"What if he doesn't come back," Bodhi's the one who gives voice to the fear, though Jyn must be thinking it. They lay side by side, only just touching at the knees, as if any tighter contact might encourage a total loss of control on one or both their parts.
"He will," the pillow crinkles as she lifts a hand and sets it beside his cheek, knuckles brushing beneath his eye. Jyn has always had enough conviction to reshape the universe to her will. Bodhi closes his eyes against the dark and lets the strength of her belief buoy him up.
"This is worse than that time you were on assignment in Botswana," he mumbles. Jyn makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sniffle, turning over to tuck herself close.
"I get it now," she says, "Why you were so stressed when I got home. Why you sometimes still are."
"It's the not knowing," Bodhi agrees. They've told her so before, he and Cassian, but this may be the first time she's gone through something similar (with either of them, at least; the rest of her family is constantly revolving through some permutation of at-risk or enemy-the-state). He lets her pull his face against her shoulder, and tells himself he's not taking advantage, that it's okay to feel small and uncertain in their emptier bed.
If he ever had the soldier's knack for sleeping on command, it's long since abandoned him. Jyn, who regularly kips in hardscrabble hotel rooms around the globe, does eventually nod off. Bodhi counts her breaths until he loses track, starts over again, repeats this cycle until the grit behind his eyes migrates down the back of his neck, his spine, his arms and legs, everywhere skin stretches over muscle. He flexes his fingers and toes to keep from going mad with it, but soon that's not enough to suppress to urge to vibrate right out of his bones.
Jyn's half-turned away in sleep, and Bodhi finishes the job. He sits on the edge of their bed for a minute, running blunt nails up and down his arms, trying to chase away the spiderfeet feeling of being too much, too little, too tight all at once. When he stands, it's because every ligament in his body has been strung taut for half an hour now.
Downstairs. Not-Cassian's decision to sleep on the couch was as obvious as it was unspoken. Bodhi...hasn't allowed himself to think about that, yet. He hadn't expected the man to crawl in with him, but he doesn't like not knowing where he is, what he's doing, how he's coping, if he's taking good care of his borrowed body. He lets those surface concerns tug him downstairs, half-formed thoughts of making sure he found a pillow and blanket guiding his steps in the dark.
For the better part of a week now, he's haunted his own home at night. Or been haunted in turn by this phenomenon. Bodhi knuckles at his eyes, fetches a blanket from the hall closet, and murmurs a quiet "calm, calm," to K, the way he so often does on his walkabouts.
He does pause for a moment, considering his odds of being flipped into the coffee table by a disgruntled spy, but 3am is closing in fast once again, and Bodhi is all out of fucks to give. He shakes the blanket open and drapes it over the man stretched out on his couch.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2019-04-24 05:42 am (UTC)"He will," the pillow crinkles as she lifts a hand and sets it beside his cheek, knuckles brushing beneath his eye. Jyn has always had enough conviction to reshape the universe to her will. Bodhi closes his eyes against the dark and lets the strength of her belief buoy him up.
"This is worse than that time you were on assignment in Botswana," he mumbles. Jyn makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sniffle, turning over to tuck herself close.
"I get it now," she says, "Why you were so stressed when I got home. Why you sometimes still are."
"It's the not knowing," Bodhi agrees. They've told her so before, he and Cassian, but this may be the first time she's gone through something similar (with either of them, at least; the rest of her family is constantly revolving through some permutation of at-risk or enemy-the-state). He lets her pull his face against her shoulder, and tells himself he's not taking advantage, that it's okay to feel small and uncertain in their emptier bed.
If he ever had the soldier's knack for sleeping on command, it's long since abandoned him. Jyn, who regularly kips in hardscrabble hotel rooms around the globe, does eventually nod off. Bodhi counts her breaths until he loses track, starts over again, repeats this cycle until the grit behind his eyes migrates down the back of his neck, his spine, his arms and legs, everywhere skin stretches over muscle. He flexes his fingers and toes to keep from going mad with it, but soon that's not enough to suppress to urge to vibrate right out of his bones.
Jyn's half-turned away in sleep, and Bodhi finishes the job. He sits on the edge of their bed for a minute, running blunt nails up and down his arms, trying to chase away the spiderfeet feeling of being too much, too little, too tight all at once. When he stands, it's because every ligament in his body has been strung taut for half an hour now.
Downstairs. Not-Cassian's decision to sleep on the couch was as obvious as it was unspoken. Bodhi...hasn't allowed himself to think about that, yet. He hadn't expected the man to crawl in with him, but he doesn't like not knowing where he is, what he's doing, how he's coping,
if he's taking good care of his borrowed body.He lets those surface concerns tug him downstairs, half-formed thoughts of making sure he found a pillow and blanket guiding his steps in the dark.For the better part of a week now, he's haunted his own home at night. Or been haunted in turn by this phenomenon. Bodhi knuckles at his eyes, fetches a blanket from the hall closet, and murmurs a quiet "calm, calm," to K, the way he so often does on his walkabouts.
He does pause for a moment, considering his odds of being flipped into the coffee table by a disgruntled spy, but 3am is closing in fast once again, and Bodhi is all out of fucks to give. He shakes the blanket open and drapes it over the man stretched out on his couch.