— litoreus, part ii
pairing: god of the seas!obi-wan kenobi x reader
word count: 9.6k (*sobs softly*)
a/n: at long last, the much anticipated part 2 to the litoreus series here! sorry this took a hot second, life got in the way. speaking of life, future updates will probably also be slow because i’m going back to university soon. but i promise to try my hardest not to take twelve years to crank out part 3 lmao
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The night sky often ran through your imagination.
You would look up and sometimes feel helpless in its wake, but that never stopped you from admiring and imagining and learning. It was astronomy in reverse. You discovered a lot about yourself through the stars and the tales they told.
The night sky itself was a complex storybook, always having its pages open for its viewers to read, even going as far as to turn the page to different stories as the planet rotated, but no one ever stopped to look up and read. No one had any interest in the stories written in the sky, connecting and uniting stars far, far away into something beautiful and poetic.
In fact, it’s said that love is written in the stars, but for all that this is said, no one cared. Romanticized it, sure, with ideas of soulmates and “Mr. Perfect”’s and reasons for thinking someone is “the one for you,” but no one ever seemed to believe in the stars.
Love that was written in the stars was one for the ages, only to seemingly end when stars died out. But even then, they left behind brilliant supernovas, remnants of the beautiful stars they once were and the stories they held dear, forever imprinting themselves into the narrative that was the night sky.
They were stories of devotion, suffering, pining, desire, perseverance, and sometimes even heartbreak. They were rich and truthful, and though sometimes exaggerated due to the presence of mythical gods and goddesses, they had something real in them: honesty. A genuine love at their core that people dreamed about and yearned for with an itch that was hard to scratch.
You often wondered what it was like to have a love written in the stars, constellations woven in the sky telling the very story of your love. What must it be like to be Perseus and Andromeda, longing to be together but having to deal with the many obstacles on their path: from Andromeda being chained to a rock and being offered up as a sacrifice because she was unwillingly betrothed to her uncle, Phineus. Then to Perseus who, out of his love for Andromeda, finds a way to keep her alive by killing the sea monster Cetus and killing Phineus. But, once freed from their confines, they embrace the love between them, spending the rest of their living days together, still wandering the galaxies in the sky together in the afterlife.
While you’re aware that none of what happened in their story was real, the moral was as real as could be: their love for each other was real and their devotion was strong, and without either, their lives would’ve been completely different. So no, it may not be a realistic story in the plot, but the theme? It was enough to make you wonder why people stopped reading the stars.
You figured there was a lot others could learn from the stars. Mythology and constellations had more lessons than people realized.
But, there was one story that always interested you, weaved in the Summer Triangle constellation, that had a plethora of different interactions, though perhaps the most romantic of them all stemming from a Chinese legend: Niulang and Zhinu. A weaver and a farm boy in love, the weaver coming from a family of immortal gods who disapproved of any romantic attachments between immortals and mortals, and the farm boy unfortunately being a mortal. The two ached to be together in peace, but the gods intervened to stop their affair, claiming their love wasn’t enough to break the rules. In the end, they’re separated by a river between the two of them, only being able to meet up for one night a year when magpies flock closely to create a bridge.
Again, not horribly realistic plot-wise, but thematically, painfully true enough to tug at the heartstrings and elicit emotions, a layer of connectivity with the audience.
With all the stories in the sky, sometimes you wished that you could turn the dial on the stars and read them at your pleasure, but unfortunately, you lacked any power to do so. Instead, you savored moments like these, sitting at the windowsill in your apartment and staring up at the sky and trying to read the blurry words hidden behind layers of light pollution from the surrounding area.
Such was life.
With a sigh, you turn your head away from looking out the window in favor of leaning your head against it. Stories of the stars aside, there were other thoughts on your mind, thoughts that had been plaguing you for the better part of a week now, and no matter how hard you’ve tried to fight it, it’s like you’re constantly being sucked back into their orbit. All those thoughts began and ended with one man, a man you hardly knew but who immediately glowed like Sirius to you from the moment you caught him before he could topple over that head bust of Zeus.
Obi-Wan Kenobi.
A strange man indeed with his posh accent, graceful and thoughtful movements, bright blue eyes that drew you in like the tide, and auburn hair that dangled just so over his forehead. And yet, for all that he was handsome and seemingly put together, you got a glimpse at something else: just how entrancing he was. Throughout the duration of your brief conversation, you were completely enamored by his cheeks flushing a gentle pink when you caught him, the light dusting of freckles on his cheeks that you wanted to map out and draw constellations from, the slight stutter to his words when you poked fun at the Greek god Poseidon, and the playful glint in his eyes when you told him to come back again sometime.
Although, perhaps you should’ve been more specific about the “sometime.” It had been nearly a week without a second sighting of Obi-Wan, though you’ve seen his friend every day since.
That being said, you understood that he probably had a busy schedule to navigate considering the day he met you was the first time he’d gone to your museum, but still. There was something about him, something hidden and compelling, and you wanted to know more. Every day you walked into work hopeful that your bright star would fall back to you, but so far you’ve had no success, and the disappointment that came with it slowly became more visible. Even some of your coworkers have started to pick up on how you walked into the museum brimming with hope and the glimmer of potential but left with sagging shoulders and a despondent aura.
Not exactly something you’re proud of, either.
And as your eyes flicker back from the point on the wall you were staring at to the stars in the sky, you begin to wonder what made up the man that was Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was obviously an intelligent man and seemingly well-versed in the world, kind-hearted if the fond look at his friend was anything to go by despite his interruption, and good-humored if he could handle your teasing.
