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Your breath makes clouds of vapor as it escapes your lips, puffing out in pale exhales beneath a starlit sky. Winter has settled over Takodana, turning its typically temperate climate into something cold enough to reach your bones; chilling the tips of your nose and ears and any other skin left exposed to the biting air. In spite of your flimsy state of dress, having left your coat inside after making your exit from the crowded halls of Maz Kanata's infamous castle, it's not the cold that has you shivering. No — you were shaking for entirely different reasons that had nothing to do with the encroaching winter storm and everything to do with the storm raging inside your head, fueled by the ghosts that seemed to haunt the castle's walls and stirred up memories of a past you wanted so desperately to forget.
A violent explosion. A raging fire. The familiar hum of a lightsaber igniting. The sound of screams before they abruptly fell silent —
It makes your chest feel tight, each breath feeling more and more difficult than the last, and you stubbornly shake your head; eyes stinging with the heat of unshed tears. You take a swig from the bottle of whiskey that you'd snagged from the bar and sit yourself down on the stone steps of the castle’s entrance, expelling another exhale from your lungs. From inside the castle walls, the raucous sound of bawdy laughter and ribald drinking songs echo out into the courtyard — the voices of some of your crew mates from the Meson Martinet being amongst the loudest.
Maz's place is never quiet, even at such a late (or rather early?) hour. The constant noise serves as an effective way for you to remind yourself that you're not alone, yet in spite of all the people around you still feel lonely. So lonely that you wrap your arms around your torso in a poor imitation of an embrace; cold palms skimming over even colder shoulders and you hold yourself tight. Your breath hitches again, a sob threatening to tear it's way out of your throat, and you bow your head. Knowing a losing battle when you see one, you cease fighting against the burning sensation behind your eyelids and let heavy saltwater tears spill down your cheeks.
"You know, you’ll catch your death out here."
The quiet voice startles you and you nearly flinch. People aren't usually able to sneak up on you like that — especially not him. Over the time you've spent working and living together, his presence has become so familiar and so easy for you to recognize in the Force that it was almost as natural as breathing for you to sense him. Yet in your distracted state, he'd managed to catch you off-guard.
You don't bother turning to look at him, wiping at your face hastily in an attempt to try and scrub away any trace of your tears before he can see them. Something warm and heavy settles over your shoulders, nearly swallowing you whole beneath well-worn fabric. You clutch at his cloak, pulling it tight around you with a shake of your head. Of course he was worried about you being cold; always looking after the well-being others, fussing over them as much as he could. Even when he was off-duty, the medic in him was never at rest.
You feel him sink to the ground next to you, taking a seat on the stone steps at your side. Still hiding your face, you give a little cough and sniffle discreetly, hopefully shaking off any lingering evidence of your grief. Not wanting to worry him any further, you finally muster up enough strength to turn and offer him a weak smile.
"Hi," Kix says softly.
His bright eyes search your face and you can tell that he isn't fooled in the slightest by the forced upward curve of your mouth; brow furrowing with concern as he immediately focuses on your glistening lashes and tear-tracked cheeks.
Equally soft, you answer him; the word hardly more than a sigh when it leaves your lips. "Hi."
Feather-light and heartbreakingly gentle, he reaches out and cups your cheek; a warm thumb wiping away the lingering tear tracks on your skin and tracing over the curvature of your face. Your heartbeat leaps into your throat and you lean into his touch on instinct, relishing in the contact of his skin against yours.
"Did you leave the fun because of me?" You ask, the words murmured against his palm. It's a little too intimate for whatever you two are, but you and Kix had been straddling the line between platonic affection and something else for a while now; straying further and further from being just crew mates.
"No," he says too quickly and you roll your eyes, pulling away from his gentle touch.
"Liar."
He heaves a heavy sigh of defeat. "Fine. I might have left because of you — but only because without you there, it was less fun. So technically, I followed the fun outside."
His words are light-hearted and meant to cheer you up, but instead you just feel guilty. "I'm sorry," you apologize. "I didn't mean to make you leave. Just needed some air."
That familiar furrow returns, brows knit together in concern as he studies you the same way that a physician might study a patient. "You haven't been yourself since we got here. You alright?"
A sardonic smirk works its way across your lips. "Always."
His disapproval is instantaneous. "Now who's the liar?"
Letting out a huff, you shake your head and pull his cloak tighter around your shoulders. "It's this castle," you confess. "There are Jedi buried in the catacombs; people who died here. It reminds me of —" your voice breaks and you shake your head, remembering that terrible night when the temple had burned and you'd been left for dead. "Things I'd rather not think about."
Kix makes a quiet noise of understanding; the tenor of his voice low and soothing. "You should have told me."
You could have told him. If anyone on the crew could empathize with feelings of loss and grief for a past life, it would have been Kix; the last clone trooper, who'd outlived all of his brothers by some sick twist of fate that left him trapped in carbonite for over fifty years. But Kix was already carrying so much — the weight of his own burdens, the well-being of the crew. You certainly didn't want to add to that.
"But you were having so much fun with Quiggold," you joke weakly, choosing to tease him instead of acknowledging his response.
Kix just shakes his head, keeping his eyes trained on you. "Still should have told me."
Your eyes begin to sting once more and you're forced to look away. It hurts to look at Kix sometimes — almost like you're staring into the sun — and right now you feel too fragile to bear the warm intensity of his gaze. "I didn't want to ..." you pause, struggling to find words that don't make you feel so vulnerable, "bother you."
"Bother me?" Kix repeats, soft and incredulous. "Why would you ever think that you're bothering me?"
A heavy sigh escapes your lips and you clear your throat, swallowing thickly to keep your emotions bottled down. "You're always taking care of everyone," you say quietly, looking down at your hands. "I never want you to feel like ... like you have to be that way with me, too. I don't ever want to be a burden for you."
"A burden," he says lowly, repeating your words once more.
Still avoiding his gaze, you nod your head — pausing when you feel gentle fingertips tilting your chin upwards to meet his stare. One of his hands grasps the fabric of the cloak around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him so that his palms can easily cradle your face between them; as if he's holding something so precious, so sacred between his hands. There's nowhere to look but at him now and no hiding the tears that slip down your cheeks; quickly wiped away by his calloused thumbs.
"Ner’cyare," Kix murmurs in a language you don’t speak, smoothing stray strands of hair back from your face. "You're never a burden to me. Never. You're the one I want to take care of, always. Not as a medic or as a crew mate — but as my cyare. My beloved. I ... I want to take care of you in ways I don't get to care for anyone else."
Your bottom lip trembles like a leaf in the wind. You think that if he weren't holding you so carefully you might break into a million pieces. Wetting your lips with your tongue, you dare to whisper in a tremulous voice, "Like how?"
A faint smile teases at the edge of his lips; something almost playful and boyish glinting in his eyes, melting years of grief and hardship off his handsome face. "Like this," he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead and making you shiver as the stubble of his beard lightly brushes against you. "And this." His mouth touches your cheekbone, warm and fleeting against your chilled skin. "And this." Your breath hitches as he kisses the corner of your mouth, so close to your lips that if you moved even a fraction of an inch, your mouth would be on his.
"Oh," you exhale softly, momentarily struck dumb before you find your words again. The warmth of his breath and the sweet smell of whatever liquor he’d been drinking fans across your face; heady and intoxicating and so entirely him. "Well, I sure hope you don't do that for anyone else."
"Only you," he promises, brushing his knuckles across your cheek. "So, what do you say, ner’cyare? Will you let me take care of you?"
Your answer comes without a second thought. “Yes.”