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firstelevens · 9 months

Note

and 22 for sambucky, perhaps?? 🍯

22. don't say yes

It is, technically speaking, Sam’s fault that he ends up where he does. Usually, there’s a little more nuance, but this time around, it’s completely on him.

His mother had been fond of saying that eavesdroppers were bound to hear things they didn’t like, and little Sam had only had to test this theory a few times before deciding that she was right. The lesson had worn off at some point, though, as high school and college came and went, and as keeping your ear to the ground made all the difference as a soldier and later as a superhero.

But Sam doesn’t mean to eavesdrop on Bucky. Not really, anyway.

He pulls up to Bucky’s newly-purchased cottage and goes around back to drop off Sarah’s spare wheelbarrow. All afternoon at the docks yesterday, Bucky had been making noises about working on the garden at the new place, setting up a vegetable patch and hauling around some of the bricks left behind by the last owners to make up a little retaining wall.

When Sam had asked just how much experience Bucky had with growing vegetables, he’d mentioned that his Ma had kept a victory garden during the war, and then gone quiet until the boys burst in and demanded his attention. Bucky had gone back home not long after, and Sam had figured that the wheelbarrow and the extra gardening tools he’d pulled from the shed might be some kind of peace offering.

He sets the trowels and gardening gloves on the back porch and leaves the wheelbarrow nearby. It’s more habit than anything else that has him stopping to examine the boards and the porch railing, checking for rot or cracks. Sam doesn’t even realize that Bucky’s bedroom window is open, not until his voice carries out of it and into the yard.

“I promise I’ll be back soon,” he’s saying. “It’s just a quick errand.”

Sam furrows his eyebrows. He’d maybe expected Bucky to be on the phone, but it sounds like he’s talking to someone who’s there with him.

“The hardware store is close,” says Bucky, and the warmth in his voice is unmistakeable, “and the nursery’s not that far, either. I’ll be an hour, tops.”

He tries not to, but Sam can’t help but strain his hearing, trying to catch the reply from whoever is up there with Bucky. He can’t make out any words, but that doesn’t make him feel better. It’s 8 AM on a Saturday; whoever it is could easily just be tired.

It’s far too easy a leap from that particular conclusion to just why someone might be at Bucky’s house in the morning and too tired to really speak. Sam feels queasy all of a sudden.

Bucky had turned down an invitation to have dinner with them last night, and he’d left the docks in the late afternoon instead of hanging out like he usually did. Sam had assumed that he was going back to work on the house while it was still light out, but maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe Bucky had gone into town, or to a bar somewhere. Maybe Bucky had brought someone home with him, and that someone had stayed the night.

Sam is just trying to convince himself that there’s a perfectly platonic, rational explanation to all this when he hears Bucky’s voice again.

“Baby,” Bucky says, somewhere between affectionate and chiding. “Sam’s gonna be here any second; you know I can’t just leave him hanging.”

That’s not how you talk to a one night stand, Sam realizes, with a sinking feeling. That’s how you talk to someone who’s been around for a little while, and who plans to stay that way.

Had he missed the signs somewhere? Had he misread all those conversations that he’d thought were moments with Bucky, even when they’d been on their own separate world-saving missions? All the text messages and the scraps of time they’d caught together in New York or DC or here in Delacroix?

Bucky shyly admitting that he’d put an offer in on a house in town had seemed like a confirmation of something, like establishing solid ground for them to take those first steps together. Now, though–now Sam can’t help but wonder if that solid ground isn’t his to tread, if Delacroix was the choice not because it’s Sam’s home but because it’s someone else’s.

“You’ve got to give me my shirt back, Sweets; I can’t go out without it,” comes Bucky’s voice again, and this time, Sam makes himself step back, intent on hustling back to the truck and booking it out of here before Bucky realizes he was there at all.

He’s already drawing up an excuse in his head, trying to strike the right balance of a reasonable last second cancelation and nothing that’ll worry Bucky too much, but the extra distraction proves to be the last thing he needs. Sam runs right into the wheelbarrow, which falls against the nearby stack of bricks with an extra-loud clang, reverberating outwards like a bell.

“Fuck,” Sam murmurs, and has just enough time to right the wheelbarrow before Bucky is calling out the window.

“Sam, is that you?” Sam doesn’t say yes at first, still trying to salvage his escape plan, and Bucky calls out again. “Sam? Are you there?”

It’s only latent self-preservation instincts that remind him it’s probably a bad idea to make the former Winter Soldier think that there’s someone skulking around his property uninvited, and he finally makes himself answer.

“Yeah,” Sam calls back. “It’s me, sorry.”

There’s no response for a moment, and then the door to the back porch opens. Bucky is smoothing down his t-shirt like he just pulled it on, and Sam’s stomach lurches just a little.

“Hey,” Bucky is saying, “sorry I’m late; I just got caught up with- wait, what’s that?”

It takes Sam a beat to realize where he’s pointing, distracted as he is by Bucky’s ruffled hair and the pillowmarks on his face. Even as part of him grapples with what he’s just learned, he can’t help but feel happy that Bucky seems to have slept through the night.

“It’s a wheelbarrow,” he finally manages to say, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world. Sam clears his throat, but it does nothing to ease the sudden tightness he feels there. “Thought you might need one, for your garden and all. Plus, uh- we had some spare trowels and stuff at the house. No sense in buying new ones if you don’t need them.”

Bucky looks as surprised as he always does when he’s on the receiving end of a gesture like this, but he thanks Sam warmly. “If I supply coffee and snacks, d’you think Captain America might throw in his help along with the wheelbarrow?” he asks, grinning.

Sam smiles in spite of himself. “Maybe, but it better be some fancy coffee.”

“I think I can make that happen,” says Bucky, nodding. “You about ready to head out? Is there anything we need to take with us to the hardware store?”

“About that,” says Sam, trying to keep his breathing even, “I was thinking maybe it would be better if we rescheduled? I, uh- I know weekends can be busy, and maybe there’s stuff that needs your attention, so we can-”

“Sam, this is the stuff that needs my attention,” Bucky says. His eyebrows furrow after a second, and realization crosses his face. “Oh, wait, do you have something you need to do? Is the motor still giving you guys trouble on the boat? Because we can just head over there instead; the hardware store can wait, but Sarah can’t miss that afternoon charter.”

