ohnofeelstho | "i like large parties. they’re so intimate. at small parties there isn’t any privacy."

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★ ᴇʀᴀ: ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴀᴜ

"i like large parties. they’re so intimate. at small parties there isn’t any privacy."

It's been a handful of weeks and things aren't going badly. Jyn is a good house guest since she takes up all of zero space and has an almost sad lack of belongings. But eventually she makes herself at home in the guest bedroom, going to so far as to use the dresser like an actual human being. She keeps the sparse apartment clean, she somehow has tea perfectly timed for when he comes home, even if it's early or late, she doesn't eat all his food, she washes the dishes when he makes dinner. When he is at work, she explores the sights and when he is home, he continues her pop culture education.

Breaking Bad is boring (if completely reasonable in her eyes), the Wire is the most incredible piece of television she's ever seen, she loves and hates Patch Adams, she doesn't get the appeal of Johnny Depp, and she will only watch the Motorcycle Diaries in Spanish with Cassian translating the entire movie for her.

Any time Cassian offers to buy her something she says no and one random day he finds the exact cost of her meal plus 20% tip from the day he picked her up from jail tucked into his wallet with a post-it note that says thank you in Jyn's fluid scrawl. She seems to get along fine without a job because she does seem to have money for necessities.

He tells her about a gala and she absorbs the information (he'll be home very late, chamomile tea), but dismisses it as something she needs to worry about until a couple of days later when he asks if she'd like to borrow money for a dress. Borrow, he's learning. That's probably when he realizes that she completely missed the fact that he'd invited her in the first place. She still refuses to take his money, but assures him she will look like a proper society lady, don't worry.

The day of the party rolls around and when he comes home to dress and pick her up, he finds her barricaded in his bathroom and very unwilling to come out. She's not ready!!! Which is odd coming from the woman that can get dressed in the back of a car in two minutes flat. Eventually she convinces him (demands upon threat of not going) to leave without her so he isn't late and she will catch a cab.

Which is what finds her running up the steps of the party ten minutes late. She edges through the door somehow -- she had a ticket! Who did it come from! -- and spends a bit trying to find Cassian in the crowd. When she finally does, she twists and twirls through the party-goers like a beautifully dressed ballerina before she steps up behind him and clears her throat.

"Hi."

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Going alone to these sorts of things is a unique form of torture, Cassian thinks, and this is what he tells himself is the real reason why he invites her; she'll keep him on his toes, head out of the clouds, and will be amazing company - of that, he's sure.

Still, he wasn't sure what to make of her being locked in his bathroom (it's smaller, for God's sake) just like he wasn't sure what to make of her turning down his offer to loan her money for the dress. Nerves overtake him in the car and he just...well. It seems silly to bring the flowers into the party, so he doesn't, and hopes the effect isn't spoiled by her receiving them after the gala is over.

Cassian is dressed in a blue suit, staring out into the crowd at nothing in particular when she comes up and clears her throat, untouched black de blanc in hand. He blinks, tilting his head at her a little. "You look absolutely fantastic."

"Yeah?" Her pleasure at the compliment is obvious, but she presses her lips together to keep from smiling like an idiot, blush touching her cheeks like a soft, dewy glow. She knows the whole look it a far cry from the jeans and slouchy sweaters and messy buns he is used to, but she also knows the dress isn't usual black tie fare and she was a little nervous about how it would go over. Her hands smooth down the front of the dress as she gives a little twirl, baring the very low back.

She steps forward on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, careful not to lean on him and wrinkle his beautiful suit. "I got it at Goodwill. Don't tell these rich people someone is wearing hand-me-down clothes."

The dip in the back of her dress has him finally taking a sip of his drink and relishing the burn, just a little.

She does look exceptional and Cassian puts his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching her, or the dress. "If anyone asks, it's vintage couture," he promises. No one can argue with that, can they? Especially here.

"Would you like a drink?"

