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urmultideadfandomperson · 1 year ago

Text

Have A Rest

Character/s: Enzo Valenciano, Reader

Pairing/s: Enzo Valenciano X Reader

Genre/s: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Warning/s: overwork, mentions of insomnia, mentions of violence, fatigued state

Summary: (Y/N) finds Enzo overworking in his chancery tonight, and they need to get him to sleep.

Requested by: None

Note: Greetings! This is my first one-shot in Tumblr, featuring Enzo Valenciano from The Young Elites! I have never seen any works like this, so I decided to create one myself. Anyway, I hope that you will enjoy this story! Thank you for reading!

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The bed was cold tonight.

That was always the feeling whenever Enzo was not there to lay down alongside you—cold, lonely, empty. The warmth that always emitted from him was gone, the weight shifting in the huge mattress was not felt. Every night without him with you was freezing. You were not in Beldain, but the whole room felt like its snowy lands.

It was no longer surprising, though. Honestly, this happens almost everyday. Enzo is the leader of the Dagger Society, the crown prince fighting for his stolen birthright. Of course he will be busy. Creating plans, thinking of future discussions, even dealing with a bunch of heartbreaks and reluctances. But no matter how busy he is, you knew that Enzo will always have time for you.

You see, you are (Y/N) (L/N), the most recent recruit of the Dagger Society. You lived in Serrata, one of the cities in Kenettra that is not very known by the others. The Messenger sensed you threatened heavily by the Inquisition Axis, their swords drawing on your neck and their stares sharp on your helpless face.

As you were about to be killed, they came to the rescue and carried you away from the dark alleyways of Serrata. Until today, the inquisitors found no trace of you anywhere. At that moment, it was the beginning of your new life as a Young Elite—protected and hidden.

You discovered back then that your ability was (Your Elite Ability), and the Daggers thought that you would be a great contribution to the mission. It was Enzo, himself who said so. Although saddened that they saved you because they could get advantage, you were still happy to know they rescued you from the hands of death. Even if it was not because of kindness, the fact that the crown prince saw you as an important being was enough.

It took you a month to prove yourself that you were worthy to becoming a Elite. The Daggers were rather impressed at your capabilities. Raffaele complimented that you were quite the fast learner, pointing out details on how you were able to conjure your power correctly. In just a matter of time, The Reaper had officially given you the name (Your Elite Nickname). You were finally one of them, the seventh member of the Dagger Society.

It took a couple more days, but overtime, the others started to open up to you. They would begin small talk, greeting each other with smiles, and even inviting you to trainings. In just six months, you and the Daggers are like a family. A family working together to help the crown prince.

Speaking of the crown prince, he is actually your lover. You caught his eye on the first day he knew of you. From your unique markings to your courageous and sweet personality, he felt himself falling in love with you. You did not look like her in any way, but this new love was somewhat so special to him.

Everyday, he would fall deeper and deeper in the trance of love. He never knew he would love somebody romantically again, ever since the tragedy of his lost love, Daphne Chouryana. Enzo kept telling himself to get out of the trance, but the feeling only grows stronger as the days passed. Was this a sign to try again? He both hopes and not.

Since the feeling kept developing more, Enzo needed to get it out of his chest. Enzo told himself to make it direct and bland, but his words ended up being romantic and sincere.

He really needs to stop falling in love so easily.

But what he did not expect is the fact you actually reciprocated his feelings. You truthfully told Enzo about what made you fall for him, beginning in both his benefits and weaknesses. Even you liked the flaws he always thought were a hassle. Although happy, he had said that he needed some time to think whether to accept your confession. He still loved Daphne deep in his heart, but he knows he needed to let go. Lucky for him, you were patient enough to wait.

A week later, he finally answered your confession: yes. Enzo pondered that maybe it was time to let her go, to start a new love with a new person. It may be a painful process, but he is with you. And if he is having romance with you, he may learn to move on from a heartbreak. The Daggers were joyous about the news, knowing their leader finally found someone else to love. Raffaele and Dante were the most glad for the prince.

And now, this is where the present had brought the two of you: alone in the bedchamber whereas Enzo locks himself in his private chamber to think and plan. You were beginning to worry for your beloved prince. As a leader of a secret society, Enzo must think straight and instantly for new ideas on finding new Elites and striking on the evil aristocrats ruling Kenettra. He is aligned with Fortuna, after all. Enzo will always find a way to be victorious.

However, ambition comes with consequences as well.

In the mornings, every Dagger sees him with dark circles under his eyes. The Reaper kept telling them it was because of insomnia—that was both a truth and a lie. He is observed to be less efficient during duels, and his appearance that used to be clean and dignified, now looked disheveled and lowly. But on the bright side, he made new plans on how to murder Queen Giulietta and her sleazy husband.

Even so, all of you knew that Enzo needed rest. It was so clear that he was exhausted on always plotting and calculating. Raffaele even spotted him once having a strong headache, yet he kept devising and writing down the keywords. He was so ill that the Messenger insisted to give him a head massage. The beautiful malfetto believed with all his might that it was the first time seeing Enzo so distressed.

"He's still not here," You mumble to yourself as you stare at the door. Or rather, at silent abyss. Is he overworking again? He must be.

You were now in dilemma, choosing whether to leave him be or approach him. If you leave him in his office, he might be in a terrible state in the next day. And you do not want that to happen. If you approach him, there is a high chance that an argument would occur. You knew that Enzo was too stubborn to stop himself from working, but you knew that his health was very important.

... I can't let history repeat itself. It's time for a change. You finally decided as you hopped off the bed where you were laying down for the whole hour. You did not care if he was going to protest or not. This time, you are going to make him sleep regardless of his reaction.

