if i could see the puppets dallying

by Sarcastic_Soulmate

Summary:

He thought of the bond between them. The connection that hummed in his chest, warm and constant. The way Obi-Wan’s presence soothed him, even in the darkest moments. The way he’d always felt whole when they were together.

And the way Obi-Wan had never said a word about it. Had never acknowledged it. Had never—

He doesn’t feel it, Anakin thought, and the words curdled in his mind. The bond is just… the vestiges of training. Just a master-apprentice thing. He doesn’t feel what I feel.

He had always known that, but somehow, it hurt more now.

For Topwan Week(s) Day 1 Prompt: Force Dyad AU

Notes:

hiii, everyone! I'm using this event to try and experiment with writing new things because all I do is write sith-wan lmfao

I've noticed that pretty much everything I've written is from the late Clone Wars era sooo I wonder what that says about me

And if anyone came here from my Sith!Obi-Wan series, I will probably update that in the next couple of weeks. The fic is fully written but it has been a minute since I have attempted editing that lol.

Hope you enjoy!

The Chancellor’s office smelled like old wood and expensive tea, the same as it always did.

Anakin had been here a hundred times, maybe more. He knew the curve of the arched windows, the way the afternoon sun bled through the transparisteel in ribbons of gold, and the exact spot on the carpet where he’d paced during a dozen different crises.

Today, though, something felt off.

Anakin shifted in his chair, rolling his shoulders to shake the tension loose. It didn’t work.

The Force hummed around him like a plucked string, vibrating inscrutably. He couldn’t name the problem, and he hated that.

There were many complaints you could make about Anakin Skywalker—his impulsivity, his emotional instability, his proclivity for unhealthy attachment—but his instincts were usually crystal clear.

And right now, his senses were clouded, as if the Force were anticipating something. As if he should be holding his breath.

“Anakin? Are you listening, my boy?”

He blinked. Palpatine was watching him from behind his desk, pale blue eyes crinkled with that familiar, grandfatherly warmth that had comforted Anakin for the last thirteen years. A cup of tea steamed at his elbow—the good stuff, from Naboo, that he always insisted Anakin try even though Anakin preferred caf.

“Apologies, Chancellor.” Anakin straightened. “Long mission. I’m still shaking off the trip.”

“Of course, of course.” Palpatine waved a dismissive hand. “The war takes so much from all of us. I often worry about you, Anakin. The burden you carry… it’s heavier than most.”

Anakin shrugged, refusing to let himself bask in the praise, though he coveted it so dearly. “I’m fine. The men are the ones doing the real work.”

“Humble as always.” Palpatine smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made Anakin feel seen— not as a Jedi, not as a weapon, but as a person. It was the same smile that had kept him coming back here, year after year. “But I didn’t summon you just to check on your health. Though I admit, that’s always part of it.”

“What’s this about, then?” Anakin leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The briefing said something about supply routes?”

“Ah, yes. The supply routes.” Palpatine’s eyes flickered briefly toward the window, then circled back to Anakin. “But I find myself… distracted. By a conversation I had recently with an old colleague. A historian, of sorts.”

Anakin frowned. “A historian?”

“Indeed. He was telling me about ancient legends. Myths, really, from the old Republic— before the Sith, before the Jedi as we know them.” Palpatine steepled his fingers, and there was something almost reverent in his voice. “Stories about pairs. Two Force-sensitives so deeply connected that they existed as one soul in two bodies.”

Anakin’s frown deepened. “That sounds like a bond. Jedi masters and apprentices form bonds all the time.”

“Oh, this was different.” Palpatine’s voice dropped, conspiratorial. “These pairs could move through the Force as one. Amplify each other’s power. Even—” he paused, letting his words hang in the air “—reshape reality itself.”

Anakin laughed kindly. “Sounds like a myth to me. The Force doesn’t work that way. It’s not a tool you can just wield like that. It’s about balance. Harmony.”

“Ah, yes.” Palpatine’s smile didn’t waver. “Harmony. Of course.”

But Anakin caught something in his tone. A flicker of… amusement? No. Something else. Like he knew something Anakin didn’t.

Anakin shifted again, suddenly aware of how quiet the room was. Suddenly, he wished for the noisy hum of the city outsider or speeders distantly buzzing or even the soft tick of a chrono on the wall and the faint whistle of air through the vents.

Strange, he thought. I’ve never noticed that before.

“Anakin,” Palpatine said, and his voice was softer now, more tender, “do you ever feel… incomplete? Like there’s a part of you missing?”

Anakin’s jaw tightened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Palpatine leaned forward, hands flat on the desk, “that I see you. All of you. The power you carry— it’s immense, Anakin. More than you realize. But you’re so busy holding it back, keeping it contained, that you never let yourself feel what it could be.”

The words hit too close. Anakin looked away, toward the window, sounds and sensations coming back to him as he watched the speeders dart between the spires of Coruscant. “I’m a Jedi. We don’t—”

“Feel?” Palpatine finished for him, gentle but pointed. “No, I suppose you don’t. But you should. You’re not like the others, Anakin. You never have been. There’s something more to you. Something that connects you to the Force in ways the Council can’t—or won’t—understand.”

Anakin’s hand tightened on his knee. Through the Force, he felt a ripple—a flutter of unease in his chest.

This is wrong.

But Palpatine, despite the vast difference in their ages, was his friend. His ally. The one person in the galaxy who’d never judged him, never looked at him like a ticking time bomb.

It’s just talk, Anakin told himself. Old man getting philosophical. Ignore it.

“You mentioned the soul-bonded pairs,” Anakin said, steering the conversation back to safer ground. “Why are you telling me this?”

Palpatine’s smile widened a fraction, and Anakin’s skin prickled.

“Because I think,” he said softly, “that you and Master Kenobi might share something similar.”

Anakin froze.

Obi-Wan.

The name hit him like a punch to the chest. Of course. Of course Palpatine had noticed. Everyone noticed. The way Anakin always knew where Obi-Wan was in a room, the way Obi-Wan’s voice cut through Anakin’s nightmares like a beacon. The way they could finish each other’s sentences, anticipate each other’s moves, feel each other’s pain across star systems.

But that was normal, wasn’t it? Regardless of Anakin’s pesky feelings for him, wasn’t that just what happened when you spent thirteen years with someone? When that someone saved your life, shaped your future, became the single most important person in your existence?

“I don’t—” Anakin started, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Obi-Wan and I aren’t— we’re just master and apprentice. Former master and apprentice. That’s all.”

“Are you sure?” Palpatine’s voice was silk. “Because I’ve watched you, Anakin. I’ve seen the way you look at him. The way you move around him, like he’s gravity and you can’t escape his pull. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you, too.”

Anakin’s heart was pounding now. Too fast. Too loud.

Because it was true that Anakin gazed at Obi-Wan far too long to be appropriate, created fantasies in his mind of his former master returning his less-than-platonic desires, that their bond sustained Anakin more than the beat in his heart and the oxygen in his lungs.

And Palpatine was one of the smartest, most genuine people he had ever met, so of course he would pick up on it; Anakin didn’t exactly have subtlety thrumming in his veins the way he had raw Force potential.

But this was something that the all-knowing Palpatine was certainly wrong about. There was no way in the Force that Obi-Wan returned even a modicum of those feelings. Not only was he a Jedi, and attachment was explicitly forbidden, but there was no possible way he would spare him a second glance with a fraction of the amorous, carnal desire that Anakin felt for him.

His heart was pounding now, too fast and far too loud.

“Chancellor,” he said, and his voice came out sharper than intended because just the inconceivable thought of Obi-Wan reciprocating his feelings was far too much to bear, and he needed to lash out at someone to distract himself, “with respect, I don’t think this is appropriate. My relationship with Obi-Wan is—”

“Sacred,” Palpatine finished, and there was something almost hungry in his voice. “Yes. I know.”

Noises flooded back into Anakin’s mind, but they weren’t as comforting as he’d thought they’d be.

The chrono ticked.

The vents whistled.

And those same feelings that always sparked around Palpatine reemerged. He felt seen. Valued.

Then Palpatine’s expression smoothed, and he was back to the kindly old man who always had a cup of tea ready. “Forgive me, Anakin. I didn’t mean to overstep. I simply—” he sighed, shaking his head. “I worry about you. Both of you. The war is dangerous, and the Jedi… well, they don’t always value what they have, do they?”

Anakin’s shoulders relaxed. Only slightly, but at least his initial instincts rang true in the Force now. Just a philosophical old man. That’s all.

“I appreciate the concern,” he said, forcing a smile. “Really. But Obi-Wan and I are fine. We work well together. That’s all that matters.”

Palpatine nodded slowly. “Of course. Of course.” He reached for his tea and took a sip. “Now, about those supply routes…”

And just like that, the conversation shifted to logistics, routes, and fuel, as well as the endless, grinding mechanics of war.

But Anakin couldn’t shake the feeling that Palpatine was still watching him, still studying him, as if he were a scientist examining a specimen.

I’m being paranoid, he told himself. It’s just the stress. The war. The visions.

I need to focus. I need to get through this meeting. Then I can rest.

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed it.

The door hissed open.

Anakin looked up, and his blood turned to ice.

Count Dooku stood in the doorway, lightsaber already ignited, the blue-white blade casting sharp shadows across his gaunt face. His eyes were cold and fixed directly on Anakin.

“Skywalker,” Dooku said, and his voice was a serpent’s hiss. “How convenient.”

Anakin was on his feet in an instant, hand flying to his belt to protect the Supreme Chancellor from the Sith Lord—

But he never reached his lightsaber.

Behind him, Palpatine screamed.

“HELP! SOMEONE HELP!”

The sound was so sudden, so pained, so wrong, that Anakin instinctively turned to ascertain his well-being—

And something slammed into the back of his skull.

Not a physical blow. The Force. A wave of pressure, so dense and heavy that it felt like the entire room was collapsing on top of him. Anakin staggered, vision swimming, his legs giving out beneath him.

