Star Wars what if

The Room of a Thousand Fountains was rarely silent, but it was often quiet. The rhythmic splash of artificial waterfalls and the rustle of exotic ferns usually provided a sanctuary for meditation. Tonight, however, the air felt thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the Force and everything to do with the two Padawans seated near the edge of a reflecting pool.

Obi-Wan Kenobi sat with his legs folded in a perfect lotus position, though his posture was more a defensive crouch than a meditative stance. His auburn hair, cut short in the traditional style, caught the dim light of the Coruscant moon filtering through the high transparisteel domes. Dark circles underlined his blue eyes—bruises of exhaustion from another night spent staring at the ceiling of his quarters, dissecting his own perceived failures.

"You’re doing it again," Anakin said, his voice cutting through the white noise of the water.

Anakin Skywalker was not sitting in lotus. He was sprawled out, leaning back on his palms, his cybernetic right hand clicking faintly as he flexed the metallic fingers against the stone. He was taller than Obi-Wan now, a fact he seemed to take great pleasure in, and his wavy brown hair was a messy contrast to Obi-Wan’s rigid grooming.

"I am meditating, Anakin," Obi-Wan replied without opening his eyes. "It is a practice you might find beneficial if you actually attempted it."

"You aren't meditating. You're worrying," Anakin countered. He shifted closer, the leather of his battle-worn gauntlets creaking. "I can feel it. It’s like a storm in the Force, only it’s contained in your tiny, stubborn head. You’re thinking about the sparring match with Master Windu, aren't you?"

Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open. "He corrected my footwork three times. If I cannot master Form III, I have no business being a Jedi Knight. I am a blunt instrument, Anakin. I lack the intuition, the... the natural grace that you possess."

Anakin let out a short, sharp laugh. "Natural grace? I nearly crashed the speeder this morning because I was trying to adjust the fuel intake while mid-turn. You’re the best swordsman in our year, Obi-Wan. Everyone knows it. Why can't you just accept that you’re good at something?"

"Because being 'good' at hitting things with a plasma torch is not the sum of a Jedi!" Obi-Wan stood up abruptly, his tan robes swishing around his shins. He began to pace the narrow stone path, his fingers twitching toward his Padawan braid. "There is philosophy, diplomacy, the quiet connection to the living Force. I feel like I’m shouting into a void most days, while you... you just breathe and the Force moves for you."

Anakin rose to his feet as well, matching Obi-Wan’s height and then some. He stepped into Obi-Wan’s path, forcing the shorter boy to stop. The intensity in Anakin’s blue eyes was searing, the kind of focused heat that made Obi-Wan want to look away and lean closer all at once.

"Maybe the Force moves for me because I don't treat it like a math problem," Anakin whispered, his voice dropping an octave. "And maybe I’m tired of you pretending that you don't feel anything. You build these walls, Obi-Wan. You hide behind the Code and your sarcasm, but I can see right through them."

Obi-Wan felt a flush creep up his neck. "It’s called discipline. Something you would do well to learn."

"It’s called fear," Anakin corrected. He took a step forward, invading Obi-Wan’s personal space. "You’re afraid that if you let those walls down, you’ll find out you’re human. Or worse, you’ll find out that I’m right about us."

Obi-Wan’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He hated this—the way Anakin poked at the bruises of his soul, the way he refused to follow the unspoken rules of their order. Attachment was a path to the dark side. They were told it from the moment they arrived at the Temple. Yet, looking at Anakin, Obi-Wan felt a pull that was stronger than any gravity well.

"There is no 'us,' Anakin," Obi-Wan said, though his voice lacked its usual sharp edge. "We are Padawans. We are brothers-in-arms. Anything else is... it’s a distraction."

"You’re a liar," Anakin said softly. He reached out, his gloved left hand coming up to touch the braid behind Obi-Wan’s ear. "I can feel your heart beating from here. It’s fast. Is that a distraction too?"

Obi-Wan shivered. He should pull away. He should report this to Master Yoda, or at least go back to his room and take a sedative for his insomnia. Instead, he stayed rooted to the spot, caught in the tractor beam of Anakin’s presence.

"I don't know why you do this," Obi-Wan murmured, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. "Why me? You’re the Chosen One. You’re brilliant, you’re a hero of the Republic in the making. I’m just... a tired student who can’t sleep."

Anakin’s expression softened, the arrogance melting into something painfully raw. "Because you’re the only thing that makes me feel like I’m not alone. Everyone looks at me and sees a prophecy or a weapon. You look at me and see a nuisance. You see *me*."

He stepped even closer, until their chests were almost touching. The scent of ozone and engine grease followed Anakin everywhere, a sharp contrast to the sterile, herbal scent of the Temple.

"I'm not going to stop, you know," Anakin said, his fingers now grazing the line of Obi-Wan’s jaw. "I’m going to keep breaking these walls down until there’s nothing left but you. I’m persistent."

"You’re infuriating," Obi-Wan whispered.

"That’s not a 'no'."