Still in your sleepwear and barefooted, you go out the door of your bedchamber and walk in the luxurious hallways of the Fortunata Court. You were certain that the consorts were fast asleep, only hearing crickets and the passing wind. Their job was never an easy task at all, and you are considerate enough to understand.

Every step you took was leading you outside the fancy court. You knew where you were going, and it was to the secret chambers that was underneath the Fortunata Court. It was the place where the Dagger Society held their meetings, duel against each other, or even just resting after a long fight. As malfetto children, they must stay hidden.

While pacing in the secret chambers, all the noises from nature had vanished, all silenced by the walls of the room. And at this point, you heard new ones aside from your footsteps: low groaning of frustration, mumbling of tiny details, and the sound of a scribbling quill pen on a parchment.

And you saw it—a door slightly left open, a small light lit in the dimmed room. You recognized that door too much.

That is Enzo's chancery... You thought, staring at the door in front of you. It was the chamber where the prince privately devises and calculates for the upcoming battle against their enemies. Whenever there was time, he would invite you to simply sit beside him or help him soothe his nerves. But because he is tied up for the past days, he stopped the invitations.

Your feet brought you to the door of the chancery. You knew that it was very impolite to enter without his invitation, but you had to convince Enzo to rest. His health was at risk because of overwork.

Since the door was left open just a crack, you thought it would be enough to peek what the prince was doing. As you took a small glance, you saw the state of the jaded Reaper.

Enzo was sitting on his chair, a hand running through his crimson locks while the other scribbles the quill on the parchment. His hair was tangling over his shoulder, no longer in the usual low, loose tail. The prince was still wearing his fancy doublet. He must have no intention of sleeping if he is not wearing any sleepwear tonight.

But his eyes...

They had the same dark circles every morning under them. His eyelids were drooping, desperate to keep themselves open to read the plans. Enzo was obviously struggling in staying awake, yet at the same time, he holds himself back from craving for sleep.

"Enzo," you say to yourself, unaware of the volume of your voice. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

Knowing you are now caught, you went inside his chancery and closed the door beind you. "I wanted to check on you. You were not coming in our bedchamber." You replied to him, your tone genuinely concerned.

"(Your Elite Nickname)?" Enzo looks up to see you peeking on his door. His expression looked more fatigued than what you had expected. Even his voice was raspy. "It's already midnight. What are you doing here at this hour?"

"Well, I am not heading to the bed..." You start to speak, pacing towards Enzo. You walk behind him, pushing away the hair that covers his nape and kisses it softly. "... If you're not coming with me."

The prince chuckles lowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You notice his mood lighten up a bit at your presence. "I appreciate your concern for me, (Your Affectionate Nickname). I expected you to be asleep by now."

Enzo shivers lightly at the kiss, but he does not complain in any way. "Are you convincing me to sleep or seducing me to our bedchamber?" He teases, smirking softly. "If you think you can make me go to bed, it will be a long night, (Y/N)."

"As much as I know you are occupied with your work, just please remember to rest every now and then." You tell him, giving the back of his neck more kisses. "Everyone in the society had noticed your fatigue. All the Daggers are aware of how weary you are. We are worried for your health, my Reaper..."

Your lover only kept silent. Though it was not obvious, he was honestly in disbelief. Was his mask breaking already? Perhaps he had softened from exhaustion, making him look very sluggish during mornings. He was supposed to be tough in front of people, but his almighty appearance was starting to shatter from weariness.

"Please, my Reaper? Have a rest." You said, trying to convince him more. However, he only kept silent.

"Enzo, come on. You and I know that you are tired. Go to bed with me." You added, not giving up on convincing him. You even gave his neck more affection, yet all he did was shiver. As much as you wanted to drag him out of his chancery, you knew very well that it is disrespectful.

But all you got was nothing. No word was uttered from the working prince. His hand was still scribbling the quill.

His silence made you think he would not bother to sleep. You sighed, thinking that it was actually harder to convince him. It would be his choice, not yours. But the urge to drag him to the bedchamber was very tempting. "If that's what you wish, I'll just leave you be. I hope you'll finish your tasks tonight. Goodnight, Reaper."

With that, you leave him a soft kiss on his forehead and began to walk out of the chancery. When your hand grabbed the knob, you were suddenly stopped by a pair of firm arms wrapped around your waists. You turn your head to see Enzo embracing you from behind, his face buried in your hair.

His words were sincere, just like his confession. But this time, it was intentional. He did not speak this way by mistake, but now with truth.

"Pardon me, (Your Affectionate Nickname)," Enzo mumbles softly, his voice husky, laced with tiredness and guilt. "I apologize for making my Daggers worry. I can assure that none of you are involved with my overworking behavior."

"Enzo, you know that there is nothing to be sorry for—"

"But I had made you worry! I made my entire society worry!" He protests, exclaiming slightly. He clears his throat, continuing his sentence. "(Y/N), I accept that I am at fault for your concerns. What can I do in order to soothe your worri—"

Without a second thought, you turned around to lean in and steal a kiss from his soft lips. This was one of your favorite methods of making him quiet. Your hands strongly gripped the collar of his doublet, pulling him closer.

Meanwhile with the Reaper, he was dumbfounded by the kiss. But after tensing, he slowly melted and returned it, his hands around your waists. The kiss was useful as a weapon and an act of affection when it comes to Enzo. And right now, you are using it in those two ways.

Three minutes had passed, so the two of you had to pull away. As your lips widened the opened gap in between, soft panting and gentle heartbeats were heard in the chancery. The eye contact did not break, though. Midnight meets (E/C), gazing deep into each other to see the love within.