Through the haze, he heard Dooku’s footsteps. Heard Palpatine’s screams through the shroud of his disorientation.

“ANAKIN!” Palpatine cried. “HELP ME!”

Anakin tried to reach out. Tried to summon his lightsaber. Tried to breathe.

But the darkness was already swallowing him whole. It poured into his mind like ink into water, thick and cold and suffocating. The last thing he saw was Dooku’s boots walking past him— toward the Chancellor’s desk.

But before the darkness claimed him completely, there was noise.

The crash of furniture overturning. The shriek of durasteel as Dooku’s blade carved through the door panels— a show of force, almost like a performance for the security footage that would later be reviewed. The clatter of datapads scattering across the floor as Palpatine knocked them from his desk in a frenzy of panic.

Anakin heard the sharp crack of the Chancellor’s favorite tea cup shattering against the wall. Heard the heavy thud of the desk chair overturning. Heard Dooku’s boots stalking through the chaos, calculated and unhurried.

And then silence.

Anakin’s eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open. Through the fog of unconsciousness, he saw Dooku’s hand close around Palpatine’s arm.

The last thing he heard was Dooku’s voice, “On your feet, Chancellor, unless you want me to kill you right now.”

No, Anakin thought. Palpatine was in danger and it was all his fault. He couldn’t protect him. Couldn’t do his sworn duty.

His last thought before he succumbed to the haze— before Dooku grabbed Anakin’s ankle and began to drag him toward the door— was I failed him.

***

The bond went silent.

***

The afternoon sun beat down on the Senate steps, hot and heavy, reflecting off the polished marble until they hurt to look at. Obi-Wan squinted against the glare, one hand shading his eyes while the other held a datapad with the latest casualty reports from the Outer Rim Sieges.

“—and the 501st is requesting additional artillery support for the next rotation,” Cody was saying, his voice a firm rumble beside him. “General Skywalker’s report indicated they had faced heavier resistance than anticipated, and he’s requesting for the future—”

Obi-Wan nodded, already scrolling through the numbers. “Tell him I can get the requisition approved, but he’ll have to wait until—”

He stopped.

The words died in his throat.

Something was wrong.

Suddenly, his vision went white. But it wasn’t pain, more like… absence. Like something violent had torn through the fabric of his consciousness. Like someone had reached into his chest and ripped out a piece of his soul. Like every sun had vanished from the galaxy and left only cold, empty darkness behind.

The datapad slipped through his fingers. It hit the marble steps with a sharp crack, skittering down two steps before coming to rest.

“General?” Cody was at his side, hand on his arm. “General, what’s wrong? You’ve gone pale—”

Obi-Wan couldn’t answer. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His hand flew to his chest, pressing against the space where his heart should have been, but there was nothing there. Just a hollow, yawning void where Anakin used to be.

Anakin.

Anakin, where are you?

He was supposed to be meeting with Palpatine.

He reached out through the bond— the thread that has connected them for thirteen years, the thing that hummed between them even when they were systems apart— and found… nothing. Static. Silence. A wall of black where Anakin’s bright, burning presence should have been.

No. No, no, no—

And then, faintly, so faintly that he almost missed it— a pulse.

Fear.

But it wasn’t Anakin’s. Or was it? It was sharper, more theatrical, laced with something that felt almost… performative? Palpatine. The Chancellor. Anakin’s fear for Palpatine, perhaps, bleeding through the bond.

Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open. His composure, carefully maintained for as long as he’d been alive, cracked.

“Cody.” His voice came out raw, scraping against his throat. “Chancellor Palpatine’s office. Now.”

Cody didn’t ask questions. That was why he was the best. “I’ll call for backup—”

“No time.” Obi-Wan was already moving, robes billowing behind him as he spurred up the Senate steps. “Secure the perimeter. No one leaves the building.”

“General—”

“Do it, Commander.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He was already through the doors, already running through the corridors, his boots pounding against the polished floor in a rhythm that matched his racing heart.

Anakin. Anakin, please.

The bond was still dark. Still silent. But Obi-Wan could feel the echo of that fear, lingering like smoke after a fire. Palpatine had been afraid. Or at least, he’d wanted Anakin to think he was afraid.

That doesn’t make sense, Obi-Wan’s mind raced. If the Chancellor were in danger, why would Anakin be the target? Unless—

He rounded the corner and skidded to a halt.

The Chancellor’s office doors stood open. Not just open— smashed. The heavy durasteel panels were dented inward, scorch marks blackening the edges where a lightsaber had carved through the lock. Inside, the room was chaos. Overturned furniture. Datapads scattered across the floor. A single cup of tea, still steaming, lying on its side on the desk.

And everywhere— everywhere— the lingering residue of dark side energy.

Dooku.

Obi-Wan stepped through the doorway, his lightsaber already in his hand, though he didn’t ignite it. Not yet. He needed to see. He needed to understand.

His eyes swept the room, cataloguing every detail precisely, because he was a man who’d spent two decades surviving by noticing what others had missed.

Two sets of footprints in the disturbed dust. One small, walking with purpose— Palpatine’s. The other heavier, dragging, the toes scraping against the floor— Anakin’s. Anakin had been unconscious. Dragged.

Obi-Wan’s blood ran cold.

The Chancellor walked out with Dooku. Or he was made to by the point of a lightsaber at his throat. Anakin was dragged.

His mind spun through the implications. Dooku had been here. Dooku had taken Anakin— or taken them both. But why would Dooku take the Chancellor? Palpatine was valuable, yes, but he was also the most heavily guarded man in the galaxy. A kidnapping of this scale would trigger an immediate manhunt. It was stupid. Dooku wasn’t stupid.

Unless the Chancellor wasn’t the real prize.

Obi-Wan knelt. His fingers brushed the floor, tracing the faint grooves left by Anakin’s dragging heels. The Force eddied around him with traces of violence. Dooku’s signature was unmistakable—Obi-Wan had, unfortunately, spent far too much time in his presence to miss the coldness of it. But there was something else beneath it. A whisper of something even more dangerous.

Palpatine.

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. He reached out with the Force, feeling the echoes of what had happened here. The Chancellor had been behind his desk. Anakin had been in the chair across from him. They’d been talking. Casual. Comfortable. Somewhat. Then Dooku had entered—

And Palpatine had screamed.

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed. He’d heard the scream through the bond, felt Anakin’s desperate lurch toward the Chancellor. But now, standing in the wreckage, he could feel something else. Something that didn’t fit.

The footprints.

Palpatine’s prints were too neat. Too orderly. They led from the desk to the door without a single stumble, without the frantic scrambling for a man fleeing for his life. And there were no signs of a struggle near the Chancellor’s position. The overturned furniture was clustered around the entrance, where Anakin must have been standing when he was attacked. Or he must have ended up there somehow, possibly in defense of the Chancellor.

Anakin was the target.

Obi-Wan’s heart clenched. He pushed himself to his feet, his jaw tight. Dooku took Anakin. He took him, and Palpatine as well. But why? Why would the Separatists kidnap Anakin Skywalker and take the Chancellor as collateral? Or vice versa? It didn’t add up.

Unless…

“General?”

Obi-Wan spun. A clone trooper stood in the doorway— not one of his men, a member of the Coruscant Guard by the look of the red markings on his armor. The trooper’s blaster was raised, sweeping the room for threats.

“Stand down,” Obi-Wan said, his voice steadier than he felt. “The assailants are gone. Get a security team up here. I need everything— security footage, personnel logs, visitor records from the last hour.

“Sir—” The trooper hesitated. “The Chancellor—”

“Is not here,” Obi-Wan cut him off, “and I need to know where he’s been taken. Move.”

The trooper saluted and disappeared. Obi-Wan turned back to the room, his mind working furiously.

Palpatine walked out with Dooku. Willingly. Or at least, not under duress.

The thought was treason. He knew it was treason. But the Council had been suspicious of the Chancellor for months. Too much power concentrated in one man. Too many emergency powers granted. Too many coincidences that always seemed to benefit the Separatists just enough to prolong the war but never enough to end it.

And now Anakin is gone. Taken. By Dooku. And Palpatine just went along with it.

Obi-Wan’s hand tightened on his lightsaber hilt.

What are you hiding, Sheev Palpatine?

He reached through the bond again, desperately searching for Anakin’s presence. For a moment—just a moment—he felt something. A flicker of warmth. A whisper of consciousness.

Anakin?

No response. But the bond was there. It was weak, but it was there, and Anakin was alive.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and breathed. Just for a second, just enough to calm the anger threatening the edges of his vision.

I’m coming, Ani. I’m coming.

He opened his eyes, and the lids were heavy, like steel was lodged in them now. The cold, implacable steel of a Master Jedi who had let himself get far too attached to his own former Padawan and would stop and nothing to bring him home.

“Cody,” he said into his comm, “I need a location. Track the Chancellor’s personal transport. I don’t care what clearance you need— just get it.”

“Sir?” Cody’s voice crackled through the speaker. “The Chancellor’s transport is still in its bay. It hasn’t moved.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed. Of course. They wouldn’t be that obvious.

“Then trace Dooku’s ship. I want every hyperlane, every identified signature, every scrap of data from the last hour. They can’t have gone far.”

“And if they have?”

Obi-Wan’s smile sharpened. “Then I’ll find them anyway.”

He strode out of the office, his robes billowing around him, and didn’t look back.

***

The bond pulsed once in something soft and distant, like a heartbeat far away.

Anakin, Obi-Wan thought, and poured every ounce of his love and desperation into the word. Hang on. I’m coming.

And somewhere, deep in the darkness, Anakin stirred.

***

Consciousness returned in fragments.

First came the cold. It seeped into his bones, crawling up his spine like fingers of ice. He shivered, and the movement sent a spike of pain through his skull—sharp, insistent, demanding attention.

