Disclaimer: I am not affliated with Star Wars or Disney in any way.

Coffee and Rum

Chapter 1

There's something about the way that paint feels on his hands, the worn wood of a paintbrush in his fingers, color blooming on his canvas and breaking up the lifeless white- the tactile, immediate joy of expression that is art. The sensory beauty of it is something Anakin knows he'll never tire of. Put a virgin lump of clay in his hands, give him a pencil and fresh sheet of paper, heck, he'd take a box of crayons- as soon as he has a medium in his hands, he can feel the anticipation begin to boil within him. It doesn't take much.

His skill, however, lies with the paintbrush. Maybe it's his talent, maybe it's his love of the art, or perhaps he's just obsessed with paint. (It's a bit of all three, he figures.) The emotion you can pour out through paint never fails to hook him. The deadly grace of the brush that can bring harmony and chaos to a work at the painter's whim is a skill he marvels at and finds fulfilment in using. Every emotion and feeling can be painted if you feel it deeply enough.

With a final swipe of his brush across the canvas, Anakin steps back from and takes in the full work. His painting is swatched in red and blues, broad strokes weaving around a storm of thinner lines. It is havoc and energy and Anakin knows that it is perfect. He lets out a sigh of relief and carefully moves the easel into a corner where the painting can dry without being knocked over. The darn thing is due tomorrow and he is not risking having a repeat of his last painting assignment, which involved a misstep, a cup of coffee, and three hours repainting a generous section of a forest landscape.

Beginning to clean up, Anakin glances at the clock on the wall. His eyes widens.

"Nooooooooooo no no no, I'm gonna be late," he mutters under his breath. Abandoning the art supplies, he runs down the hall of the apartment to change out of his painting clothes. Not even a minute later, pulling on a clean t-shirt over his head, Anakin skids back down the hall and grabs his car keys from the kitchen. If he is late again to work, Ahsoka is never going to let it go.

"Cutting it close as usual, you are, Anakin." Mr. Yoda says, his voice lilting, as Anakin slides past the counter door. Mr. Yoda has been running the coffee shop as long as anyone can remember and, in the two years since Anakin started working there, he's always seemed to pick the nights Anakin is running behind to come in. It's annoying and psychically impressive all at once.

"I'm still on time, though, aren't I?" Anakin quips, flashing a smile in Mr. Yoda's direction. Mr. Yoda says nothing, letting out a light sigh and moving into the backroom. As the shop owner disappears around the corner, Anakin grabs his apron from the rack on the wall. As he puts it on, Ahsoka puts down the mugs she's been drying and smirks at him.

"One of these days, he's going to give up on you and let you go." Ahsoka says

"And lose his best barista? Never." Anakin shoots back. Just then, a few customers step in to the cafe. As business picks up, Anakin and Ahsoka fall into their usual rhythm as they get to work.

An hour into his shift, Anakin glances up as he runs the paces of making a latte and pauses. At the table by the west window sits a woman reading a book. Her hands cupping her mug, she is focused on her task, her brow furrowed in concentration. As the light from the evening sun paints her face pale gold and draws dim shadows on her profile, Anakin can feel a familiar tension growing inside him- the need to create, to capture the moment. He reaches down below the counter to the shelf where he keeps a spare sketch pad and pencil.

"Put the pencil down, Skywalker. You've got four drinks to make." Ahsoka's voice pipes up. Anakin makes to speak, but Ahsoka cuts him off.

"Drinks now, art later." She says, flicking her blue hair over her shoulder and subtly pointing to the backroom, where Mr. Yoda sits, filling out paperwork. Frowning, Anakin gets back to work, finishing the latte. Even as he works, however, his eyes flick now and again to the window, where the sunlight slowly fades and the moment is lost, but the beautiful woman remains.

Padmé yawns, stretching her arms out in the process. She's been sitting at the table for hours, trying to read through her textbook. She thought if she got a coffee, she'd be able to perk up and focus. Now, her mug long gone cold and three chapters later, she feels tried and no more knowledgeable than before.

Sometimes, Padmé wonders if she's meant to make it to med school, let alone just graduate with her undergraduate degree. Even as she thinks this, she berates herself for it. She knows she'll make it somehow. She always does. That doesn't mean it won't be hard, but that's neither here nor there. She's been pursuing being a doctor ever since she was little and she's not about to give up chasing it now, not after all this time spent working towards it. Of course, in the moment, all that dedication feels like is a one-way ticket to debt from tuition and sleep deprivation. She immediately scolds herself for that thought as well, albeit half-heartedly.

With a sigh, Padmé sips her drink and looks around. The cafe is quiet, a few customers smattering the work tables. At the counter, the baristas putter and clean, the female worker shuffling boxes of tea in the cabinets. Slowly, Padmé's eyes fall on the other worker, who works at the espresso machine. She has seen him before on days like today, when she comes in to study. His movements are swift and fluid and he works quickly, cleaning his station. He is classically handsome, all messy blond hair, blue eyes, and bronzed skin. Padmé registers all of this with quiet curiosity, feeling her stomach flip. She's no flirt and she's not about to go out of her way on his behalf, but she can admit to herself that he is nice to look at.

For a moment, she watches him work. Then his eyes glance upwards, meeting hers. The barista pauses what he is doing and Padmé feels her heart begin to speed up as they stare at each other. It's a moment of connection, of mutually being caught in the act. Slowly, purposefully, Padmé turns her eyes back to her book, picking up where she left off and trying to ignore the butterflies that take off in her stomach. They don't go away, however, as she feels his gaze on her long after she finishes the page.

"Just so you know, ma'am, we close in a half hour."

With a start, Padmé is drawn out of her thoughts. She's been reading a particularly heavy chapter on neurotransmitters and she must've gotten lost in it. For a moment, she wonders if the coffee may have actually done it's job. Then she notices the female barista standing right beside her table. Realization dawns on Padmé and she checks her watch. It's been hours since she first set foot in the cafe.

"Sorry, I lost track of time. Thanks for letting me know." Padmé says, as she starts packing up her things. As the barista walks away, Padmé gets up to leaving, grabbing her mug and bringing it to the counter, where the male worker is wiping down the counters. When she sets the mug down, the man looks up at her. As they lock gazes, Padmé notices two things; how bright and sharp his eyes are and how he pauses the motion of his hands. He seems thoughtful- hesitant, even. At this, Padmé can feel her nerves calm down. She offers the man a small smile.

"Have a good night," she says, before turning away and heading for the door. She doesn't stop to turn back or be coy- she's never been that kind of person. She's on no mission- when she thinks about it, a relationship is likely the last thing she needs with the amoutn of work she has to do right now with school and everything else. This thought is firmly in her mind as she walks outside, headed for the bus stop down the street. It doesn't stop her from sensing a pair of eyes following her until she turns a corner and the cafe windows disappear from view.

A/N: So I may or may not have finally watched Episodes I to III and I may or may not love Anidala. This fic was inspired by the art student/med student prompt from post/145246967054/one-cannot-have-enough-of-cute-and-random-aus-so. Not sure where this fic is going- may be one-shots, may be linear. We'll find out together. Let me know what you think. Cheers, loves!