Punch it!

     A few students brushed past him and opened the doors, heading inside with clear enthusiasm in their steps, and even though he wasn’t looking at their faces he could tell by the way their steps slowed as they passed that they had definitely given him strange looks. He couldn’t blame them, he was sure he seemed odd standing like a statue outside the doors. They’d likely seen him around campus as well, skulking through the halls with his face shrouded in the darkness of his hood, like terrified prey attempting invisibility. Which probably didn't help his likability amongst the other students, not that he'd really know, so he couldn’t blame them for the odd glances.

     He waited until the last possible second before taking a few quick breaths to get himself going, and then forced his legs to move him through the doors. His entire body went numb as he traversed the short hallway and entered into a large room, and his legs nearly gave out as his eyes landed on the rows upon rows of seats. He almost gave in to the intense shaking in his knees and planted himself on one of the chairs in the far back of the room, and he would have, had it not been for the eccentric professor prancing around the stage at the front, shouting as the students entered and waving them in, “Come, come closer! Take a seat front and centre, and welcome, each of you, to the Robert Gill Theatre!”

     Shane was sure his heart was going to explode, which currently might not be such a terrible outcome.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Despite the fact that he’d lingered so long in front of the theatre doors before entering, Shane was still quite early to class. He figured it was because a part of him was so desperate to get it over with that he’d convinced himself the sooner he got there the sooner he could leave. But now he was sitting and festering in a seat in the second row just off to the right of the stage. His back hurt because of the extreme angle of his slouch, but he’d put up with it if it meant he could slip under the radar as much as possible, and he hoped keeping his hood up would stop the professor from calling upon him for any reason. 

     Theatre class. Why did he have to get stuck in a theatre class? Of all things! Shane was not a performer by any means and this was the very last place he wanted to be. Yes, one could argue that he should be used to being in front of large crowds, his mother had certainly brought up the point when he’d threatened to drop out over the anxiety that even the thought of this class gave him, but hockey was different. Playing a sport he loved, that he was good at, that he knew like the back of his hand, in front of any number of people never elicited an ounce of fear. But performing a scripted play in front of a theatre full of his family, friends, and peers had him ready to run for the hills and never look back. It had actually kept him up for the last few nights of his holiday, which thankfully he had Ilya to keep him sane. 

     He never told him about the class or why he’d been awake at all hours of the night while he was supposed to be relaxing at home, and Ilya never asked. He’d simply been more than happy to indulge Shane in late night talks, be it over text, call, or FaceTime which was Ilya's favourite, and that’s what he held on to while he sank further into his seat, again fighting the urge to bolt. 

     His favourite memory from his recent time off hadn’t even been one shared with his parents, it was on his last night at home when he’d been particularly amped up about returning to school and had called Ilya at two in the morning. He thought back to Ilya's face on his phone, his voice husky with sleep. He was shocked that he’d answered and was sure he’d woken him up, but was more relieved than he’d ever been in his life to see his face on his screen. They’d talked for an hour, or maybe even two, and Shane had fallen asleep at some point to Ilya reciting something, he wasn’t sure what, in Russian. He’d never slept so well in his life. But what had been the best part of this was not the time he’d spent on the phone with Ilya that night, but the fact that even after Shane had fallen into his peaceful sleep, Ilya hadn’t hung up, and when Shane woke up with his phone propped up on the pillow beside his head, the first thing he saw was Ilya’s face smiling back at him. 

     “Good morning,” he’d said, smiling brighter than the very rays of the sun. 

     “Morning,” Shane had muttered back, but turned his face to hide the fact that his cheeks had heated to a bright red. He could definitely get used to falling asleep to Ilya's voice every night, and waking to his face each morning. 

     He tilted his head back over the theatre seat and closed his eyes, reliving the memory and wishing with everything he had that he could be with Ilya right now, especially since he could feel his anxiety rising with every passing second. The only thing that was currently keeping him going was the fact that he only had a few hours left until hockey practice, which meant he would get to see Ilya very soon, like a reward for getting through this awful class. Maybe he could get Ilya to speak to him in Russian again, to help settle his mind for just a little while. 

     He sighed as he sunk further into his seat and tried to drown out the overwhelming sounds surrounding him. If he was forced to play anything more than a tree in the background for whatever crazy projects or performances this professor had planned, then he was definitely dropping out.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Ilya rushed into his last class of the day. He’d gone the long way, risking a walk through the Jackman Humanities building for the third time today, with the simple hope that at some point he would bump into Shane on the way to one of his own classes. No such luck, unfortunately. 

     By the time he arrived the class was already buzzing with the excitement of a fresh start, day one of a new semester, new classes, and new classmates. He was thrilled to be there as well, of course, though certainly not for the same reason as the rest of the students. He was just happy to be where he was and not in Russia. 

     He made his way toward the front of the class, searching for an open seat as close as he could get, and found one off to the side beside a very familiar hooded figure. 

     His insides ignited instantly, like the only spark he needed was that heavy slouch and those tense shoulders. The smile that overtook him nearly split his lips, it was so encompassing, and he didn’t dare try to fight it as every ounce of tension in his body that had gathered over the past few weeks finally released all at once. 

     Shane. He would know him anywhere, even bound in his all black clothes with his hood up and his face shrouded in the darkness beneath it. It was in the lines of his shoulders, the slight tilt of his head that told Ilya his anxiety was on the rise, in the way he shifted lower in his seat hoping no one would see him, but god, Ilya saw him every time. And when he breathed in he was sure he could smell him, even from this distance, like the earth after a rain storm, like the serenity that followed a seemingly endless thunderous night. It was comfort, it was warmth, it was everything Ilya had been craving while Shane had been away, and he would wait no longer to finally have it within his grasp again. 

     He practically ran the distance left between them and plopped himself down in the chair beside him. Shane instantly tensed impossibly more than he’d already been, his shoulders nearly reaching his ears. Ilya was sure he’d been praying that no one would sit beside him, so he decided to show mercy and put him out of his misery. 

     “If I didn’t know better, I would say you do not seem very excited to be here.”

     Shane finally perked up and lifted slightly in his seat. He recognized that voice, he’d know it even in the most crowded of rooms, in a club enveloped in bass and the shouts of its patronage. He would know it in silence or in chaos, he would know the vibrations of it if he could not hear it. He had become so intimately familiar with it over the past weeks that the sound of it beside his ear had quelled a yearning he hadn't realized he'd been plagued with.

    “Ilya?!” He turned, and finally he was staring at those eyes he’d been starving for and the smile he’d been craving. “What… what are you doing here?”

     “Is my class,” he said with a shrug, “same as you, I’m sure.”

     “I… yeah, I guess.” Shane dipped his head, hoping the edges of his hood would hide the rising pink in his cheeks. “I just- I didn’t know you’d be in this class with me, you never told me.”

     “You are literature student, I did not think we would cross over.” Ilya lifted Shane’s face with his fingers on his chin, and Shane was confident there was no way, no matter how deep he tucked his head inside his hood, that Ilya did not see how red his cheeks were now. Then his hand lifted and gently pushed Shane’s hood back and off his head. “Why do you hide your pretty face like this? Hmm?”

     “I…” Shane didn’t know what to say or do, the only thing his body could manage was to try and hide his face again, but Ilya’s grip on his chin wouldn’t allow it. 

     “Stop this,” he said, keeping Shane’s head up to stare at him for a while before he said, “I missed your face, I missed you. Let me see it.”

     A nervous chuckle escaped Shane, but he still lifted his head and let Ilya get his fill, taking full advantage of the chance to further study those golden flecks in his eyes. 

     “How could you have possibly missed me?” Shane asked while Ilya still held his face with more tenderness than Shane had felt in a long time. “We talked every day, and most of the time it was over video call.”

     “Is true, yes,” Ilya said, then tapped Shane's cheek gently, twice. “But I cannot touch you through the phone, in person is better.”

     “Yes,” Shane agreed, though it came out dopey, almost sounding as if he was drunk on the lust wafting off of Ilya, “yes, better.”

     Ilya’s lips twitched up into a smile, but he said nothing more and instead continued to gaze at Shane. He watched as his eyes shifted down just slightly and landed on what Shane was sure was the top of his cheek. It was further confirmed when Ilya shifted his hand just enough so that his thumb could lightly graze over the space just below his eye. He seemed captivated, completely entranced. Shane was sure this was how he must have looked when he was caught in the emerald and gold fusion of Ilya’s eyes.

     “What?” Was all Shane could manage as his voice had suddenly betrayed him under such scrutiny, but he longed to know what about him could possibly entrance a man the likes of Ilya Rozanov.

     Ilya graced him with a second smile, this one soft and sweet. It melted Shane a little. 

     “Nothing.” He shook his head, and it seemed just as Shane kept his obsession with Ilya's eyes a secret all to himself, Ilya was not going to so easily surrender his own secrets about Shane. Instead he sank down in his own seat, further than Shane, and leaned over to rest his head on his shoulder and wormed his hand between Shane's body and arm, gripping his elbow tightly. “I really did miss you. When is your next flight home? I will book one too so we do not have to be apart again.”

     Shock ripped through Shane's body, not because of what Ilya had said but more so because it had seemed so genuine. But before Shane could ask if it was, their professor stood centre stage and addressed the class, so Shane settled in and rested his head atop Ilya's while she spoke.

     “Welcome, everyone, to the Robert Gill Theatre!” Their professor, a largely eccentric lady, danced her way across the stage with her arms out. Her blonde hair was tied back in a messy bun with all kinds of beads, feathers, and trinkets hanging from it, and her patchwork dress flowed with every move she made. Shane was also more than certain that she wasn't wearing any shoes. “I am honoured to be your guide into the world of expression, and emotion, and body language as an art. Here, we will move the masses and entrance our audience as we bring life to the words upon your scripts, and breathe into ourselves the very souls of the characters we shall embody. For the theatre is not merely a room here in our school, no, it is a vessel that we must use to birth passion and fan the flames of lust, to ferry those who sit in the very seats you are sitting in now, and break through the barrier between the mundane and the imaginative!”

     Ilya's top lip curled as he leaned closer to whisper to Shane. “Is she a college professor or a Victorian poet?”

     Shane tried desperately not to laugh, though he'd been wondering the same thing. “She did say something about embodiment and souls, maybe she's possessed by one.”

     “And with that being said, I will not be giving you small projects that I will be grading throughout the semester, instead the entire class from start to finish will be your one and only project.” Shane and Ilya glanced at each other simultaneously, both wondering exactly how that was going to work. “Starting today and until the final week of classes we will be working on one project together, and that will be a play that we will rehearse tirelessly over the coming weeks, and the week before final exams we will perform said play right here for anyone to attend!”

     Shane's entire body went rigid and Ilya felt the shift in him instantly. He was sure that if he was able to touch Shane’s skin it would be ice cold. 

     “Tickets will be sold with all of the proceeds going toward theatre programs for impoverished children, and I encourage you to spread the word and invite one and all to see you all perform. Family, friends, classmates, teachers, all are welcome, and ticket sales will also be open to the general public. As for how you will be graded on this wonderful project, your marks will not be based off of who gets the biggest role or who has the most lines, but instead-”

     “Whoever has the most fun!” Ilya whispered into Shane's ear and pumped his arm in an overdramatic fashion in an attempt to perhaps quell some of his anxiety. It thankfully seemed to work.

     His shoulders shook which jostled Ilya, making him laugh as well. They both missed what the grades would be actually based on, but Ilya didn't care, he was just glad Shane was doing better.

     The professor continued, and Shane and Ilya tried to focus, but Ilya was now on the hunt for more opportunities to pull that sweet giggle out of Shane. 

     “Now, you may ask, ‘Mrs. Devereaux, what play are we going to be performing?’” She jumped to one side, pretending to be a student asking herself the question, and then jumped to the other side to answer it. “And I would tell you, with great enthusiasm, that we will be performing a play that I myself have written, my very own creation. I call it, "Song of Achilles!””

     Ilya perked up in his seat, jerking his head toward Shane with a quirked brow and shook the arm he still clung to. “Hollander, Hollander,” he said as he shook him harder, “this is already a book, is it not?” 

     Shane bit his lower lip. If he didn't, he would not be able to hold it together because the fact that Ilya seemed personally offended by this, was bringing him close to hysterics.

     But Ilya persisted. “Hollander! I have seen this book in your bag, I know it! She is copying a book and calling it her own, this is copyright, yes?! Am I wrong?”

     A light giggle escaped Shane and he lifted his free hand to cover his mouth, but answered, “Yes, it's a book, by Madeline Miller.”

     Ilya was completely astounded, and with each wide eyed look he sent Shane’s way it was getting closer and closer to the bubbling glee within Shane escaping his defenses. 

     “What is she thinking?” He gestured a hand toward their professor, his brows pinched to the point of almost touching. “Does she think just because she drops the “The” that she can call it her own!?”

     “Rozanov-”

     “No, Hollander.” He shook his head, stopping him. “Is blasphemy, she should be ashamed. Is why she is school professor and not director on broadway. She is thief!”

     That was what broke the damn and Shane could not stop the laughter from breaking free and flooding the entire theatre. 

     “Excuse me!” The professor glided to the side of the stage where they sat, her brows pinched and her lips curled into a sour expression. “I’m not sure exactly what it is you find so humorous about the theatre, but I suggest that you- gah!” 

     She stopped dead in her tracks. The previous angered expression she’d just worn had turned to one of shock, and that, coupled with her sudden outburst, had startled both Shane and Ilya. 

     “What!?” Ilya shifted in his seat and turned sharply back and forth. “What’s wrong?!”

     “My sweet heavens… you’re perfect,” she breathed while reaching out toward them with a shaking hand. 

     “Hollander, what is she talking about?”

     She slowly shifted toward the edge of the stage, trying to get as close to them as she could without stepping off. “My Gods, the two of you…” Her eyes glimmered with awe, and Shane thought for a moment maybe she truly was possessed. “You are Achilles and Patroclus reborn in the flesh, before my very eyes.”

     Ilya's eyes blew wide and he frantically lifted his arms, searching them desperately. “Hollander, what is she saying about my skin!?”

     But Shane was locked in, completely rigid once again as his anxiety had clearly hit him full force this time. 

     “We don’t even have to hold auditions, you’ll both be my leads! You!” She pointed wildly toward Ilya who jumped in his seat. “You will be my Achilles, and you!” 

     Now she pointed to Shane who did not move a muscle. “You will be my Patroclus! And this shall be the greatest play ever performed!” 

     Then she walked away from them, head tilted toward the ceiling while she mumbled to herself more words that Ilya did not understand, only adding to his current frustration and confusion. “I will finally be recognized! This production will lift me to the heights I should have been years ago, this is my moment to shine…”

     “Hollander.” He shook Shane’s arm again, and when that didn’t work he turned his face toward him by his chin, but when their eyes met Shane seemed more haunted than present, like he was looking through him rather than at him. He tapped his cheek twice. “Hollander, the fuck is she talking about?”

