Private What Lingers After the Storm

[Xian Xiao]

The sound of fists striking leather echoed sharply through the dimly lit training hall, each thud reverberating against the reinforced walls. Sweat glistened on Veyran's forehead, his breathing heavy and measured, controlled—but every punch carried an unmistakable edge of anger, raw and unfiltered. The bag swung violently, resisting, yet enduring, as he unleashed what he could not speak aloud.

Xian stepped carefully across the floor, water bucket in hand. The weight of it was grounding, though her thoughts spun faster than her feet. Part of her urged mischief—the water sloshing slightly against the sides of the bucket. A sudden splash could startle him, maybe even make him laugh… or provoke a sharper response than she was prepared for. Another part of her whispered caution: ignore him, give him space, let him burn off the anger alone.

And yet another part—the one that had been growing stronger with every swing of his fist—felt drawn. Drawn to the tension, to the storm of emotion he couldn't hide, to the man behind the anger. She wanted to understand it, to be present in it, maybe even offer something that the leather bag never could.

She moved closer. Her steps were light, nearly soundless, but the faint shift of the floor gave her away. Veyran didn't look at her—not yet—but she could feel the awareness in him, sharp as the air itself. She stopped just beyond the reach of his shadow, her fingers tightening around the wooden handle of the bucket.

The scent of sweat and ozone lingered, the rhythm of his strikes slowing until it stopped entirely. The silence that followed was heavier than the sound before it.

Xian's lips parted, and for a moment, no sound came. Her heart hammered once—twice—and then, in a voice soft and uneven, as if the question carried more weight than she meant it to, she whispered,

"Why are you here?"

The words trembled through the air, not an accusation, not a challenge—just a quiet ache, threaded with fear, curiosity, and something she couldn't yet name.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran's breath slowed, though the rise and fall of his chest still carried the echo of the storm that had been in him moments ago. His knuckles were raw, streaked with the dull sheen of sweat and the faintest trace of blood. The punching bag swayed once more before coming to rest, its soft creak the only sound that dared to move between them.

He didn't answer at first. The silence felt deliberate measured, almost as though he were testing how long it would take her to step closer, or leave. When he finally turned, the dim light caught the edge of his face: a sharp line of jaw, the faint bruise forming beneath one eye, the exhaustion that lived in the set of his shoulders.

"You shouldn't be here." he said at last, low and frayed. Not cold, but not welcoming either. His voice carried the weight of someone who had built walls high enough to mistake them for shelter.

"I came because it's easier to fight something I can hit." Veyran said quietly. The words landed like a confession more than a statement. "Because if I stop, I have to think about everything. That overwhelms me...."

He looked away again, toward the suspended bag as if it were the only thing keeping him steady. "That's why I'm here."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Her jaw tightened, the water bucket trembling slightly in her hands. She took a careful step forward, setting it down on the stone floor so she wouldn't drop it, the faint clink of metal against tile echoing softly. Her shoulders squared, but there was a tremor beneath the surface, a hint of unease she couldn't entirely mask.

Her voice was low, measured, but carried a sharp edge of defiance.

"What do you mean, I don't belong here?"

She gestured faintly toward the storm-streaked skyline visible through the window, toward the jagged streets of Bastion.

"This is where I live," she said firmly, holding his gaze. "I may not understand everything you're carrying…But I am not leaving. Not because you want me to, not because you think I don't belong. This—this is mine too."

Even as the words left her lips, a quieter, more vulnerable thread surfaced, almost a whisper beneath her defiance.

"Or… at least, it's the only place that hasn't tried to take that away from me."

Her eyes lingered on him, steady yet open, a mixture of resolve and a fragile hope that he might see it—see her standing there, small but unyielding.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran's jaw flexed an instinctive reaction, as if bracing against a blow that hadn't come. The faint hum of the lights overhead filled the silence between them, mingling with the soft drip of water from the bucket she'd set down. His hands, still trembling from the rhythm of his training, hung loosely at his sides now, the tension slowly bleeding from his shoulders.

For a long moment, he just looked at her. Not through her, not past her but at her. At the steadiness in her stance despite the tremor, the defiance in her voice shadowed by something rawer.

"This galaxy." he said quietly, almost to himself. "Doesn't give people things. It takes. Over and over until you start believing that's the way it's supposed to be."

He took a slow step forward not threatening, but deliberate, the kind of movement that carried history with it. "You still believe in something. That's dangerous, Xian." His voice softened at her name, like he hadn't meant to let it sound that way. "Belief gets people hurt. Or worse."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian didn't move at first. The words hung in the air between them—belief gets people hurt—and something inside her flinched at the truth in it. She'd seen what belief had cost. What loyalty, what love, what hope could carve out of a person and leave behind?

Outside, pale sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the training hall, slanting across the floor in soft, broken stripes. The air smelled faintly of rain, clean and new—the storm had passed, leaving the world still glistening. Somewhere beyond the walls, the distant hum of city life stirred, quiet but alive, a reminder that not everything was ruin.

Her eyes flicked to his hands, the faint tremor there, the blood still drying along his knuckles. The weight behind his words wasn't a threat; it was recognition, a mirror she didn't want to look into.

"I know," she said finally, voice low but steady, the whisper of sunlight through clouds. "It still feels better than nothing."

She glanced down at the bucket by her feet, watching the way the light shimmered across the water's surface, small ripples catching gold in their motion. "You think it's dangerous because it makes people weak. But…maybe it's the only thing that keeps them from breaking completely."

Her fingers curled against her palm, nails pressing lightly into her skin as she stepped closer—not quite within reach, but near enough that her voice dropped to something barely above breath.

"Then why are you still fighting, Veyran? What are you still fighting for?" she asked, searching his face. "If everything's already been taken, what's left for you to hold on to?"

