Chapter Text
It was a Sunday evening and his key card wasn’t working.
Out of all the things that could pile onto one evening - standing outside in the smog and dust kicked up by the hot mist of an autumn rain, Oxford's flooding pathetically - his key card was now not working.
Obi-Wan Kenobi rested his forehead against the ancient wooden doors of the university library, eyes scrunched closed and glasses smudged with perspiration and swollen rain droplets, shielding himself from the downpour inches away from the overhang as a migraine threatened to overtake him.
It wasn’t the rain that bothered him. It wasn’t even the fact that the key card had finally given up after a few pathetic beeps and flashes of light against the sensor. Seven years as a professor after an even more sluggish PhD program, trudging ever onwards towards tenure at Coruscant University, the early onslaught of autumn showers had become something to rely on, almost always putting a damper on pre-semester festivities that clogged up the traffic and made the campus shimmer with color for the first few weeks of classes.
When Obi-Wan was a student, at least in his undergrad many years ago, he hated the rain and its ability to cancel well-laid plans. Now, as a middle-aged instructor with a wife expecting him home at a reasonable hour, he didn’t mind it as much, unless it got far too close for comfort.
“Fuck,” Obi-Wan mumbled under his breath as the module beeped red at him again in defiance. He slammed a weak fist against the door, as if it was its fault. As if anyone was in the library this early in the semester to hear the knock. Classes hadn’t even started yet, and Obi-Wan had been procrastinating on building a syllabus- a tale as old as time.
An English professor unable to get into the library. If he couldn’t feel the residual rain start to creep into his socks, he would’ve laughed at the irony of it all.
He felt his phone buzz in the low-slung pocket of his khakis. Pulling back a bit and wiping his sweater sleeve over smudged glasses, he could barely make out the preview text.
When are you coming home? It’s nearly eight.
Satine Kryze-Kenobi was occupying the sender’s space, smudged and glistening from raindrops. Once again, he’d lost track of time trying to get things in order for the first day of classes the next day. Shouldn’t he have this down after all this time?
As Obi-Wan was calculating how long of a walk it would take and how much dignity he would have to shed on the half-mile trek back to the employee parking lot, a pre-semester miracle presented itself at his feet.
Or, nearly the bridge of his nose.
The heavy wooden door beeped in a half-second warning before being shoved open toward him, nearly smacking him in the nose and cracking his glasses, old mahogany creaking with the effort of being shoved open.
“Oh fuck- sorry, I didn’t-”
Obi-Wan didn’t have his lucky stars in mind to thank much less the time to fall to his knees and kiss the feet of the overly-looming shadow that had heard his grumbling, or maybe sensed the growing ball of doom threatening to overtake him. He shoved past without another thought, running a hand through wet hair with a mumbled thankyouverymuch as he trudged back to the well-worn English section.
Now to scramble together a syllabus before classes tomorrow, and Obi-Wan would thank his lucky stars if he made it through the night with an adequate amount of sleep.
Dinner was, well… dinner, or, as Satine’s family had always called it, supper. Obi-Wan had never taken to such formalities, especially in his own home.
A long stretch of ancient oak separated them, the pretty porcelain china making sharp clinks and clicks against silverware as they ate in silence. When Obi-Wan was a child, his mother only pulled out the porcelain for special occasions. Satine was brought up differently.
She rested her sharp jawline against a prettier porcelain hand, her fingertips silver and gleaming. Obi-Wan looked up from his meal, almost expectant.
“Where were you all day?” Her voice sounded miles away, accompanied by the creak of an old home in a light thunderstorm, a deep baritone Obi-Wan nursed himself to sleep with most nights.
He sat up a bit straighter, dry and warm and comfortable. There was no need to worry- not this time.
“Trying to get my office back in order. The dust nearly gave me an asthma attack.” Obi-Wan ducked his eyes back down, trying to lighten his tone.
“Mhm,” came her half-hearted reply, now from nautical miles away. The nonchalance in her tone gave Obi-Wan cause for concern, strangely enough. He sat his fork down with eyebrows pinched together.
Satine was a mystery to him. Satine had always been a mystery to him- of course, a beautiful, slim, blonde mystery, one of the best kinds, in Obi-Wan’s opinion, but a mystery nonetheless.
She’d been born into wealth- no, not wealth, sheer prosperity, her family bloomingly wealthy and never looking back to think otherwise. She’d never known anything but, and who was Obi-Wan to deny her that?
