‼️tw for self harm‼️

this is based on my own experience with cutting, so i'm sorry if it doesn't seem accurate to you if you've dealt with the same thing

Why.

Why had he not been enough to get her to stay?

Why had he not been enough again?

Obi-Wan had told him that he should get himself into a routine to help cope with his spiraling emotions in response to Ahsoka's heartbreaking decision to leave him.

So, there he stood. In front of his bathroom mirror, razor in hand as he shaved the growing stubble from his face.

He was proud of himself today- he'd finally found the energy to get out of bed and dress himself in clean clothes.

Ahsoka had been gone for just two days, and he was already falling apart without her.

What had he even done with his life before he had met her? How had he gone nearly twenty years without her and her little quips and jokes to keep him company?

He lost focus on his task as he stared into his bloodshot, red wrung eyes. His hand shook, and the razor pressed just a bit too hard onto his skin.

He cursed under his breath as he pulled it back quickly, a tiny trail of blood already mixing in the shaving cream.

The small wound stung.

Anakin cursed again as he reached for a cloth to wipe the blood away. He was about to put pressure on the cut to ease the pain when-

No.

He froze.

You shouldn't.

"I shouldn't," he whispered, laying the cloth back down on the sink.

It's the galaxy's punishment to you for failing once again.

"I deserve this."

He squeezed his eyes shut and another tear fell.

You know what to do.

He rinsed the last of the shaving cream from his face. With a shaking hand, he lifted the razor up to inspect it- making sure it wasn't rusted before he did what he had to do. The cheap material clattered onto the top of the sink as he dropped it.

He rolled the sleeve of his flesh hand up with one, singular intention.

"This," he began in a whisper as he lifted the blade once again, "is for Qui-Gon."

Two more tears trickled down his face, and with no hesitation, he pressed the sharp edge of the razor to his skin.

It didn't sink into the flesh at first as he slowly slid it down his wrist- just scratching slightly.

Finally, he felt it bite into him. He forced himself to keep going until an angry red scratch appeared, dragging about half way down his forearm.

It didn't bleed much, but it hurt.

"This is for," he choked on another sob as he settled the razor at the spot where his palm met his arm, "my mother."

This time he applied more pressure in the beginning, wincing in pain as he felt the sting of the sharp metal pierce him.

He pushed slowly, allowing a second set of three lines to draw itself out on him.

He gasped as he pulled it away, the reality of the situation suddenly hitting him.

His prosthetic hand came up over his mouth, and another sob broke free from his throat.

He had just cut himself.

With a sharp and painful inhale, he lowered his hand from his face. He looked intently into the eyes of his reflection, almost uncertain of who was staring back at him.

"This," he told his mirror-self as he absently took the razor back into his hand, "is for Ahsoka."

Before he knew it, another set of red lines had been added to his collection, and he felt like he was finally able to breathe again.

Some days he did it, some he didn't. 

His biggest fear was someone noticing, yet, at the same time, he almost wanted someone to see. He needed someone to tell him to stop, to reassure him that none of those things were his fault.

Nevertheless, he had prepared numerous excuses in case the growing collection of scrapes and scars was seen.

"Scratched by a tooka."

"Fell on the pavement."

"Got caught on pricker bush."

To his relief, as well as his disappointment, no one ever said anything.

He decided that the day Ahsoka came home was the best day of his life.

Sure, she had been a bit distant when they first saw each other, but he was certain that it was something they could work through together once she came back from Mandalore.

It was just as he was handing her back her lightsabers that everything turned around.

Her hand mistakenly brushed against his wrist, and he visibly flinched.

She narrowed her eyes, her head tilting to the side. Whatever was in the box was not nearly as important now as it had been just mere moments before.

"Sorry," he said, clearing his throat as his voice came out squeaky and hoarse. "Sorry."

Ahsoka furrowed her brow marks, her hands pulling away from the box for the second time. She stepped forward until she was face to face (well, face to chest at her height) with her old master.

She looked up into fearful eyes.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine, I just-"

"But you-"

"It's nothing, I prom-"

"No, what's going-"

"I'm taking care of-"

"Show me."

She wasn't angry, and her voice wasn't accusatory. Maybe- maybe -he could talk to her about this.

But not right now. Both of them had places to be.

"Ahsoka, we haven't got all day! Let's go!" Bo-Katan scolded from across the hangar.

"Coming!" Ahsoka called over her shoulder, remaining right where she stood. "I'm not leaving until I know that you're okay," she whispered once she was facing Anakin again. "You're more important."

He swallowed thickly.

There was no way to get words up through his tight throat, and he didn't know what else to do other than slowly extend his arm to her.

She stared up into his eyes, asking permission.

He closed them, nodding.

With all the gentleness she could muster, Ahsoka rolled the sleeve up until the scars were fully visible.

He waited impatiently for the disappointment to flood their slowly reopening bond- for the shame of having such a weak master to cross over her expression.

She slowly reached toward the damaged skin, tentatively laying her fingers on the scars when Anakin didn't pull away.

She rubbed her thumb back and forth across one of the more recent cuts. It didn't take her very long to realize that Anakin was crying.

"It's okay," she reassured him, lacing her fingers with his on his flesh hand. She could feel the rough edges of the abused skin pressed up against her own. "It's okay," she promised again.

"I'm sorry, Snips," he croaked, finally opening his fear-filled eyes. He flinched again when Bo called out to Ahsoka once more. Ahsoka completely ignored her this time.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I do," he insisted. "For disappointing you. I'm sorry."

"You didn't, okay?" she said, squeezing his hand. "I love you. Anakin, listen to me. I. Love. You."

She gently emphasized each of the three words as he looked down at her in disbelief.

"I love you too."

She nodded with a tiny smile.

"Don't forget it."

"I won't. You have to go now, don't you?" he asked, letting her hand fall from his grasp.

"I do," she said, looking down. "We could talk more later when we get back, okay?"

She looked back up at him, and something was different in his eyes- not perfect, but  better.

"I'd love that."

She nodded again.

"Me too."

There was a tight hug, and an exchange of love through the Force, and lightsabers from hand to hand, and then they were both off.

One of them felt like he was free for the first time in awhile.

this was a bit out of my comfort zone to post, but i hope you all like it!! might do a part 2 if anyone's interested.