He didn’t even get close to overdrinking, but he doesn’t think that Anakin will be able to tell. He keeps walking down the tables, piling meats and pastries onto the plates as he walks.
They make it to an empty table and Anakin starts to shove food into his mouth like a starving man. Obi-Wan sighs and props his head up on his hand. Anakin slows, looking up at him through a blonde fringe.
Anakin swallows a bite and picks up one of the pastries and gestures with it to Obi-Wan.
He sighs and shakes his head, wincing for effect.
“I couldn’t. The only thing I can eat when I overindulge like this is salmon and they never have any out. I always have to ask the chefs to make it for me.”
Anakin straightens up, shoves a scone into his mouth, and stands from their table.
“Okay.”
He turns to leave the room and Obi-Wan waits until he sees him leave to make his way over to the gamemaker. It’s past time for him to do his part.
~O~
He’s buttoning his pants in a hallway far from the main hall when he’s grabbed by his shoulder and pushed up against the wall.
He starts to fight back before he sees that it’s Anakin.
They’re chest to chest in the abandoned hallway. He’s heaving, adrenaline making his breaths come faster. Anakin is pinning him against the wall with his arm. He doesn’t say anything, sure that the moment he does he’s a dead man.
He’s watching Anakin closely. Waiting for the shift in his eyes that warns he’s about to move. He sends a quiet thanks to his parents for teaching him how to fish. The patience is paying off now.
There are lips on his.
Anakin is kissing him.
He’s not dead.
What the hell?
He waits for anakin to finish his sloppy kiss. Taps his shoulder after a minute passes.
Anakin moves back, hands still bunched in Obi-Wan’s shirt.
“What the hell?” He asks, “Why did you do that?”
“I love you.”
“No you don’t, you’re a child.”
“I’m twenty.”
“And you hate me.”
“Why would I hate you?”
“I don't know! Because of the way you’ve been staring and following me around. You were purposefully keeping me from helping my tributes so that yours have a better chance.”
He pushes hard enough at Anakin’s arms that he lets go. Or maybe his grip was already loose. Obi-Wan can’t tell if he’s shocked or angry.
“No I wasn't.”
“You weren’t?”
Anakin steps back and shakes his head.
“My tributes have no chance of winning. They never do and they never will. I've been watching you because I think you're beautiful. And I've been following you because you shouldn’t have to keep doing this.” Anakin gestures to the room that he must have watched the gamemaker leave a few minutes beforehand.
“I don't have to do any of this anakin. I do it because it’s what I'm good at. I can't work with the sad tributes every year. I can’t keep getting attached to people who keep dying.”
Obi-Wan goes to leave and turns to walk backwards a few steps as he calls out, “If you don’t like what I’m doing then stop watching.”
~O~
His tributes don’t win that year.
He tries not to attribute that to his own failings; he wasn’t even really trying to help them.
Anakin doesn’t leave his side during the rest of the games. He’s there holding doors for Obi-Wan, waiting for him in the lobby in the morning, and standing in his shots when Cesar Flickerman’s camera crew comes by to get his remarks on the game.
They develop something of a routine. In the morning, Anakin waits for him outside of the elevator and walks with him to whatever event is hosting breakfast. At night, Anakin escorts him back to his elevator after dinner.
They don’t talk again after that night that Anakin kissed him.
This year turns out to be one of his least productive. The sponsors that aren’t too scared to stay away from Anakin, which is mostly just Jango, don’t have useful information. But he has to maintain those relationships, so he flirts and teases and makes sure that they will miss him until next summer.
~O~
Plo is helping him with his bags on the train platform and Anakin is running to meet them. He had purposefully asked Plo to move up their departure time so that he could avoid Anakin, so this is something of a disappointment.
“Do you want me to handle this?” Plo is a quiet man normally. Obi-Wan knows that he prefers to stand in the background and whisper words of encouragement rather than place himself in any sort of spotlight. He once watched the older man throw Mace Windu into a glass table to avoid a camera crew.
He’s also been Obi-Wan’s staunchest protector for the last twenty years. It warms him to know that even at his advanced age, the man would still try to keep Obi-Wan from someone that might hurt him.
Obi-Wan hands him the last suitcase and says, “No, he’s harmless.”
Plo gives him a look that says he doesn’t believe him, but moves onto the train.
