Archive of Our Own

It’s a slow day at the bookshop.

Actually, every day is a slow day at the bookshop, Anakin thinks, staring out the small window of the back room into the silver grey of February, the wind rustling the leaves of the tree outside.

They deal in used books, mostly, and the shop is tucked away in the outskirts of downtown on a street with minimal foot traffic. Neither of those things are very conducive to getting customers.

That’s why Anakin and his coworker-and-sort-of-best-friend Ahsoka are lounging in the back room, which is less of a stock room and more of a living room. Two worn couches are pressed in the corner, a round low table in front of them. There’s a fridge pushed up against a wall and a small counter with a sink, a coffee maker, and a microwave, splattered with marinara sauce because they both insist it wasn’t them who made the mess, so they both refuse to clean it.

Sitting on the counter next to the microwave are a few boxes of books ready to go out on the floor, because the shop’s owner, Mr. Yoda, insists that all their stock should be shoved on the floor wherever they can fit, even when that means piling them into stacks wherever there’s room in the shop.

Neither Anakin nor Ahsoka have touched them their entire shift.

Above them, the ceiling creaks occasionally with the groan of soft footsteps on wood. Mr. Yoda lives upstairs and rarely comes down into the shop, which is perfectly fine with Anakin.

He really does have the best job in the world. He has access to all the books he could possibly want, and Mr. Yoda doesn’t really care what they do when the shop is empty. Actually, he doesn’t really care what they do when the shop is open, either. His only stipulation is that they go out and greet any customers that walk in, staying at the counter until they leave.

When Anakin had asked why, Mr. Yoda had just spouted some philosophical quote about the importance of narratives, and then he had given Anakin one of the hard candies he keeps in his pocket at all times and wandered away.

He’s a weird man. Anakin has stopped asking him questions. Well, except for when he wants a piece of candy.

Currently, Anakin is eyeing the microwave and starting to think about dinner, which would just be the two day old stir fry in a tupperware container in the fridge, but the couch is comfortable, and he can’t seem to pick himself up from where he’s sprawled out, scrolling through social media on his phone.

He really should get up and eat and grab his backpack from the front and do his schoolwork. He doesn’t move.

On the other couch, Ahsoka is similarly sprawled, scrolling through her own phone. It blocks the lower part of her face, blue light spilling out to illuminate her eyes.

Anakin grows bored of social media and shoves his phone into his pocket. He stares up at the ceiling, an ugly popcorn pattern that really should have been left in the eighties, but it gives him something to do as he looks for images in the raised patterns to amuse himself. There’s a splatter that looks faintly like a pigeon riding a unicorn. He wonders if the pigeon is having any fun.

“So vis-a-vis the feelings of pigeons—” Anakin says into the silence.

“We are not having this conversation again,” Ahsoka shoots back.

Anakin hefts himself onto one elbow to look at her, offended. “I am going to make you believe one day,” he threatens. “Just like the squid debate.”

“The squid debate was rigged and you know it.”

“It was not!” Anakin protests. “Rex just decided to change his mind.”

Ahsoka drops her phone to her chest and turns her head to glare at him. It has less of an effect than she thinks; Anakin can see up her nose. “Yeah, after you begged him to change it for three days and then gave him twenty dollars.”

Anakin waves a hand in the air. “Irrelevant.”

Rolling her eyes, Ahsoka drops the conversation, knowing better than to argue with someone who picks many hills to die on.

Anakin goes back to staring at the ceiling. He can’t find the pigeon or the unicorn anymore, and he frowns. He almost wishes something would happen.

Then, as if summoned, he hears the cheerful chime of the front doorbell through the propped open door to the back room. They haven’t had a customer all day. He’s mildly curious, but the couch is so comfortable.

“You should go see who it is,” Anakin says to Ahsoka, still not wanting to move from his position on the couch.

“I got everyone yesterday,” Ahsoka says.

Anakin raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, the one time someone came into the shop.”

“That still counts,” she says, picking up her phone. He bets she’s just going to ignore him until he’s forced to go out onto the floor. Unfortunately, he’ll have to be the sacrifice this time. Anakin groans, loud and exaggerated, as he hefts himself off the couch and onto his feet.

“You hate me. You hate me and you want me to die,” Anakin says. Ahsoka rolls her eyes and goes back to scrolling.

This is why she’s only sort of Anakin’s best friend.

He steps out of the back onto the floor of the shop. When he had first gotten the job back in high school, Temple Books had quickly become his favorite place on Earth. Wooden shelves tower over the space, almost labyrinthine, packed with books of all kinds. They spill over onto the floor, piles of them laying around until the floor is almost obscured, with only small aisles to walk in. The largest stacks go up to Anakin’s thigh. The shop is full to bursting, and it smells like dust and the soft scent of ink and aging paper. It’s absolutely perfect.

Muted February sunlight streams into the shop from windows above the shelves and next to the front door. They illuminate a man, standing in the doorway, examining the shop with a curious eye.

Anakin stops in his tracks.

The man is in silhouette, but Anakin sees golden red hair, a sharp jaw, the line of his shoulders under the dark brown peacoat he wears. He looks put together and perfect as he unwinds his scarf, leaving it hanging around his neck and unbuttoning his coat.

He’s wearing a soft cream sweater with a collared shirt underneath. Anakin’s throat goes dry. He’s absolutely beautiful, standing in the sun.

It’s only because he’s spent years in the shop that he’s able to croak out, “Hi, welcome in. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” the man responds, giving him a polite smile as he steps further into the shop. Anakin nods dumbly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yes. No problem. I’ll just be here at the—at the counter,” he says, pointing to the counter like the man doesn’t know where it is, even though it’s right in front of him. “If you need anything, I’m Anakin and I’m at the counter.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” the man says, his polite smile still firmly affixed as he turns away, walking further into the shop.

As soon as the man’s back is turned, Anakin’s face falls into his hands. What was he thinking? I’m Anakin and I’m at the counter? That makes him sound like it’s his first day on Earth.

He lets himself wallow in his embarrassment for a few seconds, before he thinks that the attractive customer might be watching him. His attention snaps back to the man, but he’s wandered into the shelves where Anakin can’t see him, and he can’t see Anakin.

His shoulders lower in relief. He shakes his head as he collapses onto the stool next to the register. At least he can get some work done while there’s a customer in the store. Ahsoka would be on her phone or reading or doing work on her laptop the rest of her shift, like she does when the day is slow, and wouldn’t come out to bother Anakin unless she’s really bored.

He pulls out his battered copy of The Odyssey and a pen, letting out a sigh as he flips to the first page.

But as he tries to read, his thoughts keep wandering back to the man in the shop. Anakin is hyperaware of his presence, though he can’t see the man from where he is. He props his head on his hand and sighs again, like he’s the protagonist in a romance novel dreaming of his leading man.

Should he flirt? No, that would be weird. The man is just here to shop, not be harassed by a twenty-three year old college student, not when he looks older and so dignified.

What would he even say? Hi, I’m Anakin, make out with me? God, no. Maybe he could casually comment on what the man buys, provided he doesn’t just walk straight out of the shop without a purchase.

He stares down at The Odyssey, but he can’t seem to focus on the pages. What kinds of books does the man read? Anakin is partial to sci-fi, but the man looks like the kind of person to have To Kill A Mockingbird memorized.