But there had to be more to him than that, you were sure of it. There had to be volumes of books and stories about Obi-Wan, and you wanted to know them. Or rather, get to know him. He was a cluster of stars, shining bright for all to see, and you wanted to find the constellation within them.
But without the very man consuming your thoughts there, it’s hard to rationalize that keeping up these thoughts was a good idea. Yes, the less you thought about him, the better. For all you know, he may not return to the museum for a while, and it’s presumptuous of you to hope for his quick return. Silly notions of intrigue and desire to get to know him needed to be put to rest, for your own sake.
With this resolution, you push yourself away from the windowsill and paddle into your apartment’s small kitchen. If you stop and hold your breath, you could just barely hear the soft snoring of your roommate in her room, a sure indicator that she’s asleep and you need to trek lightly. You turn on a nearby lamp to offer some light on your journey. Once in the kitchen, you go on a hunt for your kettle and a mug. If you’re going to be awake in the dead of the night, you might as well indulge in a cup of your favorite tea while you’re at it. That way you’ve done something in your wakefulness, productive or not.
You shuffle around in the cabinets before finding the tea of your choosing and placing the teabag in your mug. You then grab your kettle and fill it with a sufficient amount of water. Once you set it to boil, you take a step back and wistfully look at the window you just sat at from a distance. The stars aren’t shining brightly tonight—they rarely ever do—and you crave for simpler times when it was still possible to see them shine at night. What a sight that must have been.
All nostalgic thoughts leave your mind at the sound of your kettle whistling. You turn to it and quickly take it off the burner, pouring the hot water into your mug and draining the excess water down the sink. You pause for a moment as your tea begins to steep, waiting to hear the gentle snores from your roommate, hoping you didn’t accidentally wake her up without your restless antics.
You let out a sigh of relief, thinking you’re out of the woods, when suddenly her door opens, startling you. Offhandedly, you send a quick thanks to the universe that you weren’t holding your mug when her door opened because you’re certain the mug would’ve fallen out of your grasp, and gravity would’ve taken it from there.
You turn your head, ready to spit out a round of apologies, when you take in her appearance. She looks absolutely exhausted, rubbing her eyes with her fists, hair rumpled, and clothes wrinkled—and yet there’s something about her that still seems put together, ready to put her professional front on in a moment’s notice if the time called for it. But you can see the bags under her eyes when her hands move away, and a twinge of guilt settles in your stomach.
“What on earth are you still doing up?” She asks.
You smile sheepishly at her, grabbing your steaming mug to give something to do with your hands, and you rattle off, “Sorry, Padmé, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just… you know, uh…”
“Couldn’t sleep?” She finishes for you. You give a short laugh followed by an awkward nod.
“Yeah. Got too much going on in my mind,” you admit softly.
“You want to talk about it?” She asks you softly, gently, not wanting to goad you into spilling your guts but also trying to remind you that she’s there to listen. She’s there for you not just as a roommate but as a friend, best friend even. And yet, you can’t help but feel a little silly at the thought of revealing to her what exactly is keeping you up tonight—or better yet, who is keeping you up tonight. Or the icing on the cake: a man you barely even know.
“Not really, Padmé,” you say, but hesitancy coats your words like a sludge, thick and present and obvious. She simply hums at you, pushing away from the doorway to her bedroom and sitting on one of the barstools in your kitchen, before looking at you with a skeptical eye.
“You want to try that again, and really convince me this time?” You can’t help but give the briefest huff of laughter before looking down at the still hot mug in your hands. You give yourself a moment to select your words.
“Do you believe in the idea that there are some people we’re meant to know? Or, people who you think are going to leave an impact on your life?” You ask. It’s a big topic you’re bringing to the table with even bigger thoughts to come from it, but you’re itching for anything you can get. Any nugget of information that may shed some light on your feelings, your spiraling thoughts, the questions that haunt you this very evening.
“I think every action has an equal opposite reaction. Every action and choice you make has some form of consequence and impact on yourself and maybe even others,” Padmé starts. Her sleepy brown eyes start to clear up as she gets more in tune and engaged with this conversation. “Did something happen to you?”
“Not exactly.” A beat. “I met someone last week at the museum in the Ancient Greek and Roman exhibit and—he was incredibly sweet and endearing and—we didn’t even talk for that long so I don’t know why I—I just—” Another beat, this time to take a deep breath and gather your thoughts. Padmé, patient as ever, says nothing, allowing you to take your time. “But we clicked, and it all just felt so right. Everything we said was in total agreement, he laughed at my jokes, hell, he understood my jokes…and his ghost has haunted my mind ever since he left the museum. Maker, does that even make any sense?”
Padmé nods her head. “I think so. You made a connection with someone who seems to be on the same wavelength as you and you want to get to know them more. You’ve always had good intuition about people. Maybe that’s what’s happening here?”
“Maybe,” you ponder. Your eyes trail down to the steam trailing from your mug, and you anxiously tap your fingers against the ceramic. “It’s just…there’s something in me telling me that there’s more to him, and I want to get to know him better, but he hasn’t returned to the museum since that first visit. And his friend whisked him away before we could talk much. I practically rambled the whole time!”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
“Sure felt like it was.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Listen to me,” you look up from the mug in your hands to make eye contact with Padmé, “Did he make any indication that he’d come back to the museum?”
“He said it was his first time there with his friend, who was a regular I recognized. Anakin, I think his name is,” At the name, Padmé perks up ever-so-slightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. What’s that about? you think absentmindedly. You continue, “But he didn’t say if he was definitely going to come back at all, I just asked him to consider it like the idiot I am.”
