Private Life Day Bounty

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian didn't answer right away.

Shade's words, my way of saying I love you, hit with the same precision as everything she did: clean, unembellished, absolute. He stood there with the armor piece still in his hands, and for once he didn't try to soften the moment with humor.

He simply nodded, slow and certain.

"I hear you," he said quietly.

When she refilled the glasses and moved to the couch, he followed without hesitation. He set the armor component aside with care, took the wine from her hand, and sat beside her in the space she'd made, close enough that their shoulders touched.

Cassian turned his head to look at her, expression steady, softened by something honest. "I love you too," he said, low and sure. He followed her towards couch, taking a seat next to her, trying not to crowd her space too much, but he couldn't help it. It was okay to be vulnerable, especially in times like these.

Cassian looked at her for a long beat, letting himself actually see her, softened by lamplight, hair loose, posture finally at rest. Beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with spectacle and everything to do with truth. And somewhere in the quiet, something in him unclenched.

It was okay to be vulnerable. To stop performing competence. To have a moment that didn't need to be earned with blood or strategy. It was just them, here, with the galaxy held outside the door.

He leaned in.

First a small kiss to her lips, gentle, unhurried. Then another, and another, a series of quiet kisses that traveled along the corner of her mouth, her cheek, the line of her jaw. He lingered at her temple, brushed one more kiss there like a promise, and pulled back just enough to look at her again.

A smile tugged at his mouth, warm and real.

"You said you listened to the city, when you were on your walk?" Cassian murmured, thumb brushing lightly at her cheek as if to keep her anchored here with him. "What did it tell you?"

 

[Shade]

Shade didn't move away when he kissed her, and she didn't retreat into stillness or calculation either. Instead, she leaned into the quiet sequence of touches as they came, unhurried and deliberate, meeting each one with the same calm intent she brought to everything she chose. When his mouth traced the line of her jaw and lingered at her temple, her eyes closed briefly—not in surrender, but in recognition. This was allowed. This was wanted. This was hers.

When he pulled back just enough to look at her, she was already there—present, steady, unguarded in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. Her hand lifted to the base of his neck, fingers resting there with quiet certainty, her thumb settling where she could feel his pulse beneath her touch. It was a grounding gesture, mirroring the way he had anchored her all evening, a reminder that neither of them was drifting alone.

When she spoke, her voice was low and even, carrying warmth without softness being mistaken for fragility. "It told me I didn't have to listen for danger tonight," she said quietly, her thumb moving once in a slow, thoughtful circle against his skin. "There were no footsteps worth tracking. No patterns that needed solving."

She opened her eyes fully then, meeting his gaze without flinching, without armor, the faintest curve touching her mouth—not a smile meant to charm, but something real.

"It sounded alive," she continued, the honesty in it unguarded. "Ordinary. People were going about their lives. Laughter, I didn't have to measure. Noise that didn't mean anything." Her fingers slid from his neck to his jaw, mirroring the touch he had given her earlier, steady and intentional, holding him there in the same quiet way.

"It reminded me that I'm allowed to exist outside of purpose," she said, her voice lowering just a fraction. "And when you walked through that door…" She paused—not for effect, but because she chose her words carefully. "…I wanted to stay in that feeling." Not because it was planned. Not because it was expected. Because it was right.

She leaned in again, closing the space she had never truly left, pressing a single, deliberate kiss to his lips—slow and assured, carrying everything she didn't need to say aloud. When she pulled back, she stayed close, her forehead resting briefly against his, her breath steady and unhurried.

"The city didn't ask anything of me," she murmured. "Neither do you." Her hand remained on him, warm and certain, as the truth settled between them without needing reinforcement. "That's why I listened."

And for once, Shade let the quiet remain unbroken—content to sit there with him, the galaxy held at a respectful distance, listening only to the steady rhythm of shared breath and shared presence.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade​

Cassian listened, letting her finish, letting the truth land where it wanted to land.

