Cassian wanted to die with his eyes closed. He wanted to feel Jyn in his arms, her breath on his neck, and he wanted to see her in his mind a thousand ways—running to him across a field, looking up from a sheaf of papers scribbled with equations he couldn't hope to follow, sleepy and shy with a quilt of L'Kynian worsteds covering her breasts but not her narrow shoulders and all the delicate shadows of her throat. He wanted to go with her warmth around him where he was cold and growing colder; he wanted to take all his dreams of her into the void, into the Force where they were not supposed to matter. He would decide what his last thought would be and it would be, could only be Jyn, smiling, her gaze like daybreak when the night had been so long.
Jyn wanted to die with her eyes open. She wanted to see the way Cassian's back was straight and curved against her and she wanted to see her own hands on him, even if she wore no ring, no matrimonial tattoo. She wanted her eyes to be filled as her every other sense was—the sound of his hitching, hurt breath, the taste of her bitten lips in her mouth, the scent of his sweat and sand inside her lungs, beside her heart. The weight of his body against hers, both with just enough strength to right the other. She wanted to know if she said his name again Cassian he would turn and she could see his dark eyes and how she was beloved. She wanted to see the light coming for them with the wave, the Force beyond the power, and to see how it was less than her hand in his, his in hers. She would have been afraid except that she had everything she had wished for and everything she had not allowed herself to. Cassian's chin was nestled in her shoulder and there was nothing else left in the world but that, in this world, the next or any other that dared to meet her.