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It starts when Cassian tries to throw away his parka.
Well, that’s not when it truly starts, Jyn reasons. All of this had really started nearly two years ago. When he’d come back from the dead, not once, but twice. When he’d scraped his broken body from a metal grate and clawed his bloody way up that tower and shot her mother’s murderer. When he had kept breathing, had kept his heart beating, somehow, somehow, during the longest space flight of her life back to Yavin.
Maybe it had all started when Jyn Erso, with all her spines and barbs and her roaming ways, had crawled in Cassian’s cramped bunk and never really left.
“Jyn?” Cassian asks, cautious. “Everything alright?”
Jyn snaps out of it, eyes refocussing on the sad wad of threadbare blue and patchy, matted tauntaun fur he’s clutching in his hand.
Stupid, she thinks, getting so fucking weepy over a kriffing coat.
But that coat… Cassian has had it since she met him. It’s a part of him, in a way. It’s a part of her, in another, far more damning way. She loves to wear it when he’s off planet, away on missions. When she misses him so fiercely she feels sick, when their bunk feels too large and too cold without him. She can sink into the plush fur, breathe in his homey scent, feel it curl into her lungs and hold her together like a mooring rope.
Jyn knows that the parka is well past its prime. Cassian has gone to greater pains to extend it’s life and use than most would have ever bothered with, but, he knows a lost cause when he sees one, and, well… it’s time for the incinerator. His— their bunk is small and he needs room for a new parka in the cramped clothes locker— fashioned and designed for one person’s outfits but currently accommodating two. He’d put in an order for a new parka ages ago and had gotten the notice today that he could come pick his replacement up. A new, top of the line coat that will better keep him insulated and protected from the bitter Hothian winds.
“I just—“ she starts haltingly. She frowns, looking intently over the ragged bundle of fur and fabric. “How old is that thing anyway?” she deflects.
A queer expression comes over Cassian’s face at that. “I, uh… I actually don’t know.” He fondles one of the sleeves. The blue lining has detached from the cuff. “I’m sure it’s pretty old… but, it’s funny…” He looks up at her, smiling. “I picked it up from the quartermaster the day before I met you.”
Jyn chokes on a breath at that, her stomach lurching uncomfortably.
“Didn’t have much in the way of winter gear— at least not for a desert cold. I knew I was probably going to have to go to Jedha, so…” he shrugs a shoulder, oblivious to her torment.
Oh, she definitely can’t let him just toss that thing in the incinerator.
“I’ll take it,” Jyn says lowly, holding her hand out. She avoids Cassian’s bewildered look.
“Jyn… I mean, of course you can have it, but it’s a piece of junk.” He waves a defeated hand at the over-stuffed locker at the end of the bed. “Not sure where you’ll put it…”
She shakes her head, perhaps a bit too vehemently than what was strictly warranted. “I’ll find a use for it,” she insists. “Saw never let us throw anything away. Old habits.” It’s not a lie, per se, but Saw also had known the value of time and sense— even he would have advised dispensing with a coat in such an advanced state of decay. “Can… make a blanket out of it or something.”
Cassian says nothing, just looks at her in that devastating and deeply infuriating way he does. A frank, knowing, and very fond kind of look that tells Jyn he strongly suspects what this is actually about, but he knows better than to accuse her of something as sappy and stupid as sentiment.
Jyn almost wants to hit him. He’s too perfect for her by half.
He steps closer, takes her by the elbows and kisses the crease that has dug itself between her brows. “I’m late,” he says, “see you at dinner?”
Jyn nods, rocks up on the balls of her feet to kiss him properly. “Thank you,” she tells him when they part. She indicates the parka draped over her arm. “For letting me keep it.”
He shakes his head, stepping away. “As if you needed permission.” And then he’s through the door.
Jyn bites back a smile, presses her nose into the collar of the coat, and goes to find the heavy fabric scissors she knows Cassian keeps in his sewing kit.
+/+/+
“What’s that?” Shara Bey asks as she settles in next to Jyn at the work bench. The woman nods to Jyn’s hair, waves a hand. “Pretty color.”
Jyn runs her fingers over the cool scrap of fabric tied into her braid. “Oh… thanks.” She avoids her friend’s inquisitive gaze, turning back to the chip panel she’s refurbishing. A menial, tedious chore, but it was her turn at the scrap table.
Apparently it was Shara’s shift, too. She grabs up a chip panel from the pile and begins dissembling it. Jyn tries to ignore how rough the woman is being with it.
