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—𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠—
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(this fic can also be found on TUMBLR and WATTPAD.)
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If it weren’t for the balmy heat of the season, you would have drawn comfort from the warmth of the moment that enveloped you. As you unfolded into new beginnings, the temperatures rose with the tension, and everything steadily narrowed down to this: you, him and the insistent itch of grass and the incessant need to run your hands along every inch of him until you’d mapped every line, crease and freckle. Every imperfection became yet another reason why you had fallen for this man in the first place, because it wasn’t the image he had of himself in his mind that had drawn you in closer, as if he had his own gravitational pull, and that wouldn’t have been the strangest thing you’d come across, but it was the person he truly was that resonated deep within your soul—you wanted him to understand that he didn’t have to be anything for you, nothing except for his own exceptional version of wonderful, and that would always be enough for you to keep coming back to this moment, right here.
Obi-Wan huffed, feigning annoyance as you weaved yet another wildflower into his hair; he had done the unthinkable—or, at least, it had been, but the second your fingers intertwined within his hair he’d been rendered speechless and unable to think of much else but your touch—and allowed you to adorn his Padawan braid with flowers. Your touch was delicate, using your dexterity to your advantage as you tenderly, and with as much care and reverence as you could muster, expertly twisted the long stems through the tiny spaces in between each plait. You were respectful enough not to pull and Obi-Wan was grateful for you having used such a loving touch with him; he almost felt that sinking feeling overtake him, and not the kind that comes from a twisting gut, but the one akin to sinking into a warm bath.
He was safe here, with you, and the more time you spent weaving flowers into his hair, the more it began to resonate with him—this was how it felt every time he was close to you.
You unraveled him, from his thoughts and insecurities and fears, until it all came together into something pure. It was simpler to make sense of what he was feeling when you were there with him, straightening him out, and he couldn’t help but yearn to reach for you, even if that might complicate more things than how he would explain to his Master why he had a garden woven into his hair when he returned for meditation that night.
Free time was a luxury he often couldn’t afford, and he wasn’t wasting it.
Qui-Gon was going to have to track him down himself if he wished for Obi-Wan to leave your presence for anything not requiring immediate attention or was of great emergency.
“There we go. All done,” you moved back to admire your mastery, but not before you leaned in to inhale the floral aroma that overwhelmed Obi-Wan’s senses and made him feel dizzy, or perhaps it was your body’s proximity to his own that had such a profound effect on him; he might never allow himself to ever know the truth, and that was alright, but still his heart pitched in his chest, reminding him that it definitely wasn’t worth the risk and he timidly reached out and placed one of his hands on yours.
“I thought you would keep going until there were no more flowers in the field,” Obi-Wan murmured, his voice too strained for such an innocuous conversation and he hoped you wouldn’t call attention to it.
You just shrugged, as if what you were about to say wouldn’t make the ground fall away right beneath him, “well, if that happened, I wouldn’t mind so much. You’re much prettier to look at.”
Obi-Wan wanted to cry that it wasn’t fair, how you could weave sentences together like that, but with the way you’d tangled him up with flowers and his own unspoken emotions, he supposed it shouldn’t be surprising that you were as eloquent as you were.
He sputtered for a moment, his tongue feeling like it were three sizes too big for his mouth—as if that were any excuse—and he tried to piece together a proper response, but it came out far more bitter and self-deprecating than he meant, “I’d hardly consider myself in the same category as floral arrangements. If that’s what you think, I’d advise you take another look.”
Instead of taking offense, you reached out and ruffled his hair, making the Padawan bristle, “hey now,” you chastised when he pulled away; you weren’t letting him pout his way out of this one, “I like what I see. Even if you don’t. I do.”
Obi-Wan grumbled, still attempting to seem unfazed by your compliments, but he wasn’t about to change his entire thought process because of one person…was he? Perhaps it had only been a long time coming, and so long as he’d been patient, this must’ve been the universe’s way of reminding him that this was the first step back to himself; letting you in was yet another way to find belonging, within his life and himself.
“Thanks,” Obi-Wan admitted, and the way his mouth curved around the word felt foreign, “only, you don’t have to say things like that. You can tell me, honestly…I won’t stop speaking to you because of it.”
“What do you think I should tell you?”
Obi-Wan sat dumbfounded for a moment; he hadn’t expected you to ask.
“That I have no chance with a vision like you…”
That was what he wanted to say, but he would savor that confession inside the privacy of his own mind and instead let you make your own decisions about him uninhibited by his definition of what he stood for: justice, freedom, acceptance, care, consideration…for everyone, except for himself.
Until now, he thought he followed direction well, but when you had shown him the way, he still refused to follow. What did that say about him as a Jedi? And as a person? What if all this time he was merely an imposter, secretly proclaiming to possess all these virtues he felt he knew less the true meaning of now than he did at the beginning of his training?
He was held captive by the “what if” and if only…
“Obi-Wan,” the sincerity in your tone gathered his attention the same way your hands gathered flowers, and he felt himself being pulled into your embrace, “I think you are a wonderful man. Not because you are a Jedi, but because you are you. That is not something you have to earn. It’s what you must accept.”
If the worst thing he had yet to overcome was himself, then Obi-Wan would do so a hundred times over, just to prove that he deserved this, with you. If he did not have to earn your faith in him, then let him exemplify it every chance he had. He would embody the spirit of your words, the beauty of your direction and the tenderness of your hand, in all he did.
If this was nothing more than a learning experience—and Obi-Wan hoped against all hope that it wasn’t the case, that there was more for you both than just this—you were speaking to him out of love and not obligation. You wanted to be here as much as he did, and you filled his head with as many flowers as grew here, in this field beneath his feet.
He had one lesson more to understand from Qui-Gon—not to focus on the future at the expense of the present—but it took a field of flowers, a delicate hand and a full heart to translate it into a feeling.
“And if I accept it…” he began tentatively, as if what he said next might change the course of his direction forever, and perhaps that was the beauty of the here and now…there really was no going back, and there was catharsis in there somewhere, he just had to uncover it, “then you must also accept that I…care for you in much the same way.”
He had said it, and it might alter the future, or it may not, but it wasn’t about that. It was about the person standing in front of him and how his stomach clenched at the very idea of letting you walk away from here without telling you exactly how he felt and having to live with the guilt of choosing not to speak his mind.
That would have been the real punishment; you would be fine, even if he never was again.
“There was never a doubt in my mind,” you replied, and Obi-Wan felt himself sinking again as you pulled him in and he let himself finally collapse into you, pressing his face into your neck as you held him tight. He had always loved the way you hugged—your hands fondly rubbing his back as he pressed closer, never wanting to be anywhere in the galaxy other than in this moment.
If he had learnt everything else from Qui-Gon, at least you could teach him this, a lesson he had never been more grateful to finally fully comprehend.