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Chapter Text

The words are so nonsensical, so positively absurd and deranged that for a moment Obi-Wan believes he has misheard him entirely. Or, barring that, has at some point hit his head so hard that he is now hallucinating.

“What?” He asks, forgoing all manners entirely. Now is not a time for pleasantry and niceties. Not now, not when he is certain he has misheard Anakin say-

“I’m in love with you. I wish to marry you.”

The shock does not hit the same the second time. Obi-Wan had rather hoped it would, had hoped that perhaps hearing it for a second time would knock him loose. Instead he is still standing frozen in front of the large hearth in the drawing room, staring down the face of his friend that has, at long last, succumbed to madness. 

Anakin will not be deterred. He stares back with his dark, sharp eyes, his brow slightly scrunched in the way it did when he was particularly on about something. His entire face is set in a way that is all too familiar to Obi-Wan. It is the face he wears when he is fighting to get something. To obtain what he wants, and believes he rightfully deserves. 

That is when the shock washes over a third time, because Obi-Wan now realizes that he is being serious .

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan snaps, suddenly very angry and very, very scared, “This is entirely inappropriate.”

Anakin’s face smooths over to confusion, his lips pulling into a frown. It is obvious that out of all of Obi-Wan’s arguments that he had no doubt come well stocked to deflect, this was not one of them. “Inappropriate? It is the courting season.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan hisses, “Your very first courting season and very well past my last courting season. For godsake , Anakin.”

Anakin’s face now turns petulant again, “I'm of age now, I’m not some child.”

And, well, yes, that is true. Anakin most certainly is not the grabby handed little boy Obi-Wan had first met, nor the knobby kneed teenager Obi-Wan had then become friends with. Anakin is a viscount now. His face, once always somewhat rounded compared to Obi-Wan's, now holds the angle of a jaw line, one made very prominent when Anakin tilts his head up to make his points. He also cut off all of his baby hair, and now his fine golden locks sit in the style of the other gentlemen of the courts. Windblown, wavy, and stopped at his chin. Not to mention the fact that he has, finally, caught up with Obi-Wan height wise. And in fact surpassed him. Now their heated discussions keep them eye to eye, toe to toe. 

Like just now.

Obi-Wan shakes his head, “I’ve known you since you were small, Anakin. If…people will assume that I have waited on you, that I have been planning this since we were…since you were-”

“Why would I care what they think? I’ve never cared before. I’m allowed to court whomever I choose.”

“Anakin, I know it can be stifling. I’m sure your mother has put an unspeakable amount of pressure on you to find a spouse, but I promise, you will not be without sutors. And you will find someone to fall for.”

Now, Anakin rolls his eyes. Impossible. Infuriating. “Obi-Wan, I am not worried about my prospects. This is not about some…some frightened hang up or yearning for familiarity. Though,” His eyes softened, his hands gripping his riding hat tightly, swaying forward, “I would be lying if I said that familiarity had not shaped my decision. To marry your friend, is that not a lovely prospect?”

“This is a misguided infatuation, Anakin. I am your friend, you have always loved me. You are confused.”

It happened often enough, didn’t it? Boys idolized older boys, wanted to be their friend and equal. That was certainly how it had been at the beginning of their relationship. Anakin trailing after Obi-Wan, tugging on his coattails until Obi-Wan had finally given him the chance to be equals. But, even as Anakin had grown out of the age of hero worship, he had steadfastly still sung Obi-Wan’s praises. Obi-Wan was the cleverest, the wittiest, the kindest. It had seemed that their friendship would forever remain tainted with that initial streak of devotion.

“I am not confused! And I am not too young, Padme is to be wed at the end of the season as well. There is no point in stumbling through season after season for propriety’s sake, not when you know what you want.”

Obi-Wan felt like another blow had been dealt, “Padme is to be wed?”

“Yes. To Sabe.” Anakin cracks a small smile, his shoulders loosening, “She is already commissioning a dress.”

That match did not surprise him in the slightest. Both had seemed rather eager, and almost vulgarly impatient, for them to turn of age. Though privately Obi-Wan has suspected they had carried on an affair for a full season before. Unfortunately for Anakin, this argument had only solidified in Obi-Wan’s mind what he had suspected all along.

“So, you are blindly following in your friend’s footsteps.”

“What? No! This has nothing to do with her! Obi-Wan ,” He steps forward, exasperatedly running a hand through his hair, “You have always been my friend, my closest companion. No one else knows my thoughts, my feelings as you do. There is no one else, no one who could possibly compare to you. Who else could govern by my side?”

“That is it, then? You wish to use my bond with you as a means to an end of your political career? That is hardly a reason for marriage Anakin, I would not have you as an employer.”

“It seems like you would not have me at all,” Anakin is shaking his head, staring at him in a way that can only be disbelief, “Surely you cannot be this oblivious of my affection towards you, Obi-Wan. Surely you must know that I think you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. And I have been hopelessly greedy for your attentions, for your eyes to fall on me, if only once .”

“Anakin…”

Anakin prowls closer, “I will not be negotiated with. I want all of you, forever. Completely. I want your spirit, your mind, your body-”

“ Anakin! ”

“We can court as long as you want, as long as you need. I’ll have contracts drawn up, to convince your father. We need not make it a public affair, we can skip every dance this season. You may set the terms, for whatever you wish. As long as you just say yes .”

Obi-Wan can only stare at him. His gaze is intense, staring a hole right through him. His shoulders are drawn, his mouth set in its familiar moue. He knows that this will not be an argument won, knows that he will never be able to change his mind, make him come to understand. 

There is a reason that Obi-Wan is in his last season with no serious offers of courting. There are well known rumors as to why Obi-Wan Kenobi is a shut off spinster. Anakin knows this as well, and he has conveniently left it out of the argument entirely. He knows that he has done it very deliberately, a way to show Obi-Wan that even that will not be used against him.

He realizes, rather uncomfortably, that there is a desperate, unloved part of himself that wishes to just say yes . Obi-Wan had always dreamed of being married. He had always wanted to run a house, large or small, and be quietly loved by another. A person of Obi-Wan’s standing and reputation could do no better than a viscount. In fact, it is more than he deserves. A viscount that loves him, that shares in his laughter as well as his sadness, is an even rarer occurrence. This is a dream, served to him on a golden platter.

But he could not do that to Anakin. He could not marry him, when he did not love him the same. He could not use him in that way. And he could not dirty Anakin with himself.

“No.”

