Chapter Text
Walking into the locker room feels like a breath of fresh air—Anakin hasn’t felt this much at home since the last game of the season. The boys horsing around, laughing as they get ready for the first practice of the season.
Anakin sets their gym bag down on the linoleum ground, smiling at Quinlan, whose attention is stuck on his phone. “How’s Aayla?” They ask, stripping off their shirt.
The prospect of Anakin taking their shirt off for the first time without a sports bra on is something they’ve been looking forward to all summer. The idea of finally being the best version of themself in the locker room got them through being stuck on bedrest for weeks after top surgery.
“Oh, she’s fine. We’re making plans to go to the beach this weekend– Anakin!” Quinlan grins, pushing at his hip. “You got the chop!”
Anakin looks down at the thin scars on their chest with pride. “I did. Hurt like a motherfucker, and the drains made me want to die, but I’d do it over and over again.”
“Did they get it done?” a voice calls from the other side of the locker room, and when they look, Cody’s jogging over to them. He knocks his fist against the tattoo on Anakin’s bicep, grinning brightly. “Dude, you look awesome!”
Anakin’s smile never leaves their face– having a safe space to be themself, even for just a little while, with guys that have been with them through their entire transition is something so special to them. Their family, including their step sibling, as well meaning as they can be, tend to smother them with links to nonbinary actors and books, and post after post of Luke Prokop doing anything in the hockey world after he came out.
Anakin loves their family desperately, but it’s a little much sometimes– though, if you asked them, they’d rather have them be too invested in their transition and constantly teach themselves than them ignoring it completely.
As Cody walks to go sit down, Anakin catches a guy’s gaze in the locker room, looking at them expectantly, seeming to size them up—they try not to let it bother them. They’re not embarrassed to be who they are at all, but the staring is always a little unnerving. Anakin raises their eyebrows at him, a silent yes? and he must get the memo, turning to his skates to tie and retie them, a gentle flush at the top of his cheeks.
“What’s that guy’s major malfunction?” Anakin sits down, nodding over to the guy in the corner, trying to let the ball of anxiety building up behind their sternum dissipate. Quinlan looks up over to where Anakin’s nodding to and shrugs.
“Oh, Obi-Wan?” Quinlan busies himself taping up his socks. “New defenseman. I think he’s a master’s student, but new to the team?”
“You’d think he’s never seen a trans person with how he was staring at me.” Anakin rolls their eyes, trying to let the feeling of Obi-Wan’s eyes roll off their back.
“If he’s got an issue with you, he’s got an issue with us. You know about the team’s no-tolerance policy,” Quinlan says, and while that assuages some of the anxiety, Anakin can’t help but feel odd. They take a deep breath in and out, reminding themself that one person’s opinion of them isn’t going to be the end of the world.
Maybe it’s not that bad! Maybe he wants to be friends.
They busy themself with going through the motions, taking their packer out to put on the jill strap and begin suiting up. It’s such a freeing feeling to be able to not have to worry about playing with a sports bra, feeling their flat chest pressed against the shoulder pads. Anakin ties their skates once, twice over until they’re the right tightness, grabs their stick, and walks out onto the ice.
Anakin shares a smile with Padme, the sports management student who’s manning the social media for the season. Her chestnut hair is slicked back in a tight ponytail, and her manicured nails tap out a nonexistent beat on her iPhone. She grins at them mischievously, and they pause– wherever the social media manager goes, trouble is bound to follow. She holds up the tiny microphone that’s connected to her phone.
“Already starting with the TikToks?” Anakin laughs, shaking their head. Padme’s been a close friend since freshman year, a fresh face and a good outside perspective from the sea of testosterone that is the UCF Knights hockey team.
“I’ve gotta make sure you guys have a good social standing!” She says, pointing at the little whiteboard resting on the glass.
What out-of-major elective are you taking this semester?
“It’s not out of major, but I’m taking a grad level Creative writing class,” they say. Her eyes widen.
“Really? Your major’s creative writing?” She asks, after she’s stopped recording. “I didn’t know you knew enough words to constitute writing a story.”
“Fuck off,” Anakin laughs, walking through the opening to the ice.
