Work Text:
The storm came out of nowhere.
One moment, Anakin was walking through the foothills, the sun warm on his shoulders and the path easy beneath his boots. The next, the sky had turned the color of a bruise, and the wind was screaming hungrily and carnally through the pines.
He had been traveling for weeks—maybe months, he’d lost count—moving from village to village, doing odd jobs, never staying long enough to put down roots. It was easier that way. Less to lose.
But right now, with rain lashing his face and the temperature dropping fast, he was beginning to regret not finding shelter sooner.
Stupid, he thought, pulling his cloak tighter. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The path had turned to mud, sucking at his boots with every step. Lightning split the sky, and he flinched at the crack of thunder that followed. The trees around him bent and swayed like they might tear themselves from the ground at any moment.
He needed shelter. He needed it now.
His eyes scanned the hillside, desperate, and then—
A dark opening. A cave. High up, partially hidden by a curtain of rain, but there.
Anakin didn’t hesitate. He scrambled up the rocky slope, his hands slipping on wet stone, his heart pounding. The storm was getting worse by the second. He could barely see two feet in front of him.
Please be empty. Please be empty. Please don’t be occupied by something that wants to eat me—
He stumbled through the cave mouth and nearly collapsed.
It was warmer inside. Not warm, exactly, but warmer. The wind was muffled, the rain reduced to a distant drumming. He leaned against the stone wall, gasping for breath, and let his eyes adjust to the dimness.
The cave was larger than he’d expected. Deep. The walls were smooth, almost polished, and the floor was covered in soft moss and scattered furs. A faint glow came from somewhere deeper inside, like embers, banked and waiting.
Someone lives here.
Anakin’s stomach dropped.
He whirled around, ready to run back out into the storm, but the wind and rain beat against the entrance like a forcefield, and he knew he’d never make it down the slope without breaking his neck.
Great. I’m going to die in a stranger’s cave.
He pressed himself against the wall, heart hammering, and strained his ears.
Silence. For a long, agonizing moment, nothing but the storm outside and his own ragged breathing.
Then there was a sound.
A shift. A low, resonant rumble that seemed to come from the very bones of the mountain.
Anakin froze.
From the shadows of the cave's deeper recesses, something moved.
Two eyes opened, golden and slitted, each one larger than Anakin’s fist.
They blinked slowly, once, twice, and then the creature lifted its head.
Anakin had heard stories about dragons. Everyone had. They were monsters, according to the village elders. Demons with wings and teeth, hoarding treasure and devouring travelers.
But the stories had never mentioned how beautiful they were.
The dragon was massive—easily the length of a small house—with scales the color of burnished copper and amber, catching the faint glow of the embers and shimmering like liquid fire. Its horns swept back from its head in elegant curves, and its eyes—those golden, slitted eyes—were watching him with something that looked almost like… curiosity.
Anakin’s mouth went dry.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm. “I—I just needed shelter. I didn’t know—I’ll leave—”
The dragon rumbled again. It wasn’t a growl, more so something deeper, softer.
And then it carefully lowered its head back down and pushed something toward him with its snout.
A pile of furs. Soft, thick, warm-looking furs.
Anakin stared.
“...What?”
The dragon nudged the furs again, closer to his feet, and then—inexplicably—gestured with its head toward a spot near the wall, where the moss was thickest and the flow from the embers reached farthest.
It was offering him a place to sleep.
Anakin’s brain short-circuited.
“You—you’re not going to eat me?”
The dragon made a sound that was almost, impossibly, offended. It huffed—a puff of warm, smoky air that ruffled Anakin’s wet hair—and then nudged the furs again, more insistently.
Anakin let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh.
“Okay. Okay, I—I don’t understand you, but—thank you. Thank you.”
He stumbled over to the spot the dragon had indicated, his legs weak with exhaustion and shock. He grabbed the furs—they were as soft as they looked, and warm—and wrapped himself in them, his shivering body finally starting to settle.
The dragon watched him the whole time, golden eyes never leaving him.
And then, when Anakin was bundled up and starting to feel like he might actually survive the night, the dragon did something else unexpected.
It moved.
Slowly, carefully, it shifted its massive body across the cave floor until it was curled around him—a great, scaly crescent that blocked the draft from the entrance and radiated warmth like a furnace.
Anakin’s breath caught.
The dragon’s head settled on its forelegs, its nose only a few feet from his face. Its golden eyes blinked at him and then slid half-closed in something that looked suspiciously like contentment.
“You’re really not going to eat me,” Anakin murmured, almost to himself.
The dragon rumbled. If Anakin didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn it sounded amused.
He should have been terrified. He was terrified—or, at least, he should have been. But the warmth was seeping into his bones, and the furs were so soft, and the dragon’s steady breathing was oddly calming, and—
He found himself reaching out, his fingers brushing against the dragon’s snout.
The scales were warm. Smooth and vibrant with an inner heat that felt like touching sun-warmed stone.
The dragon’s eyes opened fully, locking onto his.
Anakin didn’t pull his hand away.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “You’re actually… really beautiful.”
The dragon went completely still.
Its eyes widened, just a fraction, and then something in his expression shifted into something soft and almost stunned.
And then the dragon slowly leaned into his touch, pressing its snout against his palm.
Anakin smiled.
“Thank you,” he said. “For not eating me. For letting me stay.” He yawned, exhaustion finally overtaking him. “You’re… you’re the best dragon I’ve ever met. Not that I’ve met any. But still.”
The dragon rumbled again in something almost like a purr.
Anakin’s eyes were growing heavy. The storm raged outside, but here, curled against a dragon’s warmth with furs wrapped around him, he felt safer than he had in years.
