Chapter Text
Tapping your foot, you stared at yourself in the mirror, at the same face, same clothes, same body you always wore to the coffee shop, but today you just felt…not enough.
You threw your head in your hands. “Ugh.”
A moment ago, you’d only felt slightly nervous to see that lovely smile again, to hear that lovely voice. Your hands only slightly shook with anticipation; your heart only slightly raced. Now, your hands were practically vibrating, your heart jamming itself up into your throat.
All because of a notification that had popped up on your phone.
On my way now. Excited to continue our conversation x
It wasn’t that he was on his way; no, you had prepared for that, had psyched yourself up all weekend to see him again. It wasn’t even that he was excited to carry on a conversation with you again, that you’d be forced to reveal more of who you were, for you’d prepared for that, too, had listened to affirmations all weekend long and had recruited your roommate, Amelia, to spew them at you. You’d heard you were amazing a million different times this weekend, both from a gentle voice through your headphones and from the high-decibel intonations of Amelia, who took her job as seriously as life and death.
No, it was the x at the end of his message that shook you, body and mind. It was the affection and excitement held in that letter. And who knew, it could have been a habit of his, one that he didn’t think too much about, but… If he did mean it affectionately—romantically—it would be the first time in a long time since someone had expressed those feelings for you.
Since you’d been hurt.
You shook your head, dispelling memories of dark hair and a smirk—the reason you needed those affirmations—and then jumped at the knock on your door.
“Y/N…” sang Amelia. “It’s 9:03; you’re going to be laaaaate.” You swung open your door, revealing her smirk. “You wouldn’t want to miss your big coffee date, would you?”
Wordlessly, you showed her the message on your phone, and she grinned—but it turned to a frown as she took in your look of doubt and desperation. She gripped your shoulders. “Snap out of it. You. Are. Amazing,” she said, slightly shaking your shoulders.
Shoulders sagging, you said, “I am?”
“Yes!” she replied as she threw her arms up in the air before grabbing you again and shoving you toward the door. “Now get your amazing ass out of here.”
You opened the door, and Amelia handed you your backpack. Out in the hallway, you turned to face her. “What if it’s horrible?”
“If it is, then you come back here, and we watch Derry Girls and laugh our asses off.” She paused, then grinned. “And every so often, I’ll yell at you about how amazing you are. Now, goooooo,” she commanded, pushing you down the hallway toward the elevator.
After giving her a vulgar gesture (your way of saying thank you), you walked to the elevator and pressed the button, giving Amelia a little wave as you entered.
The mirrored doors showed your reflection once more, but this time, all you saw in your mind’s eye was kind, blue eyes.
The familiar black motorcycle was parked in front of the coffee shop when you approached, along with that sense of adventure that came with Obi-Wan’s presence. It flowed out of the coffee shop doors and into the street, straight into your very bones. Heart in your throat, you steeled your muscles, willing them to hold you up as you gripped the door handle and pulled.
The smell of coffee gripped you for a moment, centering you, before you scanned the busy shop. Students and writers sat with their laptops in front of them, families guided their children through the maze, and lovers gripped coffee in one hand and their lover’s hand in the other.
And then, across the room, there was Obi-Wan, golden hair glimmering in the sunlight streaming down upon him. So unfair, you thought as his smile grew wider upon your noticing him, each of you giving the other a shy wave. Suddenly you were hyper aware of your decidedly unspecial attire. In jeans and a leather jacket, he looked so good, so put together. You could never.
Little did you know that Obi-Wan’s stomach had dropped in the best way at the sight of you. He bounced his leg just to stop his hands from shaking. While you were thinking ordinary, unspectacular, plain he was thinking beautiful, gorgeous, stunning.
You weaved between customers until you reached the table, where Obi-Wan stood up with a loud scrape of his chair legs. With a shy, bashful smile, he greeted you, “Hello there, Y/N.”
It took everything in you to control your breathing as you replied, “Hello, Obi-Wan.”
You could have sworn his hand reached toward yours in the half a second between your speaking and sitting down, but then Obi-Wan sat down, too, resting his elbows on either side of that familiar blue-bound book.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” you said, fidgeting with your hands.
He glanced down at your lips, shyness in his gaze. “I don’t mind waiting.” Heat flooded your cheeks, and he looked down at his book. “Besides, I was able to catch up on everything the gang in Highbury are up to.”
“Did you read any more over the weekend?” you asked.
Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, I had a very busy weekend.”
“What did you do?”