Anakin has to admit that’s kind of hot.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement, and he looks up to the man now standing in the history section close to the front of the shop, mulling over a hardback. The man scrutinizes the back cover, then both the inside flaps, before he starts to page through the book. Anakin’s eyes travel up the man’s arms to his biceps, then to the line of his shoulders.

He wonders what he looks like under the peacoat, if he would take it off and roll up the sleeves of his cream sweater, exposing his forearms as he touches Anakin’s—

“What’cha staring at?”

Anakin startles, dropping his pen at the voice right next to his ear, his book falling closed. Ahsoka leans away and laughs as he swats at her, grumbling.

“Nothing,” he says, picking his book back up. “No one.”

Of course, no one being a really hot man examining a book like it contains the secrets of the universe. His brows are furrowed and he’s biting his lip as reads. Anakin bets his lips get really pink and swollen from the bites, and thinks his lips would be shiny with spit when he—

“Oh, he’s cute,” Ahsoka says, following Anakin’s gaze to the man. “I see why you were staring.”

“I was not staring!” Anakin protests.

“You basically had hearts in your eyes,” Ahsoka says, jumping up to sit on the counter with her back to the man. “Is it the whole nerdy professor thing that’s doing it for you?”

The man is very close by, but Anakin desperately hopes he’s out of earshot.

“Ahsoka!” Anakin whisper-yells. “He’s right there!”

She barely lowers her voice as she continues, “I mean, he looks like your type. Tall, bearded, DILF—”

“I am not into DILFs!” Anakin protests, shooting a glance at the man to make sure he hadn’t looked up. The hardback is tucked under the man’s arm now, and his back is turned as he looks through the rest of the section.

He squats down to look at the bottom shelf. His thighs strain with the effort. His ass looks perfect in his slacks. Anakin makes a strangled noise.

“Sure you’re not,” Ahsoka says, twisting around to get another look at the man. “You just like older men who look like they could be fathers.”

“Stop saying I’m into older men!” Anakin hisses, tearing his eyes away from the customer now down on one knee to flip through a paperback. “How many times do I have to tell you that I am into men in a perfectly reasonable age range—”

“And that age range is from thirty-five to fifty-something,” Ahsoka finishes sagely. “Because you’re into DILFs.” She jumps off the counter, dodging Anakin’s swat. “Hey, you know what you should do?”

“What?” Anakin grumbles against his better judgement, picking up his pen again. It’s not too much of a loss, he was only on the fifth page anyway. He carefully starts to underline a passage about Penelope’s suitors.

“You should take him to the back room and suck his dick,” Ahsoka says. She cackles as Anakin’s pen jerks, drawing a sharp line against the page.

“Ahsoka! He’s gonna hear you!” He glances at the man, whose back is still to them.

“Good. Maybe he’ll want to suck your dick instead.”

Anakin’s book goes sailing past where Ahsoka’s head had been just a second before. It flies over the counter and lands on the wood floor with a thwack, drawing the attention of the man, who turns to watch the two of them at the counter. 

Anakin locks eyes with the man for just a second, his lips parting, before he feels his face heat up, sure that he’s turning red. He hurriedly turns his attention back to Ahsoka, who at least goes to pick up his book and plop it down on the counter.

“Fine, don’t suck his dick,” she says with an unimpressed look, like Anakin is the one being unreasonable. “Your loss.”

“Stop talking about his dick!”

From across the shop, he can see the man’s ears turn red. Anakin drops his head into his hands and groans.

“I hate you. Why are we friends?”

“Because I’m awesome,” Ahsoka says. Anakin pulls his heads out of his hands to make a mock disgusted face. “Jerk. At least go over and ask if he needs anything.”

Anakin frowns. “Wouldn’t that be kinda creepy?”

“Dude,” Ahsoka says. “You work here.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want an employee following him around!”

“So if he says he’s fine, you leave.” Anakin grimaces. Ahsoka studies him for a moment and then rolls her eyes. “Fine, if you won’t do it, I will.”

She straightens up like she intends to start walking towards the man, but Anakin jumps up instead. Ahsoka would just point him out at the counter and do something embarrassing, like try to give the man Anakin’s number. “No, no, I’ll do it.”

Ahsoka snickers. He shoots her a glare but he’s halfway across the floor before he knows it. Ahsoka whisper yells something at him that he can’t quite make out, and Anakin twists to look at her, still walking. 

What? He mouths. Ahsoka’s eyes grow wide and suddenly, Anakin is colliding with something warm, something that lets out a surprised grunt and drops the books he’s holding on the floor.

The man’s eyes are green, and they’re so wide Anakin can see the flecks of his irises. Anakin takes a sharp breath, and they stare at each other in shock. He’s even more handsome up close.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Anakin blurts, crouching to pick up the books the man had dropped. “I, um. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He keeps his eyes firmly to the ground as he stands and thrusts the books in the man’s direction.

“I figured as much.” The man gives him a small smile when Anakin finally gathers the courage to peer up at him. Anakin bites his lip. The man is still flushed from the winter cold, his cheeks pink even though he’s been inside the shop long enough to warm up.

At least, Anakin thinks he’s been there long enough. He lost track of time when he was decidedly not staring at the man standing in front of him, instead studiously reading his book.

(Anakin’s never been good at lying to himself.)

The man hasn’t made a move to take his books, his eyes firmly fixed on Anakin. Shit, does he have something on his face? Does the man hate him for running into him so suddenly? Maybe that’s what this is, he’s astonished by Anakin’s rudeness, and he’s waiting for him to remove himself from the store and quite possibly from the Earth itself. Or maybe—

There’s a hand brushing against his own. The man seems to linger, holding the books along with Anakin instead of taking them. He probably can’t get a good grip on them, Anakin thinks, and that’s why he hasn’t taken them yet. He probably needs Anakin’s hands to move as soon as possible.

Anakin lets go of the books. Apparently, the man doesn’t have a good grip on them at all because they start to fall, and he fumbles to keep them all in his arms.

“Sorry,” Anakin says again, taking an instinctual step forward to help the man but he tucks the books under one arm and smiles at Anakin. He’s kinder than some customers Anakin’s interacted with. At least he’s not yelling at Anakin about the price of some old space opera novel.

“You’re no bother,” the man says, then his eyes widen and he hastens to say, “It’s no bother, I mean. Not that you’re a bother, rather, I just meant—”

“No, it’s okay, I know what you meant,” Anakin says. Ahsoka always says his mouth runs faster than his brain, and he knows she’s right because he opens his mouth and what comes out is, “Really, it’s cute.”

Wait, fuck.

Anakin freezes, multiple expletives running through his head. The man in front of him goes very still. Suddenly, Anakin realizes how close together they’re standing and he takes a step back, a flush building under his skin, mortified.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I did not mean to say that, I just—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” the man says. He’s staring down at Anakin with his mouth agape, but his face seems to fall, somehow. Anakin’s sure he’s seeing things. The man clears his throat and looks away. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

Except Anakin totally did, but he can’t admit that to a customer. He can’t hit on the man and drive away the only person to step foot in the bookshop all day, even if that man is so beautiful Anakin wants to ask him to stay forever so he can just stare at his face.

Not to mention, he had just been incredibly creepy and awkward the entire situation, blowing any shot he had with the incredibly gorgeous man still standing in front of him. Not that he had any shot to begin with.

