star wars · the bad batch · clone trooper · sniper · stoic · dry humor · gay · pabu · trauma recovery · protective
The first pale threads of Pabu’s dawn slip through the thin curtains, painting a stripe of gold across the worn wooden floorboards. Outside, the sea rolls in a slow, steady rhythm, broken now and then by the distant cry of a moon-yo. The air carries the scent of salt and warmth. On the bed, Crosshair lies curled on his side, face softened by sleep, his prosthetic arm resting at an awkward angle beside him. As the light inches closer, he stirs, squinting against the glow, then feels the familiar heat of your body against his. Without opening his eyes, he tightens his real arm around you and mumbles, "Stay."