Archive of Our Own

Listen, they’re not bad guys. Actually, they are good guys. They are part of the Resistance after all, please. So, that means they are good guys… Good guys with… bad guys attitude maybe?

Well, it doesn’t really matter, the trader didn’t respect the deal, they had to act one way or another to win anyway. If that meant stealing a box full of new generation blasters, then so be it. They never claimed to be politically correct bad guys to begin with. Except that, maybe - just maybe - they should have settled for a less radical decision because… Their little heist ended up in them being tracked down by a full fleet of an angry traders guild and maybe Atsumu fucked up when using the hyperdrive propulsion system. 

Because, now, their magnificent Millennium Falcon is… well… kind of a wreck - again. No wonder it was resting unused and nobody stopped the twins when they claimed it as theirs after fixing some - a lot - stuff on and in it. 

“It’s yer fuckin’ fault,” Osamu grunts, shooting in a loose piece of fabric that just fell in the sand. “I told ya not to use the hyperdrive right away! Ya know that we can’t expect to reach light speed right after take off!”

“Well,” Atsumu defends himself. “it was either that or they were shooting our baby and we might not have been able to use hyperdrive at all !”

“We could have, and ya know it. And if ya listened to me for once we could be at the base right now, fixing the ship with actual tools and not,” Osamu turns around, flapping his arms around him and mentioning to the endless sand dunes they are currently stuck in. “Not lost in the middle of nowhere!”

“Shut yer trap!”

Osamu sighs and enters the ship - climbs into it would be a better description, considering it is literally stuck in sand and they can’t open the hatch - surely to go to the instrument panel and see where they have ended up and if they could communicate with the Resistance.

“I don’t know why,” Atsumu mutters, following his twin in the mess that is now their ship. “but I can literally feel the disappointment emitting from Princess Leïa towards us, right now.”

“And Kita.” Osamu adds.

Atsumu shivers. “And Kita.”

After a few taps on the control board, Osamu eventually manages to make it work. It is… very red, every malfunction and damage of the ship jumping to their faces in bright red letters and beeping loudly. Atsumu groans, it’s going to cost a fortune. All of that for a bunch of weapons… That’s the greed of the Miya Twins.

“Awesome,” Osamu says, with so much irony and sarcasm Atsumu could almost believe him. “Of all places, we’re on Tatooine. The freakin’ desert. The trashcan of the Outer Rim.”

“Isn’t that Jakku?”

“Jakku is in the Inner Rim, dumbass.”

“Oh,” Atsumu says. “True. Well, it’s the same anyway. Except for the sunset maybe.”

Osamu stares at him, deadpanned. Atsumu just shrugs.

“Get out, I’m goin’ to try to contact Rin, or someone,” Osamu turns back on the seat, shooing his twin out. “Go see if by any chance some city is close, or whatever.”

“Sure,” Atsumu cooes. “Don’t spend hours talkin’ to yer boyfriend, what is goin’ to happen if we ever lose communication? Heartbreak then slow and painful death?”

“Rin is not -” Osamu starts but never finishes, there is no point in engaging in this conversation with Atsumu anyway. So, instead, he shows him his middle finger and starts to fidget with the different buttons on their control board.

Atsumu, that moron, considers that as a win and hops off the spaceship and onto the sand again, the sun being a complete contrast to the darker atmosphere he was basked in a second ago. It wasn’t the first time they ended in situations like this - a broken ship and stuck in the middle of nowhere - except that the previous middles of nowhere had some kind of civilizations around. Here… Sand. Always sand. Only sand. No one around, not even whatever creature Tatooine overflowed with. Oh, maybe they’ll find Jaba the Hutt’s former palace if they were lucky. Not sure it’ll be of any help though. 

Sighing, Atsumu begins his journey in wandering around, in the hopes of finding something, anything. Someone would be a better help. Anyone. He tries to keep the Falcon in his line of vision, it’ll be unfortunate if Osamu has to deal with both a broken spaceship and a lost brother. Atsumu finds himself wondering which one Osamu would prioritize if that was the case. Pretty sure it would be him, right?

Statics coming from his communication earpiece make him stop.

“Did ya find anythin’?” Osamu’s voice asks.

“Nah,” Atsumu answers. “It’s just sand there. Do ya know in which part of the planet we are?” 

He hears some fumbling on Osamu’s part until his voice speaks again. “Great Chott salt flat, near the Jundland Wastes.”

“Oh, fun.”

“If I remember correctly we’re supposed to be near Anchorhead,” Osamu explains, voice distant, lost in thought and probably imaging a detailed map of the planet. Whatever is going in his twin’s head, Atsumu lets him be.

“What is there even at Anchorhead?” 

“Don’t know,”

“Really helpful, ‘Samu,” Atsumu sighs. “How do we get there?”

“Walkin’ probably,” Osamu’s bored voice says. “With a speeder would probably be faster, though.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have one, genius.”

“Again, it’s yer fault.”

Atsumu is about to retort when a black mass in his line of vision makes him stop with the words on the tip of his tongue. He turns to the right, making sure the twin suns aren’t causing him to see things. Or if it isn’t a creature of all sort. His free hand moves to his belt, settling on his blaster and ready to aim it at any possible threat. He isn’t going crazy, walking towards him is a… man? a boy? No, he is probably his age. The stranger is dressed in an all black tunic and pants - Atsumu has seen this kind of outfit before… but where? He has curly hair that is falling on one side of his face and two moles over his eyebrow, on the right side of his forehead. Atsumu’s hand on his blaster tightens.

“Ya alright there?” Osamu asks. Atsumu can feel the hint of worry in his twin’s voice. He finds himself whispering.

“There’s someone comin’.”

The stranger stops in front of him, eyeing him from head to toe. Now, Atsumu can see his outfit isn’t really black but more of a navy blue color. He also spots a flash of silver, from something hanging around his belt loop. It makes Atsumu react on the spot and get his blaster out and aims it at the man in front of him.

“Who are ya?” he asks, finger ready to pull on the trigger at any wrong words. 

They were at war. Since he and Osamu were kids. They knew to be cautious of everyone. And maybe it was a Pavlovian response, but mostly to be cautious of whoever was dressed in black tunic with a lightsaber hanging around their waist. They’ve heard enough stories. They’ve seen enough on Kijimi. 

The stranger only raises an eyebrow at Atsumu. He doesn’t even move, isn’t even fazed to have a blaster pointed directly at his chest.

“I think I should be the one asking you this,” the stranger simply says. He eyes Atsumu’s blaster, making a slight gesture with one of his hands. “You can put that down.”

“Better safe than sorry, I’m not puttin’ it down.”

“Alright,” the stranger shrugs, his hand goes to hide again behind his cape. “I heard your spaceship crash, a few minutes ago. I came in to check.”

“Why would ya?” Atsumu squints his eyes. Is the guy out of his mind? “Who are ya, even?”

“My name’s Kiyoomi,” the stranger eventually introduces himself. Atsumu still hasn’t lowered his blaster. The stranger - Kiyoomi - looks in the direction of the spaceship. “There’s someone else with you, right?”

“How -” Atsumu stops himself by biting on the inside of his cheek, and quickly changes the formulation of his sentence. “What makes ya think that?”

“I can feel it.” Kiyoomi simply says.

Atsumu sees a blur of shading off silver behind the stranger, until Osamu’s face comes into full view, the tip of his blaster aiming at the back of Kiyoomi’s head. The man just smiles. Quick, feint, blink and you miss it. But Atsumu saw it.

“Who are ya?” Osamu asks, echoing Atsumu’s first question.

“Not someone you have to fear,” Kiyoomi looks back at Atsumu. “If you want to repair your spaceship, you’ll need new pieces. Anchorhead might have some, or you can always wait for the Jawas. Otherwise, Mos Eisley is where you’ll probably find what you need.”

Atsumu looks into the abyssal pupils, his gaze never leaving them the whole time Kiyoomi is speaking. Staring. Searching. When he is done, Atsumu shares a look with his twin. He lowers his blaster, straightening his posture.

“It’s okay, ‘Samu.” Atsumu whispers, nodding to his younger twin. Osamu seems hesitant, but a last look and nod from Atsumu make him eventually lower his blaster as well. He moves around Kiyoomi to face him instead, settling near Atsumu. He eyes the lightsaber waringly. 

“Can ya take us there?” Atsumu asks. He mentions with his head to the endless dunes of sand. “I think you probably know these dunes better than we do.”

“And why should I help you?”

“If yer not someone we need to be cautious of, then yer someone we can trust, right?” Osamu pips in, eyeing Kiyoomi, unfazed.

Atsumu smirks, Kiyoomi smiles with the corner of his lips.

That’s pretty much how it went. Maybe Atsumu has changed some minor details but, who cares. You’re the narrator of your own story, right? If he wants to be dramatic, then let him be!