His eyes flick down to the man’s lips, impossibly pink and plump, and then back up to his eyes. Green eyes, which are still watching him intently.

Yeah, he needs to go.

Anakin swallows and turns away, practically fleeing as he says, “I’ll just, uh, be at the counter,” for what seems like the tenth time. He didn’t even ask if the man needed anything.

When he gets to the front, Ahsoka is still leaning against the counter, her eyebrows raised.

“Don’t say anything,” Anakin grumbles, jumping up to sit on the wood and swing his legs over to the other side, his sneakers just missing the top of the antique cash register.

Ahsoka raises her hands defensively. “I wasn’t going to.”

“I know the look on your face.” Anakin slumps into the stool, putting his head in his hands. “God, I fucked that up so bad.”

“A little bit,” Ahsoka says mildly. Anakin feels a pat on his shoulder. He thinks it’s supposed to be reassuring, but it just feels like she’s whacking him on the back.

“Head up, Skyguy, one day you’ll find a DILF that doesn’t care how awkward you are.”

Anakin raises his head and practically yells, “For the last time, I am not into DILFS!” His voice echoes through the store, bouncing off the shelves.

The man still standing by the history section whips his head around to stare at Anakin, a disbelieving expression on his face. Anakin stares back. He makes a mental note to schedule a dentist’s appointment. He’s going to need it with the way he’s put his entire foot in his mouth.

“Wow,” Ahsoka says in the ensuing silence. “Okay, I get it. No DILF jokes.”

“I hate you,” Anakin says, dropping his head back into his hands. “I hate you and I wish you had never been born.”

“No, you don’t,” Ahsoka says.

“No, I don’t,” Anakin sighs, scrubbing his face. “God. I’m going to the back room to die.”

“Have fun, drive safe,” Ahsoka says, her traditional farewell for all situations. Anakin flips her off and she responds with her own two middle fingers.

He takes his book and his pen and slinks off into the back room. He doesn’t look at the man at all. It takes quite a bit of effort.

It’s the worst day of his entire life.

Anakin sulks through the rest of his shift. He doesn’t leave the back room until he hears the muffled, polite conversation between Ahsoka and the man fade and the bell above the door jingling as he leaves.

He sulks through his next few shifts, too, cringing in embarrassment every time he passes by the history section. He knows the man will never come back, not after having the world’s worst customer service interaction, but he can’t help thinking about the green of his eyes, the red of his hair, the cream of his sweater against his skin.

He also can’t help thinking about the way that smile had fallen after Anakin blurted out that he didn’t mean to say the man was cute. It was a massive insult, especially to a man that attractive, who deserves to be told he’s beautiful.

Not by Anakin, necessarily. Just by… someone. Surely the man already has a wife or a girlfriend or a partner that tells him all the time.

It doesn’t make him squirm when he thinks about it. Not at all.

But the most important part of it all is the man isn’t coming back.

Anakin sighs, leaning his elbows on the counter and staring down at the pages of The Odyssey. Now he knows what Penelope feels like, he thinks somewhat hysterically.

“Excuse me?”

Inwardly, Anakin groans. He uses a piece of receipt paper to mark his place, not looking up as he says, “What’s up?” Not the most appropriate greeting, but Anakin isn’t the most appropriate person for customer service.

“I was hoping you could help me find a copy of, ah, The… Aeneid?”

Anakin finally looks up, and there, with a sheepish smile, is his DILF.

Fuck, not his DILF, because Anakin refuses to use the term DILF on principle, since Ahsoka and Rex say it enough for all of them, and because the man isn’t his at all.

“Yes!” Anakin blurts. “Yes, yeah, I can do that. Find it for you. The Aeneid.”

The man’s face seems to relax, his smile becoming more genuine. Anakin thinks he sees the man’s shoulders lower. “Excellent,” he says.

“Excellent,” Anakin repeats. The man is standing in the late afternoon light streaming into the shop, haloing the red of his hair, underlaid with gold. Anakin wonders if he has some sort of hair care routine. He must, if he has a beard that groomed.

The man tilts his head. Anakin blinks. Shit, he’s been staring at the man for far too long.

“Right, The Aeneid!” He jumps on the counter and swings his legs over. His shirt rides up as he slides down, and for a brief second, Anakin swears the man’s eyes flicker down to Anakin’s abdomen. He yanks his shirt down to cover himself, sure he would make the man uncomfortable if more of his skin was revealed. “If we have one, it’ll be in the classics section, over here.”

He leads the man to the back left corner of the store. “There’s no real distinction between the sections,” Anakin says to fill the silence as they wind their way past the piles of books on the floor, the man following behind him. His voice is strangled as he continues, “But we try to group them as best we can.”

“That explains why it’s so hard to find anything,” the man says. “I was, ah, searching for it on my last visit, but I couldn’t seem to find it anywhere.”

“You were, um, in the history section, last time,” Anakin says, reaching the shelf they need and turning back around to the man. He waves a hand uselessly towards the shelf.

“You remember me?” the man asks. He sounds slightly out of breath. He must have biked here, or something.

“How could I forget?” Anakin says without thinking. The man stares. “It’s just that— Your hair! Very distinct. And the beard. It’s, um. Dignified.”

“Dignified,” the man repeats. Anakin flushes, and whips around to the shelves before he can say anything else that will ruin his life.

He runs his eyes over the shelves, checking the names of the authors, and then kneels down to check the bottom shelves, shifting a pile of books over to the side to look behind them. “I think the Virgils are down here,” he says, trying to make the man forget about what he said.

He looks through the books until he spots an old, torn copy of The Aeneid shoved to the side of the shelf. “Oh, sick, I found it!” Anakin almost never finds anything in this shop on purpose

It feels like fate, he thinks dreamily, and then kicks himself.

Not literally. He hasn’t gotten there yet.

The book fights him as he pulls it out of its slot, almost like it’s reluctant to leave its hiding spot, but he manages to get it out, turning to hold it up to the man triumphantly.

Then he realizes he has a problem. Anakin is on his knees, looking up at the man who’s looking down at him, lips parted. He looks even better from this angle, Anakin thinks deliriously as he peers up through his eyelashes, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the man’s face so he doesn’t look at his—

“Thank you,” the man says, finally taking the book from Anakin. He thumbs through the pages, his face brightening. “Whoever had the book last left annotations,” he says. Anakin watches the pure excitement on the man’s face. He’s still on his knees, and the man seems to realize this at the same time he does, because the man’s mouth snaps shut, and his jaw clenches.

Fuck. Anakin is making him uncomfortable again.

He pops up to his feet. This conversation cannot be like the last one, not at all. He has to salvage it somehow. “I like finding books people have written in,” Anakin offers. “It’s like a window into their brain, I can see everything they were thinking about as they read it.” Never mind, he can’t salvage the situation because that was a weird thing to say. He winces, sure the man is going to think he’s weird.

But the man just looks up from the book and offers Anakin another smile, warmer than all the others. His eyes crinkle at the corners. Anakin’s breath catches in his throat.

“My thoughts exactly,” the man says. Anakin just nods uselessly. They regard each other for another moment before Anakin finally tears his gaze away, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.

“D’you need anything else?”

The man seems to hesitate for a second, looking down at the book, and then up at Anakin, as if he’s gathering his courage. For what, he’s not exactly sure. But the man just swallows, and says, “No. No, that’s all.”

