Peter had no idea what he was doing.
That wasn't entirely true. He knew exactly what he was doing—closing the distance between himself and Ahsoka, one hand cupping her chin, her eyes fluttering closed in anticipation. He just didn't understand why. Or rather, he understood but couldn't articulate it. Something deeper than thought was driving him, something that felt both completely new and utterly inevitable.
The space between them was measured in heartbeats.
Then in millimeters.
Then—
His lips brushed against hers. Gentle. Questioning. Barely more than a whisper of contact.
Ahsoka went perfectly still.
Peter's courage evaporated instantly. He started to pull back, already formulating an apology, already preparing to backpedal into oblivion—
Ahsoka kissed him back.
Just for a moment—a brief, soft pressure before he'd already retreated too far to catch.
They stood there, frozen, breathing too fast.
"Oh," Ahsoka breathed.
"I'm sorry!" The words tumbled out of Peter in a rush. "That was—I shouldn't have—I don't even know what I was thinking, I just..." His face burned hot enough to melt durasteel. "I wasn't thinking. Obviously. Because if I was thinking I would never have just—"
Ahsoka's finger pressed gently against his lips, silencing the spiral.
He looked at her. Really looked. Her eyes held a war—hesitation battling determination, fear wrestling hope. The determination won.
"Can you..." Her voice was quiet, almost shy. "Try again?"
Peter's brain short-circuited. "I... you... what?"
But he already knew what she meant. Could see it in the way she was looking at him, in the flush darkening her cheeks, in how she hadn't stepped away.
The twin suns painted her in gold. The light caught on her montrals, turned her skin to warmth and shadow. She'd always been striking in an unconventional way—not traditionally beautiful by human standards, perhaps, but right now, in this light, with that expression...
She was perfect.
Peter leaned in.
This kiss was longer. Still gentle—neither of them knew what they were doing enough to be anything else—but more intentional. When he pulled back this time, it was only far enough to see her face.
"How was that?" The question came out barely above a whisper.
Ahsoka's eyes were still closed. She swallowed, opened them slowly. "Again."
The word held more confidence than the first request. Peter obliged.
His arms came around her waist without conscious thought. Her hands found his chest, then slid up to link behind his neck. The kiss deepened—not passionate, exactly, but more. Learning. Exploring. Finding what felt right.
They broke apart, both breathing harder.
"Again?" Peter asked, the word half-laughing, half-breathless.
Ahsoka shook her head. Peter's heart dropped—
"Don't stop," she whispered, pressing her forehead against his.
All his doubts dissolved.
They kissed again. And again. Small kisses, gentle ones, punctuated by nervous laughter and adjustments. Ahsoka's fingers found his hair, tugging him closer. Peter's hand moved to the small of her back, feeling her lean into him.
It was clumsy. Unpracticed. Absolutely nothing like the holovids probably portrayed it.
It was perfect.
Finally, they had to stop for air. They stood pressed together, foreheads touching, trying to remember how breathing worked.
"That was..." Peter started, then lost the words.
Ahsoka giggled—an unexpected, delighted sound that made his heart do acrobatics. "Yeah."
He pulled her closer, and she came willingly, tucking her head under his chin. They stood like that, wrapped in each other and bathed in the light of two setting suns, existing in a bubble where the war and the Order and everything else faded to background noise.
"So," Ahsoka said eventually, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "What happens now?"
"I..." Peter's mind was still catching up. "What?"
She pulled back enough to look at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. "You know. This." She gestured between them. "What does it mean?"
"Oh. Oh." Understanding dawned, followed immediately by panic. His face went red again. "I don't... I mean, I want... that is..."
Ahsoka's giggle turned into a full laugh.
"That's not helpful," Peter protested, which only made her laugh harder.
He waited for her mirth to subside, very deliberately not thinking about Mortis, about the Son's influence, about how none of this would have happened without that nightmare. "After everything on Mortis," he said carefully, "I was worried. About us. About whether we'd be okay."
"Don't remind me about Mortis." Ahsoka's smile dimmed slightly. "Please."
"Right. Sorry." Peter took a breath. "But... I mean, we're here now. And I..." He gestured vaguely, encompassing everything that had just happened. "I like you. A lot. Obviously."
