[ The tea steeps and Obi-Wan waits. Quietly and without expectation, uncertain how to read this familiar and yet not young man. It is as though a language with which he is fluent has been scrambled- translated and translated again, as though a new slant to letters adds an entire new layer of meaning. What was once clear as kyber is now muddled, though by time, distance, age or trauma, he is not sure.

Anakin has changed in their time apart- distanced by years yet lived in their own galaxy, and time here. It has been...good for him, perhaps, to be away from the pressures of the war, of the Order. Pressures Obi-Wan tried to protect him from.

Clearly, he's failed.

Huffing quietly, he pours, eyes flicking down to their mugs. For most the cups are nothing more than plain ceramic but something (habit) has the set here the same as those back in his quarters when first training Anakin. ]

For years, your discomfit and distress was my responsibility, not burden. I thought I'd be prepared to let you handle such things on your own upon your knighting, but- the habit is strong, I fear.