“Cool,” Anakin says. “I can, uh, help you up at the front.”

“At the counter, I presume?”

Anakin blinks. Is he being teased? Is the man reminding him of how awful their last interaction is? Because Anakin was certainly awkward the last time, and he still cringes when he thinks about it. “Yeah. At the counter.”

He turns away, and starts walking to the front. The man is making fun of him, he’s sure of it. It makes a hot, shameful feeling rise in his chest, pulling him down to the ground like the gravity of the Earth has suddenly become twice as strong. He even walks around the counter this time instead of jumping over it.

The man sets the book down on the counter and Anakin picks it up to punch the ISBN into the register, because Mr. Yoda still lives in the fifties and refuses to get an actual barcode scanner. As he does, the man bounces on the balls of his feet, staring down at the counter.

“The Odyssey?” the man says.

“What?” is Anakin’s response, because his first thought is no, he’s holding The Aeneid.

“The Odyssey,” the man says, nodding to the book on the counter. “Are you reading it?”

Anakin pulls out a small paper bag stamped with the shop’s logo, gingerly placing the man’s new old book inside. “Yeah, it’s for class. Have you read it?”

The man chuckles. “I have. It’s one of my favorites. It’s like a piece of me, really, I’ve read it so many times that—” The man clears his throat, his hand rubbing at his beard. “Well, never mind. What is your class about?”

“It’s— My class, it’s about war and literature in ancient Greece,” Anakin says. “We’re talking about nostos, a homecoming, and the idea of recovering from trauma after having been in combat, and about how war affects people even outside of it. It’s actually really interesting,” Anakin babbles, thinking that he’s probably been talking for far too long. “But you probably know that,” he says, “Since you’ve read it.”

The man looks way too interested for someone Anakin had thought would be bored by his chatter. “War and literature? The class taught by Kit at Cor U? Or Dr. Fisto, rather.”

”Yes, actually,” Anakin says. He quickly writes out a receipt for the man, tearing it off the pad and shoving the paper into the bag. “And you know that because…?”

“Oh, I’m also a classics professor,” the man says hastily, waving a hand around. “I recognized the course name. I promise I don’t go around stalking the schedules of innocent students.”

“I don’t mind,” Anakin blurts out. “Stalking, I mean.”

The man just blinks at him. “You don’t mind stalking?”

“Not literally!” Anakin yelps. “Not that you’re stalking me!” He drops his head into his hands. He’s been doing a lot of that lately. “God, can we please forget I said that? And, like, everything else embarrassing I’ve said?”

To his surprise, the man just laughs. His face is soft and smiling when Anakin peeks through his fingers. “Yes, we can move on. Nothing has been said that we don’t wish to remember,” the man says. “Though I promise you’ve not embarrassed yourself.”

Anakin drops his hands and smiles hesitantly in return. He’s sure that’s not the case, but the man is kind enough to pretend otherwise. “Thanks, um.” Anakin has an idea and his heart picks up in his chest. “Actually, I don’t know your name? I’d… I’d like to.”

“It’s Obi-Wan. Dr. Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the man, Obi-Wan, says.

“Do you always go around introducing yourself as Doctor?” Anakin asks, and then winces again. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“Not always,” Obi-Wan says mildly. “But I did work hard for my PhD.”

Anakin blinks, looking between him and the bag, nudging it closer to Obi-Wan. “If you have a PhD in classics, shouldn’t you already have a copy of this?”

“Yes, I do, but, ah, funny story! My copy… Became water damaged! Yes, water damage. Terribly dreadful. My apartment, it, ah, it flooded! So I needed to buy a new copy. Because my last one was damaged.” Obi-Wan nods his head resolutely.

Anakin blinks again. He’s not sure what to say to that, so he lands on, “I’m sorry? I mean, that really sucks.”

“Yes, quite,” Obi-Wan says faintly. His cheeks are flushed. It looks good on him, the dusting of pink on his face. It travels up to his ears. He must really be upset about his apartment.

Anakin bites his lip. Obi-Wan’s gaze dips lower on his face, and then flits back up to Anakin’s eyes.

“Well, I should be going!” Obi-Wan says suddenly. “Places to be, classes to teach.” Anakin’s brow furrows, confused. It’s, like, six o’clock at night, but he figures Obi-Wan must teach a night class.

“Yeah,” Anakin says. His heart has stopped pounding, probably because it feels like thirty pounds of lead in his chest. He desperately wants to keep talking to Obi-Wan, to find out what he teaches and what he thinks of The Odyssey and maybe The Iliad and maybe show him the back room and—

“Yes, you have to go! Sorry for keeping you,” Anakin says quickly.

“Yes, I have to go,” Obi-Wan repeats, taking the bag from the counter. He shifts his weight back and forth and says, “Have a good night, Anakin.”

“You too,” Anakin responds.

The man takes a step back and nods to himself, finally turning to the door.

Anakin watches him go. It’s not until a little while later that he realizes Obi-Wan had remembered his name.

The next time he sees Obi-Wan, three days have passed. Anakin’s working the early afternoon shift this time, the sun outside high in the sky, the little chime in the window casting rainbow reflections on the dull wood floor. It’s bright outside for winter, but he can’t help but enjoy the break from the gloomy, overcast weather that’s dominated the months so far.

He turns his attention from the front windows back to The Odyssey, propping his elbows up on the counter as he reads. He’s gotten far in the book, weeks ahead of his scheduled class readings. He’s found a sudden interest in the story, and he tries to tell himself it has nothing to do with the pretty classics professor that keeps finding his way into the shop. No, not at all.

He’s so absorbed that he startles hard when halfway through the scene where Odysseus first speaks to Penelope, a hand claps down on his shoulder and a voice whispers, “Boo.”

Anakin jumps and whips around to glare at Rex, who’s grinning like he’s just pulled off the best prank in the world. He must have snuck in the front door when Anakin wasn’t looking, or even listening, his backpack still on his shoulders. “That’s not funny,” Anakin mutters, turning back to his book.

“Yes, it is,” Rex says. “You jump, like, three feet into the air whenever you get scared.”

“I do not.” Anakin rolls his eyes, turning back to his book. He picks up his pen and underlines a section of Penelope’s monologue.

“Yes, you do,” Rex says. He pushes a stack of paperbacks to the side and jumps up to sit on the counter crosslegged, just like Ahsoka. Anakin is sure they sit on the counter more than they sit on the couches now, because Anakin is almost always at the register the last few days. He tells himself it’s because he’s just doing his job.

But he can’t help the way his heart soars when the doorbell chimes. So far it’s always been brought back to Earth.

Rex pulls his backpack off his shoulders and struggles to bring it around to sit in front of him. “Hey, about the pigeon debate—”

Anakin knows what he’s going to say by the sheepish expression on his face, and he scoffs. “If you’re not with me, you’re against me.”

Rex pouts, his shoulders slumping. “I just mean, Ahsoka makes some good points—”

“You were my friend first, therefore you should always be on my side,” Anakin says. He closes his book and leans forward, jabbing his pen at Rex, accusing. “That’s, like, the first rule of bro code.”

Rex bats his pen away. “You know I hate it when you do that. And stop talking about bro code, dude, she’s my girlfriend.”

