AN:

Cheire – yeah it's quite a long one! XO

Selenese – not exactly... :D It is kinda dark though. Good to hear from you! XO

A Poetic Disruption

And all you did was look my way

And my heart started to race

I get a little bit nervous around you

Get a little bit stressed out when I think about you

Talk a little too much around you

Get a little self-conscious when I think about you

Get a little excited

Baby, when I think about you

Anakin headed over to open the passenger car door of a white beat-up pickup truck. Padme's eyes squinted, trying to put two and two together. They raced glorious Porsches and Ferraris on weekends, yet this was his car – something didn't add up.

He opened her door like a perfect gentleman before walking over to the driver's side. She sat there, looking straight ahead while he got into his seat, oscillating from the awkwardness of the unfamiliar to the eagerness of the curious.

He started up the car and put a cigarette in his mouth. About to light it up, he looked over at her, "You don't mind, do you?" She shook her head slightly in response.

He opened his window and rested his arm on it, enjoying the swift breeze that came along with the drive.

"How'd your interview go?"

"Good, I think. I'm expecting their call tomorrow." She really liked how small and intimate the firm was. It made her feel like she had a chance to practice law in the way she's passionate about, rather than doing work others expected of her. Coruscant may have its opportunities but there's always a price to pay to get to the top.

"That's good." He drove with his right arm resting on the steering wheel, his left hanging out the window where he ashed his cigarette. She glanced at him, in small doses, following him with her eyes as he showcased swift yet relaxed reflexes and responses behind the wheel (as though it were a fast car) like a professional race car driver – which she supposed he was... Effortless. Even the way his calloused fingers brought his cigarette close to his mouth to take another puff. It was all with a charming rhythm. He was either fearless––or willed himself to be.

"How'd you manage to get a dinner reservation last minute?" She asked.

Anakin inclined his head in her direction with a cocky hubris. "Where we're going, we don't need reservations." He put on his best Christopher Lloyd impression, which evoked a smile to grace her lips.

Anakin parked in front of an old 1950's style cafe. Padme glanced up at the sign, Ben's Diner.

Anakin walked in ahead of her, exuding a confidence, a suave claim of the area as he yelled out, "Obi-Wan!"

A bearded man that had auburn hair with grey streaks sneaking out behind the ears looked up from behind the counter. He wore a loose-fitting cotton white shirt and brown trousers and had a particular look on his face – like he was hiding his delight beneath a veneer of aloofness.

"Look what the cat dragged in." He moaned like a grumpy old man – but you could tell by looking at him that Anakin's presence was a highlight. His peaceful eyes lit up and a smirk spread to his cheeks.

Anakin plopped himself on a bar stool and gave the man what was a concoction of a high-five and gripping hand shake. He turned back to Padme, who stood coyly behind him. "Padme, this is old Ben."

From the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin, jovially curious about Anakin's company – it wasn't every day that Anakin brought a girl over.

Obi-Wan shook the girl's hand. "I'm not as old as he thinks I am."

She chuckled lightly in response, feeling her shyness melt away immediately, eased by his warm smile.

"So where you from, Padme?" He asked.

Was she that out of place? It seemed everyone knew she wasn't from around here. I suppose every rural area has a radar for what is and isn't down-home... (It was likely her high-end clothes). "Coruscant. Well, originally Naboo."

"The island!" Obi-Wan perked up with a lift of the eyebrows that accentuated his interest. "Never been. Always wanted to go."

"You should." She encouraged politely.

"One day." He said, hopeful. He turned his attention back to Anakin. "Right, so you eating or what?"

Anakin spun the bar stool he sat on in her direction. "Want a burger?"

"Sure." She replied cheerfully, eager to try the food.

"Make that two." He told Obi-Wan before shifting his gaze back to her while Obi-Wan put in their order. He placed his hand on the small of her back, and she'd be lying she said there wasn't a hint of a firework, a tingling in her tummy from the gesture. "Why don't you go pick out a booth and I'll bring the food over."

She nodded at his request and walked over to the back-to-back booths that were lined with red leather couches and white fitted tables.

Once she was out of earshot, Anakin looked back at Obi-Wan with a resolve, a certainty in his eyes, that there was something about this girl. He bit his knuckle, indicating his almost uninhibited amorous thoughts and feelings of enthusiasm. "Is she something or what?"

"She's stunning." Obi-Wan agreed, intrigued by––and wary of––the covetous, keen expression that flitted across Anakin's face. "Since when do you do the whole wine and dine thing with a woman?"