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

"For a long time." he began, his voice quieter than before, "I thought I was fighting to stay alive." A hollow laugh small, rough escaped him. "But that's not living. That's just... refusing to die."

He took a slow step toward her, then another, until the scent of rain and metal and breath filled the narrow space between them. The fight that had lived in his posture moments ago seemed to drain away, leaving something unarmored in its place.

"I told myself I was fighting for myself." he said. "For what I believed in. For what I lost. But truth is—" He stopped, jaw tightening again, a pulse working at his temple. "Truth is, I'm just too afraid of what happens if I stop."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian's breath caught faintly at his words. Refusing to die. That, she understood too well.

There had been nights on Coruscant when survival had been the only prayer she could afford. When every scrap of food, every hidden corner, every heartbeat meant one more day she could keep the little ones alive. Not her children, not by blood, but hers all the same. The ones she'd sworn she'd never have, never love, because loving meant losing—and losing meant breaking.

Her hand brushed the rim of the bucket absently, the water trembling faintly at her touch. Step by step, he closed the distance between them until the faint scent of rain, metal, and his breath mingled with hers in the tight space of the training hall. Every step made her senses sharper—the subtle shift of his weight, the tremor in his hands, the dry scrape of his knuckles against the bag. Her own heartbeat thumped a little faster, not in fear, but in the awareness of how fragile the moment felt.

"I used to think like that," she said quietly, eyes still fixed on him. "That fighting was the only thing that meant I was still here. That if I stopped moving, stopped struggling…that I'd disappear, and so would everyone who depended on me."

She took another small step closer, voice soft but edged with resolve, so near that every inhalation of his mirrored her own. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with the quiet pulse of the room, focus sharpened, every muscle alert. Curiosity threaded through her attention, a quiet pull to understand him—the reason he fought, the weight he carried, the hidden truths he kept.

"But what happens when you do stop, Veyran?" she asked, searching his face, the flicker of exhaustion and something more behind his eyes. "When the fight's all that's left and there's nothing left to fight for?"

The question lingered, heavy and intimate, hanging between them with the quiet rhythm of shared breaths, the subtle tension of two people standing on the edge of their own truths, her mind probing the corners of him she didn't yet understand.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran didn't answer right away. The question hit somewhere deep lower than breath, where words rarely reached. The air between them felt taut, almost audible in its stillness, and for a heartbeat it seemed as though the world outside the hall had gone quiet just to hear what he'd say.

He drew in a slow breath, the faintest tremor running through his shoulders before he exhaled. "Then you start mistaking the noise for purpose," he said finally, his voice low and raw, each word carrying the weight of something lived, not learned. "You wake up every day thinking if you just keep hitting, keep moving you won't have to hear how empty it's gotten inside."

"Truth is, I don't know how to stop."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian's fingers twitched at her sides, the urge to reach out stirring but held back by a mix of caution and the weight of her own sorrow. She looked at his hands first—the ones that had just struck so violently, now trembling faintly, knuckles raw, streaked with sweat and blood. A pang ran through her chest, sharp and strange, and she wondered if she was reading more into it than she should.

Her voice was barely above a whisper, almost lost in the hum of the hall. "Veyran…" She stopped herself before finishing, letting the unspoken words hang. Let me help… I can be here… you don't have to bear it alone.

Her gaze flicked upward to his face, searching the exhaustion, the rawness, the storm barely contained behind his eyes. The question she didn't dare ask aloud twisted in her mind: Why do you carry this alone? You don't have to.

She let her thoughts drift, unspoken, tentatively threading toward him, a quiet offering of steadiness and care. I can be here. You don't need to fight it by yourself. You don't have to…

She stepped a fraction closer, careful, measured, not enough to breach his space, but enough to let the thought of connection hover between them. She didn't reach, not yet. She couldn't. And yet, the silence spoke as loudly as any touch might, her unspoken intentions brushing against him, carrying warmth, curiosity, and the faint hope that maybe—just maybe—he could accept the presence she offered.

And for a fleeting heartbeat, Veyran's jaw flexed, his shoulders easing slightly, as if some small part of her quiet, steadfast thought had reached him, threading through the fog of his storm without a word spoken.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran saw it in her eyes the quiet plea she didn't voice, the fragile steadiness she tried to offer him like a hand extended through smoke. For a heartbeat, he almost reached back. Almost.

But the moment caught in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. He couldn't move. Couldn't step into the space she was leaving open for him. The silence pressed around him like armor familiar, suffocating, safe.

He wanted to tell her that he saw it. That he felt it—the warmth threading through the edges of her presence, the way it brushed against the hollow places in him that had forgotten what gentleness felt like. But that same warmth terrified him. Because if he reached for it, if he let it in, then he'd have to admit how much of him was built on the very thing that was destroying him.

"I don't know how to stop." he said finally, voice raw, quiet. His gaze drifted past her, toward the dim light catching along the floor. "If I let go of this, of the fight, what's left?"

He looked down at his hands, blood drying in dark streaks along his knuckles. They shook faintly, not from anger now, but from the absence of it. "It's all I have." he whispered, as if saying it aloud might make it sound less hollow.

His jaw clenched, the fear flickering through his eyes too quickly to be hidden. "And if I stop needing it—if I stop being it—then I don't know what's left of me."

He turned his face slightly away, not in rejection, but in shame—because she was offering something real, something he didn't think he deserved. "You shouldn't waste that on someone who doesn't know how to come back."

The words hung there, soft and jagged, and though he didn't step back, he didn't step forward either. He stayed suspended in that fragile middle ground close enough to feel her presence, but he could not reach for it.

He couldn't let her rob him of his hate, its all he had.