When she said she didn't have to listen for danger tonight, something in his face softened. Relief flickered there, quiet and real. He didn't smile right away; he just breathed, slow, as if he could finally stop bracing too.

"Good," he murmured, voice low, steady. "That's… good."

Her hand at his neck grounded him more than he wanted to admit. The small circle of her thumb over his pulse felt like a promise she didn't have to say twice. Cassian's fingers slid to her waist, holding her close without pulling, just keeping them aligned in the same quiet rhythm. When she spoke about ordinary sounds, laughter she didn't have to measure, noise that didn't mean anything, his throat tightened, just slightly. He understood exactly what it cost to want something that simple.

And when she kissed him, slow, assured, he met it without hesitation, returning it with the same unhurried certainty. He kept his forehead against hers afterward, eyes half-lidded, breath warm between them.

He pulled back just enough to look at her fully, taking in her calm, the rare unguardedness, the fact that she'd chosen to stay in that feeling, and to let him stay there with her.

Cassian's smile finally came, small and warm. "I like this version of the galaxy," he said, almost under his breath. "The one that can be alive without trying to swallow you whole."

His thumb brushed once along her side, a gentle anchor. The back of his fingers, gently carressing her check. "The galaxy can't have you. I won't allow it."

"And I want you to have more days and nights like this," Cassian added, voice firm in that quiet way he had when he meant something completely. "Not as a reward. Not as an exception. Just… because you're allowed."

He leaned in again and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, then another to the corner of her mouth, brief, affectionate, like punctuation that didn't break the calm. When he pulled back, his eyes stayed on hers.

Cassian took a deep breath before he spoke again. "I told my mother about you. What you provide for me, how I feel. She's very happy for me." He looked up and showed her a smile. "She wants to meet you, when you are ready."

 

[Shade]

Shade didn’t move away when he said it.

At first, she held his gaze, the quiet between them stretching—not with hesitation, but with the careful consideration she gave to anything that carried consequence. Cassian could see it settle in her, the way she absorbed information rather than reacting to it. This wasn’t a surprise. It was weight.

When she breathed, it was slow and steady, a grounding inhale she didn’t hide.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly—not as reproach, but recognition of the trust behind the act.

Her hand remained at his waist, fingers resting there with quiet certainty, thumb pressing once as if to anchor them both. As she continued, her voice stayed even, but warmer now, threaded with something unmistakably real. “But I understand why you did.”

She shifted then—not away, not back—but closer. The movement was subtle, unhurried. Shade leaned in and rested her head against his shoulder, the contact gentle and intentional, the kind that stayed once chosen. Her temple settled there, her weight shared without pressing, her presence unmistakably calm.

“That means something to me,” she continued softly. “That you spoke of me as someone who matters in your life—not as a role, or an arrangement, but as a person.” She stayed there as she spoke, her head unmoving, her body aligned with his. This wasn’t fleeting affection. This was a decision. “I don’t take that kind of acknowledgment lightly,” she added. “And I won’t treat it casually.”

At the mention of his mother wanting to meet her, something eased further in her posture—not tension releasing, but acceptance forming. The understanding that this was not an expectation. It was an opening, offered without pressure. “When I’m ready,” she echoed quietly, the faintest curve touching her mouth. “That matters.”

Her head remained on his shoulder as she spoke next, her voice lowering—not because it needed secrecy, but because the moment asked for it. “Tell her…thank you,” she murmured. “For raising someone capable of this kind of care.”

She didn’t lift her head. She didn’t look away. She stayed, letting the stillness do the work words didn’t need to.

“And when that day comes,” she added softly, “I will meet her honestly.” Not as an obligation. Not as performance. But as herself. Her fingers tightened just slightly at his waist, a quiet confirmation offered without flourish. “Just like this.”

And Shade remained there—head resting on his shoulder, breath steady, presence unguarded—choosing the moment, choosing him, and choosing not to move until neither of them needed to anymore.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian didn't move when she rested her head on his shoulder.