Kiyoomi is… a nice host? probably. I mean, the guy is providing them useful information and, most importantly, a speeder. So they can get in town. A Landspeeder X-34 , to be precise. It isn’t a vehicle you see everywhere, sometimes Atsumu - and Osamu by extension - wonders where their little desert friend got it. Well, Kiyoomi probably wonders how they got hands on the infamous Millennium Falcon , as well… If he even knows anything about spaceships and what is going on in the galaxy, that is.

So, yeah. Kiyoomi is certainly not the best host - they have to sleep in the Falcon , Kiyoomi is unbreakable on this point. But at least they get food. Not much, because Kiyoomi doesn’t really have much to begin with, so the twins settle for the instant bread they can get from him. Osamu hasn’t complained about the food at the Resistance headquarters once since they’ve crashed here. Atsumu is silently agreeing, he is somewhat missing the disgusting cooking of the headquarters too. Or the space waffles they always got when they went to Coruscant, back in the days. Damn those are good.

They went to Anchorhead the next day after they crashed. The twins have found a series of little pieces they needed to repair the Falcon, but it was definitely not enough. Osamu said he’ll try to do his best with what they had, Atsumu believed him. Atsumu is the pilot, Osamu is the engineer - and co-pilot. Well, that isn’t technically true. They’re both pilots. Maybe they’re even the best in the whole Resistance. They both have a gift for piloting. Atsumu just… makes more extravagant use of it than Osamu, who prefers staying in the dark playing with cables when Atsumu is taking all the spotlight. Osamu is a damn good shooter, though… Atsumu needs to step up his game.

When they’re repairing, Kiyoomi suddenly disappears. They never know where the guy goes, but he’s always back for dinner, hair sweaty and clothes full of sand. Atsumu stared more than once, the dude was beautiful. He almost torched Osamu’s hair by accidentally making two cables touch during one of his staring sessions. If Kiyoomi heard them squealing like pigs while throwing insults at each other, he didn’t say anything.

When Osamu locks himself in the cockpit to get in contact with the Resistance (read: Suna), he throws Atsumu out. And the older twin is left sitting on the sand, jacket forgotten inside the ship in the favor of a tank top stained with oil and grease, under the shadow of the Falcon , staring at the endless dunes and pits of sand surrounding him. And he can’t help but think how fucking boring this planet is.

“Got thrown out?”

When Atsumu’s lips leave his old flask and he turns his head towards the voice, it’s to see Kiyoomi walking towards him. Forehead shining with sweat, hair sticking to it. Clothes a bit more of a lighter color than this morning.

Atsumu shrugs, he’s pretty sure he’s covered with black smudges of grease all over. The tip of his fingers are black, he’s pretty sure his face isn’t better. What an impression. “‘Samu’s tryin’ to contact his boyfriend, they’re probably dirty talkin’ right now, that’s why he’s throwin’ me out.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t move from his spot, a fair and safe distance away from Atsumu. “Boyfriend?” he asks.

It makes the pilot roll his eyes. “Officially not, they’re stupid. They’re disgustin’.”

“Aren’t they your friend and brother?” Kiyoomi smirks.

“They are,” Atsumu grunts. “But for now there are more chances than Emperor Palpatine comes back from the dead than them realizin’ how pinin’ and freakin’ stupid they both are.” he mumbles, sipping angrily (fakely) on the remaining water inside his flask.

Kiyoomi huffs. Atsumu smiles.

“I can take you to Mos Eisley tomorrow, if you need.”

“Yer goin’ there?”

Kiyoomi nods. Atsumu stands up.

“If there’s a good restaurant there, please let us know.

Okay so… it definitely isn’t a restaurant.

“That’s a cantina,” Atsumu says while looking at Kiyoomi, deadpanned. The other just glances at him and shrugs.

“Not something you’re unfamiliar with, then.” he simply says, already leaving and wandering in the crowd of smugglers, bounty hunters and traffickers, careful not to touch any of them, music and chatter following each one of his steps.

Osamu laughs next to him.

“Well,” he looks at his twin. “he’s not exactly wrong.”

“We are good men, ‘Samu. We’re in the Resistance.”

“Shut yer trap, don’t talk so loud. We’re still smugglers, cantinas are where we get our jobs, dumbass.”

“And the reason why we’re stuck here in the first place.” Atsumu mumbles, following his twin inside the building.

“Again, it’s yer fault.” Osamu reminds him.

“Shut yer trap.”

Everything sort of goes downhill when Osamu abruptly loses contact with Suna, one day. One second they are talking, and the other, there’s a loud static and then nothing. Nothing. Silence. More static. No matter what maneuver Osamu is trying to get in contact with Suna, or the Resistance for that matter. Nothing. 

That resulted in a fight between him and Atsumu. Osamu being sure something had happened while Atsumu was sure the communication system was just defective and that it was nothing. Except that, it wasn’t nothing, Osamu could feel it in his guts. Atsumu couldn’t. And when Osamu said that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave Atsumu there and take off, Atsumu only retorted that he was insane and that they still needed to finish repairing the Falcon . Osamu simply ended the debate by insulting Atsumu of being a fucking idiot. Maybe he was. Atsumu’s gut feeling is also telling him something, something Atsumu can’t seem to decipher. Atsumu doesn’t know if it’s telling him to accompany his brother or letting him in his task. A journey Osamu is bound to make alone. Atsumu doesn’t know if it’s telling him his own journey on this shitty and sandy planet isn’t over yet, and that he needs to let Osamu go on his own to accomplish it. 

Atsumu’s gut feeling sends him back to Kiyoomi, somehow. Atsumu understands that maybe, it’s telling him to stay here. That he has things to discover. Just like when it’s telling him what maneuver to do or where to go when he’s flying. 

Later in the day, Osamu hands him a spare communication device - an old one they didn’t use anymore since they replaced it with in-ear communication pieces. Atsumu just looks at him, confused. Osamu doesn’t look sorry, he doesn’t look scared. No, instead, he looks angry, but mostly, he looks determined. Atsumu knows that, no matter how hard they fought about this, he’ll never be able to make him change his decision.

He grabs the radiophone.

“If…” Osamu starts. “ When I’ll find him, I’ll let you know.” 

Atsumu hears: when I’ll find him, and that we’re both safe, I’m coming back for you. 

Not fair, he’s supposed to be the big brother. Damn, Osamu.

“Yer not takin’ the occasion to let me rot here? How thoughtful of ya,” he locks eyes with his brother and feels the presence - the eyes - of Kiyoomi behind him. Intently looking at them both, analyzing their every movement. “How do ya know yer goin’ to find him?” he asks.

Osamu only shrugs, but there’s a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“A feeling.” he simply says. Atsumu doesn’t see the way Kiyoomi’s face changes, doesn’t see the slight change in his posture. Atsumu only sees the Falcon flying away in the sky, taking away with him his twin brother and a promise.

When he turns around, Kiyoomi is already watching him. Atsumu doesn’t look at him.

“Well, guess it’s just you and me now, Omi.”

“So, what are ya doin’ there anyway? Are ya plantin’ carrots or somethin’?”

It’s the first thing Atsumu asks when he - finally - enters Kiyoomi’s house. Well… It’s not really a house, more like a basement in open air. A house built in sand fondments. He doesn’t have a spaceship to sleep in anymore, and apparently Kiyoomi is nice enough to let him sleep in his personal space. Meaning, on some camp bed that looked way too old and ready to crack once Atsumu would put his ass on it. Well, better than nothing, after all. 

“I don’t plant carrots, there’s sand everywhere, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi sighs.

“Yeah… sand.”

Sand. Sand everywhere. Only sand. Nothing but sand.

Kiyoomi is preparing instant bread, like he always does for dinner. Just put a bit of water on it and wait until the bread takes form. And Atsumu can’t even propose to him some galactic candy as a treat. Osamu kept them all when he took off. He can only eye the lightsaber, hanging at his belt. 

“So,” Atsumu starts, when they’re settled in silence and eating the green bread with a broth base. “yer a Jedi or somethin’?” he asks.

Kiyoomi munches on his bread, but he doesn’t look at him. He speaks after swallowing. “Something like that, I guess.”

“Ya don’ know?” Atsumu slurps on his broth. His eyes don’t leave the movements Kiyoomi’s jaw does whenever he’s chewing. His jaw is defined. He can see a constellation of small moles on the bone. They’re as pretty as the one he’s seen in space. The flame of the small fire under the pot is making them more noticeable, Kiyoomi’s face basked in orange light.

“It’s not like it matters anyway,” Kiyoomi answers. 

“Aren’t ya s’pposed to be… I don’t know, in temples or whatever.”

“We’re at war, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi chews his last piece of bread. “There are no temples anymore.”