Anakin is breathing deeply when he stops a foot or so away. Obi-Wan makes no move towards him or away; watching the rise and fall of the younger man’s shoulders while he waits for him to say something. To explain why he’s here. Why he’s been so persistent.
They watch each other for a silent few minutes until the train whistles. Plo is back at the door, urging him to get on so that they can go home.
He nods at Anakin and turns to Plo, ready to be done with this wreck of a year.
“Wait.”
He turns to see Anakin fidgeting with a small box. He shuffles it from one hand to another before holding it out so that it’s nearly touching Obi-Wan. He takes it and looks down at the small metallic gold colored cardboard with Panem’s Capitol logo printed across the top.
Obi-Wan undoes the clasp holding the box together and looks inside to see his favorite scones from the kitchens. He’s confused at the gift and looks up to see that Anakin is watching him eagerly.
“Yes, well. Umm," he falters in his surprise. He’s gotten larger, more expensive gifts than this so why is he stumbling over his words?
“You said that they were your favorite.”
Obi-Wan wants to melt. Wants to allow himself to enjoy this moment for what it is, but he isn’t the naive thirteen year old anymore. He doesn’t get lucky. He doesn’t know what Anakin wants from him.
And he can’t afford to pretend like he gets a happy ending.
He closes the box and hands it back to Anakin whose smile fades as it turns into confusion and hurt. They stand there looking at one another. Both have one hand on the box where it hangs suspended between them. Neither willing to let go.
“I was lying to you Anakin,” no he wasn’t.
“I was trying to get you out of my hair,” that was true.
“No, Obi-Wan I know-”
“You don’t know me. And you sure as hell don’t love me.” Also true.
He watches as Anakin tilts his head downward and purses his lips. He can practically see the gears turning in his head. Behind him, Plo says his name again.
Obi-Wan lets go of the box between them and turns away. He hears Anakin fumble the box, but doesn’t look back to see if he’s left destruction on the platform.
~O~
The first time that his phone rings after he gets home he expects it to be Jango. Mace or Shaak Ti would have just shown up and none of the victors from other districts like him enough to call.
He’s so sure that it’s Jango that he nearly says his name when he picks up the phone. He thinks better of it at the last second. What if Mace is having a lazy day? He’d never live it down.
“Kenobi,” is what he settles on.
“Obi-Wan!” He knows that voice, it’s Anakin.
“How did you get this number?” He can hear noise in the back of the call, yelling and laughter. He can’t imagine the quiet boy that followed him around for two weeks and scared off sponsors hosting a party. He looks over his own empty house and wonders who Anakin has over.
“Hmmm? Oh I asked your stylist! She’s wonderful. Can you tell her that she looks like an angel? If I were into women…” Anakin trails off and he can just barely hear him sigh above the crowd. “But I’m not, soooo… Can I tell you something, Obi? I’m not really into other men either,” He stops listening when Anakin giggles into his ear.
Who is this? The more he learns about Anakin, the more he’s sure that he doesn’t know him at all.
Anakin is still talking when he hangs up and gives Padme a call.
“Ms. Amidala’s office.”
“Cordé. It’s Obi-Wan. Is she busy?”
There’s static for a moment before Cordé comes back.
“She’s with President Snow right now. Can I have her call you back?”
“No, just take a message for me. Ask her why she thought it was a good idea to -” his other line rings, “-give my number to some district twelve kid who won’t leave me alone.”
“Oh, Anakin’s actually really sweet Obi-Wan. When you get past the gruff and terrifying-ness.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The light that indicates a call waiting is still flashing at him.
“Thank you Cordé. You’ve been extremely unhelpful.”
~O~
The phone doesn’t stop ringing. Eventually he picks up the phone, just trying to stop the noise.
It’s about a month after the first call.
“Anakin,” he says right as Mace walks into the room.
“You picked up.” he can hear the disbelief through the phone. He can also hear a smaller voice saying ‘He picked up?’.
Mace’s eyebrows climb his face. Silent judgment radiating off of him.
“Stop calling.”
“No.”
He sets the phone down quickly, angry at himself for even answering in the first place. Mace pulls out two cups from the cabinet and sets them down to open a bottle of rum that he brought.
“Your boyfriend causing you trouble?”
Obi-Wan takes the glass of rum and swallows it back in one gulp. The burn of the homespun liquor helps numb his headache.
“Fuck off.”
Mace laughs quietly. Then the phone rings and he laughs louder.
~O~
They end up talking more as the weeks continue.
