[routine is a strange thing. usually, it's only found jyn in the worst of places, like stowed away in the cargo hold of some imperial freighter for monotonous days as she waits to strike, or, well — prison. she's never had reason to like or trust consistency, stability; being stupid enough to trust it just makes you that much less prepared to deal with the next inevitable round of shit flung your way.
in kenos, though, she's found that it isn't terrible to have some sense of stability. maybe she's still wary of fully trusting it, but she finds herself actually looking forward to the evenings that she and cassian share, finds that there's relief in coming home to someone. and even if sleep can't always be found (it's rarely found by one or the other of them, often both), there's relief in the presence of another trusted person, in being able to reach out and confirm that presence with physical touch.
but this relief, as it stands, is tenuous — and very often fraught.
it doesn't stick today, with cassian so heavy in her arms, practically collapsed against her; it doesn't stand a chance, with the way that heaviness seeps into her own chest, causes her heart to sink to the pit of her stomach. his misery becomes hers, and it's — a lot to hold onto.
she's carried his weight before, and she'll carry it as many times as he needs her to, but she wonders if having somewhere to land, like the bed just a few paces behind them, wouldn't make this just slightly easier for him.
a light thumb brushes the side of his face — just to get his attention, nothing more. and she asks, softly:]
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in kenos, though, she's found that it isn't terrible to have some sense of stability. maybe she's still wary of fully trusting it, but she finds herself actually looking forward to the evenings that she and cassian share, finds that there's relief in coming home to someone. and even if sleep can't always be found (it's rarely found by one or the other of them, often both), there's relief in the presence of another trusted person, in being able to reach out and confirm that presence with physical touch.
but this relief, as it stands, is tenuous — and very often fraught.
it doesn't stick today, with cassian so heavy in her arms, practically collapsed against her; it doesn't stand a chance, with the way that heaviness seeps into her own chest, causes her heart to sink to the pit of her stomach. his misery becomes hers, and it's — a lot to hold onto.
she's carried his weight before, and she'll carry it as many times as he needs her to, but she wonders if having somewhere to land, like the bed just a few paces behind them, wouldn't make this just slightly easier for him.
a light thumb brushes the side of his face — just to get his attention, nothing more. and she asks, softly:]
Can you walk with me?