Everything about them was fire and destruction. They burned and tore their way into each other's lives, and it was impossible to ignore the mark left behind.
Rey, her very history had been scorched from record, and it had been the obliteration of the only home she'd known which brought them together. She burned, a rolling fire that consumed everything in its path. Resistance to her determination ended in destruction. Phasma had resisted her, had tried to push away that burning, righteous fire before she was smothered by the weight of Phasma's past decisions. Yet it hadn't worked. Rey continued to burn until there was nothing but ash left to Phasma's barriers.
There wasn't joy within the First Order. There wasn't light.
Rey was warmth and tenderness and passion. Would you blame a planet for falling into orbit around a star? Phasma orbited Rey, breaking free from her honorless pledge to a false Order as they made their place in the stars. In truth, Phasma was no distant, rocky planet. She, too, was a star. Older and colder, perhaps, than Rey's young sun but still a star.
When Rey had asked that chance morning why Phasma hadn't tried to leave before, there was only one answer.
And when the choice came of who would hold the door as the other scrambled to get a working speeder, well that was clear too.
And a thousand other times, the eternal answer was always simple - Phasma would do for Rey what she had never thought to do for herself, alone.
Running away comes with the obvious fact that someone or something is giving chase. And two stars burn bright in the abject darkness of space.
Phasma had long ago accepted the struggle of duty and responsibility that had accompanied her waking hours. Sacrifice wasn't the goal of a trooper, yet still there was the promise that the armor she donned would be her coffin. When once again she was forced to become the shield wall against danger, she did so readily.
There was, after all, only one answer.
Of course their end would be in blaster fire and chaos. A broken mirror showing two reflections. Phasma wished just once that she could have borne the weight of it all from behind a silver-paneled helm once more. By the time the battle gave way to mere smoke and ash, Phasma looked up at her sun.
The pain had ended. All feeling had ended, really, save for the warmth - even with tears staining her face Rey shone as a beacon - of her love's hand on her cheek.
"I didn't know," Phasma breathed. "I didn't know what I needed until I met you. And then, there was only you."
And then. There was just Rey, only.
A/N: Sometimes I miss writing short things. Thought I'd see what I could do with this one.