The pilot pushes his empty plate away. It’s probably the first time they’ve talked when eating. When Osamu was still here, dinners were spent in relative silence, Kiyoomi leaving as soon as he was done. Atsumu realizes it’s probably the first time he learnt something about Kiyoomi, as well. Weeks he’s been here, and he knew nothing about the guy who has been housing and providing him food all this time.

“Don’t ya feel alone?”

Kiyoomi looks up at him, but he doesn’t answer. He raises an eyebrow at Atsumu. Onyx orbs meeting Atsumu’s honey ones. 

“Bein’ there, all alone,” Atsumu justifies himself. He felt the need to, under the ink stare.

“I’ve been here for as long as I can remember, you don’t feel alone when you’ve always been on your own.”

“And bein’ maybe the last one of your kind?”

Another pause. Kiyoomi adverts his gaze from him and fiddles with his nails, instead. His gaze gets lost in the flame under the pot, making his dark orbs seem friendlier. But much more sad.

“Yeah, I do.”

Atsumu’s gut feeling is telling him that Osamu will be fine on his own quest, and that he made the right choice by staying here, on this fucking boring planet. 

“Ya can’t keep secrets from me anymore, now, Omi,” is the first thing Atsumu utters the next morning. His hair is spiking in every direction and he doesn’t look anywhere near properly awake, but he’s Atsumu. He has to run his mouth one way or another. 

Kiyoomi just looks at him promptly. “I don’t keep secrets from you.”

“Ya do,” Atsumu retorts, standing from his makeshift bed. He shivers, the night has been cold. And Osamu took off with his jacket. Great. “When ‘Samu and I were repairing the ship you’ll suddenly disappear and only come back when the suns begin to set,” Atsumu eyes him warily. “What are ya doin’ during those times?”

Kiyoomi drapes his black cape around his shoulders and body without responding. The only answer Atsumu gets, is a small purse thrown at him - which he catches easily in his hands.

“Buy something from the Jawas if you want,” Kiyoomi simply says, already making his way out. “Or go to town, make yourself useful.”

“There’s only one speeder,” Atsumu declares, confused. He can only see the hem of Kiyoomi’s cape disappearing outside.

“I’m not taking the speeder.”

“What is there even to do in Anchorhead, anyway.” Atsumu mutters to himself with a sigh.

Anchorhead, Atsumu realizes, has a cantina. And a cantina is a den of saucy information. It’s teeming with not-so-moral-and-legal job offers as well, but Atsumu couldn’t accept one even if he wanted to. He was spaceshipless, remember. So, he’ll settle for a glass or two of  Jabba Juice and try to get as much information as he can. What do the people of this lonely town and planet know?

He’s sitting on a stool at the bar, the familiar tune - he’s sure it’s the same in every cantina, there is no other way - basking the building in a jazzy yet not totally comfortable atmosphere. He doesn’t have to go and try to talk to people. People will come to him. That’s what they do. That’s how Atsumu and Osamu always operate when fishing for tracks. It doesn’t take long.

Atsumu feels someone sitting on the stool next to him at the third sip of his Jabba Juice. He turns his head to look at his new best friend of the day. Older than him, for sure. Smooth, short beard and dark and wavy hair. Dark clothes, it looks like a Mandalorian armor, to Atsumu. Two guns resting crossed on his back. A bounty hunter, interesting. Probably a local, or a regular of this cantina, at least.

Jackpot, Atsumu thinks.

“What are you doing here, son,” the man says. “You don’t look like a local. Did you get lost?”

“Actually, I’m only here to buy pieces for my spaceship. I crashed on this planet, a few days ago,” Atsumu explains. Lies don’t hurt anyone.

“Where did you crash?” the man asks, sipping on his Spotchka.

“Great Chott salt flat,” Atsumu answers, smoothly. 

The man stops drinking abruptly and turns wide eyes to him. Bingo.

“Near his home?”

“Who’s home?” playing the lost and confused card and tone. Works every time. 

“Did you see a man, dressed all in black, during the few days you’ve been here?” the bounty hunter asks.

Navy blue, not black Atsumu wants to correct. “I haven’t, why?” he says, instead.

“There’s this rumor… this legend, about a man in black living in Luke Skywalker’s old home,” the man starts. “Some say he’s a Jedi, some say he’s a ghost. Some others say he’s a healer and has healed them from various diseases. Others even say he’s the reincarnation of the Emperor. Nobody has ever properly seen his face.”

I have. Two moles on the right side of his forehead. Curly hair cascading on the other. Really pretty. Onyx eyes making you get lost in their depth. “Nobody?” Atsumu repeats. 

The bounty hunter nods.

“What’s yer name?” Atsumu asks the bounty hunter.

“Romero,” he answers warily. “What’s yours, son?”

“Kosaku,” Atsumu won’t give him his real name, please. “And what do you think about this… legend, Romero?”

Romero shrugs and sips on his Spotchka. “This planet has been under the Empire’s control for decades,” he looks at Atsumu again, from the corner of his eye. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“So, yer a ghost, then?” Atsumu inquires, at night, over green bread and broth base. It’s boring, as a meal. Atsumu bought an Eopie Cream Pie with the remaining money he had in the purse Kiyoomi had given him. At least they’ll have some sugar. Osamu would be jealous. He also bought some loose electrical pieces to toy on during the day. Hey, Kiyoomi gave him a purse, who was Atsumu to refuse not spending it?

“I’m not a ghost, I’m right in front of you,” Kiyoomi deadpans. He takes a small bite of his bread and continues stirring the broth in the small marmite. Once again, like every night, Kiyoomi’s face is illuminated by the orange flame, making his inked orbs shine a little lighter. 

“That’s not what the people at Anchorhead told me,” Atsumu retorts. “Apparently, yer some kind of legend, like some messiah healing the strongest diseases,” he explains. He stares up at Kiyoomi, while munching on a piece of bread. Kiyoomi is looking at him, already - like always. His traits are firm, but there’s some playfulness in his pupils. Like he knew. “Or,” Atsumu continues. “Yer sent by the Empire to bring apocalypse to the planet. Unless yer the reincarnation of the Emperor?”

Kiyoomi huffs. Atsumu takes another bite of his bread. There’s silence. There’s always silence between them. But it’s not uncomfortable. It’s seeking in the presence of one another and sharing a disgusting meal, that’ll become a little more tasty once they’ll eat the pie Atsumu brought back from Anchorhead. It’s being alone, then not being alone anymore because now they’re two. It’s discovering the other’s hidden parts the more they share that same disgusting meal every night. It’s trust. Slow build trust. It’s Kiyoomi softly smiling at him after putting some broth in his own metal plate.

“And what do you think?” he asks.

Weird, Atsumu is pretty sure he's the one supposed to be asking the question. And that he demanded the exact same thing to a bounty hunter in the afternoon.

“I think, Omi,” Atsumu starts before slurping on his broth, not looking into the onyx orbs anymore. “that if ya were some First Oder’s spy or whatever asshole, I’ll be dead by now.” he says. He bites into his bread and settles his gaze on the other man once again. “Although,” he smirks. “I know you’re not someone I need to be cautious of.”

Kiyoomi chuckles, the tip of his lips lifting up. 

“But,” Atsumu raises a finger into his direction. Smirk still in place. “I only trust what I see, Omi. No more secret shenanigans behind my back.”

“Alright.” Kiyoomi chuckles again, like he knew. And he knows. 

The nights on Tatooine are cold. The nights on Tatooine aren’t peaceful. They could be, maybe, if Kiyoomi lived in the city rather than so close to the Jundland Wastes. The Jundland Wastes are not to be traveled lightly, Kiyoomi had told him, at the very beginning. Atsumu could hear the screams and roars of the Tuskens, at night. Sometimes it’ll wake him up, until it ceases and he could fall back asleep. 

But, never has he woken up in the middle of the night to the sounds so close to his ears. And never has he woken up because of this feeling inside of him telling him to open his eyes right now . And when Atsumu does open his eyes, it’s a mere second before a Tusken - a man covered in bandages with two holes for eyes - aims a gaffi stick at his chest with an animalistic scream to accompany it. 

Atsumu doesn’t think about what he’s doing, a feeling just tells him to extend his hand forward, towards the sentient indigenous. Atsumu feels the unique sensation, from the tips of his fingers to his toes. A strong wave gathers in the middle of his palm, and Atsumu senses it expelling itself out of his body, effectively ejecting the Tusken away. A flash of green comes into his vision, in a distinctive hum, rising in pitch and volume as the blade moves through the air, connecting with the back of the Tusken Atsumu just expelled. 