"I missed loving you this way," you mutter to Enzo, resting your head on his chest. A yawn had as well escaped your mouth, showing tiredness.

"Looks like I succeeded at making you go to bed then." You said, grinning softly at your victory.

"So did I." Enzo nods, holding you in his arms. He takes the chance to smell the scent of your hair. He calms as his nostrils inhales the scent of your locks, his midnight eyes closed. "I just want to sleep tonight. I'm tired."

Enzo smiles, chuckling softly. "Maybe."

After that, both you and Enzo walked back to the Fortunata Court, hands intertwined with each other. Two malfettos, walking hand-in-hand in the middle of the night.

However, when you arrived in the court, the two of you parted ways. You were heading to the bedchamber, whereas the Reaper was going towards another place.

But of course, you did not mind. He was going to the bathhouse, after all. Enzo said with a blush on his cheeks that he did not bathe for the night, since he thought he would stay up for his tasks again.

And now, you were in the same moment as if travelling back in time: laying down the bed, waiting. But now had a change; you were smiling and expecting Enzo to go inside who will be freshly bathed and ready for sleep.

It did not take long before Enzo opened the door. He was now wearing his sleepwear, his blood red hair straight and wet from water. The smell of soap from the bathhouse was lingering on his body.

"Was I late, (Your Affectionate Nickname)?" He asks.

"No, you're just in time." You reply, beaming at the sight of your prince.

Enzo walks to the bed and lays on it, quickly taking you into his firm arms for a snuggle. Your head rests on his broad chest, using it as a pillow. You yawn, and he follows. It was very late now—both of you must sleep and drift to your dreamworlds.

But a night will never end without goodnight kisses. Enzo caresses your cheek in his scarred hand, slowly leaning in to kiss your lips. In return, you wrap your arms around him and close your eyes. The warmth that you have been craving was now there, in the bed and in your body. The bedchamber feels much more comfortable, now that Enzo's presence was near.

Once you pulled away, the Reaper beams and whispers in your ear: "I love you. Thank you for your help."

You smile back at him, returning his sweet nothing. "I love you, too, my prince."

With some affection and embracing in the bed, the two of you close your eyes as the serenity of midnight soothes your tired bodies.

Goodnight. The wind whispers as it puts out the candle.

#the young elites #the rose society #the midnight star #Marie Lu #enzo valenciano #the dagger society #enzo valenciano x you #enzo valenciano and you #enzo valenciano x reader #x reader #one-shot #short story #one-shot story #fluff #hurt/comfort #requests are open #requests are welcome

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sesamestreep · 1 year ago

Note

Jyn/Cassian, 14

14. All my days, I’ll know your face. (from this prompt list) cross-posted to ao3 here, with content warnings and tags galore, since this one gets a little heavy... It's a Cloak & Dagger AU, it's for Zainab's birthday, it's almost a year since she sent me this prompt, just go with it! If you want to know what you're getting into beforehand, read it on AO3, please! Much love and happy belated birth to you, @firstelevens, you are theeeee best!

xvii. the moon

Jyn wakes up from the dream again. The one where she’s drowning. She’s ten years old, still wearing her clothes from ballet class, sitting in the back of her father’s car, which hass just gone off the side of the bridge into the water and it’s starting to sink. Her father is already dead in the driver’s seat and she’s never been able to tell if that’s a mercy or not, that the dream doesn’t even allow her the fictional opportunity to save him. It always starts with them already in the water. And then it ends with the same fade to darkness as a hand reaches out and pulls her to safety.

It’s a dream, of course, but it’s also a memory. One largely influenced by her childhood imagination and fears and flights of fancy and therefore pretty untrustworthy, as far as she’s concerned, but a memory nonetheless. She and her father did get in a car accident, one where he died and she survived. The rest probably doesn’t matter much, she tells herself as the gurgling waters of her dream melt into the sounds of her alarm and she finally, fully wakes.

She nearly smacks her phone off the crate she’s using as a makeshift nightstand in her hurry to get rid of the noise. She would never have set the damn thing to “relaxing” babbling brook sounds knowingly. She’s not fond of water and doesn’t find its noises soothing, for obvious reasons. She’d rather wake up to the most obnoxious beeping known to man than this shit. No wonder she’s having nightmares.

She grumbles as she rolls herself over in the sleeping bag she’s using in lieu of an actual bed while she stays here. According to the signage posted out front, this building is technically condemned, but it suits her purposes just fine. She is always welcome at her mother’s house, or so her mother says, but being welcome somewhere isn’t the same as being at home, she’s realized. Staying with her mother means supporting her mother’s bullshit, and dealing with her disappointment, and putting up with her questions. It’s better for everyone if Jyn lives on her own, even if it’s in a condemned shithole like this place. What little of its original architecture that remains suggests it used to be a church, which is pretty bleak, but the price (free of charge) is right, so she pretends not to care.

She might start giving up these afternoon naps, if she’s just going to have bad dreams all the time. They’re supposed to help her so she can stay up late and work and make more money—maybe even enough to afford a real apartment with an actual shower—but lately they’ve been leaving her more drained than if she hadn’t even slept. She’s got to get ready now—the idiot rich kids going out on the town tonight aren’t going to rob themselves, after all—but she can’t bring herself to move. It’s only when she realizes that going back to sleep might put her back in that sinking car that she manages to convince herself to get up.

vii. the chariot

Cassian stares at the ceiling of his childhood (and current) bedroom and thinks, not for the first time, of how they missed a few glow-in-the-dark stars when he decided such things were for babies and told Maarva they could take them down. She’d hidden her expression of disappointment under something more bright-eyed and understanding quickly but not fast enough that a twelve year old Cassian hadn’t seen it. Before he could take it back, she was already moving briskly to get the step ladder. That’s how Maarva handled everything after his father’s death: briskly and head on. Even when she hated what she was doing. Every challenge in life was like getting a shot at the doctor’s office: just a quick pinch and then it’s over.