She finally does allow herself a small smile that he's willing to fudge the details of her dress. Though there is no telling if it actually designer or not, at least not by her inexperienced eyes.

"Sure." There is a bit of a kerfluffle at the door as a woman in a fur stole is stopped because she doesn't have her ticket on hand and after a brief glance behind her, Jyn gestures across the room toward a pretty staircase where she can hop up a step and be the same height as him. The staircase away from the door. "Maybe a drink over there."

It doesn't matter. It's interesting, and pretty, and she looks gorgeous. No one will be able to say what it is or isn't, at least not to Cassian.

Rich people are ridiculous anyway.

There are pop-up bar stations and people dressed in all black scattered throughout the place so Cassian only gives the goings-on at the door only a brief moment's notice; then he's holding out his hand to walk with her towards the staircase and the bar. "What would you like?"

Her hand feels suddenly clammy (it's not) and she wishes she could wipe it on her dress but she restrains herself, taking Cassian's hand with more outward ease than she thought possible. Inside she's having a minor panic. This is nothing. It's not even a date. He just needed company at this terribly boring event and she is a good carpool partner, obviously.

She'd like a beer, but she's not sure they serve those at fancy places like this. "Double whiskey."

Cassian wants a smoke so bad he's tempted to get sloshed and let her drive, but that would at the very least put a different spin on the evening than he intended. It's just nerves, he tells himself, nerves and the night starting off on a strange foot because she wouldn't come out of the bathroom.

There's still flowers in the car. She's here. All is not lost.

"Double whiskey it is." He squeezes her hand and lets go. "Be right back."

Off to the bar he wanders, ordering her drink and glancing back at least once to make sure she hasn't wandered off or been captured by some boring socialite.

It's when he's not looking that she's scooped up by a Generic Rich White Lady™ who seems to find some solidarity in a much younger version of that. Sans rich, but she looks like it tonight. Lost on how to flee, because she can't just be a bitch at an event for Cassian, she sucks it up and listens to the woman drone on and on and on while she is waiting for Cassian to come back and rescue her.

She's going to need another one of those drinks as soon as she gets the first. Especially because the woman exclaims happily when Cassian returns, "Oh, this must be your husband!"

And instead of correcting her on their weird, convoluted living arrangement, Jyn just nods, reaching out to put her hand on his arm, squeezing hard enough to relay her plight. "Yup. Sure is."

Cassian raises his eyebrows in that way that is easily read as piqued interest but is really just his external reaction at Jyn's death grip on his arm. He hands Jyn her drink, with a "Here you go, amor," and a kiss to her cheek before he can convince himself it is a shitty idea and then he grins at this woman.

She smells like someone set a bótanica on fire a week ago, in his opinion, but maybe he just knows nothing about the liberal application of women's perfume. "Hola, mucho gusto."

If he can manage this entire conversation in mostly Spanish he'll consider it a win.

He's going to leave her to the rich white wolves, what a dick. Especially because she's blushing now and has to hastily stifle a laugh against his arm at the sight of the woman's mild shock and confusion at his sudden Spanish.

She's also jealous she didn't think of that first.

Half curled into him, she takes a large sip of her drink before attempting to extract them from the Queen of Sheba. "I hate to put a pin in our wonderful conversation, Mrs. Taylor, I could hear about your renovations for days, but do you mind if I steal him away for a dance?"

Smile brought back by Jyn's suddenly flawless manners, and posh sounding English, the old broad nods and waves a gloved hand as if dismissing them. Jyn's fingers tighten against Cassian's arm. "Of course, darling, I remember what young love is like. I'll find you again later to give you those--" She looks at Cassian mildly. "Those landscapers I was telling you about. Enjoy yourselves."

"Oh we will make the most of it, I promise." With that, Jyn nudges him until he starts walking, hand finally releasing her vice like grip. She waits until they're out of earshot and sight to literally down the entire glass in one gulp and drop it on a passing waiter's tray before whining, "What the fuck."