It would make for a good excuse, but the boat is just fine, and if Sam said otherwise, Bucky would insist on coming along to help. “It’s not that,” Sam says. “Sarah’s all set for the charter. I just didn’t want to take you away from anything important, or pressing, or, I don’t know, more enjoyable than a trip to the hardware store and the nursery. You know Hank and Lottie are going to want ten minutes of gossip for every ten minutes of shopping.”

“I’m counting on it,” Bucky says, giving Sam a slightly odd look. “I want to hear what the deal is with that new couple who just bought the flower shop.”

Sam shrugs. “Just want you to remember that it might take a while, that’s all.”

Bucky waves a hand. “I have time,” he says. “Might even be able to squeeze in a trip to the coffee place so I can put a down payment on your help with the garden.”

That, weirdly, is the final straw for Sam. He may be quietly jealous of this unknown person who’s loath to let Bucky out of bed in the mornings, but they deserve some consideration, at least. If Sam’s partner was going to spend the day gallivanting around after promising to be home as soon as possible, he’d want to know.

Just as Sam opens his mouth to finally address the elephant in the room, Bucky is continuing on, as oblivious as ever. “Let me just grab my shoes,” he’s saying. “And then we can head out.”

He turns and opens the backdoor again, but just before Bucky can step inside, they’re met with the loudest, most plaintive meow that Sam has ever heard. It’s followed by a few more: short, sharp mews of complaint, very clearly addressed at the person deemed responsible.

For a second, Sam’s brain processes ‘there is a cat in Bucky’s house and it’s mad at him’ to mean that a stray cat got in through an open window and found that it couldn’t get out. Then he looks back at Bucky and finds him sitting in the doorway, now cradling a tiny white kitten in his left arm.

The cat is mewling loudly at him, with more force than such a small animal should have, and Bucky…Bucky is nodding along to the complaints, murmuring comforting nonsense back.

“I know, I know, you told me not to go,” he says, gently petting the cat. “Sorry, baby. I should’ve taken you with me, huh?”

There’s one last meow in response, softer than the others, before the cat curls up in Bucky’s arms.

Sam, still astonished, glances from the upstairs bedroom window to Bucky and the cat and back again.

Sorry, baby, Bucky had said. You told me not to go.

“Wait, you were talking to your cat?” asks Sam.

Bucky frowns, looking confused. “That’s what this animal is called, yes. And I’m currently talking to her, so…yes to that, too?”

“No, I mean earlier,” says Sam, before he can stop himself. He feels his eyes go a little wide.

“Earlier when?”

“Uh, nothing. Never mind. Are you gonna introduce me to your cat, or what?”

But Bucky’s persistence is one of his best and most annoying qualities. “Earlier when, Sam?”

With the same consideration that he gives to a particularly risky throw of the shield, Sam makes himself answer. “Just when I got here. A few minutes ago, that’s all.”

“You heard me talking?”

“Yeah,” says Sam. “Your window was open and I was bringing the wheelbarrow around. I heard you saying you’d be home soon, and calling someone pet names, and I made an assumption. I guessed wrong, that’s all.”

Bucky arches an eyebrow. “So you were eavesdropping, then?”

“I was doing a favor for my friend and bringing him a wheelbarrow that’s almost as ancient as he is,” says Sam, his voice dry. “Not my fault you project like you’re on Broadway and aiming for the cheap seats.”

That gets a snort of amusement, at least. Sam steps onto the porch and takes a seat beside Bucky, holding out his hand for the cat to sniff.

“Sam, this is Alpine,” Bucky says. “Alpine, this is Sam.”

Alpine seems to deem Sam trustworthy enough, because she settles back down in Bucky’s arms and doesn’t tense when Sam runs a gentle finger along her back.

“How long have you had her?” asks Sam. “How’d I miss this cat hair on your extensively black wardrobe?”

“Two weeks,” says Bucky, “and I now own about a dozen lint rollers.”

“That’ll do it, I guess.” Sam laughs quietly. “You know the boys are going to want to meet her as soon as possible, right?”

“Sarah asked me to pick them up from school on Monday; I thought I might bring them by to see her then.”

Sam hums in acknowledgment and wonders if he’ll ever get used to the way Bucky has neatly folded himself into their lives.

He doesn’t get a chance to ponder it for very long, though, because then he feels eyes on him, a vibranium shoulder pressed into his own.

He has about two seconds to brace himself before Bucky asks, “So if you heard me talking to Alpine and didn’t realize I was talking to a cat, who did you think I was talking to?”

It’s been a long time since Sam acted or felt like a teenager, and he’s not proud to say that he defaults to a classic 16 year old response: shrugs a shoulder and says, “I don’t know,” as nonchalantly as he can,

It does not work.

“Sam,” says Bucky. “Seriously, it’s Saturday morning. Who would be at my house at 8 AM on a Saturday?”

Sam shrugs again, but this time he makes himself answer, even if he can’t take his eyes off his lap. “Someone who fell asleep here, maybe.”

“Fell asleep here? What does that even-”

“Buck, I know the aw-shucks routine was a real hit in the forties, but you don’t need to go around pretending not to know what sex is now.” Sam means for it to sound light, but the words feel sharp as he says them.

“That’s not what I was trying to do,” says Bucky, and Sam might be imagining it, but there’s something careful in his voice now. “I just didn’t think of it.”

“Right,” says Sam, flat. “Of course not.”

Because only someone with a definitely-more-than-a-crush on their friend and superhero partner would hear three sentences through an open window and immediately assume that they had a romantic rival. Normal people with normal feelings about their friend and superhero partner wouldn’t be fazed.

Part of Sam is searching for an exit strategy again, trying to figure out the best way to wriggle out of this so he can contend with the embarrassment in peace for a while before things go back to normal. He would break out an excuse to get going, except that Bucky is still talking.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t have come to mind before,” he’s saying, and Sam wants very badly for this conversation to end so he can be swallowed by the earth. “I just, um- I haven’t thought about entertaining people that way in a while, because there’s someone I’m interested in.”

It’s a medical miracle, Sam thinks, that he can feel like someone has punched him in the stomach and yet his curiosity still manages to seize control of his mouth and ask questions. “You sure you don’t have that backwards? It feels like the sort of thing that would be on your mind more, not less.”

He feels Bucky shrug beside him. “We’re taking it slow, I think.”

“Oh?” asks Sam, suddenly beset by chaste visions of Bucky sharing a milkshake with someone at the retro themed diner in Chalmette.

