Chapter Text
They stumble their way through the Temple together, leaning on each other’s shoulder when one of them overbalances, to stop themselves from tumbling to the floor. It’s so late that the halls are almost silent. They’ve only passed one or two nocturnal Jedi. Before the war it probably would have been dozens, but the Temple stands too empty these days.
The thick silence is uncomfortable, sort of blanketing Anakin oppressively. He needs to break it.
“I don’t think I’ll make it back to my room at this rate, can I just crash on your couch?” He asks, words slow and careful to avoid slurring them.
Obi-Wan’s arm snakes around his shoulders to steady him, when Anakin nearly trips over his boots.
“Of course, you’re always welcome. To be perfectly honest I haven’t cleared out your old bedroom, you can just sleep there.” Obi-Wan’s voice is warm and slightly too loud as he leans in close to speak into Anakin’s ear.
“You haven’t had my old room packed up yet? It’s been two years since I moved out.” Anakin hiccups.
He almost trips again, and briefly considers using the Force to sober himself up, but discards the idea. The reason they’re both stumbling through the Jedi Temple like drunk fools is that this far into the war they never get moments to themselves anymore. Anakin doesn’t know when the last time he did something fun was. So he’d asked Obi-Wan to go out for drinks with him while they both happen to be on short leave at the same time. He can still conjure up Obi-Wan’s bright smile from a few hours ago, and his pleased agreement.
So Anakin doesn’t purge the alcohol with the Force, despite his fight with the tips of his boots and the floor. It’s nice to be pleasantly buzzed, to be unburdened in the way only drunkenness can achieve.
Anakin also suggested drinking because he knew Obi-Wan wouldn’t say no. His old Master does like a drink a bit more than is wise.
Obi-Wan huffs.
“And when would I have had the time to do that? We’ve been a bit busy, if you haven’t noticed.”
Anakin tilts his head in vague acknowledgement, though Obi-Wan probably isn’t looking at him. If he’s smart, he’s looking at the hallway in front of them and measuring his steps.
“Still, two years.” Anakin repeats, because frankly it is a long time to put off the minor task.
Anakin’s room would hardly be full of stuff.
Obi-Wan shakes his head, “Fine, I’ll clean it up in the morning then. I suppose I have the time.”
His voice has that soft edge of annoyance that indicates he’s not yet truly pissed, but if Anakin keeps on, he will be. Anakin doesn’t know why he loves getting a rise out of his Master, but he always has. It’s one of life’s simple pleasures. Good caf, a new mechanical project and annoying Obi-Wan until he loses his composure and snaps.
Anakin doesn’t poke further, though he’s tempted. He’s enjoying the easy, warm comradery between them too much right now. Things have gotten tenser between them over the course of the war. They’re still close. In many ways closer than they were when Anakin was a Padawan. But there are new gulfs between them. Unresolved resentments that weren’t there before.
Anakin is no longer in any mood to fight with Obi-Wan just for the fun of it. They do that enough for real.
His mind conjures the image of his old Padawan bedroom in Obi-Wan’s Master-Padawan rooms. It’d be pretty bare now. He took all his most worthwhile possessions to his new room. They weren’t much, considering well, Jedi and possessions. But he took his Boonta Eve poster, a few other bits and pieces. His old room probably only has a few old things lying around in it. Truly, it’ll take Obi-Wan twenty minutes to clean out, Anakin is sure.
He runs through a vague mental list of old things he doesn’t remember taking with him and snags on one thing he’d completely forgotten about.
“Huh.” He says quietly.
Obi-Wan’s head raises to look at him as they turn the corner, finally reaching the hallway where Obi-Wan’s rooms are. They don’t have far left to go.
Obi-Wan pokes their bond in the Force, in silent question. It’s a bit clumsier than usual, a bit more forceful. Which makes the corners of Anakin’s lips twitch in silent mirth.
“I was just thinking…” He starts slowly as they come to a stop in front of Obi-Wan’s door and he types in the keycode.
Obi-Wan glances at him, with an interested look.
“In my old room you might… I think I…” Anakin clears his throat, as they step inside the quarters, one after the other.
The door slides shut behind them and Obi-Wan turns to face Anakin fully, still listening. Suddenly bashful about what he’s about to admit, Anakin runs his hand through his hair and glances at the floor.
“Okay, don’t laugh but... I wrote poems about you, when I was a Padawan. They were bad, obviously,” Obi-Wan’s just watching him with a blank face so Anakin rambles on, “I was thinking, they must still be in the room somewhere. If you find that flimsi just throw it out? Don’t read them.”
A small smile spreads across Obi-Wan’s lips. His face grows… fond. He looks fond, Anakin thinks.
“You wrote poetry about me?” He repeats back, sounding painfully sincere.
Anakin’s heart jumps oddly in his chest. He doesn’t know why he’s revealed this. Those old poems were not the sort of thing he’d ever want Obi-Wan to be aware of. They’re… well…
They’re love poems.
Obi-Wan isn’t exactly aware of Anakin’s Padawan crush on his Master. Nor is he aware that unlike those usually do… Anakin’s never really went away.
If he reads those he’ll know… well he’ll at least know Anakin used to have a crush on him. Anakin can play it off as something that faded, if he has to. But he’d rather not talk about it. The idea of standing in front of Obi-Wan and lying to his face about his feelings like that makes his heart twist terribly. It sobers him just slightly.
“They were bad.” He stresses, hoping Obi-Wan will just agree to throw them out.
“I’d still like to see what you wrote about me, my old Padawan. Can’t you indulge an old man?” Obi-Wan teases, though not meanly.
He still looks… soft. Sort of loose and relaxed, in the low light of his rooms. He feels warm in the Force, just warm. Anakin wishes he could just burrow inside that Force signature like a blanket and never leave.
The sincerity and sweetness is making Anakin tempted to do something foolish, like speak the words that have been trapped in the back of his throat for five years.
He doesn’t though. He can’t.
He can’t.
He sighs in defeat.
He’s so tired of swallowing them, but he can’t say them. They won’t come. Not even now, in the quiet and stillness. While they’re both softened by the alcohol and trapped in this strange, gentle moment.
Maybe… maybe he can do something else, instead.
“Honestly I have no idea where they are, if you manage to find them, knock yourself out. But just remember, I told you that they are not good.” Anakin compromises.
It’s not a confession, but if Obi-Wan does manage to find those poems, he’ll know soon enough.
Obi-Wan’s answering smile is blinding. It stretches wide across his face, and the lines around his eyes crinkle. He glitters with happiness in the Force.
The display is enough to curb any immediate doubts Anakin might have. He’s made Obi-Wan happy. Which is a rare treasure these days, that alone will be worth whatever trouble he’s getting later, sober Anakin into.
“I promise I won’t judge your teenage writings, Padawan mine. And thank you, Anakin. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go sleep this off. You know the way to your bed, I should think.” He says the last sentence with dry humour.
Anakin snorts softly.
“Goodnight, Master.” He calls as Obi-Wan turns away and meanders towards the door to his bedroom.
Anakin turns to the door to his old room.
He’s pretty sure sober him is going to be cursing his name tomorrow, with both a hangover and the prospect of Obi-Wan finding out about his feelings, at least in the past. But Anakin can’t bring himself to care all that much. That is a problem for tomorrow him. Right now his old, small bed is calling to him like a siren’s song. Anakin goes without protest.