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"Ani?"
"Yes, my love?" He looked up from Padmé's lap, her fingers still combing through his drying hair, finally washed after weeks of campaigns in the Rim worlds.
"Your hair's grown out on the front."
"I thought you liked your boys with curly hair," Anakin recalled half-jokingly, the fresh smell of Naboo's meadows still lingering in his mind. "What else did you mention you liked? Dreamy eyes?"
Padmé laughed.
"Oh, my silly husband, you know I'll still love you even if you looked like you were dragged through the Sith Hells themselves."
And indeed, twenty-five years later, she still did.