     “I… I-” His breathing picked up but he still wasn’t truly looking at Ilya. “I don’t- I don’t-”

     Ilya recognized this state of Shane’s, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen it. A few nights ago, while Shane was still at his parents house was the first time he’d witnessed the true height of his anxiety. The second he answered the phone and saw that distant look on his face, Ilya knew something was wrong. He’d been worried about some class he didn’t want to take in the coming semester, and though Shane hadn’t told him what class it was, he now put two and two together and realized it was this one. Shane was worried about performing on stage, and now he’d been thrust into one of the lead roles without so much as an ounce of concern as to whether or not he actually wanted it. 

     Ilya understood the worry. On the ice there was no emotion except what you felt in the moment. A rush of adrenaline as you escaped for a break away, the icy thrill running through your veins as you scored a goal and ascended into pure ecstasy, anger when the other team gained the upper hand, and frustration when you couldn’t manage to get it back. But these emotions were genuine, nothing was forced or acted, they were true to you and true to the game. Being on stage was different, the exact opposite. Everything was forced and the emotions weren’t yours. You had to be someone you weren’t, you had to bring forth what should be the personality of a character, their emotions, their movements, and embody them completely and wholly while pushing your own self into the deepest depths within you. Being a different person and making the people watching believe your performance with their whole heart, so they connected and felt every second of it themselves, was terrifying. And Shane was not handling it well at all. 

     “Hollander,” he tried, but he was so far gone he wasn’t sure anything was going to pull him back from this one, “Hollander, is okay. We will get through this together, yes?”

     But still Shane just stared forward, to the point where his eyes were almost rolling back in his head and Ilya was worried he was going to pass out. 

     He didn’t know what else to do, he was seconds away from panicking himself, so in a last ditch desperate attempt the only thing that came out was all he could think of, and it was in Russian. “Uspokoit’sya, Hollander, pozhaluysta!”

     “I… I’m not…” 

     He’d gotten words out of him this time at least, and by speaking Russian no less. Which gave Ilya an idea. The night he’d witnessed Shane’s first attack he’d also spoken to him in Russian, recited something soothing and melodic, and it had seemed to work because Shane fell asleep not soon after he started talking. With nothing else left to try, he counted on this one last thing. 

     “Hollander, look at me. Look only at me, yes?” He rubbed his hand over Shane’s cheek, trying to get him to look at him properly, and began reciting the same words he’d said that night over the phone. “Moya yedinstvennaya lyubov’ rodilas’ iz moyey yedinstvennoy nenavisti. Slishkom rano uvidennaya, neizvestnaya, I slishkom pozdno poznannaya. Eto dlya menya chudesnoye rozhdeniye lyubvi, chto ya dolzhen lyubit’ nenavistnogo vraga.”

     Shane’s eyes slowly came back into focus as Ilya’s crooned words drew him in. Eventually the glaze disappeared and was replaced once again with clarity and calm, and finally Ilya's chest unclenched. 

     “There you are, Hollander.” He smiled, though he was still trying to push past his own panic. “Are you okay?”

     “I…” He was about to say yes, that he was fine, and then turn back to the stage to pay attention to the class, but instead he tilted his head and pinched his brows. “What… What did you do? What did you say?”

     All he received was an even wider smirk from Ilya but no answer. Before he could press the issue further, something was thrust in front of his face and suddenly their professor was before them. 

     “My Gods!” She nearly screamed, and both boys turned to look up at her from their seats. “The chemistry between the two of you already is-” She growled, and though Shane couldn’t see it through the papers that blocked their views, Ilya made a disgusted face at him. “These are your scripts, please take them.”

     They both did, and where Ilya began ruffling through it, Shane slowly placed his in his lap. He looked as though if he touched it or opened it something would jump out and bite him. 

     “I have highlighted the lines already in each script, so you have Achilles and you Patroclus.” She pointed to each as she said it, then turned to address the rest of the class. “The rest of you will be auditioning in the coming days for the remaining roles, so please see your syllabus for the names of such roles as well as a brief description of what that role will entail. Once you have chosen one or two roles to audition for, please see me before the end of class to gather a script to begin learning lines. Now, the two of you.” She turned back to them, and Ilya stopped shifting through the pages to flick his eyes up to her. “Please find your way to the stage, your new home away from home, and start running lines with each other. Really work on furthering this heat between you. If you have any questions I’m available.”

     Without giving them a chance to actually ask any questions, she twirled off toward the other students and began conversing with them about their future roles. Before the silence and lull in the moment could activate Shane’s anxiety again, Ilya stood and shifted to face him. He figured if Shane’s attention was on him, he wouldn’t have a chance to give any to the panic. 

     Just as Ilya had hoped they would, Shane’s eyes followed him out of his seat and up as he stood. “So… what now?”

     Ilya smiled. He made sure it was soft and comforting because he knew that was what Shane needed right now. “Come, Hollander.” He stretched a hand down toward him. “Let us go home.”

     Shane instinctively took his hand without a second thought and let Ilya pull him from his seat, following him blindly while he led him up the stairs and on to the stage. He was starting to think that he’d follow this man to the ends of the earth if he asked him to. 

~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or come and say hi in my DM's! I love to chat <3 And if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know :) Tags: @liminalmess @shollander-rozanov @doctorryland @rosebudboi1209

     It wasn’t that Shane was anti-social, he’d actually been quite popular on his junior team or in any way that involved the sport, and he’d been looking forward to getting to know the players on the team he was drafted to. But Shane found that without hockey in his life he just didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t bring himself to make the effort beyond what was absolutely necessary for class, so he wandered day to day, never saying more than a short sentence here or there, with only the words between the pages of his favourite books to keep him company. 

     The only pleasure outside of literature that Shane allowed himself was found most afternoons when his final class of the day had finished, in a place he thought he would never find himself again. Between the hours of five and seven, Shane would make his way to the university's recreation centre, quietly slip inside, take the seat in the far corner of the ice rink he’d been occupying for weeks, and sit for hours and watch the men’s hockey team for the entirety of their practice. 

     For the first few weeks of school he completely avoided the rink. He still wanted absolutely nothing to do with hockey, or even the thought of it. Shane was afraid that seeing other men skating and playing the game he loved, the game that was taken from him, would slowly add to the void until his soul was nothing but cold and empty. But to his surprise it actually did the opposite. He found it soothing, one of the few moments in his days that he felt not an ounce of anxiety or despair. Instead he felt pride for these boys, living out their dream and playing their hearts out for their team, he also found a sense of happiness and contentment, because if Shane couldn’t play the game he was glad that these young, talented boys could. Perhaps, after everything, he was finally starting to move forward. 

     He was always alone in the rink, the players solitary spectator, but no one ever seemed to mind that he was there. Until one day he found himself with an unexpected guest. A boy. He sat closer to center ice with many rows between them, too far to initiate a conversation or give the impression that one was even wanted. Shane didn’t really want that either because, quite frankly, he felt like he was looking at a god. If the regular students passing him by in the halls was too much for his anxiety to bear, then speaking to this man would probably shut down his nervous system. 

     He was beautiful, from what Shane could see over the distance between them. There was a divinity about him, he seemed to glow with an ethereal beauty that made it feel as if Shane was physically being pulled toward him. Laying eyes on him alone was enough to shatter Shane’s soul and have him praying that this boy would put him back together with just one touch. And despite not being directly side by side, he was sure he could hear the ringing in his ears of the angels that clearly hovered over him, singing this man’s glorious praises. And that was even before Shane truly looked at the rest of him. 

     He radiated beauty and shone like a beacon in the darkness. Shane was sure if he was cut he would bleed gold. His proportions were perfect, not a limb or muscle askew, and his face could’ve been chiseled by the very masters of marble themselves. Michelangelo would surely worship this man, and The David would be jealous. And his skin, Shane wished with every ounce of his being to be graced with the privilege to feel what looked like the purest ivory beneath his itching finger tips. His second wish was to be allowed to let his fingers run through his soft curls, following the same path the gods hands surely took until his hair took on their golden essence. Shane was too far to see his eyes, nor had the boy looked over at him, but he prayed to every god that had laid their grace upon this man that one day he would get to gaze deeply into them, for he was sure if he did, he would find heaven inside them. 

     Shane was in awe of him and so completely drawn in, like a moth to a flame. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring for so long, to the point where the practice had ended and the boys were already leaving the ice. It wasn’t until the boy stood and ascended the stairs to exit the arena that Shane finally snapped from the trance he held over him. It both shocked Shane and frightened him, how intensely he’d been drawn to this boy and how fast. It was the least he could do to throw his books in his bag, run like a man on fire from the arena and back to his dorm, and lay in the dark while trying to keep the man from dominating his dreams that night. 

     Shane did not win that fight. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Shane didn’t visit the arena for a week after the blond boy set his world alight. He was too afraid to let that feeling wash over him again, that desperation to be closer, to touch, to feel, it was a craving by this point. He felt like an addict itching for a hit, and no rehab could cure him, which is why he ended up back at the arena again, and instead of his eyes following the intricate plays on the ice, they jolted between the various entrances to the arena. 

     The boy did show up, only a few minutes after Shane, and sat in the same seat he’d occupied the last time Shane was there. And unlike last time where the boy stayed completely forward, only focused on the happenings on the ice, his head turned and his eyes instantly found Shane’s. 

     His body thrummed with excitement, but his nerves also sent a shock of fear through him that froze him in place. He wanted to turn away, to pretend he hadn’t been staring at the boy yet again, but he couldn’t convince himself to do that no matter how hard he tried. And so their gazes held, and Shane found himself anticipating something, he just didn’t know what. 

     The boy nodded at him and Shane’s heart rate picked up to an unimaginable speed, but he somehow managed to force himself to nod back. Then the boy turned and paid Shane no more mind, focusing completely on the hockey as if they hadn’t even had any kind of interaction. Shane could only turn back as well and try to give the same attention to the practice, but no matter how hard he tried his eyes continued to stray, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse of the golden boy. 

     After that Shane attended the practices as he regularly did, every night after his final class, and sat in the same seat. The one week break he took after his first encounter with the boy had interrupted his routine and he hated it, so he returned to what had become his new normal, but what had changed was the boy's choice in seat. 

     He’d started off sitting in the seats directly at centre ice, and at the next practice Shane attended the boy sat one section closer. With each practice there was one less section of seats between them until, eventually, Shane sat in his usual seat at one end of a section and the boy was at the other end. So close, but still not close enough to do much more than quietly sit and watch. Then one day, mid practise, the boy stood up. 

     Shane’s body became as rigid as a statue, but he was able to watch the boy through his peripherals as he sauntered through the aisle and toward Shane. He was even more surprised when he plopped himself in the seat directly beside him. Their elbows were almost touching, Shane could feel his heat against his skin, and he closed his eyes tight with a sigh to stop himself from reaching out to touch, but the craving was a losing battle. 

     “I did not see you for a while,” the boy said, and when he spoke it was in a low husky tone that sent fire straight to Shane’s groin. Again, he had to squeeze his eyes shut to try to regain some semblance of control. “I thought maybe I scared you away.”

     “Uh, no… no, I uh-” Shane cleared his throat. “I was a bit busy, with… with classes.”

     The boy nodded but said nothing, only continued looking out at the ice. 

     Shane couldn’t take the silence, and was honestly craving the boy's voice along with that deep rumble Shane could hear in his chest. He wondered what it would feel like under his hand, or with his head laid on his shoulder, tucked beneath a blanket and surrounded by candles while he ran strong hands through Shane’s hair… Shane's entire body shuddered, he needed to get his mind away from such wishful fantasies. 

     “I’m…” He started, choked on the words, and tried again. “I’m Shane.”

    “Ilya,” he answered, and they fell into silence again. 

     “You, uh… you like hockey?” Shane gestured to the rink then just as quickly slapped his hand back down against his thighs. 

     Ilya just nodded again, still not making any effort to say anything, and Shane was beginning to think that maybe he really didn’t want to talk after all. Maybe he was one of those strong silent types, someone who craved closeness but nothing more. 

     “Me too,” was all Shane could manage to muster up as he turned toward the ice again, watching as the practice began to wrap up, “me too.”

     The boys were almost off the ice, the zamboni was on its way out the bay doors, and Shane wasn’t sure how much longer he could fester within the awkwardness. So he stood, intent on leaving, picked up his bag and took one step away from Ilya. 

     “I was supposed to play.”

     Shane stopped dead in his tracks and turned back. Ilya had his head down, eyes focused on the ground beneath his feet. It also seemed like his golden glow had dimmed, and Shane had the sudden urge to reach out and comfort him. But instead he simply sat back down and encouraged him to air his grief. 

     “Like… for here? For the college team?”

     “For NHL.”

     Shane’s eyes blew wide. How could he not have realized!? He allowed himself the excuse that he’d only ever seen him in full hockey gear, helmet included, and only ever on tv. “Oh my God… Ilya. As in Ilya Rozanov!”

     “And you are Shane Hollander.” He turned, for the first time fully facing Shane. 

     “Yes, I… yes, that’s me.” Shane turned as well, shifting until their legs brushed and a jolt shot from his knee to his thigh. Before he could let the feeling rush through him too quickly, his brow furrowed and another thought crossed his mind. “We were supposed to play against each other, in the Prospect Cup. Did you… did you not play?”

     “No,” he answered simply, “and neither did you.”

     “Uh, no… no I didn’t.” Shane rubbed the back of his neck, remembering the pain he’d been in for so long after the hit that took him out, both physically and mentally. Sometimes, when the stress of the days became too much to bear, he’d feel that pain again. Like a phantom reminder that things could have been so much better than this, if only he’d kept his head up. 

     The zamboni passed by the glass in front of them, thankfully jolting shame from the despair of his past. “I, uh… I should go, practice is over.”

     Shane stood from his seat so fast that the foldable flap nearly took him out, but Ilya stopped him with a few simple words.

     “This does not have to be.”

     Shane stopped, still bent over with the strap of his bag in his hand, and turned his head. “What?”

     “Practice may be over, but this.” Ilya gestured between the two of them. “This does not have to be. Do you drink coffee?”

     “Do I… do I drink coffee?” Shane repeated, unclear of Ilya's intentions. 

     “Yes, and if you do, would you like to get coffee with me?”

     “I… now?”

     Ilya couldn't help but laugh. “No, Hollander, in exactly one year from now. Of course now. So, do you?”

     Still lost in translation somewhere, Shane managed to force out. “Are… are you asking me on a date, Rozanov?”

     Ilya leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands in his lap. “I will leave that up to your discretion, Hollander.”

     Shane stood up straight, finally relieving the pressure on his poor back, smiling to himself as he answered, “It's a date then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Ilya took them to a Starbucks off campus, which Shane was thankful for, though not for the reason most people would think.

     “Sorry to take you all the way out here,” Ilya said as he brought their coffees over to an open table near the window, “the Starbucks on campus fucking sucks. Too many kids working who don't care, so coffee tastes like shit.”

     “Glad I'm not the only one who noticed that.” Shane was about to pull on the back of his chair and sit, but Ilya stopped him with a hand on his chest. He shocked Shane by pulling out the chair and waiting for him to sit, pushing it in as he did. Shane might have (definitely did) blush a very bright pink, and had to clear his throat before continuing, “The uh… the students who work there only do it for extra money, just until college is over, so they don't really pay attention to what they’re doing.”

