Chapter Text
If you were here beside me instead of in New York
If the curve of you was curved on me
I’d tell you that I loved you before I ever knew you
‘Cause I loved the simple thought of you
New York, Snow Patrol
“Cassian Jeron Andor, stop this at once, it’s getting out of hand!”
Through his dazed mind and sandpaper eyelids, the guy tries to assimilate the sight of his best friend, arms crossed on his chest — kind of like a father catching a wayward son in the middle of the night when he should have been in bed. The imagery seems accurate, that is if his Papá were still alive and not buried along his six years old self, Cassian guesses he would have looked like this.
“Leave me alone Kay, you shouldn’t be here.”
His voice has gone rough with disuse, his tongue unusually made slack by the Mescal he had drunk, but of course James Kay gets the message: the tall figure gets hazier but his words, as always, ring as clear as a bell:
“I certainly don’t have to, but your brooding leaves me no choice: as I said, it’s getting out of hand. Sleep is a biological requirement, you know? You can’t go on not sleeping like this, it’s not going to improve your heath.”
“I can’t. You should understand that. Why do I always have to listen your sermons when I fuck up?”
“Would you have preferred Chirrut Îmwe’s platitudes instead?”
“Maybe. It’s easier with him than you, Kay.”
“If you took better care of yourself, you’d be left alone Cassian.”
“Maybe I don’t want that, being alone, even though it’s what I deserve.”
Kay sighs but doesn’t find anything to retort for once. Figures. Cassian closes his eyes again, knowing it’s usually easier like this. He’s drunk anyway, and hasn't really slept for days. His body isn’t his own anymore, it felt so much better when he had her in bed next to him, when the curve of her could curve on him…
“You know it actually wasn’t any better, right,” comes his friend’s monotonous voice, out of the blue.
“Can’t you let me pretend?”
“Do you really have to ask that? Whether I like it or not, we’re playing by your rules here.”
“I miss her.”
“Of course you do.”
“I should have told her how I felt, seeing her from time to time isn’t enough. Why won’t she speak to me?”
“Cassian, Jyn Erso isn’t dead. She can’t speak because you don't… you don’t get to decide what she would say, if she saw you like this. The dead belong to you in a way she doesn’t yet, so you can only love the simple thought of her.”
“It’s hard,” Cassian whispers brokenly, referring to the way it was phrased as well as the fact that it was Kay who just stated the matter of his heart so carelessly.
“Yes, but you can’t deny that even if she’s not here, you’re glad she’s alive?”
“We don’t even know if she’s okay.”
“Considering your current state, I doubt it.”
“Bodhi will look after her.”
“That affirmation is not quite reassuring, but all right. I least I hope they’re spared your destructive tendencies and your inclination to sleep deprivation.”
“It’s not so bad, Kay, I manage.”
“Oh, really,” his friend retorts wryly, his features in focus to convey all his disdain, “you call this managing? Indulging yourself in liquor, barely eating, barely sleeping — not to mention holding an entire conversation with a friend that has been dead for months? Don’t make me laugh!”
“You can’t laugh anyway, I never heard the sound of it.”
“Use your imagination then, Captain Andor, you’re usually good at improvisation.”
“Not tonight Kay, I’m sorry.”
“I am too.”
After that, all is silent and Cassian doesn’t have the strength to summon his friends again. He’s exhausted. Almost crawling to the bed, he lays down, and stares at the empty space next to him. He wills her to appear but it’s no use tonight:
She won’t be coming home.