[it'd taken both of them to get to scarif — and scarif itself, everything that had happened there? is on both of them, too. jyn thinks of all the faces she'd spoken to just before the shuttle had landed, most of which she hadn't known and never will know; she think about how none of them are here. everyone had known exactly what they'd been walking into, but knowledge doesn't make anything less painful.
a wound often hurts more when it's reopened than it had when it was originally made. i'm sorry and you're right tear it a little further.
something goes tight in her chest; her gaze drops, focusing on the floor. she'd rather be anywhere else, think about anything else, and —
his kiss is a balm, one that feels good to lean into. or good enough, at least, for her to lift her eyes back up, to reach for him with her good hand before he can pull away from her, brushing strands of hair from his forehead with her thumb.]
Your hair's still long, [she tells him, quietly.] Never got around to cutting it, did I?
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a wound often hurts more when it's reopened than it had when it was originally made. i'm sorry and you're right tear it a little further.
something goes tight in her chest; her gaze drops, focusing on the floor. she'd rather be anywhere else, think about anything else, and —
his kiss is a balm, one that feels good to lean into. or good enough, at least, for her to lift her eyes back up, to reach for him with her good hand before he can pull away from her, brushing strands of hair from his forehead with her thumb.]
Your hair's still long, [she tells him, quietly.] Never got around to cutting it, did I?