“I don’t care, you’re violating bro code and I won’t stand for it.” He waves his pen in the air as he continues, “And pigeons totally have feelings, I once saw two of them—”

“Cuddling on a lamppost, I know, that’s your only argument.” Rex rummages in his backpack, pulling out a bag of pretzels. He’s been getting really into pretzels lately, as he told Anakin the last time their shifts lined up. Anakin doesn’t know why he listens to his nonsense, given that he’s siding with Ahsoka.

“That is not my only argument! There are studies that—”

“Science is fake sometimes,” Rex interrupts as he opens the pretzels. “They said Pluto was a planet and then they took it away from us.”

“I don’t know why you’re still so hung up on Pluto,” Anakin says, shaking his head. He stabs his pen at Rex again. “But the pigeons—” Rex leans forward and grabs Anakin’s pen from his hand before he can react and tosses it on the ground under the counter.

Anakin gapes at him. Rex just shrugs. “The pen thing is annoying.”

“I hate everyone. You’re all conspiring against me,” Anakin says. He slides off the stool and ducks under the counter to grab his pen. Rex jumps off the counter and steals the seat as soon as he drops to the floor. “And furthermore—”

He’s cut off by the chime of the doorbell. Anakin’s heart leaps, but he knows it’s not going to be Obi-Wan, because it’s never Obi-Wan, so he makes the executive decision to stay ducked under the counter.

Rex kicks at Anakin, trying to get him to come out so he doesn’t have to talk to the customer. Anakin slaps at his legs, getting another kick in response.

“Hi, welcome to Temple Books,” Rex says over Anakin’s muffled yelp, like it’s the biggest inconvenience in the world to actually do his job. “Can I help you find anything?”

“No, just browsing for now, thank you,” a familiar voice replies. It’s a rich, smooth tenor, one that’s been haunting Anakin’s dreams for two weeks now. Obi-Wan.

Anakin startles, trying to pop up from under the counter to see him. He fails to consider that he’s still under the counter. The pain is sharp and sudden when he bangs his head on the wood, letting out a strangled yelp that he’s sure Mr. Yoda can hear from upstairs. Not that he’ll come to investigate or anything. He’s really lax about workplace safety.

Rex doesn’t even move from the counter as Anakin crawls out from under it, the dick. He does raise his eyebrows as Anakin rubs the back of his head, though, and crunches on more of his pretzels.

“Anakin! Are you alright?” Obi-Wan takes a step forward, his hands raising slightly and then lowering like he had been trying to touch Anakin but he realized they were still separated by the counter.

He’s wearing a blue sweater today, a stark departure from the creams and browns of his previous outfits. It brings out the color of his eyes. Anakin wants to see them crinkle in the corners again as Obi-Wan smiles at him. God, why is Anakin so focused on the man’s eyes? He feels like a teenager with his first crush again.

Oh, shit. Anakin has a crush. Not just infatuation from how attractive Obi-Wan is, but a crush that makes him want to doodle their names together in a heart on his copy of The Odyssey like a grade schooler.

“Yeah, Anakin, are you alright?” Rex asks, oblivious to Anakin’s freakout, but putting a weird amount of emphasis on Anakin’s name.

“I’m fine,” Anakin groans, wincing as his head throbs. Obi-Wan still looks concerned, but Anakin waves him off. “I have a thick skull, I promise.”

Obi-Wan’s lips purse. “If you say so,” he says, clearly not believing him, but too polite to push.

The three of them stay there in silence for a moment, broken only by the crunch of Rex’s chewing as he looks between Anakin and Obi-Wan, his brow furrowing with every glance. Obi-Wan seems hesitant to step away, and Anakin wants him to stay so badly it feels like a physical ache.

Finally, Rex seemingly decides to do something about the silence and, through a mouthful of pretzels, says to Obi-Wan, “Do you think pigeons have feelings?”

“Dude!” Anakin hisses. The pigeon debate is stupid and petty, and certainly not something Obi-Wan wants to be involved in.

But Obi-Wan just rubs at his beard and says, “Well, there are studies that suggest they’re at least capable of empathy.”

Anakin’s mind has been changed. The pigeon debate is serious and important and Obi-Wan’s just tilted the scales back in Anakin’s favor.

Rex groans, tipping his head back, irritated at the opinion of a perfect stranger. “Great, now we’re tied.”

“Tied?” Obi-Wan asks. He sounds amused, at least, by the petty arguments of a few shop employees as he looks between the two of them for answers.

“We have a debate going on,” Anakin explains sheepishly. “Rex and Ahsoka say pigeons don’t have feelings, I do, and Cody refuses to pick a side. He thinks he’s too good to consider the emotions of pigeons.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan says, like this is the most serious debate in the world, then he smiles, a mischievous edge creeping in. He looks so good Anakin wants to cry. “Well, Anakin, I wish you the best of luck in this debate.”

Anakin bites his lip and manages a shy smile. Obi-Wan’s cheeks are pink from the cold again.

Rex throws his hands in the air, incensed. “Why him?”

“Because he helped me find a good copy of The Aeneid. Thank you, by the way.” Obi-Wan nods to Anakin, whose smile grows.

Then he looks at Rex, whose eyes nearly bug out of his head. Shit.

“It’s nothing,” Anakin says quickly. “Don’t worry about it. Anything to help you replace your books.”

A little line appears between Obi-Wan's eyebrows as he says, “Replace my—?” And then his eyes widen and he adds, “Yes, my books! The ones that were ruined. Terrible.”

“Anakin helped you find a book. Anakin?” Rex says faintly, still caught up on Anakin actually working for once. His eyebrows are up to his hairline, a horribly bleached buzzcut that Anakin has been begging to fix for weeks now. “He did his job?”

Obi-Wan tilts his head, quizzical. “Er. Yes? Is that not typical?”

“Um,” Anakin says, because he can’t admit that he never actually does his job beyond half halfheartedly shelving books and wandering the aisles looking for something new to read and laying on the couches in the back room on his phone.

“Every time someone asks him for help, he pretends it's his first day and he doesn’t know where anything is,” Rex says, still sounding amazed.

“Is that so?” Obi-Wan says, and turns the full force of his smile on Anakin. “Well then, I’m flattered. Perhaps you could help me find something else?”

“Yes, anything,” Anakin says immediately. Next to him, Rex snorts, a sound that quickly turns into a muffled grunt when Anakin stomps on his foot. Rex is lucky he’s wearing Docs, or Anakin would have done some serious damage.

Instead of asking what Obi-Wan is looking for, Anakin just jumps over the counter like normal and says, “Follow me.” He leads them further into the store until the shelves block them from Rex’s view, and lets out a breath. “I’m so sorry about him, he was raised in a barn.”

Obi-Wan is studying him intently when Anakin turns around. He’s standing close to Anakin, closer than personal space usually allows. He hadn’t even asked where they were going, he had just followed Anakin without a word. “Is it true that you usually don’t assist customers?” Obi-Wan asks. 

Anakin rubs the back of his neck. Obi-Wan’s face is closer to his than it ever has been. Anakin desperately tries to think of anything other than what the man’s beard would feel like when they kiss.

If. If they kiss. Not that they’re ever going to.

“Um,” he says again. “Yes? I mean, we’re all pretty bad at our jobs.”