"Since they look like that." Anakin smirked. To him, Padme was an anomally – her mysterious style, her femininity, her soft sensuality was out of this world. He forced himself to take a breath and pace himself.

His eyes traveled over the counter, looking for the cake stands. "Listen you got a cupcake – something I can stick a cheap candle in? It's her birthday."

Obi-Wan watches Anakin with a critical eye, almost suspicious, questioning, sussing him out. "You doing okay for money?"

"Mhm." Anakin fidgeted dismissively.

"How's work going?" Obi-Wan probed as a waiter approached them from behind Obi-Wan with a tray of fries and put it in front of him.

"It's going." He said, grabbing a couple of fries and stuffing them into his mouth.

"Looking into getting a real job?"

"I have a real job." Anakin mumbled, averting Obi-Wan's stare.

"Fixing up the cars you rugrats crash?"

"I get paid for it." Anakin finally locked eyes with him, lifting his cheeks, offering his boyish charm that didn't work on his big brother figure.

After an eye roll, Obi-Wan folded his cards, knowing Anakin scaled heights of avoidance, eclipsing his problems and neuroticism with a nonchalant dismissal. "Fine, grab a muffin." He pointed to the other end of the counter.

"Thanks." Anakin broke away.

The offbeat vocals of Anakin Skywalker trailed over as he approached Padme at the booth with their tray of food. "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear...?" Anakin pretended to flounder as if her name had slipped his mind.

"Padme." Her reprimanding stare couldn't conceal her amusement at the note of levity he brought to the table.

"Padme." He grinned, placing the mini muffin in front of her. His soft-spoken voice very quickly soothed the air. He'd create tension only to dilute it — and all you remember is the release. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks." She humbly smiled.

"Make a wish." He gestured with his hand, egging her on.

As they dug in to their burgers, he couldn't keep his eyes off her – staring at her with wonder and intrigue. "So tell me... Why did you move to Tatooine?"

She grabbed a napkin off the tray and wiped her hands. "Honestly?" She gave a thoughtful pause, her mind traveling through the musings she had never actually uttered. For some reason, it felt safe to say them now. She wouldn't be met with the judgment of her sister, the fear of her parents, the disapproval of bosses, or the somberness of friends. "...I woke up one morning, looked around my apartment and at all the furniture I carefully picked out, and realized I'm never home to enjoy it. I have a closet full of beautiful gowns that I never wear. And there's a view outside my window of all these incredible skyscrapers that I never stop to really look at – because I'm always working. I. . .live to work; I don't work to live. In college they labeled me The Planner. I had my whole life planned out and no time to live it." She looked down at her food but her sight wasn't really focused on any physical object. "So I packed up the car and drove off into the desert."

Saying it out loud felt like a relief. But she still felt misunderstood – she could feel what she wanted but she couldn't articulate it – and that lack of clarity and structure made her doubt herself. "I don't know – maybe I'm crazy... But I came across this real estate sign – advertising your building – with some generic marketing slogan like Where Dreams Come True... And I thought, what if it is."

Anakin leaned back, admiring her conscientiousness. He could see she was probably underestimated a lot of the time, maybe due to her age or the fact that she was a tiny five-foot-three woman. But there was definitely a calm wisdom waiting to be unlocked – she just needed the freedom to achieve it. "Well, can't say I relate to all that, but," He gazed at her intently. "I know what it's like to feel restrained. . .and want to break free."

Hanging onto this moment, there was no awkwardness, no need to fill the space. There was a mutual understanding laden with the fragility of fearing life's interruptions. They both seemed to get it. More often than not, the main reason people don't pursue their dreams, is not because they can't – but because they don't believe they can take on the burdensome opinions of the world.

"So what about you?" She leaned in, more relaxed now and attentive to the art of conversation. "What do you do?"

"I'm. . .sort of a mechanic."

"Sort of?"

"I fix up the cars that get damaged at the races so we can return them back to the dealership. They label me The Fixer."

"Hmm." She grinned, receiving the puzzle piece. "I was wondering where you guys got all those fancy cars from."

"Sebulba's dad." He answered. "You might remember him – goggles..."

"Yeah I have a vague recollection." She said sarcastically.

"Yeah, his dad owns Watto's Motors around the corner. He tends to turn a blind eye to what his son does. Hell, he does worse. So really, what we do is low-level stuff." He flashed her a boyish grin.