“Yeah,” says Bucky. “Not even any real dates or anything yet.”

Blessedly, the diner and the milkshake disappear. “No dates at all?” asks Sam, because apparently he likes pressing on bruises.

“No dates,” echoes Bucky. “But errands, sometimes.”

Sam furrows his eyebrows, finally turning to look at Bucky. “Errands?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, errands. Like, grocery store runs, or gardening,” he says, and it seems like the corners of his mouth are turning up. “Or even trips down to the hardware store and the nursery.”

Sam blinks. “Wait, what?”

There’s clearly a grin on Bucky’s face now. “I mean, I’m assuming that the hardware store doesn’t count as a date, because if it were a real date, I’d be getting flowers instead of a wheelbarrow.”

There’s a rushing in Sam’s ears as he processes Bucky’s words. For a moment, he can’t seem to make his mouth work. When he finally does, his voice is embarrassingly creaky, like he hasn’t spoken in days. “Next time,” he croaks. “Next time, it’s flowers, I promise.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, his smile widening. “Next time, then.”

“Okay,” echoes Sam. “It’s a date.”

#me: i'll stick to 500 words #me 2800 words later: oops #sambucky #sambucky fanfiction #zainab does ask meme things #taylor swift prompt fics #birdhapley #this might get cleaned up and end up on AO3 later WHO KNOWS #throw another one under the 'wrote it in one sitting in a fugue state' column #my fic

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sesamestreep · 1 year

Note

Taylor Swift prompts: Jyn/Cassian, 35

35. love me like I’m brand new (from this prompt list) Note: completely independent of Zainab's prompt fill from this week expanding her sambucky teachers AU, I was busy writing her a teachers AU for this prompt! Same hat, as usual! I meant to get it finished and published by our friendiversary (this past tuesday) but that didn't quite work out. Still, within a week ain't bad. Cross posted to AO3, if that's more your jam.

“Okay, I’m proposing a new drinking game,” Jyn’s voice crackles over the walkie-talkie. “Drink every time the DJ plays a song Cassian doesn’t know.”

Cassian whips his head around, looking for her but doesn’t see her anywhere in the crowded room. It is dark, though. And full of high schoolers who are mostly taller than her. She could be anywhere.

“Where are you?” he asks, into his own walkie-talkie. “I don’t even see you.”

“I am the night,” she replies, in her best Batman impression, which is not very good, honestly.

“We can’t play that drinking game,” Bodhi interjects. “We’ll be dead in under an hour.”

“Hey!”

“No drinking at prom,” Baze replies, bored.

“Wait, when did we make that rule?” Jyn asks.

“You better be joking.”

“I am, don’t worry. I take the safety and security of this event very seriously,” she says. “And I can’t think of anything worse than being drunk around high schoolers.”

“Drunk in front of your parents?” Bodhi suggests.

“That’s me every Christmas, baby!”

“Is this what we’re supposed to be using the walkie-talkies for?” Cassian asks.

“Wow, did you just tattle on me?”

“Chirrut, we’re gonna need a ruling,” Bodhi interjects.

“Ten-four,” Chirrut replies. “Definitely tattling.”

Jyn blows a raspberry directly into her walkie, and Cassian sighs. “I think he meant about the proper use of the radios, Chirrut.”

“Oh, then yes, this is exactly how I envisioned us using them,” he says.

“Best prom ever,” Bodhi says, dryly.

“Speaking of which, who’s in the lead in the flask count?”

“That would be my beloved, with a grand total of 12 so far,” Chirrut says, and Baze makes a point of groaning into the radio because he hates when Chirrut calls him pet names at work. “Followed by Cassian, with 8, and Jyn with 5. Bodhi and I are tied for last with 2 apiece.”

“Actually, Kay is in last place, with negative four thousand because he’s a little bitch who called out sick from chaperone duty at the last minute,” Jyn replies.

“Yes, let the record show Kay is in last place forever,” Chirrut says.

“Amen,” Cassian replies. “What are you doing with all these flasks, anyway?”

“Jyn, don’t you dare say Jungle Juice,” Bodhi says, immediately.

“JUNGLE J—hey!”

“Jungle Juice is never the solution to any problem!”

“You’re right about that,” she says. “Jungle juice is, at best, always just a neat way to go from having one problem to two problems.”

“To actually answer Cassian’s question, we generally just give them over to the central office,” Baze says. “With our report for the night. The administrative team decides what to do with that information afterwards.”

“We’re not really going to nerf these kids for getting rowdy at prom, are we?” Jyn asks. “We’re not even on school grounds.”

“I didn’t realize you were so tender-hearted, Erso.”

“Bite me, Andor! Just for that, I’m taking your second place spot in the Flask Olympics.”

“Flask-Off,” Chirrut replies.

“The Flasked Singer,” Bodhi suggests.

“Flask and you shall receive,” Jyn adds.

“Everyone shut the flask up and get off the walkies,” Baze interrupts. “You’re all giving me a migraine.”

Cassian tucks the radio back in his pocket and returns to his actual job of chaperoning. The students are all dancing to a song that he absolutely does not recognize, though it would require advanced forms of torture to get him to ever admit that to Jyn now. In the middle of the crowd, he spots Rey and Finn, still wearing their cheap plastic crowns from the prom court ceremony and doing some dance that involves windmilling their arms a lot. He shakes his head, and continues his sweep of the room, spotting Bodhi in a far corner and giving him a salute, which Bodhi returns.

“Flask-athalon,” Jyn says, at his elbow and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” he asks, not sure how she managed to sneak up on him.

“Bathroom,” she says. “Did you hear my flask joke? I thought of it on the way over, but I don’t want to get on Baze’s bad side.”

“So you chose to instead inflict it on me? What did I ever do?”

“Mean,” she says. “You’re so mean. And now you’re on my bad side. Was it worth it?”

“I’m not scared of your bad side,” he says, and it comes out all stupid and tender by accident. There was meant to be some bravado in there somewhere but he forgot, or he misplaced it, or something.

“They all say that,” Jyn replies, crossing her arms. Hers comes out tender too, probably also by accident. There’s a not-so-hidden but they don’t really mean it at the center of it. He means it, though.

“Everything alright?” he asks, and she frowns, confused. “On your patrol,” he clarifies.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Just had to comfort Rose Tico in the ladies’ room.”