Obi-Wan looked up, meeting that fierce, blue gaze. He saw the fire there, the dangerous passion that the Council warned against, but he also saw a desperate need to be loved. It mirrored the hollow ache in his own chest—the one he tried to fill with extra lightsaber drills and ancient texts.

"Anakin, if we get caught..."

"Then we’ll be caught together," Anakin interrupted. He reached out with his cybernetic hand, the cold durasteel of the fingers resting gently against Obi-Wan’s cheek. The sensation was jarring—a reminder of the violence they lived in—but the gesture was incredibly tender. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Obi-Wan sighed, a long, shaky exhale that seemed to carry weeks of exhaustion with it. He leaned his face into the mechanical palm, closing his eyes. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep. The galaxy is a dangerous place."

"I’ll change the galaxy then," Anakin said with the terrifying confidence only he possessed.

Before Obi-Wan could offer a witty retort about the boy’s ego, Anakin leaned in. It wasn't a kiss—not yet—but a press of foreheads, a shared breath in the shadows of the garden. For a moment, the anxiety that usually hummed in the back of Obi-Wan’s mind went silent. The doubts about his worth, the fear of his master’s disappointment, the shadows of the coming war—it all faded.

"You're exhausted," Anakin murmured against his skin. "When was the last time you actually slept? Not meditated, but slept?"

"I don't remember," Obi-Wan admitted, his voice cracking.

"Come on," Anakin said, pulling back just enough to grab Obi-Wan’s hand, his leather-clad fingers interlocking with Obi-Wan’s pale ones. "We’re going back to the dorms. And I’m staying until you fall asleep."

"Anakin, that’s against a dozen regulations—"

"I don't care," Anakin snapped, though his eyes were kind. "You’re falling apart, Obi-Wan. You think you're so good at hiding it, but you're vibrating with stress. If you won't take care of yourself, I’m going to do it for you."

Obi-Wan looked at their joined hands. He should pull away. He should re-establish the boundaries that kept them safe within the Jedi way. But the warmth of Anakin’s grip was the only thing keeping him grounded in a world that felt like it was spinning out of control.

"Just for tonight," Obi-Wan conceded, his voice barely audible.

Anakin grinned, a flash of the impulsive, brilliant boy who had once built a droid out of scrap metal just to help his mother. "We'll see about that."

As they walked back through the darkened corridors of the Temple, staying in the shadows to avoid the roaming eyes of the Temple Guard, Obi-Wan felt a strange sensation. The walls he had built were still there—he could feel them, thick and stone-cold—but there was a crack in them now. A crack that Anakin Skywalker was widening with every step they took together.

It was terrifying. It was a violation of everything he had been taught.

And as Anakin squeezed his hand, pulling him forward into the dark, Obi-Wan realized he had never felt more alive.

They reached Obi-Wan’s quarters, the door hissing shut behind them. The room was sparse, smelling of old parchment and tea. Anakin didn't hesitate; he kicked off his boots and sat on the edge of the narrow cot, patting the space beside him.

"Sit," Anakin commanded.

Obi-Wan obeyed, his movements stiff. "This is highly improper, Anakin."

"The Code says 'attachment is forbidden,' not 'sitting on a bed is forbidden,'" Anakin countered, though they both knew he was splitting hairs. He reached over and began to unfasten the heavy outer layers of Obi-Wan’s robes.

Obi-Wan froze. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you breathe," Anakin said simply. He stripped away the heavy brown tunic, leaving Obi-Wan in his light cream undershirt. "You carry the weight of the whole Temple on your shoulders. Let it go for five minutes."

Anakin moved behind him, his large hands finding the knots of tension in Obi-Wan’s shoulders. He began to knead the muscle with a surprising amount of control, his cybernetic hand providing a steady, firm pressure that the human one couldn't quite match.

Obi-Wan let out a soft groan, his head dropping forward. "I hate that you’re right."

"I know you do," Anakin whispered, his breath warm against the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. "It’s one of my favorite things about you."

Slowly, the frantic buzzing in Obi-Wan’s brain began to subside. The physical contact was an anchor, dragging him down from the heights of his own overthinking. He felt the bed shift as Anakin moved to lie down, pulling Obi-Wan with him.

They lay side by side in the narrow space, the darkness of the room absolute except for the tiny blinking lights of the climate control panel. Anakin pulled the thin blanket over them, his arm draping over Obi-Wan’s waist, pulling the shorter boy against his side.

"Sleep, Obi-Wan," Anakin murmured. "I’ll watch the door."

"You’re going to get us expelled," Obi-Wan mumbled, even as he tucked his head under Anakin’s chin, seeking the heat there.

"They have to catch me first," Anakin replied, his voice thick with a sleepy sort of triumph. "And I’m the best pilot in the galaxy. I’m hard to catch."

Obi-Wan didn't argue. He couldn't. For the first time in months, the darkness behind his eyelids didn't feel like a void to be feared. It felt like a curtain, drawn shut by a boy who refused to let him be alone. As sleep finally began to claim him, Obi-Wan’s last conscious thought was that the walls weren't just cracking—they were crumbling. And for the first time in his life, he didn't want to fix them.