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    Summary

    As they neared the shallows, Anakin stood, water streaming off him. Face-to-face with the swimmer, those blue eyes were even more mesmerizing. Anakin felt a flush creep up his neck.

    "Well, I suppose I should thank you for your concern," the man said, running a hand through his wet hair. "Though I didn't expect anyone else here. That was rather the point."

    "Yeah, well," Anakin said, rubbing his neck. "It's my job to be concerned." He pointed to the station. "I'm the lifeguard. Anakin. Is my name." He winced internally. Smooth, Skywalker. Real smooth.

    The man's lips quirked into a small smile. "Ah. Well, don't I feel foolish." He held out his hand. "I'm Ben."

    Anakin shook it, a jolt running through him at the contact. Ben's hand was warm despite the cool water, his grip firm. Anakin held on a moment too long before letting go, feeling oddly bereft when he did. He couldn't remember the last time a simple handshake had affected him so strongly. Probably because most people he saved were too busy coughing up seawater to shake hands.

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