It’s that kind of attitude, he knows, that’s made her so successful and transformed her into a sort of pillar of the community. She started as a member of a variety of citizen’s action groups and a leader for the local chapter of NOW and then moved her way up up to a seat on the city council. Cassian admires her for that, the way she’s turned grief into purpose, but he’s always felt less adept at it than she is. Sometimes he’s consumed with guilt that his grief has mostly just stayed as grief. He knows he could be doing more, and he knows she wishes he was too. It’s a lot to bear. It’s a lot of emotion for a couple of glow-in-the-dark stars.

He decides to get out of bed and do something with his day rather than sit here and contemplate any of this further. Downstairs in the kitchen, he 's alone just long enough to pour himself a glass of orange juice before Maarva appears with her phone pressed to her ear. She kisses him on the cheek as she goes by and Cassian hears hold music on the other end of her call, which means he's in for it.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks pleasantly as she moves to pour herself some coffee.

"Well enough," he replies, because anything else will be met with a deluge of concern that he doesn't want right now. He leaves out the part where he dreamed about the night Clem died—the one where Cassian himself almost drowned—again. He'd gone years without having that dream, to the point that he'd thought himself past it, only to have them come back with a vengeance when he moved home again after graduation. The superstitious part of him wants to blame New Orleans, with all of its supposed mystical powers, but rationally he knows it's just being back at home with reminders of his father everywhere. He didn't have this problem at school in New York, but he'd made the choice to come back and this is the cost of that decision.

Maarva nods approvingly and takes a sip of her coffee. "I assume that means you'll be working on internship applications today."

Cassian sighs. He has only been done with his summer internship at the state house in Baton Rouge for a few weeks and his mother has been on his case about what's next since the moment he got home from his last day. "I'm trying, Ma, honestly, but nagging isn't going to make an opportunity instantly materialize. You know that."

"Neither will loafing around the house," she counters. "When you decided to take a year off between college and law school, you promised it wasn't an excuse to sit around and do nothing. I just want to be sure you're keeping up your end of the bargain."

Cassian knows a lot of parents who would have been thrilled to have their kids choose to come home right after college, but ever since he was young, the plan for him was that he'd get into a good college—Ivy League, preferably, which he'd managed—and then he'd go straight to law school and follow in his mother's footsteps to a career in politics. She'd always instilled in him that it was his responsibility to help make the world a better place. And after everything that had happened with Clem, it was the only path that made any sense. But his senior year at Columbia, after spending months studying for the LSAT, he'd found himself unable to go through with the exam. The idea of law school started to fill him with dread and he'd begun to miss deadlines. Eventually, he'd been forced to tell Maarva the truth—or, at least, part of it. He said that he wanted to take a gap year to volunteer and do internships to gain practical experience and figure out what kind of law he was most interested in. She'd taken the news better than he expected, but still with the vague attitude that he was only delaying the inevitable, which, in Maarva's world, always meant agreeing with her. She still fully anticipated he'd come to his senses and follow her into politics at the end of all this. And maybe he would, but he'd like to decide something—anything—for himself, for once. He told himself over and over that this was the point of the gap year, but in his heart, he wasn't truly convinced and clearly neither was Maarva.

"Yes, I promise," Cassian says, wearily. "I'll get some applications submitted before I go out tonight."

"What's tonight?"

He hesitates before answering but he doesn't love lying to his mother, so he prepares himself for an argument. "Bix invited me to a party that some friend of hers is throwing and I promised I'd go."

Maarva looks displeased, as expected. "Is that really the best use of your time?"

"If I get my work done today then, yes," he replies. "It's a Friday night. No one's going to be reading my applications after business hours anyway."

"You're not taking up with that crowd again, are you?"

"If by 'that crowd', you mean my friends from high school, then yes," Cassian says. "They've been giving me grief for being home all summer and working only an hour away and still never seeing them. They're going to be insulted if I don't go."

"That girl's a bad influence," Maarva says, shaking her head.

"And yet she's the only person you trust when your car starts making that weird noise," Cassian points out, rolling his eyes.

"She's a wonderful mechanic, I will give her that. But I never liked you dating her."

"We've been broken up for four years now! You don't have to worry about that anymore."

His mother raises an eyebrow at him. "You're sure about that?"

He groans in frustration. "Yes, I'm sure. Bix and I are just friends these days. And if I want to keep her—as a friend—I can't keep bailing on plans with her. Besides, didn't you raise me to be a man who honors his promises?"

Maarva smiles, reluctantly. "That is an ambitious argument for going to drink cheap beer in someone's basement ."

"You're the one who wants me to become a lawyer," he says. "Arguing is a pretty important part of the job, as I understand it. Besides, I think the party is in someone's backyard, not their basement."

"Good to see that Pre-Law program wasn't for nothing, " Maarva remarks, amused.

"You could also try to remember that I'm a responsible adult and you trust me," Cassian says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That is true," she says, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "But it is my job to worry about you, as your mother."

"I understand that, but we've talked about reining in your expectations for me a little."

