Private Sunlight and Spice

[Xian Xiao]

Xian stayed still for a long moment, her breath soft against his collarbone, the world narrowing to the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. There were no words at first — only the quiet certainty of presence, of being there when he finally let himself fall still.

When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
"Then live."

Her fingers tightened against his hand, grounding him, the warmth of her touch deliberate. "You don't have to ask permission for it," she said, voice steady but low. "You've already earned it. Every time you kept breathing when it would've been easier to stop… every time you fought for something that wasn't there yet."

She shifted, just enough to see his face, her dark eyes meeting his. "You say I'm the light," she murmured, "but that's not how I see it. You carried your own through everything — Ruusan, Bespin, Jutrand. It was dim, maybe, buried. But you kept it burning. All I did was remind you it was still there."

Her thumb brushed against his chest, over the place where his heartbeat pressed warm beneath her palm. "That's what living is, Veyran. Not forgetting the dark. Just choosing to keep a little of yourself lit anyway."

She leaned closer, forehead resting lightly against his. "You don't have to stop surviving to start living," she whispered. "You just have to stop doing it alone."

For a moment, she let silence fill the air between them again, her hand still tracing the faint scar along his jaw. "I'm here," she said, the words carrying quiet conviction. "Not as someone to save you, or to stay forever. Just someone who'll walk beside you while you find your own way."

Her lips curved slightly, small but certain. "So, if you're going to live, Veyran… live for yourself. For the light you've kept alive all this time."

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao
​

Veyran's breath caught somewhere between her words and the silence that followed. He felt her voice more than he heard it, vibrations against his chest, soft and sure, carrying a truth that settled deeper than any vow could. For so long, he'd thought survival was its own end. But now, in her stillness, in the calm she offered without demand or condition, he began to understand the difference.

His hand rose to her back, tracing a slow, deliberate path between her shoulder blades. "You make it sound so simple." he murmured, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Just… live." He exhaled, a quiet, unsteady sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "I've been running from that word longer than I've been chasing anything else. But I'm ready to start living, thanks to you."

Her forehead stayed pressed to his, and he closed his eyes, letting the warmth between them replace the ghosts that used to fill that space. "You talk about me keeping the light." he said quietly, "Maybe I only managed it because I was waiting to meet someone who'd see it before I did."

He opened his eyes again then, just enough to look at her, really look. The way her hair caught the morning light, the calm strength in her gaze, the gentleness that never once faltered even when she spoke of pain. "You say you'll walk beside me." he said, voice low, certain, "You already have. Even when I didn't know how to look up."

His thumb brushed along the curve of her jaw, a touch that was neither hesitant nor possessive, just present. "You don't have to stay forever." he said softly. "But I hope you do."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian didn't answer right away. Her eyes stayed on him, searching — not for cracks or uncertainty, but for the truth that sat behind his words. She could see it now, the way he let the world back in slowly, the way his guard had dropped without breaking him.

Her lips curved faintly, a small, knowing smile. "You don't give yourself enough credit," she said softly. "You were already living, Veyran. You didn't call it that yet."

She leaned back a little so she could look at him fully, one hand still resting lightly over his. "Every choice you made to keep going, every step you took out of the dark — that's what life is. It isn't peace all the time. It isn't easy. But it's real."

Her thumb brushed over the back of his hand, deliberate, gentle. "And I'll be here while you learn what that means. Not forever," she added with a small laugh that softened the weight between them, "because forever's too big to promise. But long enough for you to see what you've been carrying all this time."

For a moment, she studied him — the faint tension around his eyes, the way his shoulders eased when she smiled. "I don't need you to look up all the time," she said quietly. "Just don't close your eyes when you do."

She gave his hand one last squeeze before letting the silence settle again, not empty, but peaceful. "And if I stay," she murmured, her tone warm but steady, "it'll be because you stopped asking me to."

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

"You're right. Maybe it's all the same thing, just different names for refusing to give up."

He turned his hand beneath hers, their fingers finding that familiar, quiet fit. "You're right about forever, too." he said with a small smile. "It's too big to promise. But I think this..." he gestured slightly between them, "This is the kind of 'long enough' I could get used to."

The light shifted across her face, softening the edges, and for a moment, Veyran couldn't look away. There was no storm in her eyes this time, only calm. "You've got a way of saying things that make sense even when they shouldn't." he murmured. "And somehow, they make everything else quieter."

Her words echoed. 'don't close your eyes when you do' He breathed them in like something sacred. "Then I won't." he said quietly. "Not this time."

His hand rose, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before his palm settled briefly against her cheek. "And if you stay." he added, voice roughened by tenderness, "Then I won't ask. I'll just be grateful that you did."

He leaned forward then, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, nothing urgent, nothing claimed, just a touch that carried the peace they'd built between them. When he pulled back, and the quiet stretched again, comfortable and sure.

