she burns like the heart of a star, and she shines like one too. all the more, for how rare her smiles are, how small. cassian nearly has to shade his eyes at the sight of her. she'd burned bright like this back on yavin 4, too, as their plan came together; and on scarif, as they took every chance to find and transmit the plans her father had left behind. even after everything, her light is undimmed.
(especially once he'd found her. and that's what he does: on jedha, on eadu, on scarif. in kenos. he finds her.)
she thanks him, and smiles, and he,
doesn't.
smile, or speak, or even seem to share her glimmer of happiness. he squeezes her hand now, harder than he had before, and swallows visibly, face turning downwards, the line of his shoulders losing some of that casual veneer. he closes his eyes for a long, long moment, breathes out, and when he finally opens them he slants his gaze to hers.
cassian the spy, cassian the liar, has never had the truth come to him easily. (kassa was no more or less duplicitous than any other child his age, especially with a sister to care for. with the bigger kids, to look up to. in kenari, on kenari, he spoke true. basic has always been the liar's language to him, and basic is what's left to him now.) but what he can't bring himself to say, he can show her. in the last week or so alone, he hasn't dared to be himself, has buried vulnerability as deep as he knows how. but right now, safe with her, he can let some of it into the light. soft lines of weariness that etch across his face; echoes of fear that tighten about his eyes; the grief they're both carrying. of course they are. the uncertainty of the path before them, in his fingers twined around hers. for a long moment, he expresses all of that. ]
no subject
she burns like the heart of a star, and she shines like one too. all the more, for how rare her smiles are, how small. cassian nearly has to shade his eyes at the sight of her. she'd burned bright like this back on yavin 4, too, as their plan came together; and on scarif, as they took every chance to find and transmit the plans her father had left behind. even after everything, her light is undimmed.
(especially once he'd found her. and that's what he does: on jedha, on eadu, on scarif. in kenos. he finds her.)
she thanks him, and smiles, and he,
doesn't.
smile, or speak, or even seem to share her glimmer of happiness. he squeezes her hand now, harder than he had before, and swallows visibly, face turning downwards, the line of his shoulders losing some of that casual veneer. he closes his eyes for a long, long moment, breathes out, and when he finally opens them he slants his gaze to hers.
cassian the spy, cassian the liar, has never had the truth come to him easily. (kassa was no more or less duplicitous than any other child his age, especially with a sister to care for. with the bigger kids, to look up to. in kenari, on kenari, he spoke true. basic has always been the liar's language to him, and basic is what's left to him now.) but what he can't bring himself to say, he can show her. in the last week or so alone, he hasn't dared to be himself, has buried vulnerability as deep as he knows how. but right now, safe with her, he can let some of it into the light. soft lines of weariness that etch across his face; echoes of fear that tighten about his eyes; the grief they're both carrying. of course they are. the uncertainty of the path before them, in his fingers twined around hers. for a long moment, he expresses all of that. ]