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You were tired, bone tired, as you dragged yourself down the alleyway, your hair falling limply into your eyes, blocking your vision to the point of causing you to stumble. But your hands didn’t so much as twitch to move it out of the way – they were too heavy as they hung limply to your sides.
Your trudge down the cobblestone road came to an abrupt end, however, when you tripped over an uneven part of the street, causing you to stumble and fall face-first to the ground. You didn’t bother to pick yourself up – no, you just laid there, head swimming and body aching against the cold pavement.
This trip, it was different from the rest. Before, the drugs would just leave you pleasantly light and carefree, tinting the world with a golden hue that took the black, rough edges away from it. Sure, it had made your head spin, but it was a dizzy, giddy kind of spinning that would send you, giggling, home. But today… Whatever you’d injected into yourself had to have been laced with something different. Something far more sinister.
Now, you could see your apartment from where you laid. It was yards ahead of you, on the third floor of the battered building to your left. If only you could reach it…
But all you could manage was a low, gravelly groan as you tried and failed to inch your body forwards. Would this be how you died? Who would find you? Would it be the little boy who lived with his parents in the apartment below yours? Or would it be the elderly woman who owned the building and always let you turn your rent in just a few days late?
You were about to find out, you realized, when you blearily made out a dark figure walking towards you. All you could see was the black cloak covering it, but you still felt fear as it came to a stop in front of your body. Roughly, it jabbed the toe of one of its boots into your side, and you moaned, trying to turn away from it.
“Still alive, hm?”
The voice was masculine and very deep, so deep that you felt as if it resonated in your own chest, like the bass of the amplifiers of the concerts you would sometimes go to. You hummed in agreement with its decision that you were alive, even if the pounding of your heart told you that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.
“Please…” you murmured, managing to turn onto your back. From far above, you felt one drop of water hit your cheek, and then another hit your hand. Great. So you were going to die laying on a cold street in a storm, begging for an apathetic stranger to help you.
Weakly, you managed to reach upwards, your hand just barely lifting itself off of the ground, causing your sleeve to roll back just enough to feel more rain run down your wrist and up to the crook of your elbow, right where the needle had been just minutes earlier.
You heard a gasp from above you, and then the figure was kneeling, gripping your hand in an iron-like vice and tugging your sleeve further up your arm. You managed to make a confused noise somewhere in your throat, but you didn’t have the strength to pull away.
“You…”
Your body shook with a shiver as you heard that voice again, and then you felt yourself being lifted upwards, into a strong, warm set of arms. And maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was just your own fear of dying, but for whatever reason, you instantly felt safer.
“What is your name?” he demanded, but you did nothing except let your head loll onto his shoulder, listening to the strong heartbeat you found there.
Letting out a huff, presumably due to your lack of an answer, the stranger started carrying you up the road, further from your apartment. Only then did you make a noise of protest and manage to squirm in his arms.
“Home,” you gasped, pointing at your building.
There was a beat of silence, and then the man turned on his heel towards where you were pointing.
“You live there?” he asked. When you nodded your head, he sifted his grip on you and started walking towards your building.
Stepping into the side door, he paused once again, and you gasped as you felt one of his hands reach into your coat’s pockets.
“Do you have a key?” he asked. “What floor are you on?”
But, finally, you were starting to feel unconsciousness take you. Your vision started fading to black at the edges, and so you decided to close your eyes. Yes, this was much better.
“No,” the voice growled, shaking you so hard it made your teeth clatter together. “You don’t get to fade away on me. Not yet. What. Floor?”
“Third,” you whispered, the word barely discernable with how quietly you’d uttered it.
And then you finally allowed yourself to succumb to the blackness.
_____________
When you woke up, you were shaking, soaking wet, and in desperate need to vomit.
Launching yourself off of whatever surface you were laying on, you fell to your hands and knees and started puking up whatever you’d eaten earlier that day, the bile of your stomach burning your esophagus as your body violently shook.
“Charming.”
Gasping for breath, you tried to lift your head, to open your eyes, to find the source of the voice. But as your episode started calming, once your stomach had fully emptied itself, you felt your body weaken all over again.
You managed to fall onto your side, only getting some of your hair in the mess you’d made, and a disapproving tsk was heard before your body was being lifted into the air.
“And I suppose now I’m meant to clean all of this up, hm?”
Your thoughts were far from gathered in that moment, but you did know that you couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whoever was with you having to clean up your mess. You went, gratefully, back into the world of sleep, feeling a warm chest pressed against your cheek as you drifted off once more.