He felt the shift the way he felt a door closing gently behind them, quiet, deliberate, final in the best way. Her weight against him wasn't heavy, but it was real, and it made something in his chest ease that he'd been carrying so long. It reminded him of that week with her in the Villas at the lake country. It felt so relaxed and so...normal. He lowered his chin, letting it hover near her hair, and his arm tightened around her waist just enough to keep her there without trapping her. A steady hold. An answer.

"You're right," he murmured, voice rougher than he intended. "I didn't have to. I wanted to."

Because it was the truth. Because saying she mattered out loud felt like setting a claim against the part of the galaxy that tried to reduce people into roles and assets and risks. Because with Shade, anything worth doing was worth doing cleanly, no half-measures, no ambiguity. With the greatest care, and true love in his heart, mind and soul.

When she told him it meant something, he swallowed once, slow, and closed his eyes briefly. Not to hide, just to feel it. He could feel her breath against him, steady and calm, and it anchored him as surely as any promise. "You matter," Cassian said quietly, like he needed her to hear it again without extra framing. "Not as an arrangement. Not as a variable. You. Exactly as you are."

He shifted his head slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her hair, small, unhurried, a touch meant more to reassure than to claim.

"And I'll tell her," he added. The corner of his mouth lifted, soft. "She'll like that, she will appreciate it."

He glanced down at her hand at his waist, the way her fingers tightened just slightly, and his thumb traced a slow, grounding line along her side. "When you're ready," Cassian said, voice steady, "I'll be right there. Not to manage it. Not to translate you. Just…there." He let the quiet stretch again, the kind that didn't demand performance. Just presence.

"And for what it's worth," he murmured, almost against her temple, "She's going to be honored you chose honesty."

"Just like this," Cassian echoed softly.

And he didn't move either, content to keep the world at a distance for as long as she wanted, because in this moment, he didn't need anything else. Cassian raised the glass to his lips and took a small sip before lowering it back down.

 

[Shade]

Shade stayed where she was. She didn't lift her head right away when he spoke, didn't shift or adjust as if to acknowledge every word with movement. Instead, she let them settle the way she let everything important settle—entirely, without flinching or deflection. His shoulder was solid beneath her cheek, his arm steady at her waist, and for once, there was no calculation running beneath the contact. Just presence. Chosen. Mutual.

When he said he wanted to, not had to, her fingers tightened a fraction more at his side. Not enough to be possessive. Enough to be real.

She exhaled slowly, the sound quiet and even, her breath brushing his collar as if grounding herself there before she spoke. "Then we're aligned," she said at last, her voice low and calm, carrying no doubt. "I don't accept obligation. I accept choice."

His words—you matter—did not make her pull away. They didn't make her retreat inward, either. Instead, something in her posture eased further, as though a weight she'd long carried had been acknowledged and set down rather than denied.

"I know what I am to the galaxy," she continued quietly. "What it asks of me. What it takes." She shifted just enough to rest her temple more fully against him, a deliberate decision rather than a lapse into comfort. "What you see," she added, "what you choose anyway—that matters."

When he pressed a kiss into her hair, her eyes closed briefly. Not in surrender. In acceptance. The kind that didn't weaken her edges, only made them intentional.

At the mention of his mother, there was a pause—not hesitation, but consideration. Shade did nothing lightly, and this was no exception. Still, she didn't pull away. Her answer came measured and sincere. "When I'm ready," she said, "I won't hide." Her hand shifted at his waist, thumb pressing once, mirroring the grounding gesture he'd given her earlier. "I don't need translation," she continued softly. "But I appreciate you standing beside me."

The quiet stretched again, comfortable and unforced. She listened to his breathing, felt the rise and fall beneath her cheek, and allowed herself—just this once—to rest in it.

"Just like this," she echoed, not as agreement alone, but as affirmation. She didn't lift her head. She didn't move away. The world could wait. For now, this was enough.

Cassian Abrantes