The sun is high over the blue sky. Cal's feet overhang a large distance. He lifts his hand to bring a bite of food up to his mouth. The sound of movement behind him draws his attention.

"I could see you all the way from down there," Shiribe says, pointing off to a picked off shuttle about a thousand feet from the base of this ship. "I thought you might like the company," she lifts up her lunch. At Cal's nod, she moves to sit beside him. Her feet dangle over the edge unafraid.

"It's a nice day," she comments.

Cal smiles at her calm expression. "Good food too," he says, pointing at his meal before taking another bite.

She smiles and uncovers her own food. "Are you saying that because you're hungry or is it actually good today?" she asks.

He chuckles and shakes his head while she brings a taste to her lips. "Holy shit, it is good!" She exclaims.

"See, they don't always feed us slop," Cal says, watching her face light up. It is good food today, savory and just salty enough to not be overwhelming. He takes a drink of a bright blue liquid.

She leans back and takes in the view, "I could get used to this."

"Don't," he says with a laugh. "I hear tomorrow really is slop."

She feigns disappointment before laughing herself. They spend some time focusing on eating. The hard labor of the cooler morning hours making them almost ravenous for the meal.

Eventually, she sets the empty tin beside her and takes a long gulp from a bright purple drink. She wipes her mouth and leans backward, her arms a pillow beneath her head. She looks up at the clouds.

"Sometimes I think I should stop," she says to the sky. Cal's eyes trail over her face.

"Are you saying you want to quit already?" Cal asks with no seriousness to his voice.

Shiribe smiles and shakes her head. She closes her eyes and takes on a more neutral expression. "Sometimes I think that I should stop thinking about the past and stop hoping for the future." She opens her eyes and looks to him. She lowers her voice. "That I should just live my life in the present. That that might be a better life."

Cal's brows knit together and he turns his gaze to a thick cloud. "Maybe," he says, his voice far away.

"It would be living the same life," she tells him, then sighs. "But maybe with a little joy mixed in."

"Maybe," he repeats.

"It's just a thought," she says. "I'm not sure of it myself." She stands to leave, picking up the garbage and stuffing it into a satchel for later disposal.

"Is the hour up?" Cal asks, drawing his attention back to her.

"Couple minutes ago," she gives him an apologetic smile. For the end of lunch or for the existential crisis? Cal isn't sure. He stands and moves to go his separate way.

"I'll see you on the train Shiri," he says before he gets too far. He doesn't know why, but he would rather see her for those fourty or so minutes rather than spend it alone.

A few days pass, meeting on the train and spending a short while in Cal's apartment. It's always so dark when Shiribe leaves for her own place. The hours on the shipyard are long. Between work and sleep, they don't get much time together.

It's evening time now, and all the workers line up. The armed troops watch them like carrion.

"Starting today, this planet is under strict curfew," an Imperial officer states while pacing in front of the men. He looks up to the sky. "I suggest you all get home quick, it starts at dusk." He turns on his heels and a small squad of Stormtroopers follow after him.

Understandably, the train is packed. The curfew starts about half an hour after they typically arrive at the apartment. It's impossible for her to spend time with him and still get back home safely.

Shiribe is sitting down, arms pressed into hers, and Cal stands facing her. She tugs at his shirt and he leans down to listen. "My stop is coming up," she wets her lips, waiting for him to let her up.

He blinks heavily and breathes in. He doesn't know how long this curfew will last, how many times they'll say goodbye in thIs overfilled train. "I don't want to be alone," he tells her honestly as he moves back for her to stand.

Before pushing herself through the crowd, she leans into him. "Okay, I just have to grab a few things." He takes her arm, before thinking better of it and letting go.

"If there's not enough time, turn back." His voice is a plea.

She nods and pushes forward through the men. It's hard to keep his eyes on her until she disappears through the sliding metal door. The ground is hard beneath his feet.

He takes a quick shower as soon as he enters the apartment, changing into sleep shorts and a loose shirt. He sits on the cot at first. He bounces his leg and trains his eyes to the narrow window high above his bed. The light outside grows dimmer and dimmer.

He starts to pace. Surely she turned back, she's smart and has survival instincts. Dusk is approaching. Walking to the kitchenette, he eyes the clock above the sink. Walking to the door, he looks at the window. Kitchen. Door. Kitchen. Dusk is here, the red lettering on the clock is unmistakable. Door, Kitchen, Door. It's pitch black out the window. Surely she's safe in bed. His fingers hover over the keypad, then drop. Surely she's home. He'll see her tomorrow on the shipyard. He'll see her tomorrow on the train. He'll sleep on the floor and they can wake up at sunrise to pick up her stuff from her apartment and bring it back. If he knew where she lived, he would go in the morning.