“I think you’re blowing this out of proportion,” Okay, now your hackles are raised at the sight of Padmé’s slight smile, excitement resonating itself in her movements. Why is she acting weird all of a sudden?
“And what do you mean by that?” you ask incredulously.
“Something tells me you might be lucky tomorrow,” she sends a wink your way, confusing you even further. Does she know something you don’t? “It’ll be a new day full of new opportunities.”
“What on earth do—?” But she quickly cuts you off with a wave of her hand.
“You’ll never know what I mean if you don’t go to bed,” she interrupts. It’s a gentle order, and when coupled with the stern look in her eyes, it’s almost enough to get you immediately walking to your bed. Damn, she’s good. “Finish up your cup and get to it, okay?”
“Sure thing, Padmé. Goodnight,” You tell her. She bids you goodnight as well before returning to her room, her door closing softly behind you. As for you, you trek to the living area and sit on the sofa, taking glimpses at the few stars that shine bright enough against the light pollution to be seen. Your eye catches on Polaris, the North Star, and you wonder if what Padmé says is true. Maybe he will visit tomorrow.
You drink your tea in silence, the only noise echoing in the apartment being the tick-tick-ticking of the manual clock on the wall as the seconds pass. Once you finish, you rinse the mug out, place it in the sink, and leave it to wash in the morning. Exhaustion is slowly seeping into your bones, weighing you down enough that it feels like you’re walking through mud to get to your bed. You practically face-plant onto your mattress, pulling your blanket close as you drift away.
That night you dream about a sea of stars over the ocean, the sky crystal clear. But instead of the usual constellations you’re used to seeing around this time of year, they’re all entirely new ones, ones you’ve never seen or heard of before, and you’re in awe of how the sky can change its stories on perspective alone.
Maybe there’s something to that.
That thought stays with you when you wake up in the morning despite the rest of the dream slowly starting to fade away into nothingness, leaving bits and pieces behind.
It’s still on your mind when you arrive at work that day, along with Padmé’s words about Obi-Wan maybe showing up today. Perspective, huh? You wonder. Maybe I really am over-analyzing this situation.
With this in mind, you decide to tackle today differently. New mindset, new you. Maybe Obi-Wan will show up, maybe he won’t, but you have bigger fish to fry today, and if he decides to grace the museum with his presence then you’ll consider that a lucky surprise. Besides, there’s supposed to be a new piece coming in on loan to the museum today for the Ancient Greek and Roman Exhibit that you, as one of its curators, are to assist with.
It’s a new piece that you think will fit nicely among the other works in the exhibit: an Ancient Roman mosaic depicting humans offering sacrifices to the goddess Ceres—otherwise known as Demeter to the Ancient Greeks, goddess of agriculture—and her looking favorably upon them. Once it goes through its necessary checks and any restorations, it’s meant to be hoisted onto one of the currently empty walls. The piece had interested you from the get-go, and when this exhibit began its refurbishing period and new art came in on loan, you knew you had to try and get this one for however long it could be loaned.
Mosaics were important to the Ancient Romans, having been found on floors and walls in both homes and temples as a way of documenting history and flaunting one’s wealth. You heard once that mosaics were created for the purpose of driving away bad luck and favor, though those typically included depictions of Medusa. Still, maybe this Medusa-less mosaic could help you out today and drive out the bad thoughts and luck in your life. Wouldn’t that be something? You muse.
Too bad those “mythological powers that may be” weren’t real and you were actually just left to your own devices and optimism. Or whatever optimism you had remaining for your day, rather.
You think you’ve done a pretty good job of remaining bright-eyed and bushy tailed once you arrive at work, but as the hours pass by and suddenly you’re in the last remaining couple of your shift and walking through the galleries, you’re feeling the optimism tank empty. While nothing particularly wrong has happened during this shift at work, the looming notion of you-know-who not doing you-know-what hangs over you like a meteoroid waiting to strike you down once your shift ends. Where’s your shooting star to wish on for luck when you need it?
Maybe Padmé’s good feeling about today was wrong, and wouldn’t that be a shocker considering Padmé is hardly ever wrong.
You turn a corner in the exhibit, making your way back to the array of head busts and statues, when your eyes catch on a certain someone admiring some of the Roman pottery against the wall in the glass boxes.
Okay, so it turns out Padmé was right. Again. Maybe you shouldn’t doubt her in the future.
You’re just about stunned looking at him, your shoes feeling as if they’re cemented to the floor as time seems to slow slightly. Your body is so frozen you think you could be lined up with the statues a few feet away and no one would know you’re an actual human person and not a work of art. You hoped he would come back, you were hoping so desperately that he would, but now that he’s here it’s like all your words have left your vocabulary and you don’t know what to do.
But there’s only so long a person can stare at someone else before they get caught in the act, and unfortunately for you, Obi-Wan happens to turn at just the right moment to catch your eyes from across the room. It’s enough to shake you out of your stupor and put a smile on your face. You desperately pray to whatever higher powers there may be that the warmth on your cheeks isn’t obvious as you start walking to where he is.
“I wasn’t expecting to run into you today,” tumbles out of your mouth before you can filter any of the words. Obi-Wan offers you a kind smile in return.
“Oh, yes, well I had some free time and decided to take you up on your generous offer,” he responds. You watch as his hands awkwardly fiddle with his pockets with slight amusement. Maybe you’re not the only nervous one here, and maybe it’s even a good kind of nervousness.
