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Cassian Andor has a glow-in-the-dark map of the star system plastered to the ceiling of his bedroom. I like to count them as he thrusts into me like some wild animal, clawing at my flesh as if to devour me, whispering assurances and praises in that choked, raspy tone of his as his hips stutter inside of me.
I always start on the Outer Rim, then work my way into the center: Mandalore. Lothal. Kijimi. Dantooine.
You’re so tight, mi amor, gripping me like a vice — mi querida —
Oh, look, that’s Yavin 4.
There’s something so obscene about being fucked under the memento of a childhood taken too soon by the war. I never mention the star map, and he never mentions the ever-growing dark circles under my eyes.
I only ever come to Cassian on nights when I want to die — tears running in rivers down my cheeks as his cum trickles down my open thighs. He questions me about the errant tears on the nights when I haven’t drained him of everything he’s worth, calloused hands softly tracing the paths they’ve etched into my cheeks. I always force a weak chuckle and tell him with a smile that he fucked me so good that I cried out in ecstacy. The salt of my tears dribbles into my mouth and mixes with the salty-sweet musk of his cock still lingering on my tongue.
(Cassian fucks good, don’t get me wrong. More than good, but it’s still not enough.)
He wraps me in a soft embrace after we’re done, holding me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. Some nights, I come with a breathy cry of ‘Cassian’ as he swallows my moans. Others, I don’t bother pretending and he swears to make it up to me while running his hand over the swell of my hips, his own ecstasy dripping onto the sheets. He tells me about his childhood, his regrets, the cries of suffering that ring in his ears on cold nights without me. I am the only one privy to the shattered pieces of a haunted man not even a victory over the Empire could fix. I swap fragments of my past with him, but never enough to paint a full picture. I do not want him searching my body for old scars.
I think I love him — in my own, fucked up way. But there’s a hole inside of me not even the vastness of space can fill. That not even Cassian can fill — try as he might through our countless midnight embraces.
The truth is that he knows very little about me. I pretend the stories we swap of children scorned will ease the hurt, and he wakes me up with all too familiar wandering hands and an alabaster smile and I swallow down the pain as he tips my chin and kisses me breathless.
I remember vividly when he came racing to my quarters after the near disastrous mission on Scarif. He lifted me off the ground with my legs wrapped around his waist and fucked me on my pull-out couch. I don’t kid myself to believe that it was a ‘I’m so happy to see you’ fuck, but rather a ‘I can’t believe I’m still alive’ fuck. That night, as I drifted into the sea of unconsciousness, he whispered a soft ‘I love you’ into my ear as he trailed soft kisses down my neck, one hand curled protectively around my waist. I remember squeezing my eyes shut and forcing my breathing to level, trying not to shudder at the thought of words I did not truly believe. Words I myself didn’t have the courage to return.
I had already created an altar for him when he left on what everyone had already deemed a suicide mission. Suicide was a foe I was already familiar with, and it was a dull sort of comfort to know Cassian and the rest of his merry band was killing themselves for the greater good. When they returned, I stuffed the crude display somewhere in the bottom of my drawer, along with the other pictures of the fallen I don’t dare to look at. I pray it’s something I never have to think of putting up again. I pray I never have to think of the entire weight of the lullaby pill bottle in the palm of my hand as I whispered a soft goodbye to the star map in his bedroom. In the end, it’s just another countless secret Cassian will never learn.
Now that the war has ended, Yavin 4 is less of a beehive of activity than it was when the war effort was in full force. However, the Empire still refuses to relinquish control in some parts of the galaxy, even with the Emperor dead, and top Imperial officials still have to be tracked down and rooted from the far stretches of the galaxy. What’s more, Senator Organa believes that the Empire will attempt to strike whilst the New Republic is still in its infancy, so covert operatives are sent out to expose lingering Empire sympathizers or spies within the new government. Consequently, Cassian and the rest of Rogue One are required to be on base, having been deemed an ‘irreplaceable asset’ to the intelligence division of the Rebellion, now rebels without a cause or a war to fight.
Cassian’s hand has become a familiar weight in my hand as he drags me through the twisting halls of the base, attempting to sneak me into covert meetings despite the many reprimands from Mon Mothma or entice me into janitorial closet trysts. He’s more touchy after the war, always a presence looming by my side: a specter over my shoulder glaring at the flirty advances of a new recruit, a possessive grip on my waist reminding me that I’m his.
I don’t entertain the notion that this is somehow a gesture of his affection towards me. I knew getting into this that he never claimed to be a romantic, and never will be one. He doesn’t really love me, I tell myself; he’s simply lost too much to risk letting me out of his sight.
But there are days when I am able to slip from his side and crawl to the dark shadows of my room, and let the soft kiss of a blade caress me instead of Cassian. Never deep enough to permanently scar, nothing enough to raise suspicion, just the satisfying blush of a wheel-and-flare reaction reddening my wrists and thighs. I relish in the feeling of skin opening beneath the swift slice of a knife, the sharp edge of a pair of scissors, the unfurled wire of a paperclip, the blessing of control it breathes into my life for only a short while. I can die slowly by my hand if it will ease the ache in my soul, the ache not even Cassian can kiss better.