     Ilya sat across from him, nodding his agreement, and they fell into that silence again. Shane normally hated heated silences like these, they made him squirm, like something was crawling beneath his skin, but this one wasn't so bad. It didn't feel awkward with Ilya, and gave him a chance to gaze upon his beauty close up. Shane had been a bit nervous to openly stare at him in the rink, but now they were face to face and Shane couldn't tear his eyes away if his life depended on it. Once again he was captured by this man, and now he was given the opportunity to further map his glorious features. The mole on his cheek was the first attribute that caught Shane's attention. It was adorable, a small speck of cuteness amongst the rest of his chiseled features. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to reach out and run his thumb over it, or better yet, pull him in by the back of his neck and feel it beneath his lips, his tongue.

     His eyes darted to the side before another intrusive thought could enter his mind, one that would be strong enough to override his brain and have him doing something he'd regret. This time his eyes found Ilya’s neck, where his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed a swig of his coffee. Shane's thoughts fell even further down the rabbit hole this time, imagining what it would look like if Ilya had been swallowing around his-

     Nope! Get it together, Shane, he tried to tell himself, to remind himself to remain calm, but he was already heading in a direction that ended in too tight pants and he wasn't sure he could stop the already upward progression. 

     He quickly shifted his eyes again and this time he found Ilya’s own, a part of him he'd been longing to gaze upon this close. Unfortunately it only made things worse, for just as Shane had expected, when he looked into those emerald eyes, speckled with gold and shimmering like the glow from an angel's halo, he did find heaven inside. And when he leaned slightly across the table, trying to cross his legs beneath it to relieve some of the sudden pressure, his breath caught when Ilya's scent overtook his senses. Something akin to pomegranate and sandalwood. A scent that Shane had never anticipated would be so enjoyable, but coming from Ilay it had his head spinning and his body feeling both numb and alight with fire simultaneously. 

     “So…” Shane started, dipping one hand beneath the table to try and subtly palm his crotch while the other rubbed the sweat from his eyes. “My, uh… my injury-”

     “We do not have to talk about it if you do not want to.” Ilya took another swig of coffee and Shane had to turn away.

     “No, I- it's okay. I think I should talk about it, at least with someone besides my mom or my therapist.” He forced his eyes back to Ilya, focusing on the strong bridge of his nose and hoping that wouldn't elicit any further unwanted rushes of pleasure. “I was still playing in the junior league, but was getting ready to head to the training for the Prospect Cup. I only had a few games left and I didn't want to leave my team high and dry, so I stayed to play as many games as I could before leaving. In my second last game I, uh… I got hit, center ice, by this guy that was twice my size and clearly didn't realize it.” 

     Shane took a second to breathe and he noticed that Ilya let him, unlike everyone he's ever talked to about this. His mom would stop him mid explanation and tell him to forget it, it was in the past and he was on a different path now, to focus on that and let it drive him forward instead of letting the memory of the injury drag him back. Or his guidance counselor, who would tell him that hockey no longer played a role in his life and had nothing to do with acquiring a bachelor of arts. Or the therapist the doctor had insisted he see in the hospital, who told him the past couldn't be changed and so there was no sense in dwelling on it or reliving it. Ilya, unlike all the others in his life who were supposed to help him, actually did by simply letting him work through it completely. 

     “I had my head down,” Shane admitted on a harsh exhale, lifting a hand to rub over his eyes, “I crossed centre ice and had my fucking head down. It was my fault, I know better than to do something so stupid. I ended up being sent flying across the ice, knocked unconscious with a fractured collar bone and a concussion so bad I could never play again because they were afraid I’d get brain damage if I was hit a second time.” He sighed hard, releasing all of his frustration until his lungs felt empty, and sat back as he smacked his hand hard against the table. “It’s my own fault that my career ended, I only have myself to blame, and that… that-”

     “Hey, shh.” Ilya leaned over the table to get closer to Shane and his hand reached out to rest on his cheek. 

     His thumb swiped just below his eye to catch a stray tear, over the spot where he knew his freckles congregated, and Shane had never felt so grounded in his entire life. The touch was more than electric against his skin, it was so warm, so reassuring and comforting. It felt like home and belonging, and Shane hadn’t felt like that in a very long time. 

     “Is okay, is not your fault. Things happen, especially when skating across ice like a maniac.” Shane huffed a light laugh. “Is no one’s fault, not even yours.”

     “I know, but…” Shane didn’t know how to explain it, he was crap at sharing his feelings, so he just shook his head and buried his face deeper into Ilya's hand. 

     “But is hard to convince yourself that is true when there is no one else to blame?” Shane jerked his head up and stared at Ilya, his eyes slightly wider. Ilya simply smiled back and it made Shane’s heart skip several beats. “I know, I struggle with same thing. I tried therapy too.”

     “Didn’t help, did it?” He already knew the answer. 

     “No.” He removed his hand from Shane’s face and ran his knuckles down his cheek before pulling away. Shane instantly missed his touch, already itching for the next hit. “It did not.”

     “Did you wanna talk about…?” Shane gestured to Ilya, though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying to get across with it. But Ilya understood. 

     “Like you said, should probably talk about it. Maybe. Yes.” 

     Like Ilya did, Shane waited patiently for him to feel comfortable to start. 

     “My injury was not as glamorous as yours.” Shane rolled his eyes with a smirk, trying to keep it light, but stayed quiet. “It happened during training camp for Prospect Cup. I collided knee on knee with player on my team and was taken out of practice. He got away with physio and was able to return for games. I was told if I played again, in a few years I would be looking at multiple surgeries and lifetime of chronic pain. They told me was better if I quit.”

     “I’m sorry.”

     Ilya shrugged. “It also happened right in front of Boston scouts, they dropped me as potential draft on spot. And after news of my injury got around, no one else would want to draft me anyways. So I quit.”

     “I’m still sorry, that sucks. I mean.” Shane shrugged too. “I know the feeling.”

     “What can you do? I love hockey, but it was also an easy way out of Russia.” Shane wondered what he meant by that, and a sudden rush of rage washed over him. Had something happened that forced him out? Had someone been treating Ilya poorly in Russia? For the first time in his life Shane felt the intense urge to find and make pay anyone who had, but he didn’t press the issue. “Is just sad because had I been able to play I definitely would have been first draft.”

     Shane laughed, actually laughed, a whole hearted and deep chested noise. God, it felt amazing. “Over me? Maybe in your dreams.”

     “Bold of you to assume I dream about you.” Ilya winked, sending Shane’s nerves into all kinds of chaos. It also took every ounce of strength he had in him to not blurt out to Ilya the fact that he’d already been dreaming about him. “We probably would have been rivals, yes? Me, the star of Boston, and you, playing for some… third rate team who couldn’t even clinch playoff spot. We probably would have hated each other.”

     Shane couldn’t bring himself to believe that. Even after spending so little time with Ilya he couldn’t even dare imagine hating him, but he couldn’t tell him that, not so soon. So instead he said, “Look, I… I’m sorry I didn’t realize it was you sitting in the arena with me. After my injury and watching my entire career fall apart I just kind of… let it all go. I stopped paying attention because I had to, because-”

     “Because it made you jealous.” Ilya had once again wholly and completely understood Shane’s feelings. And since it was a statement rather than a question, he knew Ilya was speaking off experience. “Because that was supposed to be you on ice and not them. Because you let everyone down, including yourself, and keeping yourself in the hockey world was only constant reminder.”

     “Yeah,” Shane said, slightly breathless, “yeah, exactly that.” He waited a beat and then he added, “It’s nice to talk to someone who actually understands.”

     “It is,” Ilya agreed, “we should do this more often, maybe, probably.”

     Shane perked up, trying not to let the smile take over his face. “Like, more dates?”

     Ilya shrugged. “Yes. Is that what you want?”

     He nodded, quite vigorously at first, and then slowed his movements to make himself seem less eager. It didn’t work. “Yes!” He nearly yelled, to the point where a few people in the shop turned to look at them. “I mean, yes, I would… I’d like that.”

     Ilya chuckled, his beautiful eyes lighting up Shane’s entire soul. “Then we will.” Then Ilya stood and Shane mirrored him. “But I must go, class early in morning.”

     “Uh.” Shane looked at his watch, not realizing just how long they’d been sitting. “Shit! Yeah, me too.”

     They left the shop together and stood outside the door for a second before Ilya turned to him. “See you tomorrow, at rink?”

     “Same time, same place.” Shane smiled. 

     Ilya reached out and touched his cheek, turning Shane's skin an intense rouge. The roses would be jealous. “Save me seat,” he said before turning and heading to his car, waiting until Shane was in his own before he pulled out of the parking lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     They made a habit of meeting up. It had become almost ritual to head to the rink after class, sit with Ilya while watching the boys practice, while conspiring between them who they thought would be the lucky ones to make it. So far the odds had been on a player with the last name Straughten who had more than proven his skills on the ice. 

     “Has good backhand,” Ilya had said, pointing to the man as he scored a goal during a three on three scrimmage, “and is excellent stickhandler. Boston would love to have him.”

     Shane had agreed, but then pointed toward another man, one much larger than everyone else on the ice. “Graves.” The man in question skated by the glass where they sat, and both of them felt a chill run through their bodies. “Fitting last name, as that's where he's going to land the people he hits on the ice. I’d hate to play against him.”

     “He will make good enforcer.”

     “The Metros could use a guy like him,” Shane said and turned to Ilya, “or the Centaurs.”

     Not only would they spend their nights together at the rink, but most days afterward they would head over to the Starbucks off campus and continue having “dates”. They never did more than sit together, drink coffee and talk for hours, but every night Ilya would refer to their outings as dates and continue to ask for more. Shane wasn't sure if it was some kind of language barrier or if Ilya really did consider them dates, but either way Shane didn't mind nor was he going to correct him. It gave Shane something to look forward to, and for the first time since arriving at school he didn't feel completely alone.

     “That book in your bag,” Ilya said one night as they sat at their usual table, coffees in hand, “what is it about?”

     “Which one?” Shane asked, turning his head to look down at his bag by his feet. Ilya must have seen the collection of books he dragged along with him when he opened his bag to grab his wallet. 

     “Is brown, with gold letters.”

     Shane perked up and reached down to unzip his bag and pull out the book in question. “It's actually a play, do you know Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare?”

     “No.” Of course he did, everyone did, but he shook his head then rested it on his hand and gazed across the table at Shane. “Tell me about it.”

     Shane straightened his back and shimmied in his seat. Ilya loved seeing him like this, excited to share something he loved, something he was passionate about. And to be honest, Ilya just loved hearing his voice, so any time he could get him going about a topic of interest he took full advantage.

     “It's about two star crossed lovers named Romeo and Juliet,” he started, and Ilya settled in, happy to listen to him until the sun came up then set again the next morning, “they fall madly in love with each other but it's forbidden because their families have been at odds for years…”

     Ilya had never smiled so much in his life, at least not for a long time.

     It continued like this for weeks. It was blissful, filled with sweet contentment, until the last week of the semester came around. 

     “No practice next week, because of exams,” Ilya said as he sat back in his chair, taking a quick sip of coffee, “then two weeks off before next semester starts.”

     “Oh, uh, yeah…” Shane couldn’t look at him and instead ran his fingers nervously over the Starbucks logo on his cup. He knew this was coming, had honestly been dreading it, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it until now, and that was only because Ilya had brought it up. “I’m actually flying home on Wednesday right after my last exam. I won’t be back until the day before classes start up again.”

     “Ah,” was all Ilya said with a nod, seemingly sounding as full of despair as Shane felt, “so no dates for a while, then.”

     Shane shook his head. “No dates.”

     They were quiet for a moment, neither saying anything or even looking at the other.

     “I can call you.” Ilya broke the silence and his declaration surprised Shane. “I mean, I could call you, if that is what you want. FaceTime is thing, yes?”

     “Y-yes,” Shane stuttered, eyes comically wide. “I mean, yes you can call or FaceTime me. I’d… I’d like that.”

     Ilya shifted forward and waved his fingers at Shane. “Give me phone.”

     Shane handed it over and watched as Ilya added his number into his contacts and sent himself a message before handing it back. 

     “Do you need ride to airport?”

     He shook his head as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. “No, that’s okay, I can just take a cab, I’m sure you’re busy with exams.”

     “I will take you.” His tone left no room for argument so Shane didn’t bother. “What time is flight?”

     “My exam is over at eleven.” He made a face, eyes tilting upward while he calculated the hours. “My flight leaves at two so… I'm going to be cutting it close, but I’ll have to leave straight from the exam. I guess I’ll just bring my bag to class with me.”

     Ilya stood as the employee that usually served them on their nightly coffee dates waved at them, signalling that she’d be closing the shop in five minutes. He pulled a ten out of his wallet and left it on the table for her as he did every night, to say thanks for letting them sit until the very last minute with no trouble. “I will pick you up at eleven on Wednesday.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

     When Shane got in Ilya's car he was handed a Starbucks coffee before he was even able to buckle his seatbelt. He took a sip, slow, and tested it on his tongue. It was his exact order, Ilya had remembered. 

     “How was exam?” Ilya asked as he pulled out of the campus parking lot. “Did you pass?”

     “I think so.” He took another sip of the coffee, revelling in the warmth sliding down his throat, and sat back in the seat and sighed. “Thanks for this.”

     Ilya hummed. “Have you eaten?”

     As if summoned Shane’s stomach growled so loud it echoed through the car.

     “So, no.” Ilya chuckled. 

     “I haven’t yet, but we don’t have time to stop, I don’t want to be late.”

     “No need to stop.” Ilya reached a hand into the back seat, ruffling around while keeping his eyes glued ahead. Eventually he found what he was looking for and pulled it forward, placing it on Shane’s lap. 

     Shane’s brows furrowed as he opened the blue fabric lunch box, and inside he found cut fruit and veggies, protein bars, yogurt, and an organic orange juice. “You made me lunch?”

     Ilya reached over and pulled on another zipper at the bottom. “There is also sandwich in bottom compartment. And don’t worry, I used only organic foods and the bread is gluten free.”

     Shane couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “You remembered my diet?” No one had ever paid that much attention to Shane in his life. 

     “Of course,” he shrugged, “how could I not, is all you ever talk about. All-grain-this, and bird-food-that-”

     Shane reached over and punched him in the arm, but both of them were laughing. 

     Ilya lifted his hand to run from the top of Shane’s head down to the back of his neck. “I knew you would not eat before exam, you stress too much. Eat now, relax, I will get you to airport in time.”

     Shane did as he was told and sat back against the chair to eat the lunch Ilya had packed for him. He wondered how long he’d been awake making the food, he also wondered if he had gone out and purchased all of the ingredients. Shane didn’t know everything about Ilya yet, but he did know that his diet was nowhere near as intense as his and he detested the lengths Shane would go to for it. So he must have gone out of his way to ensure he bought things Shane would actually eat, to make sure he wasn’t hungry getting on his flight. It made Shane’s stomach explode with butterflies. 

     They fell into their usual comfortable chatter about anything and everything. It was so easy to talk to Ilya and Shane was thankful for that, and eventually they pulled up to the drop off area at the airport. Shane had initially been excited to go home, he’d had this flight planned since the day he stepped foot on campus, but now that he’d met Ilya he didn’t really want to leave. 