“Poor Rose,” Cassian says. She had been in his office a handful of times last semester. Her sister is away at college this year, and she was having trouble adjusting. It seemed like she’d been doing better lately, though. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

“Well, Finn asked her to prom ages ago, as friends, but now he and Rey are kind of an item, but he still honored his promise to go with her and then he and Rey got voted prom king and queen and Rose had a meltdown that he only went with her as his date out of pity and that he’d rather be here with Rey and…it was a whole thing. Then, Jannah and Kaydel showed up to check on her and I gave them some space to work it all out.”

As if on cue, Rose re-enters the room at that moment, with Jannah grasping one hand and Kaydel holding the other. Cassian watches as they rejoin everyone on the dance floor and as Rey shrieks in delight at seeing them and throws her arms around Rose’s neck. Rose returns the hug, letting go of the other girls, and they sway like that, fully out of time with the music, for a good thirty seconds. Over their shoulders, Jannah and Finn are doing the robot while Kaydel pretends not to know any of them.

“Looks like they smoothed things over,” Cassian says, and Jyn nods, looking pleased.

“Every day. Every single day, I am so glad to not be a teenager anymore,” she says, while surveying the room.

“You’re preaching to the choir,” he replies. “I was such a pain in the ass back then.”

“You’re still a pain in the ass.”

Cassian laughs. “I was a different kind of pain in the ass, then. The worst kind.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she says, softly.

“Good,” he says, smiling. “That means I grew up into the sort of man my mother wanted me to be.”

Jyn doesn’t say anything to that, just watches the crowd of students with an inscrutable expression on her face. It was probably a weird thing to say, here, at prom, but it had just jumped out. She has that effect on him, strangely enough. He has this very stupid urge to be honest with her all the time, to just spit out whatever he’s thinking and feeling and pray that she finds it interesting or at least that it doesn’t scare her away. He’s still not sure what to do with that instinct.

Before he can decide, Bodhi’s voice crackles over the walkie-talkies, in stereo, since Jyn and Cassian are standing next to one another. “‘Look on my works, ye mighty and despair,’ suckers,” he says. “Chirrut, please bring my flask count up to four!”

“Four?” Jyn replies, unbelievably quick on the draw with her radio. “You got two off of one kid?!”

“I’m coming for your spot, baby!”

“Oh, it’s on now,” Jyn says, exclusively to Cassian. “I cannot let this kind of insult stand.”

Cassian pulls out his walkie-talkie. “Chirrut, does he get extra points for quoting Percy Shelley while confiscating flasks? Because I feel like maybe he should.”

“Traitor,” Jyn whispers, and then, into her radio, adds, “That’s not in the rules!”

“Agreed. This is purely a numbers game,” Baze replies.

“And Percy Shelley sucks!” Jyn says.

“Hey! Don’t make me come over there!”

“Bodhi doesn’t get extra points for style,” Chirrut interjects, over the radio, “but I am contemplating adding a ‘Best in Show’ category, with this in mind.”

“Wow,” Cassian says, mildly, to Jyn. “Now you can lose twice!”

“That invitation to bite me still stands, you know.”

“Oh, believe me, I do.”

Jyn stretches her arms out wide. “I should be on the move. I’m never going to take Baze’s spot if I stand here fucking around with you.”

“You’ll have to take mine first.”

“Oh, honey,” she says, patronizingly. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Y’all,” Bodhi’s voice crackles over the radio again, “I swear these kids are just drinking paint thinner.”

“Ew, did you try the flask?” Jyn asks into her walkie immediately. “If Bodhi gets to drink, we all do.”

“No, you absolute child, I just sniffed it.”

“And?”

“And I think it’s the last thing I’ll ever smell.”

Jyn sticks her tongue out at Cassian in disgust, making him laugh. “Easily half of mine have just been Fireball Whiskey,” he says, to the group.

“Ah, to be young,” Baze says, wistfully.

“You couldn’t pay me to drink that now,” Jyn says, just to him. “Actually, who am I kidding? I’m a public school teacher with student loans. You could pay me to do just about anything.”

“That is good to know,” Cassian says, raising an eyebrow at her suggestively, and she smacks his arm. “What? I have this fence at my place that needs painting and I–”

“First, Percy Shelley and now Mark Twain? Can’t I get a goddamn break around here?”

That is, of course, the moment two students choose to approach them and, naturally, they’re both on his caseload. They laugh nervously at hearing one of the teachers swear, but ultimately just ask Cassian if it’s okay for them to take a photo with him.

“Of course,” he says, straightening his jacket a little awkwardly.

“I’ll take it, if you like,” Jyn offers, holding out a hand. “I can work wonders with an iPhone.”

The two girls hand over their phones, and Jyn diligently takes a few shots with each of them. After a moment, she says, “Last chance to give Mr. Andor devil horns or bunny ears. Going once…”

“Okay, I think we’re good,” he says, stepping back to let the girls collect their phones from Jyn.

“Thanks, Mr. Andor,” one of them, Leida, says, brightly. “And you, Ms. Erso.”

“No problem,” Jyn says, looking amused.

“I really like your dress, by the way,” the other girl, Maia, adds.

“Oh, thank you,” Jyn replies, looking down at it self-consciously, as they head off. She returns her gaze to Cassian, looking ready to pounce. “What’s it like to have such ardent admirers?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says, rolling his eyes, even though he can feel his face warming up at her teasing. “Both of them are going off to ivy league schools with my help. That’s all it is.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it has nothing to do with how handsome you are.”

“You think I’m handsome?” he asks, delighted. “Jyn, I had no idea!”

“Then you’re as blind as Chirrut,” she grumbles, holding her radio up to her mouth. Before he can ask any follow-up questions, she presses the button and asks the group, “Are we tracking how many photos with students we take? Because I hate to admit this, but Cassian might be in the lead.”

“No way,” Bodhi responds. “I’ve taken so many!”

“Were we counting those?” Baze asks. “Chirrut, as master of ceremonies…”

“They’re going to have to start paying me extra to keep track of all these different competitions!”

“I was kidding!” Jyn exclaims. “Your students have seriously been asking for photos all night?”

There’s overlapping sounds of agreement from everyone, making Jyn frown.

“Those bastards,” she grumbles. “I let them eat lunch in my classroom so they don’t get bullied and they don’t even want a photo with me?”