“Don’t see much blue around here, that’s for sure,” Shara muses, waving a hand to the space at large. Jyn doesn’t have to observe to know that she would find nothing much more than a sea of browns, greens and grays in their vicinity. “What possessed you?”
Jyn frowns, picking up a brush to scrub some grime away from the board. “Do I have to be possessed by something to put a ribbon in my kriffing braid?”
“No offense, Jyn, but yeah, kind of.” Shara looks her over with a skeptical eye and Jyn can’t help it… she blushes. “You’re not exactly vain.”
“Thanks,” she deadpans.
“What? It’s true!” Shara insists, her obviously superficial interest in the work already fleeing as she turns more fully to Jyn. “It’s not meant as an insult. You know how many women would kill to be as beautiful as you are with kriffing axle grease on their face?” Jyn really blushes at that, scrubbing harder at the panel than strictly necessary. Her friend scoots closer to her, lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “So who is it, huh? Who are you trying to impress?”
Jyn startles, nearly dropping the chip panel she’s working on (theoretically). “Impress?” she asks, mildly outraged. “Why would I be trying to impress anyone?” Shara says nothing, her mouth curling up ever so, expectant. Jyn shakes her head. “I’m not trying to impress anyone just because I have a fucking ribbon in my hair.”
“Sure, sure,” Shara says, voice pitched high in a way that makes Jyn sigh in defeat. “I remember when I started putting on lipstick after I met Kes… it certainly wasn’t related.”
“Shara,” Jyn mutters, “not to gloat, but I don’t need to impress anyone. I have someone already.” Blast, does that feel both invariably odd and deeply satisfying to say.
Shara beams, sways where she sits, crowing in triumph. “Oh, Force, she finally kriffing admits it!” she announces to the high ceiling. Jyn is horrified when the steady stream of cadets and officers passing by on their various duties a few paces from their workstation falters. Shara is none the wiser and drums her hands on the edge of the table, far too excited for what Jyn would assume to be old news. Her and Cassian had been together for nearly two years, now, and hadn’t exactly gone to great pains to keep it secret.
“You’re easily amused,” Jyn mutters, tossing a warning glare to the few gawkers still lingering. They make the wise decision to carry on with their business.
Shara shrugs. “Oh, Erso, in a war like this yes, yes I am… it’s the simple things. Have to find joy where ever you can.” Her friend turns back to her barely touched chip panel, grinning like a loon. Despite her reluctance, Jyn can’t help but feel touched by Shara’s reaction. Perhaps she needs to lighten up. The ribbon is meant to be noticed, after all, even if Jyn had not fully considered that when she had placed it in her hair that morning. “I have been waiting so long for you to actually come out and say it,” Shara continues, nudging Jyn with her elbow. “Feels good, yeah?”
Old habits die hard. Jyn rolls her eyes, going for another panel. “Whatever.”
“Ah, I’m just happy for you, Jyn. For you and Andor both. You’re good for each other.”
Jyn stares determinedly at the pitted work bench in front of her. To her horror, her eyes are burning, her throat winching tight. She swallows, hard, trying to gather herself. Her chest is swirling with fear and elation, disbelief and excitement. It’s such a strange, potent combination that it leaves her dizzy and dazed.
“That’s actually… the ribbon— that’s actually what it’s for,” Jyn ventures shakily, needing to spill some of this out, now. She is a private person by nature, not prone to sharing details about her personal life, but a crack has formed and now the pressure begs for equilibrium.
Shara pauses in her labors, looks over at Jyn in question. She swallows, breathes out, steadying herself. “When I was with the Partisans… it was a kind of custom. A practice. Marriage wasn’t exactly a reality. And it wasn’t as if you could put your name up on a board or whatever.” Shara frowns, turns more fully to her on the bench. Jyn’s heart is hammering in her throat. She’s starting to realize the enormity of what she is about to imply. The very poorly hidden wish behind the thought process that had seen her carefully slice the ribbon of blue from Cassian’s old parka and weave it into her hair this morning. “If you… were with someone— wanted to be exclusive or whatever… you’d tie a sash over your arm, weave it into your hair, wear it over your neck. The brighter, more unusual the color the better. Yellow was a favorite. It… warned others away, I guess. Told others that you weren’t available. Weren’t interested.” She trails off, shrugging, cheeks blazing.