He meets Anakin’s mother on Christmas day. He’s sitting in his own empty house, drinking and listening to Anakin go between talking to him and the people that he has over. There’s yelling and the sound of the phone clattering on the other end of the line. He’s about to hang up and drink himself to sleep when a woman’s voice comes over the phone.
“I’m sorry, dear. Anakin will be back soon. His friends are covering him in coal for the bonfire tonight.”
“Is that safe?” not that he cares.
“Not as much as I’d like it to be,” He laughs with her. “Now then, what do they do in district four to celebrate the holiday?”
They talk for a few minutes when he hears Anakin coming back, “Mom, let me have the phone. Is it still Obi-Wan?”
The rustling of the phone being handed over tells him that Anakin is back on the phone.
They listen to each other breath for a few heartbeats.
“Your mom is nice.”
“She’s the best.”
He starts to laugh.
“What?” Anakin asks.
“I’m just picturing you covered in coal. Is it itchy?”
Anakin laughs once and then catches his breath. When he talks next, Obi-Wan can hear the smile in his words.
“Yeah, actually.”
~O~
The ice is melting from the bay that the victor’s village sits on when Obi-Wan concedes that he and Anakin might be friends.
He answers more calls than he misses now. Which means that they’re talking almost every day. He talks to Anakin more than anyone else. Most days they talk late into the night about everything from their families to the hobbies that they’ve been forced to pick up.
“Your talent is repairing things? How is that a talent?”
“Apparently it’s not. They told me that I have to pick a new one.”
Obi-Wan smiles and adjusts the phone so that he can get more comfortable on the couch. Outside of his bay windows there is a storm making its way inland. The reports say that it is gaining speed and will make landfall before dawn as a category three hurricane.
He sees the small specks of boats on the water, people like his parents trying to get the most out of the ocean while they can, and wants to cry. There will be destruction this time tomorrow. People will lose everything that stands between them and the water.
“Have you thought about fencing? I can teach you when we see each other again in a few months.”
~O~
That summer, the district four tributes are siblings.
The boy corners him on the train. He’s the older of the siblings, probably no older than seventeen. He’s panicked, Obi-Wan can see that in his eyes. Behind the bravado and square shoulders, this teenager is scared.
Good. Maybe he’ll last longer than the first day.
“Can I help you?” He asks when the boy doesn’t move or say anything.
“No,” a nervous swallow, “But you can help Sarah.”
That’s the sister.
“Who?” He asks just to see the look on his face. He pats the boy's arm goodnaturedly and pushes him away to make his way to his room.
“I’m kidding,” he says once he sees the boy following. “Of course I’ll help her, but I’m not her mentor. There’s only so much I can do.”
The boy follows him into his room and watches as he unpacks his toiletries and night clothes.
“I know what you do for the tributes. How you get them special favors from the sponsors by -”
“Seducing them?” He supplies.
“Yes.”
He puts the bag he’s holding down on the bed and stalks closer until he’s close enough to see the stubbly hair on the boy’s chin. He straightens the boy’s crooked tie.
“And how would such an innocent young man as yourself know about that?”
The sunburnt skin of his neck quivers. Even at seventeen, he’s been working outside for years and it shows in the premature lines that dig into his skin. He looks older than he will probably ever be.
Obi-Wan watches his Adam's apple bob.
“I heard some of the women talking. They say that you’re the reason that the tributes from four get better coverage and more supplies during the games.”
Obi-Wan steps away from the boy and goes back to his bag on the bed.
“That’s not what they said,” He’d heard the things that were said about him in town; none of it was that nice.
“Maybe it’s not, but it’s what I heard. I need you to do that for her.”
Obi-Wan nods towards the sitting area of his room and rings for an attendant to bring them food.
While they wait, he finishes unpacking. Most of his wardrobe is in the storage car waiting to be unpacked by an Avox when they arrive in the Capitol tomorrow, so it doesn’t take him very long.
He can’t delay any longer when the food arrives, so he sits and watches the boy marvel over the amount of food on the table.
“You started off on the right foot if you want to help your sister. You two had a very touching moment during the reaping. Not to mention your mother.”
Obi-Wan picks up a scone. It’s the same one that they make in the Capitol. The same kind that Anakin gifted him. He can’t bring himself to eat it.
“Now all you have to do is play your cards right. Like I said, there’s only so much I can do. The rest of it will be up to you.”
“I’ll do anything.”
