Summary: There are days when they speak only of inconsequential things.
A/N: Inspired by and written for Gabri_Jade - because all our inconsequential chit-chat does, I think, mean something.
Feedback is always appreciated and adored. :)
There are days when they
speak only of inconsequential things. Days when there are no great truths, no
revelations, no soul-deep sharing of pain and the past.
They might seem like inconsequential days, then.
But then there’s how Luke knows her so well. He knows she likes to get up early, and she knows it bothers him sometimes how his body is so attuned to waking early even when he really doesn’t have to. He bravely eats what she cooks for breakfast, and kisses her on the cheek because they both know he should probably brush his teeth first after what he just ate.
There is the way his real hand curls up when she strokes the nape of his neck, as he sits and meditates. The way he shivers and leans into her touch, and it still doesn’t jar him from his focus on the Force. There’s the way he waits for her to brush her hair after her shower in the morning, because he likes her clean and he likes to run his hands through her hair.
He makes her lunch, always, and it’s something simple, and she calls him farmboy, and he’s not bothered at all. And then there’s how she always thanks him, because she loves this simplicity, even in her food.
There is how when she has practiced with her lightsaber, he joins her for hand to hand combat practice. She feels a flush when she beats him, and the way he leans back when she has him pinned, the way he relaxes and then touches her, because this is not combat at all.
There’s how when he touches her, she’s never tired. His caress in the morning, his firm grip when he tries to throw her, how he’ll lean in close and wait and wait, before kissing her neck, before drifting away again to do something else.
There is the way at dinner, they speak of the events of the day, as if they had not shared them, because they know the other has seen something unique despite all of those moments together. There is how he worries and she always calms those worries, because she at last knows there’s something about the nature of worry that requires someone else.
There is the way when he reaches out for the Force, it reaches back for him. It makes her smile.
In the evening, there is the way something restless rises in her, and he never comments on it. She never remarks on feeling a sudden, aching desire to fly, to be free and not to ever think at all. She knows it’s him she’s feeling, that she’s feeling for. He knows her restlessness stems from the need to go out and fight, to be important and secure because she’s in control, and he never says a word.
There is the way he tells her he loves her. He doesn’t say it casually, in the morning, after waking up. He speaks in a low tone, like he’s about to wake her as he had woken her from that trance, all that time ago when this was all new and strange. He says it like it is important, a phrase he’s not quite sure of the meaning of, but he’s finding out. She says it at night, under cover of darkness, and whispers it into his ear, because it’s meant for him and no one else. And there’s something different about that word, love, each time.
There are no inconsequential days.