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At any given moment, Kallus was worrying about at least four things, two (or more) of which always circled back to Zeb. His worries were dominated by pressing issues like his past of course, like his role in the fall of Lasan, the things he’d done as ISB-021. Second priority and more specifically Zeb-related issues were dedicated to the worries of war. Mostly, he worried about injuries and intel before quietly sending a prayer out to the Force for Zeb’s safety.
Lastly were the random and mundane things, like how his clothes had become covered in a sparse layer of purple fuzz or fretting over the new, shaggy length of his hair. Sometimes these small things would hit harder than the big ones. He had a long time to grapple with his identity, and war was easy to compartmentalize away. But sometimes, he was swept away in a tiny detail that floated across his mind like dust in the air. Below him, nearly the entire Rebellion was in open celebration now that night had fallen and the last pieces of the DS-2 Death Star had settled into smoldering heaps outside the shielded Ewok villages. But the joyous noise and residual explosions were drowned out by one very interesting thought.
He was small.
Standing near anyone else, no one would consider him small. At just over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and with the body of a warrior, Kallus did not cut a small figure. Kanan Jarrus was roughly the same height as he was, but the Jedi was quite lithe. Ezra and Sabine were still teenagers, still growing, but they were both short and slim. Even as he reached seventeen, Bridger could still shimmy into the tightest vents he could find. And Hera in all her might stood a good head shorter than him, too.
However, Garazeb Orrelios was more than six and half feet tall. Everything about Zeb was big. One hand could span the width of Kallus’s back. His prehensile feet could circle the landing struts on most Rebellion shuttle craft. Kallus had watched, amused, as he’d picked up Ezra more than once with only one hand and held the little Jedi in the air for several minutes. All of that was to say nothing of Zeb’s fondness for carrying Kallus around, too.
He hadn't really noticed it the first time they touched on Bahryn. Distracted by a broken leg and brainwashing, he hadn’t considered that when Zeb reached out a hand to pull him up, those large purple fingers had no choice but to curl around his wrist, too. When he’d fallen from the ice, Zeb had caught him in his arms with only minimal effort. Kallus suspected that if there hadn’t been the threat of a hungry bonzami, it would have been utterly effortless for Zeb to catch him, even in his armor and snow-sodden uniform. But now, exhausted from the fighting and leaning with his back pressed to Zeb’s chest, Kallus noticed.
They’d retreated from the celebration shortly after it had started. They were both proud to have finally struck this death blow to the Empire, but it was bittersweet. For Kallus, the death of the Empire left him split in two. Though he would celebrate its death feverishly, he would still flinch under the bitter stares of the Rebels who had been born into the cause, those he harmed in one way or another. Zeb’s hurt was familiar, too. He could not rebuild Lasan from the burning durasteel of the Empire. But under a towering redwood tree, those thoughts could wait. He had more important things to think about right now.
If he leaned back, his head would surely rest perfectly in the hollow of Zeb’s shoulder. If he reached an idle hand behind him to touch Zeb, it would rest comfortably on the soft fur of his forearm; his thumb would barely curve around the shape. As if sensing Kallus’s revelations, Zeb pulled him closer as the tired soldiers leaned heavier on the tree before sliding to the ground. The warmth of Zeb’s chest enveloped him as the Lasat curled around him like a lazy loth-cat.
“I can hear you worrying,” he hummed, the sound running across Kallus’s back. If Zeb noticed that it made him shiver, he would blame the wind. “What are you worrying about this time, Kal? We’ve won tonight, we made it.”
“I’m not worrying, not right now,” Kallus answered. He put thoughts into action and leaned his head back against Zeb. He had been right, it was a perfect fit. It was soft, too. Washed clear of the battle grime, Zeb smelled like the forest. It made him smile and sink a little deeper into the steady support of Zeb’s shoulder. Zeb huffed a laugh and Kallus felt the rumble.
“You can’t go five minutes without worrying. And don’t go arguing with me, because I know how you are,” The gentle admonition made Kallus shake his head.
“It’s a good thought, I think,”
“That’s rare for you. Feel up to sharing?” Zeb asked as a large, clawed finger came up to brush through Kallus’s hair, pulling the loose strands out of his face and tucking them behind his ear.
