Jyn exists in the proceeding silence, feeling hollowed. It's a relief, in a way, to be able to exist without necessarily feeling like a kettle that's about to explode - but it's also exhausting, bearing one's self to another person - even if that person happens to be Cassian. There's an exhaustion in her bones that transcends physical labor, or the intensity of adrenaline withdrawal after a night like her arrival. And underneath the layer of fatigue that's settled within her, there's something else -
The faint tensing of muscles, always on edge and always on guard for the first hint of needing to excuse herself - needing to run as the first, dreaded syllables leave Cassian's mouth: "It's best if you .." - "I think you should .." - "You need to .." So that her heart, her ears will not be able to hear the word that follows, the one that would demand her exit, demand her removal from his hands and his body and his life.
So when he stands, she braces herself for the moment - calculates how quickly she could grab her clothes and bolt through the door. But the words never come - instead, he rustles around and puts things into what she thinks is the tub (vague outlines in the moonlight, lack of memorized house geography). And then his hand is there, again, in front of her - calling out to her, reaching for her. Willing her to join him.
Eyes lift, hand mirrors. Skin against skin as she unfolds herself and stands, easily falling into the curves of his body with hers. Her head leans back against his shoulder, arms comfortably weighted by his.
A cocoon.
The symbolism of the act isn't lost on her - they can shed their old lives, who they had been before - be together now, here, in a life they'd never thought they could have - and come out on the other side happier, lighter, trusting.
She hums an approving note as she angles her face more towards his neck, closing her eyes - content. What a beautiful thing, this is - she feels she might burst open, break free of the tether-and-twine of bone and sinew.
noooo this is beautiful (and fml, i lost the tag i just wrote ._.)
The faint tensing of muscles, always on edge and always on guard for the first hint of needing to excuse herself - needing to run as the first, dreaded syllables leave Cassian's mouth: "It's best if you .." - "I think you should .." - "You need to .." So that her heart, her ears will not be able to hear the word that follows, the one that would demand her exit, demand her removal from his hands and his body and his life.
So when he stands, she braces herself for the moment - calculates how quickly she could grab her clothes and bolt through the door. But the words never come - instead, he rustles around and puts things into what she thinks is the tub (vague outlines in the moonlight, lack of memorized house geography). And then his hand is there, again, in front of her - calling out to her, reaching for her. Willing her to join him.
Eyes lift, hand mirrors. Skin against skin as she unfolds herself and stands, easily falling into the curves of his body with hers. Her head leans back against his shoulder, arms comfortably weighted by his.
A cocoon.
The symbolism of the act isn't lost on her - they can shed their old lives, who they had been before - be together now, here, in a life they'd never thought they could have - and come out on the other side happier, lighter, trusting.
She hums an approving note as she angles her face more towards his neck, closing her eyes - content. What a beautiful thing, this is - she feels she might burst open, break free of the tether-and-twine of bone and sinew.