He was asleep within minutes.
***
The dragon—Obi-Wan—watched the human sleep.
He’d been resting when the storm hit, content in his lair, expecting nothing more than a quiet night. And then this creature had stumbled in—soaking wet, shivering, half-dead from the cold—and looked at him like he was the one who should be afraid.
And then he’d called him beautiful.
Beautiful.
Obi-Wan had lived for centuries. He’d seen humans before—hunters, travelers, fools who thought they could steal from his hoard. He’d chased them all away easily with a performance of fire and fury.
But he’d never met one who looked at him with wonder instead of terror. Who had reached out and touched him like he was something precious instead of something to be feared.
And he was so lovely. Curls of blond hair and tanned skin and the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen.
Anakin, he’d called himself. The human had mumbled it in his sleep.
He curled a little together around the sleeping human, making sure the warmth reached him. The furs were good, but he was better—dragons ran hot, and this exquisite creature needed every bit of heat he could provide.
Beautiful, Anakin had said.
Obi-Wan’s heart—old, patient, unbothered by centuries of solitude—did something it hadn’t done in a very long time.
It fluttered.
He looked down at the human, at the peaceful expression on his face, at the way one of his hands had curled around Obi-Wan’s scales even in sleep.
And Obi-Wan, dragon of the mountain, hoarder of gold and ancient treasures, knew with an abrupt, startling clarity that he would burn the world down for this man.
It was absurd and impossible and it had only been an hour, and yet.
Mine, his instincts whispered. This one is mine.
Obi-Wan nuzzled the top of Anakin’s head very gently, just a brush of his snout against soft blond hair, and let out a low, contented rumble.
The storm could rage all it wanted.
He had found something far more precious than gold.
***
Anakin woke slowly, drifting up from the deepest, most restful sleep he’d had in months.
He was warm. Impossibly warm. And comfortable. And there was something solid and smooth pressed against his back that seemed to be radiating heat like a sun-baked stone.
He blinked his eyes open, groggy and disoriented.
The first thing he saw was a wall of copper-and-amber scales, rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.
Oh. Right. Dragon.
Anakin’s brain caught up with him in a rush.
He jerked upright, heart pounding—and then immediately relaxed when he saw that the dragon was still sleeping, its massive head resting on its forelegs, its golden eyes hidden behind translucent inner lids.
Don’t panic, he told himself. You didn’t die. You’re still here. You’re fine.
He took a slow breath and looked around.
The cave was even more beautiful in the daylight, or what passed for daylight—the entrance was glowing with a soft gray light that meant the storm had probably passed. The walls were smooth and warm, streaked with veins of quartz and something that glittered faintly. The moss on the floor was thick and soft, almost like a carpet.
And the furs—Anakin looked down at them, really looked—were luxurious. Wolf pelts and something softer, something silvery he didn't recognize. They were piled high enough that he’d practically been sleeping on a cloud.
He looked back at the dragon.
“You really are something else, aren’t you?” he murmured.
The dragon’s ear flicked.
Anakin froze. “Oh—sorry, did I wake you?”
The golden eyes slid open, blinking slowly. The dragon lifted its head, regarded him with that same curious gaze from last night, and then made a low, rumbling sound that seemed to translate roughly to, Good morning.
“Um.” Anakin cleared his throat. “Good morning. Thank you again for, you know, not eating me. And for the furs. And the warmth. All of it, really.”
The dragon blinked. Then, very deliberately, it nudged a small pile of something toward him.
Anakin looked down.
Berries. Fresh, plump, deep purple berries. And a piece of roasted meat that was still slightly warm.
“Wait, you brought me breakfast?”
The dragon rumbled affirmatively.
Anakin stared. “You’re like a—a giant scaly innkeeper. A very warm, very generous innkeeper who could kill me with one bite but chooses to feed me instead.”
The dragon huffed with that same sound from last night that sounded vaguely like amusement, and nudged the food closer.
“Okay, okay, I’m eating.” Anakin grabbed a handful of berries and popped them into his mouth. They were sweet and tart and perfect. “These are amazing. Where did you even find berries at this altitude?”
The dragon tilted his head, looking pleased.
Anakin ate in comfortable silence, occasionally glancing up at the dragon. It was watching him with an expression that was hard to read, but it didn’t feel threatening. If anything, it felt warm. Protective, possibly. Like he was being studied and found good.
“So,” Anakin said between bites, “do you have a name? Or do I just call you ‘Dragon’?”
The dragon rumbled and shifted, and for a moment Anakin thought it was going to do something dramatic—stand up, maybe, or breathe fire.
Instead it reached out with one clawed foreleg and traced a pattern in the soft earth next to Anakin.
Two symbols. Angular and elegant.
Anakin squinted at them. “I don’t… I can’t read that.”
The dragon huffed, clearly frustrated. It tried again, slower this time, drawing the symbols more carefully.
Anakin still couldn’t read them.
“Okay, this isn’t working,” he said apologetically. “Can you—do you understand me? Like, words? Can you talk?”
The dragon looked at him with an expression that was almost offended. It opened its mouth, and for a moment Anakin braced himself for a roar—
But instead, a deep, resonant voice echoed in his mind. Not spoken aloud, but felt. It was a warm pressure against his thoughts.
I can speak. In a manner of speaking.
Anakin’s jaw dropped. “You—that was—you’re in my head.”
Apologies. In this form, my vocal cords are not suited to human speech. But I can communicate this way, if you prefer.
“Okay, that’s—that’s insane. And amazing. And a little bit terrifying.” Anakin’s eyes were wide, but he was grinning. “What’s your name?”
