Chapter Text
Stillness is the first thing he senses.
It’s not the physical objects or the light coming from the slightly open window or the intrusive noise of a place that does not sleep that catches his uneasy attention. It’s not the bed and the body that occupied it. No, it’s the stillness that Qui-Gon notices first, in it’s unusual nature. His faithful companion was a man full of youth and energy, which infused his every moment, even in sleep, perhaps especially in his sleep.
Stillness had no place anywhere in Obi-Wan’s life.
The door to his padawan’s sleeping room had been cracked open, as if the occupant had wanted to awaken at the slightest noise in his apartment, but the stillness seemed to have invaded everything in the immediate vicinity. Qui-gon entered the room slowly, on feather light feet, clothed in naught but his robe. He could feel just how abnormal the air itself felt, as if every molecule of unnecessary space was sucked lifeless and impotent in the late hour. Even his steps felt weightless, ineffectual, futile, with both an inescapable vacuum and an endless sea spread out before him, cutting him off from his charge.
The window was open wide, the protective layer fluttering in the intense breeze of the roadway. How Obi-Wan slept with the noise, the light, and the wretched smell, Qui-Gon would never know. He trudged on, moving in shadow, just barely skirting the neon light from the bright signs just outside the window. It felt almost sacrilegious to disturb the lull around him by becoming visible, by making noise of any kind. The closer he came to the bedside, the more oppressive the stillness became. Qui-Gon involuntarily held his breath until he came to a stop much sooner than he thought he would. The room had seemed as vast as empty space, but he had made it across in no time at all. Too little time, actually. He stood paralyzed as he took in the seemingly lifeless body before him.
His Padawan was laid sprawled across his bed, blankets askew by his barren feet, pillow scrunched up under his chest to support both his arms and his head. His limbs were spread akimbo to the four corners of the room as he laid there, not moving a single hair. He looked dead. He looked bereft of life. He looked… peaceful. Unaffected by the stillness still pervading the air, not touched by it at all.
Was Qui-Gon the only one who felt it?
The uneasy repose had seemed almost like a physical entity when he had stepped into the room, standing in between him and the bed, but now Qui-Gon questioned his own sanity once again. His mind was a frightening place at this time of night. Had he imagined the tension, the difficulty to breathe, the sheer hostility of the air itself?
Had he imagined it all?
Qui-Gon’s legs could no longer support his weight and he stumbled forward, just barely avoiding jostling the bed, landing on his knees much closer to his padawan than he wanted to be. He fell motionless once again. Qui-Gon looked at the young man in his unnaturally tranquil slumber.
He felt pleased in the fact that his padawan was turned his way, his unworldly face so close to his own. Obi-Wan’s beauty was truly exquisite, surpassing anything Qui-Gon had seen in his many travels, the living embodiment of the sublime in his mind. His charm could convince even the most obstinate of beings. His magnificence outshone even the brightest stars. Nothing could outdo the color of his eyes, the tan of his skin, the decency that seeped from his every pore.
Qui-Gon could truly do nothing but stare.
What was he doing here? Had he really thought this would do anything other than muddle his mind further, confuse him even further? Qui-Gon’s breathing now felt heavy in the empty air, his every atom gaining weight with every second that passed. The stillness had abandoned him the moment his stinging knees hit the hard floor. Thoughts flowed from place to place in his head, zooming every which way like motor cars, never stopping long enough to resolve themselves or for him to catch even a single one. He felt dizzy with it, almost nauseous with motion sickness, for all the motion was entirely in his head.
The man kneeled in sorrow, the rest of the world held at bay by the thick air of malaise that filled the room.
Eventually, after untold time had passed, one single sentence crystallized with perfect clarity in the man’s head. A sentence that Qui-Gon had thought countless times before, one that came to him in all manner of moments, good and bad. One that he was just now realizing should have been the philosophy that guided his every action for years, the veneer that overlaid his every moment.
Obi-Wan deserved better.
Obi-Wan deserved better, better than the world had ever given him, better than the life he had thus far led, better than anything he had ever received. It was the unmistakable truth, the unshaken pillar of his very existence. His padawan deserved better. His padawan deserved better because he was a dedicated young man. His padawan deserved better because life was never kind to him. His padawan deserved better because Obi-Wan tried his hardest to give better to all those around him.
He deserved better than a bitter old man, unchanging and unwilling.
That was it, true and simple. His padawan deserved better and Qui-Gon didn’t know if he was capable of giving him that. He didn’t know if he ever had been.
The Jedi master kneeled in resignation, breathing heavily, gazing wearily at the remarkable young man that still slept on, oblivious to the turmoil that surrounded him.
Really, what was Qui-Gon doing here? With him?
Why did Obi-Wan still give his old master the time of day, the loyalty, the attention, the love he once had? Was his self esteem truly so low as to think that this was what all he was worthy of? This empty room in an empty apartment, devoid of anything unnecessary for the barest of survival?
What an unfulfilled, barren life Obi-Wan had led thus far.
Qui-Gon collapsed even further into himself, hands pressed tightly to the rough carpet beneath him, the pain in his knees the only thing keeping him from slipping and melting into a puddle of sorrow set to steep into the very foundations of the temple itself. He knows that this is no way to live, for either of them. Something needed to change.
This ends now, Qui-Gon thought, I will burden him no more.
There will be no more taking advantage of his affection, no more leaving him feeling less than. He cannot leave the past stand as it is, for how will Obi-Wan know that he regrets, or that he is a changed man if he has nothing to show for it.
I regret, my friend. I’m not clear on just what quite yet, but the feeling’s there.
He will appreciate what he has before he has lost it altogether. Perhaps with a goal to work towards, things will finally move forwards, away from the stagnation that has plagued them in recent months. Qui-Gon needs his padawan to see him anew. With a new day soon dawning, so his faith does, too. Yet, by the end of the night, when an artificial sun rises in the mechanical sky, he only has a small few sentences to add to his new list of revelations.
I regret you were always the quiet one. I wish you had spoken more, maybe. No, I don’t wish you had spoken more. I wish I had simply listened at all.