Hand in Hand by
"I thought you lived in poverty, monk," he said the first time, touching the edge of the bowl resting in Chirrut’s open palms. “Poverty, yes.” Chirrut sipped the soup and hid his smile behind the bowl. “Starvation is not required.” “A flexible religion.” Baze’s voice was dry and just slightly edged with amusement. “In my experience, that’s the best kind.” Chirrut laughed aloud. “We’ll get along well, then.” really lovely backstory for Baze/Chirrut.