Cassian is off-planet today, so I eat lunch with Jyn and Bodhi at their request. K-2 accompanies me, holding open doors begrudgingly as I move through the halls, though I have always sensed he believed Cassian could do better than me and his chivalry is more out of loyalty for the Captain than true respect for me. My thighs ache from last night’s goodbye fuck, legs jellied and shaky like a newborn eopie. Normally I would dine alone, chewing thoughtlessly on unripe wintermelon and barely seasoned chicken as I tried to picture melting into the linoleum floors and sinking into the foundation of the building.
I knew Cassian before the formation of the infamous Rogue One, and I myself was not there for the team’s first and — at the time — possibly last mission. I am not their friend, not even their colleague. However, Cassian’s crew members extend their opening arms to me due to my close relationship with Cassian. It is a kindness I do not understand. It is a kindness that is not fit for war.
(A traitorous part of my brain whispers that we are not at war. Not anymore.)
I slap on an expression of good-natured enthusiasm and slide into the booth with them. Bodhi grins at me widely while Jyn gives me a characteristic half smile, and K-2 looms like a centurion beside me, a shadow I cannot seem to shake off. The reprogrammed droid is too bulky to fit into the booth alongside us, a fact I know erks him greatly.
There is no build up, no warning, as Bodhi puts a friendly hand on my shoulder and casually remarks, “How’s the soon to be Mrs. Andor?”
Over my shoulder, K-2 remarks, “Oh, dear.” There is a startlingly human quality to the aggravation in his voice.
Jyn elbows the pilot harshly as I reel back in shock, gaping like a beached whale. There’s a tightness in my chest that is threatening to suffocate me, and my eyes begin to burn. Since when was it this hard to breathe?
“You idiot, you spoiled the surprise!” Jyn shouts harshly, whacking Bodhi upside the head.
Bodhi rubs his head with a sheepish smile. “Well, she was going to find out anyway.” He checks his old analog watch and grins at me. “Cassian should be back any minute now.”
My breaths are coming out in stuttered gasps and my hands are visibly trembling; I feel like I’m being Force choked by the recently deceased Vader.
K-2 snaps out my name, drawing my attention towards him. “I am detecting increased levels of stress and an increased heart rate. Are you okay?”
“I’m — I’m fine,” I dismiss harshly. My eyes search Jyn’s pleading, begging, that what she said isn’t true. “Cassian — he’s really going to — to…”
“Propose?” Jyn finishes, raising a questioning eyebrow at me as I slowly disintegrate into a tangled ball of nerves. “You’ve been dating for five years, it’s about time, don’t you think?”
I restrain my jaw from dropping in shock. Cassian and I have never exactly labeled our relationship — we never saw a need with the war raging on. I was never even certain if he considered as to be ‘together’ or if I was just a convenient fuck.
“But — but —” I stumble, unable to get any actual words out.
Jyn’s expression softens into one of concern. “You really had no idea?”
I shake my head slowly, and she groans loudly. “Andor really is an idiot —”
“What did I do now?” a voice chimes in behind me, and I reel around to come face to face with the man of the hour himself.
I can clearly tell Cassian’s just got back from his considerably-more-rugged-than-usual appearance and the charred fabric of his jacket from missed blaster shots. He must see something that betrays how wild and unhinged I feel, because he cups my face softly with his hands and searches my eyes as if he can break down the industrial walls I have constructed. He says my name gently, like I am a delicate little thing, and I squeeze my eyes shut to avoid that searching gaze of his.
In an out of character move, I rip myself from his hold and grab onto his hand, dragging him back to my quarters.
As I shut the door with a heavy breath, I turn around to find Cassian seated on the bed, looking like a little kid awaiting a harsh scolding for breaking the HoloNet television. I don’t say anything, only staring at him and trying to stop the tremble which threatens to overtake my limbs.
“Mi amor, what is it?” Cassian asks in a voice which is oh so sweet, and it takes everything for me to not throw myself at him and start screaming.
Disregarding the pet name, I look pointedly at him. “Are you planning to propose?”
Cassian’s eyes widen considerably before he groans, the sound muffled as he runs a hand tiredly over his face. “Jyn and Bodhi.”
It is a statement rather than a question, but I nod anyways.
“I did not want you to find out this way —” He begins.
“So it’s true?” I cut him off impatiently, and even I can hear the tone of panic in my voice.
“Yes.”
I force down the scream bubbling in my throat and begin pacing around the room anxiously, Cassian’s eyes following every panicked motion as I begin to spiral. “Did you even think this through — how could you possibly think this would be a good idea — ”
A surge of warmth encases me, as well as the familiar scent of his cologne, and I feel more than see as Cassian stops my anxious pacing by locking me in his arms. He lifts my head with a gentle nudge of his pointer finger, but I don’t dare meet his eyes. Instead, I focus on the chipping paint on the walls. The mildew climbing up the ceiling. The errant hair on his mustache which is just a little too long. Even as his eyes bore into me, I refuse to meet his gaze.