It has the effect that Obi-Wan had expected. Anakin leans back, obvious hurt and confusion painted on his face. He stares for a moment, searching, before he seems to switch his approach, tilting his chin up, breathing deep and then opening his mouth.

“I will not be persuaded, Anakin,” Obi-Wan interrupts, “My answer is no, you will respect it.”

His mouth clicks shut, and his eyes narrow. He tilts his head down to peer at Obi-Wan. Not quite a glare, but too close.

“I will,” He murmurs, “I will leave you, Obi-Wan.”

He turns to the door, his cloak flying behind him. As he stalks to the door in quick, angry steps Obi-Wan watches him shove his riding hat on, and then reach for the door.

He has the door open and is stepping out when he suddenly pauses, then turns back, eyeing Obi-Wan and frowning.

He then storms out, slamming the door behind him.

…

Obi-Wan sits at the fireplace in his rooms for the rest of the day starting at the far wall, and only moving when one of the maids comes in to ask if they should start the fire for the night. The cold always upsets his bad leg, so Obi-Wan gives his assent, then instead stares at the crackling fire.

Only Anakin would be so bold. Would walk into his halls, like he owns the entire damn house, only to find Obi-Wan and demand of him. After the rush of the encounter, and the deep sickening shame of knowing that things between them would now be different, be tainted, came a sick swell of anger.

How dare he? This, he stewed bitterly, was the cost of Anakin Skywalker. When had he ever been told no, or denied of anything? And what was worse, Obi-Wan had always been just as guilty. When, in his entire time of knowing Anakin, had he genuinely curved the boy's intense enthusiasm? His abrasive, personal questions?

When they had met, Obi-Wan on the cusp of his first season, feeling for all the world like a youngling still pretending at adulthood, and Anakin still young enough to not care about the dirty knees on his breeches, Obi-Wan had seen himself as more of a mentor to the boy. He was older, he had no siblings, just distant cousins, and always thought himself good with children.

It had become obvious rather quickly that Anakin did not want mentorship or guidance. He had his mother for that, and to a certain extent Obi-Wan’s own family. What Obi-Wan had approached as a congenial fraternity had become friendship. Very close friendship. Anakin, often happy and kind, had the occasional temper. He would get worked up over his studies, responsibilities, and his mother’s continuously failing health. And while he was not hesitant to mention these things to Obi-Wan, he would always then demand that Obi-Wan fret in return. 

“You have to complain back,” He would say, “That’s what friends do, otherwise it isn’t fair.”

Things must be fair to Anakin. So Obi-Wan did. Then it became sharing books back and forth, debating in the early hours in Anakin’s rooms, Anakin demanding he join him to plays, picnics, riding dangerously across the countryside.

Everywhere he turned, Anakin stood. No, they were no longer mentor and mentee. They were friends. Closer than friends. Confidantes. Conspirators. Soft conversations in front of fires and shared griefs. 

And now, Anakin had gone and…and propositioned him. How mortifying, how completely stupid and selfish and-

Obi-Wan decides, for not the first time that day, that he has had enough. He goes to bed. 

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan assumes that with age comes the fierce need to host extravagant parties, the way that with youth comes the need to attend such parties. Their humble stretch of the world has no shortage of parties throughout all seasons, however the first one of spring is always such an affair. It is officially the beginning of courting season. Those who have recently come of age are presented, and those who are yet to find a match dress themselves up in the hope of catching new, or old, eyes.

Obi-Wan himself is much too late into his seasons. He will catch no eyes, old or new, and is officially what some unkinder gossip rags might call a spinster. This, he had long ago come to terms with. He has already told his father that he does not need a match. He will go on to take over his father’s estate himself, and he will run it alone, just as his father has for years. 

When he had told him this, his father had nodded serenely, and wisely did not mention that he had not always ran it alone. 

But Obi-Wan attends anyway. He is invited, along with his father, and both decide to make an appearance, the length of which entirely depending on whether or not Obi-Wan is forced into one too many conversations over the prospects of this year's game.

“It is a good night,” His father says quietly, before taking a sip of his drink. He is not looking at Obi-Wan, instead surveying the crowds.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, “The weather is nice.”

For early spring, the weather is behaving. Obi-Wan’s leg does not have quite as many fits. The rains are over, and the heat has not yet captured them. Instead the gentle breeze carries the smell of flowers, and the heady scent of perfume from the ballroom. 

“The company has been pleasant.” His father says, again, not looking at Obi-Wan. 

He is immediately suspicious. He eyes his father and says, “I spoke with Quin. He is doing well.”

“Hm,” His father takes another sip of his drink. And then, “Have you spoken to Anakin?”

Ah. So there it is.

“What did he tell you?” Obi-Wan does not have time to play games with his father. He grabs a small drink from a passing waiter, and begins downing it. 

“Nothing,” He says, the liar. “He left in an awful hurry last night. Did you two get into an argument?”

“No.”

His father turns to look at him. His face is the same one of understanding it always is. He has never been able to hide from his father. He has never before wanted to.

“We…he has notions. Impossible notions.”

Qui-Gon only looks at him. Steady, unwavering. Damn him.

“And I have told him no,” Obi-Wan states plainly, “Which he hates. As I’m sure you might know, if you ever told him so.”

Qui-Gon rubs a thoughtful hand over his bearded chin, clearly unbothered by Obi-Wan’s barbs. 

“Young Skywalker is not my charge…” Qui-Gon murmurs thoughtfully, “I didn’t think it was my responsibility to deny him anything. Nor yours.”

Obi-Wan huffs, and rolls his eyes, “He always seems to be my responsibility. No one else bothers to talk sense into him.”

“You do love a challenge.”

“I do not -”

He is turning to glare fiercely at his father when his eyes instead catch something much more concerning. For the first time that night he sees him. Anakin. Looking tall and broad. His coat is not the navy blue color it usually is, instead it is a deep, burgundy red. His overcoat and breeches are black, somehow making him look even broader than he actually is. 

He is not used to seeing Anakin look so…unworldly. Almost out of place. Anakin, for as long as Obi-Wan has known him, has always been perfectly placed and well blended into any group, any party. Anakin has always been soft, approachable. That fiery spirit has only ever left people in awe of him.

Now, he seems ostracised, even while surrounded by admirers. His easy temperament has been replaced by something brewing. His eyes seem colder, more calculating. When he makes a comment to the group, it seems flippant. He doesn’t laugh with them, instead he surveys the people surrounding him, and seems to find them lacking . 