Then came the smell. Burnt durasteel. Recycled air, stale and metallic, the kind that only existed in places where the atmosphere was manufactured. A prison. A ship. Somewhere wrong.

Anakin groaned. His eyelids felt like they’d been welded shut, but he forced them open anyway.

The world swam into focus.

He was in a cage.

A cage within an energy barrier, shimmering faintly blue, enclosing him in a space barely large enough to stand in. The floor was cold durasteel. The walls were durasteel. Everything was durasteel, gray and featureless and horrible.

And his wrists—

He looked down. Heavy cuffs circled his wrists, dull metal etched with symbols he didn’t recognize. They hummed with a low, thrumming energy that made his skin crawl. The Force was there, he could feel it, but every time he reached for it, the cuffs seemed to pulse and push it away, like trying to hold water in a sieve.

Force-suppression cuffs.

Anakin’s stomach dropped. He’d heard of these—had been shackled by them before as well. They were rare. They were illegal. But they were also devastatingly effective.

Where am I? How long was I out? What—

Then he remembered.

Palpatine’s office. The tea. The strange conversation about soul-bonded pairs. Dooku’s lightsaber. The scream. The crushing weight of the Force against his mind—

And then nothing.

Anakin’s fists clenched. He lunged at the energy barrier, slamming his palms against it. The blue light sizzled, and pain lanced up his arms, throwing him backward. He hit the durasteel floor hard, the breath leaving his lungs in a sharp whoosh.

“Anakin! Anakin, my boy, are you all right?”

Anakin’s head snapped up. Across the room, perhaps fifteen meters away, there was another cage. And inside it, bound with what looked like simple rope, was Chancellor Palpatine.

He looked terrible. His robes were torn. His hair was disheveled. There was a bruise forming on his cheek, dark and ugly against his pale skin. But his eyes—those eyes—were fixed on Anakin with a frantic concern that sent an ache pummelling through Anakin’s chest.

“Chancellor,” Anakin gasped, pushing himself to his knees. “Are you hurt? Did he—”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Palpatine strained against his ropes, wincing. “It’s you I’m worried about. You hit the floor so hard— I thought—” He shook his head, his voice cracking. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Anakin’s jaw tightened. He was worried about me. Even now, trapped and bound, he was worried about me. I don’t deserve him.

“I’m okay,” Anakin said, though his head was pounding and his ribs felt like they had been through a trash compactor. “Just… give me a minute.”

He pushed himself to his feet again, slowly this time, and took stock of his surroundings. The room was circular, maybe twenty meters across. The ceiling was high, lost in shadows. There were no windows, no visible doors—just the two cages and his oppressive energy barrier.

And there, in the corner—

Anakin’s eyes narrowed. A holocamera. Its red light blinked steadily, watching them.

We’re being observed.

“Anakin.” Palpatine’s voice was softer now, almost conspiratorial. In any other circumstance, the tone would have brought a smile to Anakin’s face. “Anakin, my dear, listen to me. Before Dooku left, he said something. Something I think you need to hear.”

Anakin turned back to him. “What did he say?”

Palpatine hesitated. His eyes darted to the holocamera, then back to Anakin. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“He said this was all about you.”

Anakin’s blood went cold. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what he said.” Palpatine leaned forward as far as his ropes would allow. “He said the Jedi Council had grown… concerned. About your power. About your potential. He said they’d decided you were too dangerous to keep in the Order.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “And then he said—” Another pause. Another hesitation. “He said it was Master Kenobi’s idea to give you up.”

The words hit Anakin like a punch to the chest.

“What?” The word came out strangled. “That’s— that’s ridiculous. Obi-Wan would never—”

“Wouldn’t he?” Palpatine’s voice was soft now, almost sad. “Think about it, Anakin. Think about the way he looks at you. The way he watches you. I thought—I thought maybe he shared your feelings for him. But now—maybe it was that he was waiting for you to slip. Like he’s waiting for you to prove him right.”

Anakin shook his head violently. “No. No, you’re—Dooku is wrong. Obi-Wan is my master. He trained me. He—”

“He failed you.” Palpatine’s voice was still soft, still said, but there was something sharper beneath it now. Something cutting. “He left you on Tatooine. He let your mother die. He watched you suffer, year after year, and he did nothing.”

Anakin’s chest heaved. His hands shook. The cuffs hummed against his wrists, blocking the Force, but he could still feel something—a flicker of warmth, somewhere deep inside him. A thread of light.

Obi-Wan.

He reached for it, desperately, but it was too faint. Too distant. Like trying to grab a star through a fog.

“I never thought he was afraid of you,” Palpatine continued, his voice low. “Afraid for you, I believed. Or wanted to believe on your behalf. But Dooku made me wonder…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “No. No, I shouldn’t say such things. Not now. Not when we’re trapped like this.”

Trapped. The word cut through Anakin’s spiraling thoughts. He looked around the room again, eyes passing over their cages, the blinking holocamera, the barriers restricting them.

“We need to get out of here,” he said, his voice rough. “We need to find a way to—”

“Anakin.” Palpatine’s voice was sharp now. “Anakin, please. Just listen to me for a moment.”

Anakin stopped. He turned back to the Chancellor, and something in Palpatine’s expression made his stomach twist.

“The Council has been watching you for years,” Palpatine said, his voice low and urgent. “They see your power as a threat, not a gift. And Kenobi—” He shook his head, a sad smile crossing his face. “He’s the one who has to tell them everything you do. Every mistake. Every moment of weakness.”

“That’s not true.” Anakin’s voice cracked. “Obi-Wan isn’t like that. He—”

“Has he ever told you he trusts you?” Palpatine asked, his voice soft. “Has he ever said the words? ‘Anakin, I trust you. I believe in you. I love you’?”

Anakin opened his mouth to answer, and found he couldn’t.

Has he?

He thought back. The last three years of missions. Years of training. Years of Obi-Wan’s dry humor and propriety. But the words—the words Anakin had always needed to hear—had they ever actually come?

“I’m proud of you.” That, once or twice.

“You did well.” That, more often.

“We’ll figure this out.” That, constantly.

Trust? Anakin thought so. Belief? Possibly.

Love?

No. Never.

And the sudden realization hit Anakin.

He’s been holding back. All this time. All these years he’s been holding me at arm’s length.

He thought of the bond between them. The connection that hummed in his chest, warm and constant. The way Obi-Wan’s presence soothed him, even in the darkest moments. The way he’d always felt whole when they were together.

And the way Obi-Wan had never said a word about it. Had never acknowledged it. Had never—

He doesn’t feel it, Anakin thought, and the words curdled in his mind. The bond is just… the vestiges of training. Just a master-apprentice thing. He doesn’t feel what I feel.

He had always known that, but somehow, it hurt more now.

“Anakin.” Palpatine’s voice broke through his spiral. “Anakin, look at me.”

Anakin looked up. The Chancellor’s eyes were gentle, understanding, full of the kind of warmth that Anakin had been starving for his entire life.

“I’m not trying to turn you against Obi-Wan,” Palpatine said softly. “I’m trying to protect you. To help you see the truth before it’s too late. The Jedi Order doesn’t want what’s best for you. They want what’s best for them. And for Obi-Wan…” He sighed, shaking his head. “He’s one of them. He always will be.”

Anakin’s throat was tight. His eyes burned. But he didn’t look away.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked, and his voice was small. A child’s voice. The voice of a nine-year-old slave on Tatooine, desperate for someone to believe in him.

Palpatine smiled. It was warm. It was kind.

“Trust me, Anakin. That’s all I ask. Trust me, and I will never let anyone hurt you. Not the Council. Not the Sith. Not even Obi-Wan.”

Not even Obi-Wan.

The words echoed in Anakin’s mind, and something in him cracked. Just a little. Just enough to let a tiny sliver of doubt seep through.

He’s never said it. Not once. Not in thirteen years.

He looked across the room at the Chancellor—the only person who’d ever truly believed in him—and he nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “I trust you.”

Palpatine's smile widened. “That’s all I need.”

The holocamera blinked its red light.

***

And somewhere, far away, Obi-Wan Kenobi staggered as a wave of Anakin’s doubt crashed against his shields.

***

Through the bond, Anakin felt a flicker of confusion. Of hurt. Of fear.

And then— nothing. Obi-Wan’s presence withdrew, like a hand pulled back from a flame.

No, Anakin thought, his stomach dropping. Wait—

But the bond was silent.

Across from him, Palpatine was still smiling. And in the shadows of his pale blue eyes, something ancient seemed to pass through.

***

The holocamera blinked its comforting red light.

Sidious smiled at the boy—the Chosen One, so powerful, so beautiful in his desperation—and felt the dark side sing in his blood.

So easy.

Anakin was broken. Not completely. Not yet, at least. But the cracks were there. The doubts. The fears. The aching, hungry need for someone to see him, to love him without reservation.

And I do see him, Palpatine thought, his smile never faltering. I see every glorious inch of his potential. I see the weapon he could burn. I see the galaxy he could burn.

But not yet. Not until the bond was severed. Not until the boy’s heart was blackened beyond redemption.

He shifted against his ropes, careful to maintain the illusion of weakness. The bruise on his cheek—self-inflicted, a necessary prop—throbbed with a dull ache that only sharpened his focus.

Kenobi.

The name was a curse on his tongue. The Jedi Master was the key to everything—the anchor that kept Anakin tethered to the light. As long as Obi-Wan lived, as long as the boy loved him, the dyad would remain a threat instead of a tool.

But Sidious had spent decades learning how to break things. How to find the fault lines in a person’s soul and push.

Anakin’s fault line was his heart. His desperate, aching, pitiful need to be loved.

And Kenobi’s fault line—

Palpatine’s smile disappeared.

Kenobi’s fault line is Anakin. He will tear the galaxy apart to save him. And that desperation will be his undoing.

The holocamera blinked.