“Coming back to talk to me about art, huh? You’re a man after my own heart, aren’t you?” You tease playfully, blind to the slight pink flush on his cheeks and the soft smile on his lips.
“I can’t let you have all the fun in this art museum,” he teases in return, “Besides, I’m sure there are other things we could talk about too once you realize I have my fair share of art history knowledge that could easily rival yours.”
You let out an incredulous laugh, friendly competition now tainting the conversation as you respond, “Oh, it’s like that?”
“Just like that.”
A mock stare-off is what follows before you both crack blinding smiles and release quiet giggles. You shake your head fondly at him before motioning him to follow you further down the exhibit.
“Alright then, Mr. Art Connoisseur, let's put your knowledge to the test.”
And that’s how your afternoon is spent, in the brilliant company of one Obi-Wan Kenobi, appreciating the art that surrounds you as he tosses out art history facts at you. It’s also spent with discussions on short life stories shared between the two of you, little facts and tidbits being shared as you both begin to learn more about the other.
You’re admiring an amphora detailing Achilles killing the Amazon Queen Penthesilea when Obi-Wan turns and asks you, “Which piece of art here is your favorite?”
While it shouldn’t catch you off guard, it does cause your thoughts to stumble briefly as you rack your eyes over every piece of art visible in your line of sight. As you contemplate, you also rack your mind of the pieces that aren’t visible in this exhibit, trying to decide which one is your favorite. It’s a difficult decision, especially when these works in the exhibits you curate for all feel special and necessary and interlocked. How could you possibly pick just one?
“You ask a difficult question, Mr. Kenobi,” you smirk at him. “One I don’t know if I have an answer to.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” And that’s when you notice the playful doe eyes he sends your way, trying to soften you up so you will spill the beans and share your favorite. “I think you have several favorites and you’re afraid I won’t like them.”
“Such confidence for someone who’s still just getting to know me. But I’ll humor you anyway because I am a generous person. Be warned, I have a few favorites. Asking me to name off just one is grounds for cruelty.”
He nods his head solemnly to you, but you see the lingering playfulness decorating his features—the slight crow’s feet by his eyes, the glint that shines in the bright blue of his eyes, the small smile, the soft lean-in to his posture.
“Of course. Let’s play fair then: top three favorite pieces exclusively from this exhibit, in no particular order, if you wish.”
And that’s when you truly discover the first star that makes up the constellation that is Obi-Wan Kenobi: his kindness. Sure at times it may be hidden under a layer of playful flirting and sarcasm, but it’s there and it’s prominent and it’s a key aspect of who he is.
It was something you saw lurking within him throughout the day, but just like the stars you admire often in the sky, their depth and vibrancy hidden away gently behind clouds and light pollution, so is Obi-Wan’s abundance of kindness. But right here, right now, the sky is clear and it’s your first glimpse at how truly genuine and kind he is.
You’ve seen how kind he is in practically every interaction he has had with you this afternoon. He always allows you to speak your mind, he’s respectful of your boundaries, he meets you halfway. And despite his every opportunity to be bored by your talking or unenthused by your appreciation for art, he stays by your side, asking for details about who you are, offering up information in return if you ask. He’s respectful in his questions, thoughtful in his answers, funny in his mannerisms and reactions… he’s not who you thought he’d be when you first glanced at him a week ago, but you’re even more intrigued by who you’re discovering.
He’s so easy to talk to that you find yourself enjoying every ounce of this conversation and the free reign you have to not be afraid to be yourself.
But it’s not just you who he’s kind to. Throughout the afternoon, you’ve seen his kindness shine through him in the smallest of acts, ebbing out like waves on a shore. How he opens the heavy gallery doors for those around him. The way he’ll listen to others discuss their interpretation of the art to him if you’re busy somewhere else. The way he waves hello to the other workers in this exhibit. How he smiles at the little kids who stare up at him in curiosity from across the room, more interested in the people than the art in the room. There’s something about his aura that drags people to him, intrigues them just as he did you. People may not look at the stars, but they sure do look at Obi-Wan Kenobi.
But your inner musings obviously aren’t a satisfactory answer, so you play off your internal thought process as thinking time for an answer.
“Alright, first on the list is that Pyramus and Thisbe painting near the entrance. An unexpected love forged between a chink in the wall that ended in such tragedy? Definitely a favorite to dissect. Also on the list is that ceramic bowl depicting the voyage of Aeneas before the downfall of Troy.” You point to the nearby work. “It’s amazing how well the artist can capture the fickle nature of the sea while also crafting Aeneas’s optimism and greatness into a bowl. And lastly, the giant statue of Poseidon that you were admiring last time you were here,” you rattle off. He smiles at you, nodding his head as if in approval.
“Any particular reason why with that last one?” he asks. There’s something playing just on the edge of his voice, a slight inflection that you almost think is humor or amusement, like there’s an inside joke you’re unaware of. But you brush it off, thinking nothing more of it.
“There’s… something about the myth of Poseidon that always intrigued me,” you begin. “There’s so much nuance to his character in all the Greek and Roman myths, so much respect for him even among all the craziness in his life story. You know, like his son the Minotaur, his rivalry with Athena, his assistance in the Trojan War, his creation of the horse… clearly the ancient Greeks and Romans had a lot of respect for him and what morals he represented to them, regardless of if he was real or not, and despite the weird aspects of ancient mythology. Almost makes you wonder what he would’ve really been like.”
