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They had an afternoon free, and were walking around the enormous temple and chatting idly. It was the time of the year (which was most of the year) when the light of day was harsh and white but there was still a chill that hung in the air. The sun that Jedha orbited was profoundly bright but far, so it never got any warmer than this. Baze took a deep breath of the crisp atmosphere and thanked the Force that the climate was this nice. He and Chirrut affectionately called Jedha a “fake desert” - he hated the heat on real deserts like Tatooine and Jakku.
The sudden brightness after how dark the temple was always took some squinting and getting used to, though.
Chirrut had remained in a bit of shade that the roof provided where it overhung the wall, rubbing at his eyes.
"Force, that's bright." He muttered.
"Tell me about it-" Baze then paused as the cogs in his head clicked and he turned around slowly to stare at his friend, caught off guard. "Wait, you can see that?"
"This sun is strong enough to pierce past even these eyes." Chirrut looked down from the sky and blinked a couple of times. “My blindness is not absolute,” he explained. “I only know when there's light, and when there's darkness. I have been told that it is very similar to when you sighted folk close your eyes and can see light shining through your eyelids."
Baze closed his eyes and turned his face towards the sun, and he understood.
"If you can see light," he ventured. "Can you see color?"
Chirrut nodded. "If the color is the light, and the light is bright enough. A red blaster beam is only red if it goes-" He grinned as he drew his finger across his eyes. "-close enough by to singe my eyebrows. Like that bar fight we nearly got into last week."
"Don't remind me, and we didn't nearly get into that, you did." Baze snorted as he walked past. Chirrut pushed himself off the wall and followed.
"Baze, do you have a favorite color?" Came his inquiry.
Baze frowned at the childish topic. "I've never thought about it, so no."
Chirrut feigned an expression of shock. "No? How disappointing! Would you be dismayed to hear that a blind man has a favorite color while you, with your gift of sight but apparent lack of taste, have not bothered to come up with one?"
"You seem awfully smug about something as useless as having a favorite color."
Chirrut beamed. "Oh yes, I am. It's black."
Baze rolled his eyes, the sarcasm in his voice communicating his expression. "Of course it is. Some taste you have."
Chirrut bounded ahead of him and turned, walking backwards. "You're not going to ask me why?"
Baze fought to keep the smile off his face as he pushed past him (in part because no matter how strong the boy's force-sense was, seeing Chirrut walk backwards was making him a little nervous, but he wouldn't admit that). "Not if you're gonna be so smug about it."
From behind him, Chirrut's laughter rang, and Baze found that he liked the sound.
Many moons passed, and they grew close. Close enough to save each other countless times, close enough to predict what the other was thinking, close enough to share a mattress between missions in a cramped Jedha apartment, once they left the temple.
“May I brush your hair?” Chirrut asked out of nowhere one night in their room as they both sat in bed, reaching for his partner’s wavy locks.
Baze frowned and halfheartedly tried to evade the hands. “I don’t like when people touch my hair.”
“Yes, you do. Come here.”
He could never lie around Chirrut, could he? Baze grumbled and scooted closer and Chirrut grinned in triumph, moving to sit behind him and pushing down on his shoulders to get him to slouch so he could reach the top of his head.
Chirrut took a couple locks of hair from Baze's crown, threading his fingers through them and gently pulling away the occasional tangle, apologizing quietly at any pull, though none of it hurt, really.
Baze was grateful that he had to slouch, because it felt so nice that it was making him sleepy. He propped his chin on a hand as he let his mind wander, closing his eyes and enjoying the moment.
“Do you know why black is my favorite color?” Chirrut’s voice pulled him out of his daydream.
Baze pushed through his sleepiness to come up with an answer. “Because it’s the color of my hair?”
Chirrut snorted. “Your hair is very nice, but that’s not the reason.”
Baze smiled but remained silent, waiting for him to continue. He had the feeling that his partner was about to go on a bit of a tangent, but that wasn't a bad thing - he always liked to listen.
“Do you know the feeling of retiring to your bed at the end of a long day? Exactly like right now, for example.” Chirrut said. “Turning off the lights, laying down and getting the weight off your feet, sinking into your bedding and letting your thoughts drift? It’s a very nice feeling.”
Baze nodded. “If the bedding is soft, yes.” A lot of the time, it wasn't. Good bedding was a luxury.
“That is true, but at least I can count on the nighttime being dark on most planets. Sometimes I find the haze of daylight distracting and harsh, so true darkness is always welcome. When you sighted folk extinguish your lights at the end of the day and feel your eyes relax, I feel that too, even if the difference isn’t as great.”
Baze paused. He had never really thought of it like that before. To him, turning off the lights resulted in a sightless darkness that was more of an inconvenience (and, depending on where he was sleeping that night, a danger), but Chirrut was right otherwise, to associate black with night, with comfort and stress-relief.
"So you find the color black relaxing."
"Yes." Chirrut was now working through the hair at the nape of his neck, where it was softest.
"To many, the color of black means evil, or death." Baze mused. At least, that sounded like something their very spiritually conservative teachers would think.
"Not to me. But my perspective is unique." Chirrut's hands touched at the back of his neck. His fingers were cold, as they always seemed to be. "I can appreciate it, because I do not fear it."
"I see," Baze said, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement as he caught the metaphor.
A comfortable silence settled. After a few minutes, Chirrut spoke again.
"When we first met, I remember asking you what your favorite color was, and you didn’t have an answer. Do you have one, now?"
Baze had had plenty of years since he was first asked to mull on an answer.
"Blue." Because of course it was; he'd spent more time looking at cloudy blue pupils more often than not. It, too, was now a color that represented security. Familiarity. Laughter and smiles and care-free energy.
Chirrut paused for so long that Baze began to turn around, but his head was quickly guided back to face forward, maybe out of embarrassment. He wondered who had told Chirrut what his eyes looked like.
"...I see."
"No, you don’t." Baze said almost automatically, a habitual use of humor to break awkwardness that he had slowly picked up from his quick-witted partner.
This startled a laugh out of Chirrut like ringing bells, clear and musical. "Making jokes at a poor blind man's expense! Such bravery for someone who could lose his hair at any moment." he said, voice cheerful, tugging at the lock he was holding in warning.
"You wouldn’t dare," Baze said, reaching back to swat his hand away.
"You're right, I wouldn't." Chirrut sighed, catching his partner's hand in his own to give it an affectionate squeeze. "Because it's my favorite color."
It was Baze's turn to be a little flustered, and he turned his head and kissed the back of Chirrut's palm in thanks.