OOM/IM: The Nightmare

In darkness, cold.
In light, cold.
The old sun brings no heat.
But there is heat in breath and life... and death.
In all, there is the Force.
And the Force is eternal.

The night is still, and the two Jedhans are sleeping. The smaller Jedhan is splayed out on his stomach across his and the larger one's still-pushed-together beds, feet resting on Baze's shoulder. Chirrut has already stolen all the blankets, as is his nightly wont, and breathes deeply in repose.

Until a quiet noise--bordering on a sob--rouses him.

"Baze?" Chirrut murmurs, raising his groggy head.

"No," Baze mumbles in his sleep. He sucks in a great gasp, tossing and turning on the sheets. Chirrut can't see that Baze's knuckles are white from the force of his clenched fists, but the smaller man can feel the tension vibrating in the larger man's frame once Chirrut places a hand on Baze's chest. "Chirrut, come! No! No!"

"Baze!" Chirrut says, shaking him. "Wake up!"

And Baze Malbus wakes up screaming.