milliways_bar | (no subject)

Chirrut wanders out not too long afterwards, munching on dried Gor apple strips as he strolls through the grass. The sudden transition from grass to sand, from Scottish warm spring day to hot the hot Caribbean sun makes him pause.

"Baze?" He calls, uncertain, at the borderline.

"Chirrut!" Baze calls from the water. He steps lightly across burning sands in bare feet to come greet his friend. Every time Baze sees him, it's as if he hasn't seen him in a long time, so the larger man wraps the smaller one in a crushing embrace once reaching him.

"This is the Caribbean inlet," Baze explains cheerfully, plucking one of the apple slices up and popping it into his mouth. "It's always warm."

"... And people don't live here?" Chirrut asks, incredulous, as the heat sinks into his bones. He's not entirely sure he wants to leave now that he's found it.

Baze isn't wearing armor.

He doesn't mention it, just in case it jinxes the whole thing, but...

Baze isn't wearing armor.

For that alone Chirrut loves this place.

Baze doesn't exactly need armor in heaven. He's trying to convince himself of that fact, but it's a slow process. They were attacked by that Force user, after all, and while armor wouldn't have done anything to protect him against a lightsaber, wearing it is still a comfort to him. The red breastplate has been a second skin for almost two decades now, and shedding it is still difficult.

Still, he's glad he's shed it now, and even happier that Chirrut is.

"No, I suspect they don't like the sand," Baze says, laughing. "Here, take your shoes off. There's water here, so much of it I can't see to the bottom. It is also warm."

Chirrut obediently takes off his shoes, burying his toes gleefully into the warm sand. Since that feels so good, starts undoing the ties of his robes as well. Jedhan winds can be fierce, and the cold is piercing - there's a lot of ties.

"What did it taste like?" Of course he knows Baze tasted the sand. He's known the man for decades, he'd have to be clueless not to know.

"Salty," Baze says, sticking his tongue out. "And I don't like the texture. It's too grainy, and gritty. But the rest of the mud, that's all right."

It's nothing like home... Which isn't a bad thing, necessarily, just different. The comparison still brings up painful memories, ones which he stuffs, brutally.

"You're taking off your robes?"

Chirrut sheds his outer robe and promptly balls it up and pitches it at Baze's head, trying to distract him from the grief he accidentally stirred up.

"Of course! I intend on properly enjoying the warmth here. I begrudge the fabric the sun's heat."

Baze forgets, all too often, that Chirrut can sense his moods in the Force. He remembers as soon as the robe hits him in the face, and he almost drops the heavy clothing. It's not that he's never seen Chirrut naked, it's just been a long time, and rare, as Jedha was colder than cold.

Baze folds the robe, and sets it down in the sand at their feet. "I suppose I should strip off, too," he muses, though he makes no move to do so just yet.

"If you like." Chirrut agrees, making quick work of the rest of his clothes. He doesn't fold them as neatly as Baze does, only enough so he'll be able to sort them out correctly once he's forced to put them back on.

The warmth is glorious, his expression becoming positively blissful as he stands exposed to the hot Caribbean sun. He's still visibly underweight, his bones creating angular lines that shouldn't exist, but they're less than they were when he first arrived.

"But this is even better than the sauna. A million times better."