Skating has always been one of the few places that Anakin has felt completely at home. It’s always nice to feel the clean cut of their skates through new ice, and they finds themself skating lazy circles until the equipment team puts the pucks out. It’s easy to lose time in the feeling of skating, the act coming so easy to Anakin it’s like breathing. They barely notice the weight of the stick in their hands, feeling almost like it’s an extension of themself.
Though, not paying attention to where they’re going or what they’re doing has its downsides, as the third time Anakin’s skating the corner of the rink, they skate face chest first into a body, pushing them back against the boards. Well, a person, but they’ve tripped, falling flat onto their teammate’s chest— so broad and all encompassing that they can only see the Knight logo in their immediate point of view.
They barely register that they’re all up in their teammate’s business as big hands reach up and steady them, gently pushing them back. Like, big enough that he’s bracketing their ribcage, his hands reaching their spine.
Trying hard to keep their cool, Anakin manages to get their footing under them enough to stand up. “Oh, shit dude, I’m–” they say, finally, finally looking up at the body connected to the godforsaken chest. Mr. Obi-Wan-New-Master’s-Program-Defenseman-Guy is staring back down at them and, fuck, his eyes are gorgeous. All warm ocean blue with a hint of grey around his pupil.
“No, I’m sorry,” he says, and fuck, is that a British accent? “Also, uh. Sorry for staring at you in the locker room I–your tattoos. They’re really cool.”
“Oh, I thought you were staring at my scars,” Anakin says, scratching the back of their head. They’re desperately trying to not make it sound as big of a deal as it is. Obi-Wan’s eyes widen.
“God no– I mean, they’re done really well, I think? But I don’t care,” he says, wincing when the words come out. “That didn’t come out right. I just mean like it doesn’t matter to me if–”
Anakin smiles, the anxiety finally dissipating from their chest. Now that the threat of a transphobe is gone, it’s kind of… cute seeing him stumble over himself.
“It’s fine,” Anakin says, laughing. “I get it. People stumble over words all the time. I know you didn’t mean it.”
“I’m studying English, you’d think I’d know how to speak to people,” Obi-Wan chuckles, rubbing his gloved hand over his face. There’s a lull in the conversation, but it doesn’t feel awkward– maybe it’s the guys filing onto the ice and continuing the conversations from the locker room, or maybe it’s just the vibe Anakin is getting from him. Something real and genuine, someone who cares about what they’re talking about.
“Anakin Skywalker,” they say to fill the silence, extending a gloved hand. Obi-Wan, still pressed against the boards, finds his footing and stands, shaking Anakin’s hand.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he says, and… wow. Objectively, Anakin knows that they should be used to men bigger than them by now, and they are– mostly. His gloved hand practically covers Anakin’s. Even if they’re around the same height, it doesn’t help that Obi-Wan’s just built like a brick house. “You use they/them pronouns, right? I was talking to, uh, Quinlan, I think? And he used they/them for you, and I wanted to be sure.”
“Yeah,” Anakin laughs weakly. “I mean, I use he/him pronouns as well, but it’s mostly they/them to our teammates. They’ve been known to fight the guys on the other team who uh, disagree with it.”
“As they should.”
Anakin tries his hardest to not feel weak kneed over a guy, but this is just– they’re always a little shocked to see a dudebro frat hockey guy™ care about pronouns. It’s the fucking bare minimum but like, it’s a great length more than what they thought Obi-Wan was going to do. So Anakin can only nod, voice deceiving them as they look at Obi-Wan. Just– God, he’s pretty.
“And about the tattoos,” Anakin says, skating around so they’re leaning against the glass. “I’ve got a couple, but they’re all watercolor flowers. The bouquet of sunflowers is the newest one, I got it right after the championship last year.”
“I’ve always wanted some for myself, but none of my ideas are nearly as cool as yours,” Obi-Wan smiles, and God, his teeth are blindingly white. Perfect.
“Oh? What are they?” Anakin smile, finding themself pushing forward, and Obi-Wan’s accepting it. Welcoming it, really. Honestly, if Anakin wanted to they could just lean up and–
What the fuck. Nope, no. It’s the first day of the semester, and there has to be a rule in the hockey handbook for absolute idiots based on not sleeping with your teammate. Just compartmentalize those feelings and open them in therapy where they belong. What were they talking about? Right, tattoos. Leave the gay crisis for later.