The body falls to the floor with a thump, and Atsumu can see that there are two others more, also lying lifelessly on the floor. His breathing is loud, and he can feel the sweat running down his back and forehead. He gulps, tearing his gaze away from the dead body to meet Kiyoomi’s eyes. The green of his lightsaber - lightsabers, he has two, Atsumu notices - is reflecting in his dark pupils, in a green gleam. Kiyoomi’s breathing isn’t much better than Atsumu’s, though, he’s surely panicking less than Atsumu is. The pilot looks at his hand in both wonder, curiosity and a slight fear. What had just happened?

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi calls him. When their gazes meet again, there’s a different gleam than the blade of his lightsaber in Kiyoomi’s eyes. “What did you just do?”

He doesn’t know. 

“Take this,” Atsumu doesn’t have time to ask what Kiyoomi meant that a wooden stick was thrown at his face. His nose was saved only by his quick reflex of catching the said stick.

“Hey!” he complains. “What was that for?”

Kiyoomi grabs a wooden stick on his own. Atsumu notices he isn’t wearing his usual outfit today. Instead, he’s closer to wearing what Atsumu is actually wearing, meaning a tank top rather than a sweat - how Kiyoomi doesn’t die from the heat will always concern Atsumu… Well, Kiyoomi surely is used to it, just like Atsumu was used to the cold on Kijimi. Kiyoomi still has his pants and boots on, though. But, Atsumu now has a perfect view on his arms. The skin is lighter than his face - surely because he’s always wearing long sleeves - and is dotted by moles all over. Atsumu finds himself wanting to trace them, to create constellations between the dark brown dots with his fingers. 

“You said no more secret shenanigans, right?” Kiyoomi says, once he’s turned to Atsumu again. It makes the pilot smile.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well,” the curly haired mentions to the sticks with his head. “Are you coming or not?”

With a small laugh, Atsumu follows him outside. They walk until they reach the spot where the Falcon crashed, weeks ago. Kiyoomi stops and turns to look at him again. His curly hair is flying thanks to the slight wind and Atsumu is pretty sure it’s not only the twin suns that are blinding him. 

“Yesterday night,” Kiyoomi starts, hawk eyes boring into Atsumu’s. “do you know what you did?”

Atsumu’s gaze falls to his hand. He clenches, then unclenches it. The memories of what happened are still vivid in his head. He knows he definitely didn’t dream it. But he doesn’t have any explanation on what, and how it happened.

“I don’t know,” he admits, truthfully. “I just… I had this feeling ,” at which Kiyoomi nods. “This gut feelin’ that told me to open my eyes… And then to just extend my hand,” he repeats the motion again. Nothing happens this time. “And then next thing I know this… thing is flyin’ away and ya cut it in half - two lightsabers by the way that’s really cool.” he grins.

At the last remark, Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, but his face becomes serious quickly - too quickly it lowkey makes Atsumu scared. 

“Atsumu,” he says, gravely. “that push you did with your hand, not everyone is able to do it… It’s the Force.”

“The force of what?”

It earns him a hit on the head. He rubs the sore spot with a sheepish smile. Kiyoomi sighs.

“The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together,” Kiyoomi explains. “It connects the universe.”

Atsumu furrows his eyebrows. Energy field connecting the universe together? Jedi’s power?

“So, I’m a Jedi? I can lift rocks and stuff?” he beams. “Oh, wait until ‘Samu learns ‘bout tha- ouch!” 

Kiyoomi hits him one more time, for good measure. Atsumu is sure he’s one hit away from being strangled.

“The Force is not a power you have,” Kiyoomi explains again. And Atsumu is actually grateful for that, because what the fuck? “It's not about lifting rocks. It's the energy between all things, a tension, a balance, that binds the universe together.”

“Okay but,” Atsumu scrunches his nose. He’s trying okay. “What is it?”

Kiyoomi offers a small smile. “Close your eyes,” he suggests. “And concentrate.”

Atsumu hums and does as told. His vision goes from a loud brightness to a silent darkness. Now, he needs to concen-

“Ouch!” he screams and rubs his side, glaring at Kiyoomi. The asshole is bearing a proud grin. “What da heck, Omi?!”

“You weren’t concentrated.” Kiyoomi’s grin doesn’t falter.

“I was gettin’ to that part.” Atsumu grunts. He closes his eyes again.

Atsumu’s world becomes black again.

“Concentrate, and feel .”

“Feel what, exactly?” he asks.

“Everything.” Kiyoomi answers.

Atsumu can feel Kiyoomi turning around him, his eyes watching Atsumu with the utmost concentration and waiting for the first loophole to attack. Atsumu is standing stiff on his feet.

“Breathe, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi’s voice reaches his ears. He’s somewhere on his left. “Just breathe.”

Unconsciously, Atsumu takes a deep breath, immediately feeling lighter and more stable on his feet. He feels Kiyoomi moving in front of him.

“Now,” he says. Atsumu doesn’t know if he’s close or far, can’t say where exactly his voice comes from. “Reach out. Stay focused and reach out,” he’s quiet for a moment. Until he sees the slack in Atsumu’s shoulders, completely relaxed. “What do you see?”

“Sand?” Atsumu says, and it comes out more as a question than a statement. Kiyoomi lightly taps his calf, making him grunt in pain. But, he doesn’t open his eyes. 

“That’s a universal truth,” Kiyoomi chuckles. “Feel deeper.”

Atsumu senses the crease in his brows, so he reminds himself to breathe and reach out. His world isn’t black anymore. He sees the sand, surrounding him, entering inside his shoes, expanding into the infinite of Tatooine. Then, a familiar sight.

“I see your house,” he croaks out. Kiyoomi hums, Atsumu takes this as a sign to continue. “I see the old pieces of the Falcon we replaced, a few feet away. I see Anchorhead.” he sees people walking in the streets, even though he can’t hear them.

“And what do you feel?”

“I feel silence… peace… violence,” he squints further. “... A lot of pain.”

“And between it all?” Kiyoomi asks. Atsumu can feel him close.

His arms move without missing a bit, raising the wooden stick at the level of his chest. The two sticks meet in a pock! He blocked Kiyoomi’s attack. Atsumu opens his eyes. Just like he sensed him, Kiyoomi is in front of him. Close. Atsumu has now a perfect view of the depth of the onyx orbs he looks into every night. He can see Kiyoomi also has a smaller mole in the crook of his nose. He's taller than Atsumu. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t look surprised by Atsumu’s block, if the soft smile adorning his face is any indication. 

“I feel you,” Atsumu mutters. “I feel balance.”

Starting then, Kiyoomi always takes Atsumu with him every day, a few feet away from the house. They’ll either stay standing, wooden sticks in hands, or they’ll sit, sand sticking to their outfit and Kiyoomi will tell him to close his eyes and concentrate. Kiyoomi didn’t give it a name, but Atsumu is pretty sure that it’s meditation.

“Why are we doin’ that, Omi?” Atsumu can’t help but ask. Kiyoomi is sitting in front of him and Atsumu knows he isn’t hallucinating and the other is actually levitating right now.

Kiyoomi huffs out and slowly falls back on the ground, he opens his eyes and looks at Atsumu, who's imitating his position - legs crossed and hands loosely intertwined in between them - except that Atsumu is looking at him with lost puppy eyes. Kiyoomi can’t help but lowly chuckle, he surely looked like that, too, back when he was a kid. When he knew nothing and he had everything to learn, ahead of him. 

And just like a certain person would say to younger Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi answers the same to Atsumu: “To gain a better understanding of yourself. You must master yourself before you can hope to master the Force.”

Atsumu cocks his head to the side, he never really thought about it, even since they started… meditating with Kiyoomi. “You want me to master the Force?”

It seems to surprise Kiyoomi, actually. The other raises his eyebrows, before they lower into a frown. There’s a slight pinch in his lips. “Do you.. not want to?”

“I mean…” Atsumu rubs his chin in contemplation. “Not that I don’t want to, I just… Didn’t think that was what we were doin’... I didn’t even know what the Force really was until you explained it to me and—” Atsumu cuts himself mid sentence and grins at Kiyoomi. Fox-like. “Are ya trainin’ me, Omi?”

“No, I’m not.” Kiyoomi immediately denies. “I’m just… giving you tips, just in case.”

Atsumu barks a laugh, raising his knees up so he can rest his arms on it, meditation clearly forgotten. “Ya totally are.” he continues grinning. 

Kiyoomi huffs and stands up, walking past Atsumu without sparing a glance at him. “I’m not, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Alright, not trainin’ then,'' Atsumu retorts, also standing up and following Kiyoomi. “Let’s say… helpin’ me master the arts of my newly discovered talent.” he declares, smug.

“Actually, I’m just doing that so you shut your mouth at some point during the day.”

“Now, that’s mean!”

Three weeks later, Kiyoomi comes to him in the morning, and throws a wooden stick into his - awaiting - hands. Atsumu looks at Kiyoomi with a smirk.

