For a minute, for a long minute, Chirrut thinks that maybe he had it wrong, maybe this will all work out. Baze is kissing him, and while noses are awkward Baze's lips are soft. His happiness burns like a starbird trapped under his ribs.

But then he realizes, with a thump like being sent sprawling to the mat, the Force isn't whispering anything different than it was a minute ago. The only joy in the room is his own.

And then that dies too.

"... Baze?" Chirrut pulls away, his hands braced against Baze's chest (though whether it's to push back Baze or to keep himself from seizing temptation, he couldn't even tell himself). "What are you doing?"