Outside, the city went on. Inside, the world had narrowed to sunlight, the warmth of her against him, and the quiet understanding that, for the first time, neither of them was standing alone.

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian rose slowly, her hand still brushing his before she stepped toward the window. The light caught on the curve of her hair, spilling warmth across the room. "Come on," she said quietly, her voice soft but sure. "It's too bright a morning to hide from it."

She reached back without looking, her fingers open in a silent invitation. When his hand met hers, she gave it a small squeeze — just enough to say I'm here.

The door slid open with a hiss, and sunlight flooded the space. Xian blinked against it, smiling faintly as the air touched her face. The world outside was already alive — the hum of repulsors, the chatter of vendors, the rustle of banners in the breeze.

She led the way down the narrow steps to the street, weaving through the quiet pulse of the city as it woke. Her stride was unhurried, deliberate — the kind of pace meant to feel the world rather than rush through it.

At the edge of the overlook, she stopped. The city stretched before her — wide, glittering, alive. From here, the towers caught the light like glass veins, every reflection a pulse of something greater, something constant.

She let her eyes trace the movement below — people starting their day, the sound of laughter threading faintly through the wind. For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel like an outsider watching from the edges.

The warmth on her skin reminded her of simpler mornings — ones she hadn't let herself think about in years. The smell of smoke and spice from a Coruscant street vendor. The feel of Kashyyyk's rain soaking through her robes. The sound of her own breathing when she thought she was alone in the galaxy. Every piece of her had come from somewhere, every loss had carved space for something new. Maybe for this.

Her hand brushed against his again as she turned, fingers curling loosely but not letting go. "You know," she said quietly, almost to herself, "when I was younger, I used to think peace was a destination — somewhere you arrived and stayed forever." She paused, the corner of her mouth curving faintly. "But I think it's more like this — sunlight and noise and a thousand things you can't hold onto for long. You just… notice them when they come."

The wind tugged at her hair, and she closed her eyes for a moment, breathing it in. "I think that's enough," she murmured. "Not to have it forever — just to know it's real when it's here."

When she opened her eyes again, there was calm in them, but also something new — a quiet resolve, the kind that didn't need to be spoken. She glanced back over the city, then toward him, her voice lower now, steadier.

"This," she said softly, gesturing toward the expanse of light and motion before them. "This is what living looks like. Not grand, not perfect. Just... here."

Her smile deepened slightly, genuine and sure. "It's a good place to start."

And then, quietly, she began to walk again — into the brightness, her steps steady, her presence calm, the sound of the city unfolding around them as she led the way toward the light.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran followed without a word, the light catching along the edge of his cloak as he stepped into the morning. For a heartbeat, he stood in the doorway, watching her the way the sun seemed to find her first, as if the world itself recognized something it had been waiting for. Then he reached out, his hand finding hers again, fingers tightening around the promise she'd left unspoken.

The warmth of her palm steadied him. The city's rhythm the clatter of carts, the low hum of speeders, the distant laughter carried on the breeze pressed close, but for once it didn't feel overwhelming. It felt alive.

He matched her pace, slow and even, every step deliberate. He had spent so much of his life walking toward battlefields, ruins, silence. But this, this quiet descent into sunlight and noise, felt like something else entirely. Not an escape. A return.

When she stopped at the overlook, he came to stand just behind her, his shadow mingling with hers on the stone. The sight below caught him off guard: the movement, the color, the heat of the day stretching itself open. It wasn't the kind of beauty he was used to not sculpted, not still. It moved, like her.

Her words drifted to him, and he listened the kind of listening that came not from politeness, but from need. Peace as something to notice. He turned the thought over in his mind. She was right. He'd spent years chasing permanence , victory, redemption, survival never realizing that the smallest moments, the ones he'd overlooked, were the ones that stayed.

The wind lifted, tugging at the hem of his sleeve, threading through her hair. He reached up, brushing a loose strand back behind her ear, the gesture unhurried, certain. "You were right before." he murmured. "Peace isn't a place. It's a choice. And I think, for the first time… I'm choosing it."


He looked out over the city again all that light, all that movement, and something inside him loosened, quietly, irrevocably. "It's a good place to start." he echoed, voice low, steady.

For a long while, they stood like that: two figures on the edge of the waking city, the world unfolding beneath them. And when she began to walk again, Veyran followed not as someone chasing the light, but as someone walking beside it, step for step, into the day that waited.

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian turned toward him when he spoke, her gaze steady, warm in the morning light. For a moment, she didn't answer — just let the wind move between them, the city stretching and stirring below. The sunlight caught on his face, softening the sharpness there, and something in her chest ached at how human he looked when he let the walls fall.

"You didn't have to choose it alone," she said finally, her voice quiet, sure. "You just had to stop believing you weren't allowed to."

She stepped closer until their shoulders brushed, eyes lifting to the gold-washed skyline. "The thing about peace is… it doesn't ask for permission. It just waits. Until you're ready to notice it again."

