Chapter Text
Obi-Wan has never been a fan of working at a paper supplying company; especially when he’s one of the men who just fills out forms and sends them all day long. He glances at his watch, rolling his shoulders back as he waits for the train to finally arrive at the platform. If he was late again, he was going to be in so much trouble. A gust of wind from the train passing by causes him to tilt, and his papers flutter in his arms, but otherwise he’s fine. Until a piece of paper slaps him in the face, making him groan before it flutters past, someone rushing past to grasp it before it could fly any further.
He glances at them from the corner of his eyes, catching their gaze and making them blush. They shove the paper back into the manila folder they’re holding, and Obi-Wan is caught by how gorgeous they are. His brain is telling him he should say something, but before he can, another train goes past, causing one of the papers in his arms to flutter away and stick to the other person’s face. He flushes crimson, grabbing it and carefully peeling it away from their face.
While he wants to apologize, they seem caught off guard, snorting at something they can only see. His brows furrow, and they point at the paper he’s got in his hand, making Obi-Wan chance a look at it and blink. There’s a lipstick mark on the paper, and he turns back as he laughs at it, only to find they’ve gotten onto the train that just pulled in. All Obi-Wan can do is watch the doors close and catch their gaze one last time before the train pulls out of the station, his hand gripping the paper tightly.
Sitting at his desk, Obi-Wan looks down at the paper with lipstick on it, his mind racing a mile a minute. How was he going to find you again? Hell, would he ever find you again? He groans under his breath, glancing up when he hears a throat being cleared, and then a stack of papers is dropped onto his desk. Obi-Wan’s boss, Mace Windu, gives him a scowl before heading into his office, and Obi-Wan sighs, going to reach for the first piece when the lipstick printed paper starts to flutter out the window.
His fingers wrap around the edge as his eyes raise, seeing…them. It was them! Oh, it was you and he…how was he going to get your attention? Prying the window open as wide as he can, Obi-Wan starts waving his arms around, just trying to make you look his way. Suddenly, Mace is clearing his throat again, and Obi-Wan slinks back into his seat, rubbing at his jaw. What was he going to do?
Tapping his foot, he glances at the tall stack of papers and it clicks in his mind. Grabbing the top one, he folds it into an airplane and leans out the window, throwing it, only for the aviary device to spiral down to the ground. He makes a face and folds another, throwing that one as well, only to watch it get so close and hit the wall. Really?
He’s been tossing paper airplanes your way for almost an hour, and he’s now running out of them. He’s seen countless ones hit just around the window he can see you through, another land on the desk of a man who promptly crumpled it when finding it was not for him, and one even hit a bird of all things. Banging his head against the wall, he glances out and see you start to leave. Panicking, Obi-Wan reaches for the absolute last piece of paper, folding it precisely and swallowing as he throws it. Please let it reach them.
The wind knocks it out of his hand before he can throw it though, and he watches you leave the office you’re in as the paper airplane falls to the street below. Mace is back at his desk in seconds, placing another stack of papers on the top and walking away. Glancing outside one last time, Obi-Wan shakes his head and rushes out the door, heart racing as he runs across the street, dodging cars to reach you. Instead, he finds the lipstick marked paper airplane sitting on top of a mailbox, and he scowls at it. Throwing the thing away, he storms back off, heart sinking to his feet.
If you had told Obi-Wan three hours ago that he would be on a train, covered in paper airplanes that refused to let him get off or go anywhere he wanted, he would have laughed in your face. Now, he’s not so sure, as he sits there with his arms crossed, a permanent frown etched into his features. Great, not only had he failed to possibly meet the love of his life, but he was stuck on a damn train with paper airplanes glued to his body.
On your end of things, you hold tightly to the lipstick marked airplane in your hands, eyes widening as you reach the train stop from earlier today. Stepping off the train, you chance a look down at the piece of paper in your palms, frowning when nothing happens. You toss it up and down a few times, trying to figure out why it wasn’t working, when a gush of wind ruffles your hair, a whole cluster of paper airplanes fluttering past you.
Turning to face the direction they came from, you find yourself face to face with the man from earlier, who shakes off all the paper sticking to him. He takes a step closer, both of you smiling sheepishly as he reaches out for the airplane in your hands.
“Obi-Wan, and you are?”
“Y/N.”