WAR TIME ONLY affords the rarest of intermissions. Small, isolated incidents of momentary peace spent either in the barracks prepping for your next fight, or in the arms of the ones you love. For Anakin it’s the latter. He spends every moment possible in Padme’s apartment, hiding from the very same battlefield he brings to bed with them every night.
Anakin has grown hard under war, his sharp blue eyes growing ever more hooded, his silences brooding. Only in actual battle does he seem to come alive: baring his teeth in smiles that barely reach his eyes, calm, && focused && fierce with determination to win this battle, only to be yet again, disappointed that each victory failed to bring an end to war.
But Padme has always been an exception to the rule, an outlying factor that never fails to throw a wrench in Anakin’s characteristically black moods. He can feel her now, tracing the rosy seam that crosses his right eye with in a delicate contemplation of parts. Padme knows the story behind the scar, as she does with most of the blemishes bacta couldn’t quite scrub from his skin. There’s a meaning behind every closing wound: a testament to life and one’s capacity to endure it.
He turns into the press of fingers through his hair with a pleased little noise, wakefulness rousing the leaden quality from his limbs. Padme smiles down at him, clearly satisfied with her work. He hasn’t napped in anyone’s arms since…since his mother. As a padawan, nightmares had often driven him into Obi-Wan’s bed, where his pleas for physical affection were always politely && unquestionably rebuffed. ( Though he was always able to negotiate bed sharing until the day he turned fifteen. )
❝ Hi, ❞ Anakin’s voice is rough with disuse, but Padme’s lips are soft && sweet against his.
❝ Hi, ❞ she says back once they’ve parted, && the galaxy stays right for just a little while longer.
alderaanheir said: i lov u guys
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