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Seeing the galaxy through the HUD is a different type of vision, one where colours aren’t the same and lighting is different, and he’s grown so used to it that sometimes he forgets the galaxy can exist in any other way. But he can see it now, as he watches you under the flashing lights of the club you’re in, as he watches the glittering tassels of your outfit move, as he watches your eyes focus on him, staring directly into the visor –
Brown, he thinks, his brain distantly cataloguing the colour as he knows it. Deep, dark, brown, and your eyes glitter with your outfit as he smile at him, sauntering closer with each step, with each flash of light, until you’re directly in front of him, so close he can smell your perfume wafting beneath his helmet, unfiltered, he really should turn life-support on and seal the suit, because this is an unknown place and an unknown planet and anything could get in with the suit unsealed, but if he did that he wouldn’t be able to smell your perfume –
This isn’t the place for words, not with how loud the music is, and you don’t try, your lips curling up in the sweetest, brightest smile he’s been given in so long, and you don’t reach for him, and it’s a relief that you seem to know there are boundaries he doesn’t want you to cross, but you do cock your hip and tilt your head, and he can hear you even without any words, can hear the you’re not from around here, and the I like dangerous ones like you, and maybe he can even hear the need some company in the way your dark eyes slowly scan him, your smile curling up a little more.
He wonders, in that moment, what you’d look like without his helmet on. Would your outfit glitter the same, your warm skin gleaming under the flashing colours with a light sheen of sweat, your eyes reflecting all that glitter, all that flashing, would they be darker, deeper, sweeter if his vision weren’t filtered by the HUD?
Silent, you hold out your hand.
Silent, in a moment of curiosity and bravery and maybe it’s the glitter and lights, and maybe it’s your perfume, he takes it.
You lead him through the bodies and the flashing lights into an empty room tucked into the back. He’s already marked all possible entrances and exits, all possible directions from which an attack can come, and you’ve already moved close to him again, so close your breath steams his beskar. In this room, the music is muted, and if you wanted, you could share words, but you don’t want to, and neither does he.
You move so close that your eyelashes almost brush his helmet when you blink, and his HUD struggles to accommodate, and he can see that your eyes are indeed a lovely depth, a lovely darkness, can see brilliance there, can see worlds and stars and brightness, the whole galaxy in your brown eyes.
The music playing outside the room seems to thrum through your body and into his where you hold his hand, and the flashing lights aren’t as prominent in here, and there’s a beauty in being able to see you solidly, certainly, and his voice crackled through the modulator as he finally asks, “Can I help you?”
You grin at him, that brilliance, those stars, they glitter in your smile they way they do in your eyes. “You under contract?”
“Not currently.” He can feel the heat of your hand seeping through his glove, can feel his own body heating up in response, but he doesn’t look away from your eyes, so absolutely kriffing gorgeous. “You got a job?”
“Yeah.” You step the little bit closer, until your lips are almost brushing his helmet, until your eyelashes do brush it as you blink. “Get me out of here.”
He moves to step back, and you tighten your hand on his. Clever girl, you have him trapped unless he wants to cause a scene, but he’s curious. “Why?”
Your smile remains, and he wonders what colour your lips are, because he can see the substance of make-up. Deep red to match the deep brown, but he doesn’t know for certain. “You travel the galaxy, right?” His head jerks in a small nod. You press your cheek to his helmet, as if you were whispering in his ear. “Let me fly away with you.”
Your lips leave a perfect lipstick mark as you pull away. His hand doesn’t release yours, his visor looking directly at you, and you want to believe he’s looking directly at you, too.
“Payment?”
You shrug. “We can figure it out.”
“Why can’t you leave?”
“No ship. No money.”
The silence isn’t heavy, but it crackles, filled with the electricity you felt when you saw him, filled with the promises of galaxies and stars that he sees in your eyes.
He can’t quell the curiosity of their exact colour, of what they look like when he’s not seeing the world through the modification of the HUD, would they sparkle the same?
Wordless, he turns to leave the room, your hand still wrapped in his.
*
Months, maybe even a year, adventures and stars and moments, touches and glitter and he knows now what your body looks like with his naked eye, and he wants to know, he wants to know what your eyes look like.
His helmet sports a perpetual lipstick mark, your claim on him, and he doesn’t mind, because he likes the colour, indeed a deep red, and because he always knows when someone sees it, the way their eyes move a little to the side, a small movement of confusion, it reminds him of you.
Touches, glitter, trust, and when he finally lets himself satisfy his curiosity – your eyes are indeed everything he’d thought, everything he’d dreamed, brown and lovely, deep, dark, endless, with enough space for the entire galaxy, for all the secrets he’s shared with you, for all the love you have for each other.
He was right, that night you met, too – your lipstick does match your eyes.