But then…then he turns. He singles out a lone figure from the group, and begins slowly drawing them away from the group. Obi-Wan watches as their conversation turns inward, turns intimate. 

There is a lance of pain through his chest so sudden that he coughs, then self-consciously rubs his chest. 

“Hm.” Qui-Gon says beside him. “Impossible notions, indeed.”

…

“I haven’t heard about anyone’s notions towards anyone else. Nor am I inclined to ask.”

Obi-Wan had thought as much. But, well, this is Mace’s house. And while this party was mostly thrown by Depa, it is the first dance since the season has begun. Surely someone has talked. Surely someone knows something .

“I’m assuming you aren’t asking if someone has said anything about you ,” Mace continues, and then seems to scrutinize a spot on one of his ornate curtains.

Obi-Wan briefly thinks of Anakin in his drawing room, spouting nonsense, and feels heat rush to his face.

“Ah, no. No, nothing like that.” Obi-Wan moves in closer, feeling a bit claustrophobic with how close all the dancers are, “It’s just…well, it’s Anakin’s first season, you see. And he has not been inclined to share with me who he might be after. Or, well-”

“And you believe he would be inclined to tell me ?” Mace’s brow furrows, “Kenobi, if you care so much, just ask the boy. He’ll tell you.”

Yes. He would, rather.

“I had only thought perhaps you had overheard if any others had any interest in him, that’s all.” Mace gives him another odd look, and Obi-Wan fidgets, “Well. I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

It shouldn’t matter. But, he hadn’t been lying. Anakin never had told him what he might look for in a spouse. In fact, it seemed that on more than one occasion he had asked Obi-Wan what he should look for in a spouse. 

At the time, Obi-Wan had been heart broken for the lad. Everyone knew the scandal of the late Viscount, and how Lady Skywalker had taken his title, but not his name. When she moved further out from the bustling city to escape the backlash of the gossip mill, she had at first only been met with blunt countryside speculation. 

Anakin had never met his father. Had never seen a happily married couple at the time. It seemed all too normal that he would confide in his friend about what one would even look for in love. In partnership. 

He had come well stocked with many logical answers to his proposed question. Someone who will not cheat you, someone you can trust, someone who can help . He had hesitated in the end and said simply, I suppose, above all else, you will just know. And that is what is important. That you know.

It seemed silly and nonsensical, even as he said it. But Anakin had nodded anyway, and looked at him like he was the wisest man in the world. 

However, since that time Lady Skywalker had remarried. Cliegg Lars was not of any rank at all, but he seemed a good man with a good work ethic and, above all, someone who loved Lady Skywalker. Surely now he did not need Obi-Wan’s tedious words on love or matrimony. 

No, he shouldn’t need him at all.

“I wouldn’t worry, Kenobi.” Mace continues, “His mother will set him straight if she doesn’t approve. You’d see to that as well, I know.”

Obi-Wan twists his handkerchief in his hand, and looks across the room. He can only catch glimpses. Everyonce and a while, the sea will part, and his cold stony face will appear. 

“You’d set your boy to rights, Kenobi.”

…

Obi-Wan escapes to the veranda when the sweat of the perfume becomes too much for him to bear. He had stayed steadfastly by his father’s side for a majority of the night, unwilling to venture into the younger gaggles. His father, sitting and smoking with the other gentlemen, had taken it in stride and had let Obi-Wan monopolize the conversation when they began to speak of Qui-Gon’s business.

Qui-Gon’s business was Obi-Wan’s in all but name, and silently everyone acknowledged this. Qui-Gon was not a proud man by any means, but with Obi-Wan’s reputation , well. There were those that cared and those who did not, that’s all. However everyone knew if you wanted a job done right, Kenobi was the one to ask. And that was enough.

After having far too much to drink and one too many conversations he had decided the beating behind his eyes called for fresh air. Also, conveniently, an excuse to stop straining his head to catch a glimpse of a set of gold curls.

He walked away from the warmth of the hall, away from the soft amber glow of the lamps and further out under the ink dark sky. The trees were gaining their lush leaves, rustling into the night. A slight chill ran through the air, catching his overheated skin and making him shiver. 

“You should sit down, you've been standing all night.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t jump at the intrusion, but he does have a shameful sinking feeling deep in his chest. This is not the time or place for them to speak of anything, and knowing him he will -

“You didn’t bring your cane either,” Obi-Wan sees Anakin saddle up beside him out of the corner of his eye, sees him look Obi-Wan up and down with that furrowed brow of his, “I don’t know why you refuse to at least bring it, even if you don’t end up using it.”

“It’s not a cane,” Obi-Wan speaks into the sky. His words come out in a soft puff of warm air, “It is a walking stick. And my leg is fine, Anakin.”

“So you say. But tonight I know you’ll lay in bed with it twitching, thirty quilts on you-”

“I’m immune to your hounding, Anakin.”

“You are not. You just pretend you came up with the idea, so that way you can pretend you didn’t give in.”

Obi-Wan hums, stroking his bearded chin. “No. No, that doesn’t sound right.”

Silence falls softly over them. They are far enough away from the house that Obi-Wan can now only faintly hear the music, and all of the voices have mingled together into one soft continuous murmur. Obi-Wan is filled with a wretchedness that he cannot let go of, and hates himself for. It is just him and Anakin. And yet there is something between them that has changed, has shifted, and Obi-Wan can feel every prickly point of it. It fills him, and makes him heavy with guilt, with longing.

“You haven’t spoken to me all night.” Anakin is quiet. So unlike himself, all night. And it is Obi-Wan’s doing. 

“You’ve seemed preoccupied,” He murmurs back, that wretched part of him, rearing up again, “Many people have wanted your attention, it seemed unfair of me to take you from them.”

Anakin folds his arms in front of himself, tilts his chin up. “I suppose they did. Many over eager mamas, for certain.”

Obi-Wan hums. Unsurprising. 

“I spoke to Ferus as well.”

Obi-Wan thinks back to the group, to Anakin’s attention singling out one person, “Ferus?” Obi-Wan’s head whips around, eyeing Anakin, “I thought you disliked him. Loathed him, actually.”

Anakin isn’t looking at him. He is looking at the ground, full petulant mouth turned down. His attire remains impeccable, but something about the sight of it up close puts Obi-Wan on edge. So dark and gloomy, he is disappearing into the rest of the night scenery, when normally he stands out. Normally he is dressed in his rich blues, blues that matched-

Well. Matched Obi-Wan.