Palpatine settled deeper into his “bonds,” letting his eyes drift half-closed. To anyone watching, he looked exhausted. Broken. A frail old man caught in the crossfire of a war he didn’t understand.

But in the darkness behind his eyes, the Sith Lord smiled.

Dance, my puppets. Dance for me.

***

Obi-Wan was halfway to the hangar when it hit him.

He’d been running—sprinting, really, his robes flying behind him like banners of despair—when the bond suddenly pulsed with something sharp and ugly.

Doubt.

And it couldn’t have been his own. He’d never doubted Anakin. Not once. Not in thirteen years.

No, this was Anakin’s doubt. Anakin’s fear. Anakin’s sickening, heart-wrenching uncertainty— and it was directed at him.

Obi-Wan stumbled.

His hand shot out, bracing against the corridor wall, and he stood there for a moment— breathing hard, heart pounding, the world spinning around him.

Anakin, he thought, reaching through the bond with everything he had. Anakin, what’s wrong? What happened?

But the answer that came back was fragmented. A half-sentence, a feeling, a plea.

Palpatine said…

And then nothing.

Obi-Wan’s chest seized. He’d felt Anakin’s doubt like a blade to the heart, cold and wrong. Doubt that Obi-Wan was coming for him. Doubt that Obi-Wan trusted him. Doubt that Obi-Wan—

Loved him.

And that was the thought that shattered something inside of him.

Does he really think I don’t love him?

He pressed his palm flat against the wall, letting the cold durasteel ground him. His breath came in ragged gasps, the disciplined calm he’d cultivated for decades crumbling under the impact of this epiphany.

Thirteen years. Thirteen years of watching Anakin grow from a frightened nine-year-old into the most brilliant, powerful, infuriating Jedi he’d ever known. Thirteen years of standing beside him, fighting beside him, bleeding beside him.

Thirteen years of loving him— one way or another— in silence.

Because what else could he do? Anakin was his apprentice. His responsibility. His charge. The Jedi Code forbade attachment, and Obi-Wan had always been a good Jedi. Had always followed the rules, much to Master Qui-Gon’s chagrin. Had always kept his feelings locked away in the deepest, darkest corner of his heart.

But I love him.

The words burned in his mind, undeniable and terrifying. He loved Anakin with a ferocity that would have shocked the Council. He loved Anakin’s courage and his passion and his stubborn, impossible goodness. He loved the way Anakin smiled when he thought no one was watching. The way he tilted his head when he was trying to solve a tactical puzzle. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about tinkering with droids.

He loved the sound of Anakin. The presence of him. The way the Force sang when they were together.

And gods—that face.

Obi-Wan knew, intrinsically, that physical appearances didn’t matter. That the Jedi were above such shallow considerations. That it was Anakin’s soul that drew him in, not the sharp line of his jaw, not the brilliant blue of his eyes, not the way the setting sun caught the gold in his hair and made him look like something out of an old myth.

But he was a liar.

Because Anakin was beautiful. Breathtakingly, impossibly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made Obi-Wan’s chest ache and his thoughts scatter. The kind of beautiful that had kept him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the universe had dared to put him in his path and expected him not to fall for him.

And it wasn’t just his face—though that alone would have been enough to break a lesser man. It was the way he moved, the grace he didn’t know he had, the way his hands—those incredible, clever hands—could be so gentle with a broken droid and so fierce with a lightsaber. The way his eyes softened when he looked at Obi-Wan, even when he was trying to be angry.

Who wouldn’t fall for him? Obi-Wan thought bitterly. Who wouldn’t look at him and think, “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?”

He’d told himself it didn’t matter. Merely a platonic captivation with his soul—his courage, his passion, his stubborn, impossible goodness.

But it didn’t make the physical ache any less real.

And he’d never said a word.

I should have told him. I should have told him he was beautiful. I should have told him he was everything.

A vibroblade twisting in his gut would have been less painful than this thought. He should have said it, years ago, after he was knighted. Should have taken Anakin’s face in his hands and said, I love you, I love you, I’ve always loved you, you impossible, beautiful, reckless fool.

But he hadn’t. Because he was a Jedi. Because he was afraid. Because he was terrified of what would happen if Anakin knew.

And now—

He thinks I don’t trust him.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Through the bond he could feel the raw, bleeding, desperate echoes of Anakin’s hurt. And beneath all that pain, the tiny, poisonous thread of doubt that had wrapped itself around Anakin’s hurt.

Palpatine.

Of course.

He had concerns about the nature of his and Anakin’s dynamic for years. How he seemed to twist innocent things out of proportion with a well-placed comment or question, how after leaving a meeting with him, Anakin’s Force signature secreted confusion for hours.

And now he was the subject of it. Palpatine had whispered his poison—intentionally or not— into Anakin’s ear, telling him that Obi-Wan didn’t trust him, didn’t believe in him, didn’t—

Love him.

“No,” Obi-Wan breathed, his voice cracking. “No, Anakin. That’s not true. That’s never been true.”

But Anakin couldn’t hear him. The bond was too faint, too fractured. All Obi-Wan could feel was the echo of his doubt, and it was destroying him.

He pushed off the wall, his eyes burning. He couldn’t afford to fall apart now. Anakin was out there, alone, afraid, being poisoned by a man they’d both trusted. And it was Obi-Wan’s job— his purpose to save him.

I will save him. I will find him. And then—

He stopped the thought. He couldn’t think about “and then.” He couldn’t think about what he would say, what he would do, when he finally had Anakin in his arms. If he thought about it, he would break.

Instead, he focused on the bond. On the faint, flickering thread of light that still connected him to Anakin.

I’m coming, he thought, pouring every ounce of his love and his grief and his all-consuming desperation into the words.

Only the Force could help them now.

***

Anakin was still reeling from Palpatine’s soliloquy when something seeped into his chest.

It was faint and barely there, something like sunlight through heavy clouds, but it was real and tangible, and it wasn’t coming from Palpatine.

It was coming through the bond.

Anakin’s breath caught. He reached for it desperately, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. Through the cuffs, through the barriers, through the cold and the fear and the doubt, he reached—

And felt Obi-Wan.

Not words. Not thoughts. Feeling. A pulse of warmth that wrapped around his heart, embraced it. A surge of something so fierce and desperate and aching that it made Anakin’s eyes sting with tears.

Love.

It crashed into him and he staggered, catching himself on the energy barrier, and the blue light sizzled against his palms, but he didn’t care. He didn’t feel it. All he could feel was Obi-Wan, pouring raw, terrifying power through their bond.

I’m coming, Ani. Hold on. Please. Hold on.

The words were felt more than spoken, like a prayer, a promise, a man bleeding his soul into the Force and begging it to reach him.

Anakin’s throat tightened. His chest ached. He loves me. He—

But then the doubt crept back in. Palpatine’s voice, insidious and sweet, He’s never said it. Not once. Not in thirteen years.

But I feel it, Anakin argued with himself. I feel it right now. This isn’t— this can’t be—

Feelings can be faked. The Force can be manipulated. You know that better than anyone.

Anakin shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the thought. But it clung to him like cobwebs, sticky and impossible to brush away.

Across the room, Palpatine stirred. “Anakin?” His voice was as soft as usual. “Are you all right? You look—”

“I’m fine.” Anakin’s voice came out hoarse. “I just… I thought I felt something.”

Palpatine’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second. Then his expression smoothed back into that paternal smile that always brought him comfort. “What did you feel, my boy?”

Anakin hesitated. His hand pressed against his chest, where the warmth still lingered like a fading ember.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It was… strange. Like—”

Like love. Like Obi-Wan loves me.

But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t admit it out loud. Because if he said it, and it wasn’t true, then—

“Just… a feeling,” he finished lamely. “It’s probably nothing.”

Palpatine nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Anakin’s face. “Of course. The stress of this situation must be taking a toll on you. Try to rest, Anakin. I’ll keep watch.”

Keep watch. The words should have been comforting, but something about them made Anakin’s skin crawl.

He turned away from Palpatine, pressing his back against the cold durasteel wall of his cage. His eyes closed. His heart pounded.

Obi-Wan, he thought, reaching through the bond with everything he had. Obi-Wan, I—

But he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to ask. He didn’t even know what he was asking.

So instead, he just held onto the warmth. Held onto the memory of that feeling— the love— and tried to believe it was real.

Please let it be real.

***

The ship was massive.

Obi-Wan had seen the schematics in the Jedi Archives—a Separatist dreadnought, a sister ship to the Malevolence, designed for orbital bombardment and planetary sieges. It was a floating fortress, bristling with turbolaser batteries and hangar bays, capable of laying waste to entire cities.

And it was hiding in the debris field of Coruscant’s outer defense perimeter.

Right under our noses, Obi-Wan thought bitterly, cutting down another pair of droids.

He deflected a blaster bolt, spun, and drove his blade through a commando droid’s chest plate. The droid crumpled, sparks showering across the durasteel floor.

“General!” Cody’s voice crackled through his comm. “We’ve got the ship locked in. We’re sending the coordinates to your HUD now.”

Obi-Wan’s HUD flickered, and a wireframe map appeared in the corner of his vision. The ship was massive—dozens of decks, hundreds of rooms, a labyrinth of corridors and hangar bays. But there, at the very center of the map, was a single, blinking dot.

Anakin.

Obi-Wan’s jaw tightened. “How close are you?”

“Five minutes. Maybe less. We’re punching through the debris field now.”

“Five minutes is too long.” Obi-Wan rounded a corner and found himself in a hangar bay— empty, save for a single sleek ship docked against the far wall. Dooku’s personal vessel. I’m going in ahead.”

“General—”

“I know the risks, Cody. I also know Anakin’s in there.” He paused, his hand tightening on his lightsaber hilt. “I’m not leaving him.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Cody replied, “Understood, sir. We’ll be right behind you.”

Obi-Wan deactivated his comm and let out a log exhale.

Focus. You need to focus. Give your anger to the Force.