________________
Your mouth was so dry. That was the first thought you had when you awoke again. Your mouth was dry, your throat burned, and your entire body felt like it had been beaten with a two-by-four.
Letting out a weak groan, you blinked open your eyes, wincing as the low light of the room you were in seemed to pierce them. Closing them once more, you tried to use your other senses to survey where you were.
Taking a deep breath through your nose, you could smell the scent of your favorite candle burning nearby. And beneath you was the familiar feel of your lumpy mattress; you would recognize it anywhere. So you were in your home, then. In your room. All you could remember was leaving the drug den you’d recently began to frequent; everything after that was a blur. How you ended up here, you had no idea.
Trying and finally succeeding to open your eyes, you blinked up at your white ceiling, observing that the ceiling fan was on and that the only source of light in the room were the fairy lights you’d strung along the window frame to your left.
Letting out a muffled curse, you tried to prop yourself up on your elbows, groaning louder now as your bones made several alarming pops and cracks. Yeah, you were never going back to that den again. Whatever they’d laced into your hit had very nearly killed you.
The question, though, was why you weren’t dead right now.
“I wouldn’t do that just yet if I were you.”
Gasping, you bolted upright, ignoring the blistering pain the movement forced through your body, and looked to the corner of your room. Sitting there was a familiar black-cloaked figure, though now that the hood of the cloak was lowered, you could finally see his face.
He was from Dathomir, you instantly recognized. His coloration and the horns adorning his head were an instant give-away, as were the tattoos winding their way over his face. A face which, you noticed, currently was looking at you with annoyance, his mouth twisted in a smirk that showed just a flash of yellowed teeth. You’d seen Dathomirians before. You’d even been friends with a few of them, once upon a time. But this man scared you, and you found yourself curling inwards, your knees bending towards your chest, as he rose from the chair he’d been lounging in.
“Who… Who are you?” you tried to demand, but your voice trembled so violently that it came out as more of a whimper.
And amused huff left his lips as he walked towards you, kneeling next to the mattress where it was resting on the floor.
“I’m the man who saved your life,” he replied. “You’re welcome for that, by the way.”
It all came rushing back to you, then. Being sprawled out in the street, being picked up by a stranger, the way he’d shoved your sleeve down your arm to reveal…what, exactly? Your soulmark, perhaps? No, there was no way.
Looking down, you were surprised to see that you were no longer wearing the coat you’d had on when you were last conscious. No, you didn’t have on any of the clothes you’d been wearing. A sense of panic overwhelmed you as you took in your tank top and pajama shorts you were now in.
“You…you undressed me?!” you squeaked, trying weakly to back away from him. All you managed to do was flop back onto the mattress though, staring up at him with wide, fearful eyes as he arched one of his brows at you. If he’d had eyebrows, at least.
“Your hair was coated in the contents of your stomach,” he said, rolling his eyes. “So, yes, I washed you and then put some clothes onto you that didn’t smell like death sticks and vomit. Again, you’re welcome.”
“You… You saw me naked?!”
“Oh, please,” he hummed, standing up onto his feet once more. “Humans and their over-inflated sense of modesty. Yes, I saw you naked, and believe it or not, I was somehow able to resist my carnal urges while you were drooling over my shoulder as I washed stomach acid from you.”
Your cheeks flushed as you looked up at the man in front of you, embarrassment and confusion twirling in your gut. He, very clearly, wasn’t a nice man. He was downright rude, and though he’d done nothing but help you thus far, you couldn’t shake the sense of danger you felt emanating off of him.
“Why did you help me?” you asked, almost not realizing you’d spoken your thoughts out loud.
His expression changed after that, and you saw as his eyes (which, you were shocked to find, were a bright, fiery red) drifted down to your right arm. Looking down at it yourself, and the black lines that twined up from your wrist to your elbow, you placed your other hand over it, as if to cover your mark. No, he couldn’t be your soulmate… Right? Your soulmate was dead.
Upon seeing you rush to cover your mark, the man sighed and turned on his heel, sweeping out of the room in a flurry of his black robes.
“I’m still wondering that myself,” he muttered. “I’ll be back.”
And with that, he left, the slamming of your bedroom door echoing in your mind as you wondered what in Sith Hells just happened.