And when you turn to look at Obi-Wan again, you’re knocked back slightly by the awed look in his eyes. You’re not sure what you said to make him react this way, but you find yourself enticed by the vibrancy in his eyes. You’re slightly unsure of where to proceed after garnering such a response, so you flip to the only thing you can think of: playful banter.
“But, it’s also worth noting that the name ‘Poseidon’ means ‘husband’ in Greek, which obviously means that he’s excellent husband material and all of humanity is doomed without his presence,” you joke. And it works, because suddenly you’re rewarded by Obi-Wan’s booming laugh, loud and carefree, and for once you’re not concerned with the nearby patrons shushing you as you join in. His hand grabs your arm as he tries to steady himself and calm down, your hand grasping over his as you calm yourself down.
“Unfortunately, I think you’re wrong with that one, my dear,” Obi-Wan lets go of your arm to wipe his eyes gently before continuing, which is lucky for you considering the term of endearment has you all kinds of flustered, “‘Poseidon’ actually means ‘husband of the earth,’ but you were close.”
You wave off his correction with an, “Eh, same thing. He probably was good husband material, though. Woe are we to be deprived of such a man.”
Obi-Wan just gives you an unimpressed look at that before walking off, though you see him trying to hide his small smile. Pleased, you follow after him and continue through the museum, checking on patrons occasionally and admiring the art alongside your companion. Eventually, though, the museum nears closing time and Obi-Wan has to go, as the general announcement so kindly stated, but the hesitance to separate stays with you both.
“I think that would be my cue to depart,” he trails off.
“So it would seem,” you reply. A beat passes between you both as you fumble with your hands awkwardly in front of you, trying to not make this more painfully awkward than it already is. “Besides, I should probably finish up my rounds, tie off some loose ends before my shift finishes…”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to distract you from your work and—” but you cut him off before he can finish his apology.
“Oh no, no! No, uh, no, there’s nothing to apologize for. I wouldn’t have stayed as long as I did if I knew I couldn’t swing it and make it work. So if I run behind on my work, that’s on me. Not you. Umm…” you stop fumbling with your hands in favor of grasping at them instead, “That being said, if you wanted to come back again, you know where to find me.”
“I certainly plan on it,” is the response Obi-Wan rewards you with, a cheeky wink following that triggers butterflies in your stomach. Not only that, but you see a light dusting of pink falling over his cheeks, drawing your eyes to the mapping of freckles that lie there.
“Good. That’s good.” And you’re back to staring at each other in silence for a drawn-out moment before the museum announcement rings again, reminding the patrons that the museum is closing in 15 minutes and they should begin making their way to the front entrance and exit. It’s enough to jolt you both out of your stupor with a clumsy laugh.
“I will see you around, then, my dear,” Obi-Wan says fondly. His hand grasps your arm gently, giving it a slight squeeze, before releasing you. He begins to walk away, and you just barely remember to call out a flustered goodbye while he’s still in earshot.
You spend the rest of your shift and your evening reflecting on your newest encounter with Obi-Wan. He was every bit as charming, delightful, and intriguing this time around as he was the first, and you’re still yearning to know more about him. You have a good feeling about Obi-Wan Kenobi—you can practically sense the adventure radiating off of him—and you hope and pray that he’ll come back to the museum soon.
And to your delight, he comes back the next week.
And the next.
And the next.
And the next.
So he becomes a frequent visitor at the museum, and each time he manages to catch you, even if it’s briefly, and you get to know each other more and more with every conversation.
Slowly, you start discovering more stars that make up Obi-Wan Kenobi—loyal, honest, charitable, considerate, mindful, intelligent, witty, sarcastic—and carefully in your mind, you’re making a map of them. By keeping track of them all, you start to make out the constellation that is Obi-Wan Kenobi, you begin to learn who exactly he is, and you become more drawn to him.
And so you learn more about each other, become friends officially, and perhaps start leaning into something more. Something you don’t have a name for but of which you can feel fluttering in your stomach. You’re not blind, you knew of your intrigue of him from the moment you first met, but this… this is different. This is new and exciting and tentative. This is something you’re not sure is reciprocated, but it’s something you want to pursue, at least beyond the confines of your place of work.
And you plan to do so, as soon as you’ve gathered the courage to bring up the idea.
Turns out, broaching the idea isn’t as difficult as you feared it would be.
It happens like this: you and Obi-Wan are in front of the very mosaic that arrived the day Obi-Wan first returned to the museum. The mosaic is fully restored and prepped and hanging now, and it’s your job to get a feel for its placement in the exhibit and to overlook the reactions of the patrons, and through it all Obi-Wan is by your side, keeping you company. You’re talking about little things as you people watch, trading small tales and funny happenstances in your lives.
One thing you’ve picked up in your interactions with him is that some topics are touchy and can cause him to clam up. You’ve learned to steer clear of these until he’s ready to open up to you about it, and they mainly break down into conversations on family or work. Not that you’re judging, you understand that both topics can be a source of insecurity for anyone, so you try to respect his wishes and not bring up either. Still, sometimes you can’t help but poke or prod at the topic, hedge the idea into conversation, immediately letting it go if you see a negative reaction from Obi-Wan.
Today is no different.
“You know, I’m starting to think that you’re a secret millionaire or something considering you can afford coming here so often,” you tell him. It’s a joke and he knows it, giving you a small laugh in return as he shakes his head. He won’t reveal his job to you beyond “freelance worker” anytime soon—you know that—but poking fun at the mystery of it is something he allows, indulges you in.