“You see, this is where being a guidance counselor pays off,” Cassian says. “Sure, you need an advanced degree and you don’t make any more money, and you mostly deal with kids having breakdowns about FAFSA in your office all day, but sometimes, at prom, students will ask for a photo with you. That’s why Baze and I are crushing it.”

Jyn snorts. “Yeah, because I never deal with kids crying in the art room,” she says. “And besides, Bodhi is a teacher, just like me, and everyone likes him!”

“He’s an English teacher,” Cassian points out. “He pulls that Dead Poets Society crap with them and lets them recite poems while standing on their desks, or whatever. Of course they like him.”

“And I just teach them how to express themselves through art! Boring!”

“So boring,” he says, even though he sometimes thinks Jyn has the hardest teaching job in the whole school. She’s a photographer by training, but she has to teach every artistic discipline that the school can afford the supplies for. He’s been to her classroom when she’s doing her Senior Project Seminar, which functions like an independent study for the students to choose what they want to make for the semester, and she’ll be critiquing photos with one student, while helping another with a sculpture, and ordering supplies for the kids drawing with charcoal and pastels or painting with oils and watercolors. It makes his head spin just to watch.

“It’s not the dress, is it?” she suddenly asks, anxiously. “I know Maia said it was cute, but she wasn’t being sarcastic, right?”

“No, she—the dress is fine. You look nice.”

Jyn blinks at him, a little surprised, and really, it’s not like he never compliments her. Of course, caught wrong-footed like that, he immediately tries to backtrack. “I mean, it’s a little 90s, but that’s in again, apparently, so you’re good.”

“90s?” she asks, looking slightly insulted. “How is it 90s?”

“I don’t know, it’s just…black and plain. The neckline is kind of…you know…”

“I clearly do not! Didn’t you just say it was fine?”

“It is! There’s nothing wrong with the 90s! It’s not your actual prom dress, is it?”

Jyn gives him a withering look. “No, Cassian, it is not. I didn’t go to prom in the 90s, for one thing. I was in high school in the 2000s.”

“Close enough.”

“And I didn’t go to prom at all for what it’s worth.”

“You didn’t go to prom?”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t look at him. “Does that really surprise you?”

“Did no one ask you?”

She turns on him then. “Why is that your first thought?!”

“Because you said—I meant, because that would surprise me!”

“Sure!”

“I’m serious. I would be shocked, if that was the reason.”

“The reason was I thought dances were stupid and my uncle would have told me it was stupid and my boyfriend was older, so—”

“Ah, makes sense.”

“Don’t—it wasn’t like that.”

“Sounds like it was exactly like that.”

“It wasn’t—he was a nice guy. He would have gone, if I’d asked.”

“But you wanted to smoke weed and pretend to like the movie Fight Club in his basement instead.”

Jyn rolls her eyes again, but he can see she’s also fighting off a smile. “Something like that. Anyway, that was junior year and then…well, I dropped out, so I obviously couldn’t go to my senior prom.”

“I didn’t know that,” Cassian says. “You got your GED instead?”

“Yeah, after a year or two of fucking around and doing nothing with my life, I decided having a high school diploma and maybe a college education might be useful.”

“And boy were you wrong.”

She laughs. “Don’t tell the kids.”

“It’s part of my oath as their guidance counselor, don’t worry.”

“What about you? Did you do the whole prom thing when you were in school?”

Cassian shifts uncomfortably, checking to make sure none of their students are in earshot. “Uh, yeah, you could say that,” he says, once he’s satisfied they won’t be overheard. “I had kind of the typical prom experience, I guess.”

“I genuinely have no idea what that means.”

“It means, I was eighteen when I went to my prom, so I did the whole ‘rent a hotel room afterwards and get laid’ thing with my…girlfriend.”

Jyn covers her mouth with her hands, clearly hiding a laugh. “You did not!”

“I did,” he replies, cringing. “I’m not proud.”

“Is that where the healthy pause before ‘girlfriend’ came from? Shame?”

“It’s…we…” Cassian laughs. It’s been almost twenty years and he still doesn’t know how to explain his relationship with Bix to other people. It would almost be easier if they weren’t still friends, because then he could call her an ex and be done with it. He’s glad they’re still friends, for what it’s worth, it’s just so much more complicated to explain. “She wasn’t exactly my girlfriend.”

“Oh, no…”

“She was my best friend. She still is—one of them, at least.”

“Oh.”

“We went to prom together because, well, no one else asked either of us. And we decided to get a hotel room after because we were eighteen and no one could stop us and we wanted to…”

“Yeah, uh, I know what you wanted to do,” Jyn says, amused.

“It was one of those ‘let’s just get it over with, together’ kind of deals,” he says, feeling hot with embarrassment over his younger self’s antics. Everything feels so urgent and intense when you’re young, but that somehow fades with age. And he admits that even as an adult who’s still frequently urgent and intense. “It seemed like the best way to handle it, at the time.”

“So, you’re telling me that this was…your first time?”

Cassian nods.

“At prom?!”

“After prom! It’s not as bad!”

“By a very slim margin,” Jyn says, clearly taking pity on him. After a moment, she adds, “You said you and this girl are still close?”

“Yeah, we’re still friends. We tried to date afterwards, because it turned out we liked hooking up, but it wasn’t—we worked better as friends, ultimately. We’re still friends. I went to her wedding last year. I mean, I was in it, but that’s because I know her husband too.”

“Wait, Brasso’s wedding?” Jyn asks. He’d shown her and some of the staff pictures after he came back, he’s just now remembering. “You dated Brasso’s wife in high school?!”

“It was obviously before they knew each other. I mean, I introduced them, so…”

“That’s so weird.”

“It’s not that weird.”

“I just don’t have any exes I’m close with still,” she says, shaking her head. “Not close enough to be in their wedding. I mean, goddamn.”

“Bix is barely an ex-girlfriend, at this point. She’s like family.”

“Wow.”

“I’m guessing things didn’t end well with Fight Club guy?” Cassian asks.

“Technically, I think I was the Fight Club guy in that relationship,” she says, with a laugh. “And no, things didn’t end well.”

“Not something you like talking about, I gather.”

“Not really,” she says, looking far-off and sad. It’s possible there are tears in her eyes, or maybe it’s just a trick of the strobing lights coming from the DJ’s booth. “Not at prom, at least,” she adds, with a weak smile.