He moved through the hangar bay, his senses stretched thin. The Force was thick here—pure darkness intertwined with something far more familiar.

And vulnerable.

Anakin. He could feel him stronger now, a pulsing thread of warmth that drew him forward. He was close, he knew. He could sense Dooku only a few decks above him, judging by the map.

But as he drew closer, something else crept into his awareness. That same doubt.

He still doesn’t trust me. He still—

Obi-Wan pushed the thought away. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters except getting him out.

He told himself earlier not to think about “and then,” but maybe he should. What would he do when Anakin was safe? What would he say?

I love you.

The words sat on his tongue, a secret he’d been guarding even from himself. Didn't let himself think them too loudly for fear that the universe would hear and use them against him.

He found a turbolift and pried the doors open with the Force, stepping inside. The control panel was labeled in Separatist script, but he could read enough to know which deck he needed. He punched the button and felt the lift lurch upward.

I should have told him on Coruscant, on Cato Neimoidia, on Naboo, on Geonosis, on Zygerria. I should have told him on a hundred thousand worlds, a hundred thousand nights, when he fell asleep on my shoulder and I thought my heart would burst.

The turbolift stopped. The doors slid open.

Obi-Wan stepped out into a corridor lined with durasteel and darkness. He could feel Anakin now—so close, just ahead, on the other side of a massive door at the end of the hall.

And he could feel Palpatine, too. A presence that was wrong. Off. Like a note played out of key.

He’s in there. With Anakin.

Obi-Wan’s blood ran cold.

He reached the door and pushed it open with the Force, his lightsaber already in his hand.

Inside was a circular room.

Two cages.

Anakin, in one, his eyes wide with shock— and hope— as he looked at Obi-Wan. And Palpatine, in the other, bound with ropes that looked very convincing.

Obi-Wan’s gaze locked onto Anakin, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away.

I’m here. I’m here, Ani. I’m here. I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I am never going to let anyone take you from me.

Anakin’s eyes widened. His lips parted. Through the bond, Obi-Wan felt the echo of his own words, and felt Anakin hear them.

And then Dooku dropped from the ceiling, lightsaber already swinging.

***

Dooku landed in a crouch, his lightsaber humming with that distinctive crackle of crimson plasma. He rose slowly, deliberately, a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

“Master Kenobi,” he said, each syllable something like silk wrapped around steel. “How predictable. I was beginning to wonder if you’d lost your nerve.”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat was tight, his heart was pounding, and every instinct was screaming at him to look at Anakin— to make sure he was real, to see if the words he’d poured through the bond had reached him.

But he couldn’t afford to look. Not now. Not with Dooku standing between them.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin’s voice was raw.

What did they do to you?

“Obi-Wan, he—”

“I know, dear.” Obi-Wan tried to keep a steady voice while his hands shook. “I know what he’s done. I know what he’s told you. And none of it is true.”

“Such confidence,” Dooku drawled, circling slowly. “Such certainty. And yet, I wonder, Master Kenobi—do you truly believe that? Or are you simply afraid to admit the truth?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed. “And what truth is that, Count?”

“That you’ve held him back.” Dooku’s smile was ice-cold. “That you’ve feared his power. That you’ve kept him small, controlled, manageable, because you knew that if he ever reached his full potential, he would surpass you in ways you could never imagine.”

The words cut deep. Not because they were true, but because they were the very fears he’d carried for years.

What if I’m not enough? What if he needs someone stronger? What if I’m the one holding him back?

He pushed the thoughts away. “You’re projecting, Count. Your own failures—”

“Oh, I’ve failed many times.” Dooku’s smile widened. “But at least I’ve never pretended to be something I’m not. At least I’ve never lied to the boy who trusted me with his life.”

A flash of Qui-Gon’s face sparked before Obi-Wan’s eyelids. A pang thrust itself through his chest involuntarily. And Dooku knew it. He knew what he was doing. He was trying to unravel him. To make him hesitate. To make him doubt.

And it was working.

Obi-Wan’s grip on his lightsaber tightened. He could feel Anakin’s eyes on him, could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical pressure against his skin. He’s watching. He’s listening. And if I falter—

He didn’t finish the thought. Instead, he moved, and the fight exploded into motion.

Obi-Wan lunged, his blade a blue of blue-white light. Dooku met him with a crimson arc, their sabers colliding in a shower of sparks. The Force screamed around them, the dark side pressing against Obi-Wan’s shields like a battering ram.

“You’re tired, Kenobi,” Dooku observed, their blades locked. “Emotionally compromised. You’ve let your feelings for the boy cloud your judgment.”

“My feelings are none of your concern.” Obi-Wan shoved him back, spinning into a low sweep that Dooku barely avoided.

“Oh, but they are.” Dooku retreated a step, his blade held in a defensive guard. “Because they’re the very thing that will destroy you. You love him, don’t you? Really love him. The kind of love the Jedi would call attachment.”

I do love him. And it terrifies me.

“I’m not sure you’re an authority on the Jedi Code anymore,” Obi-Wan replied mildly. He pressed the attack, driving Dooku back across the room. His blade was relentless, a storm of light and sound and fury that would have overwhelmed a lesser opponent. But Dooku wasn’t lesser. He was a master of Makashi, a duelist who had faced the greatest warriors of his age.

“Interesting,” Dooku murmured, sidestepping a thrust. “You don’t deny it. You don’t even try.” His smile was razor-sharp. “How the mighty have fallen.”

Obi-Wan’s blade faltered for just a moment, and Dooku capitalized.

The next thing Obi-Wan knew, he was on the floor.

He’d been thrown, the Force lashing out and sending him crashing into the wall. His lightsaber skittered across the floor, and his head was ringing with the impact.

Dooku stood over him, his blade humming.

“Pathetic,” Dooku said softly. “You could have been great, Obi-Wan. You had so much potential. But you let your heart become your weakness. And now—”

“OBI-WAN!”

Anakin’s scream shattered the air.

Obi-Wan looked up, and through the bond, he felt it. Not just Anakin’s fear. Not just his desperation. Everything. The warmth that had always been there, the love that Obi-Wan had been too afraid to name, pouring through the connection like a floodgate had been opened.

I love you. I love you. I’ve always loved you.

And then the bond flared.

Like a star exploding in his chest, Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s power surging through the connection, filling him with warmth and light and strength. The Force was singing, vibrating, exploding with the sheer intensity of it all.

What—

“No,” Dooku’s voice was sharp with alarm. “No, you can’t—the bond—”

But it was too late.

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber was in his hand. He didn’t remember grabbing it. He didn’t remember moving. One moment he was on the floor, broken and defeated, and the next, he was on his feet, his blade blazing, the Force swirling around him like a cyclone.

“You were saying?” Obi-Wan’s voice was far too calm for the situation at hand.

Dooku’s eyes widened. “This isn’t possible. The cuffs—they should have suppressed the bond entirely—”

“Apparently not.” Obi-Wan moved, not so much walking, or even running, but flowing, his body a conduit for the power pouring through him from Anakin.

They clashed again, but this time, it was different. Obi-Wan wasn’t tired. He wasn’t faltering. He was unstoppable.

“Interesting,” Dooku gasped, barely deflecting a thrust that would have taken his head. “You’re stronger. But not from your own power—”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice was soft, reverent. “It’s Anakin.”

Dooku’s eyes darted to the cage, and his expression shifted to something like fear. “The dyad. That’s what he—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Obi-Wan’s blade cut him off.

The fight ended quickly after that.

Obi-Wan disarmed him.

But he didn’t kill him. He couldn’t. Not yet.

“Yield,” Obi-Wan said, his blade at Dooku’s throat. “Yield, and I’ll let you live.”

Dooku’s eyes blazed with fury. “You think this is over? You think he will let you win?”

“He who?”

But Dooku just laughed humorlessly. Something bitter and broken, like he had already accepted that he’d been outmaneuvered.

“You don’t know, do you?” Dooku hissed. “You’ve no idea what you’re walking into. The Chancellor—”

“Enough.”

The voice came from behind Obi-Wan.

He turned, and Palpatine was standing. The ropes were on the floor. His senses were correct; his binding had never been real.

“I’ll take it from here,” Palpatine said, and his voice was dark.

And then he raised a hand, and Dooku’s lightsaber flew into his palm.

“Chancellor—” Obi-Wan started.

“Sidious.” Dooku’s voice was trembling with rage. “You—you used me. You promised me—”

“I promised you nothing.” Serenity crept into Palpatine’s smile. “You were a tool, Dooku. A useful one, but a tool nonetheless. And tools can be discarded.”

Dooku lunged, not at Obi-Wan, but at Palpatine.

Palpatine’s lightsaber ignited. Crimson. Sith.

And in one smooth motion, he cut Dooku down.

The Count crumpled to the floor. Dead. His eyes were still open, frozen in an expression of shock and betrayal.

Obi-Wan stared. His mind couldn’t process what he’d just seen. The Chancellor—Palpatine— was a Sith Lord. Had always been a Sith Lord. The man who had guided the Republic for years, who had been Anakin’s friend—

“Ah.” Palpatine smiled, and it was that same agnate smile he’d always worn. Except now, Obi-Wan could see the monster behind it. “That’s better. Dooku was always so dramatic.”

Obi-Wan raised his blade. “What have you done?”

“I’ve done what I had to do.” Palpatine stepped over Dooku’s body, his lightsaber humming. “What the galaxy needs me to do.” His eyes flicked to the cage—to Anakin, who was pressed against the bars, his face pale and streaked with tears. “What are you willing to do, Obi-Wan? That’s the real question.”

Obi-Wan’s grip tightened. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to save him.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Palpatine’s smile widened. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”

He raised his free hand, and the energy barrier around Anakin’s cage dropped.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s voice was desperate. “Get back—”

But it was too late. Palpatine’s hand closed into a fist, and Anakin shrieked.