“Oh don’t be silly, I got the membership,” he pokes right back at you. It causes you to raise your eyebrow. “You don’t honestly think I’d pay full ticket price at the front door every week, do you?”
“You’re right, how dare I assume that,” you respond, playing along with the joke and fighting down your laughter, “And with the membership, you even get a discount at the gift shop, which we both know is the real reason why you come back every week, artwork be damned.”
But what you don’t notice is Obi-Wan’s eyes flickering back to yours, a hint of yearning in them. Yes, he comes back solely for the art and to appreciate “what once was,” but the main reason he comes back every week is you and the “what could be.” You hold promise for him, you hold the future, and you may even hold his heart one day if things work out as he hopes they will.
But you don’t notice or know this, so while you feel you are just joking harmlessly, you don’t realize the truth that Obi-Wan’s just as interested in you as you are in him.
Still, that doesn’t mean you’re a quitter. And neither is he. And you’re ready to take this giant leap. One small step out of the art museum, one giant leap for your relationship. But no pressure.
“Of course, my dear. The gift shop is an invaluable addition to the museum. Maybe one of these weeks I will finally purchase myself a pair of socks with the Mona Lisa or The Scream on them,” he jests. The playfulness in his tone lifts slightly as he says, “Though, the company in the exhibits is not bad either.”
“Oh shut up,” you push gently at his shoulder, not enough to throw him off-kilter but enough to get him to rock on his feet.
The two of you pause in silence for a moment as his words sink in the crevices of your conversation. It’s just enough to give you optimism that what you’re about to ask will go over well.
“But, maybe you don’t have to keep spending your money here and we could meet somewhere else… like… a coffee shop? Or the park?” you suggest. You turn to him and you know your eyes are filled with hope, so at this point you can only pray that he’ll answer you the way you want him to. And to your delight, his eyes meet yours and shine bright, brighter than any star you’ve seen before. Offhandedly, you note to yourself about how his eyes remind you of the ocean, illuminated by the light of the moon at night with a sea of stars reflecting in them. If you weren’t so invested in his response, you think you could get lost in them. Lost in the cluster of stars laid out before you. And maybe one day you can, and you can map out the constellations that shine in his eyes, just as you’ve begun to do with Obi-Wan himself, but then he’s nodding his head and pulling you out of your trace.
“I’d like that.” It takes everything within you not to sigh with relief or jump for joy or both.
“Good. Glad we’re on the same page,” you stutter out.
“Yeah,” he responds softly, “Me too.”
And somehow, that giant leap forward doesn’t feel like a giant leap at all. Instead, it feels like a natural progression, and you’re relieved your worries were for nothing.
Just as you’re about to respond and start planning, your attention is dragged away by a patron approaching you and asking for your assistance. The conversation will have to be put on hold momentarily, but the excitement you feel is too astronomical to dial down.
Finally, when you’ve settled the concerned patron and dealt with some nearby rowdy children who were playing just a little too close to the art, you walk back over to Obi-Wan who, ever-so patiently, is still by the mosaic, observing the world as it passes by him until he catches your movement.
“So how about—” you start, but unfortunately you’re cut off by the museum’s announcement that they’re closing soon and all patrons need to start making their way to the museum entrance and exit. How convenient.
“It would appear that I’m no longer welcome here,” Obi-Wan weakly jokes.
“So it would seem,” you agree. A moment of silence falls between you two, precious seconds to plan this outing slipping through your fingers like sand. But then you have a lightbulb moment. You begin to rummage through your pockets, Obi-Wan staring at your frantic fumbling in confusion, until you procure a pen.
“Can I see your hand?” you ask. He barely can finish agreeing before you’re grabbing it and bringing it to you. You begin scribbling down as legibly as you can on the back of his hand your phone number followed by a little heart.
“There!” you proudly say, showing him your handiwork.
“What’s that?” he inquires. You raise your eyebrows slightly at his question.
“It’s my phone number. You know, the thing you use to keep in contact with people? Text me and we can work out the details later when you’re not about to get kicked out of my place of work,” you explain.
“Oh! Yes, right, of course,” he seems to be floundering a bit, and you wonder if maybe Obi-Wan doesn’t get phone numbers all that often. You’ve seen him with some of the other art museum patrons, so you know he tends to harmlessly flirt, leaving people swooning left and right. You’d be surprised if he doesn’t get offered many phone numbers, but at the same time, you’re flattered that he’s accepting yours despite all that. Maybe there really is something more to this.
“Great! Then I will let you go on your way. Remember to text me so I have your number too,” you instruct him.
“As soon as I can,” he replies, a bit of hesitancy still on his face. You try to calm whatever nerves seem to be nipping at him with a warm smile.
“Good. Get home safe, alright?” He nods his head and bids you goodbye before you’re both walking away in separate directions. You’ve only walked a few feet away when you look back behind you to watch Obi-Wan go, only to notice that he’s stopped to look back at you as well. Your heart does funny things at that as you shyly wave at him, a small smile pulling at your lips. You can make out a small smile gracing his face as well as he waves back at you before you both turn back around and begin walking away.
As you’re making your way to one of the nearby employee entrances, you pause momentarily to stare at a different mosaic that hangs in this exhibit, this one also created by the Romans. It depicts the Roman god Mars—Ares to the Ancient Greeks, god of war and the manifestation of the spirit of battle—holding a shield and a staff, looking every bit intimidating and admirable. He dons a helmet on his head and a cape on his back, ready to fight and protect. As you stare at the mosaic, it almost feels like someone is looking out for you, cheering you on. It’s probably nothing, but still, it’s nice to know that this is working out. Maybe there’s something to the whole “driving away bad favor” theory, with or without Medusa.
