#I don't know Rye as well as you obvs so feel free to tell me if there needs to be any tweaking and I will gladly

[thesummerstorms]

24. tender

@clingy-ghost

Written vaguely with the Separatist AU in mind, but I didn’t want to decide was left the setting purposefully vague, as well as the circumstances. Also apologize that apparently I can’t do “micro”.

She wakes, warm and disoriented, in a tangle of limbs.

At first Etain is too tired to care, and the bed, if not soft, is still cradling her in a way that promises the comfort of further sleep. Gradually, though, she becomes more and more aware of the grating noise of shouting and speeder traffic through the thin insulation of the safehouse walls. It pokes away at her muzzy contentment until, eyes still closed, she huffs an irritated sigh and nuzzles her face further away from the light.

Something- someone- shifts against her in response. She freezes, suddenly aware of the awkward bent weight of her arm, of warmth against her nose and cheek, a pressure against her hip that’s pushing her against the rough wall.

Eyes flash open, and she sees the fraying collar of an old shirt dipping low over the curve of a shoulder, a tangled mess of brown hair.

Rhedian.  

Rhedian is asleep in the bed with her, no different than how they used to curl together as children, intent on gossip or chasing away nightmares.

Except this time she and Rye are grown, and pressed together on a bunk that even Etain finds narrow at the best of times. Somehow, somehow she has managed to bury her face against the taller woman’s sleeping back, and she feels smooth skin beneath the fingertips curled at Rye’s waist. Now  she’s awake enough to realize that one of her legs is going numb where it’s trapped beneath Rye’s weight. 

A flush burns down Etain’s neck. Rye is still breathing evenly, and Etain considers extricating herself quietly before she manages to ruin everything. But as close as Rye is, trying to squeeze out of the bunk would surely wake her and-

(-and if there isn’t some part of her wanting simply to cuddle back down against Rhedian and pretend to still be asleep for as long as she can-)

Either thought is a lost cause, she realizes, as Rye shakes with a chuckle, awake after all. Etain is forced to pull back out of necessity as Rhedian turns awkwardly towards her, their bodies briefly clashing in the too-tight space until they are laying  mostly face to face.

 She must be frowning, because Rhedian laughs, seeming genuinely amused by whatever she’s seeing, the faint Force-echo of her happiness swaddling them both in a cocoon. “Still the morning person, then? I can see it in your face.”

There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, and Etain blushes more deeply as Rye puts a hand against her elbow, ever so gentle.

Etain should say something back, should pull away, should maybe apologize for the liberties, but she finds her eyes caught on the pleased curve of Rhedian’s mouth smiling back at her. Unthinkingly, Etain reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair away from the other woman’s face. 

Rye stills under the feather-light brush of Etain’s fingers, alert but not alarmed. Etain breathes deep, still staring at Rhedian’s face. She traces her thumb against the very corner of Rye’s mouth, still doubtful, still wondering, only for Rye to lean into the touch. Everything is suddenly so, so soft. Etain’s eyes start to close again as she leans forward and-

-and the comm buzzes and chimes loudly from the pocket of Etain’s vest on the footlocker. They both bolt upright, Rhedian cursing slightly as she knocks her head on headboard, and then Etain is scrambling physically over her in a stream of jumbled apologies, trying to get to the comm before she misses her contact’s signal.

Now it’s Rhedian’s turn to sign. Etain answers the comm and turns, trying to ignore Rhedian striding barefoot across the floor to the pile of crates where the rations and the instant caf might theoretically be.

Somehow she gets the feeling this might be a long morning.