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You didn’t expect Crosshair to follow you out here.
After what he said to you, with that avoiding glance and mumbled agreement to your accusation, you’d expect him to turn his back and not say a word. Do exactly as he had intended to even before you called him out. That’s always what he does; leave you in the dust, kicking up any lingers of dirt he leaves for you on the floor.
Maker, you deserve better.
His steps linger behind you just a few feet, devotedly staying just on your tail but never too close for what feels like an eternity. You’ve left the medical compound on Kamino by now, circling the outside perimeters with no real direction.
There’s no real point to you being outside here, anyway. You don’t need one.
As the light pelting of rain gets heavier, you shiver and glance behind you. Crosshair, ever so casual in your frustration, looks completely comfortable dressed in his full kit.
“You shouldn’t follow me,” you tell him, biting your lip.
Crosshair squints his eyes, almost perplexed.
“Why?”
You huff, turning the full way in his direction and instinctively cross your arms as a way of protecting yourself. It won’t do much.
“Because,” you begin, suddenly losing your train of thought as his stare pierces your eyes, sending a thrilling shiver through you. “You’re not gonna get what you want out of this.”
With a tilt of his head, Crosshair takes a step further in your direction and turns his chin inward, all to get a better look at your expression, study it. Of all the times to be considerate of how you feel, this certainly was not a good one.
“What do I want?” There’s a genuine sense of misunderstanding in his avoidance that pulls a helpless whine out of you.
“I don’t know,” your hands fly out and land at your sides; rocking back and forth on your feet is the only thing keeping you the slightest bit level-headed. “You tell me.”
Crosshair’s eyes flicker away in that same avoiding manner that led you two here in the first place. You shake your head and brush some hair away from your face, blinking away droplets of rain gathering on your eyelashes. Crosshair watches diligently.
“You were going to leave without telling me.” You don’t mean for it to come out as choked as it does; it just happens that way. You lean back on your heels, suddenly feeling he is too close for your liking. “On a six-month deployment, Cross. And you weren’t going to tell me. No comm, no message, nothing. You were just gonna… leave.”
You must seem so desperate. Your voice strains while you speak, almost dying out when you finish. You blink and look away, composing yourself and taking a few deep breaths before you look back. It isn’t fair. He gets to act so composed and uncaring, turn you into a mess of emotions while he stands unbothered.
Maker, how you hate him.
You’re going to miss him so much.
“I…” Crosshair’s mouth falls open, the word aimless with no connection to more of a sentence; just something to soothe your frenzied mind. You blink again, jaw tightening as you wait for him to come up with at least something.
Something to make this goodbye just a little less aching.
“...I want to kiss you.”
Your lips part. Just when you think his eyes will flicker away in discomfort and a fleeting attempt at evasion, he keeps his eyes on you. Another step leaves less than an inch of space between each of your chests. He leans his head over you, shielding your body from the rain. You stand incredulous, dismayed at his words, dismayed at his audacity, but don’t move an inch.
“Can I kiss you?”
No answer is given as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him down to your lips.
It’s clumsy; not as composed as either of you try to be usually. Your noses press together in an almost claustrophobic way and your teeth knock against each other once or twice as you angle yourself, making you hiss and Crosshair hold onto you harder. His hands grip your waist. One comes to the back of your head, creeping up to grip your hair and keep you close.
He feels all your frustration with him; your helpless, besotted, lovesick frustration. You only know this from the way his eyelashes flutter against you and his tongue barely prods into your mouth. But it’s there and it’s considerate and you want to slap him in the face so hard then hold him and never let him leave your grasp.
He pulls away first, pensively swiping his tongue over his lips and gazing over your features, trying to read how you feel. Your chest heaves, each deep breath leaving you more breathless than the last; that’s not how that’s supposed to work.
“Could that be a suitable goodbye?” Crosshair asks in a borderline confiding manner like he found shame in anyone else hearing.
There’s little you can say. Equally due to your breathlessness, and your bewilderment he’d acknowledge any of his behavior. So you just nod and go on your tip toes to wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders.
The action can barely be considered a hug. His hands lazily rest on the sides of your body and don’t grip harder when you do, and your chests only graze each other. But you press your forehead to the top of his chest plate, and in a few moments, you feel his chin resting on your head.
“Just come back to me,” you request, but you doubt he hears you. Like most of your shimmering, fleeting moments of affection with Crosshair, it comes better without words.