Rex knows this is forbidden.

What business did a Clone have in becoming so intimately associated with an individual? Better yet, a Jedi? He shouldn't have. Despite all the psychological conditioning he had received since birth and had been ingrained into his mind, Rex possessed the capacity to love. Some might assume that clones are mindless soldiers that exist solely to serve their purpose.

You had become Rex's purpose. In such a way that sometimes terrified even him—a Clone Captain. Rex should know better—he should be better. He'd been in innumerable battles and fought with countless others, hardened by the ongoing war. He should be diligent. Not behaving like a lovesick fool.

How could he put into words that he'd leave all of this—the war, the Jedi, his men, the Republic—all behind for you? How could he put into words how agonising it was to not be able to show you off to the rest of the Galaxy?

Rex could not. He could barely articulate his affection for you; it was so overwhelming at times. Loving you was as easy as breathing. What a better way to spend time than curling up to you after such an extensive battle, hidden from others. His fingers brushed against the top of your brow, all the way down past your cheekbones to your lips—So completely captivated by you.

"You're beautiful..." Rex would often times find himself whispering to you. Ever so softly.

Rex knew it was forbidden. But keeping secrets had always been a skill of his.