Satine Kryze of Kryze Group, the Kryze Family Crypt, it had been nicknamed- Coruscant was a college town on the smaller size, and rumor spread unbearably fast. Growing disgustingly rich on some unknown resource and staying that way happily for hundreds of years, the whispers of a new, wealthy heiress in town spread quickly when Satine had settled in for her undergraduate many years ago, the biggest fish in the pond- or across from it.
Had she come from England for some unspoken reason? Had her family disowned her, banished her to the one place they knew she’d suffer- Coruscant? Obi-Wan hadn’t minded the whispers back then, eyes far too glossed over to notice anything but the silvery strips of blonde curls falling behind her.
They’d met on even ground, both bright-eyed and bushy tailed and idealistic, she studying just to study and he studying to survive. Obi-Wan wouldn’t ever sit back and pretend either of them were latchkey children by any means, but their differences were apparent from the beginning.
Obi-Wan Kenobi, son of a doctor and a lawyer, and invested in thoroughly since his conception. Middle child of three, and he didn’t call his younger brother as often as he’d like to. Obi-Wan Kenobi, pestering her for love for the last ten years and she making sure he was well aware of the insurmountable cliff face in front of him. All those years.
They’d been young when they met- well, not too young to know what they were doing, 22 or 23, he thinks, old enough to know better- and stupid, and in love, and so drunk on thought of the future he could barely stomach the years of dating she’d put them both through.
They had been married well over ten years, now- ten, the number made him want to vomit up the lamb chop in front of him- having wed in an intimate reception halfway through Obi-Wan’s PhD program. He secretly thought she’d humored him, pitied him, even, because she didn’t think he’d ever finish, truthfully. The wedding had been funded by those very large fish across the pond.
She was fun back then, Obi-Wan had thought, wild and unruly and so willing to go along with his reckless ideas and put-together dreams. Well, as reckless as her family would allow her to be under their thumb. Maybe Obi-Wan was more fun back then, too. Their sex had been incredible, and the money had been an afterthought, and she’d looked at him like he’d hung the moon at night, just for her-
“What, you don’t believe me?” Obi-Wan’s incredulous response had become as reliable as the autumn thunderstorms. He felt his jaw tighten as she looked up at him. That was disgust was on her face. “Where else would I have been all day, Satine?”
“I didn’t say you were somewhere else,” She stood, lithe and graceful after a long sip of wine, and it made Obi-Wan ache inside with want despite himself.
She moved to clear their plates, the soft clink of china echoing through the dining room. Dining room, kitchen, bedroom, master bedroom, guest bedrooms, chambers- how many rooms did one house need for two impossibly small people? Obi-Wan had thought to himself more often than not, especially on sleepy summer weekdays when she’d get home hours later than him, when he had time to get dreamy and wistful. Maybe if they’d ever had children, like Obi-Wan had initially pushed for-
He watched her, the both of them knowing she didn’t need to clear the plates off, the night maid would’ve happily done it as she did every night, she only did it to spite him. To make herself the victim. Typical. A familiar heat settled in his chest at the sight. He knew he should say something, should bridge the growing distance between them, but the words stuck in his throat. A rock tumbled down from the cliff face in front of him. How unlike him.
“Yes, always twisting your pretty words, am I?” Obi-Wan scoffed to himself, the bitterness in his tone surprising even him. He couldn’t pin down an exact reason why anger burned against his ribs, couldn’t know why he was angry. She hadn’t done anything to warrant that type of snippiness, he reminded himself, as his therapist had reminded him a hundred times over. He took another long sip from the crystalline wine glass within arms reach. “Or lack thereof.”
He’d worked here since they’d extended an offer for an assistant professor role under his mentor after a successful dissertation defense. He wasn’t even allotted enough time to breathe, to celebrate appropriately, much less think of other options. The faculty had been pleased enough, and he knew these people, had been with the department since starting his Master’s degree. After turning down various assistant or research positions at neighboring schools, he’d effectively signed his life away here at the ripe age of 29.
Why not? Obi-Wan had thought to himself. It had been so easy to sign on the dotted line. It had been stable, and quiet, and it paid well enough, not that they’d ever had to worry about where their next meal was coming from- a good place to raise a family, he’d thought. He had been so naïve back then.
Family. Satine had never particularly wanted to build a family- she had her own, after all. She had wanted the cocoon of comfort her own family provided her. For all intents and purposes, Obi-Wan had figured that he was just an easy way to get secured into the will.