“Probably something for my dog,” Obi-Wan says, grinning at him. “She’s back in London with my parents.”
“That’s not silly,” Anakin manages. “It’s better than the patchwork sleeve of Friday the 13th tattoos that Quinlan has. I like it. It’s cute.”
Obi-Wan cocks his head at Anakin, a small smile tugging at his lips, and Anakin shoves down the urge to bite it. They open their mouth to say something but are cut off by Coach Windu blowing his whistle, starting practice.
***
“Really great work, Skywalker,” Coach Windu says, clapping their back as they skate off the ice. Anakin preens– they spent a good portion of work in the summer after being cleared for physical activity on the ice. It’s good to see that it’s paying off.
Anakin showers and gets into their sweats as quickly as possible, but not before Quinlan sits down next to them.
“So Obi-Wan seems nice,” Quinlan says, squeezing his towel over his dreads. “He’s not giving you grief right?”
“I– no,” Anakin says. They catch themself smiling as they watch Obi-Wan walk out of the showers. Logically they know that you’re not supposed to look, but there’s no harm in it, and watching his half naked body pass by them clad in only a towel is definitely something they’ll file away for later. Obi-Wan catches their eye and smiles, ducking his head as he grabs another towel to dry his hair off. “No, he’s nice.”
Quinlan smirks, knocking his shoulder against Anakin’s. “I saw a rainbow pin on his gym bag,” he says slyly, and it’s not difficult to see what he means. Anakin flushes, eyes widening as they turn to look at him.
“How did you–”
“I’m your roommate, I know what you look like when you’ve got a boner for somebody,” Quinlan smirks. “Let me be your wingman.”
“Absolutely not,” Anakin says, shaking their head. “There’s gotta be some unspoken rule against fucking the new D-man on the team.”
“I’d think of it as a warm welcome,” Quinlan says, voice muffled as he pulls his shirt over his face– about a size too small, seeing as it’s tight, albeit in all the right places. Anakin throws their socks at him, laughing at his squawk of indignation when it hits his face.
“Not everyone is like you. He probably just wants a friend.” Anakin hisses when they stand up, sliding on a team issued sweater from their freshman year. “Hey, what time do you want to leave for class tomorrow?”
“What day is your fancy grad workshop?” Quinlan asks, sliding his vans on–(without socks, yuck.)
“Tonight from like, 6-9.” Anakin says.
“Oh, lit. I don’t have classes until noon on Tuesdays. But I know your classes go til 3:40, so we can meet up then and have lunch or something.”
”Sounds like a plan,” Anakin says.
“Uh, oh, hottie, your six o’clock,” Quinlan mumbles, smirking at Anakin.
Their eyes widen, turning to come face to face again with Obi-Wan. Dressed in street clothes, Anakin’s really going to have to fight their thirst. The sleeves of Obi-Wan’s v-neck are clinging to his arms in just the right way, and god, Anakin can see his chain peeking out from his shirt. His muscular thighs look absolutely sinful in his skin tight jeans— thank god for hockey asses.
“Hey Anakin, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” Obi-Wan begins, and Anakin’s brain goes haywire. Oh fuck. How much did he hear? Did he hear all of it? “You’re taking the fiction workshop class?”
“Oh, yeah.” Crisis averted. “With Dr. Jinn.”
“Awesome, I’m in that class as well,” Obi-Wan says, smiling. “He’s my dissertation advisor. You’re gonna love him.”
“That’s sick, I’ve heard great things about him. I’m really excited.” Anakin smiles.
Obi-Wan takes a few steps back to his stall before turning back around. “Would you want to carpool? Or at least, get lunch with me? I’m heading to Chipotle and could use some company.”
Anakin’s eyes widen. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure!”
Obi-Wan’s smile is absolutely blinding. “I can’t stay out for long because I’ve got to prepare for some lectures that I’m in charge of, but we can definitely get food.”
***
The college food court is about a five minute walk from the practice arena, and it’s thankfully not a long wait in the line, even at lunchtime at a college Chipotle. Maybe it’s because classes haven’t exactly started yet, but Anakin’s not banking on it being like this all the time.