Maarva looks like she wants to argue with that, but a soft, tinny voice comes through the speaker of her phone, demanding her attention once more. "Yes, I'm still here," she says, to the person on the other end of the call. "Actually, give me one moment," she adds, putting her hand over the speaker. "Whatever you end up doing, don't drive home if you drink."

Cassian suppresses another eye roll. "Obviously not. Give me some credit, please!"

"Fine, then. Oh, and be sure to reply to your mother's email sometime today. She sent us that nice picture of Kerri at the state championships, remember?"

"I replied last night," he replies, exasperated. "Go back to your call."

Maarva nods, then, and gives him another kiss on the head before wandering off. Before she's even out of the room, she is already deep in some important conversation with the person on the other end of the phone, like nothing had interrupted her in the first place, and Cassian is left to finish his orange juice in relative peace.

i. the magician

The crowd at the club tonight is decidedly lackluster in Jyn's professional opinion. There's not enough trust fund kids partying alone for her usual grift and for whatever reason, any viable targets are looking right past her. She might as well be invisible. If she wasn't already planning on returning this dress (the tags are still on and tucked away so no one will notice them), she'd definitely be considering it now. It's clearly not doing her any favors.

Maybe she's just not in the right mood for this tonight. Her mark from last night had been a piece of work and said several vile things to her before the sedative she'd slipped into his drink took effect. Then again, she had turned around and robbed him of most of his valuables after that, so maybe they were even. If she didn’t need the money, she’d already be on her way home, but most of the things she fenced from last night didn’t net her much profit, so she’s got to find a way to turn this around.

At the exact moment she’s beginning to despair of her prospects, her phone lights up with a text from Bodhi.

wyd?

Bodhi works security at one of her usual nightclubs and she’d much rather be there tonight, except it’s his night off so there’s no one to get her on the list without paying the cover charge. This place is her second choice—one of the bouncers accepts the adderall that she liberates from her marks as payment—so she’s happy to hear from Bodhi instead.

at the second best club in NOLA rn, hbu?

Bodhi responds with a pinned location. It’s in the middle of the woods on the other side of town. Friend of a friend of a friend is throwing a party out here. Take a night off playing Artful Dodger and come hang...

can’t take a night off, but I’ll come steal where you are, if it’s all the same

just don’t get caught, okay? I can’t keep hooking you up if people catch on

be there soon

Jyn’s phone dings with a thumbs up from Bodhi as she finishes her drink and heads for the exit. At the coat check, she makes a fuss that her number wasn’t put on the correct hanger and leaves with a more expensive jacket than she came in wearing.

x. the wheel of fortune

Cassian takes a sip of his beer and surveys the scene in front of him. The party turned out to be less of a backyard affair than a middle of the woods rager, which is a piece of information he's absolutely not going to volunteer to Maarva later. There's a large bonfire in the middle of the area the hosts (whom he still hasn't met) cleared for the party and then a spot not far off where someone's pickup truck is parked with a keg in the bed. Cassian is probably done after this drink because four years of college parties didn't cure him of his anxiety about getting caught drinking by his mother, even if it is entirely legal for him to do now, but most of the people here do not have his qualms. The guy manning the keg is keeping very busy and, since they're charging for drinks, he's also flush with cash.

On the other side of the bonfire, he can see Bix animatedly telling a story to their friend Xan and a guy from the body shop Cassian's never been formally introduced to. He's glad he came out tonight, even if all it accomplishes is getting his friends off his case. Still, he can't help feeling like he shouldn't be here. Maarva is right that he needs to stay focused on his future. Meanwhile, his friends that stayed in New Orleans together while he was away at school have bonded and put down roots in a way that makes him feel like an intruder.

It's while he's having these morose thoughts that a drunk girl collides with him and drenches him in beer, which is probably what he deserves for being so somber at a fucking party.

"Woah, sorry," she says, stumbling to a stop. "Shit, I really soaked your jacket, didn't I?"

"It's fine," Cassian says, wiping at his jacket with his hands rather ineffectually.

"No, that was super uncool," she replies and even standing completely still, she looks unsteady on her feet. She reaches out to swat at the stained fabric with her hand uselessly before she seems to catch on that it won't accomplish anything and pulls off her knit beanie instead. "This...isn't actually helping, is it?"

He laughs, unexpectedly. "Not really, no. But it's fine."

"I'm so sorry," she says, miserably, as she continues to try to soak up the beer with her hat. "I'm really not this much of a klutz normally."

"Not your first stop of the night, I'm guessing?"

She groans. "I don't look that wasted, do I?"

Cassian tips his head to the side, trying to equivocate, but it's a hard thing to walk back now. "Well, it's partially that and also you're a little overdressed for this party."

The girl looks down at herself like she forgot what she was wearing: a simple but tight black dress and heels that would do better on a dance floor than in the woods and a trendy, expensive looking jacket. He realizes, a little belatedly, that she's pretty, which is something he's going to have to ignore considering how over-served she is. Still, even in the half light of the bonfire, her eyes capture his attention.

"You got me there," she says, rolling her beautiful eyes like they're in on the same joke. “I had to put in appearance at my stupid cousin's twenty-first, which she just had to have at some bougie club with loud, shitty music and expensive drinks. But this was where I really wanted to be all along."

That last part was said flirtatiously enough that Cassian's entire train of thought slams to a halt. The effort of getting through college in one piece and with a GPA that could get him into a good law school had clearly done a number on his social skills, because high school Cassian would have been able to knock a serve that easy back over the net with little trouble and now he was just staring blankly at this beautiful woman. He tells himself that it's her state of inebriation that gives him pause and not an utter lack of game on his part.

"Uh…I'm not one of the hosts," he says, weakly, "so, you don't need to flatter me.”

