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    Summary

    Anakin was visiting him again. The sun-kissed young man visited Obi-Wan often, to help him fix his vaporator, to drive the both of them into Anchorhead at the same time to save on speeder fuel, to spend a sunset staring out at the Wastes together while sharing a pot of chilled tea. This time, Anakin had brought him a comb for his beard, a sort of comfort Obi-Wan had not had in several years.
    Not since… Obi-Wan lost everything.
    “Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, kneeling down by Obi-Wan’s sitting mat. He held the comb in his hand—carved from the wood of one of the few scraggly breeds of tree which grew on this desert planet. “May I comb your beard for you?”

    (Anakin wants to fuck Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan doesn't think he should, but he gets convinced into it anyway.)

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