“You were perfect when you found my book for me,” Obi-Wan says. Anakin almost feels like a bug under a microscope, but he likes how focused Obi-Wan looks as his eyes flit across Anakin’s face. The attention makes him flush. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

“Thank you,” Anakin chokes out. He bets Obi-Wan’s beard will be scratchy and perfect against his skin. “What— what can I help you find?”

Obi-Wan seems to remember where they are, or maybe he just thinks better about standing close to Anakin, because he takes a step back. They’re no longer breathing the same air. Anakin isn’t upset about it at all, or anything.

“I was hoping you could recommend something,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s been a while since I’ve broadened my horizons, so to speak.” 

“Oh! Yeah, sure.” Anakin’s sure his face brightens, because Obi-Wan’s does too. He’s been asked for recommendations before by different customers but never by someone he’s been invested in impressing. He usually just tells them the name of a few classics and then tells them he can’t find them because it’s his first day.

But now, Anakin racks his brain for his favorite books, intent on finding Obi-Wan something good. He searches for ones he’ll continue reading over and over, and he hits on something weird, something that’s more Anakin than anything else on the list.

“After you,” Anakin says, trying to be polite, and makes a gesture for Obi-Wan to step forward.

Obi-Wan takes a step and then hesitates, turning back to Anakin. “I believe you should lead,” Obi-Wan says with a wry smile. “I’m not sure where we’re going.”

Anakin feels his face heat, and he hurriedly steps in front of Obi-Wan. “It’s over here,” he says, not looking back until they’re safely in the sci-fi section.

He finds the book immediately. Maybe it really is fate.

There, tucked in a corner shelf, is Anakin’s favorite book in the world, Twin Suns. It’s not as well loved as Anakin’s copy, but the bottom right corner of the cover is torn off and the pages are yellowed and aging. He hands it to Obi-Wan, who flips it over to read the summary.

He fidgets as Obi-Wan scrutinizes the book. He’s never recommended Twin Suns to anyone, not even his friends. It’s a weird, old sci-fi book from the seventies, and sometimes it’s laughably bad, but it has a real heart to it that shines through every word. Anakin couldn’t help falling in love the first time he read it.

“You said The Odyssey is a piece of you, and this is a piece of me,” he says, and then he rushes to add, “It’s about a man who lives alone on a desert planet, and he starts getting visions from two gods who tell him he needs to slay a giant dragon and use the pearl inside to save the life of a powerful sorcerer, because the pearl is the key to undoing the sorcerer’s curse. It’s so good, the main character doesn’t actually want to be a hero, but he’s forced into it because if he ignores the visions the gods threaten to transfer the sorcerer’s curse to him if he dies.” Anakin knows he’s babbling, but he can’t help it.

His heart is pounding in his chest. He feels like he’s giving up a part of himself, like if Obi-Wan reads Twin Suns, he’ll see straight through Anakin. He’s always believed that books reveal more about a person than anything else. Their inner life, their thoughts, the worlds they care about speak volumes to him. Books mean everything, they’re reflections of the soul.

He needs Obi-Wan to love the book as much as he does.

“And there’s a bunch of really cool planets he goes to to hunt down the sorcerer, who doesn’t actually want to be saved, but if he isn't the man is going to be cursed, so they’re forced to actually work together, but in the end you find out that—” Anakin cuts himself off, turning away and rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t spoil the ending, haha,” he says, because he’s the kind of person to say haha out loud now.

When Anakin can’t stand the silence anymore, he glances at Obi-Wan and when they lock eyes, his heart starts to beat impossibly faster. Obi-Wan’s face is soft and open, and his eyes are crinkling around the edges, the way they do when Anakin thinks the man’s smile is genuine. He almost looks fond, like Anakin’s babbling is something he enjoys listening to.

Obi-Wan is quiet. Sunlight falls on his face and he glows, radiant. He’s beautiful, Anakin thinks, and he wishes he could tell him.

Maybe one day he could.

“You could spoil a million endings and I’m sure I’d still love any book you give me,” Obi-Wan says softly.

Anakin takes a shaky breath, and Obi-Wan takes a step forward, until Anakin can make out all the flecks of color in the man’s irises. Anakin’s never been this close to a man this attractive and he’s kind of going out of his mind with the need to press Obi-Wan up against the shelves and kiss him breathless. His eyes dip lower on Obi-Wan’s face to the man’s pink lips and then back up to his eyes.

Obi-Wan tilts his chin up and suddenly Anakin is pretty sure Obi-Wan wants to kiss him, too. The realization makes his head spin, stronger and more heady than any alcohol he’s ever drank.

“The book. The man and the sorcerer fall in love,” Anakin says, because he’s never said the right thing at the right time, and why would now be any different? “The confession scene is one of my favorites.”

But Obi-Wan just licks his lips and says, “Is it?” His voice is soft and low, and Anakin’s never wanted anyone more than he wants Obi-Wan right now. Obi-Wan's hand drifts up to ghost over his elbow.

He takes a breath like he’s about to speak, hopefully to ask Anakin any number of things starting with can I kiss you and ending with let me take you home and show you my bed, but he’s cut off by a voice yelling—

“Anakin!’ Rex’s voice echoes off the shelves, a loud, accusing bellow, the way he sounds when he senses Anakin is getting up to some nonsense. “Mr. Yoda needs you to stock some boxes!”

The two of them jump apart like guilty children caught doing something they shouldn’t. Anakin swears under his breath. This close to kissing the most attractive man he’s ever seen, and it’s ruined by Mr. Yoda.

Anakin tears his eyes away and twists to yell back, “Why can’t you do it!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan jumps again at the shout, a hand over his heart like he’s trying to calm himself from the shock.

“I dunno! He said you needed to! Some weird shit about the narrative again!”

“That fucker,” Anakin swears. “The first time I’m ever asked to do my job, and when it’s when I’m trying to—” He cuts himself off and flushes, because what if Obi-Wan didn’t actually want to kiss him? What if he was just reading the whole situation wrong, and they were just standing close really platonically, or something?

Fuck, is Obi-Wan even gay?

His thoughts come to a screeching halt when he hears laughter. Muffled giggling is coming from behind him, and Anakin turns to see Obi-Wan’s shoulders shaking. He’s laughing into his hand, but it’s quickly becoming louder, until he actually snorts.

It shocks him into silence for a second, as if it had startled him, a blush starting to creep up on his face. Anakin had never imagined such an undignified sound coming from a man as polished as Obi-Wan. It makes Anakin start to giggle too, the absurdity of the situation finally catching up to him.

They look at each other for a brief second and they start to laugh together until they’re doubled over, Obi-Wan’s hand on Anakin’s shoulder to support himself, like he’s about to fall down from the great force of sheer ridiculousness. Anakin clutches at the man’s back in return as he howls with laughter.

“I’m so sorry,” Anakin manages to get out, trying to take deep breaths between fits of laughter. “That was the worst timing in the entire world.”

“It really was, wasn’t it,” Obi-Wan says, his laughter finally subsiding with a huge sigh. His hand lingers on Anakin’s shoulder, a warm point of contact that Anakin wants more of. He’s struck with the want—no, the need to see Obi-Wan laugh like that all the time, his head thrown back and his smile the widest Anakin’s ever seen. “I suppose your boss doesn’t care much for workplace dalliances.”

