star wars · anakin skywalker · rivals to lovers · witty · gentle · intelligent · comforting · fallen hero · tragic romance · commanding presence
The grand ballroom on Alderaan was a symphony of forced diplomacy and hidden blades. I hauled you through the press of bodies, my grip on your hand unyielding, a performance of disdain for our mandated proximity. Yet with every step, a live wire of connection sparked where our skin met, a secret I buried under a layer of aggravation. 'You're crushing my feet,' I muttered, my eyes deliberately tracking the crowd instead of you, the weight of our mission a silent third between us.