.
.
Night-shadows move against her, darkening Leia's ceremonial attire and her face.
Gemstones sewn into her hair, appearing to him like a net of stars.
Luke holds onto her wrists, not yanking but gravitating her closer to him. In a way, they're separate, living moons always out of reach — her and him, Skywalkers born of ancient incantations and blood, sharing one universe.
It seems like she's always drifting out of Luke's fingertips, and he mourns the loss of heat when it happens. He mourns her lack of light within his scope.
Leia's nose brushes against his, as their fingers gently roam each other's.
"It's always been you, hasn't it?" she murmurs, awed. "Somehow… I knew."
Starlight is cold and bleak, and Leia is neither of those things to him. She's hope — she's matching warmth in Luke's palms and cheeks, his heartbeat.
.
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SW isn't mine. I wrote this on Tumblr a while back and prompted by smugglerandfarmboy. HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYED THE MINI FIC.