His pessimism would be the death of him, he was sure of it. Obi-Wan sucked in a short breath, trying to expel the negativity of dwelling in the past. His therapist had warned against it, and he wouldn’t be happy to hear about him brewing on it again during his next session.
The jangle of keys as he unlocked his office for the start of the new semester was a welcome distraction from the maelstrom of discontent the past few weeks had been. A reminder of the fresh start every new semester was supposed to be.
He flicked on the lights to his office- he hadn’t been lying when he’d told Satine he’d been tidying up. The dust was still a constant, caking old books that hadn’t been cracked open since those dissertation days, and it was cramped, but it was his- the second floor of the English building. Kyber Hall, 212.
There weren't any windows, but the location was good, close to most of his main lecture halls, and it was relatively quiet and cozy, ten feet by ten feet filled with shelves of books and papers spilled over on those shelves. Many years worth of hard-earned research and accolades in those dust particles, Obi-Wan reminded himself. The personal effects were few and far between- a picture of him and Satine, of he and his mother and father, he and his mentor, Qui-Gon, during one of his first paid semesters. It was probably a little outdated, but Obi-Wan had customized it enough to his liking, and spent enough time here to grow fond of it over the years.
He set down his bag on his desk with a tired smile, the shuddering fluorescent lights making his glasses twinkle with light. He probably still had more work to do to make this place presentable before any students could pop in, but it was still habitable. It had to be, for the next fifteen weeks, at the very least.
He shot a glance to his ancient desktop, which had been sitting dormant on his desk over the summer. It would be harder to revive that thing than get this place in working order again.
In a way, Obi-Wan was happy to have his life shaped by the academic calendar.
August through late May, he enjoyed the rhythm, appreciated the cadence which so many others took for granted. He looked forward to working toward an end, feeling the creep of summer heat coinciding with a semblance of relaxation.
Taking up teaching as a profession hadn’t exactly been his most selfless act- he had never tried to put up a front that shaping young minds had always been his calling. He had been on the edge in his youth, sharp and rebellious, nearly getting expelled from his high school more than once. Once he was able to realize the structure of academia was something he could rely on, something nearly palpable that would be a continue with or without him, he was able to lean into it more, appreciate it for what it provided outside of the classroom, diving into language and prose and being rewarded for it beyond what he had thought possible.
Qui-Gon had been helpful for him, oftentimes being more on the edge and clashing with administration so frequently that it made Obi-Wan’s own tiny rebellions look like tea parties.
While his profession was a later choice in life, he could admit it was at least rewarding. He’d never had children of his own, and, in this way, he could at least give back to the community, to the droll world around them that increasingly was rejecting art and thoughtfulness for the harsher, more tangible things of the world.
Academia had always called to him in a different way. The steady thrum of activity coming along just as the leaves started to turn and dying down just as the spring started to heat up- it was poetic. It was inspiring, making more casual writing flow easier under the sway of a thunderstorm or the chill of a late autumn evening.
Obi-Wan didn’t write for leisure as much as he wanted to anymore.
He was just getting a few things ready for his first class of the semester in his office- Introduction to English Composition 1, 10 AM, MonWedFri, usually a class overrun with two hundred or so too-tired freshman who didn’t care if he lived or died, attendance mandatory but usually never enforced, one reading quiz a week- when he heard a knock at his office door.
That made him perk up. He spared a quick glance to the clock above the door, heart rate spiking- was he late to something? No, he still had a few hours-
“Come in,” came his croak of a reply from behind his desk. It was at that moment Obi-Wan realized that was the first thing he’d said out loud all day. It was 8:30. He’d woken up at 5.
His office door shoved open, strangely reminiscent of when he’d almost gotten bowled over outside the library that weekend.
“Professor Kenobi?” The inquiring voice was quiet, and unsure, but its speaker didn’t embody the demure look, despite itself. A tall, coltish young man that slipped through his door into the white light. Well, he didn’t look that young, older than the class Obi-Wan was supposed to be teaching in- he looked at the clock one more time, blinking in disbelief- an hour and a half now. The younger man had to hunch over a little to prevent himself from dinging his head on the frame, awkwardly shuffling in from the bustling hallway.
“That’s... me?” Obi-Wan sounded just as confused as he was, expectantly looking over his frames, halfway through stuffing his bag with papers. His computer had been frozen all morning, and IT hadn’t been answering his emails, and his level of frazzle was rising at an ungodly pace before noon.
The younger man looked down at his dingy white sneakers before visibly mustering up the courage to look him in the eye, a sort of fierce determination making his eyes sparkle.