Shara is quiet for a beat, considering Jyn’s words with a frown. Jyn shifts, her nerves prickling with embarrassment. She picks her brush up again. “I know it’s silly—“
“No, no!” Shara rushes to assure, curling both her hands over her arm. “I was actually just thinking what a genius idea that is. Would make things so much easier around here. For me… and a lot of other folks, I’d wager. Everyone here is so damn horny. Just makes things… clear.” She smirks at Jyn, nudging her playfully. “Sick of having to shoot a bunch of nerf-brains down every other day, huh?”
Jyn blinks, not quite knowing what Shara is implying… at least at first. She smirks at her, understanding settling in, and shakes her head ruefully. “Maybe you need to be more threatening, Shar. No one approaches me because they’re scared of me… or of Cassian.”
Shara nods. “That… actually makes a hell of a lot of sense.” She puffs out a sardonic breath through her nose. “It’s not like anyone is scared of Kes, after all.” Jyn shrugs, tacitly agreeing. She really liked Kes, and so did Cassian, but he certainly wasn’t an intimidating presence. “If that’s the case… why the ribbon?”
Jyn startles, having assuming the subject had been closed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if you’re not getting hassled… why the ribbon to warn people away?”
Jyn blinks, shakes her head. “It’s not just—“ She falters, licks her bottom lip. “It’s not just to warn others away. It’s to show that… I belong to someone—” She flinches at that. “That… sounds weird, but—“
“No, no… I get it.” Shara’s eyes are bright when she looks at her, her smile small but genuine. Knowing. She reaches out, strokes Jyn’s braid, admiring the ribbon. “I know what it feels like… to want to belong to someone.” Her eyes shift back to her face. “And to want everyone to know it.”
Jyn’s chest hitches, breath caught in her lungs. She shakes her head, finds herself grinning from ear to fucking ear despite herself. “Never in my kriffing life did I ever think I would want that.” She swipes quickly at her eyes, sniffs.
“Or have someone worthy of belonging to, I’d wager. Especially in war,” Shara says quietly. Jyn squeezes her eyes shut. Shav it, is this what being in love was? Bursting into tears when just thinking of your partner? “Andor is worthy, yeah?”
Jyn barks a wet, breathless laugh, wipes the corner of her eye with the heel of a hand. “Do you honestly think I’d be sitting here crying like a little girl if he wasn’t, Shar?”
Shara says nothing, simply pulls her in for a hug, and Jyn lets her.
+/+/+
It starts with Shara.
The next day, Jyn’s on her way to meet K-2 to complete some diagnostics on the ship her and Cassian were due to fly out on a mission in three standard days. Jyn sees Shara chatting with a knot of rapt, young recruits in front of her X-Wing. Shara beams, waves, a flash of bright blue tied around her right bicep, prominent over her orange flight suit.
Jyn smiles, waves back. Her chest warms and she brushes her fingers over the bolt of blue in her braid. But then K-2 is stomping toward her, somehow looking annoyed, and Jyn thinks of it no more.
But then, by the time her and Cassian return from their mission almost 19 days later, she can’t help but notice the small glimmers of blue of various shades as they descend the ramp from their ship and move through the crowded hangar.
“Something seem… different to you?” Cassian mumbles, leaning close to her ear. Jyn looks him over, a bit startled. He really must be fucking exhausted. The regular Cassian would immediately know what was different— down to the shades of the fucking blue— and make note of it immediately.
She shrugs. “We’ve been gone awhile.” Cassian’s progress slows and Jyn turns back to him, throws a hand out in question.
He looks around, frowning, his brow scrunching in concentration. It’s kind of adorable, unfortunately for Jyn. His eyes return to her, gaze sharpening as he steps toward her. He reaches out, pinches her braid in his fingers, thumb stroking over the slip of blue. She’d been impatient to shed her cover as they’d set off for Hoth, to scrub her skin and throw her familiar fatigues and tactical vest back over her shoulders— to feel like Jyn again. And that had included the ribbon.
“You started this,” Cassian states, looking at her in question.
“Started what?” she hedges. Force, why is he so damn observant and Force, why does she still think she can fool him?
He snorts, familiar with this game. The corner of his mouth quirks up as he waves a finger to the passersby. Just about a quarter to a third of their fellow rebels— male or female, human or alien— are sporting a blue streak of some sort. “I remember when you put that ribbon in your braid.”
“Oh, do you?” Jyn asks, flippant, even as her heart clenches. Typical of him to not mention it, to not ask about it. Stars, she wouldn’t be surprised if he knew what the ribbon was made from. So much like him, to just let her do what she will, without comment, because he knew the light of scrutiny— even if just innocent interest— could sometimes be much too bright and hot for her. “Surely you’re not accusing me of being a fashion trend setter?”
