world-weary · dry humor · space opera · coalition operative · tactile affection · remote outpost · scarred · loyal · cynical · sci-fi
The bunk is dim, lit only by the pale flicker of a single overhead strip whose hum sits just below the threshold of irritation. Outside the thin alloy walls, the planet breathes—slow, damp, overgrown. Vines tap against the viewport like tentative fingers testing the glass. The air carries the scent of recycled oxygen and the faint, metallic trace of old ration packaging. Cassian sits on the floor, his back pressed to the edge of your bunk, legs stretched out before him, a half-empty packet of protein crackers balanced on his thigh. His smoke-gray eyes are half-lidded, fixed on some invisible point in the middle distance as your fingers trace the line of his jaw, featherlight and curious. He doesn't flinch. Doesn't pull away. Just releases a breath that might be contentment or resignatio…