“So you’re a TA?” Anakin asks as they wait for their turn to be checked out. Obi-Wan nods, looking up at the menu.
“A couple of entry level courses for the English department, nothing major. It pays for my tuition, so I’m happy to do it.” He says. “Not to mention that I enjoy teaching.”
“Glad to know it’s not just about the tuition for you,” Anakin teases, and that surprises a laugh out of Obi-Wan.
“No, I actually want to be a professor, so I better get used to it,” he says, stepping up to the register and gestures to our meals. “These two are together.”
Anakin tries and steps forward to hand their card to the unamused cashier. “No, dude I got queso. You don’t have to do that—“
“I want to,” Obi-Wan says simply, pushing Anakin’s hand out of the way as he slides his card into the chip reader.
“I’ll get the next one then,” Anakin says. Obi-Wan smiles, picking up the bag.
“You pick the place too, seeing as I picked this one.” He says.
”Okay, deal,” they say. They sit down at a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and Anakin can’t help but blush as their fingers touch when Obi-Wan hands them their food. After a moment, they decide to take the leap. “Gimme your phone.”
Obi-Wan looks startled, but gently amused. “Uh, okay,” He says, opening his phone and handing it to Anakin. The first thing they notice is a ton of red notification bubbles.
“I— this is horrendous,” Anakin says, turning the phone around. “You have 27,000 unread emails. What is wrong with you?”
“I have three different email accounts,” he shrugs, taking a bite of his burrito with a smile on his face. He’s definitely had this conversation before. “Are you gonna tell me what you’re doing or are you going to harp on about my unread emails?”
“I’m putting my number in your phone so that we can coordinate what time to carpool,” Anakin says, inputting their phone number and address into the contact page. “We’re gonna need to stop for coffee on the way to class, my coffee machine broke.”
They break into the burrito bowl, and God, food tastes better when you don’t pay for it.
“What do you drink? I have the stuff at home, I can just bring you a glass,” he says.
“Nothing much, medium roast with french vanilla creamer,” they say. “But if you don’t have that creamer, you can just put milk and sugar in it, and that’ll be okay.”
“Sounds like a plan,” He smiles, knocking his foot against Anakin’s.
“Thank you.”
“I have a question,” Obi-Wan says after a moment.
“Shoot.”
“How does an undergrad get into a graduate level fiction workshop?” he asks, stealing a chip from the ripped open bag. “Are you some kind of savant?”
Anakin flushes. “I mean, I’ve been writing stories since I was a kid,” they say, pushing the fajita veggies around the bowl. “My short stories have been published in a couple of anthologies, and it must have caught Dr. Jinn’s attention.”
“Wait,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. “Are you that Anakin Skywalker? I read the Best New Writers anthology over the summer, you’re incredible.”
Anakin ducks their head. “My advisor for the English department recommended that I submit it, I really didn’t think it’d get picked.”
“It was great representation for the queer community. All of the love stories that I’ve found with queer male leads were set in high school. It was just… a slice of life that flowed so well. I went and bought the other anthologies you were published in that same day,” Obi-Wan says, ducking his head, but all Anakin can see is Obi-Wan’s cheeks pinking–it’s so endearing. “Sorry if that’s a little odd.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” they say. “I rarely ever get to talk about my work with anyone besides my mom. This is a welcome change.”
Obi-Wan’s about to say something, but his phone rings. “Hold on. Hello?”
Anakin tries not to listen in on the conversation, but it’s difficult. They busy themself on their phone instead. It sounds like an emergency, Anakin hopes it’s not serious.
“I’m sorry about that, I’ve gotta run,” Obi-Wan says, locking his phone and standing up. “One of the teachers I’m TAing for had a medical emergency. He asked me specifically to be in charge of one of his classes until he gets better, so I have to prepare.”
“Oh god, is he okay?” Anakin asks, packing up their bowl.
“My advisor said he’s stable, but he’ll be out for a couple of months until he recovers. I have your address, right?” He asks, smiling when Anakin nods. Anakin’s gaze is stuck on the dimple peeking through Obi-Wan’s carefully trimmed beard. “Awesome, I’ll bring you coffee tonight. I’m so sorry I have to dash. It won’t always be like this.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
***
Anakin can barely close the door to their apartment before their roommates jump on him. Leave it to Ahsoka to sense their happiness like a shark recognizes blood in the water. “How was it with Ben?”