He puffs a laugh, looking to his feet and shaking his head. “No, no… but— something else is going on.”
She shrugs, playing it off, and turns to continue on her way to their bunk. She wants to, for one thing. And for another, she’s just not sure if she’s ready for this conversation. Not yet, anyway, while her bones are yearning for a hot shower and her soft bed.
“You’re nuts,” she throws over her shoulder for good measure as Cassian catches up to her.
“I’ll figure it out,” he tells her, eyes twinkling as he looks down at her. “Just a matter of time.”
She shakes her head, rolling her eyes in dismissal, but has to turn her face away so he does not see her blush.
+/+/+
“You can stay with me, you know,” Bodhi tells her as they pick their way through the main hallway to the hangar. It’s early morning and the corridor is crowded, various missions and transports either disembarking or else returning at this time of day. The flux sets Jyn’s teeth on edge. She inwardly curses herself. You’d think she’d be used to this by now. “While… Cassian’s away, you know? I’m on my quarterly leave starting tomorrow… will be planet side for ten standard days.”
She softens at her friend’s kindness. “You’re the best, Bodes… but Cassian’s gone only for a couple of days.”
Her friend shrugs. “Yeah, okay… but still. Offer stands.”
Jyn grins. “You know I’m always up for parting you with a few credits at the game table.”
Bodhi nods. “And I’m always up for beating you at dejarik.”
Jyn rolls her eyes, about to launch into her usual rebuttal about her hatred for that particular game, but her mouth snaps shut and she draws to a sudden stop as they approach Cassian’s ship.
Cassian is sitting on a supply crate under the port side wing, arms leaned on his thighs, studying a datapad. There’s nothing particularly remarkable about how he looks, how he’s reposed— scruffy cheeks, messy bangs, garbed in his usual fatigues and vest. Hells, he is even sporting his characteristic frown that tends to form on his face when he’s focussing.
What stops Jyn in her tracks is the dark blue fabric wrapped about his hand and wrist— almost like a bandage, bright as a torch against the black plastic of the datapad.
Bodhi halts a few steps ahead of her, turns back and blinks at her in vague concern. “You okay there, Jyn?”
At the sound of her name, Cassian’s eyes dart up from his datapad and quickly find her. His face lights up and Jyn finds it entirely too difficult to resist the smile that stretches over her lips. He places the datapad aside and lifts himself from the crate to stroll over to them.
“Bodhi,” Cassian greets, nodding. His shoulders are high, something tense and anticipatory about his posture. It makes Jyn’s ears heat, oddly.
“All set for take off, Captain?” Bodhi asks with a smile.
Cassian shakes his head, inclines his head towards Jyn. “Not quite.”
Bodhi glances back at her and shakes his head in a knowing sort of way. “Right,” he mutters, nods. “Captain,” he says with a nod, and leaves her and Cassian alone under the wing of his ship.
“Hey,” Cassian murmurs to her.
“Hey,” Jyn murmurs back, a little ashamed at how weak her voice sounds.
“Come to see me off?”
“What else would I be doing?” she counters as he steps closer. She has to crane her neck back to look into his eyes, sparkling in that way that made her fucking melt like a dumb teenager. Reminds her of another time he’d approached her in a crowded hangar, a lifetime ago, now. She glances down at his hand. “Can’t believe you caved… never took you for a trend follower.”
Cassian’s tiny little grin widens, digs deep into his cheeks and Jyn nearly swoons. “I’m not… as a rule. But this trend seemed particularly… pertinent to me, specifically.”
“Did it?” she asks, voice wavering. He steps ever closer to her, cups the side of her face in his blue-wrapped hand. The cloth is supple, soft, cool. Expensive. Where had it come from?
“Aye, it did,” he intones, voice low and solemn now. He presses his brow to her own.
“Is it because blue is secretly your favorite color?” she rebuts, somehow, even as her breath is weak, as her knees are wobbling. She curls her hands into his vest. She knows better— his favorite color is green.
He shakes his head, puffs a little laugh. “I heard that it was a way of letting people know you belong to someone.”
She laughs weakly, something like a sob trapped in her throat. “Is that right?”
“And seeing as though I belong to you,” he presses on, voice a rasp, “it was an easy decision to make.”