Obi-Wan.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin repeated, testing the syllables. “That’s a good name. Suits you.”
A pause, and then, You think so?
“Yeah. It’s elegant. Kind of old and wise-sounding.” Anakin grinned. “You seem old and wise. So it fits.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a dragon’s version of a smile.
I am old. I am not certain about wise.
“Well, you’re wise enough to not eat me, so you’re doing better than most dragons in the stories I’ve heard.”
Obi-Wan made a low, rumbling sound that might have been laughter.
I have no interest in eating you, Anakin. Not in the way you’re thinking.
Anakin blinked. “You know my name?”
You said it in your sleep.
“Oh.” He felt his cheeks flush. “I talk in my sleep?”
You do. You also snore.
“I do not—”
Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkled again. He was definitely laughing at him.
Anakin groaned and threw a berry at his snout. It bounced off harmlessly.
“You’re insufferable.”
And yet you are still in my cave, eating my berries, sleeping in my furs.
Anakin opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. “Okay, fair point.” He paused. “Unless you want me to leave? I can—I mean, the storm is over now, I think, so I should probably—”
He was already half-rising, brushing moss off his clothes, and Obi-Wan’s expression flashed with something like panic, quickly masked.
You are welcome to stay. The weather is still unsettled. It would be unwise to travel.
Anakin hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”
You are not imposing.
“Well… if you’re sure…” He settled back down into the furs, pulling one around his shoulders. “I mean, I don’t have anywhere to be, really. I was just traveling."
Where were you going?
Anakin shrugged. “Nowhere. Everywhere. I don’t really have a home. Haven’t for a long time.”
Obi-Wan was silent for a moment before he replied, Then you may stay here as long as you like.
Anakin looked up at him, at those soft, sincere eyes, expecting to find some trick or hidden agenda.
But he found none.
“You’re really something, you know that?” Anakin said softly. “Most dragons in the stories are evil. Hoarding treasure. Eating travelers. Burning villages.”
I haven’t burned down that many villages, Obi-Wan deadpanned. Only the rude ones.
Anakin laughed. “I can’t believe you.”
So you keep saying.
***
The days that followed were some of the best of Anakin’s life.
He told himself it was just because the cave was warm and safe, because Obi-Wan was generous and didn’t ask awkward questions about his past, because the food was good and the view from the entrance was spectacular.
But if he was honest with himself—which he wasn’t, not even a little—it was because of Obi-Wan.
The dragon was fascinating. He told stories with his mind-voice, ancient tales of the mountains and the sky and the first dragons who had shaped the world. He showed Anakin where the best wild herbs grew, and which mushrooms were safe to eat, and how to find the hot spring that bubbled deep in the back of the cave.
And he was thoughtful. Almost absurdly so.
Every morning, Anakin awoke to find food waiting for him. Berries, fresh meat, sometimes even warm bread that Obi-Wan had apparently “acquired” from a village down the mountain.
Anakin chose not to ask how.
Every evening, they sat together at the entrance, watching the sunset paint the mountains gold and pink and purple.
“Look at that,” Anakin would say, pointing at the sky. “That’s incredible.”
Yes, Obi-Wan would agree, looking straight at Anakin.
***
One evening, Anakin was curled up in the furs, whittling a piece of wood with a small knife he carried in his pack.
What are you working on? Obi-Wan asked, his voice warm with curiosity.
"Just a little thing. I like to carve. It's relaxing." Anakin turned the wood over in his hands. "I don't know what it's going to be yet. I just let the wood tell me."
Obi-Wan watched the firelight play over Anakin's face, tracing the lines of his brow, the curve of his lips. He looked so peaceful. So right here in the cave, surrounded by Obi-Wan's furs and warmth.
I could watch him forever, Obi-Wan thought. I want to watch him forever.
"I'm glad I got lost in that storm," Anakin said suddenly, not looking up from his carving. "If I hadn't, I never would have found this place. Found you." Obi-Wan's heart stuttered.
Anakin…
But Anakin just kept whittling, completely unaware of the effect his words had. The firelight caught the curve of his smile, the way his tongue poked out slightly as he concentrated on his work.
Obi-Wan's chest ached with something warm and overwhelming. He wanted to press his snout against Anakin's cheek. He wanted to wrap his tail around him and never let go.
Instead, he settled for curling a little closer, his massive body radiating heat like a furnace.
I am glad you got lost too, he said softly.
Anakin looked up, grinning. “Yeah?”
Yes. You have made my cave feel like a home again. It was just a lair before you arrived.
Anakin’s grin softened into something more gentle. “That’s really sweet, Obi-Wan.”
I am not sweet. I am a fearsome dragon.
“You’re the sweetest fearsome dragon I’ve ever met.”
Obi-Wan made a low sound, half-laugh, half-purr. Anakin laughed too and went back to his carving.
And Obi-Wan watched him.
Always watching him.
He said he has no home, Obi-Wan thought. But he does now. He just doesn’t know it yet.
This is his home. I am his home.
He is mine.
***
Anakin worked on the carving for the rest of the evening, his brow furrowed in concentration, his tongue poking out occasionally as he shaped the wood.
Obi-Wan watched in comfortable silence, content to simply exist in the same space as the human who had so unexpectedly stolen his heart.
Finally, Anakin sat back and examined his work. He turned it over in his hands, frowning slightly, then smiled.
"There," he said. "Done."
He stood up and crossed the cave to where Obi-Wan's hoard was kept—a small collection of treasures that Obi-Wan had accumulated over the centuries. Gold coins, gemstones, ancient artifacts, a few pieces of beautiful pottery.
