Chapter Text
Anakin doesn’t come back to their shared dormitory that night.
Obi-Wan tosses and turns in his bed, trying not to think about what he could be doing—who he could be doing. It isn’t any of his concern, and it certainly isn’t Jedi-like.
He can’t quite pin down this strange new emotion that centers around his roommate. Anakin is attractive in almost a god-like way, but he’s still only a young man going through the motions like Obi-Wan, hopeful to become a keeper of peace among the Order.
And Jedi are not to keep close attachments.
Master Yoda told them on their first day just how dangerous attachments are. They tend to bring forth fear, anger, resentment, and jealousy, and can quickly thrust a Jedi into the Dark Side of the Force.
It was a tricky situation when Qui-Gon took him in as a toddler with too many blurred lines for the Order’s liking. Anakin Skywalker might be alright with forming attachments, but Obi-Wan is well aware of how lethal they can be to a Jedi’s career.
______________________
The next time Obi-Wan sees his roommate is when he gets back in from training the following evening.
The young man is sitting at his cramped desk at the foot of his bed deeply entranced with whatever assignment he is working on.
Datapad upon datapad is spread around him, a few books open as well. He is scribbling down a few things—writing by hand is very uncommon, but Obi-Wan has seen Anakin do it several times.
After Obi-Wan washes up and changes into his evening tunics, he climbs onto his bed with a datapad of his own containing notes for his next exam. This time it’s simply about the ancient Jedi texts, so he’s not as concerned as he’d been with his mechanics exam.
About an hour passes, and Anakin barely seems to move other than to shift things around and sigh deeply.
Again and again.
The young man’s eyes are rapidly scanning screen after screen, his fingers tapping anxiously against his desk. The Force is swirling around him, gray and muddled with his confusion and frustration. If this is Anakin fully shielded, Obi-Wan dreads finding out what he feels like without any at all.
Once the boy reaches a point where each exasperated sigh barely has five seconds in between, Obi-Wan decides to extend his help. He clears his throat.
Blue eyes finally snap up to meet his. They’re bloodshot and exhausted.
Does he even sleep?
Come to think of it, Obi-Wan isn’t sure he’s ever seen his roommate actually asleep. Lying in bed? Yes. Groggy? Yes. But usually, the boy is in and out of the dorm faster than Obi-Wan can slip his belt into place. Anakin was like a firestorm raging around as he moved, never slowing down.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were studying for that lightspeed engine exam with all the frustration you’re projecting right now,” he comments, bemused a little. It’s interesting to see Anakin so flustered over something. He never seems to struggle in his courses, yet here he is, clearly unable to figure something out.
Rolling his eyes, Anakin runs his flesh hand down his face. “How does anyone care this much about politics?”
It’s an offhand remark, one Obi-Wan is certain he doesn’t need to follow up with his curiosity. But he does anyway. “Are you being tested on the Republic’s policies?”
Anakin’s brow twitches as he shrugs. “Sorta?” It comes out more like a question than a statement. “Do… do you know anything about the Republic’s regulations on sending aid and support to non-Republic territories by chance?”
So specific.
Obi-Wan gives the question thought and moves his head to the side as little as he speaks. “Well, there’s the Trade Declaration that was crafted almost a decade ago allowing several Outer Rim systems to send and receive goods through the core worlds during crisis events.” He thinks further. “And there are several treaties in place to ensure no visiting Republic civilians or officials are harmed on certain Outer Rim systems without reprimand.”
There’s a moment where Anakin seems to digest the information given. “So, is that a yes?”
“To?”
“Knowing about Republic regulations concerning aid and support.”
Sitting up, Obi-Wan places his datapad to the side. “Enough to get by, I suppose. Why? Is this for an assignment?”
“Yes.”
Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow at him. “What is it for?” Perhaps that isn’t a necessary question, but Obi-Wan already turned down the black hole, letting Anakin suck him into his world for the night, so why not allow his curiosity to continue?
“It’s a project for Master Windu’s course.” There’s enough of a hesitation to make Obi-Wan pause. Why would Anakin lie about an assignment?
He must be reading into it too much. Clearly, his roommate is flustered by being caught not understanding something.
