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Anakin’s hands are in his hair and Obi-Wan isn’t entirely sure how they arrived at that particular destination. Or why. Mostly why.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says very, very slowly.
In the back of his mind, the general feeling that he has about this seems to be a vaguely bad one. Figuratively speaking, of course, because the actual feeling of Anakin’s fingers gently tugging at his hair is anything but unpleasant. It’s just that they’re on a mission and even if they do have this moment of free time while waiting for the reconnaissance squad to come back doesn’t mean… He sighs. “Care to explain what exactly it is that you think you’re doing?”
“Shush. Keep still.”
“Sh—“ Obi-Wan opens his mouth, closes it, then looks over his shoulder and meets Anakin’s raised eyebrow and half-smile with the most deeply scandalized expression he can muster. “You can’t shush your own Master, Anakin.”
“Uh, technically, I just did,” Anakin points out, oddly cheerful, “and technically, you’re not my Master any more.”
He does have a point, Obi-Wan thinks. Doesn’t mean he’s going to let him have it.
“If we’re going into the technicalities, my former Padawan, it would be respectful and expected of you to—“
“Yeah, yeah,” Anakin interrupts in his most dismissive-and-heedless-of-all-advice tone. “Now stop moving, I gotta finish this.”
Obi-Wan has a headache. The headache’s name is Anakin Skywalker.
“Finish what, Anakin?” he asks, exasperation seeping into his words as if he were about to get up and leave. Curiosity keeps him obediently motionless, though.
“You’ll see,” Anakin says, lightly patting Obi-Wan’s head and earning another long-suffering sigh from his mouth. “Here. Hold these for me?”
Anakin drops a whole bunch of—tiny, spindly blue and gold things into his lap. Obi-Wan furrows his brow, bringing one of them to his face.
“It’s a flower,” he says.
“Your powers of observation remain undiminished, I see.” Anakin’s voice is amused as his hand appears in Obi-Wan’s field of vision again, gesturing impatiently. “Come on, pass me another blue one. I want to be done before they get back.”
Obi-Wan immediately hands him the flower without any conscious thought accompanying the motion. A soft feeling sweeps over him. Anakin is apparently braiding flowers into his hair like that’s a regular activity the Jedi Knights just sometimes do. Such a simple and sweet yet completely ridiculous gesture, and he laughs, barely keeping himself from shaking his head.
“Anakin, you are insufferable,” he says fondly.
“You’d get bored without me, though.”
Obi-Wan bites his lip to stop himself from smiling like an idiot, then drops his gaze to his lap. Where he’s still holding a frankly alarming amount of flowers. There’s no way Anakin needs all of them, right? An idea blossoms in his mind and he can’t be bothered to hold back his smile any more.
They sit in companionable silence for several long moments, Anakin humming quietly as he focuses on his work, until he runs out of flowers.
“Hey, what happened to the rest of them?” Anakin asks, peeking out from behind Obi-Wan’s shoulder with an accusing expression. Obi-Wan shrugs, his face the picture of innocence. As soon as he locks eyes with Anakin, though, his former Padawan stares, then snorts and nearly falls over. “Oh, Master Kenobi, you look just dashing,” he manages, very clearly about to cry from laughter. Obi-Wan just cocks an eyebrow at him.
“Why thank you, Anakin,” he says, all of his willpower spent on trying not to burst out laughing, too.
He then picks up the soft ring of golden flowers he’s been working on and lightly sets it on top of Anakin’s head like a crown.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he tells him with a tentative smile.
Anakin stills, then beams at him.
When the reconnaissance squad comes back, they do not ask their stone-faced, professional as ever Generals why do the both of them have flowers braided into their hair.
The single, gold flower mysteriously adorning Obi-Wan’s beard remains without comment, too.