The jungle path from the landing zone is still glowing orange from the broken, flaming wreck of Poe’s X-wing. The engines spit sparks behind him, but Poe doesn’t even look back. His flight suit is half burned, sleeves tied around his waist, sweat mixing with soot on his face as he trudges forward through the humid D’Qar air.

He brushes a leaf out of his path, muttering under his breath as he walks. “—I’m fine… don’t need a lecture… wasn’t even that bad…” His boots crunch gravel and ash. “It was calculated. Mostly. I knew what I was doing. Totally under control.”

He shakes his head, scoffing to himself. “Everyone overreacts—one hyperspace skip and suddenly I ‘almost died’—please…”

He keeps rambling, dismissive, irritated, refusing to slow down. “I’m not reckless, I’m not—kriffing stars, I’m fine. I walked away, didn’t I? Ship’s the one that got the worst of it, not me…”

Then he hears your steps behind him.

Poe stops. Exhales sharply. His shoulders bunch, then drop.

Finally, he turns around to face you. His hair is wild, his face streaked with ash, his eyes tired despite the stubborn glint that always burns there. He looks at you like he’s expecting another explosion—not from the ship, but from you.

“Look,” he says, voice low, edged with exhaustion. “I’m fine. I’m alive.” When you scold him more he lets out a humourless laugh as he drags his gloved hand down his face. “I’m not apologizing for keeping myself alive. That’s ridiculous.”

His tone softens only by a thread, frustration slipping into vulnerability as he holds your gaze.

“I know what I’m doing out there. Even if it looks… bad.” He huffs, shaking his head at the burning wreck behind him. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”

And for the first time since he got here, Poe goes quiet.