Obi-Wan nods and scoots over on his bed. He pats the firm mattress next to him. “Come. Let me see what you have so far.”
Anakin hastily collects his things, nearly dropping a datapad as he trips on a loose pair of pants resting on the floor near his desk. Obi-Wan suppresses a chuckle at the young man’s clumsiness. He doesn’t wish to agitate him further.
Looking over Anakin’s notes, he observes how specific they are.
He glances up at Anakin. “What angle exactly are you coming from with this? Is there a specific population you want to represent?”
Anakin hesitates again, but Obi-Wan senses it has nothing to do with him lying or expanding the truth. Turmoil rests underneath the boy’s eyes and it ripples as he speaks. “Those who are still enslaved in the Outer Rim.”
Obi-Wan longs to know why there is so much emotion cascading off of Anakin in this moment, but he does happen to know when to smother and put out his curiosity after all. He bites back any prying questions for the time being. “That is… difficult.”
Seeing Anakin’s shoulders fall nearly crushes his heart a slight bit. He doesn’t want to let his roommate down, but he also needs to be realistic.
“Perhaps there is another population in the Outer Rim you could discuss, like bounty hunters or the Hutts themselves?”
Frustration laces within Anakin’s expression and he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I just need to find a way around regulation, Obi-Wan. I don’t care about bounty hunters, and I especially don’t care about the Hutts.” The name is spat with venom.
Obi-Wan finds himself wanting to press one again, but of course, he still holds back. With a nod, he takes the notes and re-scans them. “It’s difficult because the Hutts run most of the slave trade in the Outer Rim. Especially Tatooine. Throughout their system, it is legal and the Republic has no say in their laws until it crosses into our space.”
“But it’s wrong,” Anakin says, his voice softer but not lacking the emotion. “People are not goods to be traded and sold. There has to be a way around the laws protecting slave-owning scum.”
Obi-Wan gives it some thought for a moment. This project seems to mean a lot to Anakin, and maybe it’s deeper than just an assignment for Master Windu’s class. Obi-Wan doesn’t entertain that thought very long due to the improbability of every conclusion his mind can come up with.
“Maybe we are focusing on the wrong set of rules to go around,” he suggests, raising an eyebrow.
Anakin blinks and looks at him. “You’re saying…”
“That maybe we should be looking at the laws of the Outer Rim to see if there are loopholes that allow the Republic to help those in need. There’s a very small margin for errors in the Republic’s regulations, but I’ve never studied much about the Outer Rim sector before.”
The brightness that flashes in Anakin’s eyes is worth every minute of sleep Obi-Wan is certain he is going to lose tonight.
______________________
“Why are you here?”
The question takes Obi-Wan by surprise. He turns and looks at Anakin, who is lying on his stomach just like he’d done during their late-night study session days before.
Looking around their dormitory room, Obi-Wan waves a hand. “This is my room too, believe it or not.”
Anakin snorts and reaches out to smack at Obi-Wan’s arm. “Not that,” he grumbles. “The Academy. Why did you join?”
Ah.
The question that always causes Obi-Wan’s gut to coil into a tight knot.
The wild bantha jerky they’d been snacking on lurches a little in his stomach as he thinks of an answer. Anakin is oblivious to his reaction, still flipping through dusty pages of the Trade Federation’s twenty-eighth volume of law and regulation.
“My brother,” Obi-Wan lands on the words carefully. He looks down at his arm, where his tattoo is hidden under the fabric of his tunic. “He wanted this for me.”
Of course, this gets Anakin to glance over his way. “But is it what you want?”
It wasn’t for a long time.
Qui-Gon Jinn was barely an adult when he stumbled upon Obi-Wan’s orphanage on Stewjon. After his parents died from a plague that was wreaking carnage system-wide, Obi-Wan was left in the hands of some kind Twi’Leks who couldn’t truly afford the number of children left without families to care for them.
Qui-Gon sensed him in the Force when he came to the village to learn more about the plague’s origin on behalf of the Jedi Order and decided to take him in.
It might have been the Jedi tendency of goodwill, or maybe he truly felt pity for a three-year-old boy who would’ve likely met the same fate as his parents had he stayed during those following years before a cure was finally found.
