There are few stories that are told among the Jedi Order long enough to become myth. Legend. It takes importance to stand the test of time that way. A lesson has to be learned.
Anakin and Circe's story is told for generations long after they are go...
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Anakin wakes early, the grey morning light falling across his bed where Circe still sleeps, her shoulders peeking out from under his blankets. It is one of the first nights that he has slept through until morning, unplagued by the nightmares and premonitions that have haunted him so.
He sits up quietly, pausing to gaze at her for a few moments, in her quiet tranquility, before slipping out from under the duvet and heading towards his closet.
He's not used to being up this early, but it feels good. The calm of his best friend's quiet breathing and the stillness in his room. On most mornings, she is the early riser of the two of them. When Anakin would finally come knocking on her door she'd have been up for hours, reading, studying, going over old notes and work from their earlier training days. But today, she is as still as a Bantha during the cold season.
Anakin pads across his room to his dresser, pulling a fresh undershirt out along with his belt, and robes, and pants. He lay them out as he thinks of breakfast, of the day that follows. He was safe from his troubles here, with the door closed and precious Circe asleep, but when she wakes, he will be thrown back into the world again. Thrown back into his troubles.
It does not matter now. He lays his things out on his desk and disappears into his bathroom, closing the door quietly and turning the shower handle to let it heat up.
After a few minutes, the faint sound of rushing water stirs Circe from her sleep and she yawns, rolling over onto her back. She's groggy, although her head doesn't hurt which is always a good sign, but her throat is unbearably dry. The sound of water only makes her desire for a drink more intense.
Around her, Anakin's room is a mess. She steps over piles of clothes as she makes her way from his bed, uses her foot to push mock-ups of droids and ships out of the way, searches for her outer robes among all of his things. A toy figurine of a Tusken Raider sits on his windowsill, with a few dried flowers from his last birthday. A paper bird she made him years ago rests underneath them on the corner of his desk, along with a solar powered orb-lamp—a small machine that uses a tiny manufactured orbitational pull to hold the sphere up above its base. She can see Anakin's youth demonstrated in a rough timeline around the room. She makes past it all and knocks on his bathroom door.
"Yes?" Anakin answers, and she opens it.
"Good morning," She sighs, rubbing her eyes in the mirror and grabbing the cup on the sink, filling it with water.
"You couldn't wait?"
She eyes the opaque screen separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. Not even Anakin's silhouette peeking through.
"Oh, stop being coy," She teases, "I have known you all my life. Remember the swimming pools we used to go to when we were Younglings? All of us running around like we'd never known clothes in all our lives."
But it is different now, She thinks. It is not the same as when they were barely more than toddlers and the nurses had not cared to dress them while they swam. She does not know Anakin's body as she did then, when they would fight and play and tumble in the grass. She has seen the changes in him, watched him grow taller and stronger, noticed as his robes began to hang off of him differently. But it is not the same as knowing him.
