The lights in the base had dimmed hours ago, but neither of you had moved. The two of you lay tangled in the narrow bed of your shared quarters—small, sparse, but for once, peaceful. The rebellion buzzed somewhere outside the door, but in here, wrapped in the quiet pulse of evening, the war felt far away.

Cassian’s arm rested around your waist, fingers splayed against the hem of the borrowed shirt you wore—his shirt, soft and worn and still faintly smelling of dust, fuel, and him. He hadn’t said much when you first curled into his side, only exhaled softly, like the weight in his chest had eased with the shape of you pressed close.

His voice was low when he finally spoke, rough like gravel smoothed by time. “We don’t get many nights like this.”

You turned your head slightly, cheek grazing the edge of his shoulder. “No. But I’m not wasting it.”

Cassian let out a slow breath through his nose, the corners of his mouth tugging up—tired, not quite a smile, but close. He looked at you then, eyes dark and warm in the dim. “If it were up to me,” he murmured, “we’d have a hundred more.”

Your fingers found his—calloused, steady, still clutching tight even in rest. “We’ll take what we get,” you whispered. “But for now, you’re mine.”

He kissed the top of your head, then held you closer, like he was memorizing the shape of the moment, knowing full well how easily it could slip away.