“Are we actually going to really use those today?” he teases.

“Yes,” Kiyoomi only answers, the corner of his lips lifting up. He shows the metallic looking ball he has in his hand. Atsumu stands up and walks closer to the taller man, interested. “This is a Marksman-H combat remote. Or a combat remote, if you prefer.”

“Is it a droid?” Atsumu asks, looking at the remote up and down in pure excitement and curiosity.

“A seeker droid, yeah,” Kiyoomi nods. “You know how to use a blaster, right?”

Atsumu glares. “Of course I know, Omi,” he huffs. “I’m not a shitty Stormtrooper.”

“Then,” Kiyoomi wriggles the remote in front of Atsumu’s face. “consider this as a really talented Stormtrooper and you only have a stick to defend yourself.”

“Isn’t that a bit unfair?” Atsumu scrunches his nose, eyeing the wooden stick in his hands. “It’s wood.”

“It’s wood,” Kiyoomi agrees. He points to the combat remote. “And it has blasters,” when Atsumu’s eyes widen, Kiyoomi smirks. “Non lethal, but don’t break my stick.” he adds, turning around to exit the house.

“This is why I pilot spaceships.” Atsumu mutters, climbing the stairs two by two. 

“What a shitty -” Atsumu grunts, when the shot lands right on the side of his thigh. He doesn’t have time to place himself back in a defensive state, that the remote has already shot another blaster to his other leg. “What the hell?! Omi!” he whines.

Kiyoomi sighs and uncross his arms. He grabs his own stick he has vertically planted inside the sandy ground and places himself in front of Atsumu. The pilot takes a step back to the side, and watches. Kiyoomi is slightly bent forwards, all his weight being based on his legs and thighs. His hands grip the stick tightly, yet weak enough to allow him to handle it easily. His body moves in sync with the training remote, his eyes fixed on it. Or, are they fixed on an invisible spot behind it?

The remot shots three times and Kiyoomi blocks them all. Atsumu wants to scream in frustration.

“How?!”

Kiyoomi straightens up and turns his upper body to him. He leaves his place to Atsumu by stepping aside, taking Atsumu’s current spot. 

“Try with your eyes closed.” he simply says.

“I already don’t deck one single shot with my eyes open, Omi,” deadpans Atsumu.

“Sometimes your eyes can deceive you, don’t trust them.” 

“Speak like a normal human being and not in riddles, Omi,” the pilot grunts, but closes his eyes nonetheless.

“Let go of your conscious self and act on instinct.” Kiyoomi only adds. 

Atsumu positions himself again, and he can immediately hear the remote starting to move as he does so. He tries to focus on the sounds, trying to visualize the training remote. It doesn’t work apparently, because he feels a small yet fierce pain on his right shoulder.

“Stretch out with your feelings.” comes Kiyoomi’s calm voice on his left.

Atsumu takes a deep breath and places himself again. Just like during meditation, he lets his shoulder relax and forces himself to forget everything to solely focus on what he feels around him. He can’t see, but he can feel. Feel his body moving in the same direction as the remote. Feel the energy entering and flowing inside of him, from the tip of his toes to the tip of his fingers that are gripping the stick. He can’t see the remote, but he feels it. Feels it moving to the left, then up, then a bit to the right.

And then shoot.

His arms move in sync immediately, blocking the shot and the two others following after that. Atsumu opens his eyes, mouth shaping in a round form as he turns to look at Kiyoomi. His initial surprise shapes his mouth into a beam when Kiyoomi smiles back at him.

“One last thing, though,” Kiyoomi advises.

A second later, Atsumu feels a pain on his right side at the same time his feet are swept out of the ground until his back hurts the sand underneath him. The remote has shot and Kiyoomi has tripped him with his stick. Atsumu grunts in pain and wraps his arms around himself, in a futile shield.

“Don’t let your guard down.” Kiyoomi finishes his earlier sentence, with a grin. 

Atsumu glares but can’t help the laugh that escapes him. 

Atsumu has more bruises than he ever had in years, back when he and Osamu were still kids on Kijimi probably. Or when they were older and still resolved fights and tension by throwing their fists to each other’s faces. Speaking of Osamu, Atsumu hasn’t heard of him in months. He hopes his twin is alright. Although, it’s nothing a little mediation and concentration couldn’t give him. He never really tried, though. He just knows his twin is alright. 

When the suns are high enough in the sky, Atsumu isn’t surprised when Kiyoomi enters the room he’s in - an empty room Atsumu has chosen to toy with some electronic pieces he has gotten from the Jawas or the ones he had bought back in Anchorhead. He doesn’t really have any aim with it, it’s just to keep his hands occupied. As for his brain, well Kiyoomi and his meditation sessions are always here. Though, maybe Atsumu started to stare more at Kiyoomi’s peaceful face than actually meditated. Well, not that it matters, anyway.

He is surprised when Kiyoomi simply hands him a hooded jacket rather than a wooden stick, though. 

“We’re not blockin’ blaster shots today?” the pilot asks, taking the jacket in his hand. It looks like it belonged to a pilot, great, maybe he could keep it later. A jacket by this heat, though… Atsumu is grateful for the light linen tunic Kiyoomi had given him in the meantime his dirty shirts are drying, but still, he can feel himself sweating. He’s definitely not used to the heat. 

“I want to show you something else, put on the hood.”

They take Kiyoomi’s speeder, driving through Tatooine’s desert until they stop a few meters away from a small camp. There are maybe a dozen tents, maybe less. Atsumu notices that all the people he can see outside the tents all look human. They are hunched, walking slowly, he can see the dirt staining their clothes and faces. A sudden memory of two young boys, hugging to keep warmth in the snowy and cold weather, under a bridge on Kijimi, invaded Atsumu’s mind. He chased it away.

“Where are we, Omi?” he quietly asks. The suns are starting to set, on the horizon.

“Outsider’s camp,” Kiyoomi answers, fishing the copper pot at the back of the speeder. Soup. Atsumu can smell it. “Rejected, all the people that didn’t fit in the more urban areas. They live in the desert, for lack of place in the cities,” he explains. His dark hood was hiding his face, Atsumu is only able to lose himself into his onyx orbs because Kiyoomi is looking at him. “Keep the hood on and follow me.”

They walk in silence between the tents, some people lift their heads to look at them, some don’t even move from their spot. Kiyoomi doesn’t glance back at them when they stare, Atsumu mirrors him, keeping his gaze fixed on Kiyoomi’s boots. They reach a tent at the very far end of the camp. Kiyoomi enters without another word, and Atsumu can only follow him.

The inside of the tent is dark, Atsumu feels like night has already fallen, only illuminated by small torches in the corners. Wandering his eyes around, Atsumu notices covers draped on the floor in front of him On it, a little boy. He’s probably younger than 10 years old. His forehead is drenched in sweat, and his breathing is wheezy. Atsumu doesn’t need to be a doctor to know the little guy is sick. His attention is taken away by the woman frantically standing up and walking to Kiyoomi. The other has already put the pot aside, on the floor and hidden his hands in the large sleeves of his robes when the woman grips on the fabric.

“You’re here,” she breathes in relief. 

Atsumu can feel Kiyoomi’s discomfort clearly. How can this woman not see it? She can’t see his full face but she must certainly see his clenched jaw, can’t she? Atsumu is about to move when Kiyoomi speaks before he could move his pinky toe.

“How is he?” Kiyoomi asks the woman. 

“His fever has risen up again, I can’t seem to lower it down,” she says shakily. Her gaze falls on Atsumu. And the pilot doesn’t need to raise his head to look at her better to feel her distress. “Who is it with you?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t answer her and crouches next to the little boy. He takes one hand out of his large sleeve and touches the sick boy’s forehead. Kiyoomi turns back lightly and mentions to Atsumu to crouch beside him.

“Just look.” he tells him, in a whisper.

So, Atsumu watches. Kiyoomi’s hand flattens against the boy’s forehead, completely covering it. Kiyoomi closes his eyes and controls his breathing. In. Then, out. At the same time he does, Atsumu witnesses the boy’s chest doing the same, slowly falling into a more stable rhythm. His breathing evens out, the wheeze disappearing. The red in his cheeks seems to have paled a little as well.

Kiyoomi retracts his hand. 

Atsumu can only watch him in amazement and wonder. Kiyoomi turns his head to eye at him and smiles softly.

“What is it ya did back at that camp, Omi?” Atsumu asks, when they’re settled for their usual dinner. 

“I healed him,” Kiyoomi answers, putting some broth on his own plate. “I just transferred a bit of life, Force energy from me to him. Lowered the fever.”

“Why did ya show me that?” 

“To show you what you can do if you master the Force enough. If you master yourself enough.”

“Did ya know them? That woman and kid?” Atsumu says after a mouthful of bread.

