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    Summary

    His hand landed on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Firm and friendly.

    And Obi-Wan flinched.

    Not subtly. A full-body recoil—shoulders jerking back, spine going rigid, a sharp inhale that Anakin heard even over the ambient ship noise. Obi-Wan stumbled half a step to the side, putting distance between them like Anakin’s hand had been a brand.

    And Anakin’s hand?

    It hung there, empty and stupid.

    He blinked. “Whoa—sorry, did I—”

    “Do not,” Obi-Wan said, and his voice was wrong. It wasn’t his usual measured tenor, the calm Vulcan monotone that Anakin had grown so used to it felt like background music. This was clipped and sharp and almost… breathless . “Do not touch me, Anakin.”

    OR: Five times Anakin misunderstood Pon Farr, and one time he finally got it.

    Written for Topwan Week(s) Day 5: Star Trek AU + 5+1

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