Maybe Zeb had realized that Kallus was small a long time ago. It was something he had to know, of course, since Zeb towered over nearly everyone. But there was always a gentleness to the way Zeb treated him. Kallus had seen him knock around plenty of people — he’d been knocked around, too, before — but Zeb was careful around him now. He was soft in ways that Kallus had never expected to receive from anyone. As Zeb pulled his hand back to drag along his arm, that thought led to another.
In his tired and bleary state he’d let himself get closer to Zeb than he intended. Sitting on the ground and leaning on each other reminded him of Bahryn. Just like Bahryn, too, Kallus felt his stomach lurch. Covered and held by him, it dawned on Kallus that he loved Zeb. The feeling wasn’t like the bond between warriors or appreciation for a friend. No, this was a wide, warm thing seeping out from his chest and filling him. It had sat and waited, quiet and patient and building. Love sat comfortably at home in his chest, powerful in its subtlety.
I think I have loved you for a very long time.
From the desperate escape from Atollon, to the ruins of Yavin IV, and then the icy drifts of Hoth, I must have loved you along the way.
Love for Zeb was allowing himself a vulnerable wince at the sting of antiseptic when Zeb treated the injuries on his face. Love for Zeb was morning sparring sessions in the jungle, armed with staffs and standing with the footing of equals. Love for Zeb was distracting a personnel officer long enough for Zeb to convincingly “leave” for patrols on Hoth, only to actually return to his warm bunk.
Love for Zeb was being small.
“You’re awfully quiet, mate. Mustn't have been a very good thought after all,” Zeb mused. He moved them around to sit comfortably on the ground, correcting the awkward way they’d landed from their descent down the tree. The entire time Zeb shouldered them around he took care to keep Kallus’s head resting undisturbed on his shoulder. Kallus’s heart clenched then raced. Was love lurking in the featherlight way Zeb had brushed aside his hair? Was it in the way Zeb kept them pressed together even in the cloyingly warm forest night?
Kallus expected part of his mind to object loudly, to reject the idea that Zeb could ever love him. If it was there though, that cynical voice was silent. The Rebellion had taught him many things, and Zeb had taught him even more. Nothing was promised in life, but everything could be lost. Knowing that he loved Zeb in the all-consuming romantic way would only be a burden if he held it in. He would feel guilty for lying. If the Skywalker kid could kill the Emperor, surely he could tell Zeb, surely he owed it to the man. Kallus gathered the courage to speak.
“Garazeb,” he whispered, imagining the way the man’s eyes always widened at the use of his full name, “It was a good thought. I was thinking that you are the most important person I’ve ever met, and that I have been very lucky to fight beside you,” his throat was tight and his words were thick.
“Kallus. . . Alexsandr, what—”
Kallus cut him off by turning to face him, his own eyes going wide when Zeb used first name. He didn’t know Zeb had known it, and no one had called him Alexsandr in years. He tried not to stutter over his next words.
“I was also thinking—” he stumbled, looking into bright green eyes, “I was thinking that I love you, and that I have loved you for a long time,”
His trembling admission was met with Zeb’s trademark karabast before he brought a hand up to cup Kallus’s head. He pulled Kallus in until their foreheads were touching.
“When did you think that?”
“Just now, actually.”
Kallus closed his eyes and smiled. Zeb’s hand on his head moved slowly down his neck to rest on his shoulder. Kallus’s small, deft fingers traced their way through Zeb’s sideburns, his hands coming up to frame his face. The fur of his cheekbones was velvet smooth as Kallus traced little arcs with his thumbs. He shivered at the intimacy of the moment, feeling Zeb’s slow exhale as he opened his eyes and looked at him with wonder.
“There was this night on Yavin, it was raining. You’d come out to see us land and I got to see you in your civvies for the first time. No rebellion jacket and definitely no Imperial armor. On the ground by your feet was a little box because you’d brought us dinner from the mess so we wouldn’t need to leave the ship.” Zeb told him in a murmur.
Kallus remembered that night. The rain had been so fierce, but he’d promised to meet Zeb on the airstrip. Their mission had gone poorly, and Zeb needed a friend. The mess hall food he’d brought was half apology, half bribe. In one hand he’d brought them all food and a few of their favorite snacks carefully pilfered from the command stash. He’d even brought something nice for Ezra, who’d burned lightsaber holes in several pieces of his spare clothing the week prior. But he’d also brought debrief papers and their next mission.