“Who told you about Obi-Wan?” Anakin asks, unable to stop flushing as they send a pointed look to Quinlan, that traitor. Who, by the way, is sitting on the opposite end of the L shaped couch, stretched out looking innocent as ever. “It was good. I– we’re going out again, I think.”
Quinlan sits up and pauses their game where he’s currently beating Ahsoka by 3 points in NHL 23. “So it was a date?”
And, while they don’t really have a concrete answer to that, they manage to nod. “I mean, I think it was. He paid for my lunch.”
“Oh, a rich man. Chipotle’s fucking expensive,” Ahsoka says. “He’s got taste, I’ll give him that.”
Anakin’s phone buzzes against their thigh almost in an answer. They pull their phone out and smile.
Unknown Number (Maybe: Obi-Wan): Hey! It’s Obi-Wan :)
Obi-Wan: Thanks for coming out to lunch with me. I’m sorry I had to dash out on you.
Anakin ducks their head, unlocking the phone. Quinlan makes an interested noise.
“Is that him? Tell me you’re going to hit that.” He says.
“I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it.” Anakin says, flushing as they take a seat on the couch across from the guys, mostly so his roommates don’t snoop.
Anakin: Don’t worry about it! Medical emergencies qualify for skipping out, I think.
Anakin: Sorry about being an expensive date lol.
Obi-Wan: Is that what we’re calling it?
Fuck.
Anakin: Uhh, if you want?
Obi-Wan: I don’t mind. The date and the price. Your good company made up for it :)
***
Anakin spends way too much time trying to get ready. As it happens, trying to plan an outfit that makes them look smart to the other grad students, but also cute enough to catch Obi-Wan’s eye is more difficult than they predicted. They turn to look at themself in the mirror— ripped black jeans that make their ass look good, and the UCF sweatshirt should be okay. Or maybe a cardigan? Anakin picks the first thing that they can see– a Knights sweatshirt– and puts it on. Looking good without trying too hard. Just the thing that they need.
Anakin stuffs their computer into their laptop bag just in time for the doorbell to ring. Shouldering their bag, they head downstairs and stuff their feet into a pair of converse. It just has to be good enough.
Opening the door, Anakin knows it’s going to be to Obi-Wan, but still, they’re awestruck. Obi-Wan’s standing with his arm pressed against the door frame, smiling. And he remembered the coffee.
Something so small, so simple, and it makes Anakin’s heart flip.
“Hey. Ready to go?” he says, yawning. “Would you believe me if I said I’ve already had a triple espresso?”
“I’m inclined to,” they say, looking at the to go cup of coffee in his hand. “Is that my precious?”
“Okay, Gollum. Who am I to get in between a gremlin and their coffee?” He laughs, handing them the cup of coffee.
“You’re a lifesaver.” Anakin says, taking a sip of the coffee, and it’s—
French vanilla.
“Wait, this isn’t milk and sugar. You went out when you were busy and bought creamer?” They ask. Obi-Wan shrugs.
“I figured it was going to be a regular thing until you got another coffee maker, so I might as well give you something you enjoy,” he says, shrugging, as though he’s trying to shove it off as a no big deal thing, but that tell tale flush is back, pink cheeks flushing under his beard. It’s not so secretly becoming Anakin’s favorite thing.
“Well, thank you,” they say. “I can pay you back for the creamer—“
“Nope, don’t worry about it,” he says. “My treat.”
“Do you treat every undergrad taking grad level classes like this?” Anakin asks, closing the door behind them. Obi-Wan smiles.
“Only the handsome ones.”
Anakin smiles into the coffee cup, taking another sip of the perfectly brewed drink.
***
Dr. Jinn’s class is on the third floor, and the elevator’s–of course–broken. Trudging up the stairs at fuck o’clock at night isn’t exactly how Anakin would particularly like to end their day. They grumble, taking a sip of the french vanilla coffee. Remembering Obi-Wan’s kindness helps a little, but not much.
