Chapter Text
There’s a cut on his tunic. The edges of it singed as if it was brought about by a lightsaber.
She asks him about it.
“There were no jedi in Luzmin,” he lies, of course.
There were precisely 4 jedi - 2 masters and their padawans - in the outer rim planet Luzmin when he made planet-fall and none when he left.
He knows that she knows that he’s lying. But she doesn’t press him, knows for a fact that he’s only lying to ease her worry.
Osha smiles, “Okay. If you say so.”
“Why?” A head tilt that made her heart skip a beat.
“Were you worried?” A little smile.
“Of course I was! Who will cook soup for me when you’re dead? The Skura?” She teases, extending out a hand to strip him of his tunic with the Force.
“You missed me this much?” He teases back, Force-pulling her to him.
Osha giggles in his arms. She did miss him.
But he has to take a bath first.
“Go take a bath. You’re… icky,” she says, gently pushing him away.
He tightens his hold on her, attacks her face with kisses.
“Only if you join me.”
“No!” She throws her head back laughing. The sound of it so carefree and… bright .
It fills him with warmth.
“Qimir! Stop!” Osha successfully twists out of his arms.
“You’re no longer allowed to touch me unless you’ve washed,” She says, keeping her arm up to push him farther away from her with the Force.
“Unfair,” he pouts but picks up the clothes Osha has prepared for him.
When he returns, it is to the sight of Osha sewing his ruined tunic. She’s using contrasting thread colors from the color of his tunic. The little Skura poking the thread ball with its snout at her feet.
He longs for more days like this. Mundane. Ordinary. Away from society, away from the Jedi.
Just him and Osha and the Force.
And the Skura, too.