“I remember,' he said, "You were tired, but you still smiled at me. I wasn’t used to people being pleased to see me, especially other rebels. You were though. Probably because I brought a bribe.” Kallus laughed nervously at the end. He was unable to control that last self-deprecating thought from slipping out. It had been what he’d thought for a long time, that he’d need to buy tolerance from other rebels through unwavering service and little gifts. Even before he knew the name for what he felt he did things to earn smiles from Zeb, not knowing how freely they were given.
“Nah, it wasn’t your bribe” Zeb shook his head and his hand tightened on Kallus’s shoulder, “I was just happy to see you.” His voice had dropped low and quiet. It was like he was telling Kallus a secret, even though there was no one around for at least half a klik.
“Zeb,” Kallus was breathless, was he saying what he though he was saying?
“I’ll always be happy to see you because I love you, too.”
He was.
“I’ve probably loved you just as long as you’ve loved me. I just knew it sooner.”
Karabast.
The world around him was still. Kallus couldn’t hear birdsong or the wind rustling in the leaves. He hadn’t hoped for love in return. He didn't know what he was expecting and the only thing he couldn’t have withstood was outright, angry rejection. He should have known Zeb was too kind for that. But love … It would have taken him off his feet if he were standing. The tender look on Zeb’s face was enough to make his heart beat slow, thick and heavy. His agile mind had stalled and fixated on how Zeb stressed the word ‘love’ as if to bury it deep into his brain. His eyes searched Zeb’s face as a tiny piece of his mind tried to make him think he’d just imagined what the other man had said. As Zeb’s smile grew wider, Kallus was more and more assured that he had heard Zeb correctly. The soft fur under his fingers felt real. The earnest look in Zeb’s eyes was real.
“I love you,’’ Kallus said again as he raised a hand to brush the base of Zeb’s ear, marveling as it gave a small twitch.
“You’ve said that,” Zeb teased back, his own hand coming back up to hold Kallus by the jaw in a gesture that would have been a lethal threat years ago. Now, it was the kind of tender touch he would crave with his last breath. He leaned into the touch, brushing himself against Zeb’s hand like an affectionate tooka. By the sharp inhale from Zeb, he’d done something right.
“Can I kiss you?” Zeb asked, “I know you said you only realized it now, and I’m okay with slow—”
“Please,” Kallus cut him off, “Kiss me,” He’d answered so quickly that he hadn’t stopped to wonder if Lasat kissed in the same way as humans did. Kallus knew some species pressed their cheeks together, some cultures touched foreheads, and for others the concept of a kiss as he knew it was completely foreign.
Lasat did kiss the same. Zeb pulled him closer and Kallus leaned into it. The first press of lips was thrilling in its strange newness. The first kiss was nearly chaste, just a press of closed lips. Kallus adjusted the angle of his head, correcting for Zeb’s flat nose, and kissed him again. The second kiss was deeper, softer. They clung to each other with Kallus sitting himself in Zeb’s lap so he could comfortably reach Zeb without straining his neck.
Feeling small while standing next to the man was nothing like how he felt now. He felt small still, but precious. He felt safe in a different way, too. In battle, Zeb’s warrior size and strength were protective. The safety here was being known, seen. It made him willingly weak feeling the circle of Zeb’s arms holding him closely. Kallus chose to be vulnerable in welcoming the slight scrape of claws through his hair and down his back. The slow kisses became shallower until Zeb broke away to look at him.
“When the war is over, the clean up, the restoration, all of that, will you stay with me?”
“I will.”
“Good, because there’s somewhere I want to show you.” Zeb gave a small laugh before adding, “You’ve been there before, but you haven’t seen it yet.”
Kallus didn’t care to puzzle that out. Instead, he was content in the feeling of Zeb’s hand holding his own, four fingers somehow slotting perfectly with five. Overhead, the Rebels and Ewoks set off more fireworks that painted the sky in bright rainbows. He pressed himself closer to Zeb, soft and strong and warm. Loving.
With the ashes of the Empire finally at his feet and Zeb beside him, Kallus was truly happy.