“I’m Anakin Skywalker.” The words came out from behind a grin, teeth too white to be anything but blinding this early in the morning. Anakin held his hand out expectantly, like Obi-Wan was supposed to recognize that arrangement of syllables and have something click in his head. Obi-Wan swallowed thickly, mind swimming.
Was this the TA he’d been assigned this semester? He was going to kill someone. He specifically asked for Cody again, but- maybe Cody hadn’t applied, no, he didn’t have the time to train a new TA, it hadn’t been factored into his lesson plans-
In response to Obi-Wan’s obvious confusion, Anakin straightened up again, huffing out a laugh. He had no accent, which was an accent in itself- he wasn’t a local student, Obi-Wan could surmise that much.
“Shit, I-” Anakin startled himself with the expletive, trying to correct his course. “Fu- sorry- I guess I’m- I meant to say I’m in your class this semester.”
“The one at ten?” Obi-Wan paused, shoving stray papers in his bag. He was being rude, he realized, and stood up a little straighter.
“No, the one later this afternoon,” Anakin said. Obi-Wan blinked again- if Anakin had a tail, he suspected it would have been wagging with the recognition. “English composition, or introduction to comp-”
“Introduction to English Composition, yes,” Obi-Wan replied. He took Anakin’s hand, trying to shove down any lingering trepidation. He wanted to tack on an additional question mark: as a student? but he knew that would’ve been even more rude. No need to be such a stickler this early on. Anakin read the question on his face regardless, scrambling to explain himself.
“I’m, uh, I’m a senior this year-” Obi-Wan had figured as such- “and m’not an English major, or minor, or anything like that-” clearly - “this class just filled the last elective I had before graduation, and I have a couple friends also enrolled, and I thought it would be easy, so-”
“Oh?” Oh, Obi-Wan loved that assumption, had battered against it his entire collegiate career. He let Anakin’s hand drop, the one he hadn’t realized he’d kept shaking slower and slower as he went on. He sank his claws into the phrase and ran with it, feeling a bit more comfortable now. So this Anakin just wanted to build up some recognition so he could scoot by without any effort?
Obi-Wan laughed to himself. “I certainly don’t believe you should take a class just because you think it will be easy, Mr. Skywalker-”
“Oh, oh- no, I didn’t mean it like that,” Anakin sputtered out halfway through, face flushing deeper as his ears tinged pink. It made Obi-Wan eye him over harder, make him squirm a little bit more- he was nearly like a dog, or, more accurately, a puppy, eager to please but unsure of how to do it, clumsy and floppy eared.
“I understand. However,” Obi-Wan stood a little straighter, crossing his arms, putting on his best stern face. “Don’t expect this class to be easy. Just because it’s an entry level class-”
“M’sorry, sir,” Anakin breathed out, head ducking in acknowledgement, and Obi-Wan was a bit taken aback. He watched Anakin compose himself, sucking in a breath behind those white teeth. His knuckles were gripping the strap of his backpack for dear life, like an anchor. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
Before Obi-Wan could open his mouth to protest that there was really no foot to get off on, he now had a little over an hour to prepare for his class, he really should be on his way, and don’t call me sir, Anakin cut in again.
“I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m an engineering major here, and… I dunno. Writing…. sorry, English composition doesn’t really come naturally to me,” the younger man breathed out, suddenly bashful, obedient. The swift swing in sentiment nearly gave Obi-Wan whiplash, but he didn’t know why he should care so much. Anakin looked back up at him, eyes and tone softer, almost glistening. Fawning. “I might be a frequent flyer in your office hours… if that’s alright with you, I mean.”
“Oh- yes, yeah, I mean-” Obi-Wan blinked again, feeling the urge to duck his own head, clean his glasses, something to keep his hands busy. Maybe he'd misjudged this- Anakin too quickly, and it made his stomach flip with embarrassment. Obi-Wan loved office hours. In a class of two hundred, there was hardly any time to impart any personalized help or practice, bestow any wisdom more specific than what each person would be willing to take away from it. Spending that extra time also helped him identify the ambitious ones, the ones who would go far- or help him help themselves.
He tried to think of something powerful to impart to Anakin now, something smart yet strong to soothe his nerves. All that he could muster was: “Well, then. I’d be happy to help with any questions. Anakin.”
It seemed to be good enough for Anakin. He grinned with the words, his shag of a haircut hiding his brows as his eyes closed with a smile. “Okay. Yeah, sweet- thank you.”