“No you won’t, but you’ll need to do what I say. And I’ll do the rest.”
~O~
There’s a knock on his door at the training facility when he’s stepping out of the shower the next morning. He answers in only a towel, expecting his guest.
He steps aside to let Jango into his room. The man shuffles by Obi-Wan, stepping close enough that their chests touch. His silver shimmering shirt dampens from their proximity.
“You came.”
Jango closes the door behind himself and walks Obi-Wan backwards until they’re at the bed.
“You know I love it when you beg.”
~O~
Mace is sitting in the kitchen when he walks Jango to the elevator doors. Jango leans over for one last kiss and pats him on the ass as he walks into the elevator.
Mortified, he closes his eyes and counts to ten in his head.
“Starting early this year, aren’t we?”
He stops in his tracks. He should have known better than to think he would get by without comment.
“And bringing them up to your rooms, too. That’s new.”
He sighs and walks into the kitchen. He’ll have to wait to clean up.
Mace hands him the bottle of alcohol that he’s drinking from. Obi-Wan shakes his head, then thinks better of it, considering the conversation that he’s about to have, and grabs it to take a swig.
“He’s a Gamemaker this year. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ensure that we were in good standing.”
“Is that what you were doing? Making sure that our tributes are taken care of?”
“You know why I-”
“The children that are on this very floor! You want to expose them to -”
He can’t help it. He’s laughing now. Cruelly and madly laughing at his mentor, the man who has supported him for years.
“What does it matter now, Mace? This isn’t about them. They’ll both be dead within the month. We all know it.”
A gasp from the door tells him that they aren’t alone. He looks over and sees the girl, Sarah, and her brother. Sarah’s eyes are bloodshot and she runs off crying. The boy looks over Obi-Wan’s disheveled appearance and nods at him once before he turns to follow Sarah.
“You’ve always acted like you were alone here,” Mace takes a swig of the bottle and then gets up to walk closer to him. “You forget why we’re even doing this.”
“I’m doing this for them,” Obi-Wan steps out of Mace’s reach. His anger leads them both to the living room with his pacing.
“You forget that this ,” he gestures to himself. “-is all that I’m good for here. I never killed anyone. I didn’t earn my place here. I got lucky ! So if I have to fuck my way through all of Panem to give those little shits,” he points the direction that the kids ran to, ”- a fighting chance, I will.”
Mace doesn’t try to deny any of it. He’s standing with his head down and his hands folded. Obi-Wan gets into his space so that he can whisper the next part.
“And if you have a problem with it, then you can tell those kids why they don’t get the good questions during their interviews. Why we won’t have the money to send them food when they’re starving next week or the weapon that will save their life.”
Mace has his hands up defensively.
“Obi-Wan, please calm down. I’m sorry.” He starts to reach out, but Obi-Wan steps back. He’s lost the wind in his sails.
There’s nothing to be gained by staying, so he leaves.
~O~
He knocks on Anakin’s door around three in the morning. Well, he buzzes up to his floor from the elevator.
Anakin is waiting for him when the doors open. His arms are crossed over his bare chest and his hair is fluffy from sleep.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I-” He hasn’t left the elevator yet, so the doors start to close on him. Part of him wants to let them close, to let the elevator carry him back to his floor so that he can crawl into his bed and sleep until it’s time to go home again, but Anakin reaches out with his metal hand to stop the doors.
“Obi-Wan, you’re scaring me. Please -”
He snorts a laugh at Anakin.
“ I’m scaring you? Have you seen yourself?” He gestures to the imposing figure that Anakin cuts in the dim light. In the last year he’s grown an extra few inches so that he’s now taller than Obi-Wan. His shoulders are wider and his arms thicker than they were last year. His bare chest is toned and a smattering of hair sits in between the pecks of an otherwise hairless chest.
This is not the body of a man who spent the last year relaxing at home. Whatever he has been doing, it’s been a workout.
“You’re -” He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t hurt Anakin. Doesn’t want to let the Capitol push him to this the way that it always does. How hard is it to remember who he is outside of this city?
“Come on,” Anakin isn’t touching him, but his hand hovers over his arm, herding him out of the elevator.
“We can talk after you have a shower. You look like hell.”
He takes Obi-Wan into a room that looks like a bomb has gone off. He kicks tools and metal pieces out of the way as they walk to the bathroom.
Anakin starts the shower and then turns to Obi-Wan who is taking his shirt off. Obi-Wan sees the flush running down Anakin’s neck and chest. His head is turned away and he’s staring at a towel like he’s never seen one before.
