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“You still haven’t asked him out.” Chirrut broke what had been a long, comfortable silence punctuated only by the small clicks and scrapes of Baze tinkering with an old blaster.
“What?” spat Cassian, sloshing his caf as he swiveled to glare at the Guardians seated behind him.
“The pilot,” Chirrut placidly stated. “Bodhi Rook. You should tell him you like him.”
“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” insisted Cassian while attempting to mop the liquid out of his shirt.
“Mm,” the monk nodded as Cassian rose and grabbed his empty cup. Chirrut allowed him to nearly slip out toward the galley for a refill before casually calling, “I know how you look at him.”
Cassian froze and slowly turned with an exasperated sigh, thankful that Chirrut at least couldn’t see the vivid flush creeping across his cheeks. “You what?”
“You stare at him while he makes repairs. You light up when he smiles. You search for him the moment you enter the mess hall. You look to him first for a reaction when you think you’ve been clever or heroic. You watch the starlight in his eyes as he pilots,” Chirrut’s smile was full of kindness and mischief. “Plus you sneak glances at his bum every time he bends over.”
Cassian floundered for a moment while Baze and Chirrut chuckled. “You’re blind,” he finally protested.
“Yet I still see how you admire him, which says more about your feelings than it does about me, I think,” Chirrut asserted. “But still, a second opinion: husband, how does Captain Andor seem when he sees Bodhi?”
“Smitten,” Baze dutifully reported without looking up from the assortment of clips, bolts, and panels arranged on the table before him. Cassian just shook his head incredulously before passing a hand over his crimson face.
“Smitten?” Cassian sighed in exasperation. “I can’t win with you two. I’m not smitten.” Baze and Chirrut each raised an eyebrow in such perfect synchronization that Cassian imagined they must have practiced the expression together every day of their decades-long marriage. He finally relented in the face of their coordinated skepticism, admitting quietly, “But I might be interested in him.”
“Just talk to him,” Chirrut advised. “I have a feeling that the interest is mutual.”
Cassian nodded and turned back toward the galley, grateful to have escaped the conversation. He would need to look for something stronger than caf now.
Baze’s gruff voice followed him down the hall. “If you break Bodhi’s heart, remember that I’m an assassin. And I know where you sleep.”