“What does he look like?”
“The boy,” Chirrut whispers quietly to Baze, leaning on his staff. “The one who blew up the Death Star…”
“He looks like an idiot,” Baze muttered.
Chirrut let out a bright laugh at that, turning to face him. “You say that about everyone, my love.”
Baze shook his head. “Only about fools like you… going in… trusting only in the Force… he’s going to get himself killed.”
“I haven’t been killed yet,” Chirrut pointed out, and Baze was glad he could not see his face, couldn’t see the pain that comment caused. He had been so close to losing Chirrut. “…Baze?”
“No, not yet.” Baze said, and reached out, the knuckles of one rough hand sliding over the back of Chirrut’s hand, holding his staff.
Chirrut smiled and took the hint, letting go of the staff to take his hand. “Jedha has found justice,” Chirrut said quietly, pulling Baze’s hand to his lips and kissing over his knuckles. “I think we should go celebrate privately, don’t you?”
Baze smirked at him, squeezing Chirrut’s hand. “Have I ever said no to an offer like that?”
“Yes,” Chirrut said honestly with a grin, kissing his hand again before leading him away to their apartment.