Anakin’s scream echoed through the chamber, cutting through Obi-Wan, who moved before he could think, lunging toward the cage, toward Anakin, toward—

An impenetrable wall of Force slammed into him, throwing him backward. He hit the durasteel floor hard, the breath driven from his lungs, his lightsaber skittering out of reach.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Palpatine’s voice was soft, almost playful. “None of that, Master Kenobi. We’re having a conversation.”

Obi-Wan pushed himself up, his ribs screaming in protest. “Let him go. Now.”

“Or what?” Palpatine raised an eyebrow. “You’ll fight me? You can barely stand. And even if you could—” He gestured with his free hand, and the Force pressed against Obi-Wan’s chest, pinning him to the floor. “You’re no match for me.”

Obi-Wan struggled against the invisible weight, his muscles straining, his teeth gritted. Through the bond, he could feel Anakin—pain, blinding, white-hot pain—and it was destroying him.

“Anakin,” he gasped. “Anakin, can you hear me?”

“He can,” Palpatine replied on his behalf, loudly, theatrically, the voice of someone who clearly loved the sound of his own words. “Isn’t that right, Anakin? You can hear everything. Every word. Every thought. Every doubt.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes darted to the cage. Anakin was on his knees, his hands pressed to his temples, his face contorted in agony. The cuffs on his wrists were glowing a dull red.

He’s hurting him. He’s using the cuffs to hurt him.

“Stop it,” Obi-Wan said, his voice cracking. “Please—”

“Please?” Palpatine laughed. It was a cold, cruel sound, nothing like the paternalistic mask of a chuckle that Obi-Wan had heard a thousand times. “Oh, this is rich. The great Obi-Wan Kenobi, reduced to begging. Where’s your composure now, Master Jedi? Where’s your control?”

Obi-Wan’s jaw tightened. He forced himself to breathe, to center himself, to find the calm at the eye of the storm.

Think. You need to think. He’s playing with you. He wants you to lose control, and if you lose control, then Anakin is lost.

But it was so hard. So impossibly hard when Anakin was in pain. When every scream, every whimper, and every desperate pulse of fear through the bond felt like a lightsaber in his chest.

“I’m not going to kill him,” Palpatine said, almost conversationally. “That would be… counterproductive. No, I need him alive. I need both of you alive.” He began to pace, his lightsaber still humming in his hand. “You see, Master Kenobi, the dyad is a remarkable thing. Two souls, bound together, amplifying each other’s power. It’s the ultimate tool for reshaping the galaxy.”

“That’s not what the dyad is.” Obi-Wan’s voice was hoarse. “It’s not a tool.”

“Everything is a tool, Obi-Wan.” Palpatine smiled. “Including you. Including your precious Anakin.” He paused, tilting his head. “Do you want to know what I found in some ancient Sith texts? What the Jedi have forgotten, buried, erased from history? The dyad isn’t just a bond— it’s a key. A key to unlocking the Force itself. With the dyad under my control, I could command the Force. Shape reality. Achieve anything.”

“You’re insane.” Obi-Wan spat the words. “You’re a madman.”

“Perhaps.” Palpatine shrugged. “But madmen have changed the galaxy before. And I intend to do more than that. I intend to remake it.”

He turned to Anakin, who was still on his knees, still shaking, still gasping for breath.

“Anakin,” Palpatine said, and his voice was that of the kindly old Chancellor again. “My dear boy, I want you to look at me.”

Obi-Wan’s vision went red.

My dear boy.

The words slithered through the air like poison, and Obi-Wan felt something inside him snap. Not his composure—that was still intact, barely—but something deeper, more primal. Something that had been buried beneath decades of Jedi discipline and careful detachment.

He’s not your dear boy. He’s not yours at all. He’s mine. He’s always been mine. And you—you manipulative, treacherous, bastard—you don’t get to call him that. You don’t get to pretend you care about him. You don’t get to use that voice, that familiar voice, like you have any right to him.

His hands were shaking. His lightsaber hilt was slick with sweat. He felt Anakin’s confusion, his fear, his anguished need for someone to see him—and Palpatine as using that. Weaponizing it.

I will kill him. I will tear him apart with my bare hands. I will—

“Obi-Wan.” Palpatine’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, warm and amused. “You’re trembling. Are you cold, perhaps? Or is it something else?”

Obi-Wan’s jaw tightened. His teeth ground together so hard he thought they might crack.

Control. Maintain control. He wants you to lose it. He wants you to lash out. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

But Palpatine was looking at Anakin with those jaundiced, hungry eyes. And he was using that voice—the same voice he’d used for years, the voice that had made Anakin trust him, depend on him, love him like a father.

He’s mine. He’s mine, and I will gut you before I let you take him from me.

Palpatine smiled as if he could hear every thought screaming through Obi-Wan’s mind. “I understand, Obi-Wan. I truly do. But this is for the best. For him. For the galaxy.”

The galaxy can burn. He’s all that matters.

Anakin looked up. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, but there was still a spark of defiance in them. Obi-Wan’s heart ached at the sight.

“Good,” Palpatine said. “Now I want you to think about everything I told you. About how Obi-Wan has held you back. About how the Jedi have never trusted you. About how your mother died, and he did nothing to save her.”

“Stop it.” Obi-Wan struggled against the Force. “Stop poisoning him—”

“Poisoning?” Palpatine laughed again. “I’m not poisoning him. I’m telling him the truth. The truth he’s been too afraid to speak.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Tell me, Anakin— do you truly believe he loves you?”

Anakin’s breath caught. Through the bond, Obi-Wan felt a surge of something, hope, maybe, or fear. Or both.

“I asked you before, and I’ll ask you again: has he ever said the words?” Palpatine pressed. “Ever looked you in the eye and told you that you were the most important person in his life? That he would die for you? That he would kill for you?”

I love you. I’ve always loved you. I was afraid—I’ve always been afraid—but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.

Anakin’s eyes widened. Through the bond, Obi-Wan felt something warm, something like recognition.

And then Palpatine’s fist tightened, and Anakin screamed again.

“NO!” Obi-Wan lunged forward, the Force exploding around him. Without thinking or planning, he just moved. His hand closed around his lightsaber hilt, and he was on his feet, charging at Palpatine with a roar of pure, primal fury.

“Ah.” Palpatine sounded almost fond. “There it is. The rage you’ve been hiding all these years. The darkness you try so hard to suppress.”

Obi-Wan swung. Palpatine blocked.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” the Sith Lord murmured, their blades locked in a shower of sparks. “The real you. The one who’d destroy the galaxy to save his precious Padawan.”

“Quiet.” Obi-Wan drove him back, his blade a blur of desperate Soresu strikes. “Let him go—”

“I don’t think so.” Palpatine spoke as if he knew he had already won. “I need him. Well, both of you. For now.” He sidestepped, and Obi-Wan stumbled, off-balance. “But I don’t need you unbroken. In fact, I think you’ll be much more useful once I’ve torn you apart.”

He raised his free hand, and something slammed into Obi-Wan’s chest.

Lightning. Dark, twisting energy that wrapped around his heart and squeezed.

Obi-Wan screamed, a raw, anguished sound, something ripped from the depths of his soul. He’d been tortured before. He’d faced Sith Lords and bounty hunters and monsters of all kinds, but this was different. This was an unfathomable power reaching into the very core of his being and twisting.

And if he were in this much pain while being the secondary focus, he couldn’t imagine Anakin’s condition.

“Interesting,” Palpatine mused, watching Obi-Wan writhe on the floor. “The dyad’s power is stronger than I thought. Your bond with Anakin is… remarkable.” He tilted his head, studying Obi-Wan intently. “When I hurt one of you, the other feels it. Truly. Viscerally. It’s almost… poetic.”

The lightning stopped. Obi-Wan lay on the floor, gasping, trembling, his body wracked with aftershocks.

“Obi-Wan!”

“No need to yell, my dear Anakin. He can hear you. He can hear everything you’re feeling. Everything you’re thinking.” He turned back to Obi-Wan, his smile cruel. “Tell me, Master Kenobi—how does it feel to know that the boy doubts you?”

Obi-Wan’s heart splintered. He looked up at Anakin, and felt the hope that maybe, just maybe, Palpatine was wrong.

He nearly smiled. Hope was not lost yet.

“I was afraid,” Obi-Wan gasped. “Of myself. Of what I felt. Of what I wanted to say but never could.”

Anakin’s breath caught. His eyes glistened with tears.

“Obi-Wan—”

“I love you.” The words came out in a rush, broken and desperate. “I’ve loved you for so long—I was too much of a coward to say it—but I love you. I love you and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I never told you.”

And then the bond exploded.

Light. Pure, blinding light, pouring through the connection between them like a dam had broken. Obi-Wan felt it in his bones, in his soul, in every fiber of his being. Anakin was there, all of him, every thought and feeling and memory, laid bare and burning.

I love you too. I’m so sorry I doubted you.

Obi-Wan sobbed, the tears streaming down his face as he reached through the bond and pulled Anakin close, not physically, not yet, but emotionally. Wrapping him in a love that had been too long denied.

“Beautiful,” Palpatine breathed. “Absolutely beautiful.” He smiled, and it was the smile of a predator who had finally cornered his prey. “Now, let’s see what you’re willing to do for each other.”

***

The chamber was silent except for Anakin’s ragged breathing.

Obi-Wan’s confession still hung in the air like incense, abundant and sacred. Anakin could feel the echo reverberating through the bond like a bell that would never stop ringing.

He had waited so long to hear those words. Hoped, dreamt, ached for Obi-Wan to look at him the way he had. And now, now of all times. Now, when they were trapped. Now, when a Sith Lord stood over them with a lightsaber in his hand and not a single trace of warmth in his eyes.

But he said it. He said it, and I felt it, and it’s real.

Anakin’s heart was pounding so hard he could barely hear Palpatine over the rush of blood in his ears. He could still feel Obi-Wan’s love sheathing him, shielding him, warm and fierce.

He loves me.