Obi-Wan opens the door to the classroom, and Anakin stands, frozen in place on the linoleum tile. They shouldn’t be nervous for this class, and they really shouldn’t feel like they’re on the edge of a panic attack, but they are. It’s a graduate level workshop, for Christ’s sake. Anakin had Dr. Jinn for their advanced creative writing workshop last year, and by the end of the semester he’d personally recommended them for his graduate level course. They should be honored, really, they should. They’ve been writing since they were a kid, and to have someone other than their mom say that it was worth it’s weight in salt should make them feel ecstatic.
Even then, it’s hard enough making people understand that not all hockey players are meatheads. UCF doesn’t particularly care about their hockey team, not like they care about their baseball and football teams, so Anakin takes their academics just as seriously as they take their athletics.
And unfortunately, being trans in such a cis-dominated space is difficult, leaving Anakin to fight for a place on the roster. That’s why Anakin writes, to give themself an outlet for when they’re anxious or angry— and it really just helps that they’re good at it. So why can’t they walk in?
“What’s wrong?” Obi-Wan asks, closing the door and walking back over. “Are you okay?”
Anakin shuts eyes, running their hand through their hair. “Yeah, I’m just– nervous, I guess.” They try to shrug it off, play it like it doesn’t matter, but it does.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about. Everyone in here loves writing as much as you do, and we’re all just trying to get better at it.” Obi-Wan rests his hands on Anakin’s arms. “You’ve got this, okay?”
Anakin nods. Obi-Wan just looks so earnest, really worried about some college senior that he just met.
It’s sweet.
They walk into class and sit down in the seat next to him, surprised to see that there are only about ten people in the class. Anakin bristles; they didn’t realize that they were going to be the only undergrad here. No pressure, right? They get out their laptop in time for Dr. Jinn to walk in. As if by some grace of God, Anakin’s stomach calms down, and they feel less like they’re about to vomit.
The man rests his briefcase on the desk, clapping his hands together. “Hello all. Are we all here for Advanced Biomechanics?”
Anakin laughs in spite of their lingering anxiety.
The professor wastes no time breaking his facade. “I’m just kidding. That only really works on my intro to creative writing courses,” he says, laughing to himself as he walks to the computer, putting the syllabus on the projector. “I’m Professor Jinn, and this is our Fiction Workshop class. The goal for us to work towards is that by the end of the semester, each one of you will turn from writing students into writers, capable of writing publishable content.”
Anakin pulls up the syllabus on their computer. The class consists of writing one manuscript, fifteen thousand words in length, and writing thoughtful critique letters for the other grad students. Not only that, but they’re also going to be reading a number of different authors and picking apart their work as well.
“Woah,” Anakin murmurs to themself, trying to not feel as out of depth as they do. These people are working on their dissertation ideas, Anakin’s just writing for fun as of right now. How are they going to compare?
As if reading their mind, Obi-Wan turns to them.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “You don’t know what you don’t know. He’s not expecting Hemingway. He’s expecting the talent that he’s already seen. And besides. You may just shake things up in here. Bring a new perspective that the older graduate students don’t have.”
Dr. Jinn, please, call me Qui-Gon, starts the class with a quick write. The class is given half an hour to flesh out their favorite room in the house. When Anakin first thinks about it, their bed is the obvious choice, but…
This is a grad-level class. People here are starting or have already been working on their masters in creative writing. While it’s invigorating to have a new set of eyes to look at the pieces that they’ve written, intro level answers aren’t going to cut it.
Anakin looks around the classroom and sees people already writing vigorously on their laptops. Come on, Anakin. Think. What is one room in their apartment that sparks joy?
Reading on the couch while Ahsoka and Quinlan play NHL and yell at each other, bottles of beer and that horrid kombucha that Ahsoka drinks littering the table. Bags of buttery popcorn on anxious laps as they watch the Tampa Bay Lightning win their second championship. The party after the Knights won their first conference championship. Anakin coming out to their roommates at the beginning of their sophomore year and being accepted with open arms. The living room of their apartment has been Anakin’s safe space since they started playing for the Knights.
Well, that’s not terrible. Now to just write it down.
