Here Goes Nothing - Blog Posts

Pretty boy...

OC by @zayathekid

@pilotheart​ // Zay Versio

Zay Versio was… at loss with what she was supposed to say, now. She had people flirt with her, before, but it was often on missions, and often strangers, and she had no remorse in telling them off. There, she knew she was messing things up. And did not like even the idea of it. “Uh, it’s probably my fault,” Zay said. “I’m barely on base, so maybe you didn’t have time to actually ask.” To be honest, that wasn’t even a suggestion. Zay was always out flying, partly because she loved it and felt better on a ship than on ground, and because it helped in avoiding to be on the same base than her parents. Until now. “Will you teach me some mando'a, one day? It always sounds pretty.” Wow, that was stupid. But she’d always been interested in learning it, having inherited her father’s curiosity. Sabine’s next question made her freeze, though. Zay wasn’t on Onderon to have fun, but there was so many people that she probably wouldn’t be noticed leaving. And half of them didn’t have their senses, just like her friend. “If you’re ready to get your feet crushed, because I’ve never learned.” This was a mistake… but then again, Sabine was visibly drunk, so they weren’t going to remember it.

.

Though the room was spinning and shifting around them (was it more to do with the high or the nerves?), there was one thing Sabine could count on remaining steady. Those eyes. Zay’s eyes reflected the light above and around in a brilliance, a gaze of whiskey filtering sunlight. Sabine’s breath caught in their throat, and the Mandalorian took her friend’s hand gently in their own. 

“Zay, I would tell you anything you wanted to know,” they found themself breathing as the two adjusted their weight, an awkward movement of hands on shoulders, hips. They were unsure, both toeing gently around each other. Still, it wasn’t about the music or timing or even the missteps. It was more than that.

“I don’t think I can dance either,” they blushed, pulling her friend as close as she dared. Sure, she had learned once upon a time (there was a rhythm to war just as a there was to dance), but now... The music spun itself between them, filling the pauses with a prompt of movement and rhythm. The two rocked, slowly, and a little out of time, but the gesture was just as sweet. “Not like this, I mean.” Inebriated. Shitfaced. Fuck, what was she doing? Zay probably thought they were only acting on liquor and high. Did she think Sabine wasn’t sincere? It hurt to wonder. They cursed the stutter that burdened her lips, cursed the alcohol and the drugs and the fluttering fear at the thought of her friend’s hand in her own.

“Zay, I-I know you think it’s. That it’s because I’m drunk, and that’s partly true, but I— I feel like this when I’m sober, too. Okay. Like, even though there’s a million stars out there, all I can look at,” she exhaled softly, two pairs of war-marked eyes meeting and glancing away, “is you.”

There it was. And nothing could take it back now (not that they would if they could). Because Zay was worth the risk.

“You find me tomorrow and I’ll tell you the same thing.” And it was true. It had been true for weeks, months now. All she could do was hope their friend felt the same.