Mud | Obikin

28.

It has not stopped raining and my quarters have been wrapped in a dim grey light all day. Now, it is even darker; our room is full of shadows.

Our room?

We've been here for twenty-four hours straight when the world outside had collapsed.
I imagine the debris around the Temple, the people working on it and the corpses, all soaked in rain.
I force myself to remember I should feel bad for them, feel guilty for being happy while I'm dodging my responsibilities. All I achieve is a noxious lump in my stomach, just because the evening means we're about to part ways.

My selfishness is frightening, and I can't care about this either.

The more I have of Anakin, the more I want. The only moment when it is enough is when our bodies and our Signatures combine so that there's not him or me anymore.
Probably, this is what addiction sounds like.

What I envisioned last night, when air and blood had left my brain, is still lingering around us like a mist. We were one in that moment; that was Anakin's vision too. The way we carefully tread around it all day reveals how different from a dream it felt.

I need a friend to talk to, but I don't want to listen to any good advice.

Ahsoka's calling from behind my door drags us out of our illusion.

Anakin grabs my wrist with a pleading glare.

"Get dressed," I whisper. "Our no-kriff-given policy does not apply to her."

We frantically search for our clothes on the floor.
The moment we realise we are two very naked Masters trying to avoid a lecture from their Padawan, we can't stop giggling.
All that my hands find seems to be his, and I end up wearing a few things too dark to be mine.

"Coming," I shout, giving back a belt and grabbing mid air the sock Anakin is tossing me.

I flatten my tunic and open my arms to enquire about my respectability.

"The couch," Anakin orders with a nonreassuring furrow. "Be sick."

Finding her Master at my door doesn't surprise Ahsoka enough. Probably, her imperturbability should worry me more.

He overwhelms her with a tragic story about a terminal Obi-Wan, simultaneously broken commlinks and whatever. He is so fluent I begin doubting every word he has ever said.

His Padawan, however, is scarcely interested and only half-convinced.

"I'm much better," I interrupt. "I'm sure you're familiar with Anakin's tendency to turn everything into a drama."

He confirms it with a theatrical eyes-roll.

She gives him a side glance, places her plast bag on my kitchen counter and starts unpacking. "I'm happy you're recovering, Master. I took the liberty of bringing you dinner. It should be enough for the two of you..."

"I'm sure it will suffice for three," I say. "Truth is, the Force never blessed me with such a lovely apprentice."

"We all get the Padawans we deserve." Anakin huffs, making her chuckle.

"Your hidden merits must be uncountable, then. Even Master Vos was impressed by Commander Tano, on the battlefield."

Ahsoka blushes, though Anakin isn't as flattered. "We don't need him to know Snips kicks ass. Quinlan can go kark himself. He's far too engrossed with both my Master and my Padawan."

The girl is clearly amused by this new animosity and ignores my signals to pass over. "Stars! Nobody's going to steal neither of them, Skyguy. I dread the day Obi-Wan takes a new Padawan..."