“He has interesting things to say. Interesting ideas. His family is well off, and he helps his father with their shop-”

“But you don’t like him. You’ve never liked him! He is not good for you, Anakin.”

Anakin’s eyes snap up to his, “You have an opinion ? On my courting? The last I heard, that was entirely inappropriate .”

Obi-Wan’s mouth snaps closed. The heat rushes up into his face, small pin pricks of shame.

“You’re right,” He says tightly, turning away, “It’s none of my business.”

“Neither was any other part of my life, but that never stopped you then. Is that it, then? You’ve decided I’m no longer your business?”

“You always asked for my opinion! And no, Anakin, I did not decide that. You are always my business. You get ahead of yourself, when you feel pushed. I only want to make sure that you are thinking things through, that someone is taking care of you.”

Anakin is looking at him, staring at him. Obi-Wan feels as though his heart might explode, with the way it is twisting so much in his chest.

“You are so cruel,” Anakin whispers, feather light and no heat, “Without even trying.”

Obi-Wan feels that swell of wretchedness, that sick feeling welling up, “Anakin I want what’s best for you. I want you to live a long, happy life.”

“ You refuse to listen to me! To what would make me happy!” Anakin is towering over him, “You refuse to take responsibility.”

“And you refuse to see reason! You have set your mind to something and will not be deterred. Your hardheaded-ness will get you into trouble, Anakin!”

Anakin's mouth snarls, “ You are afraid . One failed engagement and you think of yourself as used and washed up. That nothing good could ever possibly come to you because you buried it-”

Obi-Wan refuses to listen to him. He turns abruptly to the house, deciding it is time he and his father left. 

“Wait, Obi-Wan-”

Anakin’s voice is back to its usual cadence, now tinged with fear and regret. Undoubtedly, his mind has just caught up with his tongue, and he is mortified with himself.

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, that wasn’t…that wasn’t right of me, please-”

Obi-Wan doesn’t look back. He lets the swell of the crowd separate himself from Anakin, and goes to find Qui-Gon.

…

Qui-Gon’s businesses are an assortment of shops that sell everything from produce to homely goods. He also facilitates the acquisition of such goods and their deliveries to his shops, and any others that might be interested in his connections. Qui-Gon had always had a keen eye for good deals, and his agreeable personality left many of his suppliers feeling very pleased with themselves. 

Qui-Gon, for the most part, kept up with these accounts, and very rarely called upon Obi-Wan for such things. Everything else, however, was a different matter.

Obi-Wan oversaw a majority of the businesses himself. And what he did not look over himself, he kept under the watchful eyes of employers that he could trust. It had taken him a long while to weed out anyone who might skim off the top of his employees salary or cut a budget to make an extra coin, but in the end Obi-Wan had secured a smooth operation that left him, and everyone under him, satisfied.

Obi-Wan found great pride in what he did. He worked hard, and because of that he and his father could live in comfortable wealth with little care. Their name had, for the most part, good standing upon all who knew them. Any trips to the city had many calling upon them only for the pleasure of their company. There was really no reason for them to look at expanding. Wealth was one thing. Overabundance was another.

“A tailoring business?” Qui-Gon watched as some of the staff packed away the books Obi-Wan insisted upon, “I know nothing about the fashion of the youths, Obi-Wan.”

“It would not be your job to know.” Obi-Wan threw another shirt onto his bed, “It would be whoever we hired that would know. And I did not say it would be a tailoring business, I said it would be a cloth business. Cloth, ribbons, threads. That sort of thing.”

Qui-Gon rubbed his chin, brow furrowed, “We could just sell it at the mill. No need to open a whole new shop.”

“I’m just looking into the idea, that’s all. No buildings have been bought.”

“Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan stopped in his appraisal of a pair of his boots. He looks up at Qui-Gon, who is looking back at him with his sad, knowing eyes. 

“I would not object to a trip to the city,” Qui-Gon begins shortly, “Only, the season has just started. And I think you should be here-”

That was, in fact, the last thing that Obi-Wan needed. 

“I’m well past my time for suitors, father. We would just spend dance after dance alone together, utterly bored.”

Qui-Gon shakes his head, “No, I think you should be here, for Anakin .”

Obi-Wan abruptly turns around.

That wretchedness is there, just underneath his composure. It twists and turns, makes his insides writhe, makes him feel hateful and wrong.

“No,” Obi-Wan says, “He is none of my business.”

Chapter Text

The city of Coruscant does not hold much for him. It is the season here, too, and it is impossible to escape the hoards of dresses and frocks and polished boots. But with the fresh summer air comes new blood, business deals, the heady summer air. Obi-Wan spends his days fanning himself by an open window, with his cravat untied and collar unbuttoned. He gets ink under his nails from all of the papers he signs and letters he writes. His nights are spent with his father, in someone else’s drawing room, enjoying the companies and fine brandies of the city. Obi-Wan takes diligent notes, and Qui-Gon only sometimes makes Obi-Wan want to strangle him.

Bail invites him out one evening, just the two of them, to a boudoir that respectable young men should not be caught dead in, but would die just for the chance. Obi-Wan is not worried so much about his reputation as he is Bail’s, being a married man with two young daughters and a baby on the way. Bail, being Bail, laughed off Obi-Wan’s concerns and instead bullied him into staying much later than he expected.

“I’m much too old for such flings,” He had grouched, but nonetheless took another drink that was offered to him. Seeing all of the fresh young men, he had been painstakingly aware of every silver streak in his hair, how it had darkened and no longer held the luster of youth. His jaw had been rather unkempt as of late In the night his eyes were weak by candlelight, and he was required to wear his spectacles.

Each detail had him tucking into himself more, each drink making him more wan.

It inevitably made him think of Anakin, who was young and beautiful and in need of someone who was also young and beautiful. 

“You are in the prime of your life!” Bail had laughed back at him, with a few good natured slaps onto his back, “And I should know, as I’m much older than you!”

The thought had rather unkindly lodged into his mind. Bail had married later. Much later. But he and Breha were very happy, and no one thought of Bail as a sad old man trying to live a life he had already missed. 

By the end of the night he had felt much less sorry for himself. By the end of the week, he had felt even better, and had accepted every call upon him with a new found vigour. Perhaps it was only with some false bravado, but if it made him feel better, then why not? He could pretend to be a young man yet, still in his prime.

He finds fresh inspiration in the city. Hats, bonnets, flowers in the spring. Styles that are all the rage now, and will in two years be the new trend in the country. There is a bustle about that sweeps him up, and leaves him feeling buoyant and happy. The misery that had hung over him, that sick dread is miles away where he left it. He feels, deep down, as if he has done the right thing. He ignores the small flicker that disagrees with him. 

