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Cal’s lungs burned, each breath hitching in his throat, but he didn’t stop running.
The Jedi Temple, once filled with love and the hushed voices of Masters and younglings, had become a grave. The marble halls echoed with blaster fire, screams, and the hiss of lightsabers meeting flesh.
He didn’t know where he was going. Only that his feet wouldn’t stop, even when his legs begged him to.
There was no time to think.
No time to process the bodies he stepped over, the people he recognized, the smell of smoke, scorched fabrics, blood. He didn’t even realize he was crying.
“Run, Cal! Hide!”
That voice. He didn’t even know who it had come from. A Knight? Maybe, a friend?
His mind scrambled to hold onto it, to anything, but the Force was a mess—screaming as loud as the ones echoing behind him.
He turned a corner too fast and crashed into the wall, barely keeping himself on his feet.
He didn’t want to die. Was that wrong?
Jedi weren’t supposed to cling to life, but Cal was thirteen. He wanted to live. He wanted to go to morning-meal with his clanmates, to his lessons.
But—
He’s been here before.
He remembers the panic in his chest, the way his feet pounded against the ground. This moment—he’s already lived it.
So why is he here again?
His thoughts echo as his breath freezes.
Why am I—
An explosion rips through the hallway, the blast knocking him off his feet and sending his body into the nearest wall, his head connecting with a sickening thud.
Everything turned to static as the world started ringing.
His vision blurs as he tries to move, tried to get onto his feet, blinking rapidly when—
A red lightsaber ignites with a snap-hiss.
Adrenaline jolts through him as he stumbles to his feet, still dazed, still shaking, as he turns and bolts , but he already knows how this ends.
He barely makes it two steps before the blade finds him.
There’s no pain at first—just pressure as he twitches and looks down at the lightsaber sticking out of his chest…
~/~
He wakes up with a scream, his body jerking upright as he claws at his poncho, nails scraping against the rough weave as if the saber was still lodged inside him.
“Get it out—get it out —!”
He gasps, hyperventilating, dragging the poncho over his head like it’s suffocating him, flinging it across the room like it might burn him. His fingers tremble violently as he presses them against his chest, searching for blood.
For a hole. For something .
Hands.
There are hands are on him. Small, calloused hands.
They tried to pin his body down, muttering something low and urgent—his name, maybe—but it didn't reach him.
It was just noise .
All Cal knows is that he’s trapped . That he can’t breathe . That someone’s got him and there’s red— Force, there’s red everywhere—
“No—! Let go of me!”
He thrashes blindly, kicking his legs out and twisting his arms around. His shoulder slams into something solid and he shoves it away, his brain desperate to get rid of the hands on him.
He stumbles down onto the rusted floor of the room, his breath tearing out of him like it’s been locked in his lungs for days. The sharp scent of oil, smoke, and metal floods his senses—but none of it grounds him.
He’s not here .
He’s still in there .
Cal let out a strangled sob as his hands flew to his head. He squeezed like he could force the memory out.
It was too loud—it was too much .
His skin was crawling, chest heaving like he was still running, still dying .
So he yanked at his hair, ripping at the strands of ginger until a sharp ache tore through his head.
He hit the floor with a dull clang, shaking as he bent over his knees, gasping for air that wouldn't come fast enough.
But—
Bit by bit, the world did come back. The damp cold of Bracca’s constant drizzle. The distant hum of a salvage crane.
Cal blinked.
Once.
Twice.
He was breathing hard—shallow and quick into the grating beneath him, like he couldn’t get the dream— memeory —out of his head.
Slowly, he forced himself to his knees, swaying as the room tilted around him
This wasn’t the Temple.
This was Bracca .
His bunkroom.
The quiet lights cast an orange glow over the narrow space and the scattered piles of salvage-issue clothing and half-folded blankets.
He was on the floor, a quiet circle of faces staring down at him.
Prauf stood beside him, hands raised as if he wasn’t sure to help him or let him come back on his own. The others—three bunkmates—shifted in their beds, grumbled something under their breath before rolling over.
Then his eyes found her .
Y/n was on her knees in front of him, expression tight.
His gaze dropped to the bruise on her cheek. A deep, red bloom beneath her eye.
A whine caught in his throat before he could stop it.
He did that.
He hurt her.
“Y/n—” his voice cracked, useless. He didn’t deserve her, but she moved before he could blink.
“Cal,” she breathed, then she was pulling him into a hug. Her arms locked around his frame like she was anchoring him, like she wasn’t afraid of him, she should be…
He exhaled a shuddering breath and pressed his face into her neck, like he could disappear there. Like maybe if he stayed long enough, everything would fade away.
She gently reached up and coaxed his fingers free from his hair, one by one, her voice low and steady as she worked.
