(A/N: Because 22 is an amazing number….! )

Twenty-two.

There are twenty-two scars on his body.

He tries to hide those twenty-two scars from me.

But I've never seen anything more beautiful.

Twenty-two.

He's struggled to shield them from me twenty-two times.

But he knew that could not last forever.

Eventually, his scars would be revealed.

Twenty-two.

There are twenty-two unnatural marks across his chest.

All are uneven, jagged tears in his skin.

Each one of them painfully visible.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-two times I've told him I don't care.

Because I know what those scars really are.

They are what makes up Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-two scars that I slowly trace over with my fingertips.

I watch his eyes slowly close, afraid this is all a dream.

He is afraid that this dream will end.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-two sensual moans that escape from his lips.

My tongue runs brazenly across each scar.

His eyes are still closed, but his heart pounds desperately.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-two times my lips meet his flesh.

I lovingly kiss each scar, lingering upon his skin.

I relish every moment, every scar.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-two times must be some type of magic number.

It's the number of times I've said 'I love you.'

It's the number of times he's said, 'I love you.'

Twenty-two.

Twenty-two is the number of weeks.

The number of weeks it took me to gather enough courage.

The number of weeks it took me to make a decision.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-two times that he said, 'yes.'

Only a 'yes,' repeated again and again and again.

The answer to my most important question.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-two years we've been together.

Twenty-two years since he said, 'yes.'

Twenty-two is our magic number.