He smiles back. “Well, I’d offer to dance with you, to help give you the prom experience you never had, but all of these kids have cell phones and a video of us would for sure end up on the internet, which we should probably avoid.”

“Scared of going viral on TikTok with me?” she asks.

“Deeply, deeply scared, yes,” he says, putting his hand on his heart. “My worst nightmare is ending up on Good Morning America being interviewed about a heartwarming video of me that I didn’t know was being taken.”

“But maybe if we got famous, random people would buy supplies for our classrooms,” Jyn says, her enthusiasm clearly faked if the devilish glint in her eye is any indication.

“I’m a guidance counselor,” he says. “I don’t need supplies. I need someone to burn the College Board to the ground.”

“With enough followers on TikTok, we could probably make that happen.”

“Sounds like someone really wants to dance with me,” he quips.

“Well, it might be my last chance.”

The song changes then, to a chorus of coos from a group of students at the edge of the dance floor nearby, and Jyn laughs. Cassian, meanwhile, is sweating. He suspected that a few people knew he was interviewing at another school, but he didn’t want to bring it up to anyone until he was sure of his plans, one way or another. But, apparently, Jyn knows.

“Tell me you at least know who this is,” she says, pointing up to indicate she means the song that’s playing.

“I’ve never heard this song in my life,” he admits, a little breathlessly.

“But you recognize the singer?” she asks. Cassian shakes his head, and she laughs again. “How do you work in a high school and not know who Taylor Swift is?”

“I know who she is,” he objects. “I just don’t recognize her singing voice immediately, I guess.”

“I forgot. You sit in your windowless office and listen to Creed all day.”

“You caught me listening to Creed one time! It is not a habit.”

“Well,” Jyn starts to say, before pausing abruptly as two students pass in front of them. “Hold on, was that—?”

“Hey, guys,” Cassian calls, immediately, and the two boys stop in their tracks. “You’re not allowed to have that here. Hand it over.”

The students clearly take a moment to debate the merits of complying with this order, before one of them reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a flask. He hands it to Cassian with a mumbled apology, which he accepts with a nod and waves them back to the dance. Cassian flips the top open, and tips it in Jyn’s direction.

She sniffs it. “Peach schnapps,” she says. “Classic.”

Cassian retrieves his walkie-talkie. “Got another flask for the count,” he says. “Not sure if it goes to me or Jyn, though.”

“A group effort?” Bodhi asks. “Unheard of.”

“Half a point each?” Jyn suggests.

“I’ll give you each a full point for it,” Chirrut replies. “But please know your spirit of bipartisanship disgusts me to my core.”

“Noted,” Jyn says into her radio. To him, she says, “We should probably spread out. For actual security reasons, but mostly because I refuse to share a medal with you at the end of this thing.”

“Firstly, it’s a secondhand karate trophy for the top prize—”

“Okay, well, now I want it even more, so…”

“Secondly, you’re never going to tie me, let alone beat me—”

“Your confidence will be your downfall, Andor.”

“And lastly, who, uh…who told you I was interviewing for another job?”

She pauses at that, and looks him over. “Mon let it slip,” she says, after much consideration. “It was an accident, she didn’t mean to—”

Cassian waves away her explanation. “I’m sure,” he says. “I’m not upset.”

“She was ranting to me and Bodhi about something to do with the school board and—”

“So, you and Bodhi both know?”

Jyn winces. “Uh, yeah.”

“And Baze knows because I thought it was only fair that I told him I was looking for other jobs…”

“Which means Chirrut knows,” she says, and he laughs. “And I’m sure you told Kay.”

“Yeah, so that….is a lot of people,” Cassian says, weakly.

“It’s not like we’re going to judge you if you don’t get it.”

“I—why would you assume I won’t get the job?”

She blinks, caught off guard. “I don’t! That’s not what I meant. You probably will, but on the off chance you don’t.”

“They made me an offer,” he admits, and watches her deflate.

“Oh,” she says. “Well, then, congratulations?”

“I haven’t accepted yet,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous tic. “They’re going to call me on Monday, so I have until then to decide.”

“Do you know what you’re going to say?”

“Not yet. I’m still…thinking.”

“That’s not like you,” she says, crossing her arms. “You usually have your mind made up on stuff right away. You’re not a ‘last minute’ kind of guy.”

“Well, I’m glad you know what kind of guy I am,” he replies, feeling oddly adversarial. She doesn’t mean anything by it, but still. He doesn’t like hearing himself described as though he’s so predictable.

“Okay,” Jyn says, putting her hands up in surrender. “You don’t want to talk about it. That’s fine.”

“I’m just saying, you don’t know me like that.”

She blinks for a moment at that before she schools her expression into something more neutral. “You’re right,” she says. “I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’re going to do, and you probably won’t even tell me once you decide. You’ll let Mon, or Baze, or whoever, do that, instead.”

“That’s not—!”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she says. “I’m just your co-worker, not your friend, I guess.”

“Jyn…”

“We need to split up, cover more ground.”

He thinks about trying to stop her, but then it would just be a big scene involving two chaperones at prom, which the students would find endlessly intriguing. He doesn’t want to draw that kind of attention, so he nods, solemnly, like this is all very important, and lets her go. Still, he can’t help it that he spends the rest of the night trying to spot her in the crowd as much as he does any actual chaperoning.

“The winner of the 3rd Annual Yavin High Senior Prom Flask-athalon–”

“I knew that would catch on,” Jyn interrupts, smugly.

“It’s the only choice,” Bodhi says, grinning.

“Please shut up so we can all go home,” Baze grumbles.

“Yes, listen to your undefeated flask hunting champion, Baze Malbus!” Chirrut announces, with great flair, as he hands over the trophy, which, even in the dim lighting of the parking lot, Cassian can clearly read that the inscription says 'Under 12 Judo Champion'. “Congratulations, my dear!”

“Thank you so much,” Baze says, drily, as he accepts his prize unenthusiastically.

“This is so rigged,” Jyn puts in from the other side of the group. “Baze wins every year.”

“Baze is good at catching teens drinking illegally, I don’t know what to tell you!”

“It’s true,” Baze adds. “It’s on my resume.”

“You know, that would be so weird for any other job,” Bodhi replies.

“Well, I wish I could give you all trophies for your hard work this evening, but then you wouldn’t learn any important lessons about teamwork or whatever it is that conservatives get mad about when the topic of participation trophies comes up,” Chirrut says, mildly.

