[somewhere in the silence, her eyes have slipped closed — only for a moment, but just long enough that when byleth's question reaches across the space between them, they snap open.
and for another stretch of time, they stare, watching byleth fixate on his shard. they could narrow, but they don't; instead, they just watch.
jyn's voice could take on an edge when it speaks, but it doesn't; instead, it's just as quiet as his.]
My father?
[she asks it even if she doesn't need to — because she knows. what's passed in the understanding between them can't not be known now.
if the cave in her mind has had cracks in its walls lately, then what they've just shared has blown those walls up completely, its contents open and exposed. she's back in the moment she tries to avoid, if she can — on eadu, in the rain, as the dying voice of galen erso barely manages, i have so much to tell you. galen erso, a man who hadn't been cruel, who'd given his life to something much bigger than himself, who'd started something that jyn had finished —
but like it'd been for fifteen, twenty years before that moment, his face isn't clear in her mind. the mass of emotion balling up in her chest and clawing into her throat isn't clear. and —]
I didn't know him. Not really. [— is the only thing jyn can find it in herself to say. she shrugs, deflecting.] Can't miss something you don't know.
no subject
and for another stretch of time, they stare, watching byleth fixate on his shard. they could narrow, but they don't; instead, they just watch.
jyn's voice could take on an edge when it speaks, but it doesn't; instead, it's just as quiet as his.]
My father?
[she asks it even if she doesn't need to — because she knows. what's passed in the understanding between them can't not be known now.
if the cave in her mind has had cracks in its walls lately, then what they've just shared has blown those walls up completely, its contents open and exposed. she's back in the moment she tries to avoid, if she can — on eadu, in the rain, as the dying voice of galen erso barely manages, i have so much to tell you. galen erso, a man who hadn't been cruel, who'd given his life to something much bigger than himself, who'd started something that jyn had finished —
but like it'd been for fifteen, twenty years before that moment, his face isn't clear in her mind. the mass of emotion balling up in her chest and clawing into her throat isn't clear. and —]
I didn't know him. Not really. [— is the only thing jyn can find it in herself to say. she shrugs, deflecting.] Can't miss something you don't know.