There is absolutely nothing as heartwarming to Cassian as watching people become utterly confused at the fact that he speaks something other than English, especially when said people are white as uncooked dinner roll dough and look like one too.

So. He feels absolutely justified in all this, keeping his smile intact and glancing down at Jyn for a moment before this woman accuses him of being a landscaper.

Then he just raises his eyebrows again but Jyn might see the small muscle twitch in his jaw. "Grácias, Señora Taylor. Have a good evening."

They're turning away from her, thank the Heavens, and Cassian downs his drink almost in tandem with Jyn. "What a horrible fucking woman." A glance Jyn's way. "Are we actually dancing?"

"I'm not risking talking to her again. She told me about her dog's suppositories, Cassian." That is the kind of Generic Rich White Lady™ this bitch was. They'd spoken for all of three minutes and Jyn already knows about her dog's ulcers (she would have ulcers too, if that bitch owned her), her bunions, the remodeling of her sixteen million dollar home, and her rampant racism. That's too much information.

She swears in frustration and steers them toward the dancing. "She's a twat. How often d'you deal with that bullshit, honestly?"

Jyn knows that she has a lot of privileges. She's white and thin and pretty and she can make her accent sound posh if she bothers and she sounds educated even if she's not, but it baffles her when people look at her, a literal homeless felon with no family and no prospects and no money, and treat her better than, say, Cassian, who is sweet and kind and smart and well traveled and well employed and wonderful. And also Mexican.

And it makes her really, really, really mad, eyes burning.

Cassian makes a face. Who wants to talk about suppositories for anyone, much less a dog? He feels sad on the dogs' behalf, that they have to share air with such a putrid individual.

Her perfume alone probably makes the poor things ill.

"Honestly?" He's reminded of her first snide comment to him about immigration but she also apologized within an hour which is better than most folks manage. "More than I'd like to admit. It's only gotten worse, since I left the military."

Still. He doesn't want her dwelling on it and thinks she should have at least a few good memories of the evening to carry on with her, even if this turns out to be such a great disaster that he'll never be able to admit he wanted it to be their first date. For the fifty-billionth time he reminds himself that there's flowers in the car, and a really good 24-hour diner not too far from here, and the evening can be salvaged.

Probably not if she runs off and goes at this woman for being a racist piece of shit, though, so with that in mind Cassian takes her hand and leads her to the dancefloor. The current song fits well with a basic three-step and he realizes he has no idea where her skill level is with dancing but this is where he exposes himself for knowing how.

Which is something American men don't do, apparently. It's weird and he doesn't get it. "We should pretend to be married in front of better company next time."

"I wasn't listening when she asked," Jyn moans, as she slides her hand behind his shoulder, settling herself in his arms with surprising ease. "I just said yes and then she asked why I didn't have a ring and I had to make shit up."

Jyn is not an expert dancer by any means, but she's a world-roving hippie so she's had a few dance lessons in exchange for math tutoring and she has a good ear for tempo and rhythm so she will be out danced, definitely, but she won't look too shameful.

She also just accepts his answer at face value, not pushing, though a frown settles across her expression.

"It's being reset into platinum in case anyone asks, it turns out that I'm allergic to gold."

"Are you?" Allergic to gold, that is. Now he's curious and probably shouldn't be, but. These little details, they're important.

She may not be an expert but she at least moves and doesn't step all over his toes. There's more than a couple of people watching them, and when the song changes to something slower Cassian is grateful. Means he can pull her in a little closer and keep his mouth near her ear.

"Don't worry, about the race thing. It is what it is."

"I doubt it." But she doesn't wear gold, or jewelry at all past her necklace, which is on a leather cord, so she doesn't know for sure. Even the ring she got for the party is plastic.

When he pulls her closer, she can't help but shiver at his warm hand on the small of her back, feeling every single point where his fingertips touch her through the thing gauzy mesh of her dress. She's all too happy to duck her head against his chest, curling her arm around so her fingers curl against the opposite shoulder.