“Kids these days,” Jyn says, mockingly shaking her fist. “Not enough of them hate themselves!”

“It’s important to experience as much crushing disappointment and embarrassment as possible before you get out into the real world,” Cassian agrees.

“And experience even more disappointment and embarrassment!” Bodhi adds. “While also paying taxes!”

“Also, there are only so many leftover trophies I can steal from the dojo before they’d notice and fire me,” Chirrut says.

“On that bright note,” Baze interjects, “let’s all go home. It’s been a long night and absolutely none of us are getting paid any extra to spend more time together.”

“Beautiful sentiment as always, Baze,” Jyn says.

“Thank you again for all your hard work!” Chirrut says, even as Baze grabs him by the elbow and starts gently towing him away in the direction of their car. “Our students are very lucky to have such dedicated teachers and counselors!”

“Thank you, Chirrut!” Bodhi calls after them.

“Drive safe, everybody!” Baze calls over his shoulder once Chirrut stops fighting him and laces their fingers together instead for the short walk.

“Night, guys,” Bodhi says to Jyn and Cassian before he starts to head off towards his own car.

“Goodnight, Bodhi,” Jyn replies, while Cassian waves him off.

The parking lot is empty except for their cars at this hour. They’d all met at the school and made the ride to the venue together, that way no one could call out of chaperone duty with car trouble or anything last minute like that. Probably there was some team-building aspect, too, but Cassian suspects the former was the primary motivation. Now, it’s creeping up to midnight and all the students have moved on to their afterparties and bonfires and whatever else, while the venue staff has streamers to clean up and tables to clear, and the chaperones are all heading home after a very long day.

It had rained briefly while the prom was going on, though it had thankfully waited until everyone was already at the venue to do so, which means no one’s photos or hair was likely ruined by it. The hazy humidity that had hung around all day was now replaced by a damp chill and a light breeze. The condensation glitters like jewels on the few cars in the lot and their dewy windows glow green as the streetlights reflect off of them. The wet ground blares with streaks of red light as Baze’s car starts up and his brake lights come on.

“Where’d you park?” Cassian asks Jyn, who’s still standing there, rooting around in her bag for her car keys.

“Oh,” she says, as if she wasn’t expecting him to address her. “Over there, by the auditorium.”

“Me too,” he says, nodding. “I’ll walk you.”

Having successfully retrieved her keys, Jyn brushes this off. “You don’t have to.”

“It’ll give me a chance to apologize.”

“It’s not that long of a walk.”

“I’ll talk fast,” Cassian replies, and holds out his arm as if to say, after you.

Jyn takes the hint and starts walking, allowing him to fall into step next to her.

“I’m sorry about what I said before, about you not knowing me very well. I didn’t mean to imply we aren’t friends, or that I don’t value your opinions, or anything like that,” he says, letting it all go like an exhale, because otherwise he won’t get the words out at all. “The problem is that I think you know me a little too well sometimes, and it honestly freaks me out. And tonight, you said the exact thing I was already worried about out loud, so I just panicked and tried to push you away.”

“The thing I said about waiting until the last minute really upset you that much?” Jyn asks, arms crossed over her chest. It takes him a second to realize it’s probably because she’s cold, and not because she’s mad at him. He starts to take off his suit jacket, but she stops him with a glare. “God, don’t.”

“You look cold.”

“I am cold, but my car is twenty yards away. I’ll live.”

“Fine.”

“Answer my question.”

Cassian stuffs his hands in his pockets just to have something to do with them. “Yes, it did upset me to hear that. I’ve been annoyed with myself about the same thing and I hated that it was obvious to you too.”

“Well, then, I guess I’m sorry too,” she says, earnestly. “I wasn’t judging you or anything, and I wasn’t trying to make you upset.”

“I know that. And thank you. I just—I can’t make up my mind what I want to do, and it’s very frustrating.”

“Do you think talking about it would help?”

“I’m not sure. The logical part of my brain is telling me to go, to take the new job. It’s more money, I’d be the head of the department in a better funded school. And while I love it here, unless Baze retires—”

“Which he won’t. At least, not for a long time.”

“Exactly, but still, that’s the only way I can move up and make more money. Unless I go to another school.”

“I get it,” Jyn says, and it sounds like she means it. “Those are valid considerations.”

“But I really do love it here,” Cassian objects. “I love the students, and I love the staff. I love working with all of you.”

“Yeah, and I bet all the teachers at that new school fucking suck,” she adds, with a malicious glint in her eye.

“I mean, what are the chances they do a yearly Flask-athalon at their prom?”

“It’s extremely unlikely,” Jyn says, somber now, “and if they do, they owe me and Chirrut royalties.”

“So, you see my dilemma?”

“I do. And I accept your apology, for what it’s worth. I didn’t know I’d be bringing up such a fraught subject for you. I would have been more careful, if I’d known.”

They arrive at Jyn’s car then and Cassian has to laugh at finding it parked one spot away from his own. The parking lot had been full when he got here, with a lot of underclassmen still around for extracurriculars and team practices and faculty staying late to do work, so he just picked the first spot he found. He hadn’t even noticed her car there, because someone had been parked between them. Now there’s just an empty space, where they stop to finish their conversation.

“It’s really fine,” he says, as he looks over at her. “I overreacted.”

Jyn shrugs one shoulder up to her ear, still looking cold in a way he finds provoking. He really wishes she’d just take his jacket. “It’s a big decision.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know you won’t get rid of us just by going to another school, right?”

“Yes, but we’ll all see each other a lot less,” he says. “And you know how these things go. We’ll promise to stay in touch, or to get drinks, or just to see each other regularly, but we won’t. We’ll drift apart, sooner or later.”

“So, don’t take the job,” Jyn says, watching him carefully.

“What about all that other stuff–the money and the promotion and everything?”

“Who cares?” she says and he laughs, hopelessly. “I’m serious! If you were actually that motivated by money, you wouldn’t work in a public school. You wouldn’t have even gone to school for counseling, for that matter. So, turn it down.”

“But doesn’t that make me…kind of…?”

“Kind of what?”

“I don’t know! Ridiculous? Sentimental? Turning down more money to stay with my friends?”

“Again, I ask you: who cares?”

“Well, I fancy myself a very cool, detached person.”

Jyn snorts. “You?”

He frowns at her. “Yes, me! You don’t think I’m cool and detached?”