________________
Over the next few hours, you tried several times to get up out of bed. Before the first attempt, you didn’t think such a feat would be so hard. But then you realized A) just how spent your body was, and B) just how much effort it took to stand up from a mattress on the floor. The first time you tried to pull yourself to your feet, you’d flopped back onto your bed within moments, your muscles protesting and giving out on you almost instantly.
The second time you’d tried to stand up, you’d made more progress, but the effort had left you so out of breath that you’d simply sat back down, trying to gather yourself before taking another go at it.
Finally, the third time you tried, you managed to stay on your feet. You were shaky, yes, but you still were standing, which you counted as a victory.
Looking around your room, you took in the surroundings to see if your nameless visitor had messed with anything. Aside from your pile of sullied clothing from the night before in your hamper, there was no evidence of him whatsoever. Evidently, he’d even cleaned your throw up from the episode you’d had last night, because there were no stains to be found on your cold, creaky wooden floor.
Shuffling tiredly from your bedroom to your living area, you felt your stomach let out a huge grumble, and you realized upon seeing your tiny kitchen just how hungry you were. And so, after a thorough search through your cupboards, you were able to find a can of soup, which you now had heating over your stovetop.
You put a kettle on to make yourself some tea, too, before chugging two glasses of water back to back to quench the dryness of your mouth. Yes, you felt a little more human now, more capable of reflecting on all the things that had led up to this moment.
You hadn’t set out in life with the intention of being a drug addict, of course. No, you’d wanted to be an editor once upon a time. You loved to read, and so you figured that you would pursue a career in which you would be able to read for a living. Halfway through college, though… Things had taken a turn. Even now, your eyes traveled down to the black marks on your arm and shuttered, feeling a spike of grief even after all this time.
Some people, when they were born, had soul marks on their bodies – pure white marks of either a pattern or an object, and somewhere out in the galaxy, there was someone else who held an identical mark. That person was your soulmate, and as long as they were out there, your mark would continue to glow a pure white. When your soulmate died, though…
You sighed, remember the day you’d woken up to find your arm covered in black lines. You’d screamed until your voice went hoarse, and despite the best efforts of your friends and family, you’d…given up. Sure, you’d never known your soulmate, but that somehow made losing them even worse. Because you weren’t just grieving the person you’d lost; you were grieving the life you might have been able to share with them.
After that, you’d dropped out and moved to a planet you had no family, friends, or even acquaintances on. You told yourself that it was because you needed a fresh start, but really? You just wanted to find a life where no one knew of your soulmate being dead. You ran away from everything, but still the feelings of loss had stayed with you.
But the first time you’d ever tried drugs… Those feelings had been replaced with a blissful high, a stunning euphoria, that you’d become addicted to after day one. You found online jobs you could do from home so you wouldn’t have to keep strict hours. How could you, when you never knew how long you’d be passed out high after any given number of hits? Your life had spiraled steadily downwards, until now, you found yourself in a cold, tiny apartment with no one in your life to care for you.
Except, evidently, a stranger, a good Samaritan who was rude and kind all at once. He said he would be back, but he didn’t say when. What would you tell him when he came back? What would you ask him?
You didn’t have time to formulate your answers to your own questions, though. Behind you, your front door swung open to reveal none other than the stranger from last night, his arms laden down with paper bags of groceries.
For a moment, the two of you stared at one another, neither really knowing what to say, before he finally broke the silence.
“You’re up.”
You looked down at yourself, as if you were just now noticing the fact that you were standing, before turning your gaze back to him.
“…Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
Another long silence stretched out between you two before the man sighed and set the bags he’d been carrying onto your counter.
“What did you get?” you asked, trying to stand on your tip toes to peer past his shoulder into the bags he was starting to unpack.
“Food,” he answered, sparing you a glance before starting to put the groceries either into your cupboards or into your fridge. “Your home has a startling lack of it.”
You winced, feeling guilt slowly start to creep into your chest. So, not only had he saved your life from a drug overdose, but he also had purchased the first fresh food you’d had in weeks. You’d been surviving off of canned goods and ration bars, and you felt yourself salivating as you saw bread, actual bread, find its way into your cabinet at his hand.
“Thank you…” you finally uttered, and the man paused in what he was doing to look at you. “Really, I… I don’t know why you’re doing this, but thank you. It’s more kindness than I deserve.”
He straightened up to his full height and tilted his head at you.
“Why do you not think you deserve…kindness?” he asked, tripping over that last word as if it were a foreign concept to him. Hell, maybe it was. It sure had become that to you over the past few years.