Still, she can't help arguing, voice low and frustrated. "It shouldn't be. I spent the whole time thinking about whether or not I could steal her necklace right off her neck and maybe choke her with it and you are a good person and she treated you like garbage while pretending to treat you kindly."

"No, it shouldn't be." But it's somewhat par for the course, especially in hoity-toity situations such as this one. Cassian has countless memories about people treating him like shit over his heritage all over the world, but the white people of the United States are especially virulent about it.

"I don't want that woman to ruin our evening however." Cassian's cheek comes to rest against the top of her head. "Though, I guess it's to be expected. Rich people are terrible as a whole."

For a long while, Jyn is silent, like she's mentally debating whether or not she wants to continue being upset on his behalf. She decides she will pack the frustration away until later. She wants to ask why he even comes to these things if people treat him like a hired help instead of a guest in his own right. A guest with his own plus one. She looks up, chin resting on his chest. They're dancing to a beautiful song, he looks absurdly handsome and smells as good as he looks.

"It's not ruined."

In that silence Cassian worries that he's said too much, or the wrong thing, that now she'll ask him a question that will leave him feeling dumb and exposed.

She's his friend. He's always had a bad habit of falling for friends.

But then she says it isn't ruined and he's surprised, looking down at her with slightly wide eyes.

"Good." A beat. "We don't have to stay, though."

"Oh no, we're gonna stay," she tells him firmly. "We're gonna stay and eat all their food and drink all their booze and I might steal that necklace, I'm not sorry, and we're going to dance and you're going to speak Spanish and if I had a cock, she could suck it."

God damn, Jyn, you can't say shit like that in public. But here we are.

"But if we're going to pretend to be married I want a different pet name. Amor is so... generic." And she is not a generic fake wife! Not that she could even hear that without blushing, but still, she wants a personalized endearment.

"I've created a monster, haven't I?" By inviting her here, he can fully take the blame for that, he supposes. Also it finally occurs to him that he still has her ticket, and he glances towards the entryway with a frown, but. Well. No one's come storming in to collect her so it's probably fine.

"Estrella." He could've gone with estrellita but that makes him think of a child, and he's 99.9888% certain Jyn would appreciate that a lot less than than the non-diminutive. Besides, while she may be a 'little star' she is about as small as the sun in regards to importance.

She repeats the word, testing the feel of it on her tongue, her accent already leaps and bounds better than it was before. It's not a word she recognizes, but it's pretty and she likes the sound of it. It's unfair how beautiful he can make words sound. He could call her a raccoon or a dumbwaiter and she would probably enjoy it just as much.

"Mi estrella? What does it mean?" Yes, she added 'my'. She added her own possessive.

But he would never call her a dumbwaiter. A raccoon, maybe. If her makeup were doing something particularly unfortunate and he needed to lighten her mood. Either way, he smiles a little when she repeats it, and then again for a second time.

"My star." Of course she did. He's not shocked in the least.

My star. It's like an unfinished sentence and Jyn feels her chest constrict, feelings she is incredibly unprepared to face billowing like poisonous gas out of the place in her heart they'd been locked up tight.

She struggles to push it down and keep her expression purposefully neutral at the same time, succeeding in shoving thoughts of her family away. She's less successful on the other endeavor, usual somber mouth pulled down with sadness.

"I like it." It looks like she wants to run away though, a caged rabbit, but she stays in Cassian's arms.

Cassian can tell he's said something - it's not anything he's done, he thinks, all they've been doing is dancing and conspiring - can tell that a great part of Jyn wants to flee and he feels terrible, unknowingly having tripped a landmine somehow.

She'll want to stay, probably out of spite, but Cassian just wants to gather her up in his arms and whisk her away from whatever has her looking so sad. To that point, a hand that was at her waist is now touching her cheek, instead.

"No tendré que fingir que estoy enamorado de ti. Es la verdad."

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