"To a degree, yes, but I can't imagine..." Anyone else he'd spoken to that knew of him was from so far beyond, it didn't seem worth questioning. Not when other details or their own emotional disquiet was far more important than his own innate curiosity. Obi-Wan approaches carefully as one would a feral sandpanther, hands settling on Anakin's shoulders lightly. Too firm too quick and the boy (man, he's a grown man, now, and that he missed those years between knighthood and this sits poorly with Obi-Wan) would slide right out from his grip like sand through fingers.
It's a gradual, gentle thing- tugging Anakin around to face him- not forcing him to meet his eyes because- it's partly cowardice and partly compassion. Forcing the issue will only confirm that those kyber blue eyes have gone hateful sith yellow and he is not yet prepared for his emotional reaction to seeing that. The first time could be a hallucination. A mistake. A trick of the mind. Any number of things other than the truth. "You've gotten taller."
Obi-Wan murmurs because it's safe. Because it's easier than anything else, one hand tugging on a lock of chestnut hair, huffing a helpless, wet laugh. Easier to remark on how Anakin has grown than his own wounded heart. Swallowing down his suffering and sorrow is nothing new. He practically runs on the stuff, under the serenity. Once certain Anakin isn't going to pull away, Obi-Wan does what he has not in what feels like nearly a decade.
He pulls Anakin into a hug. Tucks him close as he had when the boy was several heads shorter and experiencing nightmares. Holds him to his chest as though he could crack open his ribs an protect his Padawan from whatever horrors have visited this rage, this darkness, this bitterness in a soul that should be searingly bright. Holds fast, hand smoothing through hair long enough to curl (and he'd always wondered how it would grow out, to know Anakin opts to let it go long is amusing and warming and still somehow deeply tragic, to know it's a shade of vanity he wouldn't be able to enjoy because of the war), holding Anakin's face to his shoulder despite the height difference. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that he can't feel the cold cut of misery through their bond, he knows it's there. He knows that however much rage is roiling, there's a shade of guilt, of frustration, of self-loathing buried underneath. And at the root? Fear.
Fear of what he has never been able to winnow out but- perhaps now they might speak of it? Learn what could be done. Change, even, whatever it is that plagues the boy's mind so. "Whatever happened- here and now? We face this place together."
no subject
It's a gradual, gentle thing- tugging Anakin around to face him- not forcing him to meet his eyes because- it's partly cowardice and partly compassion. Forcing the issue will only confirm that those kyber blue eyes have gone hateful sith yellow and he is not yet prepared for his emotional reaction to seeing that. The first time could be a hallucination. A mistake. A trick of the mind. Any number of things other than the truth. "You've gotten taller."
Obi-Wan murmurs because it's safe. Because it's easier than anything else, one hand tugging on a lock of chestnut hair, huffing a helpless, wet laugh. Easier to remark on how Anakin has grown than his own wounded heart. Swallowing down his suffering and sorrow is nothing new. He practically runs on the stuff, under the serenity. Once certain Anakin isn't going to pull away, Obi-Wan does what he has not in what feels like nearly a decade.
He pulls Anakin into a hug. Tucks him close as he had when the boy was several heads shorter and experiencing nightmares. Holds him to his chest as though he could crack open his ribs an protect his Padawan from whatever horrors have visited this rage, this darkness, this bitterness in a soul that should be searingly bright. Holds fast, hand smoothing through hair long enough to curl (and he'd always wondered how it would grow out, to know Anakin opts to let it go long is amusing and warming and still somehow deeply tragic, to know it's a shade of vanity he wouldn't be able to enjoy because of the war), holding Anakin's face to his shoulder despite the height difference. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that he can't feel the cold cut of misery through their bond, he knows it's there. He knows that however much rage is roiling, there's a shade of guilt, of frustration, of self-loathing buried underneath. And at the root? Fear.
Fear of what he has never been able to winnow out but- perhaps now they might speak of it? Learn what could be done. Change, even, whatever it is that plagues the boy's mind so. "Whatever happened- here and now? We face this place together."