Anakin looked at the hoard, then looked at his carving, then looked back at the hoard.
And then—before Obi-Wan could ask what he was doing—Anakin placed the carving in the middle of the hoard.
Right in the center. Like it was the most precious thing there.
Obi-Wan’s heart stopped.
What are you doing? He asked.
Anakin turned around, grinning sheepishly. “I wanted you to have it. Since you’ve given me so much—the furs, the food, the shelter, the—” He gestured vaguely. “—the everything. I wanted to give you something back.”
Obi-Wan stared at him. Then he looked at the carving, now gleaming softly in the firelight.
It was a heart.
A small, carefully carved wooden heart. Simple but elegant, the wood smooth and warm, the lines precise and beautiful.
He gave me a heart, Obi-Wan thought, his mind reeling. He placed it in my hoard. In the heart of my treasure.
"Obi-Wan?" Anakin's voice cut through his shock. "Are you okay? You look—"
I am fine, Obi-Wan said quickly. I am—I am more than fine. I am— He couldn't find the words. This is—it's beautiful, Anakin.
Anakin's whole face lit up. "Really? You like it?"
I love it, Obi-Wan said, and the words felt inadequate. Inadequate for the centuries he had lived, for the treasures he had hoarded, for the way this single wooden heart now meant more to him than all the gold in the world. I love it. I will treasure it always.
Anakin beamed. "Good. I'm glad. You deserve something nice, you know. For being so good to me."
Obi-Wan felt his chest tighten.
He didn’t sleep that night.
***
The days had blurred together. Anakin had lost count of how long he'd been in the cave—a few days? A week? Two? It didn't matter. He wasn't in a hurry to leave.
But this morning, he'd woken up restless. His legs ached from sitting around. His body craved movement, fresh air, space.
Obi-Wan noticed immediately. He always noticed.
You are restless today, he observed, his golden eyes tracking Anakin as he paced the cave.
"I'm fine," Anakin said automatically.
You are pacing. You only pace when something is wrong.
“I'm not—” Anakin sighed. “Okay, fine. I'm a little stir-crazy, alright? I've been in this cave for—” He gestured vaguely. “—some amount of time. I need to move. I need to breathe.”
Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he rose to his full height.
Anakin had gotten used to Obi-Wan's size, but seeing him stand—all coiled power and gleaming scales—still took his breath away.
Would you like to go flying?
Anakin's eyes went wide. "Wait—flying? Like—on you?"
Unless you have another dragon you were planning to ask.
"I—" Anakin's mouth opened and closed. "You'd let me ride you?"
Obi-Wan's eyes crinkled with amusement. I would not offer if I did not mean it.
Anakin's heart was suddenly pounding. “But—I don't—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Are you sure? I’m not exactly… I don’t have a saddle or anything. I might fall off.”
You will not fall off. Obi-Wan’s voice was warm with certainty. I will not let you fall. But if you are afraid—
“I’m not afraid!” Anakin said quickly. “I’m—I’m not. I just—” He took a breath. “Yes. Let’s do it. Let’s go flying.”
The rumble that came from Obi-Wan's chest was deep and pleased. He lowered himself to the cave floor, making it easier for Anakin to climb on.
Put your hands on my neck. Hold tight. And do not let go.
Anakin scrambled up, settling himself just behind Obi-Wan’s massive shoulders. The scales were warm and smooth beneath his palms, and he could feel the raw power humming from them, the muscle and bone and ancient strength.
“Okay,” Anakin said, his voice a little shaky. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Hold tight.
Obi-Wan launched himself forward.
They burst out of the cave entrance, and Anakin’s stomach dropped as the ground fell away beneath them.
And then, he was flying. Really flying.
The wind tore at his hair, screaming past his ears. The world spread out below them like a tapestry—green forests, silver rivers, tiny villages that looked like dollhouses. The sky stretched endless above them, impossibly blue, dotted with clouds that they were actually above.
“Oh my—” Anakin’s shout was torn away by the wind. “Oh my—Obi-Wan—this is—”
Obi-Wan banked to the left, and Anakin whooped with joy.
Do you like it?
“Like it?” Anakin laughed wildly, his arms tightening around Obi-Wan’s neck. “I love it! This is the best thing I’ve ever done!”
He did a loop—just a small one, but Anakin knew he was showing off—and Anakin’s delighted scream echoed across the valley.
I thought you might enjoy it.
“Enjoy it? Obi-Wan, I’m flying!”
***
Obi-Wan had been alive for centuries. He had seen mountains rise and fall, had witnessed the turning of ages, had hoarded treasures that could buy kingdoms.
But he had never heard anything as beautiful as the sound of Anakin’s laughter.
He adjusted his course, heading for the distant peaks, and gave Anakin the ride of his life.
***
They flew for hours.
Obi-Wan took him over the highest mountains, where the air was thin and the snow glittered like diamonds. He dove through valleys where waterfalls plunged into misty pools. He soared above forests so thick they looked like a carpet of green.
And Anakin never stopped laughing. Never stopped whooping with joy. Never stopped clutching Obi-Wan’s neck like he was holding on for dear life, but in a good way. In an I never want this to end way.
By the time they finally landed back at the cave entrance, the sun was sinking low, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink and deep, velvety purple.
Anakin slid off Obi-Wan’s back and immediately collapsed onto the moss, staring up at the sky, breathing hard.
“That was,” he said, his voice rough with emotion, “the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me. Ever. In my entire life.”
Obi-Wan settled beside him, his large body blocking the evening chill. He seemed proud of himself.
I am glad you enjoyed it.
Anakin turned his head to look at him. His cheeks were flushed, his hair was a wild mess, and his eyes were shining with pure, unfiltered joy.