“I stumbled upon them once, they were walking in the middle of the desert, trying to find the camp,” Kiyoomi explains. “The kid was already sick back then.” he simply says. Atsumu doesn’t ask more.

“Ya never took your hood off, back there,” Atsumu notices. “They’ve never seen yer face?”

Kiyoomi smiles softly. “Not a lot of people have seen my face, Atsumu.”

“Why?” Atsumu can’t help but ask. Kiyoomi only shrugs. “How many people have seen it?”

“Three.” Kiyoomi answers, after sipping on his broth. Upon Atsumu’s lack of reaction, he turns his head in his direction and laughs when he sees his wide eyes. He can practically hear the question without Atsumu uttering it. “My master, your brother, and you.” he reveals.

“Ya never told me where you are from, Omi.” Atsumu says, one night, weeks later. 

They’re sitting outside, in Kiyoomi’s house open, the only place in the middle of the house that isn’t hidden underground. They’re watching the three moons. Well, Atsumu is, for all he knows, Kiyoomi might be meditating. Two suns and three moons, it amazes Atsumu. They didn’t have a moon on Kijimi. Atsumu even wonders if they had a sun. Atsumu also wonders when has he ever taken time to just stop, lay down and look at the stars. Take a breath, stop running. 

“Why do you want to know?” Kiyoomi asks.

“Oh, all secretive, Omi, I see,” Atsumu teases, crossing his arms under his head as he rests his back on the ground. He can feel Kiyoomi complaining about how dirty it was without even opening his mouth. He chuckles.

“I’m not,” Kiyoomi denies. “I just don’t think that’s interesting that’s all.”

“I know yer not born here, ya never really said it but I just feel it, okay?” it makes Kiyoomi smile. “I was just curious where yer from, that’s all.”

He hears Kiyoomi huffing a small sigh. When he casts a look at him, Atsumu sees Kiyoomi is watching the moons. They’re centimeters apart, Atsumu can count his moles, see the reflection of the moons in the side of his pupils. The moonlights make his hair look navy blue instead of ink black.  

“I was born on Anoat,” Kiyoomi eventually recounts. “A planet in the Outer Rim Territories. It wasn’t… some dream planet. The air was so toxic you could barely breathe. Most of the population had fled after the planet was gassed by the Empire decades ago. Some had stayed, like my parents. Though, if people didn’t die from the toxic atmosphere, they were driven insane by the toxins, evolving over time into savage and feral creatures. Well, that’s what my parents told me, at least,” he explains, his gaze lost in the silver shine of the moons above him. Atsumu doesn’t take his eyes away, he couldn’t even if he puts all the will in the galaxy. He watches the movements of Kiyoomi’s lips when he speaks. “Our house was attacked, one night, by one of those creatures,” Kiyoomi eventually reveals, his mouth turning into a sad frown. Only for a second. “It already got my parents but someone saved me, a man. With a shining purple blade.”

“A Jedi?” Atsumu asks, softly. He still hasn’t taken his eyes away.

Kiyoomi hums. “Yeah.”

“What happened after that?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes leave the moon to settle on him instead. Atsumu sits back up, hugging his legs with his arms.

“He took me with him,” the other sighs. “Said he felt a strong energy on this planet, and that it was coming from me. He called that the Force. I asked exactly the same question as you, when he told me that,” he chuckles. Atsumu followed, recalling the memory with a smile. “I was Force sensitive and I didn’t really know it. I just felt… different, somehow. But I never knew until him. He took me under his wing and teached me. A lot of meditation, little actual fights, but I was a kid after all, so I understand.”

“So he was… yer master or somethin’?”

Kiyoomi nods with another hum, back to looking at the moons. “One day, when I was ten, he gave me two lightsabers - the ones I have - took me here, on Tatooine, told me it was part of my training and that the lightsabers were my weapons in case I was in danger, and that he’ll come back to get me when I’ll be ready - when my training will be done,” he relates. “It’s been fifteen years.”

Atsumu opens his mouth but no sounds come through. The question he wants to ask is pointless, anyway. Of course Kiyoomi’s master never came back, proof, Kiyoomi is right here, next to him. He can only relate to the feeling, it all feels too familiar to him. I’ll come back for you but nobody ever comes back. And you wait, you wait and you wait. But nobody’s coming.

“What was his name?” he asks, instead, when he finds his voice back.

“He only told me his family name,” Kiyoomi reveals. “Ushijima.”

“Never heard of him,” Atsumu mumbles. 

Kiyoomi chuckles, lightly, short. “He died, I felt it. Not really long after he dropped me here. Since then… Well, I’ve been alone ever since.”

Atsumu hums. He doesn’t really know what to say. What is there to say, really. 

“Pretty tragic, I know,” Kiyoomi grins. It’s empty, it doesn’t hold any teasing. He fidgets with his fingers. 

“Oh, I know about tragic,” Atsumu jokes, resting his hands behind him to support his upper body. He extends his legs in front of him. Just like Kiyoomi several minutes before him, he looks at the moons.

He feels Kiyoomi’s curious stare more than he sees it. 

With a sigh, Atsumu starts to speak. “‘Samu and I were born on Kijimi. In the Mid Rim, in the Bryx sector. Contrary to yer lovely toxic planet, the air was breathable there. But, a whole contrast to Tatooine. It was frigid, and mountainous,” he says, disdain lacing his words. “We didn’t have a moon, sometimes I wonder if we ever had a sun too,” he voices his earlier thoughts. “Our mom died when ‘Samu and I were really young so we don’t remember much of her. We only had our dad,” Atsumu chuckles. “Actually, scratch that we only had ourselves. Our dad fled away at the first given occasion and let us here. The house has been taken down by the First Order back when we were… eight or nine, maybe, we didn’t have anywhere to go, so we tried to crash in some abandoned places until we'd get thrown away,” he shrugs, letting a sigh escape his lips. “Then our dad took off when we were thirteen.”

He glances at Kiyoomi before continuing. The other is looking at him intently, just like how Atsumu was watching him when he was retelling his own story.

“It was snowing all the time, on Kijimi,” Atsumu explains. “We didn’t have much warm clothes, we slept under bridges, in little alleys, wherever we could and hugged each other tightly at night to keep warm. We only got to eat when we managed to steal somethin’ from the markets. It was hard.” he says.

“How did you two leave?” Kiyoomi asks him, after a moment of staying silent.

“We stole a spaceship,” Atsumu laughs, Kiyoomi joins him, his teeth seemingly even more white with the moonlight. It blinded Atsumu. “A big one with a quad laser cannon. A bit like the two we have on the Falcon . That’s how ‘Samu learned how to shoot galactical assholes.”

“And that’s how you learned how to pilot?” Kiyoomi asks, his big smile has disappeared, but he is still bearing a soft curve of his lips.

Atsumu nods proudly. “Yep,” he grins. “Well, not just me, ‘Samu too. But I’m better than him, anyway.”

“I thought he was the genius between you two?” Kiyoomi teases.

“Hey!” Atsumu screams, offended.

Kiyoomi laughs again, and Atsumu doesn’t feel as offended as before.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi says, after his laughter has died down. Atsumu knows it’s not for saying Osamu is the genius. But about his story.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for.” Atsumu assures, truthfully. 

“I felt the same Ushijima did, about you,” Kiyoomi unveils. “A strong energy, coming from you. From Osamu too, a little bit. And then you proved to me that I was right, that night, with the Tusken. Though, I already had my idea.”

“What idea?” Atsumu frowns.

“Remember the first day we met?” Atsumu nods. “I did a gesture with my hand and told you to drop your blaster. I was trying to influence your behavior,” he explains. 

“Why?”

“The Force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded,” Kiyoomi simply says, grinning.

Atsumu snorts, not taking offense.

“Will you teach me that?”

“I don’t think I need to teach you.”

Atsumu only giggles. Kiyoomi glances at him and they both fall silent. 

“Did ya ever think about runnin’ away from here?” the pilot speaks again, after several minutes. The moons have shifted in the starry sky. The air is getting chillier. Atsumu doesn’t shiver, he’s used to the cold. He lets the breeze caress his bare arms. 

“I did… but to go where? To do what?” Kiyoomi eventually responds.

Atsumu shrugs. “Sometimes it’s not necessarily runnin’ away with a goal in mind. Sometimes it’s just thinkin’ that wherever ya might go will always be better than this. That ya might find your place somewhere else.”

“Sometimes you don’t have a place anywhere. I’m fine staying here. I’ve been staying here basically all my life.” Kiyoomi says. His voice has turned slightly harsher. Atsumu doesn’t blame him. He has felt that way too, sometimes he still does. But...