Obi-Wan spends so much time visiting company, vendors, and suppliers, that he doesn't think about anything else. 

…

One late hazy night, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon stumble home, leaning on each other. It is another successful night, the merriment of which will keep Obi-Wan in good spirits until well into the morning, when his hangover will come back with a vengeance.

“Dash it all,” Obi-Wan grunts, all but falling onto the stairs. Qui-Gon walks slowly from the foyer into the drawing room, only slightly swaying on his feet. 

Qui-Gon calls, “The heat will break soon. One more big rain, and the chill will come.”

“Thank heaven,” Obi-Wan’s neck and back were slicked in sweat, he could practically feel the heat radiating from his clothes. 

“You can feel it in the air, if you focus hard enough. The clouds, you know.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says, and rubs his leg. Dancing for days has left it sore, and twinging. He thinks about his walking stick sitting next to his bed upstairs and grimaces. He should have bought the damn thing down. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Qui-Gon comes back into view, his clothes are a bit rumpled. Perhaps they should have left  earlier. Everything is beginning to seem a bit more daunting. Like navigating stairs, or taking off shoes.

“Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan uses the banister to heft himself onto his feet, and slowly starts shuffling towards the kitchen. Something to drink would help. Just to quench his thirst a bit.

“Obi-Wan, there’s something here. Look, now.”

Annoyed, Obi-Wan glances over to see whatever it could possibly be that has captured his father’s attention. In his hand is a letter, with a pretty wax seal.

 He mutters, “When did that come in?” But Qui-Gon has decided to take it upon himself to open Obi-Wan’s mail, and seems to sober up with each word he reads.

He passes the letter over to Obi-Wan, and starts towards the steps. Through his muddled haze, the creeping dread sets in over Obi-Wan as he slowly turns the letter over and begins to read its contents for himself. 

“I’ll begin packing,” Qui-Gon calls from the second floor, as Obi-Wan sits heavy in his chair, and rubs his eyes, “You’ll need to call a carriage.”

…

The Skywalker estate is a sprawling thing, almost overwhelming in its beauty. Obi-Wan has always admired the sprawling green hills and the crystalline lake tucked behind the home, surrounded by the weeping willow trees. 

Autumn is hurrying in, and it is turning the leaves into gold. The sky is thick and heavy with clouds that promise a soaking. It gives his ride to the Skywalker house the foreboding atmosphere it deserves. There would be nothing but grief here now. He knows that he has wronged Anakin. Deeply. And yet.

Beru runs outside to meet him, the dust from the carriage dirtying her black skirts. 

“Mister Kenobi,” She frets, and grabs onto his free arm. The ride back and the changing air is disrupting his leg, he’s having to use his walking stick. Which is a weakness he would have preferred not to have shown. 

“I don’t know how much help I can be, Beru,” Obi-Wan lets her lead him inside, the tap of his heels and stick echoing in the empty home.

Beru shakes her head, her eyes dewy and face drawn. She looks like a young woman at her wits end. The circles under her eyes are deep and purple. “Mister Kenobi, I don’t know what else to do. Ever since the funeral, Anakin has been a ghost . He stays in his mothers room, or his own, and he doesn’t unlock the door. He doesn’t eat Obi-Wan, he does not sleep -”

From the side room, Owen quickly strides out at the sound of his wife’s voice. When he sees Obi-Wan, his face turns thunderous. 

“Oh, of all the-”

“ Owen ,” Beru cuts in, raising her voice, “ Stop it.”

Owen looks murderous, “You ask him to come? When he is the reason-”

“Owen, go please.” 

Owen starts up like he wants to argue, but seems to physically reign himself in before huffing and turning back to where he came.

“Owen is watching over Cliegg,” Beru says quietly, her hand gripping his arm more, “They are frustrated with Anakin.”

“I’m sure it has been an unspeakably hard time for all of you,” Obi-wan consoles, “I’m sorry I was not here for you all. For Shmi.”

Beru dabs at her eyes with her handkerchief, only sniffling slightly, “She went so quickly. Her health was always so poor, but this…we thought it would pass. It should have passed.”

Obi-Wan gives into his urge and hugs her fiercely. Beru, he knows, has been the one forced to contend with Shmi’s sudden passing. She was the one to write him, to beg him to return and come straight to them. He also knows that she had, most likely, done it against Anakin’s direct wishes, the stubborn, spiteful soul that he is.

“He is refusing to speak to us,” Beru’s voice cracks out, now muffled by Obi-Wan’s coat, “He has denied every visitor. Miss Padme, Lord Palpatine, everyone who came to pay their respects. It has only gotten worse since I wrote to you.”

He pulls away from her, nodding and running a hand down her arm in comfort. She uses both hands to anxiously twist her handkerchief into knots, looking up at him with wet eyes.

“Don’t worry, Beru,” he says, “I will see to him.”

…

When he tries the door, it is locked. 

He doesn’t bother knocking. Instead, he calls upon the head of staff to ask for the master key, which he gives over reluctantly. He protests at first, giving the feeble excuse of, But master Skywalker said - before falling quiet at the look he received. 

He unlocks the door, opening it to find a very sorry sight.

Clothes are strewn about the floor. Papers are torn, scattered, balled up, and inevitably tossed around. Pretty trinkets once carefully placed on shelves look as though they have been smashed to the ground, or, bizarrely, put into neat little piles all around. Obi-Wan cannot seem to make sense of the odd ritual, but it hardly matters. He is more concerned with finding the cause of this chaos.

The room is darkened. The curtains are drawn, the candles unlit, and the fireplace cold and empty. It is as if fifty men turned the room upside down, and then fled. Not a single soul to bring warmth or light to the desolate place.

But there is a soul. Cold and still.

Anakin is lying on his side, his blankets are half way off of his bed, and kicked down to the end. He is wearing his dark breeches and crisp white socks, his shirt a loose undershirt with frills. His curls are wrecked on one side, and flattened on the other. He’s facing away from the door. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers, and he watches his words land.

Anakin’s shoulders hunch up to his ears, two bony points. His entire body seems to curl in on itself, like a dead spider's spindly legs. 

“Leave.”

Anakin’s voice is almost nonexistent. The words click in his throat and then rasp out of his mouth, with clear effort. Obi-Wan’s heart aches for him, for his Anakin, whom he has treated very poorly. 