She seemed to sneer at him in response. "Stealing cars from a dealership. Isn't that illegal?"

"Borrowing." He corrected, pointing his finger at her playfully. "And here, nothing's really illegal. Just. . .frowned upon."

He was good at making her feel at ease. He was open, fun-loving. His expressions, creative, rebellious, mercurial –– and in some subtle moments, he was perceptive, sensual, and joyful...

"Well I won't make much money here then." She joked.

"Don't worry. People here sue like crazy."

"Oh good." Their smiles collided.

A waiter came to take their empty tray, breaking their eye contact.

"So. . .did you study engineering?" Padme continued after the waiter had gone.

"I didn't go to school or anything. I'm kinda self-taught."

"That's impressive." Her eyes raised, almost in disbelief. "How?"

"I always had a knack for fixing things. I like technology and I like knowing how things work... " He shrugged like it was no big accomplishment––or had never been told it was. "And then when I was about 16, I got a job doing some construction – some handy work around the house for this woman who had this huge library, which had every book you could ever think of. She said I could borrow whatever so... I did."

Padme found herself gazing away, refreshed by his river of words. She had never been in a conversation where two people listened so voraciously, so openly to one another. "I'm guessing that's where you got your Shakespearean knowledge from."

His crystal blue eyes sparkled with a smile – a smile that evoked the same toasty sensations as a wink. "You'd be right."

Anakin pulled up at a liquor store. "Wanna get a drink?"

"I still want that bottle of wine." She stated and he offered her a you-got-it nod, ready and willing to give her what she wants.

"Be right back." He gave her knee a squeeze before getting up. "Stay in the car."

With him gone, Padme was left to observe the action on the streets. This particular street was busy – yet no one was in a rush. Everyone walked around like they owned the pavement. Groups of friends laughing as they crossed the road, two lovers sharing a kiss as they lean on a car (that likely wasn't theirs), discreet deals being made in corners between gangs, drunks being kicked out of bars in the alley – the sight was so real, raw, and unromantic that the darkness of rough areas became almost romanticized. To see the world living, how the real world lives was a shock for her. She realized her sheltered, delicate life looked monotonous in comparison and didn't allow her to really see or live at all.

Anakin took his time at the store which prompted her to go check on him.

Pushing the heavy store door open, Padme spotted Anakin at the counter.

"Anakin, I can't." A squirmy little guy with deep black eyes and a forest green bomber jacket groaned. "My boss said if you don't pay your bill, I can't serve you."

"Come on, Greedo." Anakin objected. "I'm getting some money next week, I'll come back and pay the tab – just give me the wine."

"Anakin, you guys ordered cases of beer two weeks ago that you still haven't paid for."

"And if I remember correctly, you drank a couple."

"What's going on?" Padme interrupted, causing both men to look.

"Nothing uh just wait in the car, I'll be there in a minute." Anakin rushed.

"What is this?" Padme looked at the wine in Anakin's hand and took it from him. "I think we can do better than that." She mocked him softly, casually strolling over to the fridge to pick out another.

"That one's more expensive." Greedo pointed out as she headed back to them with a better wine.

Her eyes seemed confused at first but she quickly reached in her purse. "That's okay - I got it."

"No you don't." Anakin held up a restricting hand to stop her from opening her wallet.

"Sorry, Anakin." Greedo shrugged. "But it is what it is. Pay the old check or leave."

"Alright, we'll go somewhere else." Anakin took the bottle out of Padme's hand and placed it on the counter. His arm was about to surround Padme and lead her outside when she took a step closer to the counter.

"How much is it?" She asked.

"The wine?" Greedo asked

"And his tab."

"Padme." Anakin kept his voice low but urgent, wanting her to drop it. She could see through his shifty eyes that this warning had more to do with his inability to be flexible.

"Two hundred." Greedo answered.

"Alright." She pulled out her card but Anakin stopped Greedo from taking it.

"No, this has nothing to do with her." His eyes darted from Greedo to Padme. "Padme." His voice was a firmer warning now but she ignored him and gave Greedo her card.

Greedo handed her the bottle, her card and a receipt.

She looked up at a grumpy Anakin and smiled sweetly. "You'll pay me back."

She walked along in front of him but as soon as they exited the store, Anakin remained in his spot.

"Why'd you do that?"

She turned around, sighing. "So we could get the wine."

