Whumptober Prompt 11: Crying & Prompt 19: Grief
Anakin was sitting up in bed before he even processed that something was wrong.
For a moment, he didn’t move—just stared out into the darkness, heart racing from nightmares he didn’t remember now. Anakin was no stranger to sleeplessness. He rarely made it past four A.M. before he found himself up and about, meditating or tinkering with R2 or watching holos to distract himself from the reason why. But something was different now. He swallowed, his throat tight with an unease he couldn’t quite name. As he pushed back the covers and padded barefoot into the living room, the feeling followed.
And then, when he flipped on the holoTV and her face lit up the screen, Anakin understood why.
“Sundari is in uproar after the murder of Satine Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore,” the reporter was saying. “Authorities are conflicted over the true nature of her death, whether the result of—”
Anakin didn’t hear the rest. Because all he could think about was Obi-Wan’s guarded eyes, quips of sarcasm of a solider and delusion of a dreamer, two hurried confessions Anakin hadn’t been meant to hear. All he could think about was Obi-Wan’s nose in a poetry book, finger tracing someone’s scribbled handwriting in the margins. All he could think about was saying goodbye on the landing platform several days before. Watching Obi-Wan’s face darken as he turned away, leaving in a borrowed ship, on a mission he couldn’t explain. And now, and now—
Anakin was halfway down the hall before realizing he’d forgotten to put on shoes.
Obi-Wan never changed the passcode to his door, and Anakin didn’t think twice before barging in. In the dim light, his eyes immediately picked out the clues that something was amiss—a robe tossed on the floor instead of neatly down the laundry chute, overturned boots with charred laces. And then he saw it—there on the ground, scuffed and scorched and abandoned.
A red Mandalorian helmet.
Anakin’s breath caught in his throat.
The lights were off in Obi-Wan’s bedroom, but the open blinds let Coruscant’s endless city light stream through the window. And so Anakin could see him clearly—Obi-Wan, sitting up in bed with his back against the headboard, hair ruffled, blankets pulled around his shoulders and knees to his chest. He didn’t look Anakin’s way. Just gazed out at the traffic that flew past the Temple, silent and still.
And then Anakin heard the sniffle.
Obi-Wan rubbed a sleeve across his eyes before he turned. Anakin was frozen in the doorway, as if by taking a step further he’d hit some invisible glass wall, and it would shatter.
But then Obi-Wan was staring back, and his eyes were watery and red, and something shattered anyway.