A long, ragged breath shudders out of her. She can’t maintain the playful, blasé air anymore. She tugs on his vest. “Will you please kiss me already?”
She just catches his quiet chuckle before he complies.
It’s not exactly an unusual thing for them to be doing in the full sight of dozens of and dozens of people, but they certainly have never made it a habit and certainly have never kissed quite like this before, in such an exposed location. But Jyn can’t really bring herself to care. She holds his face to her own, deepens the kiss with a sigh that sounds a little too desperate, considering the circumstances.
Fuck, how did this happen to her?
“You do realize that this is a simple recruiting mission?” the very unwelcome voice of K-2SO crashes through their reverie. “The captain’s life is not in danger… and he will be back in four standard days.”
Her and Cassian break apart, smirking at each other knowingly, but neither let go of the other. Jyn leans to her right, where K-2 is standing behind Cassian, looking over them both in a reproachful sort of way. Force, she really could swear that the droid was able to emote. “There’s no need for this sort of behavior,” the droid continues, annoyed. “Especially in the main hangar.”
Jyn wants to tell him nothing is certain in war, that even the simplest, safest, most straight-forward mission can go awry… but she cannot bring herself to sully this moment with such a bleak reality.
“Thanks, K,” Jyn returns, voice flat.
Cassian snorts. “Give us a minute, K?” he says over his shoulder.
The droid hesitates, like he might protest further, but finally decides against it and continues his way into the ship to complete his pre-flight checks.
Cassian turns back to her and Jyn bites her lip against the dumb smile threatening. “Who told you?”
“Shara.”
“Of course,” Jyn muses, shaking her head.
Cassian leans in once more, kisses her again. This time, far more innocently, but no less tender. Loving. “You beat me to it. As usual.”
Jyn frowns. “Beat you to what?”
Cassian says nothing, simply looks at her for what is probably only a matter of seconds, but feels like an eternity to Jyn. His eyes are roving over her face as if unable to drink in enough of her, dark and dulcent and beautiful. Jyn feels the warm trail of them linger under her skin. He finally moves, digs into his trouser pocket, and hands her a box.
It’s nondescript, no markings or adornments to indicate what might be inside. She studies it, running her thumbs over its smooth surface, bewildered and caught quite off guard.
Cassian smiles, something a little sad about it, inclines his head to the drab little box she clutched in her hands. “Open it,” he instructs quietly.
She does as told, haltingly, feeling a bit outside of herself.
Inside is a metal bangle, nestled in scrap cloth. It gleams in the harsh flood lights of the hangar, iridescent and flowing with swirls of white and blue and green. Her breath hastens, her limbs tingle. It’s absolutely beautiful.
“What is it?” she asks, breathless.
“It’s a precursor… some sort of alloy. I don’t know… Chirrut explains it a lot better.” That hadn’t been strictly what she meant, but it’s a good enough answer for now. She strokes her fingers over the metal. It’s cool, smooth, but softly dimpled. It’s been hammered and sanded by hand.
Cassian clears his throat, shifts on his feet, looks down to the ground. Is he seriously nervous right now? “It’s essentially a slurry that occurs naturally in kyber caves. Those colors in there… it’s essentially kyber dust.” He shrugs, swallows. “It’s called star-stone, even though it’s a metal. It… reminded me of you.”
Is she going to faint? She thinks she might faint. Force. “Cassian,” she gasps before she throws her arms around him. She pulls him tight against her, unable to tolerate feeling even the barest space between them.
Cassian wraps himself around her, buries his face in her neck. “Jyn… it can just be a bracelet… if you want.”
“Kriff, you’re thick sometimes,” she whispers harshly over his shoulder. She leans away, cups his precious face in her hands. “You honestly want me to think that you’re just giving me jewelry for the hell of it?”
Cassian shrugs. “It doesn’t have to be more than that, Jyn,” he reiterates, voice low and throaty. It sets her pulse higher, her blood warming. “You can put it on now… or whenever you’re ready... and it can mean whatever you want it to when you do.” He shakes his head a little, looking dazed. “But when Shara told me about the ribbon… Force, Jyn.”
He says no more, and she doesn’t need him to. She knows what lives in those words. In his tiny, love-struck smile. They had latched onto each other after Scarif, perhaps before even then, and had not let go. Cassian and his confident, gentle guidance had helped seal them together at the beginning… but when it came to the progress of their relationship, how fast or how slow things would move— Cassian had ceded the controls to her. Had allowed her to push and pull as she would. Because that is what she needed, and he was always willing to give her what he needed.
