Chapter Text
“Sir?”
Obi-Wan turns his head, dragging his gaze from the distant huddled buildings wreathed in celebratory finery, blinking as he refocuses onto Cody.
The other man grins, a small quiet thing even as the corners of his eyes crinkle, the hint of a dimple blooming in his cheek. Cody adjusts his grip on Obi-Wan’s hip, his fingers curling into the jut of bone there acting as a support and a point of distraction for Obi-Wan’s wandering thoughts to hook onto. Cody is so close to him, a burning line of heat at his side but it is a comfort, a wash of warmth and care rather than an intense consuming fire. He shines and Obi-Wan would never want to be parted from him, even for a moment. And yet…
Duty is a deliberate thing, a choice they would both make again and again and again. But, here and now, it is only the two of them, close and intertwined.
“Sir?” Cody says again, a note of amusement woven through the worry that lines his voice. His brow is furrowed, an expression that he wears well and often enough for the faint line to linger even as Obi-Wan draws his thoughts back to the present and reaches over to press the pad of his finger to the crease.
“I’m here, Cody. Though—” Obi-Wan moves his hand to cup Cody’s cheek, drawing his thumb over the curve of Cody’s cheekbone before sweeping it down to press against the faint hollow in his cheek, feeling the scratch of stubble against his skin. “My thoughts seem to be a little distracted at the moment.”
Cody doesn’t lean into his touch, won’t allow himself that small moment of weakness somewhere exposed, but contentment echoes through Obi-Wan. It’s gentle, a twist of smoke rising from a warm cup that lingers for a moment before it is indistinguishable from the air it had once inhabited.
What would an observer think, watching them pressed together like this? Would they see nothing more than a Jedi freshly released from the medbay with thick white bandages stretched from ankle to thigh leaning on their put-upon Commander for support? Would they see what they are — two lovers pressing as close as they dare to steal a moment of togetherness to accompany them through the lonely nights looming on the horizon?
It is a moment of stillness that cannot last.
Cody supports Obi-Wan as his leg protests, his breath catching in his throat in a strained hitch of pain, and turns them in an instant, moving towards the small recess beneath an open arch. It is barely larger than a ledge, made from the same cool stone as the rest of the corridor. A faint breeze presses its way through, bringing with it the distinct scent of engine oil and rust that permeates the entirety of Coruscant like a veil. Beneath it lingers the faint promise of rain, and the whisper of flowers.
“I’m not keeping you, am I? I can manage by myself if you wish to enjoy your downtime.” Obi-Wan stretches his leg out as he speaks, groaning as the muscle twitches and catches. The promise of pain is dulled to nothing more than unpleasant pressure and he reaches down to press his fingers into his thigh, feeling the slight give of bacta beneath his touch.
“Sir,” Cody begins, exasperation and affection well-worn into his voice. He grins once more, despite himself, as he braces against the stone to slide into the scant space opposite Obi-Wan, all warmth and solid mass where they are pressed together. “There is nothing I would rather be doing right now than spending time with you.”
Obi-Wan leans in just enough to press his forehead to Cody’s, breathing in the lingering scent of cheap caff and regimented soap that all the clones held, but amongst it is smoke and paint and love as sweet and golden as sunshine.
He speaks into the space between them, watching galaxies bloom and twist in the depths of Cody’s eyes. “But the festival, I would have thought that you and the others would have wanted to attend?”
Confusion bursts through Cody like a flare, his eyes widening as he stills, his breath catching in his throat. His thoughts stop, crashing into one another then falling into sickening quiet.
It is a worry born of the battlefield, the sickening lurch in the pit of his stomach that signals a missed step when a single falter could mean death.
Pain flickers down Obi-Wan’s legs, a sharp pulse of a second heartbeat, and he breaks away from Cody with a hiss, curling forwards as he draws his leg back in a shudder. It had been a lucky shot that had buried itself into this thigh and burst through his knee, a deflection from a half-buried piece of debris that had sent him crashing to the ground. Iron coats his tongue, both remembered and actual, trying to hold back a scream, can’t make a sound or they’ll find him, Cody needs to find him—
“Obi-Wan!”
He blinks, once, twice.
“I’m fine, my darling,” Obi-Wan murmurs in a voice that is desolated. He swallows, blinks, and takes stock of himself.
The pain in his leg still lingers, cresting then receding in time with the waves of some distant shore but the bacta is cool against his skin, soaking into the bandages and weighing them down. Against his back, the stone is warmed by the steady creep of the sun spilling over the city below them. He is empty and overfull at the same time as if he had been wrung dry and set to soak in his worry and anguish. Cody, in front of him, has curled forward, folding him into a space made for one. He holds himself up with one hand, the muscles in his arm knotted and bunched but solid. Cupping Obi-Wan’s jaw so carefully, his thumb smoothes along the curve of his cheek, rasping against the stubble there.
“Tell me about the festival?” Cody murmurs, his dark eyes fixed on Obi-Wan’s face.
“The what?”
“The festival.” Cody’s thumb presses against Obi-Wan’s cheek, drawing his attention back from the edge and making him focus once more. “We haven’t managed to be on-planet at this time for a while, have we? Except last year and that was—“
“Bad,” Obi-Wan answers for him.
It is a small word to be so heavy, to have so much grief poured into it. It is a small word to try and carry the burdens of weeks spent curled into a chair at Cody’s bedside, unwilling to be parted and yet knowing the risks of lingering too long. It had been compassion, it had been recompense, it had been love buried beneath it all but shining through because Obi-Wan couldn’t help but love Cody with every shattered piece of him.