     He sat in the car, fidgeting with his hands, not sure what to say or do. The obvious thing was to get out of the car and head inside, but his body had suddenly stopped listening to his brain. 

     “Hollander, if you don’t get out of my car you will be late.”

     “I… right, right.” His body finally jolted into action and he was able to open the door and get out. 

      Ilya got out too and beat him to the truck where his bag was, handing it to him before leaning on the back of the car. Shane took it, and when his eyes lifted to find Ilya’s he cursed the man who invented sunglasses, he’d hoped to be able to gaze upon heaven one last time before he left. 

     “Have good flight, Hollander,” he said. 

     “Thanks.” He shifted the bag onto his shoulder. “Are you heading home too, or…?”

     He shook his head. Shane was sure he caught the slightest hint of a quiver in his bottom lip, but it happened so fast he couldn’t be certain, and he dared not ask. “No, I am staying on campus, in dorm room.”

     “Well, don’t study too hard while I'm gone, and I’d say don’t miss me too much but I know that’ll be impossible.”

     Ilya laughed, then pushed off from the car and turned, suddenly wrapping Shane in the tightest, most comforting hug of his life. “Good bye, Hollander.”

     “See you soon,” he said, muffled by Ilya's shoulder as he held on for as long as he could, before pushing back and turning toward the doors. 

     “Hollander.” Shane turned back. “It will be a few hours before you get through airport and land at home, yes? So, if I was to call you, say around nine?”

     Shane smirked, it was impossible to fight it. “I might answer.”

     “I might call.” Ilya nodded, then walked around the car to open the driver's side door. Before he got in he added, “See you next semester, Hollander.”

     “See you next semester.” Shane waved and then forced himself to turn away and head into the airport. 

     Ilya didn’t drive away until Shane was inside and out of sight.  ~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N: I hope you all enjoyed! More to come soon! And if anyone wants to be tagged I would be more then happy to add you to the list <3

     In his last days with his junior team, Shane took a nasty hit at the centre line. He woke up in the hospital two days later with no memory of the game or being taken away on a stretcher. His mother and father were there, holding his hands while his mother cried through telling him that his NHL career had ended before it even had the chance to begin. The doctors were concerned about how bad his concussion had been, and though it could’ve been much worse, the risk of returning to the game was far too high. If he took another bad hit, or even a lighter one at the wrong angle, Shane could be looking at brain damage. As soon as he heard those two words, he knew his dreams were over. 

     Yuna didn't give him a second to dwell on it. She had him set up with a councillor to help him get on a new career path, a new dream to work toward, immediately. She made sure that depression didn’t have a chance to cross his mind before he was being paraded around campus after campus, given full tours and told what an honour it would be to have him at every school he visited. He was offered every scholarship for every program, every opportunity, every door wide open and waiting for him to walk through and reap the rewards waiting on the other side. But despite the fact that his mom tried her best to keep a positive outlook and keep Shane in as high of spirits as possible, it wasn't as easy for Shane. 

     Depression did hit him. His entire life he'd had everything planned out, down to the very last detail. He'd be drafted as the number one overall pick, to a team close to home and his parents. He'd be one of the top players in the league, the top player if he had anything to say about it. Live out an illustrious career, one day land himself in the Hockey Hall of Fame, marry a nice girl, have an army of kids and maybe a few dogs, and when all was said and done he'd retire happily at the cottage he'd buy with his wife, where they could sit back and watch their children and grandchildren grow. It was the perfect plan. Simple. Everything Shane ever wanted, and it was violently ripped away from him without warning. So how could he not give in to the depression just a little bit?

     He stopped watching hockey, stopped thinking about it, his parents couldn't even talk about it around him. Every sports channel was removed from every tv or streaming device in the house, every picture or jersey or piece of memorabilia his parents had collected had to be removed and hidden away in storage, Shane even made Yuna take his first year Timbit picture off of her key ring. But unfortunately it couldn't be blocked out of every aspect of Shane's life no matter how hard he tried. 

     It was advertised on social media platforms, jerseys worn by fans on game days were shoved in his face at the grocery store, when he was out for dinner with his parents, even just while walking out on the street. There were posters plastered on bus stops, play-by-plays were announced on the radio, and as much as he tried to block it all out he found himself surrounded by endless reminders that the only thing he had ever wanted was no longer within his grasp. It got to the point where Shane stopped leaving the house all together, and instead took up permanent residence laying on the couch with a pillow hugged tight against his chest. For weeks he stayed like that, not talking, not moving, with his eyes glazed over and a distant look overtaking them. His parents didn't know what to do and nothing they tried helped. So instead, Yuna focused on getting him to eat and drink, and his dad sat with him in silent companionship at a loss for anything else. Yuna’s last desperate attempt to try and motivate her son away from the darkness that had captured him was university brochures. She placed them in front of him on the coffee table one day, with not a single word uttered, but a smile that let Shane know she was there when he was ready and so was a new dream for him to hold on to. 

     He waited until she left, and even hours afterward, but eventually he reached out and sifted through them one by one. There was one for each of the campuses he and his mom had visited, she’d even gone through and written in each one what the school was offering him and highlighted a few programs she thought he would like. He sighed hard as he pulled one out that had caught his eye, and sat up. It was a further reminder that hockey was over for him, but at the same time perhaps he should see it for what it was. It may not be the bright future he’d always dreamed of, but it would still be a bright future nonetheless. 

     When his mom came home that night, Shane was sitting up on the couch instead of lying down, the brochures spread out on the couch beside his leg, and his laptop full of open tabs with possible program choices. She walked over and again, without a word said, kissed the top of his head and smoothed her hand down his hair as she made her way into the kitchen. Things may not ever be what shane wanted them to be, but he knew no matter what everything was going to be okay. 

     When it finally came time for him to choose his new path, he went with the most easy going and least academic course he could find; literature. Aside from hockey his second love had always been reading, and recently it was about the only thing that helped him to forget about the life he’d lost and instead transport himself into a much needed escape within the pages. So it seemed the only logical choice. This way he could focus on studying the prose trapped between the pages that he so desperately wished he could meld himself with, and for a short time fill the hockey shaped void within him. 

     It wasn’t, by any means, a perfect solution, but for now it was all he had to hold on to, and his grip was white knuckled. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Ilya… He simply wanted to escape. 

     He didn’t necessarily care that it wasn’t the NHL helping him get out of Russia anymore, as long as he got out. Hockey was his initial path away from the dangers of living in a country that hated who he was, where he lived in constant fear and spent every waking second looking over his shoulder, wondering if today would be the day someone found out. 

     Some days he walked through the streets like a criminal on the lam, with his head down and his hood up, hands in his pockets and shoulders slumped. Most nights he couldn’t sleep and instead lay awake so the nightmares would stop assaulting him. Visions of the aftermath of his choices would come to him on those nights when he couldn’t force his eyes open any longer. Some were of the violence he’d surely face if his brother ever knew, or the feel of cold iron clasped around his wrists if his father heard, and others… were of the disappointment on his mother’s face if she were alive, though not for disgust of what he was but of fear for her precious child. 

     Sometimes he wondered if it would be better to just surrender, to tell them and let the nightmares become reality. The consequences might be dire, but the lifting of that burden would be bitter sweet. To breathe freely again, Ilya would give most anything.

     But he knew that path, as weightless as it would be, was not his best or only present option. Hockey may no longer be there to shield him, but there were other ways out. No matter what, he knew one thing for certain, he could not stay in Russia… His mother would not want this life for him. So Ilya was forced onto a new path, one that took him from beneath mountains of sweaty gear to something much… less, something he never thought he’d find himself doing in a million years. 

     It was this or Russia, he thought to himself, and it could not be Russia. 

~~~~~~~~~~~ Tag List: @liminalmess @shollander-rozanov @doctorryland @rosebudboi1209

     He whined and jerked forward when Obi-Wan thrust a bit deeper and hit that perfect spot. His other hand moved from the mattress to wrap around Obi-Wan’s neck, pulling himself close enough to whisper in his ear, “Lay me back and love me hard. Make me shake, make me scream your name. Give me everything.”

     “Anything you want, my love, I will give you.”

     He laid Anakin back on the bed and hovered over him for a moment, just staring at the beautiful man beneath him. It was moments like these that made him think back to that swamp, to almost losing Anakin, losing all of this, because of the Council and his stubborn loyalty to a system that kept him from love. And everyday he gets to spend with Anakin now, be it in bed wrapped together skin on skin, or merely settled together on the couch in perfect silence, cuddled beneath a blanket and just being, he treasures each and every second because he knows what it feels like to lose it all. And he never wants to feel that hurt again.

     Anakin's hand came to rest on his cheek, pushing back slowly to caress the back of his head and tangle his fingers in his hair. "What are you thinking about?"

     Obi-Wan closed his eyes and let himself bask in Anakin's touch for a moment, before he opened them and smiled down at him. "You," he answered, "and how truly lucky I am to have you here with me right now, how I came so close to losing you." 

     "Don't think about that," he pulled Obi-Wan closer to him, pressed their chests together and rubbed their noses, "we are here together and that's all that matters. The swamp, the witch sisters, the Council, they are all in the past. From now on it's just you and me."

     "You're right, dear one," Obi-Wan answered, settling even more between Anakin's legs, making him moan when his cock shifted inside him, "what I should be focusing on now is ravishing you as thoroughly as you desire."

     Anakin hummed and turned his head when Obi-Wan leaned forward to suck on his neck, just below his jaw. "Get to it then, old man. I'm waiting."

     He chuckled into his skin, the vibrations in his chest making Anakin arch and buck up into him. "So impatient, and so bratty." He lifted to kiss him once, and then a second time much more thoroughly. "I love you so much, Anakin."

     "I know," he smiled, his own feelings shining through his eyes, "of course I know, and I love you too."

     Without another word shared between them Anakin grasped tightly to Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and Obi-Wan began thrusting his hips against Anakin with a brutal pace. Their lips rested together, tongues occasionally licking at the other's mouth, swallowing each other's moans and panted breaths. 

     Anakin's fingernails left red marks in Obi-Wan’s shoulders where they dug in, and Obi-Wan surely left finger shaped bruises on Anakin's thigh where he held his leg in place over his back. Their bodies rubbed and smacked together, their moans and cries filled the room. The bed rocked with their synchronized movements as their bodies met with each snap of Obi-Wan’s hips. But it was just them, just the two of them and their love for each other on clear display for one another. They could hear it, feel it, taste it. It was perfect, and from here on out it would always be perfect.

     Anakin squeezed his legs tighter around Obi-Wan and lifted his body closer to meet Obi-Wan’s thrusts, pushing him impossibly deeper inside him. "Obi-Wan," his head tossed back and moaned the name, before breathing in Obi-Wan’s ear, heady and husky, "I'm going to come, Obi-Wan, make me come."

     He instantly picked up his pace, his thrusts becoming shorter and increasingly erratic. Soon their movements became jerky and uneven, both of them panting and trying desperately to breathe.

     Anakin felt his torso tighten as his release came and he arched through it, scratching his nails down Obi-Wan’s shoulders as he came between them. Obi-Wan wasn't far behind, only a few staggered thrusts before he was coming too, his hips held deep inside Anakin as he claimed him and collapsed ontop of him.

     The two of them laid there for a while after that, sweat slicked and covered in Anakin’s come. When their breathing calmed and the bliss allowed them to slowly slink back to reality, Obi-Wan rolled to the side and pulled out of Anakin. 

     He whined at the loss and the feeling of Obi-Wan’s come running out of him, but before he had a chance to complain Obi-Wan was already there cleaning him up. He took his time running the wash cloth over his body, leaving gentle kisses along Anakin's body as he did, cherishing the man every second he could. He would always take the time to love him like this, and when they escaped the swamp together he swore to himself he would never let a second pass without loving him.

     When he was finished, he laid back on the bed and opened his arms for Anakin to lay on his chest. Anakin tucked himself into Obi-wan’s chest while he held him close and rubbed his hands up and down his back, and for the better part of the day they stayed like that. At some point they fell asleep wrapped together atop the sheets, the sun filtering through the windows and warming their stretched out limbs. 

     Obi-Wan woke first in the late afternoon with Anakin still passed out on his chest. He leaned down to kiss his head, pressing his lips to his skin until he began to stir and finally woke.

     "Welcome back, my love," Obi-Wan smiled down at him and ran a hand through his hair, "sleep well?"

     Anakin hummed pleasantly and plopped his head back on his chest. "The best sleep of my life, as is always the case after you pound me into the mattress."

     "Don't talk like that, dear one. We do not have time to start with round two."

     "Awe, come on, Obi-Wan," he said, reaching a hand down to run at Obi-Wan’s crotch, his cock responding to him instantly, "we have time."

     "As much as you know I would love to," he pulled away and twisted put from beneath Anakin to hover over him instead, "but you know we have company coming this evening, and we are not presentable."

     "Right," he groaned, "Padmé and Quinlan are visiting today."

     "Yes, so let's get up and get ready, they should be here very soon."

     Obi-Wan lifted himself up and walked toward the fresher. Anakin lifted up to rest on his elbow on the bed and watched Obi-Wan as he walked. His eyes caught on every muscle as he moved, the curve of his back, his round yet sculpted ass. He also caught all the marks he'd left behind not too long ago, the crescent nail Marks on his shoulders, the long red trails where he had dragged his fingers down as he came, the bruises just above his ass where his heels had dug in. He sighed and laid back, trying desperately to tamp down his arousal that came on just from looking at Obi-Wan. He couldn't believe this man was his.

     "Anakin, get out of bed, my love," Obi-Wan called from the fresher, "or do I have to come over there and carry you?"

     Anakin simply lifted both arms from where he was still laying on the bed and waited. As promised Obi-Wan came over and lifted Anakin over his shoulder and carried him to the fresher while he laughed. They both got ready together, washed their passion off of each other and dressed. As much as Anakin had been ready to rile Obi-Wan up despite their incoming company, both Anakin and Obi-Wan also loved moments like this, simply being in each other's company without anything or anyone hanging over their heads.

     "Are you ready, my love?" Obi-Wan asked as he walked over to Anakin and fixed a stray piece of hair.

     "Ready." He smiled and took Obi-Wan’s hand, entwining their fingers and walking out of their room with him tucked close to his side.

     "Let's go welcome our guests then."

~~~~~~~~~~~

     They stood out front of the house and watched as the ship hovered above for a moment before landing softly in the front yard. Anakin was practically buzzing beside Obi-Wan to the point where he had to hold him back before he charged the ship.

     The door opened and Padmé and Quinlan were there, Padmé running down the ramp to collide in a tight hug with Anakin. 

     "It's so good to see you," Padmé said, then let go of Anakin to move over to hug Obi-Wan, "you both look so good!"

     "You as well," Obi-Wan said, then turned to Quinlan, "it's good to see you, my friend."

     "And you, Obi-Wan." They clasped each other in a quick hug.

     Obi-Wan placed his hand on Quinlan’s shoulder and moved him a few steps to the side, out of earshot of Anakin and Padmé who were happily captured in a conversation. "Is there any news?"

