4Guys, I'm SO sorry haven't posted, especially since I promised it would be consistent. I've been really, really sick, and being married with a 20-month old doesn't give me a lot of ME time. However, I'm hoping that will be rectified, considering I feel much better. :)
Thank you to Guest Reviewer (you'll find out more information slowly but surely!) and IronicPuppies (I think you're right and will definitely have to re-edit that. Thanks for the pointer!). You guys are amazing. Please continue to review. Thanks again!
2. Color
The pilot falls in love with the mechanic the instant he sees her. He knows this because his stomach suddenly feels light, the same way it does when he's taking off down a runway. Butterflies are how some people have labeled then in a long and distant past. But the way they keep knocking into his insides make him think of wrecking balls tearing things down. He's not sure why he's nervous, but he notes it happens the minute she looks up from her humble booth at the downtown swap meet and flashes him a glimpse of her eyes.
It's her eyes, he realizes. Has to be.
They were unlike any pair of eyes he had seen before, and he had seen plenty of eyes in his time. As the best pilot the Rebels had, Isaac had been everywhere in the Aralyyn Galaxy, even Beryyn and Lewlyyn, planets that are known to be desolate and empty. Planets that are perfect for confidential asked for the Rebels during this war against the monarchy. When he was stationed on base, the only people one could trust is his fellow pilots and Rebel fighters. A relationship is clearly out of the question, but intimacy is rampant and expected, making it a very incestual place to be. Everybody knows everybody in more ways than one, and jealousy is not an option. For the most part, everyone follows this unwritten rule and life is both easy and fluid.
Isaac prefers it this way. Having lost both of his parents at some point during this war, he was well-versed in loss and did not want to experience it again. He knows he'll eventually settle down, but being in his mid-thirties was not the time to do so. Especially not during a war. A war that feels like it may never end.
However, the mechanic's eyes are like the sky against a lush jungle, clear blue and dark green entwined together in a constant battle for dominance. Her hair, tossed messily into a ponytail with long bangs covering the majority of her face in what he interprets as her way to shield herself from spectators. He's certain she gets a lot because beautiful is not the correct word to describe her - it's too common, too overused, and she is anything but common - and he has a sudden urge to protect her from lecherous gazes and whispered perversions. He wonders if she's capable of handling herself in a fight, if anyone were to put his hand on her inappropriately, but the faded blue jumpsuit is baggy on her frame and the only thing he can garner in his study of her us that she's petite.
Her eyebrow twitches and her mouth purses and he suddenly realizes that he appraised her just like every other man she encounters here. For some reason, it's important to Isaac to show her that he's not like the rest, that he's not trying to sexualize her, so he walks over to her booth with his chin tilted up, trying to portray a confidence he doesn't have just yet.
"Hi," he says quickly, throwing what he hopes is a charming smile on his face. He runs his hand through his hair – it's short on the sides, long in the front so he can slick it back, which helps both with the heat and with flying because it won't get caught in his helmet – and cocks his head to the side, scrutinizing her from a different angle.
She has nice, high cheekbones, he realizes. And, as he looks closer, he catches sight of faded freckles on them, as well as the bridge of her nose.
She doesn't smile, but her eyes are warm – they're a captivating color and it's hard for him to figure out just what part of her to stare at – and her face isn't tense. She's open to his business but cautious. For a brief, arrogant moment, he wonders if she knows who he is, if she knows how important he is to the Resistance. But he decides better against informing her, because it may come off as cocky, and while he has the skill to boast, he doesn't know if she'll be as awed as he hopes she will be.
"I'm Isaac."
"Raya."
"Raya." He tests it out on his lips and decides he likes it. He likes saying it. "Pleasure to meet you." Another charm smile.
The corner of her lip flicks up into a half-smile. From the curious way she looks at him, it may also be interpreted as a smirk. Perhaps he'll get to know her well enough to decipher it.
"I'm a pilot, and I've been referred to you by some of my colleagues," he says. Certainly she must know what he's referring to because no one is a pilot unless they're a pilot for either the monarchy or the Resistance. She must know he's part of the war.
"So you need help with your…" She raises her brow, letting her voice trail off. She has a soothing voice, calm and relaxing. Already, Isaac can feel the strain pinching the middle of his shoulders ease. To be honest, he doesn't understand how someone can make him feel nervous and comfortable at the same time.
That conflicting feeling lets him know she's different. Let's him know he's in love. And it's that realization that distracts him into silence.
It's only when he sees her tilt her head to the side, allowing her dark gold hair to tumble over a slender shoulder in messy waves despite the fact that they're combatted with a brown tie, that he remembers she's spoken, and she's waiting for an answer from him.
"I'm sorry," he says and reaches up to cup the back of his neck with his palm, smiling sheepishly. "What was that?"
She glances to the side, which, he supposes, is better than a full-on eye roll.
"What sort of vehicle do you fly?" she asks again, and though her face indicates annoyance now, her voice does not mirror the sentiment.
"Fighter Rey," he says, and he can't keep the pride out of his voice if he tries. And he doesn't want to, to be honest.
She presses her lips together, but her eyes – God, those eyes – reveal that she's impressed. He hides a smirk and silently congratulates himself.
"I can help you," she tells him, and inside, he blooms like a desert flower.
Hopefully, she can help him in more ways than one.