"I guess not," she says, with a smirk that tells him his deflection was obvious but that she also didn't take it too personally. She holds up the beanie with grim amusement. "And this is clearly not doing anything. I'm going to see if I can find…napkins? Paper towels? Something useful for absorption at least?"

Cassian snorts. "Don't hold your breath," he says, trying and failing to imagine the hosts of this kegger having something practical like that on hand.

"Yeah, well," she says, with a rueful shrug, "a girl can dream, right?"

''I suppose so."

She nods and starts to wander away. "I'll be back. Don't move," she says and then offers him an ironic little salute.

Cassian laughs to himself as she goes and then pivots his attention to survey the damage to his jacket. The thing is made of wool, which means it's absorbing the beer quite admirably, against his wishes. He probably should have told her not to bother with the napkin hunt since he'll most likely have to get it dry cleaned anyway just to get the beer smell out, but she'd seemed determined to help somehow.

A few minutes after his mysterious friend departs, Bix materializes at his elbow. "Man," she says, stepping back immediately to cover her nose, "You smell like a bar floor. I thought you promised Maarva you'd go easy tonight!"

"I did," Cassian says, scowling at her. “This is someone else's beer, unfortunately."

"Tough break," Bix replies, casting a sympathetic eye over him.

"Probably a sign to call it a night, though."

"Boo," she yells, not entirely sober herself. "You can’t go now! You said you'd buy me a drink!"

"I can do that before I leave," he says. "I just don't want to pay for a cab home and I will definitely need to if I have another drink."

"You used to be fun, Cass," she says, morosely, and he ignores how much it hurts to have his fears about himself voiced by another person.

"Do you want your beer or not?" he grumbles instead, because he knows it's not something she would have said sober and that's enough to soothe him for now.

"Of course," she says, rolling her eyes, and loops their arms together.

Before they can get very far, Cassian pats his jacket pocket to find his wallet and comes up empty. He stops himself and Bix in their tracks and searches the pockets of his jeans too, finding his car keys and his phone but nothing else. He turns around to see if his wallet is on the ground somewhere, like maybe he dropped it, and pats his jacket one more time for good measure. His hand comes away wet and he remembers, suddenly, that someone else recently did the same thing. His head whips around as he searches for her in the crowd.

"Cassian," Bix says, plainly worried. "What is it?"

"My wallet. Beer girl...she must have taken it..."

"Wait, what? Who the fuck would do that?"

"A thief," Cassian says, as he spots her on the other side of the clearing. "Hey, thief!" he calls.

Her head lifts at the raised voice, and she looks around, bewildered, before her eyes—the ones he'd been admiring not that long ago—land on him and go wide with surprise. Before he can formulate something clever to say, her face clears of its confused expression and turns ice cold before she takes off at a run.

"Son of a—!" he mutters and follows. He doesn't even think twice about it, like he probably should. For whatever reason, this stranger stealing from him tonight feels like a very personal betrayal and chasing her down doesn't register as the ludicrous idea it obviously is. He vaguely recognizes Bix calling after him in alarm but he ignores it. The world narrows to just him and his pickpocket.

xvi. the tower

Jyn has got to be more discerning about only stealing from people who can't keep up with her on foot. If nothing else, she should have given this guy a kick in the shin when she had the chance because he is fast. She's not doing her best work in these heels either, but she hadn't planned to run through mud and wet leaves when she got dressed this evening. She was supposed to be at a nightclub. Bodhi is in for it when she gets a hold of him. She hadn't even seen him at this party he invited her to before this dude caught her lifting wallets. What sort of Sherlock Holmes wannabe was she even dealing with here, anyway?

A lucky break presents itself in the form of an entrance to an old graveyard at the edge of the woods. There will be more places to hide there, she reasons, and most people are irrationally superstitious about graveyards, especially after dark. She's willing to bet Wallet Guy is no exception. She ducks through the barely open gate and sprints down a row of tall headstones, feeling the gazes of granite angels on her the whole way.

She eventually hides herself in the shadow of an ostentatiously large gravestone (or maybe it's a very tiny mausoleum) and holds her breath when she hears footsteps approach. Sherlock Jr. clearly isn't afraid of graveyards like she’d hoped. With her luck, he'll probably camp out here all night, waiting for her, completely unbothered.

"Listen," his voice rings out, echoing in the stone aisles, "Beer girl, I'm not going to call the cops or anything. That's the last thing I want, okay? Just give me the wallet back now and we're even. I'll forget your face. You have my word."

Jyn is almost tempted to snort at that but her muscles are tensed up so thoroughly, she couldn't do anything involuntarily at the moment. Still, the audacity that she should trust this guy to be cool, to bet her actual life on it; he must be joking. This is the moment she decides she's going to have to sacrifice the heels in order to get out of there, which she does not want to do because it means spending money she doesn't have to replace them. She can't think of a better plan right now, though, and she's absolutely willing to ditch them if it means giving this guy the slip. Jyn slowly and quietly toes them off so she's ready to run, while he is distracted trying to reason with her.

"I'm serious," Wallet Guy announces, like that wasn't obvious from literally everything about him. It's part of why she'd zeroed in on him in the first place. He seemed so serious that she was sure a little mishap and some light flirting would completely throw him off and make her grab for his wallet virtually undetectable. She'd only been a little wrong, to be fair. "I don't want trouble any more than you do!"