Cal didn’t even know he was still holding it.
His chest stuttered as his arms wrapped tightly around Y/n’s frame, his grip twitching like he couldn’t tell if she was really there.
“Shhh, you’re okay,” she whispered, the words brushing against his ear, “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”
Cal exhaled shakily and pressed closer.
“I got him, Prauf,” Y/n murmured over her shoulder, “You can go back to sleep.”
There was a brief pause, followed by the rustle of bedsheets, “Alright,” came Prauf’s voice, thick with sleep, “Just yell if you need me.”
Y/n shifted, her hands moving to the back of his head, carding through his sweat soaked hair. Her fingers brushed his forehead, brushing his hair back the way he always styled it.
“Let’s get you off the floor, okay?” she murmured, “C’mon, big guy…”
He nodded—or tried to—but the motion made him dizzy. Pain flared behind his eyes as his knees buckled, a quiet groan slipping through his teeth.
His limbs felt distant, wrong.
She steadied him before he could fall, her arms wrapping tight around his ribs.
“I got you,” she whispered again, her breath brushing his temple.
Once he was against the bed, she guided him onto it, making sure he was comfortable before pulling up his blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders, and stayed.
Even after the others went back to sleep.
Even after the silence had settled and the storm inside him passed.
She didn’t move.
Just sat there beside him, one leg folded underneath her.
Cal could barely look at her.
His thoughts were still a mess, and he hated how easily they’d taken over him. How fast everything spun out of control.
He hated himself for it.
He was better than this.
He clenched his jaw, fingers twitching restlessly in his lap as he stared at one of the stains near the edge of his bunk.
Then she started humming.
It was some old lullaby, one she must’ve learned before arriving on Bracca.
She ran her hands through his hair gently, untangling a few stubborn knots. It shouldn’t have helped, but it did. His shoulders slowly began to drop, his breath hitching as he forced himself to speak.
“You… you don’t have to stay.”
Part of him wanted her to go—no— expected her to go. He didn’t deserve this. Not after everything he’s done, but Y/n didn’t hesitate, “I want to.”
She said it like it was obvious.
Like it shouldn’t even be a question .
Cal swallowed, keeping his gaze down as he fidgeted, his nails digging into the cuticle of his thumb.
“Do you…” she started gently, “Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head, “No.”
A beat passed, then—
“Okay.”
That was it. No pushing. No sigh of disappointment.
“…Okay?” he echoed, voice hoarse.
“Okay,” she repeated, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Her fingers moved down the back of his head, past the curve of his neck, until she found the soft tufts of hair at his nape. She played with them absently, her thumb brushing against the start of his spine before she started massaging him in small, gentle circles.
“Is this okay?” she whispered.
Cal’s breath caught.
His mouth fell open as something loosened in his back, the sensation sliding down his spine like a wave of heat. He groaned and instinctively leaned into her hand, his body moving before his mind could catch up.
“Yeah…” he murmured as his eyes fluttered shut, “Yeah, that’s… good.”
Y/n shifted closer, her fingers tracing lazy, affectionate paths through his hair, “Do you want anything else?” she whispered, “Is there more I can do for you, Cal ?”
His breath hitched.
The way she said it—sweet, with a hint of teasing—sent blush racing across his face. His cheeks turned red first, then the color climbed up his ears.
“I… I think it’s okay. This is fine,” Cal stuttered.
Y/n hummed in response—not dismissive, but patient, understanding.
She shifted slightly on the edge of his bunk, her hand trailing down from his neck to rest on his shoulder. Her fingers kneaded the tension there, coaxing out knots he didn’t even realize he had.
“Promise?” she asked softly.
Cal hesitated.
Not because he doubted her, but because something about the word— promise —felt too big.
Too permanent.
He shifted, moving further onto his bunk before turning towards Y/n, their noses nearly brushing. Cal froze, his breath catching somewhere between surprise and something harder to name.
“I…” he tried, swallowing thickly, eyes darting down to her lips.
“I can’t promise I won’t want… more,” it came out smaller than he meant it to, wobbling at the edges as his gaze dropped again, lingering at her mouth.
Y/n smiled at him, tilting her head ever so slightly, “Then stop promising.”
Cal’s breath caught in his throat.
Something in him straightened—not in a confident way, but in that quiet, terrified way of someone choosing to be vulnerable even when they’re still terrified on the inside. He squared his shoulders, swallowed hard, and leaned in, slowly.
He locked his gaze with hers, searching, asking.
Are you sure? Can I?
Y/n didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Her smile didn’t fade, and her eyes stayed steady, that was his answer.
So Cal ducked his head and kissed her.
There were no fireworks. No heart punching through his ribs like so many holodramas promised.
Just a soft, grounding warmth pulsing with love.