exhale ; chirrut + baze

6 / training

CHIRRUT'S LUNGS FELT CRUSHED AGAINST HIS RIBCAGE. He let out a faint wheeze, as the weight on his chest shifted, chuckling lightly.

Chirrut cracked open an eyelid. "Baze?"

"Rise and shine, 小卫 ," Baze said airily, "Today's your first day of training."

Chirrut groaned, trying to burrow deeper into his blankets, but Baze sitting on him was preventing him from doing so. He could feel Baze's form on top of him, all muscular and rigid and angled. Chirrut made a sound, annoyed. "I can't get up if you're sitting on me."

"Today's your first day of training," Baze echoed, "This is your first lesson."

He squirmed. "What does this have to do with the Force?"

"You can't guard the Force if someone is sitting on you," Baze replied smugly, "So make me get off."

Chirrut's hand went to Baze's side. The man above him froze under Chirrut's gentle touch, his breath catching. And then, Chirrut's hand raised higher, tickling Baze. Baze almost jumped off Chirrut, clutching at his side, holding back his laughter. He sat up quickly, so that Baze couldn't resume his previous position.

"Okay," Baze let out a short shaky laugh, "that, was cheating."

Chirrut grinned. "Guarding the Force doesn't seem like such a daunting task if the only people standing in the way are like you."

Clothes chafe as Baze crossed his arms. "Like me, huh?"

Chirrut swallowed thickly.

If the Force and all that existed, he would have prayed to it for mercy.

Chirrut currently was standing in the ring with one of the Temple's most skilled guardians -- Baze Malbus himself. Baze took off his staff which was strapped to his back, twirling it in his palms. Baze barely made a sound as he circled Chirrut, his footsteps light, his breathing a whisper.

There were times where Chirrut felt truly blind.

These were one of those times.

Chirrut's grip tightened on his own staff, which had been offered by one of the many spectators now encircling the duo. He walked forwards, into the middle of the circle, swinging the stick around, trying to find Baze.

A hand closed over his staff, halting it.

Chirrut grinned, almost relieved. "Found you."

"Yes," he said, amused, "you did."

Baze tugged at the staff, and Chirrut came tumbling down -- hard. He landed on the ground with an oof and a mouthful of sand.

"One," Baze tapped his own staff on Chirrut's shoulder. "When you fight, you don't talk. It distracts you from your one true purpose."

"And what's my one true purpose?" he mocked, as Chirrut attempted to stand up, and the staff comes down, whacking him square across the face.

"Don't talk," he reprimanded, circling him.

He murmured a sorry, before getting up and out of Baze's reach.

"Two," Baze continued, "always keep your eyes on the enemy."

Chirrut blinked. "I'm blind."

"Your ears, your nose, your sense of touch -- they are your eyes. Use them. Close your eyes. Cancel everything else out. What's important is me. Concentrate on that."

Chirrut frowned, and then nodded. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly, concentrating on the sound Baze makes as the grains of sand crunch under his feet, Baze's musk -- prayer smoke, soap and oak, which only leaves --