“No,” she says, “not at all. Are you crazy? You’re the least cool person I know!”

“Wow, thank you.”

“I mean, not that you’re not cool like—I’m saying you’re not too cool for anything, you know? Like, you care so much about everything! Even dumb bullshit that no one else can be bothered to even pay attention to, you care about it! I don’t know how you do it. I’m an art teacher, I’m supposed to be all passionate all the time, and I still feel like a robot compared to you. It must be exhausting to care so much.”

“That’s your impression of me?” Cassian asks, a little bowled over.

“I meant all of that as a compliment,” Jyn says, looking nervous. “And I didn’t mean to go on and on about it, I just—you assume everyone is like you, that they’re as good as you and they care as much, and I sometimes think you don’t see that you’re special. It’s the best thing about you, how much you care.”

“And I thought the best thing about me was my eyes,” he responds, weakly.

“Well, you do have nice eyes, that’s true,” she says, looking down at her shoes.

“I do have another reason—a selfish one—for thinking of accepting the new job.”

“What’s that?”

“I think that if there was someone here—someone on the faculty here, I mean—that I maybe wanted to date, it would possibly be less weird for us if I worked at a different school,” he answers, with his heart in his throat.

“Oh,” Jyn says, still not meeting his eye. Her foot scuffs back and forth on the pavement anxiously. “I guess, in that case, you would probably want to be sure that this person is actually interested in you before you make any huge life decisions with her—I mean, them—in mind.”

“I’m pretty sure she is interested in me too.”

“How do you know?”

“She just told me I have nice eyes,” he says.

Jyn looks at him then, her gaze lifting to his face suddenly as she narrows her eyes. “Seriously? How long have you—?”

It doesn’t take much effort—two steps, really—to get close enough to draw her into his arms and kiss her like he’s been wanting to basically since the day she started at the school. She makes a surprised noise that’s immediately muffled by their mouths coming together and then it’s just them kissing. Finally. And it’s every bit as good as he imagined it would be, with her kissing back with as much intensity as he’d expect from the person who loves to give him hell on a daily basis. Her arms come to wrap around his neck, dragging him down to her level, and his clasp around her lower back, desperately trying to afford them some stability in this position.

“The others are gone, right?” she asks, more or less against his mouth.

“Uh…” He turns his head, peering across the parking lot, which gives Jyn access to his jaw and his neck and he’s not mad about it, though it does make thinking straight more difficult than usual. He doesn’t see any other cars left. “I think it’s just us.”

“Good,” Jyn says, and pulls him with her by his shirt until her back hits the side of her car. Once settled there, she leans up for another kiss, and he has to brace himself against the door to stay standing. The condensation from the window wets his palm and makes him shiver, which makes Jyn laugh. He doesn’t bother explaining, since he’s not sure he could convince her that it has nothing to do with kissing her.

They make out like idiots, in the parking lot of the school they work at, where anyone could see them, for an inadvisably long time. By the time they come up for air, he has thoroughly ruined Jyn’s hair, the straps of her dress are hanging loosely off her shoulders, and anyone who looked at her would know she’d been doing some very serious kissing. Cassian is sure he’s looking equally disarrayed. Despite them being pressed closely together, he can feel the goosebumps rising on her skin and chafes her arms with his hands to warm them.

“How long?” she asks, softly, wearing an amused smile that might be at his attempt at gallantry or something else entirely. When he gives her a questioning look in response, she adds. “How long have you wanted to do that?”

Cassian pretends to think about it. “How long have you worked here?”

“Two years.”

“There’s your answer.”

“Really?” Jyn asks, astonished somehow. “I thought you hated me when we first met.”

“You made me nervous,” he says, still caressing her arms. “You still make me nervous.”

She loops her arms around his middle now, pressing them together in a way that feels very dangerous in a school parking lot. He clears his throat in the most obvious fashion imaginable and she gives him a knowing smile.

“That’s not the only thing you make me, for what it’s worth,” he points out.

“I gathered as much,” she says, pleased with herself.

He raises a hand to cup her cheek, drawing his thumb gently over the corner of her mouth. “You know, a nice person would say something about how I make them feel, at this point in the conversation.”

“You already got a whole speech about how passionate and sexy you are,” she objects. “Don’t be greedy.”

“I don’t think the word ‘sexy’ came up in that little speech of yours, actually. Could you maybe elaborate on that?”

Jyn shakes her head before she leans in to kiss him again, this time trading their earlier desperation for a slower pace. “Not here,” she says, once she’s drawn him in again. “Not to be corny, but my place or yours?”

“Whichever’s closer,” he says, immediately.

She laughs and bites her lip to try to hide it, which is very distracting. “Good answer. I think that’s me, then.”

“I’ll follow you,” Cassian replies, with a nod towards his own car.

“You don’t want to just ride over with me?”

“I don’t want to park here overnight, and I do not trust myself in a car alone with you right now.”

“It’s a five minute drive,” she says, unimpressed.

“I could get into a lot of trouble in five minutes.”

“Okay, then,” she says, with a gusty sigh. “You might have to put your money where your mouth is on that one.”

“Don’t worry. I’m willing to put my mouth lots of places.”

“Idiot,” she laughs, swatting his arm. “Let’s go, then. I’m freezing and I’m wet.”

“You’re—well, that’s—oh, from the car! And the condensation…from the rain.”

“Wow,” Jyn says. “That was so smooth.”

Cassian laughs, and hangs his head. “In my defense, I—”

“Yes?”

He looks down at her, looking a little flushed and mussed up and still utterly defiant and perfect. “I just can’t believe it took me this long to get here,” he admits, even though it’s a stupid and besotted thing to say.

Jyn gives him an endearingly sweet smile. “And I can’t believe I’m going to hook up with you after prom. I mean, what a cliché!”

“I did offer to give you the prom experience you never had,” he says, with a laugh. “Besides, some things are cliché for a reason.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asks, gazing up at him. “Why’s that?”

He thinks about all the stories he’s heard about love at first sight. He thinks about all the couples he’s heard say they’re in love with their best friend. He thinks about everyone who’s said that, when you’re with The One, you just know. He thinks about every piece of dating advice that told him to find someone who makes him laugh. And he thinks about happily ever after.

“Because they seem stupid until they happen to you,” he says, simply.

Jyn doesn’t bother saying she agrees. She just pulls him in for another kiss.

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