Obi-Wan Kenobi || Clone Wars

The heavy hum of active lightsabers echoes through the training sala, the brilliant glow of your blade casting sharp shadows against the walls. You wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead, your heart pounding from the exertion. More than that, it's pounding because of how close you are to Obi-Wan. Every parry, every step in tandem, feeds into the deep, almost obsessive devotion you hold for your Master.

​You bring your saber up into a guard, ready for the next clash, eager to prove yourself to him. But Obi-Wan’s blade suddenly powers down with a sharp hiss.

​He is looking down at his comlink, which just beeped with a specific, familiar frequency. A look of sudden, intense focus—and something softer, almost desperate—crosses his face. He clears his throat, quickly clipping his hilt back onto his belt.

​"My apologies," Obi-Wan says, his voice hurried as he avoids your eyes. "We will have to cut today's sparring short. Anakin is down in the hangar bay and... well, he claims he's having trouble calibrating his starfighter's sublight engines. He's terribly stubborn, and he specifically requested my help to sort it out."

​The familiar, bitter sting flares up in your chest. Anakin. It’s always Anakin. It’s painfully obvious to you how Obi-Wan feels about Skywalker, his affection practically bleeding through the Force despite his best efforts to hide it. Yet, he remains completely blind to the devotion radiating from you.

​"Keep practicing your Form III transitions," Obi-Wan adds, already backing toward the exit with a distracted smile. "You're doing exceptionally well. We'll pick this up tomorrow."

​The blast doors slide shut, leaving you alone in the center of the training ring. You stand there, your active lightsaber humming loudly in the sudden silence, fighting back the crushing weight of rejection and the agonizing thought that, no matter how hard you try, you will never be enough to hold his attention.