“Are you going to join me, then?” Obi-Wan asks, kicking off his shoes and putting his hands to his waistband.
Anakin’s flush deepens and his face screws up.
“NO! I’ll- I’ll get you a change of clothes,” he says on the way out of the room. When he has to walk by Obi-Wan he holds his hands up and leans away so that they don’t come close to touching.
~O~
After the shower, he feels like a new person. He's swimming in the borrowed clothes. He has to roll the hem of the sweatpants but there’s nothing he can do about the shirt sliding off of his shoulder.
When he leaves the bathroom, Anakin is laying propped up against the headboard of the bed with a lamp illuminating a book that he’s so engrossed in he doesn’t react to the door or the steam coming into the room.
He makes his way carefully through the parts and climbs onto the bed, crawling to lay next to Anakin.
Anakin doesn’t react except to raise the arm not supporting the book he’s reading in invitation. Obi-Wan curls up against the other man and is out before he can ask what Anakin is reading.
~O~
They sleep in the next morning.
Effie, the district twelve escort, makes a high pitched “Oh” noise when she finds them the next morning. Haymitch, the only other district twelve victor, leans around her and raises his eyebrows at them before leaving.
He wants to be mortified that they were caught in a compromising position. Remembers the embarrassment the first time Mace walked in on him and a sponsor.
He can’t bring himself to feel anything but well rested. He’s safe and warm with Anakin’s arm around him.
~O~
“Haymitch tried to warn me about you today.” Anakin says when they’re alone in the corner of the room where the tributes are all preparing for the parade.
The smell of horses and leather fill the room. The tributes are mostly subdued, preparing for the first time that the sponsors will see them.
“Did he? I think I may have heard it all before, but do tell,” he doesn’t care for the way that Anakin looks at him when he says that. It’s too close to pity for his liking.
“It’s nothing I didn’t already know.”
Anakin is stone-faced when a camera operator and producer stop in front of the two of them.
Cesar Flickerman’s voice comes through a speaker that the producer is holding.
“And here we have victors Kenobi and Skywalker. Looking awfully close there gentleman. Anything to say to the viewers today? Anything you’d like to tell us?” His voice lowers at the end as if it is just the three of them and not being broadcast to all of Panem.
He glances out of the corner of his eye to see that Anakin’s jaw has clenched. They’re not getting anything from him.
“You know me Cesar,” He winks into the camera. “I only have eyes for you.”
A harsh laugh comes through the speaker and cuts off as quickly as it started.
“What are these rumors I hear about the two of you then? I know that the good people of Panem love a story. What’s going on here, boys?”
He grabs Anakin’s arm with both of his hands and grins wickedly into the camera.
“Cesar. Rumors will get you nowhere. Anakin and I are just helping promote unity between districts.”
He hopes that Anakin will forgive him this liberty after the camera leaves.
“Oh ho! Yes I think we can all see that. I think I can speak for us all when I say we look forward to seeing more of you two in the coming days. Happy Hunger Games!”
Obi-Wan’s smile holds stiff as he leans into Anakin more and quietly whispers up to him.
“Anakin, what did he mean by rumors? Do you think Effie or Haymitch-”
“No, I don’t think either of them would say anything. I don't know what he meant.”
His grin falls as the crew leaves. He leans back and starts to let Anakin go when a hand comes up to cover his.
Anakin is smiling his quiet reserved smile as they watch the tributes load onto their chariots.
The siblings are wearing turquoise togas and sashes. The boy has a cape made to look like a fishing net and they both have the toga pinned with a starfish. They look infinitely better than the coral costume he wore his year.
He turns to face Anakin and leans back into his space. He looks to the district twelve tributes. The girl’s brown hair is done up in intricate braids and the boy’s blonde hair is slicked back. They both are wearing black unitards and black leather boots.
“What are your tributes supposed to be? Surely your new stylist isn’t going for coal again this year.”
Anakin leans down and points at his ear. It's gotten louder now that the organizers are yelling to get everyone into the right spots before the parade.
He puts his mouth close to Anakin’s ear. “Your tributes? What are they supposed to be?”
Anakin looks up to his tributes and then leans back down to talk into his ear.
“Cinna said it was a surprise, but I think I can tell you now. There’s a device in their jumpsuits that will ignite and look like real fire. They’re going to be burning coal.”