Basically clueless but trying my best

Obi-Wan shakes his head, focusing on his ship's console and entering his access code to let the Rebel base know he's approaching.

And not to expect the two pilots he left with.

His first Rebel mission, and already two faces he won't see again. His console beeps, authorizing his landing, and Obi-Wan braces for the grim face of Sato, asking for details. To know what to tell the families.

His mission's debriefing lasts longer than he would have wanted. He makes sure his voice stays levelled and neutral. He probably sounds too detached, with his arms crossed and his unwavering voice going through the ambush and the clinical description of his companions falling in front of him.

He can see it in Sato's eyes. His apathy doesn't bother him per se, but it doesn't make him like Obi-Wan more.

Obi-Wan prefers it this way.

The Rebels are good, reliable and trustworthy people, but there is nothing that links them to Obi-Wan. No constant flow of power from one soul to another forming an intricate crisscrossing pattern through the universe. No shared feelings and impressions of elation, sadness and joy, and the certainty of never being truly alone.

A connection is there, certainly, created by shared principles and the conviction that bringing justice and equity to the galaxy is possible.

But the silence in the Force resonates louder than the thousands of Jedi's voices used to.

Focus on the present, he used to tell Anakin. There is a time to reflect on the past, but there is no point in dwelling on it constantly. 

Anakin.

Anakin might still be awake.

His steps grow just a bit faster.

In the silence of the hallway —it is the middle of the night after all— the noise of his boots on the floor seems to echo in a disproportionated way.

He only stops in the communal refreshers for a few minutes, taking the fastest sonic shower of his life and diverting his attention elsewhere when his eyes wander towards the mirror, before hurrying towards his quarters.

Disappointment floods him too fast for him to contain when he finds his tiny couch empty, a ratty old blanket haphazardly thrown on it as the only evidence of someone's else presence.

Obi-Wan can feel his shoulders sag, sighing before even thinking about it. The pain in his left arm from a rough kick that he shouldn't have missed seems sharper. The day finally takes its toll on him, and making his way to his bedroom feels like an insurmountable ordeal.

He drags his feet, bones aching in too many places to forget that he's been doing this for too long now. How many years of wars and fights and deaths and losses can a body endure before giving up?

The question runs through his mind while he sits on his untidy bed, getting out of his heavy boots with difficulty, and it's only when he makes to lie down that he realises that he isn't alone.

Anakin has always been a heavy sleeper. 

Obi-Wan has found his padawan so many times half-lying on a crate, a bench or Obi-Wan's shoulder, in positions ridiculous enough that it would have reduced his own neck to throbbing pain for days.

Ten years later and the habit hasn't changed; Anakin is sprawled in a tangle of limbs and sheets, hair spread on Obi-Wan's pillow and drooling on his own biceps.

He shouldn't look so boyish, so innocent, now that he's almost in his thirties. But Obi-Wan suspects that he will always keep a certain childish eagerness to his features.

It is the loveliest sight Obi-Wan has ever seen.

It's a strange joy, the one that seizes him every time he sees Anakin.

A confused state of relief, nostalgia, and a bit of sadness too, but so much love that he barely knows what to do with it.

It is as if his mind still can't comprehend that he gets to have this, have Anakin back, that he didn't imagine the past month, finding his padawan after a decade of getting himself used to the idea that he was truly and irrevocably dead. That leaving him behind at the Temple to chase Grievous on Utapau, nineteen and angry and indignant, didn't sign his death warrant.

That the Order might be gone forever, leaving him asking if his home will only live in his memory now, but at least Anakin survived.

Knowing that he is alive would have been enough for him. But having him at his side makes the longing bearable. 

Even something as simple as watching him sleep softens his heart and appeases his mind with an easiness that almost worries him sometimes.

"Are you going to spend the night watching me? You're getting creepier in your old age, master," Anakin grumbles, eyes still closed.

Obi-Wan is surprised by his own quiet but fond chuckle.

At the sound, Anakin opens one eye, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth before smiling contently, as if this was the result he was hoping for.

Obi-Wan lies down, propping himself up on his elbow to face him. "What are you doing in my bed?"

"You took too long to come back. Couch's too small and I was tired."

It isn't the first time Anakin has found his way into Obi-Wan's bed since their reunion.

He jokes about it often, finds flimsy excuses and protests that crossing the hallway that separates their quarters to get to his own bed is an inhuman feat and Obi-Wan would be cruel to ask this of him.

Obi-Wan probably shouldn't let him get away with it so easily.

After all, even if he never finished his training, Anakin was his padawan. And Anakin still calls him his master.

The title doesn't ring the same though. It's lacking the defiance of his teenagehood or the respectful distance the name is supposed to create between them.

It almost sounds like a pet name now.

It's one of the many things that feel like Anakin, his padawan Anakin, just slightly different.

"So needy," Obi-Wan chides teasingly. He masterfully ignores the calculating look Anakin sends him before slowly settling himself closer, bed shifting around them.

"Got years of neediness to catch up on. I'm going to be unbearable, you know that."

Anakin would have been ashamed by his own need, once upon a time. Would have looked away from his master, eyes low and fists hidden under his robe, locking the words he truly wanted to say deep in himself so Obi-Wan would have never been able to extract what he was thinking about and what he desired from him. Being put on display would have been the most terrible of humiliation for him.

These days, Anakin is utterly shameless when expressing what he wants.

"I am resigned to my fate, I suppose," Obi-Wan murmurs, too gentle. Too happy about the prospect of keeping Anakin close for just a bit longer.

Anakin takes the time to nuzzle in his —Obi-Wan's— pillow lazily. His smell will linger here for some time.

His face is completely hidden under the mess of golden brown hair now, and without his eyes on him, the temptation is too strong for Obi-Wan to resist the urge to run his hand through it.