“Thank you,” Anakin said softly. “For taking me. For trusting me enough to let me ride you. I know that’s not something you just do with anyone.”
No, Obi-Wan agreed, his voice warm. It is not.
Anakin smiled. “Yeah. I figured.” He reached out and patted Obi-Wan’s snout as exhaustion started to settle in. He mumbled a good night, then rolled over and curled up against Obi-Wan’s side, using him like a warm, scaly pillow.
***
Anakin was sitting by the fire, trying unsuccessfully to untangle the knots in his hair. His fingers kept snagging, and he was getting frustrated.
“Stupid wind,” he muttered. “Stupid flying. Stupid beautiful sky that I wanted to be in—”
You are struggling.
Anakin looked up. Obi-Wan was watching him with those golden eyes, his head tilted in that curious way of his.
“I’m fine,” Anakin lied. “My hair is just a disaster.”
Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment. Then, he rose to his feet and moved toward the deeper shadows of the cave.
Anakin frowned. “Obi-Wan? What are you—”
And then he stopped.
Because the shadows were moving. Shifting. The massive silhouette of the dragon seemed to fold in on itself, shrinking, reshaping—
Anakin’s mouth fell open.
Where the dragon had stood, a man now stood.
A tall man, almost as tall as himself. Broad shouldered, lean, with copper-red hair that caught the firelight like embers. His eyes were the same gold—still slitted, still inhuman—but they were set in a face that was devastatingly handsome. Sharp cheekbones. A graceful neck. A mouth that was currently curved in a soft, almost nervous smile.
He was wearing a simple tunic and trousers—where they came from, Anakin had no idea—but somehow they looked elegant on him.
Anakin’s brain stopped working.
“Obi-Wan?” His voice came out as a squeak. “Is that you?”
The man—Obi-Wan—inclined his head. “Yes,” he said. “I hope the shift does not alarm you, dear.”
“You can—you can turn into a person?”
“I have always been able to. I simply… did not wish to frighten you.”
“Frighten me?” Anakin laughed, a little hysterically. “You’re—you’re a dragon who can turn into—” He gestured vaguely at Obi-Wan’s entire face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Would you have believed me?”
Anakin opened his mouth, then closed it for lack of a rebuttal. “Fair point.”
Obi-Wan stepped closer. So close. His golden eyes were soft, searching.
“May I help you? With your hair?”
Anakin blinked. “What?”
“You are struggling. Human hands are better for such delicate work. If you would permit me..”
“Oh.” Anakin felt his cheeks warm. “I—yeah. Sure. I mean—if you want to—”
Obi-Wan smiled and crossed the remaining distance. He gestured for Anakin to turn around, and Anakin obeyed, his heart suddenly pounding for reasons he couldn’t quite name.
Anakin’s breath caught.
“You’re really good at that,” he managed.
“Grooming is important for dragons. For those we care about.”
Anakin melted into the touch. “Well, you’re really good at it. You should do this more often.”
Obi-Wan’s hands stilled for just a fraction of a second. “I would like that,” he said softly. “Very much.”
Anakin didn’t think anything of it.
He was too busy trying to figure out why his heart was racing.
***
The next morning, Anakin woke to find something new resting on his chest.
A scale.
It was beautiful—roughly the size of his palm, iridescent copper and amber, catching the firelight and shimmering like liquid fire. It was warm to the touch, almost like it was still alive, and when Anakin picked it up, he could feel a faint pulse of heat radiating from it.
He sat up slowly, turning it over in his hands.
"Obi-Wan?" He looked around the cave. "What is this?"
Obi-Wan was in human form, sitting by the fire, watching him with an expression that Anakin couldn't quite read. “It is one of my scales.”
"I can see that. But why—" Anakin looked at it, then at Obi-Wan. "Why are you giving it to me?"
Obi-Wan hesitated for just a fraction of a second. “It is a gift. A token. For you to keep.”
"Keep?" Anakin's eyes widened. "But—isn't this like—really valuable? It's part of you."
“Yes.”
"So why would you—" Anakin shook his head. "I don't understand."
Obi-Wan's smile was soft, a little nervous.
“Because I want you to have it. I want you to carry a piece of me with you, always. To protect you. To remind you that you are... cherished.”
Anakin stared at the scale.
"Cherished," he repeated, his voice a little thick.
“Yes.”
"I—" Anakin swallowed hard. "Obi-Wan, I don't know what to say. This is—" He laughed, a little shakily. "I've never had anyone give me something like this before. Something so… personal."
“I have never given anyone a scale before,” Obi-Wan admitted. “You are the first.”
Anakin's heart stuttered. "I am?"
“You are.”
Anakin looked down at the scale again. It was warm in his palm, pulsing gently, the gentle heat feeling almost like a heartbeat.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “I’ll treasure it. I promise.”
Obi-Wan’s face relaxed into a genuine smile. “Will you wear it?”
“Wear it?”
“It is… a tradition.”
Anakin didn’t think twice. He reached for a leather cord from his pack, carefully threaded it through a small hole in the scale’s edge—it was almost as if the scale had been made for this purpose—and tied it around his neck.
The scale settled warm and comforting against his chest.
“How does it look?” Anakin asked, grinning.
Obi-Wan’s eyes were soft and almost reverent. “It looks perfect. You look perfect.”
Anakin laughed. “You’re going to make me blush.”
“That is the intention.”
“Well, it’s working.” Anakin touched the scale, feeling its warmth against his skin. “Thank you. Really. I know this means something to you.”
“You are welcome.”
Anakin smiled.
Such a generous friend, he thought.