“I mean… Yesterday,” you sighed, “the reason why I was like that, it was because of-“
“Drugs,” he interrupted. “Yes, I know that. I had to cleanse your system of them. They would have killed you, foolish girl.”
You winced, though there didn’t seem to be any anger in his voice.
“I-I know that. It’s just- Wait,” you suddenly said, your thoughts finally catching up with that he’d said. “You said you ‘cleansed’ my system last night? What does that mean?”
Twitching one of his brows up, the man brought one of his hands up, and you watched in awe as he made an apple levitate from one of the grocery bags. Your wide eyes watched as it floated over to you, and you held out a hand only to feel it drop into your waiting palm.
“The force,” he simply said, shrugging before unloading the rest of the groceries, so casual in his movements, as if he hadn’t just blown your understanding of reality apart.
“The… The force?!” you sputtered. “The force?! Bu-but I thought… The force is supposed to be a myth!”
“Well,” the man huffed, “you’re SUPPOSED to be dead right now, but here you are: living, breathing, and asking more and more questions by the moment.”
You set your hands on your hips, tilting your chin up.
“Well I’m certainly sorry to be so bothersome in my asking,” you muttered. “But it’s not every day that a Jedi wanders into my house and makes apples float around me.”
A snarl suddenly parted the man’s lips, and he pierced you with his eyes.
“I’m not,” he growled, “a Jedi.”
You gulped, fear once again flashing through your system, and your mind wandered to the other people of legend who drew on the Force. They, or so you’d read, had pulled from the power of the Dark Side, though, and you felt yourself back up a few steps as you wondered if your rescuer was one of them.
He seemed to pick up on your thoughts, though, and he scoffed and rolled his eyes, balling the paper bags up once the food was all put away and tossing them into your trash can.
“I’m not a Sith, either,” he said, instantly eliciting a relieved sigh from you. “At least…not anymore.”
Now that did pique your interest.
“Why…aren’t you a-“ you started to ask, but the whistling of the kettle startled both of you from your conversation.
You took a step forward to retrieve a mug from the cabinet above your head, but a sudden wave of dizziness overtook you, and you had to lean heavily against the counter to stop the room from spinning.
“You’re still very weak,” the man huffed, placing a hand on your shoulder and guiding you towards the sofa. “Rest. I’ll bring you whatever you need.”
You let him deposit you on the couch, but before he could walk away, you reached up and snatched his wrist.
“Wait,” you all but pleaded. “I… I still don’t know your name. And you haven’t told me why you’re doing all of this.”
The man paused, and his eyes all but smoldered as they looked over your face. For a long moment, he seemed to be seriously considering shaking off your hand and retreating back into the other room, but something in your eyes must have swayed him to stay and speak.
“My name is Maul,” he finally told you. “And as to why I’m helping you… That’s something for another time.”
And then he did shake you off to get you your tea.
_________________
Maul stayed at your house for days, taking care of you and helping you with anything you asked of him. Well, almost anything. Yes, he was willing to make soup for you, to bring you water, and to help you pull yourself out of bed in the morning, but he still didn’t answer any of your questions about him.
The first day, after you’d eaten your soup, you’d turned to him and tried to make conversation.
“So… You’re from Dathomir, right?” you’d asked.
“That is where I was born,” he’d replied cryptically, not taking his eyes off of your laptop, which he’d commandeered to check the news.
“But it wasn’t where you were raised?”
At that, he had lifted his eyes, only to narrow them at you and press his lips into a thin line.
“I saw many planets in my youth, and none of them are a home to me,” he said. “That is all I wish to say about the subject.”
Again, the second day, you’d been typing something up for one of your odd jobs on your computer, something that would some day be an advertisement for a kind of Corellian whiskey.
“Maul?” you’d asked, interrupting him as he was washing a few dishes in your kitchen. “Do you like whiskey?”
He’d chuckled at that and set the glass he’d been washing down, tilting his head at you.
“Why the random question, (Y/N)?”
You hadn’t wondered how he knew your name; he’d probably seen it somewhere in your house, or you might have babbled it to him while you were high that first dreadful night. You’d just looked up at him, the glow of your computer screen making the bags under your eyes more prominent.
“I’m trying to think of a slogan for an add campaign for Corellian whiskey. Have you ever had it before?”
You hadn’t thought it was a very invasive question, but he’d still shrugged it off, not giving you a solid answer.
“Why don’t you try to advertise something that won’t drastically decrease your lifespan or appreciation for decent alcohol?”
