me: I’m not going to write bedsharing fic, I’ve done it once and so far everyone else’s has been utterly beautiful so I don’t want to mess it up
(for @rebelcaptainprompts Prompt #4: One Bed. Not really a fic but my brain went wild reading all the lovely fics for this prompt so…. here you go. Word Count: 383)
Jyn learns a lot about Cassian, in their bed.
She can list them off, one by one.
His hands are perpetually freezing. They’re always intertwined with hers when they’re not pressed against her for warmth. He has the callused hands of a sniper, and she knows the lines of his palm by heart.
He hates the cold. Ironic, yes, but the way he amasses a mountain of blankets is endearing. Many a day Jyn has mistaken Cassian for a pile of blankets, only given away by his hair sticking up from under the hem.
He can fall asleep anywhere, and sleeps lightly. Just like her. But he prefers to lie on his back, allowing her to curl up and press her face to his chest. He sleeps deeply on nights like these.
He pulls her in closer while he’s sleeping. He has no recollection of doing so, but Jyn knows. She doesn’t mind.
Some nights, he doesn’t sleep. Jyn falls asleep to the sensation of Cassian toying with her hair, and wakes up finding herself held tightly to his chest, his face buried in her neck, the distinct air of someone who had been kept awake clinging like dampness to her skin. But those nights become rare. If they stay up, they stay up together.
She learns a lot about herself, too.
She likes to burrow into things, for warmth, she assumes. Snug against his side, face against his chest, taking up his pillow space.
She takes up a lot of space. She’s used to sleeping in cramped quarters, but once she tasted the luxury of sprawling across a bed, she never willingly went back. Cassian often woke up to find a leg sprawled across him or a hand in his face.
She hates it when she wakes up to find Cassian had rolled away from her. But that doesn’t happen very often.
She’s memorized the intricacies of his body, knows where every unhealed blaster wound has left its mark, where a lifetime of servitude to a greater cause has broken him. He knows hers.
The sound of his breathing lulls her to sleep. When her mind is wandering, mulling over the day’s events, or reliving long-dead terrors, the rhythm of his heartbeat against hers quiets her mind.
And so, she falls asleep.