     "Nothing more than the last time we visited," he answered with a shrug, "the trial against myself and Padmé is over now, after a year of utter nonsense, but thankfully we have both been acquitted. As for the Council, the news on them is the same. They will never stop hunting you, either of you, but as of this point there is nothing more they can do. Both Padmé and I will take your secret to the grave, and they will never find you here. These lands are protected by Naboolian law, so they can hunt as long as they wish, but you and Anakin are free to live out your lives here together, happily and with no worries."

     "I'm glad to hear your trial is over, and I'm sorry we dragged you into this."

     Quinlan scoffed and gave Obi-Wan’s shoulder a hard pat. "Sure you are." Obi-Wan rolled his eyes playfully. "But you know I would do it all over again if I had to, both of us would."

     "And we thank you for that, truly. You have both given us so much, we owe you everything." He reached out and placed his hand on Quinlan’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

     "You owe us nothing," he answered, "and you know I will continue to keep a close eye on the Council. If I hear of any stirrings in regards to you or Anakin, you can trust I will always be ten steps ahead of them."

     "Thank you, dear friend." He pulled Quinlan in for another quick hug, then turned with an arm still around him. "Anakin, should we take our guests inside for dinner?"

     Anakin nodded and ran hand in hand into the house with Padmé, soon followed by Quinlan and Obi-Wan. They all sat down for dinner, talked about everything and anything, and at the end of the night they stood outside and watched Padmé and Quinlan’s ship leave their front yard, with promises of another visit soon. 

     They both settled into bed not long after that, tangled together beneath the sheets. Anakin fell asleep fast and Obi-Wan, as always, spent a while watching him peacefully dreaming on top of his chest. He smiled, thankful that they were together, thankful they had friends looking out for them, and thankful his love was safe, that they were both safe.

     The last thing he did before he let sleep take him too, was reach a hand down to his robes that he had dropped beside the bed before getting in. He rustled around until he found the pocket, reached in, and pulled out the small black box that Quinlan had subtly passed him later on in the night, before he had left.

     The ring inside had been one that Obi-Wan had custom designed himself and asked Quinlan on his last visit to have it made. It was a simple golden band with the date he and Anakin had met engraved on the inside of the ring. Their lives on Naboo had been perfect thus far, a dream since they had left the Council behind them, but Obi-Wan could not wait until the next morning, when he would propose to Anakin and make their lives even more perfect then they already were. He could not wait to marry his love, to finally be one in every way, and that night he went to sleep with thoughts of their wedding day on his mind and Anakin consuming his dreams. 

<- PREVIOUS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "I've tried! I've tried but I can't figure it out. No one seems to be the light within him."

     They all clicked their vile tongues, the sound echoing around him through the swap. "All this time and you never figured it out?" One of them said, sounding amused. "We thought the answer was quite obvious. Or perhaps you aren't as smart a Jedi as we thought."

     "Obvious," he repeated while shaking his head, "obvious? What is so obvious about it?! You made it so that Anakin can't even tell me who I'm looking for! How can it be obvious when you've made it the complete opposite!"

     "We said he could not tell you, but we know you have been given clues."

     "Riddles is more like," he shot back, "and I've no time for yours either!"

     "Now now, Master Jedi," the voice rang through his ears, sending another shot of pain through his head, "we are only trying to help you. There is no need for anger."

     "How could I be anything but angry?!" He shouted incredulously, "You cursed Anakin, he's dying before my very eyes. If you had only just left him, you had already escaped so why did you have to curse him?!"

     "We were trying to give you the happy ending you both deserve."

     He gawked into the fog, he couldn't believe what he had just heard. "How in the Force is this a happy ending?! I am about to lose Anakin, someone I care about very much!"

     "And how does that make you feel, Obi-Wan Kenobi?" One of them asked.

     "I would have thought my anger was quite clear!"

     "No," one scolded, "no, Master Jedi, not anger. What else do you feel? Look deep within yourself and tell us what you feel."

     "I don't have time for this-"

     "Answer the question!" The shrieked response nearly had Obi-Wan falling to his knees with his hand over his ears. "Answer the question and there is a chance you will find the answers you came here to seek."

     "Fear! I am afraid of losing Anakin."

     "And why is that, Master Jedi?"

     He thought, dug right down to the very bare bones of his emotions. "Because I…"

     "Yes?" They drawled in unison, awaiting his answer.

     "Because I don't know life without him," he answered honestly, "Anakin… Anakin is my life. Without him, what else do I have?"

     "More, there must be more, Master Jedi," one of them said, "keep going."

     "I… No!" Obi-Wan shook his head, his anger returning in full. "I do not have time for your games! Anakin's time is dwindling with every second I waste here answering your pointless questions. I need you to save Anakin, reverse this curse you've put on him, stop him from dying! I demand it!"

     "How unfortunate it is that we do not answer to demands from Jedi."

     "If you do not return with me to Coruscant, willingly," he reached his hand down to his belt and placed it over the hilt of his lightsaber, "then I will kill you all before you have the chance to kill Anakin and take him away from me."

     They all laughed. "Whether we are dead or alive, Anakin Skywalker will still die by our spell if his light is not found in time. Killing us won't save him."

     "Then curse me too!" He screamed. Tears brimmed his eyes, desperation thickened his voice as he raised trembling hands out toward the fog. "If you won’t save him then curse me and allow me to die by his side, because a life without Anakin is not one I want to live!"

     "You are so close to saving him, Master Jedi," one of the witches said in reply, "it is a wonder you can't see it, how simple it is."

     "See what?" He cried. "I have had enough with the word games and the riddles, I beg of you, just save him. Please, don't let him die, don't let him leave me!"

     "We will leave you with this, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Whether or not Anakin is saved is your choice, and all you need to do is speak three very simple words to do so. But they must be spoken in earnest and be true of heart, else the curse will take its toll and Anakin will be lost to you."

     Obi-Wan shook his head, his brows scrunched together as he tried to unravel their tangled words. "What words do I have to say?! Just tell me so I can save him!"

     "We have already told you enough. You have all you need to figure out how to save Anakin." Their voices began to fade and Obi-Wan’s panic became tighter in his chest. "We wish you luck, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

     "Wait! Come back! Come back and save Anakin!" It was no use, his shouting fell on deaf ears. He felt the moment they left him alone in the swamp, when the chill in the air vanished and all hope of saving Anakin went along with it. "No… no!"

     He dropped to his knees and smashed his fists against the surface of the water. That was his last chance, and now that he had failed, Anakin was going to die. He didn't know what else he could do, he didn't know what these words were he was supposed to say to save Anakin's life, and the crushing reality of having to live without him felt like a vice. 

     He smacked the surface of the water again, and then again, and over and over until he was exhausted with the effort. And on his last swing he lifted his head to the sky and let out a gut wrenching scream before he curled in on himself and cried.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

     "Where is Obi-Wan!?" Padmé turned to Quinlan who was pacing back and forth between Anakin's bed and the doorway, peeking his head down the hall with each loop he made. "Anakin's not doing well, he's burning up. If Obi-Wan doesn't hurry up then-"

     "I know, I know," Quinlan sighed and stopped his pacing to run a hand down his face, "I should go get him and drag him back, and when I do I should just force the two of them together."

     "You can't. If Obi-Wan is told anything or forced into feeling something he doesn't, then Anakin will die."

     "He is dying Padmé!" He gestured his hand toward Anakin laying in the bed, tossing side to side and writhing under the pain of the spell breaking the final strings of his tether. "He hasn't got long. At this point telling Obi-Wan outright is the only hope Anakin has."

     "Obi-Wan…" They both turned away from their argument and snapped their heads to Anakin. "Obi-Wan!" 

     Both Padmé and Quinlan cast sorrowful looks away from the young Jedi. He continued to call out to Obi-Wan, and it made them all the more angry that he had taken off and left Anakin so close to the end of his time. 

     Quinlan huffed and growled low in his throat as Anakin let out another desperate cry of the man's name. "I'm going to get him." He grabbed up his cloak and turned out the door, anger in his determined steps, but made it no further than the sitting room.

     The door opened and Obi-Wan slowly shuffled in. He didn't even look up as he passed Quinlan standing there staring at him. "Where the kriff have you been? The Council is pissed and currently out for your head." Quinlan said, and still he didn't look at him. "Anakin’s dying!"

     Obi-Wan’s hand flinched at his side and he turned sharply, landing himself nose to nose with Quinlan. "I know! Of course I know!"

     Quinlan shook his head. "I don't think you do, Obi-Wan." He thought back to the echo he'd sensed from Anakin's lightsaber, and the similar words that spilled from Anakin's mouth. "You can stop this, but you don't have much time left."

     "What do you think I was trying to do?! I went to that wretched planet to try and force those damned witches to reverse their spell, but it didn't work! They refused me no matter what I said or bargained for. I don't know what else to do!"

     "Anakin doesn't need the witches, he just needs you!" He stepped closer to Obi-Wan and placed both hands on his shoulders. "Obi-Wan, you-"

     "Guys-" Padmé ran in from Anakin's room, and by the look on her face they both knew without any more words exactly what she was going to say. 

     They both ran past her and into Anakin's room where the boy was lying still in the bed. The only indication that he was even still alive was the shallow rise of his chest and the barely whispered call of Obi-Wan’s name still on his pale lips. It made Obi-Wan’s heart sink to his stomach, to see Anakin as sickly as he was, calling out to him in what could be his last few hours, maybe even less. It also infuriated him that he wasn't able to save him. All that time spent searching for a way to keep him alive and he failed at every turn. He had let Anakin down and now he was going to have to live the rest of his life without him.

     It was too much, too horrid of a future for Obi-Wan to even consider, and despite the fact that he was basically staring it in the face, he refused to accept it. If those witches wouldn't listen to him, then he would find another way to make them bend to his will. 

     Obi-Wan lifted his head to glance out the window above Anakin's bed, then jolted forward to gently lift Anakin into his arms.

     "What are you doing?!" Padmé shouted and chased after him as he left the room with Anakin. "He is in no state to go anywhere!"

     "It's his last chance," he answered as he made it to the door and waved his hand to open it, "and we still have some time left, enough to jump to the planet where the witches are and make them heal him."

     "You tried that already," Quinlan said, "it didn't work, you told me yourself they refused you."

     "This time I am bringing Anakin to them, and this time I am not leaving until they heal him." 

     Quinlan and Padmé both followed Obi-Wan all the way down to the hanger, and all the way to his ship. He boarded it without a second's hesitation and tossed over his shoulder, "Either get on or get out of the way. If you're not on board by the time I have Anakin settled, I will not wait for you."

     With a quick glance between them they both ran to quickly board the ship behind Obi-Wan.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Quinlan stood outside the door where Obi-Wan had taken Anakin, his own quarters on the ship. He'd been standing there for a while, just staring at the door and not moving. There was so much they needed to talk about, but the last thing he wanted to do was interrupt what precious little time the two of them had left together. But he had to.

     He waved a hand and opened the door and quietly walked in. Obi-Wan was sitting in a chair next to Anakin's bed, softly running a cloth over his fevered skin. Quinlan felt horrible for entering the room and leaning on the posts at the end of the bed, tearing Obi-Wan’s attention away from Anakin. 

     “Obi-Wan,” he called gently, and the man slowly sat back in his chair and turned to him, “Obi-Wan, what are we doing? Is it wise to be dragging Anakin to another planet when he is so close to-”

     “Don't.” He stopped him short, his eyes shut tight. “It's the only hope I've got left. The witch sisters wouldn't help me, but maybe if I bring Anakin to them then they will change their minds once they see what they've done to him.”

     Quinlan sighed and offered him a sympathetic smile. “They are Dathomiri witches, I highly doubt you will have the outcome you are hoping for. I fear sympathy is not within their emotional range.”

     “I know…” He shook his head and reached forward to take Anakin's frail hand in his. “But I have nothing else to hold onto right now.”

     He watched him for a moment, watched him caress Anakin's hand, then he moved to sit on the edge of the bed facing him. “Obi-Wan, the Council already came looking for you the first time you took off, and once they find out that you've left Coruscant again to head to this planet, they will track you down and bring you back. They don't want you having any more contact with the Dathomiri witches. If hunting you like an animal is what they have to do to stop you, then that's exactly what they will do.”

     “But Anakin's life is at stake!” He shouted and ran a hand down his face. “At this point I don't care what the Council thinks or does, I am going to the witch sisters and I am going to force them to save Anakin. As for you and Padmé, you're either with me or you can take the spare pod and head back to Coruscant. You know the way to the Council's chambers if you wish to aid them in their pursuit of me.”

     “I'm with you.” He leaned in and placed a hand on his friend's knee. “Of course I'm with you, Obi-Wan, and Padmé is too. All I’m saying is once we land you won't have much time. Not only is Anakin's time running very short, as the sun will be fully set on Coruscant very soon, but the Council is surely right behind us.”

     He nodded his understanding, then looked back to Anakin.

     Quinlan’s eyes drifted to where their hands were still clasped together and took a breath. “Obi-Wan, there's something-”

     “Guys.” Padmé's voice came over the coms. “We’re about to land. We should get ready, we’ll have to be quick about this.”

     Obi-Wan nodded to himself. Not only did he know they were both right about the Council being more than likely right on their ass, but Anakin himself didn't have much time left. 

     He leant over Anakin, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the younger man’s, taking a quiet moment between them to breathe him in. Then he pulled the blankets back and lifted Anakin's frail form into his arms again. It pulled at his heart how light he had become, barely feeling like a feather in his arms. But he pushed that thought away and willed the tears to stave off. Getting him off the ship and to the witch sisters was what was most important right now, and hopefully the only tears he would be crying soon would be tears of joy.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Their feet splashed through the thick green bog as they ran. They hurried deeper into the fog, where it packed into the bog in the thickest section, searching for the spot where Obi-Wan knew he would find them.

     "Obi-Wan," anakin called his name from his arms, barely a whisper, "Obi-Wan, it's okay, just… just let me go."

     He gaped down at the man and shook his head. "No, I can't, I won't. I cannot live without you, Anakin, i refuse."

     "Looks like you're going to have to." He reached up with a shaking, boney hand and gently caressed Obi-Wan’s cheek, his fingers catching in the scraggly mess his beard had become. "You can. Just forget me and live your life, don't let the Council bound you to their wills."

     "Anakin-"

     "You tried, Master, it's okay."

     "It's not!" He stopped, dropped to his knees in a deep crater of water that submerged him to his waist and covered most of Anakin. 

     Padmé and Quinlan both stopped abruptly behind him, nearly running straight into him. 

     "Is this it?" Padmé asked, looking around. "Is this the spot? Where are they?"

     Quinlan’s head turned on a swivel as well, his eyes searching and his ears listening, but even the great tracker couldn't hear or sense a thing on this densely covered planet.

     Then came the haunting laughs, the bone chilling voices that Obi-Wan now felt a raging anger toward. 

     "Master Jedi." Their voices echoed in their ears, causing Padmé to quickly lift her hands to cover hers before they continued. "You return, and with your padawan, we see."

     He lifted his head with a deep chested growl. "Save him! Lift your curse and save him now! Look what you've done to him!"

     "We have not done anything, Master Jedi," one of them answered, "you are the one who has made him suffer."

     "I've tried to save him!" He shouted into the fog. "I have spent every day since you cursed him trying to save him, but I cannot compete with Dathomiri magic. I am just a man, but you can save him."

