[Jyn's begun to learn to not immediately leap to thoughts and feelings of fear whenever there's stagnation in Cassian's movements. There's still a tiny tremor in her lip, in the tips of her fingers, but it doesn't toss her around like a doll in an earthquake anymore. She's learnt to trust, understand, learn, know his reactions, his processes.
She remembers, then, how short of a time they've really been in each other's lives - how so much of it had been so hyperfocused - like a light beam through a crystal, setting the world on fire - on the mission, on the Rebellion, on Jedha, then Eadu, then the Council, then Scarif.
The time they've shared like this - outside of war, outside of death, outside of destruction - is barely a breath in the grand scheme. They've explored the insides of each other's minds, wandered the labyrinths of grey matters and folds to exhaustion, and yet -
There's so much still to learn.
And where it might have frightened her once, it exhilarates her now.
So when he pauses, when he shifts and pulls away, she doesn't begin to shrink back into herself the way she had the first time they'd shed their clothes like second skins and used their bodies like flint to set their demons aflame. Instead, she waits; she listens; she breathes; she trusts. Her galaxies repeat, reverberate the words still echoing on her tongue - again and again until she's certain he's not only heard them, but is starting to learn to trust them, too.
And when he returns, she welcomes him back, welcomes and basks in the scrape of stubble against her chest, her neck - allows his lips to trace invisible patterns along her skin she'll remember for the rest of her days. Hand again sowing the fields of his hair, the other snaked under his shirt to press assuredly against his back. Allows the pinhole focus of her attention to blur its edges, spread out and feel every part of him against, in every part of her.
[action]
She remembers, then, how short of a time they've really been in each other's lives - how so much of it had been so hyperfocused - like a light beam through a crystal, setting the world on fire - on the mission, on the Rebellion, on Jedha, then Eadu, then the Council, then Scarif.
The time they've shared like this - outside of war, outside of death, outside of destruction - is barely a breath in the grand scheme. They've explored the insides of each other's minds, wandered the labyrinths of grey matters and folds to exhaustion, and yet -
There's so much still to learn.
And where it might have frightened her once, it exhilarates her now.
So when he pauses, when he shifts and pulls away, she doesn't begin to shrink back into herself the way she had the first time they'd shed their clothes like second skins and used their bodies like flint to set their demons aflame. Instead, she waits; she listens; she breathes; she trusts. Her galaxies repeat, reverberate the words still echoing on her tongue - again and again until she's certain he's not only heard them, but is starting to learn to trust them, too.
And when he returns, she welcomes him back, welcomes and basks in the scrape of stubble against her chest, her neck - allows his lips to trace invisible patterns along her skin she'll remember for the rest of her days. Hand again sowing the fields of his hair, the other snaked under his shirt to press assuredly against his back. Allows the pinhole focus of her attention to blur its edges, spread out and feel every part of him against, in every part of her.
Even the Force couldn't keep me away.]