[ She's lived for hundreds of years and had more lovers than she can remember — nobody should affect her so easily anymore, but somehow, he always does. Even when he's still in his literal sickbed, not even conscious for an hour yet. Maybe that's love — or maybe it's just Poe Dameron — but he gets her weary heart-and-a half beating fast just by pressing close. It's cramped and awkward and she doesn't give a single damn about it.
She lifts her hand to cup his face, fondly brushing her thumb against his cheek. It's a low murmur into the nearly nonexistent space between their mouths when she speaks, wry and warm: ]
We keep going like this, and you'll end up bedridden another three days. Then we'll both be in trouble with Rex.
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She lifts her hand to cup his face, fondly brushing her thumb against his cheek. It's a low murmur into the nearly nonexistent space between their mouths when she speaks, wry and warm: ]
We keep going like this, and you'll end up bedridden another three days. Then we'll both be in trouble with Rex.