But that had always been Jyn's problem: she's never minded trouble. She can get herself out of it just as easily as she can get herself into it. Some rich kid from the right side of the tracks is no match for her in the trouble department, she thinks, and so she ducks out from behind the headstone and tries to make her escape. In doing so, however, she accientally kicks some gravel loose as she takes off running, which gives away her location. It also turns out Wallet Guy was much closer than she'd originally thought and his reflexes are better than anticipated too, because it only takes a quick heel turn and a few strides before he's caught up with her and reaching for her wrist.

"Please," he says, before there's a bright flash and a lurch like a train picking up speed too quickly and then she's being wrenched away from him with enough force that it launches her across the graveyard.

iv. the emperor

When Cassian was eight, he'd watched his father die. He'd watched him get shot by a police officer, while his hands were up in surrender, because the officer had been startled by an explosion nearby. Cassian always forgets this part—the Imperial Gulf oil rig explosion happening the same night as his father's murder—but one of those things actually materially changed his life and the other was just a thing from the news grownups were worried about. If he hadn't been right there when it happened, he might have forgotten about it entirely, for all people in New Orleans still talk about it all the time. People don't forget here, he's found. The city has a good, long memory.

There is a chance that if not for the explosion, his father might not have been shot, but even as a kid, Cassian knew the odds were bad. Clem was a Black man caught holding a stolen sound system, the one Cassian had stolen on a dare from some older boys at school that he was desperate to impress. He was ten years old and the only thing that ever seemed to matter to him in those days was seeming grown up. Clem had come looking for him when he was late getting home from school and found the stolen stereo in his hands. He'd insisted they bring it back and try to make things right with the owner.

It didn't matter to the police that Clem hadn't stolen it, that he was just trying to teach his son a lesson. Cassian's adoption had only been finalized the year before and he was still acting out sometimes, pushing the limits of his parents' patience in what a counselor would later explain to him were attempts to see what it would take to be sent away again. There was no easy way to explain to a little kid that his birth parents hadn't "sent him away" for being bad, but because they couldn't keep him, or that his adoptive parents wouldn’t do the same thing someday for some minor infraction. He just didn’t understand that back then. Still, Clem was trying to teach him right and wrong without triggering his fears. It was even starting to work. If only he'd never stolen that car stereo, everything would have been different.

But he did. And the police found him and his father trying to return it. And while Clem tried to surrender, the explosion had happened and one of the officers panicked and fired his gun. They'd been down by the docks when the police found them and, when Clem was shot, he'd fallen into the water. Without hesitation, without any thought at all, Cassian had jumped in after him. Maybe it was from a misguided place of hope, believing that something could still be done to save his father. Maybe it was out of fear, knowing that he wasn't safe with those cops after what he'd seen. Or maybe it was a death wish. Maybe in that moment, losing the man who'd been so kind to him even when he hardly deserved it, he just didn't see any reason to try to survive so he followed his father into the water because he wanted to follow him into death.

Under the water, though, he'd seen that there was no helping his father and the oil rig's collapse was only getting worse. He tried to make his way to the surface but it was impossible to see anything more than a few feet away. Everything was dark. He'd been so consumed with fear when he dove into the water that he had no clue by then how far he'd swam from the docks. He was never going to find his way back now. Just when he was truly starting to despair, there had been a sound from the direction of the rig and a pulse went through the water that hit him like a slap across the back of his head. When he opened his eyes again, there was something glowing in the water ahead of him, a pure white light he reached for instinctively. He'd felt sure in that moment, despite everything, that the light would save him somehow. He'd never felt faith or hope that certainly in his life before, and he sure as hell hasn't felt it that way since. Then again, he hadn't seen that bright light again since that night either. Until he reaches for the girl in the graveyard, that is.

xi. justice

Jyn's shoulder throbs in pain. It's the part of her that had made contact with the headstone that broke her fall, so it makes sense that it hurts, but it's going to be a problem if this guy decides to fight her. Then again, judging by the look of him right now, he's not in any condition to fight either. Whatever force just threw her back did the same thing to him. He's still conscious, though, which is only good because she doesn't feel like dealing with a dead body right now. There's something wrong with him, though. He's looking down at his body in alarm—inspecting himself for injuries, she suspects—but he freezes in horror when he sees his hands. It takes Jyn a moment to realize why but when she does, her heart nearly stops.

There's smoke coming off his hands in tendrils, but nothing's on fire as far as she can tell. It's like the smoke that comes off of dry ice except it's pitch black. From any further away, Jyn's not sure she could convince herself it wasn't the shadows moving of their accord. Based on the expression on the guy's face, he's never seen this before, but she has. On the night of the car accident, after her father died, she'd seen it.

She'd been trying desperately to get out of the sinking car, but the water was coming in too fast and the windows were all sealed shut. Then there had been an explosion underneath the water and a ripple went across the bay, knocking her backwards into the seat. When she opened her eyes, there was black smoke pouring through the windshield. It looked like someone had dumped ink into the water, the way it moved and spread its way into the car. She'd reached for it, more afraid of staying still there than whatever the black smoke could do to her. She had expected her palm to find the window when she did, but there was no glass there anymore. The smoke had dissolved it or replaced it somehow and Jyn didn't stop to rationalize how or why that happened. She swam towards the shadows and felt a hand clasp around her own and pull her to safety. And now that same smoke was pouring from the hands of the boy who'd chased her down in the graveyard.

"What the hell was that?" she calls out, shaking (she tells herself) with anger and not with fear. "What did you just do to me?"

"Me?" he fires back. "I didn't do anything! That—that wasn't you?"

"No! I couldn't—how could I do that?"

"Your hands," he says, voice shaking. "They're glowing."

Jyn looks down, then, to find he's telling the truth. Her palms are glowing with a bright white light. This is...definitely a sign of concussion. There's no way any of this is really happening.