A dalliance. The old fashioned word is so much like Obi-Wan that Anakin can’t help but bite his lip to keep his smile from growing wider. His joy grows as he realizes what Obi-Wan means, that there’s a world where he could have this, the high windows above the bookshelves casting beams of sunlight onto Obi-Wan, making him shine golden and beautiful. That maybe Anakin hadn’t been wrong, that Obi-Wan could want this, too. But his hand falls off of Anakin’s shoulder, brushing his bicep as it goes, and the tension that had been between them is broken.

“I should go do my job,” Anakin says, hesitant to leave. “For the first time ever.”

“You should,” Obi-Wan replies. His face seems to dim, smoothing over into something soft, something fond like before. “Before your coworker comes looking, of course.”

“Right. Before Rex sees us,” Anakin says, but neither of them move until Anakin forces himself to step back. “You should check out, too.”

“Yes, I should check out,” Obi-Wan repeats, as if it had been so far from his mind, he had forgotten he needed to actually buy the book in his hand. He shakes his head just slightly, as if to clear his thoughts, and gestures towards the front of the store. “After you.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Anakin teases, but he starts to lead them out of the stacks to the register.

“Not at all,” Obi-Wan says. “Perhaps I just like the view.”

It’s such a ridiculous line, but Anakin’s heart jumps, and he just ducks his head and grins, glad Obi-Wan is behind him. He gathers his courage to look over his shoulder and quickly says, “Then you should keep looking.” He snaps back around to face forward, too nervous to see Obi-Wan’s reaction, but the man is silent the rest of the way to the front.

Entirely too soon, they emerge from the shelves to see Rex raising an eyebrow at them. Anakin’s cheeks hurt from smiling and he’s sure he’s still flushed from laughter, his joy evident on his face.

He shoos Rex away from the register and he goes, lingering behind Anakin as he rings up Twin Suns for Obi-Wan, finishing faster than he would like. “You should come back,” Anakin blurts as he hands the paper bag to Obi-Wan. “To, uh, tell me what you think.”

Obi-Wan smiles. Anakin’s heart is still pounding in his chest. He thinks Obi-Wan is flushed from something other than the cold, this time. “I will. I look forward to it.”

He says goodbye to Anakin and Rex and then he’s gone, the doorbell chiming a farewell as he exits.

Anakin watches him go, his heart lighter than it has been in weeks.

“Dude,” Rex says. “You’re so fucked.”

Anakin finishes shelving the books in a matter of minutes, the rest of his shift passing quickly. The days slip by after that, the semester ramping up until Anakin is caught up in a daze of classwork, spending hours in the engineering lab and in the back room of the shop until he can hardly tell physics from calculus.

But he still finds time for his Greek literature class. He’s only met Obi-Wan three times, but Anakin bites at his lip every time he sits in the lecture hall and thinks of Obi-Wan and what he might look like teaching, gesticulating passionately as he explains the beauty of Ovid or Virgil. He thinks about the times Obi-Wan has entered the shop, from the first day Anakin had collided with him to gushing over annotations to clutching at his arm in the stacks as they giggled like schoolchildren.

He finds himself thinking about Obi-Wan more and more until his thoughts are dominated by the curve of his jaw, the sweep of his eyelashes, the line of his shoulders. The way he had charmed Anakin so thoroughly until he can’t tell which way is up.

The shop is slow, as usual, but Anakin spends his shifts sitting at the counter, looking up hopefully every time he hears the jingle of the doorbell.

But it’s just someone looking for a copy of a romance novel, and Anakin glumly says, “Sorry, ma’am, it’s my first day. I’m still trying to figure out where everything is.”

Rex, sitting on the counter next to him like always, offers, “Me too. New hires, you know how it is.”

The woman takes them at their word, wandering away into the stacks.

Rex is munching on trail mix now, his pretzel phase left in the past. “Every time the door opens, you look like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home,” he says. “It was funny at first, but now it’s just sad.”

“Shut up,” Anakin grumbles.

“I’m just saying. You gotta make a move, he clearly wants you to,” Rex shrugs. “Hey, you know what you should do?”

Anakin gets deja vu. “What?” he asks suspiciously, turning to eye Rex, who’s grinning like he’s had the idea of the year.

“Just take him in the back room and suck his dick.”

“Why does everyone keep telling me that! Stop telling me to suck his dick!” Anakin protests. He’s starting to suspect dick sucking solves most of Rex and Ahsoka’s problems.

The woman in the shop turns around, scandalized. She really shouldn’t be, Anakin thinks, based on the book she was looking for.

“Your loss,” Rex shrugs. His phone rings in his pocket and he takes it out to look at who it is, and jumps off the counter as he answers. “Hey, ‘Soka, what’s up? Ah, nothing, just helping Anakin with his DILF problem.”

Anakin flips him off as Rex wanders away into the back.

He turns back to his book, the pages of The Odyssey a familiar weight, the scent of paper comforting as he flips through the chapters. He finds himself reluctant to put it down, even after he had read the final lines two days before. It’s like if he finishes, he loses a part of Obi-Wan that had been given to him, even if by accident.

But he wants to know all of Obi-Wan, to find him in every book he reads, to see a phrase and think of him, the two of them finding each other in black and white every time, worlds created just for them.

Anakin runs his fingers over the cover of the book and opens to a random page towards the back, filled with highlights and scribbles in the margins. They had started sparse in the beginning, but he had written more and more as he went through.

A line catches his eye, boldly underlined twice in red pen.

“Odysseus—if he could return to tend my life the renown I had can only grow in glory. Now my life is torment.”

Next to it, he had just drawn a frowny face, and he chuckles at the sight. Such a sad line juxtaposed with a silly response, Anakin’s way to find joy in tragedy.

Annotations are like a window into someone’s brain, he thinks suddenly, the words he had said to Obi-Wan echoing in his head. You can see everything they were thinking when they read the book.

Anakin stills. Obi-Wan had mentioned that he liked annotations, that he liked to look into the minds of others, even just for a little while. Maybe… Would he like annotations if Anakin wrote them? Would he be interested if Anakin offered him a little window into his mind?

He had already done that for Anakin. If this book was a piece of Obi-Wan, Anakin would put himself in it, too.

He picks up his pen, flips to the first page, and begins to write.

Anakin is still feverishly writing the next day. Purple bags ring his eyes, and he yawns, reaching for the cup of coffee on the low table. He’s in the back room this time, having been shooed there by Cody, who insisted his half zombie state would scare away what little customers they had.

He always looks awful after pulling all-nighters, but it’s a little rude. Anakin can scare away customers when he looks normal, thank you very much.

His annotation project had taken him all night. He has to be prepared for the next time Obi-Wan arrives. Anakin needs him to know that he's thinking about him, that he wants to know him, that Obi-Wan can share parts of himself with Anakin, and Anakin will share himself right back.

Or something. It’s been a long day. He’s had three cans of Red Bull and two cups of coffee and he thinks he’s starting to hear colors.

The latter half of the book is going faster than the first half, at least. As he had gotten more into it, he had made more annotations, so there was less to fill in. But reading The Odyssey all in one day is no small feat, he thinks as he finishes the last page and closes the book triumphantly.

Everything would be ready for when Obi-Wan arrives. He’s not sure when he’ll come next, exactly, but Anakin picks up the book and makes his way to the front counter. He hopes it’ll be before the end of his shift, but he’s sure that’s just wishful thinking.

