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She hasn’t seen his scar since that first day. In the weeks following their return to his island, he has been so careful with her—so gentle with his touch, so slow in his approach—never baring himself to her as he did at the tide pool.
Osha knows he longs for more than caution between them. She can sense it, now that he has taught her how to open herself to the Force again. Desire sits coiled in his chest, a starving creature. But he is so patient with her as she finds her footing in this new life. He waits.
It’s easy to tell that something is bothering him. He is always eerily calm, unfazed during their sparring sessions. But today, Osha catches a shift in his expression. Her staff connects with his back, and even while she feels a rush of victory, she sees Qimir falter. He grimaces, shoulders tensing, a shallow breath hissing through his teeth.
Osha immediately lowers her staff. “What is it?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says in that even tone of his.
Osha narrows her eyes and reaches for him in the Force. He isn’t hiding something, per se, but he dodges her probing, slipping through her mental fingers with ease. Osha frowns and reaches deeper.
There.
She pulls away from his mind, her brow furrowed. “You’re in pain.”
Qimir tilts his head and lowers his staff, a faint smile curling his lips. Night is falling, and the last of the sun’s rays cast shades of gold and fire across his face. “Very good, Osha.” He opens his free hand, and her staff goes flying into his grip. “That’s enough for today.”
He starts on the path that leads back to the cave. Osha follows, but her thoughts are tangled, confusion mixing with unexpectedly fierce concern. She does not want Qimir to be in pain, she realizes. She wants to know what ails him, and then, she wants to fix it. To soothe him.
Her gaze snaps to the back of his head, her cheeks burning. Where did that come from? It’s a good thing he cannot actually read her thoughts—and that he cannot see her face right now. When it comes to Qimir, it doesn’t matter how much Osha tries to mask her emotions. He sees right through her.
Once in the cave, Qimir stows their training staffs and begins to brighten the lights. Osha sets the motion detector at the cavern’s entrance, as she does every night, but she isn’t fully focused on her task. Qimir’s pain buzzes in the back of her mind, a lingering sensation carried on the thread that binds them.
“You can ask me.”
Osha turns to him. Qimir is seated on the natural rock ledge near his workbench, not an ounce of judgement in his eyes. If she is an open book to him, he makes himself an open book for her. It is one of her favorite things about him.
She makes her way over to him, sitting close beside him on the ledge. “Why are you in pain, Qimir?” It’s not his real name, but she uses it as if it were.
“My scar,” he replies, the words leaving him on a sigh. Suddenly, he looks defeated. Tired. “The wound never healed properly.”
Osha frowns. “Does it bother you all the time?”
“No. But some days are better than others.”
“I…” Osha bites her lip, and Qimir’s gaze follows.
“What, Osha?” he murmurs.
Again, she hesitates. Jedi tenets choke her words, sour the desire he sparks in her. But I am not a Jedi, she reminds herself. I never was.
For the first time in her life, that thought does not destroy her.
Osha’s voice is clear and strong when she asks, “Can I see your scar?”
In answer, Qimir unties his shirt. He slips it off his shoulders and drops the white garment to the rock, turning so that his back is to her.
The scar is no less startling this time than it was that first day. Starting low on his left side, it arcs to the center of his back, the skin thick and gnarled. From there, it splits, two diverging paths that reach for his shoulders. Osha traces the length of it with her eyes. “Can I—”
“Yes.”
She huffs. “You don’t know what I was going to ask.”
Qimir turns his head, looking at her over his shoulder with a raised brow. “You don’t know what you were going to ask.”
Osha barely resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him. He is right. Not that she will admit it.
Well, no turning back now.
She sweeps her fingertips across his upper back, from one shoulder to the other. Despite the cool air of the cave, his skin is warm. She trails her hand down, to his scar, following its path with a light touch. Qimir shivers.
Osha grasps his shoulders next. She used to be great at giving shoulder rubs at the temple; hopefully, that is another skill that is easily remembered.
With gentle pressure, she eases the tension from Qimir’s shoulders, smiling to herself when he finally begins to relax. He lowers his head, letting out a long breath, his Force signature quieting to a mellow hum.
Osha releases his shoulders. Before she can lose her nerve, she leans forward and—gently, sweetly—kisses the center of his scar. In the quiet of the cave, she can hear Qimir’s breath hitch. “Osha,” he says, his voice low.
“Next time it hurts,” she replies, her heart racing, “tell me.”
“I will.” His voice, usually so composed, is a little breathless. Has he ever let someone touch his scar, Osha wonders? Kiss his scar? She hopes not.
That thought does something strange to her. Even while a blush rises to her cheeks, her chest aches with a sharp longing. She wants to pull him into her arms, hold him close, and kiss him some more.
Qimir turns to face her, his gaze as perceptive as ever. “You’re free, Osha,” he says quietly. “Free to do as you please.”
Can it really be that simple?
She reaches for him, placing her hand on the back of his neck. He bends toward her at the first hint of pressure, lips parted, his own yearning clear in the Force.
Osha kisses him.