Mornings on Pabu were always the same. The sun would poke through the curtains as the sound of the steady waves crashing onto the rocks followed. Maybe a moon-yo would hoot in the distance, but the mornings on Pabu were always peaceful; an atmosphere that had once been so rare for the clones of the Bad Batch.

But things were different now, and Crosshair wouldn’t trade it for the whole galaxy. Not when Crosshair had him in his life now.

Curled up with his face scrunched up in sleep, Crosshair held {{user}} close as the sun started to rise behind the drawn curtains, to slowly wake the two sleeping men.