Anakin groans, shoulder visibly relaxing. Obi-Wan pushes his fingers more deeply through his curls, stroking his scalp and letting his hand falls to his nape to run his fingernails against the warm skin there.

Anakin would purr if he could.

It's almost as soothing to him as it is to Obi-Wan.

They have been way more tactile than they used to be, since their reunion. It probably has to do with the weakness of their bond in the Force, a way to compensate for the loss of years spent sharing their thoughts and feelings through such an easy and natural connection.

Anakin turns his head towards Obi-Wan again suddenly. "You look..." He wants to say old. "...Tired. It didn't go well, hm?"

Using the Force... Using the Force isn't easy and natural, not anymore. Not to Obi-Wan. Years on the run have taught him to only rely on the Force as a last resort, and he's afraid that the void it created in him will never be filled again.

But he can still feel it. He can still make the effort to open himself to it, just a bit, just to feel the tentative bond reforming between them. A frail and delicate thread between their signatures, frayed and new at the same time.

Anakin, though, Anakin is still the brightest star in the galaxy, a red-hot intensity burning in the Force with such brilliance that it can never let any part of Obi-Wan in the shadow for too long.

There is no doubt he felt Obi-Wan's lingering sorrow the second he had a foot on the ground.

But it's almost recomforting, to have someone who can feel Obi-Wan, who doesn't need him to say anything to know.

It reminds him of home. 

"Can I do anything?" Anakin asks, after Obi-Wan struggles with the simple act of opening his mouth to reply.

It's his sweetness that always renders Obi-Wan too tender. It's his eagerness to help that fills Obi-Wan's tired lungs with hope and comfort.

"This helps," Obi-Wan finally whispers, fingers brushing over his neck, his cheek, his eyes. "You help. I'm glad you're here, Anakin. I—"

He swallows with difficulty.

"I'm glad you're here too." Anakin turns his cheek into his hand, graciously saving Obi-Wan from an embarrassing declaration he wouldn't have been able to put into words anyway. "Being without you, it has been... Difficult. Lonely. I missed you. I miss the Order, the others, even the Council. I almost miss them telling me what to do," he chuckles darkly. "But you... You, I wasn't sure I could live without. I'm not sure I wouldn't have gone completely crazy after a while."

"You did well. More than that, even. You were alright for ten years."

Anakin snorts. "Barely. You can't even imagine the number of times Sato said I was flying like I had a death wish."

Anakin's voice is light and carefree, but his words make Obi-Wan's brows furrow. 

"The next mission, we should... We should go together."

It isn't wise for two Jedi to be paired together, Sato has said. They're too valuable, would be too much to lose if they both end up dead.

Or worse, captured by the Empire.

While Obi-Wan has agreed with the logic, it hasn't stopped the selfish part of him to want to protest.

Anakin blinks quickly for a second before his face brightens and Obi-Wan almost turns his head away from such radiance, here and in the Force.

"Yes!" He beams, reaching blindly for Obi-Wan's night tunic and pulling, making Obi-Wan awkwardly aware of how little distance there is between them. "Absolutely! Kriff the others, I've worked here for long enough to get the partner I want! Alright, so tomorrow morning, once I've shaved you, we go to Sato and—"

"Once you've shaved me?" Obi-Wan interrupts.

"Well not completely, but come on, master. We both know a clean and well-trimmed beard suits you way better than whatever has been growing on your face. I thought that you would do something about it already, but clearly..." It's Anakin's turn to run his fingertips along his jaw, stroking the tangle of auburn and grey hair there. Obi-Wan barely catches the flash of mischievousness in his eyes before his beard is being tugged on playfully. "...I need to take matters into my own hands."

Obi-Wan snorts, batting Anakin's hand away.

He hasn't cared about how he looks in so long, hasn't found any interest in his reflection and the lines on his face for years. No need to confirm that the meticulous and proper Jedi master he was is truly gone.

But perhaps, with someone else, with Anakin— 

His thoughts get derailed when Anakin's hand comes to touch his face once again, dragging his knuckles against his temple and through his hair, and Obi-Wan can only hold his breath, not daring to do anything that would make Anakin stop.

Anakin speaks as if he's just thinking out loud, the rhythmic movement of his hand lulling Obi-Wan toward a peacefulness he rarely achieves these days. "The hair I like, but we're getting rid of the rest."

We.

Them. Together.

It shouldn't be so easy to let his shield and guard down, shaken to the core by a few casual words.

Obi-Wan barely notices that he's letting his head falls, boneless that he is under Anakin's soothing hand, and it's only when his forehead presses against Anakin's shoulder and his hand closes securely around Anakin's hip that he realises that they unintentionally settled in a tight embrace, curled against each other.

Dread and a strange feeling of shame that he isn't feeling very remorseful fill him when he realises what he's done, and that Anakin's hand has stopped moving.

He shouldn't have done that.

He's ready to pull himself away and apologise, mortified, when he feels Anakin suddenly burying his face in his hair, a noise of approval lost there that sounds like 'definitely keeping the hair'. Only when Anakin's arms close around his shoulders and stay there does Obi-Wan allow himself to relax again.

"So you're my official barber now?" He says, trying to distract his mind from the affection that threatens to overwhelm him.

"Your beard looked like a womprat's nest the last time I left you by yourself," Anakin grumbles, words half-muffled. "Clearly you need me to take care of it for you."

"Oh, clearly."

"Glad we agree."

Obi-Wan smiles against Anakin's warm skin, brushing the incriminating beard against him and squeezing his hip teasingly.

But Anakin only hums gently, already drifting away again. Safe and untroubled.

"I'm glad too," Obi-Wan whispers to himself.

Sometimes, for a second, Obi-Wan forgets.