Anakin is almost seventeen and old enough to stop sulking like a child and finally understand that his Master is doing his best to satisfy his insatiable need of contact. Yet he is still a Temple-raised Jedi, and, seeing how much he struggles with even the slightest displays of emotions, Anakin sometimes wonders whether his Master is human at all. He is trying to be generous with his praise and affection, knowing just how badly his Padawan craves them, but he still mostly looks lost and even somewhat overwhelmed every time Anakin all but begs for them.
Will you hold me a little, Master?
Can I touch your hand when we meditate, Master?
May I sit at your feet while you read, Master?
Every time the Jedi looks outright thunderstruck, but he keeps his promise and never turns Anakin away.
And yet, it’s still not enough. It’s never enough. And Anakin hates how far he is willing to go just to get a glimpse of his Master’s lenient kindness that is both sweet and painful for him to witness. It scares him how just one soft, indulgent smile can make him tremble with an all-consuming desire to serve. To be useful. To be good. Anything just to get even the briefest touch: a pat on the shoulder or a hair ruffle, and if he is really, really good, he might even get a forehead kiss. But it almost never happens anymore, so most of the time Anakin has to arrange elaborate set-ups to elicit a few crumbs of his Master’s attention. And they need to be good. Really, really good. Good enough to make his Master forget about his eluding and deflecting and masterful evasion, forget about being the kriffing Negotiator for one blasted minute and actually give his thirsty Padawan something. A smile. A touch. A look. Anything. Anything.
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“Won’t you heal me, Master?” Anakin looks at him with his entirely innocent puppy-eyes.
Obi-Wan immediately rolls his eyes in response.
“Will you ever grow out of your dramatic streak, Anakin? It’s just a tiny little cut. It will heal on its own in no time.”
“But Master!” Anakin looks affronted. “I am bleeding out here!”
He puts down the kitchen knife and raises his hand to demonstrate his palm covered in red liquid to his completely unimpressed Master.
Obi-Wan slaps his forehead with an annoyed growl, “Force help me! It’s not even blood, Anakin – it’s just juice from the tomato you’ve been cutting!”
“But I am suffering here, Master!” Anakin pouts petulantly. “You have to heal me!”
Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh.
“You know what? Fine. If you are indeed as hurt and bleeding as you claim to be, it is my duty as your Master to send you to the Halls of Healing, so off you go!” He gestures to the door impatiently.
“But…” Anakin stares at him in disbelief. “But you’ve never sent me to the Halls of Healing, Master! You’ve always tended to me yourself.”
“Well, I’m sending you there now,” Obi-Wan counters, throwing his head back in clear annoyance. “Go!”
Anakin crosses his arms on his chest and insists with stubborn determination, “No! Heal me with your Force healing, Master! Or I will die.”
“From a minor cut?” Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow ironically. “I doubt it.”
Anakin stares at him indignantly for a long moment before he throws his palms in the air. “Fine!”
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Choose Your Words || A Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker Story
RomanceAnakin Skywalker is pure chaos and will do anything to get his Master's attention: A Star Wars Story.