***
Days passed. Anakin settled into village life. He met a woman named Padmé who let him rent a room in her large cabin. He busied himself with odd jobs for the villagers for some source of income, and he even took a young girl named Ahsoka under his wing and taught her how to assemble droid parts.
He visited Obi-Wan often, especially at nights.
The grooming became routine.
It started with the hair.
During evenings, after the sun had set and the fire had burned low, Obi-Wan would sit behind Anakin and run his fingers through those golden locks, working out the tangles from the day's adventures.
Anakin would lean back into the touch, his eyes half-closed, and Obi-Wan would make soft sounds of contentment that drove Anakin absolutely insane.
***
Then came the shoulders.
One evening, Obi-Wan rested his hands on Anakin’s shoulders and pressed gently.
Anakin tensed. “What are you—”
“You are tense. Let me help.”
And then he began to massage.
Anakin’s protest died in his throat. His eyes fluttered closed, and he let out a moan that set his cheeks aflame.
“That’s—” Anakin’s voice cracked. “That’s really good. Where did you learn that?”
“Dragons are tactile creatures. We understand the body.”
“Apparently,” Anakin breathed. “You—you can do that anytime. Just so you know.”
***
Then came the hands.
Not long after, Obi-Wan caught Anakin staring at his own calloused palms, flexing them absently.
"What's wrong?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice warm with concern.
"Nothing. Just… my hands are always so rough. From work. From traveling." Anakin shrugged. "It's fine."
Obi-Wan reached out and took one of Anakin's hands in his own. He turned it over, examining the calluses, the scars, the strength that lay beneath the roughness.
“May I?”
Anakin's breath hitched. "May you what?"
But Obi-Wan was already lifting Anakin's hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.
***
Then came the casual touches.
Brushes against Anakin’s arm that sent heat straight to his core. Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Resting his hand on the small of Anakin’s back when they walked through the cave.
Anakin was aware of all of it.
He's just friendly, Anakin told himself, his heart racing. He's a dragon. They're tactile. It doesn't mean anything.
It didn't explain why Anakin found himself leaning into every touch.
It didn't explain why he caught himself staring at Obi-Wan's mouth.
It didn't explain why his stomach did a weird little flip every time Obi-Wan smiled at him.
Anakin didn't think about it.
He definitely didn't think about it.
***
The first time Obi-Wan called him “my dear,” Anakin almost choked on his breakfast.
He was eating berries. Obi-Wan had brought them fresh that morning, still damp with dew, when Obi-Wan’s voice, warm and fond, curled around him.
You look particularly radiant this morning, my dear.
Anakin coughed, nearly inhaling a blueberry. “What?”
The morning sun suits you. Obi-Wan was in dragon form, sitting across from him, his golden eyes soft. I was merely observing.
“Observing.” Anakin wiped his mouth, feeling his cheeks heat.
Obi-Wan's smile was gentle. You are dear to me, Anakin. Is that so strange to hear?
Anakin's heart did something wild in his chest. "No. I mean—yes. I mean—" He buried his face in his hands. "I'm not good at—people aren't usually—" He dropped his hands and sighed. "Thank you. For saying that."
You are welcome, Obi-Wan said, still smiling. My dear.
Anakin didn't know why the words made his stomach flutter.
He decided not to think about it.
***
The pet names continued after that.
Obi-Wan started using them casually, naturally, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Pass me that fur, won’t you, love?
You’re going to hurt yourself, darling. Let me help.
Sleep well, my sweet.
***
Then came the hand-holding, which started, like everything else, small.
Obi-Wan had reached out to steady Anakin as he crossed a rocky patch. His hand wrapped around Anakin’s, warm and firm, and he held on a little longer than necessary.
“Careful,” Obi-Wan said. “The rocks are loose here.”
“I got it,” Anakin said, even though he didn’t pull his hand away. “I’m fine.”
“I know you are. I still want to help.”
Anakin’s throat went tight. “You’re—you’re really thoughtful.”
“I try,” Obi-Wan said, and his thumb stroked across Anakin’s knuckles.
Anakin definitely didn’t lean into the touch.
***
Then came the special treatment.
Anakin noticed that Obi-Wan always gave him the best of everything. The warmest spot by the fire. The softest furs in the nest. The choicest pieces of meat, the ripest berries, the most perfectly cooked bread.
“You don’t have to do that,” Anakin said one evening, watching Obi-Wan place a particularly plump piece of roasted meat on his plate. “I can eat the normal stuff.”
Obi-Wan looked at him like he’d said something absurd. Then his expression softened. He reached out and cupped Anakin’s cheek, his thumb brushing across his skin.
“You deserve the best,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Anakin’s breath caught, and his hand came up, almost involuntarily, and covered Obi-Wan’s where it rested against his cheek.
“Obi-Wan…” He breathed. But then he looked away.
“Eat your dinner, dearheart.”
Anakin ate, and tried not to wonder why his heart was pounding.
***
Then Obi-Wan started to get aggressive.
Anakin started noticing it when a traveler—a wandering merchant, stumbled upon the cave one afternoon.
The man was friendly enough, asking for shelter, and Anakin offered him a spot by the fire and some food.
But Obi-Wan was not happy.
He stayed in human form—which Anakin had learned to expect—but his eyes were sharper, his posture stiffer. He didn’t speak, but his presence was immense.
The merchant noticed.
“Is he always like that?” the man asked Anakin nervously.
Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, who was watching the merchant with an intensity that bordered on predatory.
“He’s just in a mood,” Anakin said, shrugging. “I’m sure he’s like that with everyone. Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you sure he’s not just like that with you?”
Anakin frowned. "What are you talking about?"
