how to title? how words? what? letters?

He isn't sure when she'd gotten there.

His open window doesn't tell him much; Coruscant looks fairly the same at all times of the day, always vibrant and alive, always awake. 

And, like the planet, someone else is awake. Well, two someones. He's up too now.

The reason for his consciousness comes in the shape of a togruta, curled into a tight ball on the edge of his bed, a corner of one of his thin blankets covering only a few inches of her figure, her back to him as she faces the wall.

"Hey," he whispers, pulling the covers back over himself after sitting up to pull a t-shirt over his head, making her jump, clearly not asleep yet. "You okay?"

"Sorry," she says back quickly, rolling over to face him, seemingly having thought that he would stay asleep after she'd snuck into his room. "I couldn't sleep and I-I just didn't want to be by myself, I'm sorry."

Anakin furrows his eyebrows.

"There isn't anything to be sorry for."

She blinks wearily at him, bright eyes glowing slightly in the dark. She nods her head.

"Oh."

He watches her watch him for a few moments before pulling her knees impossibly closer to her chest, shivering when a faint breeze blows through the window. Anakin wants to hit himself—and he nearly does—but that wouldn't be very helpful right now. Instead, he scoots over to the right, leaving a large amount of pillow space for his padawan.

"Come here, there's plenty of room," he urges, lifting the covers invitingly. She can't be comfortable with the mere inches of sheet she's using right now. He internally sighs; she must have not wanted to intrude, must have thought that he would be annoyed. He's more annoyed that she thinks he'd rather her be cold.

Tentatively, she lifts her head up and over the edge of the pillow, still staying as far away from him as she possibly can. The end of her back lek hangs off of the mattress.

"You can use the rest of the pillow," Anakin laughs softly. "I don't bite, I promise... actually, I should be more scared of you biting," he teases as she inches closer, shoulders relaxing. She's relieved, he can tell. He isn't making her uncomfortable. That's good.

He can't tell if she's smiling at that, but he hopes that she is.

"Sorry," she mutters again when her legs brush against his as she uncurls them from her chest.

He ignores that. She needs to stop apologizing.

"Did something happen?" he asks instead, stifling a yawn (it's definitely later than he'd previously thought). "Did you have a bad dream?"

She hesitates for a second before shaking her head, the pillow rustling beneath her. 

"Something scare you?" he tries instead, experimentally lifting one arm out from beneath the covers—the prosthetic—and placing it on her temple, fist closed, only his thumb brushing so lightly back and forth over her cheek that he can hardly feel her skin in the receptors on the pads of his fingers.

Her eyes flutter and then fall shut.

She never answers him, and he doesn't mind. Some things are beyond words.

"I just didn't want to be by myself," she'd told him, minutes earlier. That's enough for him to work with.

He gently kicks her leg beneath the covers to get her attention. She kicks back, less gently.

"Hey, Snips?" he asks.

"Yes, Master?" she slurs back, squinting up at him when his hand leaves her face.

"You can move closer," he says, and those simple words allow her to let go of whatever nervousness she's been holding onto since crawling into his bed, seeking comfort for something that she can't explain.

They meet in the middle, somewhat, and she fits perfectly into his open arms; just right. She shuffles downward some, letting him tuck her head under his chin. He rubs her back, reverently.

"You're okay."

-

Anakin wakes first.

There's a lot of work to do today; their last mission was a mess. There are ships to be fixed, reports to be written, injuries to be tended to—

Just the thought of it makes his head spin.

Or maybe that's because he was awake in the earliest hours of the morning, taking care of something more important than sleep.

They must have separated at some point while they were sleeping. Ahsoka's on her back, on the left side of the pillow, a hand over her head, and he's on his stomach, one arm loosely over her middle.

He pushes himself into a sitting position, knees bent beneath himself, and brushes non-existent strands of hair off of her forehead, the same way that Obi-Wan used to do for him before waking him up each morning (except, Anakin, of course, actually had hair).

She looks so peaceful that he almost doesn't want to wake her. He could make breakfast on his own so it's ready for when she gets up. She doesn't get a lot of home cooked meals, so he supposes that would be nice.

Her breathing is even and soft, and music to his ears. He doesn't think he's ever paid such close attention to it before.

He allows himself a few more blissful seconds to look down at her relaxed expression, and then brushes the hair out of his eyes and climbs off of the mattress.

Breakfast in bed would be a nice surprise for her, he decides.

IIIIIII DONT WANT A LOT FOOOR CHRISTMAS THEREEEE IS JUST ONE THING IIII NEED AND I—

BOOK OF BOBA TRAILER BOOK OF BOBA TRAILER