He wonders what Obi-Wan will think. Hopefully all good things, but Anakin can’t help but feel anxious. Maybe this project was creepy, or too forward. He’s pretty sure Obi-Wan had actually wanted to kiss him last time, but part of Anakin whispers that he’ll be rejected for sure, that Obi-Wan will take the book politely, flip through it, and never come back after he realizes a bookshop employee has a massive crush on him, enough to annotate the entirety of The Odyssey.

God, now that he thinks about it, it’s so creepy that he did that.

Anakin stops in the doorway between the back room and the counter, regret weighing him down. He should put the book back in his bag and never think of it again, taking it home and shoving it in his shelf next to his sci-fi novels, a silly dream left to gather dust.

He goes to turn around, but the door swings open, and his head snaps up like Pavlov’s dog at the sound of the bell.

And standing there, silhouetted against the mid-February sky, is Obi-Wan. He’s hesitating in the doorway too, like he’s trying to enter the shop but there’s some imaginary force preventing him from stepping over the threshold.

From behind, Anakin can see Cody, sitting on the register stool and crossing his arms, annoyed that a patron is just standing there, letting all the heat out.

“Welcome to Temple Books,” Cody says in his fake polite customer service voice, a voice that neither Anakin, Rex, or Ahsoka ever bothered to try. “Please, come in and shut the door.”

Cody’s voice jars Anakin out of his reverie. “Obi-Wan!” he blurts, rushing up to the front counter, dropping his copy of The Odyssey on the wood with a soft thump. “You’re here!”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, finally coming into the shop and closing the door behind him. “I’m here,” he says. His voice has an undercurrent of nervousness that Anakin picks up on immediately.

Shit, Obi-Wan is going to tell him he can’t come to the store anymore because Anakin’s made him uncomfortable, or—

“Oh, you’re Obi-Wan!” Cody’s voice is bright, the way it gets when he’s trying to embarrass his friends. Anakin’s heart stops. “Anakin never shuts up about you.”

“Dude!” Anakin hisses, wheeling on Cody, who just smiles pleasantly, like he hasn’t just caused Anakin to flush scarlet with embarrassment.

Obi-Wan is standing in front of the counter now, and he looks almost pleased, Anakin realizes with a jolt. “Does he?”

“All good things,” Anakin says hurriedly, trying to salvage the situation.

“Well, then, I’m flattered,” Obi-Wan smiles. Anakin grins back, relieved, and they stand there for a moment, just smiling at each other. Anakin is just happy to be in his presence again. Obi-Wan lights up the room like nothing he’s ever seen, an endless joy.

And maybe, just maybe, Anakin can be part of that joy.

“Actually, I was hoping to speak with you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, and he sounds nervous again, an edge of anxiety creeping into his voice. He’s shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Oh! Um, should we go in the back?” Anakin glances at Cody, who immediately shakes his head.

“Nope, I’m getting out of here,” he says, standing and clapping a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “You two have fun.” He disappears into the back, shutting the door behind him.

Obi-Wan is still fidgeting, and Anakin impulsively feels the need to be closer. He jumps up on the counter, swinging his legs over to sit. If Obi-Wan steps closer, he would be in between Anakin’s thighs. Obi-Wan must realize this too, because his eyes flick down to Anakin’s legs, and then away, rubbing at his beard.

“What’s up?” Anakin asks, doing his best to act like someone whose confidence doesn’t hinge on whatever Obi-Wan says next.

“Well,” Obi-Wan says. “I’d like to— What I mean to say is—” He just sighs, and hands Anakin a book he hadn’t realized he had been holding. There’s a familiar tear in the bottom corner of the book, and the silhouette of a man against a reddened sky looks back at him. “I read Twin Suns, and I enjoyed it very much.”

Anakin brightens. “Really? You mean it?” This book is part of Anakin, part of his soul, and Anakin finds himself in the book every time. Maybe Obi-Wan did too.

“I do. You should, ah, you should open it. To the page I’ve marked.”

Anakin bites his lip and opens the book. As he flips to the page, he sees colors and writing marking the pages. But hadn’t Obi-Wan said the copy he bought didn’t have annotations? That must mean Obi-Wan wrote them.

Hope bubbles in Anakin’s chest.

Finally, he reaches the page, about two thirds of the way through the book. His heart pounds faster as he realizes the scene he’s been led to.

The confession between the man and the sorcerer.

There’s only one phrase highlighted.

“Every time I look at you, I see the suns. All the immensity of the heavens reflected in your eyes.”

And in the margins, Obi-Wan had only written one singular word.

Anakin.

“I’m sorry if this is too forward. I know we’ve only known each other a short while and only in this shop, but I needed you to know,” Obi-Wan says into the silence. Anakin’s fingers run over his name. “The rest of the book is for you as well. I wrote down everything I was thinking.” Anakin’s breath catches in his throat. “But I understand if—”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, his smile growing, and he starts to laugh. He can’t believe he ever doubted this ridiculous, perfect man. Of course he understands Anakin, understands that pieces of you are in every book that you’ve ever loved.

But Obi-Wan sees him laughing and goes quiet and still. “I— I just—” He sounds crushed. Anakin looks up and sees Obi-Wan’s face crumpling as he takes a step backwards. 

“Wait, no, hold on—” Anakin says, putting Twin Suns off to the side.. “Please don’t go, I— Actually, I wanted to—”

He picks up The Odyssey and thrusts it at Obi-Wan, who takes it cautiously. “Open it,” Anakin says, his joy welling up and spilling over into his voice. Obi-Wan does, and he takes in a sharp breath.

“Did we—” Obi-Wan starts.

“Have the same idea? Yeah,” Anakin says, biting his lip to stop himself from grinning too wide. Obi-Wan’s own lips part. “You said that it’s a part of you, so I thought I would give you part of me, too.” Anakin laughs again. “Does this make me Penelope, waiting for you at the bookshop? I think I’d recognize you, though, if you came back from war after twenty years—”

Obi-Wan’s lips crash onto his and then they’re kissing.

His lips are warm and soft, just like Anakin thought they would be. He doesn’t move for a second, shocked, his eyes still wide open. When Obi-Wan makes to pull away, he holds the man’s face and pulls him closer, between his thighs, and his eyes flutter shut. Obi-Wan kiss is like the sun, like dapples of light, rainbow and brilliant, illuminating the bookshop and the world they’re creating, just for them.

Their lips slide against each other’s, eager and messy, finally getting what they both want. Anakin is giddy with it, Obi-Wan’s arms settled on his hips as their bodies slot together, Anakin’s thighs bracketing Obi-Wan’s hips, and it’s perfect and overwhelming and not enough, and—

And Cody says, “Oh my god,” from somewhere to Anakin’s left.

They startle apart, and Anakin looks at Cody sheepishly while Obi-Wan’s lips press together, like he’s trying to stifle laughter again.

But Cody doesn’t look annoyed, just disappointed. “You just lost me twenty bucks,” he sighs, pulling out his phone to text someone. Then his eyes flick up towards Anakin, still sitting on the counter, and Obi-Wan, still trying not to laugh, the two of them tangled together.

Cody sighs again. “I have headphones. I’ll flip the sign to closed. You have twenty minutes.”

Anakin grins, sliding off the counter, his chest pressed against Obi-Wan’s. He grabs his hand and starts to pull him to the back room, laughing as they go, Cody calling out, “And for the love of god, not on the couch!”

He really does have the best job ever.