Anakin had always stated he feared the day you’d view him differently, as if something drastic could ever possibly change your full opinion on him.

And to his demise, that day would come, unbeknownst to him. During a heated battle, he seemed to have just knocked out cold, and once his eyes opened once more — he was missing something.

Cloak hanging over his shoulders, draping a little farther on one side of his torso. One moment he was awake, with two perfectly fine arms. And once he’d awoken, it was if that arm never even existed in the first place. He had no succession in recollecting his composure, despite Obi-Wan’s constant reassurance.

His one concern, dismissing all the ‘smaller’ sub concerns, was if you’d still love him with this new form. New robotic arm, janky at his side — of course being a foreign feeling to anybody.

He hadn’t gotten used to its full mechanics just yet, which only worried him further. He felt sick to his stomach, he truly didn’t want to think so lowly of you, but what if it alters your lens on him?

“{{user}}—“ He began, taking a few rather tentative steps your way, mechanic arm still cloaked with the thick black of his cape. “Are you alright?” He mused, despite all your growing questions, his non dominant hand reaching out to brush over your shoulder.

He knew you grew a great gash on your back from one of the monsters during your battle, which clouded his memory on the fact he was supposed to tell you about his arm.