“My brother and his wife were away for the weekend—so I got to fulfill my role as best uncle ever,” Obi-Wan said with a grin. Indeed, you noticed the blue tinge to the tips of his fingers—no doubt the result of a finger painting session.
You pointed to his hands, electricity coursing through your veins as he slightly shifted his hands toward your own. “Finger painting?”
Obi-Wan’s eyes went to his fingertips, mouth hanging slightly open. “I thought I removed it all,” he chuckled. “It seems I was very wrong.”
You smiled. An uncle, and one who loved his brother’s children—that much was clear. “How many children does your brother have?” you asked.
“Two,” he said, holding up that many fingers. “Luke and Leia: four-year-old twins.”
Obi-Wan then broke into a story about the children and their finger painting adventures: one that had you grinning along with him, heart inclining more and more to the man in front of you—as if it were a hand that you could reach out with, could hold him with.
Internally, you shook your head. Patience. You couldn’t let yourself read too far into him, into his motivations, his desires, his character. He was endearing; he was sweet, yes, but you needed to let him show you. You needed to take your time.
Oh, but it was hard with him smiling at you like that, with your heart thump, thump, thumping in your chest in response.
“Anyway,” Obi-Wan said, “enough about me for the moment. Would you like some coffee?”
Right. You were in a coffee shop. Somehow, his mere presence had drowned out all your surroundings. The bustle gently made its way back into your consciousness, and you made to stand, only to pause as Obi-Wan raised his hand. “No stay,” he said softly, lips breaking into a soft smile. “I’ll get it for you. That is, if you don’t mind.”
You gave a soft shake of your head, voice equally as soft when you replied, “No, I don’t mind.”
The two of you simply gazed at each other, shyness creeping in, and you knew if you weren’t in a crowded coffee shop—if you were alone—you would be hoping and begging for a sweet press of his lips against yours.
Another internal shake of your head. He was still a stranger. But his sincere smile told you he wouldn’t be for long.
“What would you like?” he practically whispered, reaching one hand out to softly brush his fingertips against yours.
You had to fight back the sigh that threatened to slip from your lips as a pleasant warmth coursed through you. After a moment, you whispered, “An iced coffee sounds nice today.” You needed something to drown the burning longing in your gut.
“An iced coffee it is,” he said, still giving you that sweet smile. “Cream and sugar?” You nodded, mouth parted. Then, he stood, nearly making you beg for him to stay as his hand left yours, and made his way to the counter.
Staring at his back, you counted backwards from ten, focusing on the air entering and exiting your lungs. This was insane. Batshit crazy. You were crazy, had lost your mind, had lost control over your body. What was this? He had always intrigued you. You’d stared at him every single day, his presence distracting you from your reading so that you were constantly behind on something you were usually able to keep up with.
Your eyes drifted to your backpack; you opened it, pulled out your textbook, and set it on the table. That was one way to cool things down. And then there was the coffee that Obi-Wan sat in front of you.
“One iced coffee,” he said, smiling as he sat back down.
You locked eyes with him and took a sip, savoring the taste and the chill in your throat. “It’s perfect; thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” he replied, now gazing at your textbook.
An apology hiding behind your words, you rushed out, “I…should read for a little while.” Although Obi-Wan nodded, face full of understanding and grace, you continued, “They assign us so much to read, and they always pull questions from the readings for the exams. And I would love to continue to talk, but–”
“This is obviously very important to you,” Obi-Wan said gently. “I…” He looked down for a moment. “I notice you, every time I come in. I see you reading, diligently highlighting, taking notes… I knew when we agreed to meet that you would most likely need to read, so please do. I do not want to interfere; please know that.”
Silence filled the space between you as you thought, Damn it, and, Damn his understanding and his kindness and his perfect smile. Damn him for making you want to abandon your responsibilities just to hear his voice.
Instead, you said, “Thank you. That’s sweet.” And because you couldn’t help yourself, you continued, “You’re sweet.”
Obi-Wan’s cheeks turned red, throat bobbing. “Can I ask one question first?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What are you studying?”
“Oh,” you chuckled, smoothing your hands over the soft pages in front of you. “I’m in occupational therapy school.” You waited, watching as Obi-Wan’s eyes shifted into something like recognition.
“Isn’t that like physical therapy?” he asked.
There it was. You bit back a grimace, instead planting a smile on your face as you shook your head. “No…but you’re not alone in thinking so.”
