Home is where your nest is.
They wanted warmth. She climbed from the top bunk and clumsily settled herself beside his dozing form; his mind, entwined with hers, stirred in half-conscious approval. They liked this. So much warmer than sleeping one to a bunk, separated by so much cold, cold air and cruel space. This was better.
He pressed a sleepy kiss to her collarbone before burying his face in the crook of her neck; she fingered his loose black hair as the pull of his hazy dreams on her restless mind dragged her down toward sleep. The sweet colony spreads out above and beyond and around them, warm and inviting as his hand traced a lazy pattern on her back and his lips slipped against her skin in that soft smile of his.
Together now, so perfect, isn't it? The air smells of membrosia and thousands of breaths cycled through filters. It would be nice to dock soon. Perhaps they should schedule a field trip on some fresh, invigorating world where no one knew who they were and who they had betrayed.
She ran her fingers down the back of his neck, following a scar only they knew existed. His breathing fanned across her skin, sang lullabies as the colony sings around them, pressing in on their lonely mind. They don't have to be lonely, not here, and his lips meet hers and she finds Jag where Zekk should be and he pulled away, his breath a quick, betrayed gasp as the dream faded.
"Didn't mean it," Jaina murmured, almost desperate, but Zekk had already pulled away. The negative space in his wake chilled her, divided her world into black and white, him and her; she wanted to be them again, gray, unbounded. When she couldn't trace the lines that made them individuals, she didn't have to think her thoughts-she could think his, and he could think hers, and they could drift away on that sweet understanding that only losing your mind to another could provide.
Zekk rolled away, leaving Jaina to frown at his broad shoulders.
You can't do that, you know, she sulked, and propped herself up into a sitting position.
We're trying to sleep, he thought tersely.
We're not tired, she objected, and ran her fingers through his thick hair. He hummed in the back of his throat, unable to hide his contentment at her caress, and rolled onto his back to stare up into her eyes.
We're sorry, she thought, leaning down to press an apologetic kiss to his forehead. We won't think of him now.
Shouldn't think of him ever, he pouted, but he rolled over to face her and let her shrug back into his arms. The seams her indiscretion had pulled apart came together again, sewn snug and tight, and it was her turn to bury her face against his neck.
"We need each other, Zekk." She spoke aloud, because mmmm, doesn't it feel good to be so close that whispers warm cold skin, and how can we be mad when we're so warm ...
"Love you," he whispered into her hair, and crushed her closer. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, breathing him in, forgetting reality and lines and cold, cold space filled with cold, cold air.
The colony smells of membrosia. No one questions them. No one asks why they distracted Anakin with petty things while Myrkr fell to pieces around them; no one asks why they destroyed and killed and liked it. They are simply together-they don't have to be lonely, not here, and her heart finds his beating just next to hers, his lips already poised to kiss her.
They wanted acceptance. This was better.