#jaro tapal x omc

[purgetrooperfox]

oooh 23 for bastra and jaro?

softer world prompts

we talk in the dark as we fall asleep, and we are objects in the night sky outside of time. (it is the exact opposite of alone)

“I’ll admit,” Jaro says in lieu of any sensible greeting, heedless of the way Bastra startles. “I can’t fathom what you’re doing here.”

The city lights of Daiyu glare vibrant neon that reflects off the pooling water on the street. It doesn’t fully mask the grime that coats every conceivable surface, but it does well to draw the eye away.

“I’m doing the same as everyone else on this planet, looking for something.”

Bastra pays no mind to the gentle fall of rain – it won’t soak through his clothes any time soon, and he can’t be bothered to move from his perch on the roof of a dilapidated inn. With one leg tucked close to his chest and the other dangling over the edge, he has a comfortable vantage point over the bustle that never ends, no matter the hour.

He hears Jaro huff a sigh and sees him, out the corner of his eye, sit cross-legged at his side. Almost close enough for their thighs to touch. Into the space between them, he asks, “What are you looking for? Something, or someone?”

Scowling, Bastra tears his gaze away from the street to look up at Jaro’s face, which is angled further up toward the clouds. “I can multitask, can't I?"

"Of course," Jaro grants, "I only hope you've thought this through."

That makes two of them, for whatever it's worth.

"More or less. I need credits to travel, so I need a job. There's not much else to it."

He watches Jaro's ears twitch back, the surest sign of his disapproval. For a man with a face like a locked vault, his ears always cracked the combination. Saved Bastra from putting his foot in his mouth more than once.

"I wonder if you're chasing these goals you claim are so straightforward, or if you're still running away."

"Fuck off."

"I will not."

"I'm not running away," Bastra hisses, then deliberately unclenches his jaw. "There's nothing left to run from except death, and I'm not currently interested in letting that catch up with me."

Imperial efforts to hunt down the few Jedi who escaped the Purge ebb and flow, but have generally waned over the years. He can travel relatively freely, as long as he keeps his head down and doesn't draw attention. Odd jobs keep him going. It's aimless, at times, but it's something.

Jaro bristles, scratching idly at his beard. An old habit that never died. "It seems to have caught up with you, all the same."

Bastra snorts, even though it's not funny. "Sure, your death follows me relentlessly. My own will have to work harder to catch up."

He's still only halfway convinced that he hasn't lost his mind, and these visits from Jaro aren't just complex hallucinations. At best, the Force truly does work in mysterious ways. At worst, well. He gets a very convincing construct to talk to.

The first time it happened – whatever it is – he shut down, couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The second wasn't much better. Jaro stopped trying to explain and simply shared his space after a few more, and something eventually clicked in the back of Bastra's mind. Whether it clicked into or out of place is up for debate.

With fear and shock and confusion worn away, the hardest part is how real it feels– how real he feels. The illusion is incredible, but not perfect.

Jaro's eyes don't reflect the glaring neon lights of Daiyu when he meets Bastra's gaze. His clothes and hair and fur are unmoved by the wind. Every detail of his features, all the way down to signs of age, is exactly as Bastra remembers from before. He's a snapshot, displaced from his time and stubbornly refusing to rest.

"You shouldn't taunt fate, Bastra," he chastises, but there's fondness in his tone. Relief, maybe. "She comes for us all, in the end."

They're close enough that their thighs could touch, but an insurmountable cavern apart. Fate will come for him in the end, but maybe his family will be there too. "How long do you have?"

Before they lose this strand of connection.

Jaro's shoulders drop, almost imperceptibly. "Not long enough."

"Hm." He can't tangle their hands together, but his fingers itch with sense memory, and he would, if he could. "Thank you. For being here at all."

There are nights when thinks it won't be the price on his head, or hunger, or exposure, or a stray blaster bolt, or a speeder crash, or anything else that kills him. When he thinks it might be the loneliness that does it.

This, at least, is the exact opposite of alone.

Maybe, possibly, he'll actually pick up Cal's trail, and that won't be alone either.