He makes his way over to the bed. There is a chair by the unlit fireplace, which Obi-Wan carefully pulls over until he is seated by Anakin’s side. Everything about the poor boy is pitiful, the absolute picture of despair and misery. Even his skin looks sallow and pale, when through all seasons it had before held its honey-glow. 

Obi-Wan knows he is not wanted. Or, if wanted, very reluctantly. There is nothing he could say to make it better, to ask forgiveness or to help.

He reaches over and puts a hand on Anakin’s arm, which only jolts slightly under his touch.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers. And Anakin cries.

…

It takes quite a while for Anakin to calm down. He had begun by wrenching away from Obi-Wan’s grasp and, between heaving sobs, accused him of being every good for nothing beast under the sun. When the rage had crumpled, collapsed in on itself like a great sighing flame, he had collapsed onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder and instead cried for his mother. 

Eventually, he ran out of tears. Obi-Wan rang for food and tea, much to the crying relief of Beru, and had quietly resumed his position beside Anakin while the boy slowly tucked into the tray on his lap.

“I don’t know what I will do without her, Obi-Wan,” Anakin mumbles, “I feel like I have died, like I’m already dead.”

Obi-Wan has one hand on the bed, and has been intermittently stroking Anakin’s leg. Soothing him like a worked up cat. He does so again.

“I know that now the grief seems never ending. Like you will never be happy again. But that is not what she wanted for you, Anakin.”

“I will never be happy,” Anakin’s voice croaks out, breaking on every syllable. His hands shake so much that Obi-Wan has to take the cup out of his hand. “She was doing better! They said she was better! ”

Obi-Wan shushes him, and reaches out to pull his head into Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I know, dear one, I know.”

“You should have been here! I had to bury her, alone!”

Obi-Wan begins moving the lap tray out of the way, and then reaches down to take off his shoes. There’s not a thing on this Earth that can keep him from his boy, not when he has already let him down so spectacularly. 

He slides onto Anakin’s bed, and is immediately wrapped up in Anakin’s arms. Obi-Wan is reminded of when Anakin was a boy, overwhelmed and needing comfort, they would find themselves in this position often. When had they last done this? When has he last comforted Anakin? 

He is a miserable fool. When did he become such a person? A person who runs away from their most important companion, simply because their situation has changed? A person so concerned with how others will perceive them that he puts Anakin’s happiness and well being at stake?

Anakin should have locked him away. He should have screamed and hit him, forbade him from leaving. 

“I should have been here. I shouldn’t have left.”

Anakin is almost sprawled on top of him, taking comfort in the only way he can.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” Anakin whines miserably, his voice wet and shaking, “When I told you that I…I didn’t think you would be so upset . Then that night, I said those things. I didn’t mean them Obi-Wan, I didn’t -”

Anakin is crying so hard he’s hiccuping, his sobs tripping over themselves. Obi-Wan shushes him back down again, smoothing a hand from the top of his head down his spine. 

Obi-Wan quietly tells him, “I was not upset with you, Anakin.”

“But you left -”

“I know,” Obi-Wan interrupts, “I know. And I shouldn’t have. But I was not leaving you. I was upset with myself, and I thought…well I thought many things, at the time. That distance would help us. Help you. Or maybe you did not want to see me. Shouldn’t see me.”

Anakin shakes his head, and pushes further into the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck. “I always need you, Obi-Wan, even when you’re upset with me.”

“I need you too, Anakin. Never doubt it.”

Anakin sits up, his eyes red rimmed and sorrowful. His pink bitten lips are still trembling with his harsh breaths, “I know you aren’t in love with me, Obi-Wan but I can’t…I can’t lose you. Not after this, not after her . Forget what I said, please, just stay with me. Please .”

What a right mess. Obi-Wan, in all of his own self loathing, has made Anakin believe that he could ever be without him. Anakin, whom he loves deeply. Anakin, who has been his friend and light in all the darkness. How could he have been so harsh on his boy?

Why had he denied Anakin so? Obi-Wan had been nothing but loyal, kind, hardworking. He has always wanted what was best for Anakin. And Anakin, under Obi-Wan, had always flourished. He had always been happy, and tried to make decisions that he thought would please Obi-Wan. And Obi-Wan in turn had always gone out of his way to be good to Anakin. To be fair, and kind.

Anakin needed someone to be kind to him. To be a steady hand to guide him.

“You would never lose me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling Anakin back down to him, “Not ever. I promise.”

He wouldn’t. Never. Obi-Wan would make this right. He would put back together what he broke, he would see to it that Anakin was made into the loving, smiling boy he had always been. It was Obi-Wan’s responsibility. 

“Anakin,” he says, “I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me, one day.”

There is a long stretch of time where neither moves, not a sound is made. Every second weighs down heavily on Obi-Wan, until finally, blessedly, Anakin nods ever so slightly. 

Obi-Wan releases a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding, then settles back down to pet at his Anakin.

Chapter Text

To make amends for himself, Obi-Wan takes it upon himself to handle all of the affairs of the Skywalker estate. 

He sends Beru and Owen home, for some much deserved rest. After some minor protesting and a heartfelt night spent with Obi-Wan, Cliegg relents to his son’s request that his father return with them to their home. They need each other, and in his heart Obi-Wan knows that Anakin would be nothing but a burden to them.

He then goes about sorting the rest of Anakin’s affairs. He sends out letters of thanks and answers other letters asking after Anakin’s well-being. It seems Obi-Wan’s absence and Anakin’s unfortunate downward turn has been the talk of the town, much to Obi-Wan’s chagrin. But as soon as the thought comes he banishes it back. He owes it to Anakin to be here, to be with him. 

He takes it upon himself to move in. He tells himself it is only until the misery of Anakin has lifted, but a part of him, a secret part that he has very deliberately not been looking at, is testing himself. For what, he is ashamed to admit. 

When he is finally settled he picks up a routine. Anakin needs someone to see to him, so Obi-Wan makes sure he actually dresses in the morning, and forces him to take meals with Obi-Wan. Whenever Anakin is most miserable, Obi-Wan takes him on walks, and together they watch the changing of the season.

Reluctantly, Anakin admits he has made no matches, has courted no one, but it can’t be helped. Shmi, evidently, became ill almost immediately, and when Anakin wasn’t sulking he was looking after her. Then of course, her sudden passing. It was improper to think of such things in a mourning state. 

