Your bones ached. Ached deep, down to the marrow, a dull, unrelenting throb that no amount of bacta patches could quite chase away. You had barely stumbled out of the medical bay of the Resistance fleet before reporting back in. You and Poe had barely exchanged a glance after landing, too wrung out to talk, peeling away in separate directions as soon as you hit the hangar deck. What happened back there…

The outpost collapsing, fire and debris raining down, First Order troops closing in. A desperate hyperspace jump through an asteroid field, shields flickering, warning lights screaming. Your ship had been hit—bad. For a moment, Poe thought you wouldn’t make it back. You weren’t sure you had.

And now? You ached for the bad in your cabin more than anything.

You barely remembered changing, just that every movement burned, every shift of your limbs reminding you that you were still in one piece—but just barely. The moment your head hit the pillow, you were out. And sleep swallowed you whole.

It felt like a blink of an eye when you woke. Mouth dry, head buzzing, disoriented in that way only deep exhaustion could bring. The kind of sleep where time ceased to exist. The blanket over you was warmer now—different from the one you had pulled over yourself before. Tucked in around you.

Gentle.

Poe.

You knew it was him even before you felt the slow, careful smoothing of his hand over your forehead, fingertips tracing away the tension there. The dimmed lights didn’t sting your eyes, a kindness you knew was deliberate. A soft press of lips against your temple. Then the shift of weight, the rustle of fabric as he slid in beside you, careful, close, his warmth easing the ache in a way nothing else could.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he murmured, voice hushed, like anything louder would break you.

Your lips barely quirking up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, shaking his head slightly. His gaze flickered over you, eyes searching, before he leaned in—so gentle, pressing the softest kiss against your temple.