     "Just a man you may be," the second sister said, "but perhaps that is exactly what the young Jedi needed. Or wanted," she added with a playful lilt.

     Obi-Wan shook his head, the tears he had willed away earlier now starting to win the battle. "Save him," he pleaded desperately, "save him, please! He's all I have, I need him."

     "We already told you we cannot save him, only you can do that."

     "Is it me you want?!" He screamed, desperate. "If it is then take me, take my life in place of Anakin’s, I give it gladly! Just let him live, please, I beg you!"

      "Master, no." Anakin lifted his trembling hand to graze softly against his cheek, and Obi-Wan looked down at him. He had opened his eyes to barely narrowed slits, but the look in them made Obi-Wan’s stomach turn. "Master, I won't let you give your life for me."

     "Anakin, I can’t live without you, you are all I have," he said, dragging his fingers through Anakin's hair as he leaned in and touched their foreheads, "but you can live without me."

     "No-" Anakin started to say, but Obi-Wan stopped him.

     "You can." He nodded against his forehead. "You have so much more than I. You have Padmé, you have your friends within the Council and the temple, you have a whole life ahead of you to live. A life that is wide open and full of hope. My entire life consisted of you and only you, and I would not have had it any other way. So if giving my life for yours allows you to keep living, then I willingly give it. I would rather die than live without you in my life."

     "Master Jedi." The witches spoke in unison, all emerging from the fog to surround the two Jedi huddled together in the water. "You truly wish to give your life in place of his? With your whole heart, you would die so he may live?"

     "Yes." He looked up to them, desperation seeping from his widened eyes. "Take it, just let him live!"

     The witch sisters glanced between themselves before nodding, and looking back down to Obi-Wan. "Your words are true and your intentions are pure, we will accept your bargain. We will take your life in place of the younger Jedi."

     "It's yours!"

     "Very well then." All three witches raised their arms and tilted their heads toward the sky as they began to chant together. "In the name of Dathomir and our mothers before us, we accept the life of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi in place of the young Jedi Anakin Skywalk-"

     "It's you!" 

     "What? Obi-Wan looked down at Anakin again.

     "It's you, Master," Anakin answered, "it's always been you. You are my light."

     "No," he shook his head, "no, it can't be me, it… it can't."

     It was less a refusal then it was a denial, something Anakin knew himself all too well. He had spent the entire time he was under the spell wondering and worried that Obi-Wan didn't love him back, but now that he was on his last few minutes, just seeing the same look on his face that he had surely donned himself, he felt at ease knowing it was indeed reciprocated. He only regretted that it was all too late.

     Anakin nodded as much as he could. "It's true, Obi-Wan. Without you I would have fallen to the darkness a long time ago. I-" He stopped, his breathing suddenly becoming all but small, weak gasps.

     "What's happening?! What's wrong?" Obi-Wan panicked, his head darting back and forth between the three sisters around them.

     "Your young Jedi has broken the most important rule of our spell," one spoke, "you were not to know that it is you who keeps him tethered, that it is you who he holds most dear."

     "Oh, Anakin." Obi-Wan Looked back down to him, his eyes barely open slits as he peered up at him. "Why would you tell me this? Now you're going to die and I… now there is nothing I can do!"

     "Just answer one question before I go," he whispered, his thumb rubbing the skin beneath Obi-Wan’s eye and catching a tear, "I would rather die knowing the answer than to live forever hoping. Do you love me, Obi-Wan? More than a friend or a brother. Would you… would you have been able to save me if you'd known my light was you?"

     "Yes!" He said it without pause, not a second's hesitation because it was true. He had loved Anakin for so long, and just like the younger, had lived in the shadow of the Council and the fear of rejection. But nothing he had ever confessed in his life had been more fierce than the love he felt for Anakin. "Yes, Anakin, of course I love you. And I can still save you, I can-"

     Anakin shook his head. "No, it's too late, I broke the rule." His voice was barely there, his breaths even shallower now as his hand began to slip from Obi-Wan’s cheek. "At least I know."

     "No! No, Anakin, don't-"

     "I love you too, Obi-Wan…" 

     His hand fell from Obi-Wan’s face and splashed into the water beside him. His head lulled to the side as his eyes closed fully, and Obi-Wan couldn't hear the shallow gasps anymore. Ice coursed through his veins while he watched Anakin, hoping, even though he knew it was useless. But he still prayed that he would turn and look at him, that his chest would rise with life and his beautiful eyes would peer up at him. But none of that happened, Anakin only grew more limp in his arms. 

     Obi-Wan shook his head slowly, eventually turning sporadic as he clutched Anakin's face between his hands. “No…” he whispered, “No, no this can't happen. I can save you, I can save you!” 

     He leaned down and kissed Anakin once, twice, a third time, but nothing changed. Anakin still remained unmoving and cold, his lips like ice against Obi-Wan’s with every kiss. 

     “Force, please, Anakin.” He kissed him again, and again before shouting, “Anakin, please!”

     He leaned in and kissed him one more time, this time lingering his lips on his in a bruising press. But it still changed nothing. Anakin was gone, and he was the reason why.

     Obi-Wan pulled back with a whine, his bottom lip trembling where it still ghosted against Anakin’s. “I’m sorry,” he breathed as the tears assaulted him without mercy, “I'm so sorry, Anakin. I failed you.” He rubbed his nose against Anakin’s before gently pressing their lips together again, this time whispering an almost silent, “I love you too,” before letting the sobs wrack his body and completely break him.

     Padmé and Quinlan had watched the entire exchange in silence. Watched as their friend died right before them, as their other friend lost the deepest love he’d ever had, as their entire world shattered. “Fix it,” Padmé said when she could stand it no longer, remaining helpless and silent while the witch sisters watched and did nothing. Then she turned to them, tears streaming down her own cheeks as she threw her arms to her sides and screamed with all the force she had in her body, “Fix it! Fix it, now! Fix it!” 

     Quinlan caught her by the waist when she began to step toward the closest sister, and pulled her into his chest. He cradled her there while she sobbed just as hard as Obi-Wan, her chest heaving with the effort as her legs gave out and he caught her in his embrace. 

     “Padmé,” he gently called to her, holding her closer, “there's nothing we can do, he's gone. I’m sorry, I'm so sorry.”

     She shook her head, her hands clutching to his arm across her chest as she let him take her full weight, falling to the ground with her while she tossed her head back and screamed straight from her core. 

     Her cries mixed with Obi-Wan’s sobs where he still hovered over Anakin's body cradled in his arms. It was his fault, all of it. Anakin's suffering, his death, even the spell, all of it was because he loved Anakin all this time but was too much of a fool to see it or admit it. Too caught up under the Council and their ways to let them both just be happy together, as more than they were. And now he never will be. 

     He lifted his head just slightly from where it rested on Anakin's cheek, enough to rest their noses side by side. “Anakin, I love you so much, I hope you know that,” he breathed against his frigid skin, “and I am so sorry that you loved me in return. I would have rather lived a thousand lifetimes in denial of our feelings for each other, then be forced to live this one knowing you did love me and now I cannot love you back. I’m sorry, dear one, I'm so sorry-”

     Obi-Wan choked on the last words, unable to say anymore as the sobs picked up again. Then his head jolted up, movement and the sound of sloshing water catching his ears. He clutched Anakin closer to his chest, the water rippling against them as the witch sisters walked closer, all of them moving to stand near Anakin's head. They all knelt down and reached a hand toward him, but Obi-Wan pulled him away again. 

     The three sisters all looked up to meet Obi-Wan’s red rimmed and swollen eyes, and though they said nothing, and every instinct in him was screaming to pull Anakin impossibly closer, he suddenly felt calm. It was as if something was telling him that even though his life had just fallen apart in his arms, everything was going to be fine, like there was suddenly a light at the end of his tunnel that just moments ago had been snuffed out. 

     They reached out again and this time their fingers grazed Anakin's forehead. As soon as they touched Anakin he was bathed in a white glow, his entire body lighting up until it engulfed them all completely, overtaking the entire bog and blinding them. 

     Obi-Wan closed his eyes and though he didn't want to let himself trust a hope, he couldn't help it. He took that moment, surrounded by the light, to pray to the Force with everything he had to bring his love back to him. If it never did anything for him ever again, he only wished for this.

     When the light subsided and he opened his eyes, Anakin’s were still closed and his body was still lifeless. A pang hit his heart when Anakin didn't move, didn't look up at him, didn't breathe. He never should have hoped.

     He was about to give up and let go completely when Anakin's eyes jolted open, wide and panicked, and his chest heaved in a heavy gasp. Obi-Wan lunged back down to him, grasping his once again full cheeks between his hands, revelling in the warmth radiating from Anakin's skin. His thumbs ran under the taught skin beneath his eyes, free of the dark circles that had formed, and a thrill ran through his body when Anakin's hands grasped his forearms, no longer feeling thin and frail, and once again strong. 

     “Anakin!” He cried and pulled his face closer, wanting to feel the breaths against his skin as Anakin breathed once again. “Thank the Force, I thought I lost you, I was sure I'd lost you.”

     He looked up to Obi-Wan, still clutching desperately to him. “What happened? Why am I alive, I broke the rule?”

     “You did,” the sister in the middle said and took a step forward, “but it would seem your bond is too strong to break, even for witches as powerful as us.” She smirked down at the two of them, then cast her gaze solely on Obi-Wan,. “Do not let this go, be fools no longer, second chances like this are not so easily given. Cherish it, as you should cherish each other from here on out."

     Obi-Wan nodded, holding Anakin closer as he said, “Thank you, thank you so much.”

     They disappeared back into the fog after that, not another word uttered from any of them, and if he never saw them again Obi-Wan thought it would be too soon. 

     Anakin's hand on his cheek gained his attention, pulling him away from staring after the void where the witch sisters had been. He looked down at Anakin, his love, and finally his beautiful eyes were gazing back up at him. They were just as full of love as he knew his were, and now they were full of promises. Promises of forever together, no more longing, no more distance, no more Council, no more fear of having to go on without the other. 

     “So,” Anakin began with a smile, a gorgeous beaming grin that Obi-Wan was certain he would never see again, “I guess since I'm currently alive, this means you do love me afterall.”

     Obi-Wan shook his head and bit his lip to hold back a sob. He touched his head to Anakin’s and closed his eyes, took a moment to breathe him in, before he gently pressed their lips together. “I have always loved you, Anakin, and I'm sorry it took me this long, but know that I am never letting you go again.” 

     The next press of lips was more, deeper and connecting on a level that even their bond had never bought them. Anakin wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pulled him closer, tilting his head to deepen the kiss further, parting Obi-Wan’s lips with his own. Their tongues explored, hands tangled in hair, everything around them disappeared until it was just the two of them in their own world, and neither one of them wanted to ever let go again. 

     "I'm sorry to interrupt this perfect moment, I truly am." Quinlan’s voice pulled them both back to reality, and they both looked over at him. "But I sense another presence, the Council is here, Obi-Wan, the two of you must go."

     Obi-Wan nodded. "I sense them too." Then he accepted Quinlan's outstretched hand, allowing him to pull both himself and Anakin back to their feet. "Thank you, my friend."

     "I told you I stood with you, with both of you." He glanced over to Anakin tucked into Obi-Wan’s side, then smiled back at Obi-Wan, "And perhaps a slimy swamp isn't the most romantic place."

     Obi-Wan huffed a laugh. "Perhaps not."

     "Where can we go where they won't find us?" Anakin asked. "The Council has a wide reach, and I can guarantee that after everything we put them through recently, they won't just let us go."

     "I've already got that covered." Padmé stepped forward and placed a holo in Anakin's hand. "Go to the coordinates I stored on this, you'll be safe there. I promise the Council cannot get to you there."

     Anakin took it and nodded to her, whispered a quick but sincere, "Thank you, Padmé."

     She held his gaze for a moment, and kept his hand in hers, before she lunged forward and captured him in a tight hug. "I'm so glad you're alright, Anakin," she whimpered and wiped her cheeks as she backed away from them, "now both of you have to hurry, before they find us. Get back to the ship and leave."

     "What about the both of you?" Anakin asked, looking between them. "We can't just leave you here."

     "We'll be fine," Quinlan said, and placed a hand on Padmé’s shoulder, "don't worry about us. No go, before it's too late. You know if they capture you here, they will rip you away from each other and keep you apart for the rest of your lives. You will never be able to be together if you don't leave and forget the Order, put it behind you for good. And, Obi-Wan, when I come to visit I expect a king’s welcome."

     "Thank you again, we will not forget this." Obi-Wan said to them both, before he grabbed Anakin's hand and turned to run through the swamp and back to the ship.

     Padmé and Quinlan stayed in place and waited. They watched as the ship flew low over their heads before taking off toward the planet's atmosphere and disappearing from sight. When no other ships followed it, they both released a sigh of relief. Their friends were safe.

     It wasn't long after that they heard the rushed footsteps of the Council encroaching on them, and they were faced with at least a dozen armed Jedi and Master Windu leading them.

     Quinlan smirked and stepped forward, keeping himself a few paces between Padmé and the Jedi. With his arms crossed he chuckled and tilted his head at Windu as he asked with a snarled tone, "Don't you think dragging an entire squad to a foreign planet to track down two Jedi is a bit overkill?"

     "Enough games, Quinlan," Windu scowled at him, "where are they?"

     "Where are who?" 

     Windu lunged forward and held his ignited lightsaber inches away from Quinlan’s face. But Quinlan didn't move, didn't so much as flinch, and instead continued to smile at the Master. It only angered Windu, which was exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

     "Fine," Windu grumbled, "if you won’t tell me, then you will tell the Council during your trial. Get moving."

     He shoved Quinlan by the shoulder, turning him in the direction of their ship, and he went willingly with both hands up alongside Padmé. As they walked with the entire squad of Jedi behind them, they glanced over at each other and smiled. They didn’t need to speak to know what they were both thinking. Trial or no, they would never tell the Council, the Jedi, the Senate, or anyone else where Obi-Wan and Anakin had gone. They would take their secrets to the grave, even if it meant Quinlan lost his rank or Padmé was removed from the Senate, Anakin and Obi-Wan would remain safe. 

<- PREVIOUS EPILOGUE ->

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     One day. Twenty-four hours at most was all Anakin had left, and still he did not know how to save him. Since Quinlan’s arrival he had taken his advice to heart. He’d gone back and revisited every person close to Anakin and had them all come visit him a second time. But Quinlan’s theory didn't work. Obi-Wan had Council members, Jedi Masters and Knights, diplomats, and even friends they had made along the way make a second journey to see Anakin, and still none of them had been the saviour he was hoping for. Anakin still laid in his bed, unable to move now and dying before his very eyes, and not one person of the hundreds he called upon for help were the light Anakin needed to live. He didn't know who else to call at this point, there was no one else. Clearly Quinlan was wrong, and whatever he thought he'd seen was a lie, yet another manipulation by the witch sisters. 

     "The witch sisters…" Obi-Wan’s head shot up, his eyes wide and distant for a moment before he jumped out of his seat and grabbed his lightsaber from the table in front of him.