The boy turned to leave, gone before Obi-Wan could even apologize for his fumbling, before he could register the paper fluttering on his desk in the still air. His door clicked shut as he was left alone again, throat bobbing in a swallow. A flickering light and the sound of a fan buzzing to life pulled his eyes away, and back down to his computer, now buzzing to life.
He let out a miniscule sigh of relief. That had to be a good sign, right?
The first round of classes went smoothly, as they usually did. Obi-Wan didn’t have any higher-level classes to sit in on this semester; he’d would’ve preferred it if he did, stuck with repeating the same entry-level basics year after year without tenure. It certainly wasn’t his favorite pastime droning on to teenagers about the (admittedly important) basics, about how to be a good student and how to begin to be a decent person (show up on time, pay attention, don’t eat during class, definitely don’t get started on drinking this early in the day), but it was a good reminder to himself, to keep the basic skills sharp and honed.
His 2 PM, his final class of the day, was when Anakin (that was his name, right?) showed up, all eager eyes and bushy tail, just as sprightly as he had been this morning. Obi-Wan could only remember the days he could maintain that without caffeine.
Usually the seniors in an entry level class were not this excited, worn down by four years (or more, perish the thought) of sluggish movement through unnecessary classes, major changes, and the absolute muck of personal development and living on your own for the first time. Obi-Wan remembered that much, at the least, from his own undergraduate days.
Not Anakin, though. He came in bouncy enough for Obi-Wan to notice his presence, chatty with a girl, no, two girls, one much shorter with fluffy hair and one closer to his age, sleek and slim and put together.
Not that Obi-Wan was really paying that close of attention. How could he? There were 150 other other faces looking to him for guidance, or at least to fill the next hour with hot air before they could get back to their syllabus week festivities. Or not looking, on their phones or laptop or bickering amongst themselves before class had officially begun.
After forty five minutes of syllabus review, doing introductions, and answering questions from those brave enough to raise their hands- yes there would be a final, yes there will be pop quizzes, no extra credit, this is the reality of college, folks- Obi-Wan started to feel the exhaustion of an early morning creep in. A quick glance at the clock and the slowing of engagement from his class made the decision to call it easy.
“Alright then. If there’s no more questions…” A creeping lilt in his tone, as if to say please don’t ask any more questions, and Anakin grinned from halfway up the auditorium. Obi-Wan tried to avoid his gaze. “I suppose we can wrap this up early. Thanks everyone.”
An eruption of thankful chatter played him out as he stuffed his laptop back in his bag. Another award-winning lecture, Kenobi. Peace was short-lived, as a voice cut through the swell of activity.
“Hi- sorry, me again,” Anakin called out, breathless, as if he had jogged down from his seat. Obi-Wan looked up from over his glasses.
“Anne-uh-kinne, right?” Obi-Wan gave him a tired smile, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. He wasn’t going to punish the kid was making an effort to connect. “Skywalker?” It wasn’t the best strategy in such a large class, but at least he cared enough to try, right? Obi-Wan was trying to keep that pessimism at bay- for now.
“Right, yes.” Anakin looked back to the two girls, the smaller one raising a questioning eyebrow before he waved them off in dismissal. The taller one shrugged, clutching her books tighter as they both turned to leave. Obi-Wan raised his own eyebrow as Anakin struggled to shove his own laptop in his bag clumsily with a grin. “Sorry, those are my friends, they convinced me to enroll, and I- oh, are you leaving, too? I just-”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan cut him off, standing up straight again. Anakin had a few inches on him, and he had to look up ever so slightly to look him in the eyes. “There’s no need to apologize. I appreciate the…” Engagement ? Enthusiasm ? Obi-Wan didn’t exactly know how to end the sentence. How rare to be tongue-tied twice in one day.
“I was just-” Anakin swallowed, the long column of his throat bobbing with the movement- “I was looking through the syllabus, and there’s no office hours listed, and-”
“...Shit.” Shit! The one thing he should’ve mentioned to everyone. Rubbing his face, Obi-Wan made a mental note to send yet another classwide email. No wonder his office hours were basically ghost towns during the last few semesters- he hadn't even hinted he'd be available to talk to the other 150 expectant faces.
Anakin visibly blushed at the exclamation, Obi-Wan saw noticed his spread fingers. Shit.