“I don’t think that’s right,” he muses. ”I used to think that way before, that ‘Samu and I will never make it anyway so why tryin’… and then we fled from Kijimi, tried to survive some way or another… stole there and there, became some space pirates,” Atsumu laughs. “… And then we were taken in by The Resistance… ‘Samu met Sunarin thanks to that. We met people, great people, some we can call family. It’s just a natural chain of events that leads to make you think that, maybe, you made the right choice, when you initially thought it wasn’t worth it.” 

“What did that choice bring you?” Kiyoomi says after a moment of silence. He’s looking at Atsumu, now. Searching for the answer in Atsumu, in his eyes, anywhere. 

Atsumu turns on his side, so he’s facing Kiyoomi rather than being next to him. His knees are touching Kiyoomi’s own knee and his upper thigh. “I met you,” Atsumu smiles, bending forward. Their noses almost touch. And Atsumu’s eyes fall on Kiyoomi’s lips for a second, before diving back in an endless sea of onyx. He wants to explore their depth. “Making all these choices, it led me to you.”

And making the choice of leaning a tad bit closer resulted in Kiyoomi closing the small distance between their lips. He grabs the back of Atsumu’s head, bringing him impossibly close as their lips move against one another. Atsumu grasps the collar of Kiyoomi’s tunic, pulling on the fabric as he slowly falls backward, bringing Kiyoomi with him, their lips never breaking apart.

Kiyoomi only pulls away so they can catch their breathing, but Atsumu can still feel their breath mingling, their lips grazing. He shoots a quick glance into Kiyoomi’s eyes before moving the hand that was grabbing the collar of his tunic to his cheek and making their lips meet once again. Kiyoomi relaxes in his hold, allowing his body to fully settle against Atsumu. The night is starting to get cold, Atsumu doesn’t really mind the cold and sometimes despises heat. But, he really doesn’t mind Kiyoomi’s body heat against his colder body, the warmth of his lips enveloping, moving with his own.

When they break apart again and the moons shine on them, creating a halo above Kiyoomi’s head, they both smile. Atsumu with his full teeth on display, brushing his nose with Kiyoomi’s. Kiyoomi, more shyly yet softer. 

“Ya didn’t play a mind trick for that, huh?” Atsumu murmurs.

Kiyoomi shakes his head, closing his eyes when he rests his forehead against Atsumu’s. “Did you?”

Atsumu brushes their noses again. “Nah.”

They both let out a chuckle, which quickly gets lost in another of many kisses.

You would think everything changed after this. That everything suddenly became great and they couldn’t let go of each other and only trusted one another, that they could take on the world, just the two of them. Or that Atsumu said fuck to everything else to only be reliable to Kiyoomi. None of that.

They are still the same. A genius pilot and a lost Jedi. Two nobodies. But who are someone to each other. Kiyoomi is still training Atsumu - even if they don’t call it that, it’s exactly what it is, they definitely know that - he still kicks Atsumu’s ass in sparring. The only thing that has changed is that now Atsumu doesn’t have to bite down the wish and the need to kiss Kiyoomi’s red lips. When they are having dinner, they sit a bit closer than before, letting their shoulders touch when not even their legs were brushing before. It’s being able to lay on Kiyoomi’s makeshift bed in the other corner of the room - it’s really just a pile of old blankets put together - with their legs intertwined and feeling each other’s body heat at night and the other’s face being the first thing they see in the morning. It’s softer smiles and not so rigid looks from Kiyoomi anymore, replaced by a certain warmth and fondness in them.

It’s grinning at one another when Atsumu blocks Kiyoomi’s hit for the second time and they’re chest to chest. It’s Atsumu smirking when he pushes his face closer to Kiyoomi with the only thought of stealing a kiss from his sweaty lips. It’s also Kiyoomi smiling and leaning forward, mimicking Atsumu’s action. Until Atsumu feels a foot swinging him down and onto his back.

“That’s not even fair!” he groans.

Kiyoomi chuckles as he looks down at him. He pushes his sweaty hair backwards, and Atsumu has a plain view on the muscles of his arms. Strong, sweaty, glittering by the dampness of his skin. 

“I told you to not let your guard down,” Kiyoomi gently chastises him. “You literally made it easy for me. Come on, let’s try it again.”

Atsumu only pouts, letting out a hmph like a three-year-old kid. Kiyoomi sighs and starts to bend down to ease Atsumu up himself if he has to. The pilot only grins and when Kiyoomi is bent down and unstable enough, Atsumu rotates on himself to make him trip. Vengeance, retaliation, take this Kiyoomi! He bursts out laughing when Kiyoomi hurts the sand under him. When the other glares, Atsumu can only grin.

“What did ya say about not lettin’ yer guard down?” Atsumu asks, cheekily. 

If they roll down the little hill they’re on when Kiyoomi tries to swat at Atsumu and they end up covered in sand, then Atsumu isn’t even sorry because Kiyoomi’s smile is brighter than the twin suns and he could look at it all day, not giving a damn if he ends up blind.

“We should try with the lightsabers, this time.”

“Ya want us to spare with the lightsabers?”

“It’s the same,” Kiyoomi shrugs. “Just hurts a bit more if you get touched.”

“Do ya want to cut my arm off or what?” Atsumu says, faux-shocked. 

“I won't go too hard.” Kiyoomi smirks.

Atsumu can feel the tips of his ears burning but he’s never one to back down a challenge, so he puts his thoughts away and tying his growing hair in a messy bun, he extends a hand to call the lightsaber to him from where it’s resting in Kiyoomi’s palm. When he opens it, the green blade appears with a hum and Atsumu can’t help but stare. It’s definitely different from a wooden stick, he can’t have the same grip on it that he usually does. It’s strangely light, and not heavy as he thought it was at first. And it’s actually… pretty easy to handle. He turns it in his hand a few times, tries some basic move to get used to the feeling and looks back at Kiyoomi. 

“Think you can handle it?” 

“Who do ya think I am, huh?!” Atsumu provokes. “I’m sure I can beat ya.”

“How confident.” Kiyoomi teases back, already taking position and ready to attack.

They gauge each other for several, long seconds. Maybe a minute. Atsumu tries to let go of  the small smirk he sees on the corner of Kiyoomi’s lips to instead concentrate on the feeling around him. Breathing, reaching out with his feelings. Don’t always trust your eyes.

Their blades clash together in an explosion of crackles. 

The quiet and chilly night is ripped from its silence by the sound of static. Kiyoomi and Atsumu are outside, in Kiyoomi’s open in the middle of the house, only staying warm and illuminated thanks to the little campfire in front of them and the moonlight, and by resting against each other, side to side. The statics echo another time. Atsumu lifts his head up from Kiyoomi’s neck, his long hair brushing the skin, and shares a look with him before getting up to get closer to the radiophone. 

It’s the first time in a year that sounds are coming from the radio. Atsumu gulps down both his anxiety and excitement and opens the canal.

“-mu… ‘Tsumu, do ya copy?”

Osamu’s voice.

Atsumu can’t help the grin blooming on his face, like flowers on Alderaan under the sun. He pushes the communication button with one of his fingers, turning back to look at Kiyoomi - who is also standing up now, and already looking at him. 

“Took ya long enough, ‘Samu,” Atsumu answers, speaking near the radiophone for a better and clearer communication on his twin’s end. “Did ya cross the galaxy back and forth or what? I knew ya wanted me to get stuck ‘here.”

“Technically, he did cross the galaxy,” a second voice spoke into the canal. One Atsumu hasn’t heard - just like his brother - for more than a year.

“Sunarin!” he exclaims. “Glad to know yer still one of our own. What did ya and my lil’ brother do during yer free time? Ya didn’t go on holiday without me, right?”

“If getting a near death experience, taking down the First Order’s fleets here and there all across the galaxy and not hearing or seeing you for the last year and several months is considered as holidays, then yes we did. I didn’t miss you, by the way.” the Resistance pilot said.

“Every day is a near death experience Rin, I thought ya knew that by now. Also, now, you’re just bein’ mean,” Atsumu complains. Kiyoomi is in front of him now, listening to the whole exchange with curious eyes. But Atsumu can feel it. The slight lingering feeling of fear enveloping his core. He grabs his hand, gently slipping his fingers in his and squeezing. Atsumu’s golden orbs never leaving Kiyoomi’s onyx. “If ya can’t be nice then don’t talk at all, Sunarin.”

“Since when am I nice?”

Osamu gets the canal back, a mere second later. “Ya two are done, now?”

“Jealous, ‘Samu?” Atsumu grins. He sees the corners of Kiyoomi’s lips lifting up, Atsumu brings him closer, resting his forehead against his temple.

“Just watch above ya, dumbass.” and with that, Osamu cuts the canal at the same time Atsumu and Kiyoomi lifts their heads to look at the navy blue, filled with stars, pattern above them. 

Appearing in the sky like a new hope, flying over their head, is the Millennium Falcon .