Obi-Wan doesn’t remember much about that time. Of course, there are loose images that flit around his mind. He remembers his mother’s tender storm-gray eyes and his father’s strong hands, scarred from decades of farm work.
Most of his memory, though, is from the stories Qui-Gon shared with him once he was old enough.
The Jedi could have easily been like a father, but he wasn’t. He always made sure Obi-Wan understood that. They are—were—brothers, not by blood maybe, but by heart and connection within the Force.
Qui-Gon was to Obi-Wan as a Master had been to a Padawan during the time of the High Republic. Before the Senate and Order came together to turn the Padawan process into a more selective and school-like one.
While Obi-Wan never cared much for the Jedi beyond Qui-Gon at first, and he certainly held disdain for the bustling crowds on Coruscant—and still does—he owed the man his servitude for life even if his brother died years ago.
The best way for him to honor his fallen brother was to join the Academy and try to become the Jedi Qui-Gon hoped for him to be.
At first, Obi-Wan struggled to adapt to the beliefs and traditions the Academy demanded from him. But after a few months, a spark of passion grew deep within him. Each day brought more clarity and understanding of Qui-Gon’s love for the Force to him.
Becoming a Jedi is everything to him now.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan answers Anakin’s question about his origins within the Academy. He forgoes the information of Qui-Gon’s role within the Jedi Order, though. “I was stubborn before, never truly understanding just how grand the Order is. But I understand now.”
He looks up to find Anakin carefully eyeing him. “What does your brother think now that you’re in the Academy?”
“He died five years ago.”
Silence lingers between them. The Force ripples around Anakin with sadness and understanding. “I’m sorry, I-”
“You couldn’t have known,” Obi-Wan insists, reaching out a hand to place over Anakin’s mech one. “I’ve had my time to grieve.”
Anakin’s eyes flash to look at their hands and Obi-Wan awkwardly retracts his. “What about you? What brought you to the Academy?”
There is a moment where Obi-Wan believes he is going to finally get a raw and truthful explanation—something that explains the reason why Anakin is… the way he is.
But that falls flat when Anakin’s expression turns still and he shrugs. For the first time all night, he seems emotionless. “Because I could.”
Obi-Wan knows he shouldn’t take the answer to heart, but his body goes rigid anyway. His eyes narrow slightly. Instinct wraps around his throat. He’d stripped part of his soul bare to share something with Anakin, yet his roommate decided to flaunt his privilege to Obi-Wan.
“Some of us aren’t so fortunate to have the resources get here so easily, you know,” Obi-Wan remarks.
His sharp tone must surprise Anakin. The boy meets his eyes and his brows furrow slightly. “I didn’t mean that, I just-”
“Take this opportunity for granted and rub it in everyone’s faces by wasting away at parties and drinking.”
The sharp intake of air that Anakin makes is enough to signal Obi-Wan has hit a nerve. He sits up, tense and glaring. “You don’t know anything about me, so stop pretending you do.”
Obi-Wan is usually the better person. He usually can put a fire out before it turns into a blaze. Yet, he can’t this time for some reason.
All he’s got is oil.
“It’s not hard to figure out someone who spends his days like he is a Lower Level civilian and not the Jedi Padawan he’s supposed to be.”
The oxygen has left the room. Obi-Wan is certain of it. Even he knows he’s crossed a line. He knows it is a low blow, hitting someone where they were weakest in the middle of nothing more than a small dispute. A simple miscommunication.
Obi-Wan fumbles into words first. “Anakin, I-”
But Anakin is already on his feet, collecting his things and shoving them into a bag from his own side of the room. He’s moving to slip on his shoes and his robe with unnerving speed.
Obi-Wan stands and reaches out to grab Anakin’s arm. The boy yanks away and turns, fury alight in his eyes. “Lower Level civilians are just as important as you or me. But maybe you wouldn’t know that since you have the Code too far up your ass to ever see it!”
Turning sharply, Anakin storms out of the room, the door sliding shut too calmly behind him for the defeat Obi-Wan feels.
He sinks onto his bed and puts his face into his hands. They’d just been sharing snacks and laughing ten minutes prior. They’d been getting along. There was something even deeper going on, Obi-Wan was certain of it. A connection of some sort.
And of course, Obi-Wan has managed to destroy it all.