“Yes.”
Cody doesn’t lean forward to press his forehead to Obi-Wan’s but his intent is clear in the soft sweep of his thumb over Obi-Wan’s cheek before he releases him.
Obi-Wan doesn’t let him go far, catching his retreating hand to lock their fingers together, lowering his head to press a kiss to the soft webbing between Cody’s thumb and forefinger. The gesture can only last a moment, dying before it is fully registered, Obi-Wan lowering their joined hand to the space between them.
“The festival is an old one. There are a few schools of thought on its origins—“
Cody breaks in with a laugh, his nose crinkling as he shakes his head. He had stood witness to a Jedi academic conference Obi-Wan had been interested in once, a tame event by their usual standards, and had declined to attend another one.
“Two fistfights and a declaration of eternal contempt?” he asks, his fingers tapping along the bridge of Obi-Wan’s knuckles, never straying from their intended targets.
“Not every conference devolves into name-calling, my love,” Obi-Wan chides, but he cannot keep the bubbling laughter from his voice. It’s strange, unsettled in the perch it has taken up in his chest after so long fighting but he can remember the heavier shape of it when he had been used to joy.
Cody hums, unconvinced. He turns to gaze at the sprawling buildings below them, and Obi-Wan follows his gaze.
The dark cast of night had bled into morning, unnoticed and unseen by either of them in the shuttered confines of the medbay. Soft pinks and red linger across the sky matching the rolling garlands decorating the buildings far below them. The city is absent of the typical thrum of speeders, the sound barely noticeable in its familiarity and rhythm and yet the world isn’t silent. Obi-Wan gazes out over the sea of carefully grown flowers and the groups walking amongst them and hears the world hum in awoken delight.
It is golden and beautiful and here and now .
“My favourite origin, the one I think is true, is the simplest of them all.” Obi-Wan draws his gaze back to Cody, watches the soft touch of wonder smooth across his cheeks, his smile gentle as his gaze tracks the crowds below.
“Near the beginning of Coruscant as it is now, more city than planet, they realised that the city would be all there is one day. There were still scraps of green growing amongst the metal that threatened to choke them. They decided to change.
“There was no stopping the city. There is no stopping the city's growth. But they could mitigate it. They could help things grow.”
“Like our ship,” Cody murmurs. The memory playing behind his eyes is one Obi-Wan knows well and Cody offers it to him with a press of his thoughts, his hands tightening for a moment on Obi-Wan’s.
Obi-Wan has seen Cody’s memories before, has stretched out to brush a worried thought across his mind to guard him in the heat of battle, but the clarity still steals his breath away. Memories tend to be fragmented things, impressions layered over one another like the confusing jumble of a song.
Cody’s memories are awash with colour.
It seemed improbable that so much colour could exist, would exist if even for a moment in Cody’s recollection, and Obi-Wan loses himself in it gladly.
Broad waxy leaves flit in front of him, their surface shiny and indented with the telltale half-moons of fingernails. They move easily as he raises his hand to brush them aside, and he is struck by sunlight.
It is artificial, a warm orange compared to the golden hue that had splashed across his face so many years ago, but it sets Obi-Wan’s hair ablaze. The colour is bright, shockingly so amidst the vines encircling him and the worn green beds underfoot. In the memory, Obi-Wan is standing, his face upturned to the sunlight, his eyes closed for an instant before he turns.
Cody’s recollection of him is imprecise, a swell of warmth and love rather than features. There is smear of pink for his cheeks and nose, shards of brilliant blue for his eyes but his smile is exact and Obi-Wan — distantly as if in another world — feels the same smile spread across his face.
“Just like our ships,” Obi-Wan says, resurfacing into the heaviness of his body. They had moved somehow, leaning closer, their foreheads pressed together and Obi-Wan watches as Cody’s eyes open.
Where Cody remembers the flash of Obi-Wan’s hair, the blue of his eyes, the brightness of his smile, Obi-Wan remembers Cody’s dark eyes and the press of his hands. He remembers the shine of Cody in the Force and holds it closely inside his chest.
“It is an act of remembrance of sorts. The city remembers what it once was and what could have been, and everyone enjoys a holiday.”
Obi-Wan breaks into a laugh, leaning away from Cody with a sigh. “When myself and Quinlan — Bant would join us at times too — when we were Padawans, we would often sneak out to join the festivities. We had thought we were being so subtle and yet I can see now that everyone knew what we were doing.
“There is a particular drink at the festival. I do not know the name of it, but it is potent and sweet and everything Padawans who have snuck out for an evening desire. There is a golden glitter paint that is only made during the festival — you will see the remnants of it tomorrow — and we woke up covered in it. From head to toe.”
Cody laughs, his grip tightening on Obi-Wan’s and his joy is a bright spark, a flare that burns through them both.
“It is good to see you like this,” he says.
Obi-Wan draws one hand free to cup Cody’s cheek, smoothing his thumb over the curve of his cheekbone and wondering if he could see a hint of gold in the other man’s skin. Cody deserves far more than Obi-Wan could give him, but he would continue to try with every piece of his soul.
Tonight would be a pot of golden paint, sweet drink and a bed big enough for them both. Obi-Wan kisses Cody, quick and soft, and drinks down Cody’s huff of laughter, tastes his grin.
“Come now, my dearest. The day is young and I would share as much as I can with you.”