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“Stay still.”
“It’s cold.”
“Suck it up, you’ve dealt with worse.”
It was currently night time in Coruscant, and the Jedi Temple was as quiet as ever. You and Anakin were in your quarters— not without Anakin’s rather skilful escape from his own quarters without being noticed by any other Jedi. It was your nightly routine by now; one of you sneaking out to go to the other’s room to spend time together and stay the night. Sleeping in the same room meant having to wake up early to sneak back into your respective quarters, but you were always both more than willing to make that small sacrifice.
Ever since you both started to accompany your respective Masters on missions more and more often your schedules have done nothing but further keep you apart. The fact that you weren’t even supposed to be together the way you were also contributed to your lack of quality time with each other. So, naturally, you took advantage of every chance to be together that came your way.
Tonight had started out how most nights usually did; you’d lay together on your small sofa in each other’s arms as you talked about your day. However, what changed tonight was precisely the activity you were currently enrolled in.
Anakin— without knowing it— had prompted it when he asked you how your mission with your master in Scarif had gone. And so you told him all about it, purposely avoiding the part where you almost blew your cover because you knew he’d tease you to no end. Instead, you made special emphasis on the paints made with natural pigments you bought from a merchant while you were surveilling a small market.
Anakin had asked you if you had tried them out yet, to which you answered that you hadn’t because you didn’t have anything to paint on— until it occurred to you. So that’s how he ended up laying on his stomach as you sat on top of him with your legs on either side of his body.
He brought it onto himself, honestly.
“Aren’t you going to tell me what is it you’re painting?” Anakin asked as he moved his head to rest his cheek on the mattress, eyes moving as further back as they could to try and get a look at you.
You ran the brush across his back, painting it orange. “No, I want it to be a surprise.” Anakin huffed at that. “Patience, now, young one.” You chastised him in the best Obi-Wan impression you could manage, but it didn’t seem to amuse him, given that he just huffed once again. “Seriously, one would think the chosen one would be able to muster more patience than you.” You pointed out with a chuckle.
“You don’t seriously believe that crap, do you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The whole ‘chosen one’ nonsense.” You noticed the slightest tinge of rancor in his voice.
“You don’t?”
“Believe that there’s someone capable of defeating the Sith and bringing balance to the Force or that it’s me?”
You pondered on his question for a few seconds before answering; “Both.”
“I guess I really don’t have a reason to doubt the prophecy,” he began. “I just don’t think I’m the one.”
“Why not?” You asked as you reached for another color to start painting a sun at the top of his back.
Anakin flinched slightly at the sudden coldness. “I don’t know...” he mused. “Wouldn’t they treat me differently?”
He didn’t have to elaborate on that for you to know exactly what he meant. It didn’t take a genius to know that potentially everyone in the Order gave Anakin a hard time— a harder time than what the other padawans (or even knights) were submitted to, anyway. You’d dare even say that some didn’t trust him, always seeming wary of him.
“I think that’s precisely the reason why they treat you like they do.” You offered, your voice smaller than intended.
“So I’m the one who’s supposed to bring balance and they give me shit for it?”
“I don’t think you’re being given shit for it,” you argued even when you knew you shouldn’t. Anakin had always been stubborn, making it almost impossible for you to see eye to eye when he had his mind set on something. “I think it’s more that... they don’t know how to handle you.”
“‘Handle me’?”
“Think about it,” you prompted. “They never had to deal with something this big, I’m sure they never even paid the prophecy much mind until you showed up. They can tell you’re different from the rest of us, and they don’t know how to deal with it.”
He fell silent for a few seconds while you cleaned off your brush on the small rag that sat beside you.
“I just—” he cut himself off, as if trying to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know. I don’t feel special.”
“You are, though.”
“I am now, huh?” He chuckled. “What makes you say that?”
You stayed silent for a second, too focused on blending the colours on his back. “I can feel it, Anakin. And I’m sure everyone else feels it, too.”
He didn’t reply to that, choosing instead to close his eyes. He was probably processing what you’d just said to him like he usually did. You’ve noticed before how he’d shut his eyes to take in whatever you had to say to him.
“Enough Jedi talk,” he said all of a sudden. “I have my fare share with Obi-Wan. Fuck, he lectures me enough to last two lifetimes.”
You chuckled at that. “That I believe.”
“How’s your work of art coming up?”
“I’m almost done, I just have to touch up one of the suns.”
“One of the...” Anakin trailed off as realisation suddenly hit him. “Please tell me you’re not painting Tatooine of all things on my back.”
“I know you hate it, but—”
“With good reason. The whole planet’s a shithole.” He cut you off— he seemed to be in the mood to pick up silly fights tonight.
“I know. But if there’s anything good about it, it’s got to be the sunsets.”
“Always seeing the silver lining, huh?” He asked with a grin.
You knew he didn’t mean just Tatooine, you had a feeling he was talking about himself, too. Anakin had always been confused (maybe even intrigued) as to how you always seemed to see the good things in him when he himself (and everyone else, for that matter) insisted on focusing on his flaws. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that you were blind when it came to his flaws, that you were immune to them. But he did know better, which meant that he knew that you simply didn’t care. You acknowledged them, embraced them. After all (and in spite of how much he hated to see it) they were a part of him. And you loved him— all of him, the good and the bad. Jedi Code be damned.
He never understood how you were able to see past every single thing he hated about himself. He didn’t understand it back when you were younglings, and he didn’t understand it now. But that was okay— he didn’t have to.
You hummed, deciding the painting was done. “You’ve got to admit, nothing beats that view.”
“I can think of a few things.” His tone was playful, but you detected a tinge of sleep in his voice, which made you realise how late it had actually gotten.
“Hey,” you nudged his shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”
Anakin chuckled as he patted your thigh so you’d get off of him. He sat up once you did, being careful not to brush his back against anything since the paint was still wet. “How’s it look?”
“Not half bad, actually.” You smiled as you admired your work before he turned around to look at you. “Guess you’ll have to sleep on your stomach tonight.”
He grinned as he leaned closer so he could capture your lips in his. “As long as you stay with me.”
That, like almost everything Anakin said, held a deeper meaning.
And so, you moved closer to him to do what you always did whenever he needed to be reassured. You pressed your lips against his for what felt like the millionth time that night. You truly could never get enough of him.
You basked in the small moan you got out of him as he cupped your cheek with his flesh hand. The other one— that is, the mechanical one— wrapped around your waist so he could pull you onto his lap with one swift move. You flinched slightly at the cold nature of his new limb; you had yet to grow accustomed to it.
“Always.” You promised once you pulled away, making sure he knew exactly what you meant with a look that you knew he wouldn’t miss.
He granted you a smile at that— one that didn’t often make an appearance, one that reached his eyes. A smile that put both of Tatooine’s suns to shame.