Obi-Wan thinks it's all as well, since no young suitor would be glad to be strung along. Obi-Wan doesn’t bring it up again, having only really brought it up in the first place to dispel the worried knot in his chest. The thought of Anakin wooing anyone had been heavy on his mind as of late, which only built onto that shameful secret part of him.

When Autumn settles in, it becomes clear to Obi-Wan that some rearranging of the staff is needed. He does so quickly and efficiently, which leads to some murmuring behind his back that he could have done without, thank you very much. If a house is not in order then Anakin cannot adjust well, and he will not have some snippy little upstarts arguing with him. 

One of the staff, recently demoted, had brought his case up with Anakin at dinner . In front of Obi-Wan! He had been absolutely furious, but by all rights had no authority to admonish Anakin’s own staff right in front of him. However Anakin had only shaken his head, and waved a hand at Obi-Wan, telling him that if Obi-Wan said so, then that’s what they’d do. 

It had shut the man up, and left Obi-Wan very smug and satisfied.

Obi-Wan had had his own business forwarded to the Skywalker estate, and so he took over what was effectively Anakin’s office, and took his correspondence there. In an effort to involve Anakin in something, introducing him to the idea of slowly taking over responsibilities of the estate, he had him sit with him, and keep the fire stoked for Obi-Wan’s bad leg.

Beside him, Anakin began to glow again. He had seemed to use up all of the tears he had for his mother, and hardly ever picked at his food anymore. Obi-Wan’s anxieties eased with each joke Anakin told him, and each night he voluntarily sought out Obi-Wan’s company.

Padme’s wedding is held, and it is a beautiful and extravagant affair. Anakin and Obi-Wan attend together, and Anakin seems so bright and happy that it takes Obi-Wan’s breath away. He has always been so handsome, but there is something about Anakin then, in the deep blue coat Obi-Wan had picked for him, that made his heart clench. Watching the happy couple at the altar, he has a vision of Anakin standing there, looking tall and regal and lovely. 

Obi-Wan would look very smart, as well. They would match , he thinks.

At the reception, Anakin is teary as he speaks to Padme, but it is tears of joy, of happiness. Anakin would cry at their wedding too, he knows. Anakin is always so emotional, so full of love-

Well. He’s having many thoughts. 

Anakin is more receptive to visitors after the wedding. He tells Obi-Wan that he had been very rude to Lord Palpatine, which was unfair to the old man, especially after he and Anakin had gotten so close when Obi-Wan had left.

The idea is not welcoming to Obi-Wan. He doesn’t like the thought of someone like Sheev Palpatine, who has had at least two influential spouses who have met unfortunate untimely ends, near Anakin. Obi-Wan is hardly one to gossip or speculate, it is a rude habit, but still. He has promised himself that he would keep Anakin’s best interest at heart. But it is also very hard for him to say no to Anakin. 

Obi-Wan busies himself all day, and tries not to think about Lord Palpatine having tea with Anakin in the other wing of the estate. When it gets late enough,  Obi-Wan makes the mistake of seeking them out to try to convince Anakin to dinner, and to try to politely ask Lord Palpatine to leave for dinner. As he approaches the sitting room, their voices become louder through the partially opened door, and Obi-Wan hears a snippet of their conversation.

“It is simply in poor form, my boy, to torture you so. First he refuses you, then he leaves you, when you needed him-”

“I know,” He hears Anakin say, and he sounds miserable, more miserable than he has in months, “He didn’t believe me when I told him, but I can’t make him love me.”

He hears a comforting coo, “No, no, of course not. But now he makes himself at home in your home? If he cared so much for propriety, I don’t know why he would do such a thing. It seems he stays around only to taunt you. He does not love you, but he would take over your estate? Your wealth?”

“No, it’s not like that. He’s just…he does care about me, and ever since my mother-”

“Shh, there, there my boy. No, I know. You need someone to help you, of course. And even if he would never see you as a serious option, he would make sure you’re well off. At the very least so no one would look at him poorly.”

Obi-Wan strides in then, having heard quite enough. Anakin jumps slightly at the door being flung open, and looks at Obi-Wan with wet eyes. How long has it been since Obi-Wan has seen him in this state? And now this villain, this cur, has come into Anakin’s home and made baseless outrageous accusations about Obi-Wan.

“Anakin, it’s nearly time for supper. You should go change,” He turns to Sheev, noting the man’s placid fake smile, “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse us, we are needed at my father’s tonight.”

Anakin’s brow furrowed, “We’re going to Qui-Gon’s?

“Yes,” Obi-Wan snips, “And we will be late if we do not leave soon.”

Anakin nods, still clearly puzzled by this turn of events. He makes his goodbyes to Sheev, and leaves Obi-Wan to escort him out.

At the door, Obi-Wan tells him, “I’ll thank you not to make speculations on my feelings or motives towards Anakin, as they are none of your concern.” He leaves before the man can get a word in.

Anakin is sullen for the entire ride over to Qui-Gon’s, and it only puts Obi-Wan into a foul mood as well. How dare he say such things to him. If Obi-Wan had wanted Anakin for only his estate, he would have damn well married him when he asked. But no, Sheev has made him out to be some sort of torturous siren, content to play with Anakin’s feelings and have his way with him. 

Obi-Wan would never do such a thing to Anakin. He would take good care of Anakin. He has taken good care of Anakin, and now this devil tries to do nothing but twist him up in knots.

Not love Anakin? How could he not love Anakin? He cannot even remember a time when Anakin was not with him, always. When, in all of these years, has he not loved Anakin, with all that he is? When Anakin had been small, and sick, Obi-Wan had been convinced he would die if the boy did not pull through. When Anakin was scared of the world, of all its griefs and hardships, Obi-Wan had always sworn to help him through. He is loyal to Anakin, he loves him fiercely, more than anything.

No one has ever loved Anakin as he has. No one ever will.

If Qui-Gon is surprised to see them, he does not show it. He simply ushers them both in, and asks for extra places to be set. Through the dinner, Qui-Gon carefully pulls Anakin out of his stupor once more, which leaves Obi-Wan to breathe more easily. 

“I don’t believe you,” Anakin smiles, looking at Qui-Gon, who has been telling stories at Obi-Wan’s expense.

“Obi-Wan has always had a good head on his shoulders,” Qui-Gon muses, “But, in his youth, he was more prone to bouts of adventure.”

Anakin looks to Obi-Wan, “What would you have done with them? Six Geese? Surely, you weren’t expecting to keep them a secret in your room forever .”

