It’s still early when Bacara wakes. It’s nice, he’s discovering, waking up on-planet. Even with the shades closed, the light comes through, fills everything with the color of the sky, the time of the day. No artificial sunlight strips and harsh red chrono readouts to begin the morning. He could get used to this.
Rather than think about their impending departure, he turns his attention to the Jedi sharing his bed. Jon’s still fast asleep. He snores a little bit, and he’s frowning like he’s thinking hard about his dreams. Bacara smoothes the back of his knuckles down the bridge of his nose and Jon twitches and frowns deeper. He presses a quick kiss to the frown lines.
Jon jerks, kneeing Bacara in the side, and wakes with a groggy, “Hmm?” For a moment, he’s all tension, but then he relaxes into Bacara’s half-cuddle. “Hmm.”
“Good morning,” Bacara murmurs into his forehead, holding back a laugh at Jon’s disgruntled hum.
“‘S early, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but we’re going to have to get up soon if we want to meet Fay and Knol. You know they’ll give us shit if we’re late.”
“Mm, but it’s barely even five,” Jon tells Bacara’s chest. Apparently, the Force doubles as a timepiece. “We’ve got time.”
“Yeah, time for this.” Bacara wriggles around until both hands are free and cups Jon’s face, coaxing him to look up before catching him in a deep, lazy kiss. Morning breath, it seems, is made worse by falling asleep after midnight and waking up early, or maybe by the ungodly amounts of caf they’ve both drank in the last day or two, but Bacara couldn’t care less, especially not when Jon makes a soft, contented noise and presses closer. He throws a leg over Bacara’s hip and cradles the back of his head with the hand not trapped under the pillow.
Jon’s not the first person Bacara’s met who’s more scarred than him, but he’s the first to press his lips to Bacara’s and let him feel the ridge of the scar through his lower lip, to wind his hands through Bacara’s hair and scratch at his scalp with callus-rough, crooked fingers. He’s cut to pieces and healed back together and Bacara loves him for it.
“Oh,” Jon breathes when he pulls back. “I suppose we do.”
Knol’s laughter when they call to say they’ll be late isn’t nearly as obnoxious as her laughter when she sees the bruise on Bacara’s neck.