But he needed, too. He needed her to guide him, and that is exactly what she had accomplished when she’d weaved that unassuming piece of cloth into her hair in the first place: that she chose him. Every day.
“Cassian…” she begins slowly, quiet, “what does this mean? On Ferrix?”
Cassian’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t seem all that shocked that she had guessed where this gesture had originated. His hands on her waist stiffen. He’s nervous again. “It’s a bit more traditional… than the ribbon, anyway.” Jyn waits, suspended both in disbelief and a strange, sharp knowing of what he’s about to say. She can scarcely breathe. “It’s… it’s a promise. A declaration to whoever you give it to that you want to marry them. Someday.”
Jyn doesn’t know what to do, what to say. As long as her and Cassian have been together, as much as they’ve been through, as mightily and fiercely and confidently as he has loved her… her first instinct, as always, is to not believe it. Not believe him. Jyn Erso is not marriage material. Jyn Erso never wanted to be a wife. Was not suited to be a wife.
Wife. What a word.
But she looks at Cassian and he looks at her, his smile small, nervous, but loving, and that’s all the assurance she really needs. She unwinds her arms from his neck, takes the bracelet from the box, and pulls it over her left hand and onto her wrist, and looks back up at him, brave and confident and determined.
Cassian’s face betrays very little. Even now, his spy training hasn’t let go, but Jyn knows better. As he reaches for her wrist, she can see his hands trembling. And that is quite a tell. She’s seen him caught in a firefight, seen him bleeding and broken in a medbay bed, watched as he flew a ship through the debris of a crumbling planet. And never once did his hands shake.
“Here,” he mumurs, circling the band of metal in both of those shaking hands. “Star-stone is malleable under warmth, but it’s durable. It will never seize or break… no matter how much you reshape it.” He presses his thumbs upon the open ends of the bracelet until they overlap each other and its snug on her wrist. Not able to simply be pulled off at the end of the day before she hops in the ‘fresher. “It’s water resistant… won’t rust. It’s also non-reactive, non-corrosive—“
“Good,” she cuts across his nervous fretting. “I wasn’t planning on taking it off.”
At least some of the tension seems to leave Cassian’s shoulders, and he sighs, his smile returning, deeper and warmer. He leans closer, brushes his nose over her own. “I’m glad you like it.”
Jyn’s eyes flutter closed. She breathes him in and it soaks into her very blood, weighs down her insides both in comfort and in grief— she isn’t sure if she has the strength to watch him leave her, now.
“I love it,” she corrects him, grave. She breathes out a rattly sigh, her hands shaking within Cassian’s own. He is watching her, intent as ever, but his eyes betray how happy he is, how grateful.
That gives her the courage she needs to say what she wants to next: “As soon as you get back… how about we get married?”
He barks a shocked laugh, every shred of apprehension or caution melting from his shoulders. He cups her face, thumb stroking her cheek. “That soon?”
She smiles, watery and wavering. “What? Do you need time to plan your fairytale wedding, Captain?”
He shakes his head, his grin turning wide and maybe even goofy. “You always were impatient.” He leans toward her mouth. “I love that about you,” he whispers and then he’s kissing her again and oh Force why does he have to be leaving? She just wants to drag him back to their bunk and do unspeakable things to him—
“Honestly, can you two control yourselves?!” K-2’s voice once again rudely interrupts them. This time, though, Jyn and Cassian take their time parting. Both panting a little, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. Both grinning like idiots. “We are due to leave in four minutes, Captain,” the droid barks, sounding much like a scolding mother. He turns and stomps back into the ship without prompting, this time, muttering something about “humans” as he goes.
“I should go,” Cassian whispers.
“You should,” Jyn returns. She stands up on her toes, kisses his bristly chin. “Sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back.”
“Aye,” he agrees, finally releasing her. He catches her left hand in both his own, presses his lips to her knuckles. “The sooner you can make me your husband.”
Husband. The word sends a thrill through her entire body so potent she nearly reels where she stands. It’s like being hit with a fucking electro-rod.
She can’t form words, but she knows he understands, anyway. She sees it in his eyes as he backs away and K-2 starts priming the engines.
“I love you!” she blurts, shouting over the noise of the ship. Cassian turns at the hatch entrance, smiles, strokes two fingers over the dark blue cloth over his own left wrist.
She watches his ship pull away, the tears in her eyes hot and damning, but not unwelcome, before she turns away.
She has some questions of her own for Chirrut Îmwe.