Obi-Wan wakes up to a feeling, a subtle tug on his consciousness, light and familiar. Tender. His body slowly emerges from his slumber before he even opens his eyes, and for a while, he allows himself to revel in this in-between, letting his senses reconnect back to the life and sensations around him. The soft cotton of the sheets wrapped around his legs and waist, the reddish light pressing behind his eyelids, the solid warmth snuggled against his back, alive, a breath tickling the back of his neck.
Anakin is still asleep, a hand firmly wrapped around his torso, clinging to him even in his dreams. Obi-Wan listens to his respiration in the stillness of the early morning, to the calm metronome of his heart resonating against his back, marveling for the umpteenth time at the mere existence of this moment. Of this. Of them.
Reaching out for the golden fingers locked on his sleeping shirt, Obi-Wan runs his own on top, gently stroking the cool metal until the mechanism progressively unclenches on his own, leaving him free to move and turn around to face Anakin.
Only then, he opens his eyes.
It's a silly promise he made to himself the first time he spent the entire night in Anakin's bed. For as long as he was allowed there, by his side, he would wake-up to the sight of his face laying on the pillow next to his own.
1957 nights since the day that broke a part of his soul, since Padme died and left two tiny newborns behind, since he almost lost Anakin to the dark side.
1957 nights later, he still wonders why the Force allowed them to reconcile with peace instead of punishing them for their sins. For that he's grateful every day.
Next to him, Anakin's features are soft, his body slack with sleep, chest rising steadily. Attracted like a moth to a flame, Obi-Wan rises his hand, letting the tip of his fingers brush against his lover's cheekbone, following the slight hollow of his cheek down to the edge of his jaw and running his thumb under the plump curve of his lower lip.
Anakin's mouth opens in a small sigh as Obi-Wan's fingers come to a standstill on his face. Another sigh and Anakin slightly tilts his head down to press a lazy kiss on the pad of Obi-Wan's thumb.
"'Morning." He mumbles sleepily, circling Obi-Wan's waist with both of his arms to pull him in a closer embrace, stretching his pouty mouth for a kiss without even opening his eyes.
Obi-Wan gladly indulges, moving his fingers from Anakin's face to the mass of curls entangled on his nape and grabbing them gently to angle the kiss in a way that makes Anakin moan softly.
"Good morning, darling." He whispers in a smile against Anakin's lips.
"You've been awake for long ?" Anakin asks between two lazy kisses.
"Long enough to watch you sleep a little bit." Obi-Wan replies, slipping his free hand under Anakin's shirt and up his back, pressing his palm on the warm skin in between his shoulder blades.
"That's creepy." Anakin retorts before stretching in his arms with a yawn worthy of a big lothcat.
It makes his shirt rise up, exposing the golden expanse of his abdomen and waist and Obi-Wan is hit with the sudden and primitive urge to press his skin against his own to feel him in every way possible.
Anakin makes a disapproving noise when he pulls away, quickly replaced by a content smile when he realizes that Obi-Wan is simply getting rid of his shirt, and raises his arms in turn.
"You're not a child." Obi-Wan remarks with a quirk of his eyebrows.
"I've never seen you complaining about having to undress me before." Anakin replies with a sly grin.
Obi-Wan rolls his eyes for good measure but makes a quick job of pulling Anakin's shirt above his head and down the foot of the bed.
"Come here." He asks, lying back on the mattress, arms open.
Anakin doesn't waste any time, settling in on top of him, one leg between his own, hands curling around his shoulders and head resting in the crook of his neck with a pleased sigh as he wiggles a little until he finds himself comfortable. Obi-Wan wraps his arms around him and presses his nose in his curls, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo. Anakin's fingers are drawing idle patterns on his shoulders and the top of his arms, his breath light on the hair of his chest.
Their skin is pressed against each other, soft and warm, and Obi-Wan can feel Anakin's ribcage and belly matching his movements as they breath together, hearts answering to each other in their own symphony.
I could spend the rest of my life like this, Obi-Wan thinks. He has everything he needs in the crook of his arms. His entire galaxy. He doesn't need more.
On top of him, Anakin's breath progressively slows down again, his consciousness retrieving in their bond as he falls asleep once more. Embracing him tighter, Obi-Wan places a kiss on his head and allows himself to close his eyes as well, for a little bit.
The next time he opens them, he's alone in the dark.
The bed is hard under his back, the poorly padded mattress between his body and the stone doing almost nothing to stop the cold from sipping into his bones.
A shiver runs down his spine as his dream gives way to reality.
There's no warm body tightly curled up between his arms, only the cold and rough sheet he has sewn himself from old pieces of clothes. No soft curls tickling his neck and the underside of his jaw, no sweet scent of vanilla floating to his nose in the first rays of morning but the smell of his own cold sweat.
There's no laughter, no happy sighs, no gentle moans, no crooked smile or mischievous gazes but the sound of the wind in the silence and the sight of the desert outside of his cave.
No familiar body to worship, to press against his own, no heart beating at the same pace but solitude and the sound of his own broken heart pumping in his ears.
It's been 1957 nights since the day that broke a part of his soul, since Padme died and left two tiny newborns behind.
It's been 1957 nights since he lost Anakin to the dark side.