"Obviously," Ahsoka echoed, but she was smiling again.
Then she bit her lip, and Peter's stomach did a complicated flip.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently.
"I don't know if this is the right thing to do." The words came out in a rush. "The Jedi Code—"
"Don't think about that."
"But—"
Peter caught her hands, held them between his. "No buts. We'll figure it out. We don't have to have all the answers right now."
Ahsoka searched his face, looking for something. "Did I ever actually apologize? For what happened on Mortis?"
"You did." Peter's voice went soft. "Even though we both know it wasn't your fault."
"It still happened." She shook her head. "I still felt those things. Even if I was being manipulated, the feelings came from somewhere. They just... came out in the worst possible way."
"Hey." Peter cupped her cheek, tilted her face up to meet his eyes. "The past is the past. We can't change it. All we can do is move forward." He offered a small smile. "And maybe learn from it instead of pretending it didn't happen."
"Master Yoda would say there is no 'try,' only 'do' or 'do not.'"
Peter snorted. "Okay, but respectfully? That's terrible advice. You can't do anything without trying first. Trying is how you learn."
Ahsoka swatted his chest, fighting a smile. "Don't mock the Grand Master."
"I'm not mocking! I'm offering constructive criticism of his teaching philosophy."
"Uh-huh."
They grinned at each other like idiots.
"So," Peter said, suddenly serious. "Would you... I mean, do you want to..." He took a breath. "Try this? Us? Together?"
Ahsoka's montrals twitched—a tell he'd learned meant she was thinking hard. "I might be willing to consider that possibility."
Relief and joy flooded through him in equal measure. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Her expression shifted, became teasing. "What about Barriss, though?"
Peter blinked. "What about her?"
"You know she was interested in you too, right?" Ahsoka tilted her head, studying his reaction. "She made the first move, actually."
"I... yeah, I remember." Peter's voice went quiet, almost awed. "I'm still trying to process the fact that two amazing girls might actually like me. It doesn't feel real."
Ahsoka kissed him—quick and sweet. "Well, get used to it." Another kiss. "Because you're ours now. And we're yours."
"Aunt May is going to have a heart attack when she finds out," Peter muttered.
Ahsoka kissed him again, longer this time, and his worries faded.
"We'll take it slow," she whispered against his lips. "Figure it out as we go."
"Yeah," Peter agreed, pulling her closer. "Slow sounds good."
They kissed again, gentle and unhurried, learning each other's rhythms.
Neither of them noticed the two figures watching from the homestead's entrance.
"She's growing up," Padmé said softly, watching the teenagers on the dune.
Anakin made a strangled sound. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, torn between pride, protectiveness, and profound discomfort. "I should... he's my friend, but if he hurts her, I'll—"
"Ani." Padmé's voice held gentle amusement. She turned to face him, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. "She's your Padawan. You love her like a sister. Can you feel it? Through your bond?"
Anakin went still, reaching out through the Force. Ahsoka's presence blazed bright and clear—happy, nervous, excited, alive in a way he hadn't felt since before Mortis. No darkness. No corruption. Just a teenage girl experiencing something wonderful for the first time.
He nodded slowly.
"Peter is a good young man," Padmé continued. "He understands pain and loss. Responsibility. He'll treat her well." She stroked his cheek tenderly. "And they'll need our support, not our judgment. Trust them."
Anakin wanted to argue. The protective part of him—the part that had failed his mother, that carried the weight of every loss—wanted to march out there and establish ground rules and make sure Peter understood exactly what would happen if he—
But Padmé's eyes held such love, such certainty.
He sighed, pulled her close, and let it go.
"Fine," he muttered into her hair. "But I'm having a talk with him. Later. When I'm calmer."
Padmé smiled against his chest. "Of course, dear."
They stood together, watching the twin suns descend toward the horizon. The light painted everything in shades of gold and amber, long shadows stretching across the sand.
Anakin's shadow extended behind him, dark and sharp against the sun-bleached ground. For a moment, it seemed longer than it should be. Broader. Different somehow—the shadow not of a Jedi Knight, but of something else. Something dangerous.
Anakin didn't notice.
The suns continued their descent, and the shadows grew longer still.
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