“ i got you. it’s gonna be okay, you’re going to be okay.” for rebelcaptain please

cats-and-metersticks:

heheheheh *rubs hands together* 

Let the suffering begin…

[Modern au- roommates]

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When he first moved in, Cassian thought the apartment was pretty small, especially for a two-bedroom. Although maybe it was technically a one-bedroom, and Jyn just converted the little den-like room into a second bedroom with a curtain. It was probably on the lease when he signed it, but he couldn’t remember now. 

In any case, the way it was laid out he had to cross the tiny dining-room/living room to get to the bathroom, and the distance tonight was fucking interminable. 

He was breathing heavily before he was halfway there and decided to rest for a bit, sitting down at the kitchen table with his head in his arms. 

I should remember this, he thought. The day I can’t cross the fucking apartment. Monday, (or was it Tuesday?) December something-or-other, 2009. 

Fuck this. Fuck the flu. Specifically, fuck the swine flu that was making his entire body feel like it was shutting down. He coughed into his arms, and remembered that he still had to use the bathroom, which was still so very, very far away. 

A door opened and light streamed through the hallway, digging into his skull and making his head pound. 

Jyn padded into the kitchen, empty coffee mug in one hand and a pen tucked behind her ear. She had her last final tomorrow, and had been avoiding him like the plague so she wouldn’t get… the plague. (He had a final tomorrow as well, technically, but had admitted defeat earlier that evening and sent an apologetic email to his professor he hoped what somewhat coherent.) 

She stopped when she saw him “What are you doing out of bed?” 

He picked his head up to answer her, although it made him so dizzy he seriously worried he would faint. “Bathroom,” he croaked. “I was taking a break.”

Jyn raised her eyebrows and glanced behind her, no doubt at the bathroom door a mere three feet down the hallway. “Think you’re gonna make it?” 

If he squinted, he thought maybe she looked a little worried, but it was hard to focus on anything through the fever and she could just be thinking about how she’d have to sterilize this table when he got up. (He was pretty sure she’d lifted research-grade ethanol from one of the teaching labs during the week.)

He shrugged. “I–” He paused to cough loudly into his arm. “I think I’m dying.” 

She actually took a step forward at that. “Do you think… do you need me to do anything?” 

Oh, God. If she helped him and he got her sick he’d never forgive himself. “I’ll be fine.” 

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