“Oh, dear,” Obi-Wan said, leaning back in his chair and placing a hand over his chest. A movement that would’ve appeared disingenuous on anyone else but was nothing less than sincere on him. “I’ve made a fool of myself haven’t I.”
“No,” you shook your head, laughing.
“I guess I need you to teach me, then.”
You paused and angled your head, considering. “Tell you what.” You laid your hands flat on your book. “For every fifteen minutes of reading, I will answer one question.”
“Hm,” he replied, further relaxing into his chair and placing one hand upon his chin. “I rather like this deal. Are questions restricted to those regarding your schooling?”
“No.” You smiled. “You can ask me anything.”
“Lovely,” he said with the mocked air of a businessman about to close a deal. “Then I propose an amendment to the deal.” At your nod of approval, he continued, “I propose that after fifteen minutes, each of us are to be granted one question. Is that satisfactory?”
You chuckled. “It is.”
“Then let us read.” Obi-Wan spread out his arms, gesturing to the books on the table.
You shook your head with a chuckle, picked up your highlighter, and began.
Your time at the coffee shop with Obi-Wan passed easily—even easier than when he’d been the mysterious, adventurous stranger. Now that he was sitting right in front of you, the pressure was on to concentrate, to highlight, to read, for if you didn’t you would’ve had to explain that each time he had sat across the shop, he had stolen away your focus—yet you had continued to come back.
Although, by the gentle, shy looks the two of you shared, you had a feeling he already knew.
And so, you read, and he read. And you learned about each other in between.
Obi-Wan had one brother, and he owned a flower shop. He came to the coffee shop during his lunch breaks. He loved coffee, but he loved tea more: especially at night and specifically peppermint. He got into motorcycles as a teenager and had fixed one up with his father. That same motorcycle was sitting in the parking lot. He never offered you a ride, rather letting his twinkling eyes promise you that he one day would. His parents died when he was eighteen—a car crash. Twelve years later, he still missed them very much. His brother had been fourteen; Obi-Wan had taken care of him, working part-time jobs, including one in a flower shop.
You were an only child, but you’d always wanted a sibling. You chose occupational therapy because you loved that you could help anyone with any problem related to engaging fully—and meaningfully—in their life. You wanted to work with older adults. Your mom was a pharmacist, and your dad was a car mechanic. Your roommate Amelia was like your sibling; you’d been friends since freshman year of college.
Suddenly, it was three o’clock. You’d managed to read more than you’d planned on, and the man in front of you had managed to move past being a stranger and into…acquaintance? Friend? Some term that meant you were in between strangers and…dating?
You looked at your watch. “I have class in half an hour,” you told Obi-Wan, who nodded.
The two of you gathered your things, still stealing shy glances, and you headed toward the door. Obi-Wan held open the door for you; you whispered your thanks.
He placed his helmet on the seat of his motorcycle, gazing down at it for a moment before looking back at you with a smile. “I could…give you a ride…if you’d like?”
Your brain said no, and your heart said yes. You thought about his sweet smile, his grief, his heart—which you’d only gotten a glimpse of but were sure was pure, was safe.
And despite the logical part of you spouting out all the reasons to not get on the back of his motorcycle, you found yourself slipping his helmet onto your head, fighting to not caress his hands as they buckled the strap under your chin.
Then he sat on the motorcycle, revving it, and you slid your legs around him, not daring to breathe as your gut clenched, as warmth spread across your abdomen.
Obi-Wan turned to you. “Ready?” he asked, voice husky.
“Yes,” you managed to croak out.
“Don’t be nervous.” He gave you a tender smile. “Place your legs on the footrests.” You obeyed. “Now, place your hands on me, here.” He pointed to his waist, and you gingerly placed your hands there, brushing his own. “Good,” he said, turning back around. “I’ll go slow, but don’t be afraid to grip my jacket if you need to.”
You barely had time to croak out another “Yes” before Obi-Wan guided the motorcycle out of the parking space. Your heart rate quickened as he navigated the parking lot, stopping at the main road.
Obi-Wan turned to you with a smile and said, “Hold on tight.”
Then, you were off. Off onto the busy city streets, teeming with cars, with life. As you rode on, your heart felt the same: teeming with life and hope and possibility.
When you arrived in front of your school, Obi-Wan pressed a sweet kiss upon your hand, just as he had done a few days ago.
Shoving down the hitch in your breath, you asked, “Will I see you again on Wednesday?”
Obi-Wan gave you a smile that you swore could’ve lit up the darkest parts of hell. “I wouldn’t miss it.”