aimedforthemoon

she opens her eyes.

For a moment she feels stiff and sore, as if she’d spent yesterday building fences instead of flying an A-wing. But that’s-

“Fucking Milliways,” Esfir says, dragging herself up and rubbing the tears from her face. Fucking Milliways and she can’t say it’s just a dream, because it felt too damn real and her hands are too damn stiff. Look, she can barely curl her fingers.

And she can still remember her grandfather’s scent as he hugged her goodbye.

“Fucking Milliways,” she repeats, tumbling out of bed.

It’s then she catches sight of her room.

Her Milliways room, because she had no idea if her flightsuit would come back if she went out the front door, and she’d been so damn tired that she might as well sleep while she can. Her Milliways room that she’d lived in for a couple of months, and it’s still…

Bare.

Neat.

Empty.

If it weren’t for her books, neatly stacked in piles against the wall, she might as well never have been here. And that’s fine, she thinks, testing the thought out, I have Han’s universe now, and I don’t need

a retreat?

somewhere to be myself? somewhere where I can be Fira and Russian and me?

no?

then why did I love the dacha so much?

Before she goes for her run, Esfir takes out the measuring tape and starts making notes.

Bookcases are tricky things, and she wants to make sure they fit.