All the Colours of the Rainbow

Pink

"So, Obi-Wan, what do you think about ...?" Anakin slung one arm over the back of his chair, twisting around to greet his friend as he entered the room. But he trailed off as he caught sight of Obi-Wan's sullen face. "What is it?"

Obi-Wan shrugged off his cloak, flicking it onto the couch and skulking into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin was half-amused, half-confused, pushing back his chair and walking to the door leading into his room. Perhaps Obi-Wan had forgotten that they had stopped sharing an apartment three years ago.

Anakin raised his knuckles, hesitating a moment, before knocking quietly. "Is everything okay?"

When he was met by the sweet sound of silence, he started to get concerned. Obi-Wan had just returned from an investigatory mission to Mandalore, and it wasn't uncommon that meeting the beautiful, fiery Duchess Satine would put Obi-Wan in a strange mood. Anakin had long known that Obi-Wan and her used to be a sort of forbidden lovers, but duty had divided them from each other for years.

As Anakin stood undecided, his concerns deepened. What if the mission had gone badly? Anakin hadn't known the particulars, but he'd had no reason to suspect tragedy. Obi-Wan was meticulous in all his dealings, leaving minimal chance for error.

Anakin waited a moment longer, then knocked again. "Obi-Wan, it's Anakin," he said quietly, his ear millimeters from the door. "I'm coming in, okay?"

Assuming permission was implied, he opened the door and entered the room, padding softly across the carpeted floor. The blinds were half turned, allowing slated afternoon sunshine to cover the floor and bed. It bathed Obi-Wan, alighting on him as he lay uncharacteristically still on Anakin's bed — Anakin's bed — his legs tucked up and his arm pillowing his head. He didn't stir or look up when Anakin neared, didn't even flinch when the bed dipped as Anakin sat on the other side.

Anakin rested one hand behind him, twisted around to face Obi-Wan, but he couldn't decide whether to speak or not. Obi-Wan couldn't hardly have been plainer if he had strung a flashing sign around himself, saying, "Do not disturb!" But he hadn't shooed Anakin away, and presumably he had specifically chosen Anakin's bed as his resting place. That he was permitting Anakin to see him in such a vulnerable state was either a touching display of open trust or a desperate need for comfort. Anakin didn't know which was better.

Despite how much Anakin wanted to say something — anything — some instinct told him to keep silent. So he turned back to face the opposite the wall, dropping his hands into his lap, and waited.

Time passed, and the silence dragged on. Obi-Wan didn't move once, except for his slow breathing. Anakin wondered if he should leave.

When the sun had slipped off the bed, retreating back out the window, Anakin straightened carefully. With a final glance at Obi-Wan, he headed for the door.

"I saw Satine."

Anakin froze, his fingers ghosting the panel to open the door. Casting a look over his shoulder, he observed Obi-Wan still in the same position.

"She was beautiful, Anakin."

Anakin took his words as an invitation, creeping back to his bed, this time perching on the end.

"The mission went well. There were no issues, nothing to fix, and no problems to solve. It seems the Force is taunting me, Anakin. How do you do it?" Finally, Obi-Wan moved, pushing up with one arm until he was sitting with his legs over the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped. "How do you balance your love with your life?"

Anakin was thoroughly unsettled by his question, his mind jumping immediately to Padmé. Did Obi-Wan know? Had he guessed? Or was he simply asking in general terms?