The merchant opened his mouth—then closed it, apparently thinking better of whatever he was about to say.
"Nothing," he said. "Never mind. I should go. Thank you for the food."
He practically fled the cave.
Anakin watched him go, confused. "What was that about?"
“I cannot imagine,” Obi-Wan said smoothly.
But his arm, which had been wrapped around Anakin's waist for the entire conversation, tightened just a fraction.
***
Three days.
Anakin had been gone for three days.
It had started as a simple trip—he’d mentioned needing a specific part for something he was tinkering with, some rare mechanical component that only a trader in the next valley carried. Obi-Wan had offered to fly him there, but Anakin had waved him off.
“It’s not that far,” he’d said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Three days.
Obi-Wan had spent the first day pacing the cave, rearranging the furs, checking the entrance every hour. The second day, he’d shifted to dragon form and flown out, searching the horizon for any sign of Anakin’s return. The third day, he’d simply… waited.
It was excruciating.
The cave felt empty. Too large, and far too quiet.
He’d become so accustomed to Anakin’s presence—the sound of his voice, the warmth of his body, the way he talked endlessly about nothing and everything. Now, without him, the silence was deafening.
He said he would come back, Obi-Wan reminded himself. He promised.
But dragons were possessive creatures. And Obi-Wan had spent three days fighting the urge to hunt down his mate and drag him back to the nest where he belonged.
Mate, he thought. Yes. He is my mate. He must know that by now.
…He does know that, doesn’t he?
***
Anakin trudged up the mountain path, exhausted but triumphant.
The droid part was clutched in his hand. It was a rare oscillator coil that had taken him forever to track down. The trader had been difficult and the price had been steep, but Anakin had finally managed to negotiate a deal.
He couldn’t wait to show Obi-Wan.
He’s probably worried, Anakin thought. I told him I’d be back sooner, but the trader kept haggling and—
He shook his head, smiling. Obi-Wan was always worried. It was sweet, really. The way he fussed over him, brought him food, made sure he was warm.
He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.
The cave entrance came into view. Anakin’s steps quickened, a smile spreading across his face.
“Obi-Wan” he called out. “I’m back! I got the part! You won’t believe what that trader tried to—”
He stepped inside and stopped.
Obi-Wan was right there, in human form, barely an inch away. His golden eyes were burning intensely with something almost despairing, and Anakin barely had time to open his mouth before—
Obi-Wan kissed him.
And it wasn’t a tentative or exploratory thing, more like a full and claiming kiss—warm lips pressing against his, one hand cupping his jaw, the other gripping his hip like he was afraid Anakin would disappear.
Anakin’s brain short-circuited.
The droid part slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground.
His hands came up, half-pushing, half-grasping, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. His body had frozen, every nerve ending alight with the satisfying feel of Obi-Wan’s mouth on his.
And then Obi-Wan pulled back.
His golden eyes searched Anakin’s face, soft and anxious. His thumb stroked across Anakin’s cheek.
“Welcome home, my dear,” he murmured. “I missed you.”
Anakin stared at him, his brain still trying to reboot.
“...Did you just kiss me?” He squeaked.
Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. “Yes. Is something wrong?”
“You—you kissed me!”
“I… yes. I did.” Obi-Wan’s confusion seemed to be growing. “Is that not… acceptable?”
“Acceptable?” Anakin exclaimed. “I thought you just saw me as a friend.”
Obi-Wan’s expression shifted, the softness fading into something that looked suspiciously like horror. “Friends,” he repeated slowly. “You think we are… friends.”
“Yes? Obviously.”
Obi-Wan stared at him before he pressed a hand to his beard and let out a long, beleaguered breath.
“Anakin,” he said, his voice strained. “Anakin, no.”
“No? What do you mean, no?”
“We are not friends.”
Anakin blinked. “What?”
“We are not friends,” Obi-Wan repeated, more firmly. “We have never been friends. Not in the way you mean.”
“Then what are we?”
Obi-Wan dropped his hand and looked at him. His golden eyes were practically blazing. “We are mates,” he said simply. “I have been courting you for months.”
Anakin’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “Courting me?”
“Yes.”
“As in, romantically courting me?”
“Yes.”
Anakin’s brain made a sound like a broken wind chime. “But—you—the flying—the furs—the grooming—”
“Courting gestures. All of them.”
“The scale you gave me—”
“A proposal. In dragon culture, giving your scale to another is a declaration of intention to mate for life.”
Anakin looked down at the scale hanging around his neck. He had worn it every day since Obi-Wan had given it to him. He thought it was a beautiful gift from a friend.
He proposed to me. He proposed and I thought it was a necklace.
“I thought that you were just being friendly.”
“Friendly,” Obi-Wan repeated, and there was a note of hysteria in his voice now. “Friendly. I brought you breakfast. I massaged your shoulders. I wrapped my tail around you every night. I—and you thought I was being friendly.”
“Well, what was I supposed to think?”
“That I was in love with you!” Obi-Wan was breathing hard, his chest heaving, golden eyes never losing their hue. He looked wounded and vulnerable, like he had just laid his entire soul bare.
And Anakin had done that to him. He had put that look on his face.
The guilt and the love and utter delight manifested in Anakin’s chest at once.
His heart stopped.
In love with me?
All the pieces suddenly clicked into place. How he looked at him, spoke to him, touched him. The way he’d kissed him just now, like he’d been dying for it.
Oh, Anakin thought. Oh, I’m an idiot.
“You’re in love with me?” The words came out small and disbelieving.
Anakin had always seen himself as something to be endured, not loved.
This didn’t feel possible.