Her hand found his, fingers threading through in a way that felt effortless now, like they'd already learned the rhythm. "You don't have to earn this," she added, glancing up at him. "Not the light. Not me. You… live in it."

For a long moment, she watched the sun spill over the towers, the gleam of speeders arcing through the air, the faint hum of life returning. "It's strange," she murmured, half to herself, "how something so ordinary can feel like the most dangerous thing in the galaxy."

Then she smiled — small, genuine, touched with that quiet spark he always drew out of her. "But if you're choosing it…" she said softly, squeezing his hand, "then I'll walk with you. However long this morning lasts."

Her gaze lingered on him for a breath more, the calm in her expression carrying something deeper. "You're right," she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "It is a good place to start."

She turned then, guiding him forward, her hand still resting in his as they began down the narrow steps toward the streets below. The city was waking fully now — banners stirring in the breeze, the aroma of breakfast stalls mingling with the hum of repulsors and the chatter of early vendors setting up their displays.

They passed through it together, unhurried, the light shifting over them as they walked. Every movement around them — a vendor calling out, a droid sweeping the walkway, a child laughing from somewhere high above — felt impossibly alive. Xian tilted her head toward the sound, the corner of her mouth curving.

"This is it," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Not the big victories. Not the battles or the oaths. Just this — mornings that start soft, laughter you weren't expecting, sunlight you didn't think you'd see again."

Her fingers tightened gently around his. "This is what we fight for. The moments small enough to forget, until you start to live in them again."

She looked up at him, her dark eyes steady. "Come on," she said, voice calm, sure, carrying the faintest hint of a smile. "Let's see what the rest of the light looks like."

And together, they stepped forward — into the pulse of the waking city, into the day that waited, walking side by side beneath the growing sun.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran walked beside her in silence, not because he lacked words, but because for once, silence felt like the truest language between them. The warmth of her hand in his, the hum of life around them, the sunlight spilling down every polished edge of durasteel and stone it all settled into him like a truth he'd been waiting to remember.

He looked at her as she spoke, the way her voice blended with the noise of the city, steady and clear even against the clamor of a thousand waking lives. Each word seemed to land exactly where it was meant to, grounding him in a way the Force never had.

When she said you live in it, something inside him eased the last fragment of disbelief he hadn't realized he was still holding.

"I think." he said after a moment, his voice quiet but certain, "I've spent so long trying to deserve peace that I forgot how to feel it." He glanced at her, a faint, incredulous smile ghosting across his lips. "You make it seem… simple. Like breathing."

Her laughter soft, brief, unguarded carried on the morning air, and the sound drew something out of him that felt dangerously close to joy.

As they passed through the marketplace, he caught the scent of roasted grains, the hiss of steam from a nearby stall. Vendors called greetings, droids chattered in clipped tones, and a child's bright laughter cut through the air like sunlight on glass. Veyran found himself slowing just to take it in the life of it all, so raw, so unceremonious, so utterly unbroken.

When she spoke again, her words 'this is what we fight for' settled deep in his chest. He turned his hand within hers, fingers tightening around her own. "Then maybe the fight was never about winning." he said softly. "It was just about making it here, to you."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian slowed her pace, the motion of the market spilling around them — colors, voices, the scent of food curling through the air like something alive. For a moment, she just looked at him, really looked, her dark eyes tracing the faint edge of his smile, the ease in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.

"You don't have to deserve it," she said softly. "Peace doesn't wait for permission. It just… comes when you finally stop fighting the idea that you don't deserve it."

Her voice carried the gentleness of conviction, not instruction. "You've earned enough in this life, Veyran. Maybe this is the part where you get to feel."

The sunlight caught on the stalls beside them — the shimmer of glass charms, the metallic gleam of droid casings, the slow drift of fabric banners above. She reached out, brushing her fingertips over one of the charms as they passed. It chimed softly, a thin silver note that seemed to hum in the air between them.

"I used to think peace was something fragile," she said after a moment. "Something you could lose if you weren't careful. But maybe it's not that at all. Maybe it's just… learning to see what's still good, even after everything else has been taken."

Her hand found his again, the gesture easy, familiar. "You didn't lose yourself, Veyran," she added quietly. "You just forgot to look."

When he said maybe the fight was just about making it here, to you, she stopped. Turned. The noise of the crowd dulled in that instant — or perhaps she just stopped hearing it.

Her expression softened, touched with something that lived between pride and ache. "Then you made it," she said. "And I'm here."

She let the silence settle, steady and full. Then, because she couldn't help it, a small, wry smile curved her mouth. "But if this is what you call winning, you might want to get used to walking through a lot more sunlight."

She nodded toward the winding street ahead, where the city opened into another spill of light and laughter. "Come on," she murmured, her fingers giving his one last gentle tug. "Let's keep going. I want to see what else we find."

And together they moved through the pulse of the city — not as warriors or saviors, but as two people learning, step by step, what it meant to simply begin.

Veyran Solis