obianidala OneShots

electric love (21005W)

Obi-Wan is there when he returns, the clouds outside ribbed in pink the same shade that the last traces of Padme’s lipstick had been. He’s making a cup of tea when Anakin slides in through the door. “Late night?”

“I’m in love,” Anakin says.

Obi-Wan doesn’t even stop stirring. “Congratulations. And who is it?”

“It’s a secret,” Anakin says.

“Good luck,” Obi-Wan tells him.

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

1988

Anakin thinks that he falls in love with Padme Amidala within thirty seconds of meeting her.

There are posters of her everywhere, plastered to the windows and doors of what seems like every building in the city - her head tilted to the side, stage makeup artfully smeared over half of her face as she poses. Tatooine is a desert city, and usually, nothing happens here - certainly not the usual first stop for an up-and-coming pop star who’s taken the world by storm, and so everyone’s talking about how the one and only Padme Amidala is coming into town to start her tour.

By chance, Anakin sees her walking down the street, flanked by several bodyguards one morning when he’s on the way to the garage. Anakin nearly steps into a pothole when their eyes meet across the street, a fleeting moment that he can’t get out of his mind for the rest of his walk to work.

At the garage, he listens to his boss complain about how the traffic’s going to be backed up tonight because of all the outsiders flooding the streets to attend some girl’s concert. There’s a spot of grease on his arm just above his glove that he rubs at idly, considering, and then Anakin goes to make one of his coworkers work tonight’s shift for him.

It’s a really stupid idea, and he knows it. But he’s got a friend working at the concert venue, and so it’s easy for him to slip into the back of the venue, wait after the concert with his hands in his pockets, leaning against a wall and forcing a look of nonchalance on his face.

Obi-Wan would call him an idiot if he knew what Anakin was doing, which is fair most of the time, but Anakin knows how people work, and he’ll be fine if he can just fake it through the next bit. If he looks like he’s supposed to be there, that no one will question his presence too much, and then he can maybe have thirty glorious seconds of Amidala’s attention on him.

When she sees him, she has a remarkable way of keeping her face blank of any surprise at seeing him there. There’s a tendril of hair escaping from her ponytail, and with the makeup mostly scrubbed off, she looks nothing at all like the posters. She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He tries to keep a cocky grin on his face, but he finds that at one tilt of her head at him, it’s all wiped away, and he’s laid bare.

“I don’t think you belong here,” Padme Amidala says.

“Probably not,” Anakin says, trying not to look as stunned as he feels, “What gave me away?”

“You’re not one of the dancers, to start.”

“My name’s Anakin,” Anakin says, “Is your name really Padme?”

“Why are you here, Anakin?”

“I’m a big fan,” Anakin says, mustering any courage he has to stay still under her gaze. “I - well, I wanted to meet you.”