Obi-Wan’s jaw tightened, and his voice, when it finally came out, was gritted. “Yes, I have been in love with you since the night you stumbled into my cave and called me beautiful.”
Anakin stared at him.
“Since—since the first night?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been—all this time—”
Courting you. Yes.
“Oh my God.” Anakin buried his face in his hands. “I am the stupidest person alive.”
Obi-Wan’s expression flickered with something like hope. “You are not stupid—”
“I am! I absolutely am!” Anakin pulled his hands away, his face red. “I thought you were just being a good friend! A really, really, really good friend!”
“I was not being a good friend,” Obi-Wan said flatly. “I was being a good mate.”
“Well, I didn’t know!”
“You carved a heart for me!”
Anakin froze.
He did do that.
“You carved me a wooden heart,” Obi-Wan continued, his voice rising. “And placed it in my hoard. That is—in dragon culture—that is—”
“I didn’t know! I just saw a nice piece of wood and thought I should make something nice for my friend!”
Obi-Wan made a sound of pure exasperation. He turned away, running both hands through his hair, and Anakin could see his shoulders shaking.
“Three months,” Obi-Wan muttered. “Three months of courting. Three months of waiting. Three months of thinking we were on the same page—”
He turned back, and his eyes were blazing.
“Do you have any idea how many times I wanted to kiss you? How many times I had to stop myself because I thought you wanted to take things slowly? I was being patient, Anakin. I was giving you space. And you thought we were friends.”
Anakin grimaced. “I’m sorry.”
Obi-Wan stared at him for a while. A long while. Long enough that anxiety began to construct a temple in Anakin’s gut and he opened his mouth, hoping something eloquent would fall from his lips to fill the crushing silence, but before the words could come, a laugh bubbled out of Obi-Wan. Something low and warm and incredulous that wrapped around Anakin’s heart and squeezed.
Anakin wanted to bottle up that sound and inject it in his veins, let the sound wash over his tissues and build palaces and cathedrals within his organs, tether itself completely to him and never fade away.
“You are sorry,” Obi-Wan repeated. “You are sorry that you are the most oblivious creature I have ever met.”
“I mean—”
“I have loved you for months. Months. And you had no idea.”
“I didn’t! I really, really, didn’t!”
Obi-Wan opened his mouth—to retort, probably, or tease him again for his lack of awareness, but this time, Anakin was the one who didn’t let him speak. Taking in a shaky breath, he leaned forward and kissed him before he could overthink it.
It was a clumsy, uncoordinated initiation, his nose bumping Obi-Wan’s cheek, and he made an embarrassed sound, but Obi-Wan’s hands came up to cup his face and pull him down toward him.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan breathed against his lips. “Anakin—”
“I love you too,” Anakin said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I have for a while. I just—I think I was just too stubborn to realize you felt the same.”
Obi-Wan pulled back, his golden eyes searching Anakin’s face. “You love me?”
“Yes. Obviously. From the moment I met you, all those months ago, not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought of you. Why else would I have stayed? Why else would I have carved you a heart? Why else would I—” Anakin gestured helplessly. “—feel like the world is brighter when you’re in it?”
Obi-Wan’s expression softened. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Anakin’s face.
“You carved me a heart,” he repeated, a smile tugging at his lips. “You, who didn’t know what that would mean.”
“Are you ever going to let me live that down?”
“Never.”
Anakin groaned. “I hate you.”
Obi-Wan kissed his forehead. “That’s unfortunate, because I love you.”
Anakin looked at Obi-Wan, and his heart swelled with something so big and bright it almost hurt.
This man—this dragon—had loved him for months. Had courted him with patience and tenderness and an endless supply of soft furs and warm meals. Had given him a scale and accepted a heart and waited, ever so patiently, for Anakin to catch up.
And Anakin finally had.
“I’m sorry,” Anakin said quietly. “For being so oblivious. For making you wait so long. For—”
Obi-Wan pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Do not apologize,” he said softly. “I love every part of you, even the parts that took three months to realize I was courting you.”
Anakin’s lips twitched despite himself. “That’s going to get old.”
“It will not. I will find new ways to bring it up. For centuries.”
Anakin stared at him. “Centuries?”
Obi-Wan’s expression softened. His hand came up to cup Anakin’s cheek, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw.
“Dragons mate for life, Anakin. I do not say this to frighten you. I say it because I need you to understand what you are agreeing to.” He paused, his golden eyes searching Anakin's face. “If you want this— if you want me— it is forever. I will not let you go. I will not share you. I will love you until the mountains crumble and the stars burn out. That is what I am offering. That is what I have been offering since the moment you stumbled into my cave.”
Anakin’s throat went tight.
“That’s—” His voice cracked. “That’s a really long time.”
“Yes. It is.”
“And you—” Anakin swallowed hard. “You want that? With me? Even after I didn’t notice you were courting me for three whole months?”
Obi-Wan flashed him a radiant smile. “Especially because of that.”
Anakin let out a shuddering breath. "I don't deserve you."
“That is not for you to decide.”
"...You're really stubborn, you know that?"
“I am a dragon. It is in my nature.”
Anakin laughed again. “Okay. Okay. Fine. You win.”
“I win?”
“Yeah.” Anakin pulled back just enough to look into those golden eyes. “You win. I’m yours. I’ve been yours since the night you didn’t eat me and gave me furs instead. I just didn’t know it yet.”
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours.”
“Again.”
“I’m yours, you impossible, overgrown lizard.”
And when Obi-Wan kissed him again—properly this time, without the shock or the confusion—Anakin finally understood.
This wasn’t just friendship.
It had never been just friendship.
And thank the stars for that.