It was a lifeline, a tether.

Anakin’s eyes snapped to the Sith Lord. The fear was still there, coiling in his gut like a snake, but beneath it was pure, blinding fury at the man who had done this. Who had used him. Who had poisoned his mind against the person he loved.

“You monster,” Anakin spat. “You’ve been manipulating me this whole time—”

“Of course I have,” Palpatine confirmed. “But that doesn’t make what I told you any less true. The Jedi have held you back. Obi-Wan has been afraid—not of you, perhaps, but of his own feelings. And the Council? They would never accept what you are. What you could be.”

Anakin’s hands clenched into fists. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know everything about you, Anakin,” Palpatine’s voice shifted back to that tenderness. “I’ve been watching you for years. I’ve seen your rage, your fear, your desperate need to be enough. I’ve seen the way you look at Obi-Wan, the way you orbit him.” He paused, his smile sharpening.

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan said, his voice hoarse. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that—”

“Like what?” Palpatine turned to him, his eyebrows raised. “Like he’s a man in love? Like he’s desperate for validation? Like he could do anything to be worthy of your gaze?” He laughed, soft and cruel. “Oh, I know him better than you think, Master Jedi. I’ve been inside his head for years.”

Obi-Wan’s face went pale.

“You had to have had your misgivings. Did you think I was just a concerned friend? A father figure? Every time I told him that you didn’t trust him, that you were holding him back—I planted those seeds. Watered them. Watched them grow.” He smiled, and it was the smile of a gardener surveying a prize-winning starflower. “And they grew so beautifully.”

Anakin’s stomach turned. The only person who had truly believed in him, and it had all been a lie.

“You were just—”

“Building you.” Palpatine’s voice was warm again, almost affectionate. “Shaping you. The Chosen One doesn’t become a weapon overnight, Anakin. It takes years of careful cultivation. Years of doubt and fear and need.” He spread his arms wide. “But look at you now. So powerful. So broken. So ready to be remade.”

“No.” Anakin lunged at the barrier, slamming his fists against the blue light. The energy sizzled, sending pain lancing up his arms, but he didn’t care. “I’ll never serve you. I’ll never—”

“You’ll do exactly what I say.” Palpatine’s voice was ice. “Because if you don’t—” He raised his hand, and the Force wrapped around Obi-Wan’s throat, lifting him off the ground. “—I’ll kill him. Slowly. And I’ll make you watch.”

Obi-Wan choked, his hands clawing at his throat, his feet dangling in the air. Through the bond, Anakin felt the pressure, the pain, and the desperate, animal fear of suffocation.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin screamed. “Let him go—”

“Not until you agree to serve me. Not until you accept what I’m offering.”

Anakin’s mind raced. He could see Obi-Wan’s face going purple, his eyes bulging, his fingers scrabbling uselessly against the invisible grip of the Force. He could feel Obi-Wan’s life—his presence—flickering like a candle in the wind.

I can’t lose him. I can’t. I can’t.

“Alright!” The word tore out of Anakin’s throat. “Alright. I’ll do it. I will do… whatever you ask. Just—just let him go—”

The Force released Obi-Wan. He dropped to the floor, gasping, retching, his body convulsing as he dragged air into his starving lungs.

“Good.” Palpatine’s smile was warm again, as if they’d just concluded a pleasant business deal. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

What have I done?

Anakin’s chest heaved. His eyes burned with tears. “You said—you said you wanted the dyad. Both of us. Serving you together.”

“I did.” Palpatine’s smile changed. “And I still do. But—” He turned to Obi-Wan, who was still on his knees, still gasping for breath. “—not like this. Not with him in the way.”

“What?” Anakin’s voice cracked. “You—you said—”

“I said I wanted the dyad under my control.” Palpatine walked toward Obi-Wan, his footsteps echoing in the silence. “But the dyad is two people, Anakin. And one of them has been holding you back your entire life.”

He stopped in front of Obi-Wan, looking down at him like a child studying a broken toy. “Obi-Wan Kenobi is a liability. His love for you is a weakness. He will always try to pull you back to the light, to the Jedi, to the mediocrity they’ve forced on you.”

I thought you said he didn’t love me.

“That’s a lie,” Obi-Wan gasped, trying to push himself up. “I—”

“I know.” Palpatine’s voice was deceptively gentle. “That’s exactly the problem.” He raised his hand. “But I don’t need to kill him. I just need him gone. Out of the way. Out of your head.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to give you a choice, Anakin.” Palpatine’s eyes were glowing now, a sickly yellow, the color of a predator’s eyes in the dark. “A real choice, not the illusion of one. I’m going to offer you the same thing I’ve been offering you for years: power. The power to save the ones you loved. To power to reshape the galaxy. The power to never be afraid again.”

He gestured to Obi-Wan, who was struggling to stand, his body still shaking from the near-suffocation.

“Or you can have him. The man who never told you he loved you until he was about to die. The man who held you back. The man who let your mother die, who let you suffer, who failed you at every turn.” Palpatine’s voice hardened. “The choice is yours, Anakin.”

The room was silent. Anakin’s heart was pounding so hard he could barely hear himself think. Palpatine’s words echoed in his head, vying for space with the truth he’d just learned—Obi-Wan’s confession, the love pouring through the bond, the proof that everything Palpatine had told him was a lie.

He loves me. And Palpatine wants me to choose between him and—

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice was soft, hoarse. “Don’t.”

Anakin looked at him. At the bruises forming on his throat. At the blood trickling from his scalp where he’d hit the floor. At the potent love in his eyes that matched his own.

“Don’t listen to him, Anakin. He’s making it sound simple. It’s not. He’s lying to you. I won’t let him use me against you. If you have to—if you have to choose—”

“Don’t.” Anakin’s voice cracked. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you dare tell me to let you go.”

“I’m not telling you to let me go. I’m telling you to think about what he’s saying. What he’s not saying. Choose yourself. Choose the future. Choose the galaxy. Choose anything but me, because I’m not worth—”

“Stop.”

The word burned as it tore out of Anakin’s throat. He pressed his hands against the energy barrier, feeling it sizzle and burn against his palms once again. And once again, the pain was nothing. Nothing compared to the thought of losing him.

“Stop saying that,” Anakin said, his voice cracking. “Stop telling me you’re not worth it. Stop—” He choked on the words, his eyes burning. “You’re everything. You’ve always been everything. And I will not—I refuse—to let him make me choose between you and—”

He stopped.

The words died in his throat.

Because Obi-Wan’s plea was still echoing in his mind. Think about what he’s saying. What he’s not saying.

And suddenly, Anakin’s rage went cold.

He looked at Palpatine again. His gaze tracked the sickly yellow eyes and the cruel, confident smile and the way he held himself like he had already won and Anakin knew then. He knew this was all pointless and he was just waiting for the pieces to fall into place.

Think about what he’s saying. What he’s not saying.

Anakin’s mind raced back through the last hour. Through every word Palpatine had spoken. Every promise. Every threat. Every condition.

“I want you to think about everything I told you.”

“Think about the way he looks at you.”

“Not until you agree to serve me.”

“The choice is yours, Anakin.”

The choice.

Palpatine was offering him a choice.

But was he?

Anakin thought about Count Dooku. About the way Palpatine had cut him down without a second thought. About the cold, casual discard of a man who had loyally served him for years. About the way Palpatine had smiled as Dooku’s body hit the floor.

Tools can be discarded.

And suddenly, Anakin understood.

Palpatine wasn’t offering him a choice. He was offering him an illusion. A pretty lie wrapped in promises of power and safety and love.

No matter what I choose—he’ll use me. He’ll drain me dry. He’ll take everything I am and twist it into something monstrous. And when I’m no longer useful—

And Obi-Wan—

He’d already threatened to kill him. Had already tried to kill him, both of them. What was to stop him from doing it again? What was to stop him from taking Anakin’s choice and spitting on it?

He’ll kill him. He’ll kill him the moment I agree. Or he’ll keep him as leverage. A leash around my neck. A threat to hold over me for the rest of my life.

Anakin’s hands were shaking. His heart was pounding. But his mind—his mind—was clear for the first time in years.

He’s lying. He’s always been lying. There was never a choice. There was never a way out. There was only him, and his plans, and his hunger for power.

He looked at Palpatine, at the monster who had dared to offer him a choice that was never really a choice at all.

And Anakin’s fear turned to something else.

Rage.

Pure, blinding, incandescent rage.

“You’re lying.” Anakin said, his eyes narrowing.

Palpatine’s smile flickered. “I don’t know what you mean, my boy.”

“Yes, you do. This is a trap. No matter what I choose, you win.”

The mask slipped a fraction, just enough for Anakin to see the fury beneath it.

“You think you’re clever?” Palpatine’s voice was cold now, all pretense of warmth gone. “You think you’ve figured it out? You’re a child, Anakin. A brilliant, powerful child—but still a child. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“I know exactly what I’m dealing with. You would burn the galaxy, the Republic you claim to serve, if it meant you could rule the ashes.”

“And yet—” Palpatine’s smile returned. “You’re still trapped. Still powerless. Still watching the man you love bleed on the floor.” He raised his hand, and darkness shackled Obi-Wan’s throat again. “What are you going to do about it, Anakin? What can you do?”

Obi-Wan choked, and something inside Anakin snapped.

No.

The word was a scream in his mind. A rejection of everything Palpatine had ever told him. A denial of the fear, the doubt, the hopelessness that had plagued him for years.

No. I’m not going to let him win. I’m not going to let him take Obi-Wan. I’m not going to let him take anything from me. Not ever again.

He reached for the bond—not in a reckless panic this time, but with true, unbridled purpose. With the full, terrible weight of his love for Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan. I need you.

Through the dyad, he felt Obi-Wan’s response.

I’m here, darling. What do you need?

Everything. Anakin’s mind was racing. I need everything you have. All of it. Pour it into me. And I’ll pour everything I have into you. Together—

Together.

