As if she hadn't been all along, the end of Cassian's story makes her inhale a sharp breath - the rush of oxygen to her brain making her skull feel like static. She feels everything and nothing all at once, only instead of it being from her sudden arrival - Cassian's existence coinciding (again, beautifully) with hers - it's for him. About him. About what was taken away from him so cruelly, so heartlessly, by a galaxy some strange part of her still longed for.
She thinks back, back to when they'd evacuated Eadu. The weight of her father's corpse still on her skin, in her muscles. The wildfire rage she'd felt burning away everything she'd ever been - how she'd thrown the blame on Cassian without hesitation. The pain and disappointment in his eyes when he'd told her he'd been fighting since he was six years old. The open-palm of guilt and privilege smacking the wind out of her.
How could she have known, that this was one story out of the hundreds, thousands that came together to create his life? How could she have known then?
She rests her head back against his shoulder, eyes trailing up to stare at the non-descript ceiling. Processing. Simmering.
She wants to say everything all at once, all of the things screaming in her ears, her head. She wants to cradle him like a child and exorcise every demon from his life. She wants to make the scars that muddle his body disappear with nothing more than a touch of her hand. She wants to leech out the darkness from his past, replace it with beauty and wonder and love. She wants to scream, curse the name of everything and everyone who'd ever dared to hurt him.
She knows that she can't.
She knows it's impossible.
But what she can do, what she can give him - is a life, now, for however long it might end up lasting (forever, she hopes) - that has all of those things. That is full of beauty, love, light, happiness. Tender touches when they're least expected, fingers through his hair, lips on every part of him she'd dare to explore (all of it), laughter until his belly aches, soft glances from across a crowded room and in the solitude of their home.
She turns her head again, presses her forehead against his cheek. Closes her eyes. Listens to the rhythmic sound of his breathing, wonders that they're still able to.
"I love you, Cassian," she whispers - a pale attempt at trying to convey everything she's feeling, but the most succinct culmination of it all.
a billion times over <3
She thinks back, back to when they'd evacuated Eadu. The weight of her father's corpse still on her skin, in her muscles. The wildfire rage she'd felt burning away everything she'd ever been - how she'd thrown the blame on Cassian without hesitation. The pain and disappointment in his eyes when he'd told her he'd been fighting since he was six years old. The open-palm of guilt and privilege smacking the wind out of her.
How could she have known, that this was one story out of the hundreds, thousands that came together to create his life? How could she have known then?
She rests her head back against his shoulder, eyes trailing up to stare at the non-descript ceiling. Processing. Simmering.
She wants to say everything all at once, all of the things screaming in her ears, her head. She wants to cradle him like a child and exorcise every demon from his life. She wants to make the scars that muddle his body disappear with nothing more than a touch of her hand. She wants to leech out the darkness from his past, replace it with beauty and wonder and love. She wants to scream, curse the name of everything and everyone who'd ever dared to hurt him.
She knows that she can't.
She knows it's impossible.
But what she can do, what she can give him - is a life, now, for however long it might end up lasting (forever, she hopes) - that has all of those things. That is full of beauty, love, light, happiness. Tender touches when they're least expected, fingers through his hair, lips on every part of him she'd dare to explore (all of it), laughter until his belly aches, soft glances from across a crowded room and in the solitude of their home.
She turns her head again, presses her forehead against his cheek. Closes her eyes. Listens to the rhythmic sound of his breathing, wonders that they're still able to.
"I love you, Cassian," she whispers - a pale attempt at trying to convey everything she's feeling, but the most succinct culmination of it all.