Before she can get too far with that denial, the guy is gingerly standing up and brushing off his clothes with shadowy hands. “I've seen it before," he says, carefully. "Once."

Jyn shakes her head, still hoping to write all of this off as a side effect of a head injury. "You've…what?"

"I've seen something glow like that before," he repeats, patiently. "It was you, wasn't it? You're the girl from the beach, the night of the oil rig collapse. You saved me."

Jyn swallows hard, so that she doesn't say the first thing that comes to mind, which is that he's got it all backwards. As she remembers it, he was the one who saved her that night. She knows it's been twelve years but she can't believe she didn't recognize him immediately. His face has been haunting her dreams her entire life. She should have known him.

"That was you?" she asks, uselessly. Who else could it be? Who else would even know about that?

He holds up his hands tentatively but they're answer enough. That night was the one and only time she'd ever seen smoke like that.

"We must have—something happened to us," he starts to say, far too reasonable and certain for her taste. "Back then, or ...just now, I don't know."

Panic rises in Jyn's throat, threatening to choke her. She starts shaking her head before the actual thought has even articulated itself in her mind and she picks herself up off the ground feeling like her body is made of lead.

"I can't do this," she says, still looking at her glowing hands and beginning to back away.

"Please," he says, starting to come closer, "don't leave. I just want some answers."

The light grows brighter as her panic sharpens. "I don't have any," she shouts, over the roaring in her ears, “I’m sorry.” And then she runs.

The boy from the beach calls after her but she doesn't stop running until the light coming from her hands fades completely and she has to pick her way through the woods by the light of the moon. She puts a healthy distance between herself and him, between herself and the party and anyone who could recognize her, and gets back to a main road somehow. She decides to literally go for broke and hails a cab. Once she's given the driver a respectable residential address near enough to where she's illegally squatting, she settles back in the seat and tries to close her eyes. Something pokes at her side from her jacket pocket, though, and she remembers that she still has the wallet.

Tentatively, like she's handling something unstable and potentially explosive, she pulls the wallet out and opens it. She finds a handful of small bills, a debit card as well as a credit card, a library card and a membership card to a local grocery chain. Boring stuff, mostly, but there's also a student ID and a driver's license, which tell her what she really wants to know: Cassian Andor. She'd always been curious about the name of the boy who saved her life all those years ago and now she has it. Her hands shake with the possibility that this knowledge offers. She even has his address, if his license is up to date. She could find him again, if she really wanted to. The problem is that she has no idea what she actually wants.

xvii. the star

Cassian doesn't bother going back to the party. He skirts around the clearing and finds where he parked his car without saying goodbye to anyone. He's not even sure what he would offer as an explanation for his disappearing act if people asked. Instead, he avoids everyone and their potential questions and just goes home. It’s late enough when he gets there that his mother is already asleep, which is just as well, because he doesn’t want to deal with her questions either.

There’s so many things he doesn’t understand right now and so many questions he wants answered and the only person who could even begin to help him ran as fast as she could in the other direction. He didn’t even get her name, which is somehow the most disappointing part of all. He’s spent more than half of his life dreaming of that night and remembering her; it’s only right that he should have a name to go with that memory. Cassian sighs and wills himself to forget about it, even though he knows that’s a lost cause. He takes off his stained jacket and his muddy shoes and heads upstairs, where he doesn’t bother undressing any further before slumping down onto his bed. He tells himself he’ll actually get ready for bed in a minute, but he knows this is also a lie. After a few aborted attempts to get back up, he commits to sleeping in his clothes and pulls a blanket over his head to block out any remaining light. It feels like only a few moments later that the sound of birds chirping and singing wakes him. He wouldn’t normally notice such a thing, but these birds are loud. They must be right outside of his window, he thinks, as he throws the sheet back to welcome in the morning sunlight. He gets the surprise of his life when, above him, all he sees is the faded pink skies of dawn. He lurches up to a sitting position and looks around and finds himself on a rooftop downtown.

It must be a dream. He’s still asleep and that’s the only explanation there is. He hadn’t dreamed of Clem or the oil rig explosion or the girl from the graveyard and he’d thought it was a mercy, but this is…weirder. And it feels real. He can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest and the humid, dewy air of early morning on his face. If it’s a dream, it’s a completely new kind for him. He’s even wearing the same clothes he went to sleep in, and he can feel the bruise on his shoulder from when he fell in the graveyard. And his hands, where they’re still clutching the blanket, have the black mist curling around them again.

He might not be dreaming after all, he realizes, watching the shadowy tendrils twist delicately around his wrist and into the open air. Maybe this is his reality now. Maybe he can—what? Teleport? Travel places in his dreams? What exactly did he do to get here of all places? Where is here, anyway?

A glance over his shoulder reveals the answer to many of those questions. Behind him on the roof, he recognizes a downtown landmark: the old Imperial Gulf Oil sign. The building below had housed the first offices for the later-rebranded Imperial Energy back in the day. Years ago, they’d built a huge, expensive facility across the water where their employee offices were now located and sold this building to a developer, who wasted no time turning it into expensive condos no one here could afford. They’d kept the enormous neon sign on the roof as a nod to the neighborhood’s history and probably because it’s exactly the sort of aesthetic nonsense their ideal buyers would shell out extra for. If there was any chance Cassian still believed his appearance here was pure coincidence, it was gone now. He had said he wanted answers and the universe sent him a literal neon sign. Imperial Gulf is where all of this started and it’s where he’ll get his answers.

He just has to find her first—the girl from the beach, the girl from the graveyard, the girl from his dreams.

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