And that word—together—was a promise, a vow, a consecration that no amount of manipulation could ever erase.

Anakin closed his eyes. He felt Obi-Wan’s strength flowing into him—his love, his courage, his faith. And he poured everything he had back—his rage, his despair, his unshakable determination to protect the man he loved.

The bond roared.

Light poured through it, the raw and untamed power of a dyad united. Anakin felt it in his bones, his blood, his organs, every part of him that thrummed with the Force. He was more than himself. He was them.

And the energy barrier finally shattered.

Anakin was free.

And, like usual, he didn’t stop to think before moving.

His lightsaber was in his hand—he didn’t remember grabbing it or how, as he didn’t have it with him inside the cage, but he did now. He didn’t remember igniting it either. All he knew was the blue-white blade blazing in his grip and the overt fury burning in his chest.

“You want power?” Anakin screamed, charging at Palpatine. “You want the dyad? Then take it.”

He swung. Palpatine blocked, their blades colliding. The Force screamed around them as if in pain, the room shaking with the force of their clash.

“Impressive,” Palpatine hissed, his eyes blazing with yellow fire. “But not enough.”

He shoved Anakin back with the Force, sending him stumbling. But Anakin didn’t fall. He couldn’t fall. Not now. Not when Obi-Wan was counting on him.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin screamed. “Now!”

The bond flared.

Obi-Wan was on his feet—battered and bleeding, but unyielding. His lightsaber was in his hand, blazing a matching blue-white, and his eyes were locked on Palpatine.

They moved as one.

To describe this fight as a duel would be a far too elegant moniker to assign it. It was more like a storm.

Anakin attacked from the front, his blade a blur of furious light. Obi-Wan circled behind, his movements precise and deadly, cutting off Palpatine’s escape routes. They weren’t just fighting together—they were one. Every move flowed into the next, every strike was anticipated, and every opening was exploited.

Palpatine was powerful—Anakin could feel it, the dark side boiling around him like a maelstrom. But he was wrong. He was unbalanced.

Because the dyad wasn’t just power; it was connection. And Palpatine, for all his research, had never understood that.

“You can’t win,” Palpatine snarled, deflecting a blow from Anakin and spinning to block Obi-Wan’s thrust. “The dark side is eternal—”

“The dark side is nothing,” Anakin spat, driving him back. “It’s weak.”

The battle ended quickly after that.

Palpatine was powerful. But he was alone. And Anakin and Obi-Wan—together—were unstoppable.

Anakin’s blade sliced through Palpatine’s guard, carving a gash across his chest. The Sith Lord screamed—a raw, agonized sound—and stumbled backward.

“NO—” Palpatine raised his hand, lightning crackling between his fingers. “NO—I won’t—

Obi-Wan’s blade caught him from behind.

It was a clean strike. Precise. Deadly.

Palpatine’s eyes went wide. His hand dropped. The lightning fizzled and died.

And then he fell.

The Dark Lord of the Sith hit the floor, his body crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut. The yellow in his eyes blackened into something like ash as the remnants of the dark side of the Force faded away.

Anakin stood over him, his chest heaving, his lightsaber still humming in his hand.

He’d done it. They’d done it.

Palpatine was dead.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The room was silent except for the hum of their lightsabers and the sound of their ragged breathing.

Then Obi-Wan was there—his hand on Anakin’s arm, his voice soft and shaking. “Ani. Ani, look at me.”

Anakin turned. Obi-Wan was looking at him with that look he had desired for Force knew how long. His face was streaked with blood and tears, but was alive and real and here.

“We did it,” Anakin said, and his voice cracked. “We— we killed him. He’s dead. He's—”

“I know.” Obi-Wan pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him as if he were afraid Anakin would disappear. “I know. You did it. We did it.”

Anakin buried his face in Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and the tears came. Hot, ugly, relieved tears that he’d been holding back for years.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” Anakin sobbed. “I thought—he was going to win, and I—”

“I’m here.” Obi-Wan’s voice was thick. “I’m here, darling. I’m not going anywhere.”

They held each other in the silence, the dyad buzzing pleasantly between them.

And Anakin finally felt whole.

And somewhere, in the distance, they heard the sound of Republic ships arriving.

It was over.

***

They were in Obi-Wan’s quarters.

It had been months since the incident—since Palpatine’s death, since the truth about the Sith Lord had come to light, since the Republic had been thrown into chaos and the Council had been forced to reckon with how deeply they’d been deceived.

But none of that mattered right now.

Right now, there was only this.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the Coruscant skyline streaming through the transparisteel windows. The city-planet sprawled below them, a million points of light, a million lives, a million stories—but Obi-Wan couldn’t see any of it. He couldn’t see past Anakin.

Anakin, who was stretched out beneath him, his hair a mess of gold against the pillow. His eyes were dark, dilated, fixed on Obi-Wan’s with an intensity that made his breath catch. His chest was bare, his skin warm and slick with sweat, and Obi-Wan could feel all of him—not just with his hands, but with the bond.

The dyad between them buzzed in sync with their heartbeats. Every touch was amplified. Every sensation was doubled. When Obi-Wan traced his fingers down Anakin’s chest, he felt it on his own skin. When Anakin gasped, Obi-Wan felt it in his lungs.

“I can feel you,” Obi-Wan murmured, his voice rough. “Everything. I can feel—”

“I know,” Anakin’s hand came up to cup his face, trembling. “I can feel you too. It’s—”

“Overwhelming?”

Anakin laughed, a breathless, broken sound. “Yes. But I don’t want it to stop.”

Obi-Wan leaned down, pressing his forehead against Anakin’s. Their breath mingled, hot and heavy, and their dyad sang with the closeness.

Obi-Wan’s heart clenched. He pulled back just enough to look into Anakin’s eyes—those beautiful, impossible eyes that had haunted him for years.

“I used to think you didn’t feel it,” Anakin admitted, his voice cracking. “The bond. The—” He gestured vaguely, helplessly. “This. I didn’t know what a dyad was. I thought I was imagining it. Or that you were just… tolerating me.”

“Tolerating you?” Obi-Wan let out a low, humming laugh that vibrated through both of them, the sound echoing in the shared space of their minds. “Anakin, you magnificent idiot.”

He didn’t give Anakin time to respond with words. Instead, Obi-Wan shifted, the friction of skin against skin sending a jolt of electricity through the dyad that made them both gasp. He settled himself firmly between Anakin’s thighs, the heat of their connection—both physical and emotional—searing.

As he pushed forward, sinking into Anakin with a slow depth that drew a cry from his lips, Obi-Wan leaned down to whisper against his ear. “I do not just tolerate you, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a dark, honeyed rasp.

He punctuated the sentence with a powerful, rhythmic thrust that drove the air from Anakin’s lungs, feeling the corresponding wave of pleasure crash through his own nerves via the bond.

The sensation was dizzying. Because of the dyad, there was no longer a clear line where Obi-Wan ended and Anakin began; every shudder of Anakin’s thighs was mirrored in Obi-Wan’s own muscles, and every frantic heartbeat was a drum they played in unison.

Anakin’s fingers dug into the muscles of Obi-Wan’s shoulders, his head tossing back against the pillow. He was sobbing for more, his presence in the Force a blinding, golden roar of need and adoration. Obi-Wan met that need with a relentless pace, the rhythm of their bodies becoming a language of his own.

One that spoke of years of suppressed longing and the terrifying relief of finally being known.

“You’re cheating,” Anakin gasped, his voice barely a whisper as he clung to Obi-Wan’s shoulders. His eyes were blown wide, reflecting the shimmering city lights of Coruscant, though he wasn’t seeing the skyline; he was seeing the golden thread of the bond. “You can feel what I feel—you know exactly what I need, exactly where I—” He broke off with a shudder as Obi-Wan shifted, the shared sensations hitting them like tidal waves. “—that. That’s cheating.”

Obi-Wan let out a slow, ragged laugh, his movements slowing but remaining deep and deliberate, savoring the way Anakin’s entire body shuddered beneath him. He leaned down, nipping at the sensitive junction of Anakin’s neck and shoulder. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Anakin. I am merely employing the precision the Council has always praised me for.”

“Of course,” Anakin groaned, his hips arching instinctively to meet Obi-Wan’s. “Always the model student. Even when you’re… oh, gods…” He broke off into a strangled sound as Obi-Wan shifted his angle, the shared sensation through the bond hitting them both like a physical wave. Anakin’s fingers tightened, bruising the skin of Obi-Wan’s back. “That’s not precision. That’s just unfair.”

Obi-Wan laughed breathlessly. “Unfair? You’re the one who—” He paused, his composure cracking as Anakin moved beneath him, an intentional roll of his hips that sent sparks cascading through both of them. “—who is definitely doing that on purpose.”

“Maybe.” Anakin’s smile was wicked, even through the haze of pleasure. “Maybe I learned from the best.”

Obi-Wan kissed him—hard and hungry and entirely too grateful. Grateful for this, for him, for the bond that made every touch feel like coming home.

***

Later, they lay tangled together in the sheets, the world outside forgotten. Anakin’s head was on Obi-Wan’s chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. Obi-Wan’s fingers were tangled in his hair, slow and soothing.

The dyad felt soft and warm, like a blanket.

“I can feel you,” Anakin whispered, his voice drowsy. “Even now. Even when I’m not trying.”

“I know.” Obi-Wan’s voice was equally soft. “It’s… strange.”

“Good strange?”

“Good strange.” Obi-Wan pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “The best strange.”

Anakin smiled against his chest. “We should have done this years ago.”

“Probably.”

“I’m going to kiss you every day for the rest of my life.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“You love it.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I do. I really, really, do.”

Notes:

"I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets dallying. I could do a play-by-play between you and your lover, if you put on a little puppet show for me." — William Shakespeare, Hamlet

 

so what did we think 👀

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of 2026 Topwan Week(s) Prompt Fills