Obi-Wan rubbed a hand over his mouth, grinning too hard, “Ah, well. At the time the plan was flawless. But I’ll admit to not thinking too far ahead.”

“Sneaking them in was the hardest part, I’m sure,” Anakin laughs, “All those feathers! Did they bite you?”

“It’s hard to say…

“Yes,” Qui-Gon says, eyeing Obi-Wan, “Very hard, too. He had a scar on his chin for the longest time.”

Anakin howls with laughter, head thrown back and shoulders shaking. He looks very right in this place, in the warm candle light unburdened by grief and misfortune. He should always be laughing. 

At the end of their night, it’s much too late to ride back, so they make themselves at home, and when Qui-Gon retires he and Anakin sit by the fire. Obi-Wan, in his father’s plush chair, Anakin on the floor at his feet. Anakin had come properly dressed, but through the night he has lost more and more of his clothes. It can’t be helped. This is as much Anakin’s home as it had been Obi-Wan’s. It’s only natural for him to be stripped down to his shirt and vest, his red socked feet stretched towards the fire. The scene is something he never wants to end, him and Anakin together, safe and warm and comfortable.

There are many things he should say, many things he has been debating with himself over. He knows that he has not been honest with Anakin, not completely. It suddenly feels unfair, that he should be denying himself a chance to have everything he wants because of the past. So unfair that he reaches down and puts a hand to Anakin’s head.

Anakin looks up at him, smiling soft and easy. 

“What Palpatine said isn’t true, Anakin.”

Anakin’s brow furrows and he frowns, seeming to not understand what Obi-Wan is referring to.

“I do love you, very much. And I…I could, I would see you. As a suitor. As…well, as…”

Anakin’s face is slack in surprise. He shuffles up to his knees, turning completely to look at Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan licks his lips, clears his throat, “You know what they say about me. About how I had a failed engagement-”

“It’s not true, I know it’s not true.” Anakin is shaking his head, looking up at him with big glassy eyes, “He left you, that’s all, everything else is just nasty rumors.”

Obi-Wan laughs weakly, and shakes his head, “I’m afraid that is the trouble, dear one. It is true.”

Anakin blinks, then sinks back onto his haunches. His eyes flick over Obi-Wan’s face, seeming to try to find the lie in it. When Obi-Wan just looks back at him steadily, he furrows his brow.

“But you said-” Anakin swallows, the sound of it clicking in his throat, “You said he just did not want you anymore. You said the rest of it was just speculation-”

“He was married. With a child on the way.” Obi-Wan sighs, “I didn’t know. I was young, and naive. I should have known, all of the secrecy. He never made any serious offer for me. It was all just an illicit affair.”

Anakin’s brow creases even deeper. He looks down, eyes shifting as he goes over this new detail. 

“But he promised. He promised you, why would they not believe you? You didn’t know, that wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, fault or not, a businessman's son making moves on a gentleman above his station is much more likely in the eyes of society than a man not keeping his promises. They did not see me as a heartbroken waif. I was just the rake after another man and his money.”

“You could have all of my money,” Anakin says fiercely. He reaches out to grab Obi-Wan’s hands, “I don’t care. I don’t want any of it, I just want-” He stops himself abruptly, chewing on his full bottom lip. 

Obi-Wan clasps Anakin’s hands into his own, “What Palpatine said, it’s what others will say. And worse. I would not care if it was just me they are speculating on, but they would also turn on you. Your name would be splashed in those horrible gossip rags. Your name would be tainted by mine, Anakin.”

“I told you before, I don’t care.” Anakin shifts up again, making moves as if he is about to crawl into Obi-Wan’s lap, “I’ve told you how I feel, that will never change. I won’t marry, if I can’t have you.”

Obi-Wan nods his head, “I needed to tell you, because I myself am having a hard time imagining having anyone else.” 

Anakin’s face plays a complicated array of emotions. Elation, worry, then doubt.

“What are you saying, Obi-Wan?” Anakin’s voice is full of hurt apprehension, “Are you saying you…you’re reconsidering my proposal?”

“I believe I’m saying that I accept it.”

Anakin’s mouth opens, closes. Then, “Why are you saying this? Is it because of my mother? Because you feel sorry for me?”

“No, no, Anakin, nothing like that. I- Anakin, I…” He sighs, then reaches forward to take Anakin’s lovely face in his hands. “I’m in love with you. I have always been, a bit, in love with you. I didn’t want to admit it to myself. To you, to anyone. I was very ashamed. And I was content to live my life with you as only my greatest companion. When you proposed, all of those doubts I had came back, and I was scared. Terribly scared. But the truth of it is, I can’t be apart from you. I can’t live, knowing someone else is caring for you. Loving you. Not when I should be the one doing all of those things.”

Anakin’s face is glowing. His cheeks and lips are a fetching pink, and his grin is so wide it splits his face into two. Before he can brace himself, Anakin scrambles up into Obi-Wan’s lap, throwing his arms around his neck and rocking them back and forth.

“I’ve caused you a great deal of heartache,” Obi-Wan murmurs, wrapping his arms around Anakin’s small waist, “I never meant to.”

Anakin laughs wetly, “I knew you loved me, and I knew that you were just being stubborn, but…”

“Oh you did, did you?” Obi-Wan pulls back slightly, not letting go, “But, what?”

Anakin looks sheepish, “When you said no, and said all those things about why not, I thought you were lying. That really, you just didn’t want me, but you didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, “No, Anakin. It was all my own doing. Everything I said was true. It is improper for us to court.”

Anakin looks at him from under his bright gold lashes. Obi-Wan is sure that no one has ever looked so good by firelight, “But we could anyway. Couldn’t we, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan sighs, “Yes. Yes, I think so. I’m finding myself abhorred by the idea of anyone else having you.”

Anakin delights in this, if his reaction is anything to go by. He situates himself under Obi-Wan’s chin once more, squeezing him so tightly. 

“Besides, it is only the most rational thing to do. My prospects may not be the greatest, but I have a head for managing things. And you’re so clever, I believe together we would be a smart match,” He rationalizes.

“And you love me.”

“And I love you,” Obi-Wan agrees, “And if it will make you happy, then it can’t be such a bad idea.”

Each excuse in his head shrivels and dies as he thinks of them. They are good together, they need each other. Damn the rest. 

“I would be so happy, Obi-Wan. I’ll be a good husband to you, I’ll take care of you, give you whatever you want. I’ll make you so happy, Obi-Wan.”

“Sweetheart,” Obi-Wan says, smiling into Anakin’s curls, “You already do.”