Anakin fidgeted, feeling a surge of frustration altering his temperament, trying to get a hold of his sudden caprices. But he was still agitated. She could hear how sharp his exhales were from 3 feet away.

"I was gonna pay it – I don't need you to do that."

"Alright." She took a breath and approached him. Her words gentle, soothing. "Look, it's no big deal. You can pay me back."

They both sat still in the truck not saying a word. He had yet to turn on the ignition. Only silence hung between them – for different reasons. Anakin was stuck, plagued with his own abstractions, while Padme had evolved passed the moment.

"So where we gonna drink this thing?" She asked, wine bottle in hand, completely unaware by the awkwardness that built a barrier between them in his mind.

Without saying a word, his arm reached behind her seat. She could hear ruffling sounds as his hand rummaged through items until he identified the cooler. He pulled out a plastic cup and handed it to her.

She sat there, eyes glued to the cup he had placed in her hands in quite a hostile manner. He was stubborn, inarticulate, and frankly she was getting a little tired of the prolonged tantrum. It seemed he'd rather sit with his sulking.

"You not talking to me now?"

It took him a minute to remember to actually inhale. He leaned back in his seat, changing his body language by opening up physically, placing his arm on the window of the car. Finally he allowed room to acknowledge and accept his own insecurities.

"I'll pay you back." He murmured ever so quietly but adamantly. "I promise."

"I know." Her voice was sing-songy, keeping her tone upbeat. "I'm not worried – I know where you live." She said teasingly and a faint smile formed on his face––one he tried to camouflage – which she found just a little adorable.

"I'm sorry." His apologetic words were eventually wrung out of him; his face slathered with a sheepish vulnerability. "It's just–" He brushed his hair off his forehead. "I'm sure a girl like you is used to champagne on yachts or whatever and. . .guys wooing you with five-star restaurant dinner dates and. . .who probably have a lot more to offer you than this." He trailed off with his huffs and mumbling as though they were nothing more than a reminder of how hopeless it all was.

Padme sat with his words, appreciating his honesty but she also found it funny – everyone thinks the grass is greener on the other side. The cons only appear when you delve deeper into the myth and use your awareness, thoughts, and feelings as an instrument to connect to life – here and now – in the moment.

"Well, yachts are really more of a fourth or fifth date kinda thing." Her playfulness morphed into a revelation. "And I guess at first glance, yeah, it's easy to get caught up in the glamour of it. But those kinda guys. . .they don't stick a candle in a mini muffin for your birthday... Or listen when you pour your heart out about your quarter-life crisis." Her tone of voice went from light-hearted to gradually becoming reflective. "They don't care."

And she's always cared. If there was one thing that separated her from her high society it was that. She's always been a romantic at heart. Romance has always trumped money and lifestyle. She found nothing noble or classy about apathy.

She looked back up at Anakin and could see she had calmed him. He smiled with potential for the rebirthing and relearning of ideas, myths, and possibilities. He was quite taken aback by how she met his confession with empathy. He could now see a more rounded picture she painted – a hopeful one. She really did have a quality of beauty, poetry about her – a willingness to listen, grow, connect – and it made him yearn to be nourished by it.

His attention was diverted from his own imaginings and onto her magnetic brown eyes which solidified his craving for nourishment. The glow of shiny bronze was captivating, alluring, and carrying him away...

"Now what about you?" Her boldness struck him by surprise.

He craned his neck back, confused. "What about me?"

"Well," She twisted her body sideways to look directly at him, resting on her left shoulder. "You're gorgeous; twenty years old; you look like you're playing James Dean in the next biopic; you could have any girl you want—your own age—who would love to be sitting in your truck right now, so. . .why are you here with me?"

He faced straight ahead, knowing her gaze remained steadfast on him. He gave off an arily light inward sigh and a shrug. "...You have more money."

She shook her head, incredulously, using astonishment to disguise a laugh.

Noticing her trying to bury her laughter, he continued with that same casual spirit. "Better taste in wine..."

"Come on." She whined with an affable grin, one he was more receptive to than he wanted to admit.

"You want a better answer?" He turned back to her with a determination, a credence. ""Because ever since you first came charging at us through the parking lot, and started yelling at me in your underwear–"

"–I was not in my underwear!–" She objected but his words rolled out organically, giving it no second thought.

"–I thought you were the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He allowed himself to take in the view of her attentively, swimming in the relief he felt when he looked at her – it gave him a power, a permission to rest, relax, and bask in her warmth where it was safe to be honest.