The twins don’t jump into each other’s arms. Maybe they would have, years ago. Maybe they will. But, after they’re done gauging each other from head to toe. Rintarou is behind Osamu, still standing on the ramp. Atsumu can feel him staring right at Kiyoomi, and he can feel Kiyoomi doing the exact same.

“Ya changed,” Osamu eventually speaks first, arms crossed on his brown leather jacket. Atsumu notices it’s his jacket - it’s not.

“Ya changed too,” Atsumu echoes. His twin’s hair is longer too. He points to Osamu’s outfit. “That’s my jacket.”

“No, it’s mine,” Osamu retorts. He eyes his twin from head to toe again. “Ya seem… different.”

“Yer different too.”

He doesn’t know if Osamu can feel it for him, but Atsumu definitely can feel the changes in Osamu. A bit more open, maybe. Stronger, both physically and mentally. There’s a new light in his formerly uninterested eyes. He’s grown up. 

They both have. They’re not the little smugglers they were before. Now, both seeing further, greater, different. Understanding more of the world surrounding them, of the conflict the galaxy was in. Osamu has been in the front line, seeing with his own eyes. Atsumu has been further away, not seeing but feeling. Osamu has watched their friends die, Atsumu has felt them, a disturbance in the balance of the galaxy. 

“Did you find yerself?” Atsumu asks, sparing a glance at Suna behind his twin. 

Osamu nods. “What about ya?” 

Atsumu peeks at Kiyoomi behind him. Their eyes lock. “Yeah.”

“We need more hands,” Rintarou speaks up for the first time since they landed the Falcon. “We lost a lot of comrades and friends. The First Order is gaining grounds, but there’s still hope.”

“And as long as there’s still hope, we can still fight.” Osamu adds.

He has moved to stand near Suna, both ready to go back into the ship. Atsumu can see their loosely intertwined hands and smirks at his twin. Osamu simply shoots him a deadpan look and raises his eyebrows when he glances at Kiyoomi. 

“Are ya comin’ or not?” Osamu asks. It’s not asking Atsumu if he’s coming back so they can go back to their former smuggler activities. It’s asking him if he’s coming to fight, if he’s coming to take part in a battle that has been going on for too long. It’s giving him a choice to back down, to take a step back and stay here. It’s asking him to make a choice and wondering which is the right one. 

He turns around to look at Kiyoomi, he’s wearing his cape, just like the first day they met. His posture is defensive, yet vulnerable. Atsumu takes a step closer, further away from the prying ears of his brother and friend. He’s at eye level - almost, Kiyoomi is taller - with Kiyoomi. Distant onyx meets determined gold. 

“Go.” Kiyoomi simply says. Like it’s the fastest and logical choice to make.

“Why? Do ya want me to go?” Atsumu asks.

“It’s your family,” Kiyoomi answers. He shrugs. Like he’s no one in Atsumu’s life. “There are more things out there than on this planet, anyway.”

“But here, there’s ya,” Atsumu retorts. And it’s true, there’s only one Kiyoomi and he’s living in the middle of the desert, on Tatooine, the lost yet famous planet of the Outer Rim. “Outside there’s a war. And there’s no you.”

“I’m no one, don’t base your choice on me.”

“Aren’t we all?” Atsumu quirks a brow. “Remember when I asked ya if ya ever wanted to run away?” Kiyoomi nods. Their eyes never left each other. “Ya told me ya thought about it but ya didn’t know where to go or what to do. And I told ya it doesn’t matter.”

“And then you told me that sometimes it’s just thinking that wherever we might go will always be better than this,” Kiyoomi continues, echoing Atsumu’s word from this unforgettable, intimate night. “That we might find our place somewhere else.”

Atsumu smiles, the moons are making his eyes shine. When he speaks again, the smile falters a little and he loses the gleam in his pupils.

“I’m not forcin’ ya,” he confesses, lowering his gaze. “But I know my place is out there.”

“I know.” Kiyoomi smiles.

Their foreheads bump and rest against one another and Kiyoomi finds himself closing his eyes. Atsumu’s palms reach to his cheeks and he has to grit his teeth. What is it, there, for him? Not a lot of things. But… Kiyoomi feels attached to this place. He’s been here for so long, he’s basically lived here all his life. It’s lonely… But in some ways, it’s his home. He belongs here. If Atsumu knows his place is in the sky, piloting spaceships and fighting for something greater than him, Kiyoomi knows his own place is here, in the middle of the desert, living like a ghost, like a legend. Like he always has.

Is he ready to find his place somewhere else? Will he even find it?

He finds himself shaking, only biting back a nervous chuckle thanks to an exhale of air. Atsumu’s thumbs caressing calm and soft patterns against his cheekbones, trying to make him relax. The pilot’s eyes have opened, staring fondly into Kiyoomi’s close ones, admiring his face in silence, letting him gather his thoughts, aware of the turmoil happening inside of him.

“I’m scared.” Kiyoomi admits in a breath.

“I know.” Atsumu whispers against his lips.

Kiyoomi gulps, his hands coming up to grip at Atsumu’s forearms. 

It’s just a natural chain of events that leads to make you think that, maybe, you made the right choice, when you initially thought it wasn’t worth it.

Making all these choices, it led me to you.

Sometimes it’s about taking risks, even if you’re afraid. 

“It led me to you too,” he feels Atsumu smile against his mouth. Kiyoomi gulps again, keeping his eyes closed but leaning in Atsumu’s touch. “I still don’t know if it’s the right choice… But I think it’s worth it.”

Atsumu’s smile widens against his lips, and Kiyoomi doesn’t have to open his eyes to see it because the pilot pulls him in for a bruising kiss. One of Kiyoomi’s hand that was previously gripping Atsumu’s arms moved to hold his nape at the same time Atsumu’s snake to the back of his head, each pulling the other impossibly closer as their lips moved together.

“So… are ya comin’ or not?” Osamu asks again, when they both have pulled away.

“So I can prove ya I’m still the best pilot? Of course!” Atsumu can’t help but provoke. He grabs the backpack he’s been carrying around for a year and slings it over his shoulders. He’s about to follow his brother into the ship when Kiyoomi stops him. Atsumu looks back at him curiously. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything. He simply smiles and unloops one of his lightsabers from his belt, and hands it to Atsumu. Atsumu looks at him confusedly, accepting it, yet hesitant. He stares at the lightsaber in his hands. It’s the one he always uses when they spare with them. He recognizes the little scratch he made when it escaped from his grip after a particular hard blow from Kiyoomi and it landed on a rock nearby. 

“Why are ya givin’ it to me, Omi?” Atsumu looks at him again. “It’s yers.”

“I think you earned it,” Kiyoomi confesses. He mentions the lightsaber with his head. “It’s yours, now.”

“But why?” Atsumu still asks. “I’m a Jedi or somethin’ now?”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “Are we?” he teases. He shakes his head. “Consider this as… an answer to your confession.”

Atsumu’s face, gloomy from confusion, suddenly lights up, his smile takes all the place on his face and Kiyoomi can do nothing but smile back. Atsumu cackles and flips the lightsaber in the air, catching it with ease when it falls back on his palm. 

“Wait until ‘Samu sees this.” he sing-songs while trotting into the Falcon , probably to show-off to his brother.

Rintarou, who has stayed on the ramp even when Osamu has already gone back to the control board, shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Kiyoomi escapes a chuckle on his own. They look at each other, then. Suna, slumped against the spaceship and Kiyoomi, still standing in the sand. 

“Welcome to madness,” the pilot simply says, with a grin. “Trust me, you’ll regret even boarding with them in the first place.”

“I think I got a foretaste.” Kiyoomi nods, talking about Atsumu. Suna laughs and straightens up.

“We’re taking off soon, if you want to change your mind, it’s now or never.” he adds, disappearing inside the ship, where both he and Kiyoomi could hear the twins already bantering. 

“I think I’m good.” Kiyoomi whispers to himself, turning back.

He looks around him. The house where he still sees the little campfire burning, the sands, the hills, the rocks, the border of the Jundland Wastes. The peaking lights of the twin suns rising in the horizon. He hears the propellers of the Falcon roar, behind him.

Kiyoomi takes one last look at the planet that has been housing him all these years, turns around and lets the ramp lift close behind him as he allows a new warmth to envelop his body as he walks through the Millennium Falcon’ s endless paths and small rooms to enter the control board room, filled with chatters as Atsumu is fiddling with various controls in the pilot seat, Osamu in the co-pilot seat complaining about his twin’s loudness, and Suna seated in an extra seat behind Osamu with his hand playing with the younger twin’s hair and already looking fed up with them both. 

When Kiyoomi takes the extra seat behind Atsumu and the pilot offers him a wide and fond smile, Kiyoomi already knows he took the right choice.