The man was an enigma, and after spending four days with him and only learning his first name, you were ready to unravel some of the mystery.
So that morning, while you were sipping your tea, you turned to face him as he sat on the opposite side of your couch.
“Maul?” you asked cautiously. You received an absent-minded hum in response. “I’ve been wondering something…”
“Surprise, surprise,” he murmured, taking a sip of his own tea. You ignored the comment and trudged on, gathering your courage.
“Do you have a soulmate?”
The question, you could tell, threw him completely for a loop. His mouth opened in surprise, and his eyes flashed with some deep emotion you couldn’t name.
“Why…do you ask that?” he wondered out loud.
“I just… I don’t know. I know you’ve done a lot for me, and I’m grateful for it all. But it’s been four days now and I know nothing about you. You haven’t even explained to me why you’ve stayed here.”
Maul’s lips twitched into a smirk and he looked away, closing his eyes for a moment before letting out a deep sigh.
“Yes, I have a soulmate,” he murmured, and you nearly shot out of your chair in shock that he answered you. “But…I fear she wants nothing to do with me.”
You frowned at that, scooting a little closer to Maul on the couch.
“Why would she want nothing to do with you?” you asked, feeling the sorrow resonating off of him.
Looking up, Maul regarded you with an expression you couldn’t place, and for a brief moment you thought you saw his eyes flash a bright, crystalline blue. But that couldn’t be, right? No, you looked again and his eyes were as red as ever, smoldering as they regarded you with an intensity you hadn’t expected.
“You know that I said I…used to be a Sith, correct?” he asked, and you mutely nodded your head. “Well, it was true. I was once the apprentice of a Sith Lord great and powerful, and for years I dedicated myself to his tutelage. I didn’t care for the person who bore the matching soulmark to mine. I only cared about becoming more and more powerful.
“One day, though, I faced two Jedi, and I foolishly thought that I could best them easily. But… I was wrong. I killed one, and his apprentice – a young fool who hadn’t even been knighted! – cut me in half.”
Maul hesitated before lifting his shirt up, and you gasped when you saw a scar, twisted and terrible, wrap all away around his midsection, perfectly bisecting his torso. Breathlessly, and without even realizing it, you reached out and both you and Maul gasped as you felt the raised scar tissue with your index finger. Quickly, you pulled your hand back, stumbling over your words.
“I-I’m so sorry,” you immediately apologized. “Did that hurt?”
Confusion crossed the man’s features, and he quickly shook his head, letting his shirt fall back into place.
“No… No, that didn’t hurt, (Y/N),” he muttered. “I’m simply…not used to being touched.”
You nodded, feeling an overwhelming surge of sympathy for the man sitting before you, but even more questions were echoing in your brain. If he’d been literally cut in half, then how… How was he alive today?
With a heavy sigh, Maul continued, as if he could sense the questions still lingering within you. And, you reasoned, it was likely that he could.
“I died that day,” he murmured, the quietest you’d ever heard him. “But there was still a spark within me, I suppose. I’ve seen healers and wizards, fortune tellers and old force-users, and they all have told me that I became so filled with hate that I became one with the dark side of the force.
“That day, when I was struck down, some healers on Naboo found me, and I was evidently trying to crawl my way back to my…my lower half.”
Your stomach turned at that mental image, and Maul paused, looking over your face guiltily.
“Is this…too much for you to hear?” he asked, but you shook your head, covering your mouth with your hand.
“No, I want to hear it,” you told him, because you did. Even if the truth sickened you, something inside of you said that you still needed to know it.
“Very well, then,” he murmured, and then he continued on with his tale.
“The healers were good-intentioned, I think. But whatever their reasoning was, they decided to stich me back together. And so they did. I was awake for the surgery, but I felt no pain. I only felt the need for revenge, a bloodlust so powerful that it made my heart resume its beating.
“After that, I spent a few months in a bacta tank, my flesh healing together as my mind plotted its revenge. I would find the padawan who’d done this to me and make him suffer tenfold what I had been put through, I decided. I would kill him slowly where he’d failed to kill me. And then I would return to my master to continue my training.
“In my search for that padawan, though,” Maul sighed, once more looking over your face from beneath his lashes, “I remembered my soulmate. From across the galaxy, several systems away, I felt her pain. And, after many months, it only increased, and I knew that it was because she’d thought she lost me.”