     "Ah, Master Kenobi," Threepio said as he shuffled in from the front hallway, "you have a visitor, a one-"

     He ignored the droid and pushed right past him in his rush. He heard a very disgruntled, "Master Kenobi!" come from the droid behind him, but he didn't care. 

     He reached out and wrenched the door open, but was stopped by a body. "Padmé!" He looked down, startled.

     "Obi-Wan, what is going on?" He merely shook his head and stared past her to the hallway beyond.

     "I'm sorry, Padmé, but I must-"

     "No." She stopped him with two hands against his chest. "I want to know what is going on. It's been weeks and no one has contacted me to let me know if Anakin's okay. I have left you messages that you haven't returned, and I want to know everything right now!"

     He took in a shuddered breath and his eyes instantly filled with tears. "Padmé, he-" He choked out, turned his head to try and gather himself before continuing, "He's dying. He's dying and I can't save him. I've tried everything."

     "You still haven't figured it out yet?!"

     "He won’t tell me!" He shouted and threw his hands back in his hair again. "And I have tried to figure it out, but I can't. Everyone I've brought to him has failed, and I don't know who else it could possibly be, I've tried everyone!"

     "Not everyone, Obi-Wan." She reached out and grabbed him by both shoulders, then spoke firmly. "I want you to go in there, look deeply into Anakin's eyes, and tell him everything you feel when you do."

     "No," he shook his head and backed away from her hold, "no I can't."

     "Yes, you can."

     "I can’t!" He yelled, almost screamed. "He… he’s stopped eating, Padmé, he can’t get out of bed, hasn't been able to for days now. He's so… so frail and fragile, and seeing him like that is too much. If I go in to see him now all I'll end up doing is breaking down, and he doesn't need that, nor does he need to hear how filled with sorrow and anguish I am."

     "Look past that, Obi-Wan, look past it to the Anakin you know. And once you've looked deep within him and yourself you'll know exactly what to say."

     He shook his head again and looked away from her, shameful.

     Padmé forced out a quick, hard breath and took a purposeful step toward him. "Obi-Wan, you can save him. You can save him if you just do what I’m telling you to do!"

     "I… I can't do this." He waved his hands in the air and darted around her. "I don't have the time or the patience for your or Quinlan’s riddles. If you know how to save Anakin, then please tell me exactly how to do that, otherwise I have one last option. If this doesn't work then… then Anakin…"

     He couldn't even say it, couldn't finish the sentence because he didn't even want to consider a galaxy where Anakin was lost to him. So he just turned away and stormed out the door.

     Padmé called after him, even chased him down the halls, but he was gone. Far too determined to do whatever it was he thought was his last ditch effort to save Anakin. All she could do now was hope he came back in time.

     She turned back and made her way toward Anakin's room. If she couldn't get Obi-Wan to see reason, the least she could do right now was be with Anakin. 

     Quinlan was at Anakin's bedside when she entered his room, patting a cool cloth over the young Jedi’s forehead. He looked up to her as she entered, the look on his face told her all she needed to know. 

     "Anakin," she spoke softly as she took up the chair on the other side of Anakin's bed, reaching her hand out to hold his frail hand in hers. It was cold, so cold it nearly made her recoil from the touch, but she clasped his hand tighter in her own. "Anakin, it's Padmé."

     He slowly turned his head to her, and attempted to open his eyes. "Padmé," he whispered, and his whitened lips cracked as he spoke, "Padmé, he doesn't know, he hasn't-"

     "Shh." She leaned in and ran her free hand down his cheek. "He will, Anakin, there's still time. We will make him see that he's the answer."

     "There's not enough time, and what if he doesn't even…"

     "He does, I know he does. He's just as stubborn as you are. But I promise we will get him to come around in time. Now you just rest, okay, we’ll be right here with you." 

     She held his hand until he fell asleep, his breaths falling into an even, but still wheezy rhythm. Then she sat back in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I should have come sooner."

     "I don't think it would have helped," Quinlan said.

     She turned to him. "I could have forced this along quicker if I had. I should have known Obi-Wan would be too hard headed to admit his obvious feelings."

     "Honestly, I've tried. He is convinced he is not the answer. I've all but told him outright, and he's still denying it."

     She sighed and ran her hands down her face. "This has become such a mess. If Obi-Wan doesn't come back before the sun sets then-"

     The door to the apartment burst open and both Quinlan and Padmé looked to each other with hopeful glances. Perhaps Obi-Wan had seen reason and turned back.

     They ran from Anakin's room and toward the front hallway, but stopped as soon as they saw who was there. 

     "Master Windu," Quinlan greeted him, though quite tensely, "what can we help you with?"

     "I was informed that Obi-Wan’s ship left the temple hanger not long ago," he answered, looking between Quinlan and Padmé, "it seems his ship is heading for the planet where Anakin was cursed. What is he up to?"

     "We don't know," Padmé answered this time, "he left without telling us where he was going or why."

     "The second he returns he is to report to the Council. The last thing we need is another Jedi getting tangled up in the magic of Dathomiri witches." He turned and headed for the door, before turning to toss over his shoulder. "You would be wise, Master Vos, to remove yourself from whatever Obi-Wan has gotten himself into, the Council is not impressed."

     When he was done, Padmé and Quinlan gave each other knowing but worried looks. They both knew exactly what Obi-Wan was doing heading back to that damned planet, but neither of them were sure what good it would do. Obi-Wan was the only one who could save Anakin, but this was not the way to do it. At this point all they had left was hope that Obi-Wan would get back in time, that he would realize his love for Anakin, that Anakin would be alright. Unfortunately though, the farther Obi-Wan travelled away from them, the dimmer that hope became.

<- PREVIOUS NEXT ->

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     He scoffed, an action that only brought on another harsh fit of coughs. "I don't think we have a choice." He took the offered glass of water Obi-Wan passed him from the table, and took a long sip before passing it back with a shaky hand. "And I don't have much time left anyway. Less than a week at this point, and you've had half the galaxy come here to test their compatibility with me."

     "If you would just tell me who it is-"

     He raised a hand as high as his weakened arms could manage. "I have already told you a hundred times, I can’t. I know you want to know so badly, but all that will do is kill me sooner."

     "This is ridiculous!" He slammed his fist on the table and stood, making Anakin jump in his seat. "If you won’t tell me who it is then how am I supposed to save you?! In our work we meet thousands of people on a regular basis, and I've already invited everyone here to meet with you who's more than a simple acquaintance. My next move is to start calling people we've merely passed in the streets and hope it's love at first sight, but then how am I expected to weed through the entire galaxy in less than seven days?!"

     "Obi-Wan, I know your frustrated-"

     "Frustrated doesn't even begin to cut it, Anakin!" He turned back to Anakin just in time to watch him suck in a shuddering breath, and he instantly felt terrible about his tone. "Anakin, I-"

     "Master Anakin, Master Kenobi." Obi-Wan held Anakin's gaze for a second longer before letting loose a heavy sigh and turning to the golden droid. 

     "Yes, Threepio?"

     "A Master Vos to see you." 

     Obi-Wan nodded and followed the droid down the small hallway to the door, where Quinlan was already waiting. 

     "Quinlan."

     "Obi-Wan," he smiled, though it was soft and sympathetic, "I would ask how you are but I've already spoken with the Council, I know things are not going so well."

     "And that is exactly why I've called you here." He grasped Quinlan’s shoulder, looking at him with a desperation Quinlan had never seen in his friend before. "I need your help."

     "What do you need me to do?" 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan, I can't help you."

     "Why not?" Obi-Wan asked with a shake of his head. "You're the best tracker the Order has. If not you, then who?"

     "Honestly, no one." Obi-Wan shook his head again, harder this time, and turned away from his friend. "Obi-Wan, I'm sorry, but there is no way Dathomiri witches as powerful as these could be tracked and taken off guard. The fact that you were even able to subdue them the first time around was no feat of skill or luck. They wanted you to find them, they knew exactly what they were doing when they let you take them from Dathomir. Not to mention they easily infiltrated the mind of a very powerful Jedi, as if it was nothing to do so, if they do not want to be found I can guarantee you they won't be. And I have tried in the past to track such powerful beings with no success. It is not a matter of you finding them, if they want to, they will find you."

     "I…" Obi-Wan slumped back against the wall and ran his hands down his face. "I don't know what else to do."

     "Unfortunately I think your only hope is to find this light you told me about."

     "I've tried!" He raised his hands and slapped them down hard on his thighs. "All I've been doing is searching and so far I've come up empty handed at every turn. But… but you haven't tried yet! Anakin knows you, he’s met you in the past, perhaps you-"

     Quinlan raised both hands to stop him. "I can assure you, I am not Anakin’s light." Both of their heads lifted and peered down the hall as another fit overtook Anakin. Quinlan turned back to Obi-Wan and a pang clenched his stomach at the look of pain on his face. "But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try and see what Anakin says."

     Obi-Wan hurried them both further in, past the entryway, and to where Anakin was still sitting on the couch. He ushered Quinlan forward, gaining Anakin's attention as they entered.

     "Master Vos." Anakin pushed up on shaky legs, but barely got halfway up before Quinlan was stopping him.

     "No need to get up on my account, Anakin." He gently pushed his shoulders back down with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

     "Not great." He gave the older master a weak smile.

     "Anakin." Obi-Wan took a step forward, placing a hand on Quinlan’s arm. "Could Quinlan possibly be…?" He let the question hang in the air, but the second Anakin met his eyes he felt that all too familiar drop in his stomach.

     "No, Obi-Wan, it's not Master Vos."

     He sighed hard, turning away as he was once again lost. He knew it was foolish to trust the hope that maybe Quinlan could save Anakin, but now he really didn't know what else to do. 

     "I need some air, if you'll excuse me." Without turning back Obi-Wan left the room, he left so quickly that Anakin didn't even have a second to try and stop him.

     Instead Anakin remained seated on the couch, silent, while Quinlan stood in the centre of the room with his arms crossed and stared at him.

     "So," Quinlan began with an odd lilt to his voice, one that had Anakin gazing up at him quizzically, "I feel like there is more to the story then what Obi-Wan Is telling me."

     "What did he tell you?"

     "The basics, I think." He ran his fingers across his chin as he slowly walked a bit closer. "You were on a mission together, your captives escaped and led you both to a planet you've never been to before, you got separated, and you ended up being cursed by the three witch sisters from Dathomir."

     "Yeah," Anakin sighed and slumped back on the couch, "that's pretty much it."

     "Pretty much," he agreed, then held up a finger, "but not everything. He also told me something about a light inside you keeping you tethered, and if you don't find this light then you're going to die." Anakin just nodded this time. "So, Anakin, who is it?"

     "I can't tell you."

     "Why not?"

     "It's part of the conditions of the spell," he explained, "if I tell anyone, the witch sisters said they would break the tether and I would die."

     "So you can't tell anyone who this light is?" Anakin shook his head but avoided eye contact entirely. "Do you mean you can't tell anyone or you just can't tell Obi-Wan? And you're worried that if you tell me then I'll tell him?"

     Anakin flicked his eyes to Quinlan and gave him a hard look, to which Quinlan smirked. "And why is it part of the stipulations that you can't tell Obi-Wan specifically?"

     "I can't tell you," Anakin was becoming more and more frustrated with each passing second. Of course he wanted to tell Obi-Wan and Quinlan, but he couldn't. They were too close, and if Quinlan knew he would surely tell Obi-Wan, and he couldn't have that. "Obi-Wan can't know anything, if he does then I will die. And as for you, you're too close to him, I can't risk you telling him anything."

     Quinlin shrugged his lips and nodded, then said with a shrug to his shoulder, "That's fine. But if you won’t tell me…" He turned swiftly and held his hand out toward Anakin, directly at his hip, and Forced his lightsaber into his hand. "I'll just find out for myself then."

     Anakin didn't even have a second to react, and even if he had he was far too weak to even attempt to stop him. "I forgot you have psychometry. It's not fair, really."

     "Not fair for you, but very helpful for me." He smirked at a clearly angered Anakin, then closed his eyes and let the memories of that dreaded night fill his mind.

     He heard the entire exchange in whisps and broken visions. He heard the witch sisters cackling in unison, he saw Anakin standing confused and fearful in the swamp, surrounded by invisible dangers. He heard the sisters speak about the dark cloud that loomed over him and the light within that he kept at bay. He felt Anakin's panic when they asked if he knew, and even more so when Anakin replied with a desperate, "I know! Of course I know." And then he heard the name spoken through the dense fog surrounding them, the name of the light within the young Jedi that kept him tethered to the light, the name that Anakin had tried so desperately to keep to himself, and now he understood why. "Obi-Wan Kenobi."

      Quinlan gasped as he opened his eyes and fell out of the memory, then locked eyes with Anakin. He tossed him his lightsaber, which Anakin barely caught before looking away sheepishly. "Obi-Wan." He crossed his arms and sat on the small table across from Anakin. "I can't say I'm surprised."

     "You and everyone else apparently, everyone except…"

     "Except the one who holds the key to your survival." He sighed and placed a comforting hand on Anakin's knee. "If you can't tell him, since it's a stipulation of the spell, what if I told him? Then he would know and he could save you."

     Anakin shook his head, still keeping his eyes down as he answered in a solemn tone, "No, he can't know. He has to come to the realization that he loves me on his own. His feelings can’t be coerced or fake, and can’t simply be the love a master feels for their padawan, they have to be genuine feelings of love for me. That is if he even has such feelings, if he doesn't then…"

     Quinlan squeezed his knee. "He does love you, Anakin, I know it. He's just too stuck on the code. It's been all he's ever known his entire life, and surely he's having a hard time going against what he knows for how he feels. But maybe I can move the process along, drop some hints here and there and try to get him to come to realize that he is the one who can save you. He just has to forget about the Council."

     "But like you said, Obi-Wan lives for the Council and the Order, he knows nothing else. Even if it's what will save me in the end, I won't make Obi-Wan go against everything he's ever believed in. Not for me."

     Quinlan shook his head and clicked his tongue at Anakin. "The two of you are perfect for each other. Never have I met more stubborn men, can't live without each other yet self sacrificing to keep the other alive." Anakin actually smiled at that. "Look, Anakin, he'll come around and realize it, he will. And I will do my damndest to help without breaking the rules of the spell."

     "I just hope he realizes it before it's too late."

     Quinlan sucked in his lower lip and worried it between his teeth before he answered, "Me too."

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Quinlan found Obi-Wan on a balcony off one of the more private training rooms in the temple. He kept his back to him as Quinlan walked up and stood beside him. They both leaned against the railing, looking out over the sun as it set below the city, remaining in silence until the sun had almost vanished.

     "Only a few more of these left." Quinlan turned to face Obi-Wan, But the other man's eyes remained fixed on the horizon before them. "Only a few more sunsets before I'll lose Anakin, and all to something as uncivilised as a spell cast by Dathomiri witches."

     "Anakin is a strong man, don't give up hope on him yet." He turned and leaned one elbow against the railing before continuing. "And you know, you've been going so far out of your depths to try and find this light inside of Anakin that will save him, but have you considered your reach is too far?"

     "What are you saying?"

     "I'm saying that perhaps your solution lies much closer to you than you think."

