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“Really, Master,” Obi-Wan huffed, “you should at least try to take care of your hair. It’s nice hair, when you don’t have it covered in… what is this?”
Obi-Wan took a bowl with a small spout in his hand, and tipped it over his Master’s head, trying to get all of the… there really was no word for it but slime, out. The cakes of soap they’d brought with them from the Temple had done very little to get Qui-Gon’s hair shiny and clean, but the local varieties seemed to do a little better. Already, Obi-Wan had worked very hard to tidy up after Qui-Gon’s ill-advised adventure, and the knees of his trousers were wet as he knelt on hard tile he would surely feel the next day.
Qui-Gon hummed, and settled a little further into the bath. “The Quishtar claim that these rituals bring them closer into harmony with the universe, so naturally I needed to try it out. Besides, Padawan mine, you could always take care of your own hair.”
Obi-Wan’s fingers carded through Qui-Gon’s hair, checking each strand for anything that didn’t belong. His Master’s hair was soft, especially for his age and how often he forgot to treat it with the utmost level of consideration. Obi-Wan liked the drag of the wet strands between his fingers, perhaps a little too much.
“I do take care of my hair. You just don’t notice.”
Qui-Gon twisted a little, bringing his bare, broad shoulders more easily into view. Like a good and dutiful Padawan, Obi-Wan redirected his gaze to Qui-Gon’s face in profile, though that didn’t stop the blushing.
“I’d be more likely to if you had very much of it at all—did you cut it again? You didn’t need to.”
“It was one week ago, when we were still on Brolsus V giving those peace talks.” Obi-Wan’s lips quirked up—Qui-Gon noticed things at the oddest of times. “And yes, I did need to. It was getting too long, almost to my ears.”
Qui-Gon’s eye roved Obi-Wan’s face, seemingly searching for something, and then he sighed. “There is wisdom in tradition, but also in flexibility, Padawan. Perhaps you cling too tightly to less important structures and miss the greater picture.”
Obi-Wan suddenly dropped the bowl, the thing slipping between his fingers, and it splashed into the bath inlaid in the floor. Water spilled up onto the ornate tiles and over Qui-Gon’s bare shoulder.
“Master—”
Qui-Gon cut him off by clearing his throat, suddenly appearing just a bit sheepish. There was a slight flush at the edges of his ears, which Obi-Wan only noticed because they were so close together. He picked the bowl up again and hesitated with it for a moment, before pressing it intentionally and carefully back into Obi-Wan’s hands.
“Forgive me, that was uncalled for. I am… I betray my own sensibilities for selfish wants.”
“Selfish?”
Obi-Wan didn’t quite understand. What selfishness could there be in challenging Obi-Wan to look at all angles of an issue, even if in the end Obi-Wan took the more traditional route? Obi-Wan was honored to be a Padawan at all despite and because of his troubles in becoming and being one, and so he had for many years taken it upon himself to consistently keep his head shorn and his Padawan braid neat and tidy despite no encouragement or discouragement on that front from his maverick Master.
Qui-Gon dipped his head into the bath one last time and shook out his hair with his own fingers, once more, and then exited the bath with a loud cacophony of splashing sounds. He wore his smallclothes still, ostensibly to maintain some modicum of modesty, but the fabric was white and clung to his hips. Flushed a bright red, Obi-Wan stood himself and turned toward the wall, nervously gripping his braid as he waited for Qui-Gon to dry and dress himself.
“It may be mere curiosity but… I do wonder, from time to time, what you would look like with hair a bit longer—” Obi-Wan felt like his heart was going to explode; Qui-Gon sounded like he was very close indeed, almost close enough to touch the fuzzy nape of his neck—“to the tops of your ears, at least.”
“You’ll find out when I become a knight, Master,” Obi-Wan squeaked, his cheeks burning.
Thankfully—though Obi-Wan’s feeling on the matter was not all or even mostly relief—Qui-Gon took mercy on him, and a few moments later Obi-Wan’s fully-clothed Master took him by the shoulder and steered him out of the rather opulent refresher of their guest quarters and into the main room with its two single beds hanging from the ceiling.
“Not too long then, until my curiosity will be sated,” Qui-Gon mused, and while Obi-Wan was still trying to maintain his emotional balance, Qui-Gon released him and moved to dig into his pack under his bed.
Obi-Wan felt a rare bloom of pride deep inside his chest, knowing that Qui-Gon thought him nearly ready to take that next step in the journey of a Jedi. He felt soft and tender, Qui-Gon’s almost flippant comment caressing the insecure core of him.
“Let me brush your hair for you,” Obi-Wan offered when Qui-Gon finally found what he’d been looking for—a wooden comb, gifted to the older Jedi after a particularly difficult mission. Without noticing, Obi-Wan flipped the end of his braid over his knuckles somewhat nervously.
Qui-Gon was still for a moment, but when he turned his head there was the beginning of an indulgent smile hiding on his lips, the shadow of something more in his eyes. “Alright, Padawan. Thank you for your care.”
The two of them settled in the corner: Obi-Wan sitting on the wooden chair that was built for inhuman proportions, and Qui-Gon resting in lotus pose between his knees, facing away from him. Obi-Wan took the heavy comb in his hand, the grain smooth and cool to the touch. With his other, he took the damp, clean, long strands of Qui-Gon’s hair up and held them as he wished.
Obi-Wan started at the ends and worked his way up, small tangles unwinding themselves with each pass. The rhythmic motion was soothing, almost meditative in and of itself; Obi-Wan felt himself sinking into the feeling of his Master’s hair, the silence of the room, the scent of the soap they had used. Qui-Gon hummed from time to time when the slow, careful pull of the comb across his scalp must have felt particularly good; this too had Obi-Wan feeling grounded and like he was floating at the same time.
He could only shake himself out of it once he had done a second and third round on Qui-Gon’s perfectly untangly scalp, his hair already having dried. Qui-Gon hadn’t told him to stop, and for a few moments more Obi-Wan took that as tacit permission to continue, to help himself to the soft feeling of Qui-Gon’s graying hair under his fingers.
He only ceased when he felt that feeling he always got rising up in his throat like a bubble, threatening to come out of him as a confession. He tamped that down—for now—and instead cleared his throat, pressing the comb against the shoulder of Qui-Gon’s sleepwear until his Master took it back.
“There. Please take better care of your hair tomorrow, Master.”
Qui-Gon huffed out a gentle laugh, and for a few moments all was quiet. Then Qui-Gon stood and suddenly towered over Obi-Wan who was still seated. His hair slipped forward over his shoulders, and Obi-Wan licked at his lips.
“Mm, but won’t you do this for me again if I don’t? You don’t have a very compelling argument, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan frowned, but his cheeks were dusted with pink and his heart ran rabbit-fast in his chest. “Master.”
Qui-Gon softened, just a bit, and bent forward. He touched Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid for a moment, taking it between his fingers almost contemplatively, as if he were reminding himself of something.
“Alright, alright. Let’s go to bed, and if it’s the Force’s will I won’t get anything new in my hair tomorrow.”
Obi-Wan stared after Qui-Gon as he climbed the small rope ladder to his bed, fingers grasping after where Qui-Gon’s had rested over his braid like he could feel the leftover traces of his Master’s warmth. Perhaps after Qui-Gon cut it and declared him ready to be a knight, whenever that might be, more than just his hairstyle could change. Perhaps… but first, Obi-Wan had to get there.
As he had many times over the past decade since he’d become Qui-Gon’s Padawan, Obi-Wan resolved to work hard, and then he climbed up into his own bed to sleep.