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“That’s it,” a distant voice calls out, but Obi-Wan can barely hear. The afterimages of the nightmare linger before his eyes. “Just breathe. In and out…”
All he can do is suck in another shuddering breath, his chest too tight and too sore. Obi-Wan’s vision is swimming, the ringing in his ears drowning out nearly everything.
Almost everything, except—
“Hey, it’s alright. Breathe with me.” Anakin is there all of a sudden, hovering above, with so much worry on his face. “In and out. Just follow me.”
There is an unnamed shakiness in Obi-Wan’s arms, but his hand is caught in a gentle grip and guided to press against a warm chest. He tries to match the steady rise and fall of it, but there is not enough air, or there is too much air. He can’t tell anymore.
“Come on, master. In—” Anakin inhales, his eyes locking with Obi-Wan’s with razor focus. “—and out.”
It’s the sound of the respirator that breaks the muddled haze that is Obi-Wan’s mind. A beep, following every one of Anakin’s breaths.
“That’s it. In, and out.”
Another beep.
Obi-Wan breathes.
“In again. And out.”
The muscles around his lungs release the grip, and just like that, Obi-Wan takes a breath.
The world clears as he follows the mechanical sound of Anakin’s respirator, the most important piece of machine in the whole galaxy. It’s only a small box, made of metal and wires easily broken, pumping air into Anakin’s lungs at precise intervals, filling his bloodstream with oxygen. It keeps Anakin breathing, so it keeps Obi-Wan’s world alive.
He follows the pace set by the respirator, and the panic recedes. Obi-Wan lets a long exhale leave his chest, blinking as he regains composure.
He is only home.
The living room is as warm as when Obi-Wan fell asleep. The book he was reading has slipped from his lap to the floor. His body sinks into the sofa, wrapped in a soft blanket. There is no danger, no reason for the bout of panic that seized him. It was only a dream from the past, not of the era of peace they currently live in.
Mortification fills his heart. He did not mean to fall asleep, and certainly did not mean to wake up from a nightmare violent enough to draw Anakin’s attention.
His hand is still caught in Anakin’s, pressed gently against his heartbeat. Obi-Wan blinks at his husband, whose brow is creased and eyes wide with concern. He hates worrying Anakin like this. It’s his job to take care of Anakin, and their roles being flipped makes him feel painfully inadequate. These days, he rarely voices this particular thought out loud. In his mind’s eye, he can see Anakin’s pout while insisting that they are equal in every way that matters, that Obi-Wan is allowed to be weak sometimes and let himself be taken care of by his husband. And he is learning, gradually growing to share half of his life with Anakin, even the painful half, the weak half.
It’s just this particular nightmare; he hates burdening Anakin with this one.
Obi-Wan still remembers the taste of fear, of holding Anakin’s limp body while his Force goes silent. This dream always feels real.
“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan says, not sure which one of them he is trying to reassure. “You are alright.”
Anakin doesn’t look convinced. “You were screaming in the Force, do you know that?”
“It was merely a dream, Anakin. There is no need to worry.”
Obi-Wan tries to look away, but Anakin lowers his head to meet Obi-Wan’s gaze. His eyes are piercing, seeing right through him. “So it’s one of those dreams.”
Something in Obi-Wan trembles, and he instinctively seeks the warmth of Anakin’s body, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Anakin lets him, welcomes him as he gathers Obi-Wan up in a tight hug, resting his chin on top of Obi-Wan’s head.
It’s all the confirmation needed.
“I see,” Anakin says softly, pressing a kiss in Obi-Wan’s hair.
The respirator clipped to Anakin’s belt digs into Obi-Wan’s hip bone, and the oxygen tube bumps into the side of his face, but he cannot care less. All he can do is breathe in the familiar scent, listen to the machine-regulated breathing, and feel for the steady heartbeat of his husband.
Perhaps if he fills his memory with how alive Anakin feels in his arms, he will dream of death less often.
“Stay here with me.” Obi-Wan’s voice is small. “Just a moment longer.”
Their home is still full of warmth, not a trace of war marring its peace. The book is left on the ground, the page long forgotten. Anakin envelopes Obi-Wan and all his weaknesses, loves him despite his trembling heart.
“I’m right here,” he says, soothing Obi-Wan gently with his words, his hands, his Force, bright and vibrant. Alive. “Not going anywhere without you.”
And Obi-Wan holds on to that promise, just as he holds on to the life they’ve built.
Neither of them is going anywhere.