She fell to a stunned silence, fighting with all her might to prevent her lip from curving up at the side, impressed, humbled, moved.

"That's uh–" She scrambled to find any words to bring to the surface. "That's a good answer." She lowered her head, cheeks suffused with red, trying not to smile like a cheshire cat. She could feel her face flush a rosy pink – and what was worse, she knew he noticed. He knew what he was doing.

"What?" He said with a slight twist of a wry smile. His eyes lingering on her in an obvious, watchful, wily way — relishing the cozy tension.

"Nothing." She quickly replied, eager for her nervousness to melt away but he seemed far too keen on toying with it. She made the mistake of looking at him. And what awaited her was a pair of dreamy eyes, a glistening blue created for no other reason but to torture her in this moment. And he knew. He knew the fire he set off when he looked at her.

He wrapped his arm around the back of her seat, protruding his head forward. Too close for comfort. A discomfort he rather enjoyed stretching out. "You nervous around me now, Padme?"

"No!" The flustering wave of her hand gave her away. She had no choice but to embrace the wild restlessness of the tsunami of passion, fear, excitement, anxiety – she's on the luge, there's no paddling away. Intelligence and wisdom have abandoned her in the free fall; what's good for her and what's tempting never run along side by side down the tributary – they're often flowing in different directions. But if she perseveres with a little stamina, she'll get ahold of herself and the waters are bound to settle down.

His eyes were still on her, though, demanding too much with that piercing stare. Their whole dynamic had been claimed, overtaken by the seductive darkness, quietness of this night. Her soul was captured by the uncensored prowess of the man who wouldn't let up. From his eyes came an intensity, a perilous promise. And she couldn't look away or escape even if she wanted to.

Her eyes lowered to his lips, knowing his was on hers. Something was bubbling up, a heat rushed to the surface, pulling at her chest. It was a weird contradiction of a feeling. Chaotic, crazy yet merging so peacefully with freedom and fantasy.

There's a sensuality in the darkness of this night that is only lit up by the moon in the sky and the temptation on their faces as he hovers close to her. No other time is more silent, revealing, unearthing... an exposure that everyone secretly wants, to feel liberated – but is terrified of the vulnerability. The same way we fear and crave the nighttime. We crave a restful sleep yet fear what lurks when we cannot see, and what may interrupt the peaceful slumber. It is no different than a seduction – we fear the unknown yet crave the desire. We want to know what to expect, we want the security yet we want to embrace the unknown, drawn to the unfamiliar.

On the surface he seemed steadier than her as his eyes examined her. But on the inside he felt erratic, an urgency. He was close enough to her to feel the tremble of her lip, the quiver of her heart — and all he could think about, all he wanted to do was steal a kiss that would burn through the space between them.

But she fought off the urge, the surrender, the immersive pull. Perhaps out of fear or caution.

"It's getting late." She said with a feverish breathlessness. "I gotta get up early for that call tomorrow."

He leaned back in his seat, allowing himself the same release of inhalations. There's a story, a shiver, an acknowledgement with each breath... coming back to reality as passion can really take you out of it – much like darkness.

He spoke softly, comfortingly. "You want me to drive you home?"

She nodded gently, appreciating the subtle skimming over of what was a poetic disruption of an ordinary day.

He walked her to her door. She took a moment before retrieving her key from her bag to look back at him, wine bottle nestled within her arms. "Well, thanks for dinner."

He nodded respectfully but he hadn't the strength to walk across the hall to his own apartment just yet. A lingering stare as his eyes roamed her to store the image in his memory, the sweet, soulful presence of this woman.

And it rekindled the wave of emotion they had dodged in the truck... Until she interjected, weaning him off the high.

"Good night."

Her smile so natural it helped him end the night with ease no matter how much the flame crackled within.

"Good night." He accepted.

The door closes behind her, inches away from his nose. He closes his eyes and rests his head on the wall beside her door, allowing the splash of this whole night to flow out of his body. Not quite understanding why he drowned in exhilaration, weakness, and greed at the thought of her.

She kicked off her heels and adorably skipped to the couch, titillated by the overwhelming amazement of the night that possessed all her senses. She buried her head in her hands, wondering why passion had been dormant in her life until now, and worrying about how deadly it may be to awaken.

And I'm not usually like this

But I like what you're doing to me

You got me acting like I've never done this before

I promise I'll be ready when I walk through the door

And I don't know why

Shawn Mendes - Nervous