Anakin quickly writes their thoughts down, fleshing out how it felt to win the championship, how they were picking at the wrapper on the bottle of Diet Coke when they came out to their roommates; how they were still picking popcorn out of the creases of the leather couch weeks after the clock struck zero during the Stanley Cup Final.
Listening to the other students in the class read their work aloud is both terrifying and invigorating. In the syllabus, Dr. Jinn gave a rough outline of how the class should be approaching the critiques, and people just had such nice things to say to each other. Anakin hopes upon all hope that they’re as amenable to them.
When it’s Anakin’s turn to read, they’re not used to having the attention be on them for anything other than hockey. The only people who see their first drafts of their writing are the professors who grade it, so for Anakin to read the most vivid memories that they have of the house that they’ve lived in for the past two years is more than a little nerve wracking.
“I think it was really, really invigorating that you picked a place in the house that not many people would choose,” a girl, Allie, tells me. “I was a little surprised to see an undergraduate student in a graduate class, but hearing how you piece together treasured memories, it truly made me feel like I was there on the couch with you when you came out to your teammates. I feel like at times the phrasing was a little fluffy, it could have been a little tighter, but I know that that’s only going to get better with time.”
Through the critiques, Anakin breathes a sigh of relief. It definitely wasn’t as bad as they thought it was going to be— not that they thought it was going to be particularly terrible.
“You did really great,” Obi-Wan says, smiling at them. “Echoing what Allie said, I truly felt like I was with your roommates, and that bit about picking popcorn out of the seat cushions for weeks after the Stanley cup finals was such a great perspective that I rarely see with the students that I TA.”
And honestly, Anakin feels like they could fly from that.
Once class ends, Anakin takes their time packing up their laptop, draining the last of the coffee from the cup. Obi-Wan turns to them and smiles.
“That wasn’t so scary, was it?” Obi-Wan asks, smiling. Anakin hands him back the to-go cup, and finds themself grinning back.
“I think it was just your coffee,” Anakin says. “I’ll have to see how you do it.”
“I wish I could take the credit, but it’s a Keurig Iced Coffee maker,” he says, chuckling. “I’ll be sure to maintain that steady supply of creamer with a side of coffee, though.”
“Shut up, it’s not that much creamer!” Anakin says, shouldering their bag as I begin to walk outside. “Can I take you up on that next time for lunch tomorrow?”
Obi-Wan’s face falls. “I wish I could, but I have a couple back to back classes I’m TAing. Next time, though?”
“You bet.”
***
Anakin’s sitting at a table, front and center in the lecture hall, snacking on a lemon power bar waiting for this British Literature with Professor Ransings class to start. They’re spending the extra free time that they have before class starts working on picking ideas for the manuscript for Dr. Jinn’s— sorry, Qui-Gon’s class, when a text notification pops up in the corner of their laptop.
Ahsoka: I heard from Aayla that Professor Ransings is going to be out
Ahsoka: word on the street is that he had a heart attack.
Anakin: omfg
Anakin: So are they cancelling class?
Ahsoka: gimme 2sec ill ask.
Like clockwork, I get an email to my school email.
Dear student, blah blah blah, Professor Ransings is dealing with a medical incident and won’t be in for the time being, as if class hadn’t just started. There will be a Teacher’s Assistant teaching the class.
Another notification pops up on their computer.
Ahsoka: no, and the replacement is hot apparently
Anakin: I barely want to take this class as it is, I don’t want a graduate student who barely knows what they’re doing to tell me to read Pride and Prejudice.
As students file in, Anakin’s becoming more and more aware that they’re the oldest person in the class. On one hand, it may be their fault for leaving their first year diversity class for their senior year, but let’s be honest, the last thing Anakin wants to do is to read about women waxing poetic about a man doing the bare minimum in a time where they barely have any autonomy.
There are hushed whispers throughout the class as they wait for the TA to show up, all sentiments echoing what Aayla said. There was even a rumor that floated around the room that Ransings actually kicked the bucket, which fucking sucks, because he handed out A’s like candy.
The clock ticks past 2:00, and there are whispers from the freshman: I think we can leave if he doesn’t show up within 20 minutes. Anakin logs onto the UCF class registration portal. They’re still in the add/drop period and there has to be another person teaching this class right? A hush falls over the class when the lecture doors open, and a commanding voice floats through the room. “Sorry I’m late, all, this was a last minute addition to my schedule and I was caught up printing the syllabus. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I’ll be your de Facto professor for this semes–”
Anakin’s head shoots up from behind their computer. No. It can’t be.