Unfortunately, the rest of your shift goes by painfully slow, as does your evening; the potential of a text from Obi-Wan Kenobi driving you into a state of anticipation. Thankfully, if Padmé at all notices your antsy twitches and frequent glances at your phone, she says nothing. Although, if her occasional smirk or eyebrow raise in your direction is anything to go by, she probably connected the dots herself.
There’s a certain thrill that courses down your spine, settling into excitement in your stomach when your phone finally does illuminate on your side table before you go to bed, an unknown number flashing on your screen. The thrill continues as you read the text that rather formally says: Hello, my dear. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, from the museum you work at. I hope I am doing this correctly. -OWK
It’s every bit endearing and causes the flutter of excitement to grow within you as you type out a response, and it stays with you as you plan your outing via text, go to work the next day, and wish him a good morning and good night throughout the week.
However, the excitement transforms into anxiety on the day of your outing. You’re up early despite your habit of sleeping in on your days off, quietly stressing about meeting up with Obi-Wan outside of the art museum in the early afternoon, wondering if this really is a good idea after all. In fact, in your frenzy, you arrive at the museum (your meet-up point before today’s activities) almost 20 minutes early. You barely wait long at all before you get surprised.
“Hello there,” a voice from right behind you tells you.
You just about jump out of your skin as you whip around and are greeted by ocean blue eyes connecting with yours. Your lucky stars align because right there, as if he just fell from the sky, is Obi-Wan. You would know those eyes anywhere, their bright blue a contrast to the shore of freckles that lay beneath them, a constellation in and of themselves sketched out in front of you. You barely have time to wonder how he showed up so fast beside you when your excitement to see him overpowers everything else.
“Hey!” you internally cringe at the amount of enthusiasm you show, and you hope none of it shows on your face. In a panicked recovery, you continue, “Ready to set sail?”
He fondly rolls his eyes at you, struggling to keep a straight face. A bit of pride runs through you at your ability to easily fluster him.
“Don’t make me regret my agreement,” he warns, though you know he doesn’t actually mean it.
“Yeah, yeah, woe is you for spending a day with me outside of the confines of an art museum. C’mon, aren’t you at least a little excited to be changing up the scenery?” you ask. You hold your elbow out in hopes that he’ll hold onto it and allow you to guide him through the streets.
“I’m cautiously optimistic,” he responds, linking his arm with yours. Well, not exactly what you had in mind, but a victory nonetheless. You smile smugly at him and begin to walk away from the beloved art museum arm-in-arm.
“Oh don’t be a spoilsport, Obi-Wan. You know you’re excited about what the day will bring. Just admit it,” you singsong. You tug him a little closer with your entwined arms in your joking, but instead of moving away after bumping shoulders, he stays close to you, squeezing your bicep gently with his free hand before releasing you. Your face heats up gently at the extra contact, and the two of your share a smile before looking away, both of you equally flustered.
“I still don’t understand why we have to sit and talk in a different environment. The museum was alright, was it not?” he asks. You tut softly at him.
“It was, but it’s time for a change because we’ve been hanging out in the same art exhibit for weeks now. It gets old. But hey, if you really want to keep up that time period, then view our outing this way: coffeehouses are like the modern-day agora,” you say. His eyebrows furrow at you.
“I’m not sure I follow.”
You roll your eyes fondly at him. “Think about it: in Ancient Greece, the agora was used as a central meeting space for the citizens, allowing them to come together and share social and political ideas, yes? Are coffeehouses not the same thing? Spaces for people to come together, converse, plot, plan, learn, and share?”
“I suppose, though I fail to see how that’s an answer to my question,” he strokes his chin thoughtfully. That’s when the two of you notice you’re outside the offending coffeehouse.
“It answers it because it’ll be like we’re living out the art we saw. We can be Greek citizens for the day, communing in a modern-day agora! So, suppose all you want, you’re about to concede that I was right about the necessary change of scene in a matter of minutes,” you unwind your arm from his and rush to open the door before he can.
“Are you always this determined?” Obi-Wan asks, faux annoyance in his tone.
“I don’t know, are you always this difficult?” you ask right back at him. You smile sweetly at him when he lacks a good comeback to keep the playful banter going. He huffs at you before walking in, you trailing along after and guiding him to the line to order.
“Pick whatever you want, I’m paying,” you tell him. His head nearly whips around to you, his eyes slightly widening in shock.
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“Relax. I invited you out in the first place, and you’ve been paying to come to the museum for how many weeks now? It’s only fair. I can get you a drink,” you interject.
“Are you sure?” he asks timidly.
“Positive. You can even pay for our next outing if it makes you feel any better,” you compromise. That catches his attention and suddenly any resistance is gone.
“Our next outing, huh?” his smile is every bit as cheeky as you assumed it would be, the twinkling stars reflecting in his ocean eyes. You’re flushing yet again, and he knows exactly how to get you to do so. Damn him. “Very well. I accept your negotiation. On the condition that I decide where we go and what we do. It’s only fair, considering you planned this outing.”
You laugh at the clear call back to your earlier statement. The line moves forward. “What are you, some kind of negotiator?”
“Just a pain in the ass, darling. And lucky for you, you can’t get a membership to a coffeehouse, which means we’re going somewhere else next time.” And right before your eyes, you witness a boyish charm wash over his face as he smirks at you, the twinkling stars in his eyes glimmering all the more brightly. Suddenly it feels less like he’s a constellation but the whole night sky right in front of you.
