THE SKY OUTSIDE THE WINDOW IS PAINTED IN BREATHTAKING HUES OF GOLD, PINK, AND SOFT ORANGE. The setting sun casts a warm glow over the cityscape of Coruscant, with the light filtering into the penthouse. It stretches long shadows across the floor, wrapping everything in a golden embrace. The air is calm, carrying the distant hum of speeders passing by, a stark contrast to the uneasiness you hold, still waiting for Anakin to get home.
You hear the door hiss open behind you, and instinctively, you turn—only to find Anakin standing there, looking like he’s been through hell and back. His Jedi robes are slightly tattered, the edges of his tunic singed, his hair messier than usual. His usual confident stride is still there, but there’s a slight stiffness to his movements, like he’s trying too hard to act normal—like he’s trying to keep you from noticing something.
Your arms cross over your chest as you narrow your eyes at him. “You’re hurt.”
He sighs, already knowing there’s no point in denying it. “It’s nothing.”
“Let me see.”
He hesitates, but the moment you step toward him, hands reaching for the fastenings of his outer robes, he relents. The fabric slides off his shoulders, pooling onto the floor, and as you push back his tunic, your heart clenches at the sight.
A burn stretches across his chest—a blaster graze, angry red against his skin, likely from whatever battle he’d been thrown into today. It’s not deep, but it’s fresh, and it must have stung the entire way home. Yet, he didn’t say a word. Didn’t even flinch.
“Anakin,” you murmur as a frown graces your lips, fingers hovering over the wound, not touching it but close enough to feel the heat of his skin. “You should have told me.”
“I didn’t want to worry you.” His voice is softer now, quieter, and his eyes hold something so reverent as he watches you.
Your brows furrow as you glance up at him, frustration flickering in your gaze. “That’s not how this works. You don’t just—just brush off a blaster wound like it’s nothing!”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just watches you, letting you fuss over him, that same small smile you hold so dear to you tugging at the corners of his lips. It’s infuriating—he’s standing there like he finds your worry adorable, like he enjoys seeing you all riled up over him.
You shake your head and turn away, muttering under your breath as you grab the medkit from its usual spot. When you turn back, Anakin is still watching you, amusement dancing in his blue eyes.
"Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?" He says, pretending to be all innocent.
Shooting him a glare, you huff and roll your eyes. “Sit down,” you instruct, pointing to one of the sofas.
He obeys with a lopsided grin, stretching out lazily, but you don’t let yourself get distracted. Kneeling beside him, you press a cool cloth against the wound, wiping away the soot and dried blood with careful, precise movements. He barely reacts, only flinching just a bit, but you still blow softly on the area, soothing whatever sting might be left.
“It’s just a graze,” he murmurs, watching you with that quiet, affectionate gaze that always makes you weak.
You roll your eyes again, staying focused, though it’s hard to ignore the way your heart pounds in your chest at his tone. “Quiet.”
He chuckles but doesn’t argue, allowing you to finish applying a healing salve and gently smoothing a bandage over his chest. When you’re done, you let out a relieved sigh, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.
“There. All better.” Your lips curve up into a cheerful grin.
You expect him to thank you—or maybe tease you again—but instead, when you look up, you find his gaze already on you. The golden sunset light catches in his blue eyes, making them glow all the more. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even glance at the bandage. Instead, his eyes are fully locked on you, filled with something so warm, so utterly consuming, it nearly steals your breath away.
“What?” You ask, suddenly feeling shy under his intense stare.
Anakin tilts his head, a slow grin spreading across his lips—so fond and innocent. "You’re cute when you worry about me."
Your face heats up instantly. "Shut up," you mumble, looking away.
He laughs, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips brushing your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch. Before you can react, he cups your cheeks, squishing them just enough to make your lips pout.
“Anakin—”
Before you can protest, he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, his warmth melting into you like the last light of the setting sun.
“The cutest,” he murmurs against them, his voice full of nothing but love.