“Mi querida, the war is over. I love you, you love me,” he murmurs into my ear like it is such a simple conclusion. My heart hammers in my chest, a thump-thump like the beat of war drums. “What more do we need?”
I don’t know what I need. I don’t even know what I want. I don’t even know when we happened. What midnight romp triggered Cassian to start thinking this way? How many years did we even know each other before we started having sex? Was there even a ‘before’ to our relationship?
Enraged and confused and tormented by emotions I do not wish to decipher, I rip myself out of his arms and cry, “Sex isn’t love!”
As soon as the words leave my mouth and enter the stale air of my bed quarters I know they’re a mistake. Cassian’s expression slackens in disbelief, before hardening into anger.
“Is that all you see our relationship as? Sex? ” He demands, and now I understand how the thousands of Imperial officers he interrogated must have felt. It is terrifying to see him like this, veins bulging out of his forehead, hands crumpled into fists, eyes darkened and brimming with anger.
I wonder if he’s going to hit me. I wonder if I would even try to stop the blow. I don’t reply — I can’t reply, and Cassian’s expression shatters into heartbreak. Somehow, seeing the lines of sadness etched into his face is worse than anger.
“Do you even love me?”
The million dollar question hangs like a noose in the air, one that I would readily wear around my neck.
“I don’t not love you,” I reply weakly, and even I know that sounds awful.
Cassian’s eyes pierce into me, and the look he gives me — betrayed and heartbroken and everything in between — makes me want to shrivel up and die. I want to explode into a million pieces of stardust and never return. A puff of anger swirls in his eyes, scorching hot and loathsome, before it sizzles out, leaving cool obsidian in its place. With cold, unwavering eyes, Cassian storms out the door.
I don’t bother chasing after him, and I wonder if that makes me more or less of a deplorable human being.
I end up on a grassy hill that night overlooking the pyramids below, a blanket of stars hanging above me. There is a blaster securely tucked into my holster, but I’m not sure what I brought it out for exactly. I don’t want to use it — not yet.
I wrote no note. There is nothing I could say to justify or explain my actions — any of them. I want nothing to do with false words of closure and pathetic excuses that will only bring more pain than what I have already inflicted.
Someone settles into the grass beside me, a rustle of movement nearly indistinguishable from the sound of the breeze cutting through the sharp blades of grass. I did not even hear them approach, and from that alone, I know that it’s Cassian.
We sit in silence together, listening to the hum of the night around us and the push and pull of each other’s breathing. For once, I feel no desire to fill it with empty words. But I do anyway.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to love you. Or marry you,” I confess quietly, afraid of shattering this delicate peace between us. My words sink into the silence and for a moment I hope that the abyss of space swallows them up.
Cassian lets out a shaky breath. “I can’t say I’m pleased to hear that, or that I understand,” he says earnestly, seeming to be struggling. “But…I’m here for you. Just — whatever you need.”
I turn my body towards him. “Even if what I need isn’t you?” I whisper traitorously.
A brief flash of pain passes over Cassian’s face, like a cloud obscuring the sun momentarily. It’s over so quickly that I don’t even have time to regret the pain that my words have caused. “Even if it isn’t me,” he agrees.
We sit in mutual silence for a while longer, but this time it’s Cassian who breaks it first.
“I know that your mind goes somewhere else when we’re…together,” he finishes awkwardly, and I must have concealed my surprise poorly because Cassian fixes me with a knowing and almost reprimanding look. He continues, “And…I know that sometimes I’m just an… escape for you.”
Pity and regret surge up within me like a cresting wave. “Cassian —”
“No, I understand — really ,” he cuts me off, and the firm look in his eyes makes me want to believe him. “I just want you to know that— that this doesn’t have to be your fight alone.”
“But it does, ” I insist, gripping the grass so hard tufts of it rip from the ground.
Cassian slowly removes my hand from the grass, sharp, severed blades and uprooted earth piercing both of our palms. His touch is warm and I am so, so cold.
“I love you,” he says, like it is a fact. “You don’t have to say it back. Not now. Not…” He trails off shakily, drawing in a steadying breath. “Not ever.”
“I know,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.
Our breathing synchronizes, our heads falling wordlessly against each other. I look up at the glowing stars arranged in the heavens above us, twinkling little lights dancing in the night sky, and with startling clarity I am reminded of 5 years spent staring at a familiar image on a white wall.
“You have stars on your ceiling,” I tell him, an unspoken truth neither of us have dared to acknowledge before. “I want to join them.”
He doesn’t ask me why, giving me the space to continue if I wish.
“I want to become stardust,” I confess, and for a moment it is silent and I worry that he doesn't understand the convoluted version of the truth I am telling him.
But Cassian surprises me only seconds later, tightening his grip on my hand — warm, tender, and protective. It is like he is trying to tether me to the ground, to keep me from floating up and out of the atmosphere and away from this plane of existence. “I won’t let you,” he whispers, and that is enough.