“Well, I already know that you’re a pain in my ass, but I’m glad you finally realize it,” you grumble, turning your attention away from him to ahead of you. You order, pay, and get your drinks rather quickly before you place your hand in the crook of Obi-Wan’s elbow and begin to guide him to a table in the corner near a window. As you’re about to pull back your seat, you find Obi-Wan is already there and pulling it back for you, being the gentleman that he is.
“Why thank you, kind sir,” you say in a poor imitation of a posh accent. “And they say chivalry is dead.”
“And with that accent you’re trying to pull off, maybe chivalry should die,” he says as he takes a seat across from you. You make an unimpressed face at him, shaking your head fondly before taking a sip of your drink. You watch curiously as he takes a sip of his beverage of choice: tea. Unwillingly, you feel your lips begin to form a smile as a familiar quiet lays over you two like a cozy blanket.
There’s something about this moment that is a solace to you. Comforting. Fulfilling. Knowing. There’s no pressure to impress, no anxiety over conversation topics, no expectations for anything spectacular, just you and Obi-Wan and the warm familiarity between you both that has grown over the weeks. And among it: the beginnings of a language only you and he can speak forming between you two. Thousands of words hidden in mere looks, emotions conveyed through simple touches, understandings passed without any declaration.
It’s almost a relief knowing that you two are still the same even outside of the museum, and that any worries you held beforehand were for naught.
“You’re staring,” he tells you, taking another sip of his tea. You hadn’t even noticed, but you don’t notice any discomfort from Obi-Wan, so you’re taking this as a win.
“Just appreciating the art in the room.” The sappy grin on your face refuses to go away, and you know you’re putting your cards on the table on full display for him.
“What art—oh” is all he’s able to manage, a bright pink settling over his cheeks. “You mean—”
“Yeah. I do,” you tell him. Silence falls over you both before Obi-Wan begins to nod slowly to you.
“Me too.”
“Hm?”
“The art here. It’s rather exquisite, if I do say so. Holds a lot of meaning and value. To me, especially.”
Instead of your face heating up gradually at his compliments of you, your face warms in an instant and you can feel your mouth opening ever-so-slightly in shock.
You manage to stutter out, “Ever the flirt, aren’t you?”
“And with good reason,” he responds.
You barely even notice Obi-Wan holding out his hand across the table, palm up and ready for your taking, if you so wished. But it felt like more than just a simple handhold. It felt like, if you grabbed his hand, you were reaching towards uncharted territory, sailing off into a world unknown and unlike any you had seen before. It felt like flying too close to the sun but making it out on the other side, wings still intact. It felt like two stars, connecting to start the beginnings of a new constellation, a new story.
It felt like temptation, and you couldn’t see a reality where you denied yourself this moment.
And so you grab on, squeezing his hand gently once you do. He brings your hands to him and kisses the back of your hand before allowing them both to fall back to the table, still holding on to each other.
It’s not quite a verbal declaration of your feelings, your infatuation, your desire to have something more, but it’s clear that he understands and reciprocates and it’s enough. It’s enough to acknowledge the elephant in the room. It’s enough to finally accept what the buzzing feelings in your stomach, the swooning of your heart, and the tingling in your fingers are pointing at. It’s enough to finally have physical contact with him that edges into the “something more” territory. There will be time for discussions and confessions later, but for now, with his hand in yours, it's enough to simply live in the moment and absorb the feeling of requited infatuation. The potential for what will be and what is to come shines before you, and you’re excited to see what’s in store.
Eventually, the quiet moment between you two passes, and conversation strikes up again, but through it all, you hold hands across the table. The familiarity and comfort never leave your table, the blanket of warmth staying wrapped around you both, even when you do eventually leave and let go of your hands. Not willing to part quite yet, the two of you decide to venture to a nearby park and its sculpture garden. Somewhere along the way, you grasped for Obi-Wan’s hand once more, and he intertwined your fingers together, no questions asked.
Among the foliage, statues, and soft chirping of birds, it’s easy to lose track of time, and eventually, the sky begins to transform into shades of pink, orange, purple, and blue with the stars you admire so much starting to peek through the sky.
It’s here where you both take the plunge and fully address the elephant in the room, not just nod to it from a distance. It starts slowly with Obi-Wan squeezing your hand, drawing your attention away from the gradient sky to the soft, oceanic blue of his eyes. You can’t help but admire the beauty of Obi-Wan under the brilliant stars, his face illuminated by the remaining soft orange warmth of the sky. It’s like time stands still, this moment drawn-out to last an eternity as you simply stare at each other, the tension of anticipation for what surely will come next building up in the breeze that blows around you both.
And then it happens.
A simple “can I kiss you?” followed by the nodding of your head is the trigger for your first kiss together.
Once your lips meet, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be a shooting star, falling from the stars and blazing through the sky, shining brightly for all to see. A force to be reckoned with as you look down upon the unknown that lays before you. The kiss is short and sweet, but it’s enough to safely bring you down from the stars and back to earth. A moment of exhilaration and blazing followed by a moment of tenderness and happiness.
And how can you do anything else but kiss him once more?
It’s quiet here in the garden; just you, Obi-Wan, and the stars connecting you to each other. You’re two separate constellations in the night sky telling separate stories but intertwining to tell something bigger. You’re not sure how this story will end, but it’s one you’re looking forward to.
A new love story was being written in the stars.
You could only hope you were one of the lucky few with a happy ending.
-- ☆ -- ☆ -- ☆ -- ☆ --
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