Your breath caught in your throat at that, and tears started to fill your vision. No, you thought. This couldn’t be. It couldn’t be him…
“So once I was taken out of the bacta, once I could stand on my own feet again, I decided that, instead of seeking my revenge, I would seek her out. I would go to the only person who had ever cared for me, despite not knowing me, and show her that her grief was for nothing. But my search for her took longer than I thought. One dead end led to another, and by the time I found her… It was too late. Her life had fallen apart, and I could sense that I was all because of me.”
You almost couldn’t speak; you were so concentrated on not letting your tears fall that your throat felt as if it were full of cotton. Despite your best efforts, though, one tear did manage to slip down your cheek, but Maul’s warm hand quickly wiped it away.
“Don’t cry, (Y/N),” he whispered, in a voice so gentle it elicited a sob from you.
“Where did you find her?” you gasped, leaning into his touch.
“You know where I found her,” he murmured, but you shook your head, not even daring to hope that what you were coming to suspect was true.
“I need to hear you say it,” you sobbed. “Please, I need to know.”
Hesitantly, slowly, Maul moved closer on the sofa to you, until his leg was pressed against yours, and he tilted your face up towards his.
“I found her in an alleyway,” he whispered. “Sprawled out on the ground, high on drugs I knew she had done to soothe the broken heart I’d left within her.”
And something inside of you broke.
With a strangled sound, you launched yourself at Maul, your arms wrapping around him, clinging to him desperately, as you cried against his chest. You could sense his uncertainty as he let his hands rest against your back, not knowing how to comfort you, but somehow it helped. You cried and cried, letting the years of grief come flooding out of you, and you relished the feel of your soulmate’s hands rubbing circles into your back.
“I’m here, now, (Y/N),” he assured you, and you felt his voice rumbling in his chest as you held onto him. “I won’t go unless you want me to.”
“No,” you gasped, your fists closing around the material of his shirt. “Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me again.”
“I won’t,” he promised, slowly starting to rock you back and forth in his embrace. “I won’t.”
You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, but eventually you let your fists relax, releasing his shirt and instead resting against his shoulders. Eventually, your crying stopped, leaving crusty tracks to dry on your cheeks from where they’d been falling. And eventually, you looked up at him, only to find his gaze focused solely on you.
“Show me,” you whispered, tugging on his sleeve. “Please.”
Knowing exactly what you meant, Maul pulled his left arms out from your tight embrace and rolled his sleeve up, revealing a mark identical to your own in everything except color. You lifted the sleeve of your cardigan up, comparing the two marks, looking for any sign of deviation even though you knew there were none to be found.
Around his wrist were two coils of white streaks, twisting together in a pattern that extended up his forearm, ending right at his elbow. You pushed his sleeve up even more, and you saw that he’d based the rest of the tattoos on his body off of the soulmark, blending them together and creating an ombre effect where his ink matched his mark, fading into the light of it.
You traced the lines on his wrist with your finger, drawing a shiver out of him, before turning to look up at his face.
“Why did you think I’d want nothing to do with you?” you asked, and Maul just sighed, moving to hold your hand in his.
“Your life is the way it is because of me,” he said. “Your grief from losing me is what lead you to move here. It drove you away from your family and friends, and it drove you right into that drug den.”
“How…how do you know-“
“I’ve been tracking you for a long time, (Y/N),” he murmured, moving a hand up to push some of your hair behind your ear. “I know your downward spiral started with when you thought I’d died. If I’d been stronger, if I had bested that Jedi, you never would have-“
“Stop,” you commanded, shaking your head. “No. My actions aren’t your fault, Maul. I did them of my own free will because I didn’t want to cope with losing you. It was all my fault, not yours.”
Maul just shook his head, bending forward to press his forehead against yours so tenderly that it almost brought fresh tears to your eyes.
“Whoever the blame falls on,” he whispered, “I don’t ever want to fear losing you again. If you’ll let me stay.”
You let out a soft, breathless laugh before surging forward to press your lips against his, and everything in the galaxy suddenly felt right. You suddenly knew what your life was meant to be – it had nothing to do with your career, your home, or your addiction. It had everything to do with the man with you now. You were meant to be with him, and as his lips moved against yours, you knew that no drug could ever compare to his touch.
It took the two of you a long moment to pull away from one another, but when you did, both of you were smiling, and your lips were still just barely brushing his when you spoke.
“I don’t think either of us is going anywhere,” you said.
And, if his next kiss was anything to go by, you thought that he agreed.