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As far as rebel hideouts go, Hoth does what it needs to. Any further off the Empire’s radar, and they’d be camping in the Unknown Regions. Cassian’s been a lot of places in the name of the rebellion, but he’s not keen to start checking out uncharted areas of space unless it’s absolutely necessary.
They’ve got enough problems at home.
It’s also cold. Like - really cold. Cassian has been cold before, obviously, but this is the sort of chill that seeps into your bones, that you can’t quite shake. It sets a constant ache in a leg that never quite healed properly, in a thousand other scars and scratches that are a part of the usual wear and tear of being a rebel fighter.
Pride might have forced his gait smooth, once, made him grit his teeth against the pain in private where the only person who needed Cassian to be strong and stoic was Cassian (he’s never been great at going after what he needs). But now - he allows himself the limp now. Tells himself it’s because of the cold and the change in job description, knows it’s because something in the centre of his chest has unknotted slightly in recent months.
“You look awful.”
The voice sounds disturbingly pleased with itself for noticing. Cassian glances sidelong down at Jyn Erso, who has fallen into step with him like he’d invited her. She’s clutching something warm and steaming in both hands, and he wins a small grin for his own deadpan expression.
“Speak for yourself,” he shoots back, like he has a leg to stand on. Her hair is falling loose from her bun (as per usual) and there are dark circles under her eyes (as per usual), and she looks--
Like everything he wants. And like she’s not getting enough sleep.
“Cassian Andor, ladies’ man.”
“I have better things to be spending my energy on.”
Jyn snorts, taking a sip of what he’s pretty sure is caf. They’re coming up on his room, and she’s showing no signs of changing direction. “Oh, really? Like what?”
Wordlessly, he slings his arm around her shoulders. It settles there like it belongs, and she does nothing to shrug it off. There’s a knot in Jyn, he thinks, that has loosened a bit in the past few months as well.
“I like to stay focussed,” he says finally, and is rewarded with a flush of colour in her cheeks. Jyn Erso, hero of the rebellion, who can beat a man to death with a stick and probably do a fair job of it with her bare hands as well, is surprisingly terrible at dealing with anything that might be a compliment.
Cassian enjoys their easy give and take, the ribbing that comes when your relationship with someone started on the uneven footing that theirs did. But he enjoys this part, too. The softer, gentler part that they seem to be bringing out in each other.
The warmth.
“You’re ridiculous,” she mutters, negotiating the door to his room without difficulty. She makes no move to get rid of his arm, and he makes no effort to remove it.
There’s a brief pause, a silent question hanging in the chill air between them as the door hisses shut behind them. Jyn offers him the mug, and he rolls his eyes down at her. It doesn’t stop him from taking a sip though, the bitter heat easing through him before he sets it aside.
“It’s cold,” she says finally. “Cassian. I’m so tired of waking up with all my joints locked in place.”
“There are easier ways of getting into my bed, you know.”
It’s an idle statement, born more from the urge to rile her up than anything salacious. Jyn elbows him in the ribs, and he sucks in a mixture of air and laughter as she wriggles out from under his arm, dropping onto his mattress and scowling up at him.
“No, there aren’t!”
“You must not have tried very hard then.”
“I’ll show you try,” and then her hands are around his wrists and she’s surprisingly strong for someone so much smaller than him (or perhaps it’s not surprising after all).
Either way, it doesn’t matter. Cassian goes willingly.
She’s not the only one tired of being cold.