Kitchen. A few minutes past dusk now. Sinking. His heart is racing and his hands are shaking. She's just at home. Somehow tomorrow feels so far away, like it's something that won't come, like it might be something he doesn't want to see. Part of him doesn't want to know. Most of him needs to know. Door. Kitchen. Door. Kitchen. The minute jumps forward by one on the clock. If he knew where she lived, he would go right now.

Door. Kitchen. The door opens. She stands there, a pack strapped to her chest and her cot folded in half and attached to her back. She's breathing heavy. "I'm not the only one running out there," she tells him, closing and locking the door. She puts the cot down against the wall beside the refresher door. "Can I use your shower?" she asks.

He breaks through his frozen stance to nod once. She disappears into the small room. Cal closes his eyes and lets out a sigh of relief. He looks at the cot. It and the sound of running water are the only things telling him he wasn't hallucinating a moment before. The cot is the same design as his; a metal frame with stretched black canvas. A thin mattress is squished between the two halves of the cot. He can see the corner of a pillow and a thin blanket poking out. Next to his bed is the only place for the cot, it will only fit lengthwise in the room. There will be no walkway once it's set up.

He sits on his bed and lets his mind wander. He thinks about the empire's growing grip on this planet. It's obvious that they're after something, maybe even someone. He hopes they never find what they're looking for and give up when the cost becomes too much to stay. It's the only thing he can really hope for. He's good at his job on Bracca, he doesn't want to leave and face the harshness only travelers know. It's not easy to hide on the move.

The refresher opens and Shibi stands in the doorway. She wears a long baggy light gray shirt. "Are you tired?" she asks Cal's blinking expression.

"I've never seen you clean," Cal laughs and lays back against his pillow. He can smell a light citrus scent. He watches the ceiling, listening to her unfold the cot and pushing it into place. When she's in bed he shuts off the light control.

"You aren't so clean yourself," she tells him, he can hear the smile in her voice.

"Are all your shirts like that?" Cal asks.

She yawns. "Like what?"

"Too big," Cal clarifies, he turns his head to face her in the darkness.

"I suppose," she answers. "I've never really thought about it much. I mean I don't think much when I buy clothes." She closes her eyes. "Not a lot of stuff my size here. I don't look too hard though. Could probably find something if I tried."

"Just shirts though?" Cal asks.

"Men have bigger shoulders but smaller hips. It's not so hard to find pants big enough but getting shirts that are small enough is harder. Besides, bottoms need to fit much more than tops do, so I put in a little extra effort."

"Would your shirt really need to be that small?" Cal asks, his brows knit together in concentration.

"If you want it to not be too big, then yeah. I could put on one of yours if you'd like. Show you the difference. Your clothes all fit you pretty good." She turns on her side to face him.

Cal considers the request, turning towards her. Is her body really that much different than his? His curiosity gets the better of him and he nods. "Sure," he gets up from his cot and grabs a shirt from the small cabinet. He tosses it to her before climbing back in bed. The moonlight from the window casts everything in tones of gray.

She sits up and turns her body away from him. She lifts up the baggy shirt. There is tone to her back but it's much thinner than his own. Her sides curve in, revealing a narrow waist usually so well hidden. Her skin looks pale and smooth with a few small flat moles here and there. She pulls the shirt over her head. Her hair falls down her neck and upper back, the damp locks starting to curl into soft waves.

The shirt moves down her arms. Her rounded shoulders give way to the outline of biceps, still much smaller than his own. She drops the gray shirt beside her. His shirt sits behind her in a folded heap. She's twisted towards him slightly when her arms raise to move his shirt over her head. The smallest glimpse of her breast. Then hidden. Shades of gray, it falls down with little effort.

Her fingers move to the light control as she turns to him. "Believe me now?" she asks. This shirt is a little tighter than the others. The sleeves cover half her thumbs. The fabric falls straight from her chest to bunched up fabric at her hips. She smiles at his silence. "Hmm?" she questions, tilting her head to the side. It isn't quite a knowing smile, simply amused. Her eyes lock onto his and she waits. Her smile drops and she wets her lips. Color comes to her cheeks and she turns her head to look away from him.

He switches off the light and lays down. Facing the ceiling. Closed eyes. Deep breathes. Heavy pulse. He slows his mind. "I get it," he tells her and listens to her shift into bed. He listens to her breathing, slowing down into slumber.

He lets the relief wash over him again. It's reassuring. It's calming. His pulse slows and his tense muscles relax. If he lived just by moments, then life would be good. At the moment.

He turns to face the wall. He reaches out to press the back of his hand to the cold metal. He shifts the blanket off one of his legs. Sleep comes.