“Sorry, sorry, no, I appreciate you bringing that up-” Obi-Wan sighed, and Anakin relaxed a little bit at the sight. Without thinking, he tore off a piece of paper from a loose sticky note on the corner of the auditorium desk, scribbling swiftly on the back. He had to document this somewhere, and since Anakin had the half a brain to actually bring it to his attention-
“Four to five on Tuesdays and…” Obi-Wan clicked the pen closed and handed Anakin the slip of paper. “Thursdays. This building, room 212, it’s on the second floor, tucked in the back-”
“I know where it’s at.” Anakin took the piece of paper, eyes flitting down and flushing deeper despite himself.
“Right, obviously.” Obi-Wan let out a huff of laughter, shaking his head. “Sometimes I’m late, so-” What was he doing? Maybe Anakin’s off-putting eagerness was rattling him more than he’d like to admit. “If I’m not there, or running late,” He gestured to the slip of paper, leaning against the desk, trying not to seem flustered. “I’ve written it all there. That’s my... my phone number, just give me a call, I usually send an email, but obviously I forget-”
“Thank you for this,” Anakin murmured, cutting off Obi-Wan’s ridiculous rambling. Obi-Wan saw the younger man rub a thumb over the ink, smearing it slightly without noticing. He pulled his backpack higher on his shoulder after a long moment of silence, looking determined. “This means a lot.”
No, it really doesn’t, but alright, Obi-Wan wanted to respond, but his chest was feeling tight. That was normal, right? A smack of his hands together with an exhale, trying to seem unflustered. Why was he so flustered? “Okay! Well… let me know if you need anything else!”
Anakin nodded, taking the cue to leave as Obi-Wan leaned back against the lectern with a sharp exhale. All the other classes had gone fine, and now he was already ready to throw in the towel?
Most definitely not a good sign.
Dinner that evening was, well… dinner, or, as Satine’s family had always called it, yes, supper. She didn’t ever cook, and neither did Obi-Wan, so there was never much to say about it. Why call it anything at all?
He stayed behind a few hours after the last class, just to get everything in place, be a little bit kinder to his future self- emails, patching gaps in reading assignments, sending summaries to the department head, following up on requests for research and references, rummaging through the first few extension requests (already? It was only the first day).
Satine had gotten home after he did, which wasn’t a surprise. Being the Creative Director (Vice President? Chief Creative? Obi-Wan had stopped trying to keep track of her promotions throughout the years) for her family’s company didn’t make their schedules so compatible.
He would never admit it, but he didn’t have an exact idea of what she did all day. He did in theory, but in practice they never made it a habit to discuss it. That didn’t mean Obi-Wan ever stopped making an effort.
“How was your day today?” The words seemed to stretch across the table.
“Mmph-” she swallowed her wine before setting her glass back down, parrying. “God, just the same old shit, you know how the middle of Q3 can get.”
“I… do,” he murmured. His mind was elsewhere, fingers twirling fine silverware, the glint catching his eye.
Anakin, engineering major, self-proclaimed horrible writer. Anne-uh-kin. Obi-Wan had made a mental note to pay special attention to it, to him, try and push through the monotony of grading papers to put some real thought or effort into it for once. He’d looked up Anakin’s grade information after class, just to see if he could get a better picture fo what he may or may not be dealing with. He had been a good student. Obi-Wan couldn’t pin down why exactly Anakin seemed so invested- maybe his perfect GPA was too fragile to be toyed with, let alone by such a low-level elective. Maybe his visit had been a warning, a silent plea blinked out in Morse code- don’t mess this up for me. Why was Anakin so fixated, so pushy?
Why was Obi-Wan so fixated? It’s not like he hadn’t ever had good students before. He dug the tip of his tongue into the point of his canines, farther off than ever, the clink of dishes sounding watery in comparison-
“Obi-Wan?” Satine’s questioning glare cut through his pensiveness.
“What?” His eyes flew back up as the memory of handing Anakin his phone number cut through the haze with a cringe. His phone number, for the cell phone he carried everywhere, the one he had in his pocket right now.
Why the fuck had he done that? Was he insane? The recoil of realization sharpened his words despite himself, defensive. Had she heard something? Had he said something out loud? "What?"
"Nothing, love," Satine replied, her voice tinged with a quiet sort of resignation. Obi-Wan had known her long enough to sense a little bit of admonishment, too. "You were just- I don’t know, somewhere else." She took another sip of wine, her eyes tracking Obi-Wan's features. The silence stretched between them once again, thick and uncomfortable.
“Sorry, just…” Obi-Wan sucked in a breath, on edge again as he swirled his glass. “Long day.”