Two Halfs of One Warrior • Obikin/Vaderwan One-Shots

Starless Skies

• Summary: A hand grips the lower part of his face, framing jaw and throat by demanding pressure. Cool breath blows across exposed skin. “I asked a question of you, darling; and I demand an answer.”

Where once Anakin would have met eyes the color of Naboo’s spring skies, soft and rich blue at the same time, now finds a vibrant and sickening yellow gaze. A Sun about to explode. The hellfire rampaging across cities under the demolition of kindness and love. He flushes as the truth stares straight into his soul:

Obi-Wan Kenobi has fallen.

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

“Darling.”

Purposefully, he looks away. Stomach in knots at the same time his mouth goes drier than Tatooine at summer’s peek. He knows and yet everything has changed now— he bites down on his bottom lip, to stop from crying or replying he cannot say. He didn’t think about making it to this point. He couldn’t focus on that; he had one goal and determination to accomplish it. Nothing else mattered. How could it?

Anakin’s never been good about thinking things through.

“I’m not in the mood for games.”

Copper floods his mouth, metallic and sharp. Heart damn near in shambles as it rattles inside his ribcage to the tune of the other half of his soul’s displeasure; at the betrayal. He can’t make sense of where north nodes meet south; if he’d unwittingly traveled through time; maybe if he’s stuck in a nightmare and unable to wake up. Quite frankly this reeks of nightmare— the one person he never imagined could touch darkness, let alone embrace it in utter totality, could only be a figment of his imagination. Anxiety has run amok and led him astray too often. If he breathes and has patience, then surely his master—

A hand grips the lower part of his face, framing jaw and throat by demanding pressure. Cool breath blows across exposed skin. “I asked a question of you, darling; and I demand an answer.”

Where once Anakin would have met eyes the color of Naboo’s spring skies, soft and rich blue at the same time, now finds a vibrant and sickening yellow gaze. A Sun about to explode. The hellfire rampaging across cities under the demolition of kindness and love. He flushes as the truth stares straight into his soul:

Obi-Wan Kenobi has fallen.

Somehow Anakin is unable to process this truth as fact.

The dark side paints him regal. If Anakin thought his former master in full battle armor was distracting, then he cannot be held responsible for Obi-Wan in full white ensemble that screams respect, experience, obedience. It’s so at odds with the mental image that Sith are evil and ought to wear all black, perhaps red; a literal representation of death. Obi-Wan dressed in white as if a gift from the Force itself; pure and whole. It’s… Obi-Wan. Never was this man to be trifled and now the truth of the matter rings with haunting totality into the Force surrounding them. A red cape drapes over his shoulders, though it is dark enough to be mistaken for black if the light isn’t reflecting it perfectly. A black belt cinched at the waist. Black leather boots shined to perfection. Anakin barely takes in the rest of Obi-Wan’s appearance for those yellow eyes hold him still.

Obi-Wan applies pressure to ground Anakin to the present.

Anakin exhales.

“I’m waiting, darling.”

It is here that something within him finally snaps. Darling; not dearheart. Anakin hasn’t been darling in ages… since the beginning. Since he told Obi-Wan darling held too many negative memories and dearheart spoke of their eternal love and affection. It was special, just them, Anakin had said. And Obi-Wan had agreed so easily; sealed it with a kiss to the forehead as he agreed, ‘Anything; anything at all, you need only ask.’ Anakin can’t pinpoint why he had been anxious; perhaps because they had only been together for a short time. Dearheart is theirs. Darling is for flirting with the enemy; for dainty lovers of the past. It isn’t them. So it is this gratuitous cracking of his heart—a repetition striking against their foundation— that has Anakin yanking out of Obi-Wan’s grip, a guttural noise ripping from the depths of his soul. His arms raise to bat Obi-Wan away. Nails sink into hollow cheeks, stopped by coarse hair.