     Obi-Wan finally turned to him, but his brows were scrunched together and his head was slightly shaking. "I have considered every possible lead here on Coruscant already. I've had Anakin meet with other Jedi, former Padawans from his youngling years, even members of the Council. And if you're suggesting Padmé I've already tried that."

     "No, I’m not talking about Padmé," he said and shifted closer, "the two of them are friends and nothing more, that much is obvious. I'm talking about someone else, someone much closer to Anakin, someone Anakin looks up to, someone who leads him and guides him."

     "One of the Masters?"

     "Yes!" Quinlan perked up, pointing at Obi-Wan with wide excited eyes. "Yes, a Master."

     "I've already tried that too." He turned away, landing his eyes on the now nearly black sky. "I even tried each member of the Council, though much to their disapproval."

     "Are you sure you tried every Master and every Council member? Is there anyone you could have left out?"

     He thought for a moment, but shook his head. "There is no one left."

     "There has to be someone left." He shifted even closer. "Who do you know within the temple right now that Anakin is very clearly attached to? Never leaves their side, always seeking them out, to train, to talk, to just be in the same room. I know you know someone who fits that description."

     "No," he sighed, "Anakin isn't close to any other Jedi Master or Council member, not like that anyway. Not enough to save him, and I’m starting to think that whoever they are, we won’t be finding them in time."

     "Kriff, Obi-Wan, I've all but spelled it out for you." He slapped a hand across Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

     "Do you know who it is?" Quinlan just stared at him, but the second Obi-Wan met his eyes he had his answer. "Tell me! Tell me now so I can save Anakin-"

     "Just because I managed to figure it out doesn't mean the rules have changed, Obi-Wan. I can't tell you just as much as Anakin can’t, it will kill him. You'll have to just figure it out on your own, same as I did."

     "You can sense Force Echoes," he scolded, "I can't, and I have tried everything, I don't know what else to do. You're my only hope." 

     "I'm sorry, my friend, but all I can really say without putting young Anakin in much greater danger, is that your solution is closer than you think. Right under your nose actually." 

     Obi-Wan sighed and slumped himself over the railing. "I will go through all of the Council members and Masters again, but I honestly don't know what more I can do. You're saying the solution is right under my nose, but I am not seeing it. I just hope I can figure this out before it's too late."

     "You will, Obi-Wan, I have faith that you will." He leaned on the railing beside him, shoulder to shoulder, then added, "And I'm going to stay for a while, help you out as much as I can while you figure this all out. I may not be able to tell you what I know, but I can try to help in other ways if I can."

     "Thank you, it means a lot to have you here." He reached up and placed a hand on Quinlan’s shoulder. He was a solid, grounding weight beneath his hand, as he always was in such hard times as these. It was just what he needed.

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “It is nothing that will affect the Queen in a negative way, I assure you,” Obi-Wan answered and turned into the throne room, knowing that was where Gregar would have Padmé meet them, “I merely wish to speak with her over a matter involving my former Padawan. We need her help to solve a problem that arose during a very recent mission. I do believe she is the only one who can help us.”

     “I am sure she will do whatever she can for both of you.” Gregar nodded to each of them.

     “And what is it that you need me to help you with?” They all turned toward the doors to the left of the throne and watched as Padmé walked in, flanked by four of her Handmaidens, and walked down the steps of the dias to join them. “Whatever it is, I would be glad to do it. Anything for the two best Jedi in the galaxy.”

     Obi-Wan reached back and found Anakin, grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to Padmé. “I need you to kiss Anakin.”

     Padmé baulked at him before shaking her head. “Except that.”

     “You must,” he practically begged, pushing Anakin impossibly closer to her, “you have to, I… I need you to! Everything will become clear when you do, but this is a matter of life and death. Please, Padmé!”

     “Alright, alright.” She raised her hands, shaking her head and looking up at Anakin in question. He merely raised his brows and rolled his eyes.

     The two moved closer, each with the same look of apprehension, neither of them really wanting to fulfil Obi-Wan’s task. But with the way he was eyeing them both, they didn't think they had much of a choice. So they closed the gap between them and pressed their lips together in the most chaste of kisses. It was strange and awkward and, in Anakin's opinion, the complete opposite of what the witch sisters were looking for in a spark that would ignite the light inside him enough to save the bond. Though he knew even before they landed in Naboo that Obi-Wan’s plan wasn't going to work. 

     The two of them backed away after only a few seconds and turned to look at Obi-Wan. His eyes darted back and forth between them, one hand raised to his chin, and his brows raised expectantly.

     “Well?” He asked, looking directly at Anakin. “Anything? Has the spell been broken?”

     “No, Master.” he shook his head with a solemn look of his own. “It hasn't.”

     “And you knew it wouldn't, didn't you?” Anakin nodded. Of course he knew that Padmé wouldn't break the spell and save his bond, only Obi-Wan could do that, and he couldn't even tell him.

     “What is all this about?” Padmé asked, “What spell? What happened to you two, and why was my kissing Anakin a life or death situation?”

     Obi-Wan turned to answer, but ended up just shaking his head and turning away. They watched him completely leave the throne room before Padmé then turned her sights on Anakin for answers.

     Anakin sighed hard and ran a tired hand through his hair. He knew how his master felt, it was the same frustration he was feeling over not being able to tell Obi-Wan anything more than he already had. But the witch sisters hadn't warned him against telling anyone who wasn't Obi-Wan.

     “It's… a long story.” He started, walking over to the steps of the dias, Padmé following and sitting right beside him as he explained.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     “Anakin, I…” Padmé shook her head, not exactly sure what to say that could make it better. “I am so sorry.”

     “Yeah,” he breathed, his eyes still fixed on the door Obi-Wan had left through, and still had yet to return, “it's a really big mess, and Obi-Wan is pissed about it.”

     “I think he's less pissed and more worried about saving you.”

     Anakin laughed. “The irony of it is that he's all I need in order to be saved.”

     “And why can't you just tell him that?” She asked, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning into his eye line.

     “It was the one rule the witch sisters gave me before they laid their spell on me. I cannot tell Obi-Wan that he's the only one who can save me, and I can't try and force feelings from him that aren't already there. So even if I did tell him, there's a chance he might not love me in return, not the way I need him to anyway, and I could still die.”

     “You're right, this is quite the mess.” She rubbed her hand up and down his arm in an attempt to sooth him. It didn't work. 

     “Anakin!” Obi-Wan called from the door to the throne room and waved a hand at Anakin. “Come, we must return to Coruscant and seek guidance from the Council.”

     “Master,” Anakin sighed but stood and walked slowly toward him, “I don't think they can help. Also, all of this goes against everything they stand for. Jedi are not supposed to have attachments, but apparently that's exactly what I need in order to survive. Even if I do make it through this, they might reject me from the Order for breaking their values.”

     “And what else would you have me do, Anakin?!” His shout echoed through the throne room, bounced off every wall and surrounded Anakin in his master's angered outburst. Though Padmé flinched, Anakin didn't even move a muscle, he knew it was misplaced and he knew his master meant nothing of it other than affection for his padawan. “Shall I traipse all across the galaxy and gather every single being you've ever come into contact with, and have them all kiss you to test their level of affection for you? Because if it comes down to it, that is exactly what I will do, but for now we must seek guidance from the Council. Perhaps Master Yoda can delve deeper into your mind and find, at the very least, a clue that can help us. Now hurry, we are running out of time.”

     Obi-Wan turned and left the throne room once again without so much as a glance back, and Anakin stepped forward to follow before Padmé grabbed his arm and held him back.

     “Time?” She asked, a panic to her tone that wasn’t there before. “There's a time frame on this spell?”

     “Twenty-one days,”he answered, “that's all I've got. If Obi-Wan doesn't love me by then, I will die.”

     He kept his back to her as he answered, but he didn't miss the sharp intake of breath behind him. “He will.” She said it with confidence, something Anakin just could not manage to muster up at this point. “Obi-Wan does love you, I know he does, anyone can see how much you two love each other, you just have to make him see it, and get him to say it out loud.”

     “You make it sound so easy,” he scoffed, though it was lighthearted.

     “It will all work out, Anakin, I know it will. It has to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

     "You allowed three Dathomiri witches to get the better of you, infiltrate your mind, and curse you?" Anakin lowered his head where he stood slightly behind Obi-Wan, eyes closed. "General Skywalker, we are very disappointed in you."

     Anakin said nothing. He hated letting down the Council. It was bad enough he’d already made a spectacular mess of things with Obi-Wan.

     "All that aside," Obi-Wan said. Anakin could tell he was trying his best to remain composed, but he could see him failing in the tension across his shoulders and down his arms, the way his fists clenched at his sides. "Anakin now faces a very serious problem, and we must find this light of his in order to solve it, and quickly."

     "Jedi cannot have attachments, Master Obi-wan." Mace turned his cold eyes to Obi-wan. "You know that."

     "Would you rather Anakin die then?!" Obi-Wan shouted, his arms flailing out to the side. "The chosen one who is to bring light and balance to the Force! One of the best generals you've ever had, one of the strongest Jedi, my Padawan, my-" He stopped, composed himself and took a deep breath before continuing in a much lesser tone, "Anakin cannot die. Please, we must do something."

     "Suggestions you have, Master Kenobi?" Yoda asked.

     "Meditation," he answered, turning his eyes to look at all the Council members before him, "if all of you can connect to Anakin's mind together, then perhaps you can bypass the blocks within his mind that the witch sisters put in place with their spell, and hopefully discover the identity of the one who holds the light that can save Anakin."

     "Then start with meditation, we shall." 

     The Council members all followed Yoda out of his seat and down to the floor. Obi-Wan then reached a hand back to Anakin behind him and pulled him forward, guided him to sit in the centre of the semi-circle of Council members. Obi-Wan moved around where Anakin was knelt and started to crouch alongside the other members of the Council.

     "Obi-Wan." Windu stopped him with a firm gaze. "You will not be participating in this meditation."

     "And why not?" He huffed, arms tossed out to his sides. "I am his former Master, if anything I would be an asset to this mission to infiltrate Anakin's mind. I know him almost as well as he knows himself, we are connected."

     "And that is why, participate, you will not," Yoda answered, "close you are to your Padawan, and worried about him, you are. Only interfere with the meditation, it would. Sit out, you must."

     "I…" He shook his head and sighed. He couldn't even argue the fact that they were wrong, because they weren’t. He was extremely worried about Anakin, had been since the very second he had found him face down on that wretched planet. The worry had already clouded his mind, he could find no fault in the Council's concern that it would interfere with this mission. "Alright." He surrendered and stood, walking to stand along the far side of the room with his arms crossed. "But I am not leaving the room."

     Yoda nodded at him, then to Master Windu beside him, before looking to Anakin. "Close your eyes, General, hurt this might."

     Anakin did as he was told and closed his eyes, and waited for the pressure he knew would come the second the Council members pushed into his subconscious. It wasn't long before the headache set in and he was scrunching his brow to stave off the pain of their intrusion, but soon after that it started to become near unbearable. 

     He could feel them digging and clawing their way through the thick fog and the following darkness that swirled in the centre, and the further they travelled through his mind the harder it became to hold back his cries, until eventually he couldn't. Anakin knew he was practically screaming, he could hear it as if from a distance, as if it wasn't even his own voice, but the pain throbbing through him was more than enough to convince himself it was his own screams he was hearing. It sounded like the worst kind of torture, felt like it too.

     Firm hands grabbed his shoulders and wrenched him backward. He was quickly pulled from the mediation and felt instant relief when the Council members were quickly ejected from his mind. He let his breaths heave as he leaned back into the strong arms that held him, rested his head against the solid chest behind him.

     "That is quite enough!" Obi-Wan’s shout rang in Anakin's ears, but he was more than thankful for his intervention. 

     He shifted back and cradled Anakin's head in his lap, gently wiping the sweat that had gathered across his brow. “Are you alright, dear one?”

     Anakin was only able to nod while he still tried desperately to catch his breath. Obi-Wan’s head then snapped back up to the Council. “Did you find anything?”

     Mace shook his head. “No, his mind was far too clouded, we couldn't make it through the spell cast by the Dathomiri witches.” 

     “Sorry, we are, Obi-Wan.” Yoda said, but it didn't make him feel any better. Anakin was in serious danger, and he had not one single clue of how to help him escape it. 

     He said nothing more to the Council and lifted Anakin into his arms as he stood. “Come, dear one,” he said as he turned and left the Council chambers, “let's get you cleaned up and resting.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

     He laid Anakin on the couch in their shared chambers and quickly ran to retrieve a cold cloth for his forehead. The joint meditation had been intrusive, Obi-Wan knew that, but what he hadn't anticipated was the pain it would put his dear padawan through, nor that the Council would let it go as far as they had. To the point where Anakin was all but a writhing mess on the floor. He knew they could feel his pain and discomfort while they were inside his mind, and he was disappointed that he had to be the one to call an end to it before it got any worse for Anakin. 

     As of right now, the young Jedi was passed out on their couch, exhausted and still in pain. As he wrung the cloth out in the sink he couldn't help but think that Anakin was right, he should have never insisted they get the Council involved. All they did was hurt Anakin, and all because they were angered that one of their best Jedi fell prey to a Dathomiri trap. They cared more about solving the problem before it grew, or worse word got out about their failure, then the damage they did themselves. 

     Obi-Wan hurried back to the living room and sat himself on the edge of the couch facing Anakin. He softly ran the cool cloth over his still fevered skin, cleaned the gathering sweat from his forehead and neck. 

     "I'm sorry, Anakin," he whispered, "I should never have let them get that far."

     "It wasn't your fault, Obi-Wan," he whispered back, though his voice was significantly more hoarse from the screaming, "and it had to be done."

     "But it accomplished nothing more than putting you in discomfort, and all for nothing. I should have just figured out a solution on my own, without the Council."

     Anakin jolted out a hand and wrapped it around Obi-Wan’s wrist, stopping the cloth near his jaw, and opened his eyes just a crack. "I can't tell you much, but I can tell you this. Even if you don't find a solution in time-"

     "Don't…"

     He opened his eyes a bit wider and forced the best smile he could manage. "If you don't," he continued, bringing Obi-Wan’s palm closer to his lips, "I will not hold it against you. This was my fault and now it is my burden to bear. Please do not fault yourself, and do not let my death haunt you if it comes to that."

     "Of course it would haunt me," he said as if he had been offended in the worst of ways, "I can't lose you, Anakin, I won't."

     "You may not have a choice."

     "If you would just tell me who-"

     Anakin stopped him with a slow shake of his head. "You know I can’t. I wish I could, but I can't. I'm sorry."

     "I know," he whispered.

     Anakin pulled his hand over to close the gap between his palm and his lips. He placed a featherlight kiss there, then moved it to rest upon his cheek. 

     Obi-Wan had to turn away, lifting his eyes to the ceiling to try and stave the tears. But it didn't work as he felt one traitorous drop slowly fall and meld with his beard. 

     He turned back in time to see Anakin yawn and burrow his face deeper into his hand. "Sleep, dear one, you've had a rough day, you need some rest." 

     Anakin didn’t even argue, just nodded his head with his eyes already closed. "Will you stay with me?"

     "Of course," he answered, and moved his free hand up to tangle in Anakin's hair, "I'm not going anywhere."

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