When You Come Home

-1-

"Anakin, wake up!"

The gangly sixteen-year-old rolled over in his bed, rolling his eyes at the same time. "I'm awake, Father."

"Then get up, lazy boy!" the rough voice sounded from the kitchen.

"I'm getting up," he groaned, throwing back the covers and swinging his legs over the edge. His bare toes curled into the carpet, partially exposed skin cooling to the outside temperature. The northward metropolitan, Coruscant, was never especially warm, but cold was too harsh a description for the urban area. Nevertheless, Anakin was cold, and he hastened to remedy his situation. Grabbing a grey shirt and black sweatpants, he shrugged a navy hoodie over the top, trudging through the hallway and into the kitchen. "Morning, Father."

Qui-Gon eyed his son disapprovingly, grey eyes peering through the glasses perched on his angular nose. He gestured vaguely to the plate of burnt toast on the kitchen counter. "Breakfast. Eat. You're still skinny."

Anakin scowled, unwilling to admit how deep his words cut. Sliding into the seat farthest from his father's chair, he pulled two pieces towards him, swiping some honey across them before taking a bite. Out of habit, he glanced around the table, doing a double-take when an extra pair of chairs flickered in the corners of his vision. But they only had two chairs now. Why were there two more? No, it was just his overactive imag–

"Are you studying today?" his father's voice jolted him from his thoughts. He tried not to choke on his dry toast.

"No, Father, it's Friday," he responded in exasperation. "I work today."

"Hmph." His gaze turned back to the newspaper in his hands. "So you did extra study yester—?"

"Always," Anakin interrupted. "The same as all of last year," he finished at a mutter, knowing that his father had stopped listening. His chin came to rest on his knuckles, bright blue eyes drifting to the window. Their seventy-story apartment building boasted a magnificent view of the thriving city below. Tiny grey cars whizzed through narrow grey streets, dodging between countless high-rise buildings and rows of end-on-end shops. Located in the very center, towering over even the tallest building was the Senate, a luxury resort where only the most expensive and high-profile officials worked. From this building, the wise and yet aloof Premier Sheev Palpatine oversaw Coruscant, allowing it to surpass any other city in wealth, technological development, and population. The booming city provided many job opportunities, such as his father's job as an account manager. Any time he had been forced to attend his father's meetings, in the name of gaining work experience, the grey rooms and grey equipment alone had nearly  driven Anakin insane. Coupled with the constant tension of maintaining relations with clients, Anakin would rather visit his mother's desert country, Tatooine, than work there. There was only one reason he would tolerate those tiresome trips. Her name was Padmé Amidala. She was the most beautiful creature Anakin had ever laid eyes on, and right from the first moment he had met her, her arms were full of papers as she scurried from room to room, knee-deep in her internship. Her eyes, the deepest brown and sparkling with intelligence like no other, had rested on him for a moment. She flashed him a perfect smile.

"Hey, I'm Padmé. You must be Mr. Jinn's little boy. What was your name?"

"Ana... Anakin," he had spluttered, dumbstruck. "My name is Anakin Jinn."

"Ani?" she repeated with a slight laugh, peering around her stack of files. "It was nice meeting you; I have to go now!"

Anakin had watched her go, feeling as though he had just seen an angel. How could a girl be so –?

"Anakin, what are you doing?" Qui-Gon's voice ripped him from his daydream, and he dropped his toast, scrambling to his feet. "You're going to be late! Watto is going to kill you, if I don't!"