@staticveil sent : ‘ ASLEEP. ’ - [ my ] muse sits with [ yours ] while they rest.
it’s a brief moment of reprieve, a pause from the worst. poe wraps gauze around his hand, over and over goes the fabric as it covers up the worst of the injuries he sustained pulling the agent out from a building collapsing in on itself. was it reckless ? absolutely. he’d taken the lecture though, head held high with no regrets in his eyes. he’d signed up to be a pilot, yes, but everyone knew he was never one to sit back during the worst of things.
the walls of the quinjet are cold against his back, and he feels like he’s just about absorbed every bit of its chilly temperature until a weight leans against his shoulder, warmth exuding. it’s kara, eyes closed, breaths even as the quinjet cruises over the atlantic sea. immediately, poe stills, slowly leans back until he’s sure he’s a steady form for her to sleep against. and he can't help it, but his eyes take inventory of the new cuts and gashes, the ones that didn't exist before this mission. he can see three on her cheek, tiny in their split. it's difficult to touch them, and part of him is terrified to, so he settles for this : a hand that reaches out, hovers in empty air, pulls back. they’ve had their fights, their arguments he’s sure she’s tired to death of him throwing himself into the fire with no regards for the injuries after, that he can’t seem to listen to instructions. but he knows she trusts him too, as broken as their trust was, scattered across seven different seas with the pieces of history embedded into them.
and that’s what they were, a piece of history playing in the present, held together by the silk-thin strips of trust.
he murmurs, only because he thinks she can’t hear him, ❝ sorry for everything, kara. sorry it’s not the same as it used to be. ❞