I’m TAing classes back to back, Obi-Wan had said. One of the teachers had a medical emergency.
It’s not lost on Obi-Wan either, with his sentence trailing off as he sees them. The whispers in class start up again, and Anakin flushes, looking back at their computer, a renewed interest in the course selection. There has to be another class that they can get into. This can be astronomically fucked up if it gets out that they went on a date with their de facto professor before class started.
British Authors, offered Fall
J. Ransings
Tues/thur 2-3:40pm
CLOSED
R. Branfield
Mon/Wed 9am-10:40
CLOSED
R. Whitcomb
Mon 6-8:30pm
OPEN
Fuck. The only class available for one of the last classes Anakin needs to graduate is at the same time as the graduate workshop.
It’s either graduate next fall, or stay in Obi-Wan’s class.
Fuck.
***
Anakin takes their time packing up their things when class finishes. It’s not that they don’t want people to see them talking to Obi-Wan, it’s just…the contents of the conversation we’re going to have is probably not something that should have an audience. There’s gotta be a way around this. Maybe they could see if there’s another diversity elective that they can take.
Anakin walk up to his desk, steeling themself. They shouldn’t feel this nervous—it’s not a breakup if nothing was ever set in stone. “Hey, fancy seeing you here,” they say.
God, that was lame.
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Obi-Wan says, and there’s a marked difference in the way that he’s talking to Anakin compared to yesterday. He’s more restrained, not as open as he was at practice or lunch.
There’s a little break of silence between the two of them, different from yesterday’s. “Look, I'm–” they begin, but they’re cut off.
“Look, I totally get it, don’t worry about it. This going on any longer would be unethical and awkward. I’ll see you at practice.” Obi-Wan says, and it comes out a little rushed, like he couldn’t wait to tell me. Anakin opens their mouth to start speaking, but a freshman girl walks up to Obi-Wan’s desk and Obi-Wan wastes no time turning his attention towards her.
Tears of embarrassment prick at Anakin’s eyes. They turn, powerwalking up the steps of the lecture hall, not being able to get out of there fast enough. Fuck. How could I have been so stupid?
Anakin waits until they’re at a more secluded spot of the Arts building before they let the tears of frustration fall. They can only think of doing one thing at the moment: call Ahsoka.
“So,” Ahsoka says the moment she picks up the phone. “Is the TA hot? Or are you just that far gone on Obi-Wan already?”
Anakin takes a shaky breath, pinching the bridge of their nose as they nod. “Yeah, uh. It was Obi-Wan.”
“Oh, shit,” Ahsoka says. “Kinky as hell. I’ve done this role-play where–”
Normally Anakin’s used to Ahsoka’s ramblings about her self proclaimed sluttiness, but they just can’t today. “I don’t need to know, Ahsoka,” they say, a little more curt than they’d have liked to. “I’m sorry, I just. Obi-Wan uh, dumped me? Not that it was really a dump when there was no label, but—”
“No, dude, what the fuck?”
“Ethical reasons. I was going to talk to him about maybe switching to a different class, but he just. Didn’t want anything to do with me, and then turned away like I was nothing.” Anakin buries the heels of their palms into their eyes, trying to wipe the tears away.
“That’s fucked up. Let’s go kill him,” Ahsoka says, surprising a laugh out of them. The fact that she cares is enough for Anakin right now.
“I don’t think so, but thank you,” they say, sniffing. “I just don’t know why I was so stupid to think that we maybe had something. Like we called it a date for god's sake.”
“Well, I don’t have all of the answers to everything, but I do have control of the TV tonight. What do you say to us having a Marvel movie marathon? Drown in your famous popcorn?” Ahsoka says, warming Anakin’s heart more than anything else.
“But you hate marvel.”
“Yeah, Skyguy, but you need friend time tonight.” Ahsoka says.
“Thanks Snips. I have to meet up with Quin for lunch, but I’ll come home after and we can start the marathon. How does the Captain America trilogy sound?”
“Anything you want, bro.”