Chapter Text
On one of the many planets they were deployed to during the war, Boil remembers seeing a baby eopie, only a few hours old, stumble its way to its feet and lope around awkwardly. It kept listing from side to side, not quite knowing where to put each foot in order to go forward as it clumsily traipsed after its mother.
Boil has felt like that eopie more times than he’d like to admit over the past couple of weeks.
There’s been a lot of new things since he and Waxer were discharged that they’ve had to stumble their way through, and while it’s nothing near as dangerous or physically taxing as what they went through since the war started, it often makes Boil feel off-balance and out of place. They’ve both known how to properly hold a blaster almost as long as they’ve been able to walk and have spent their whole lives preparing for war, and now they’re attempting to transition from being lifelong soldiers to civilians in only a few weeks’ time. Meanwhile, both of them still feel awkward just trying to navigate Coruscant outside the GAR housing complex.
Still, Boil thinks they’ve gotten along ok. It’s helped to have the goal of traveling to Ryloth to work towards - there’s a plan that Boil can focus on. They’ve just finished applying for a ship, they’ve researched where to procure an astromech, and they’ve sent a message to Nabat to let Numa and her uncle know about their plans. They even found a place to pick up some additional datapads on Ryl and Rylothian weather, flora, and fauna. They’ve managed ok thus far, so Boil figures that they’ll be able to at least muddle their way through their next task - buying civvies.
The closest shopping district has a huge number of stores to choose from, all selling clothing in a mind-boggling array of colors, styles, fabrics, and sizes. Boil’s never really had more than one option of what to wear, and it only ever came in one size, so the sheer amount of choices is overwhelming. He’d tried to prepare with a basic mental list of the things they were both going to need, but as he and Waxer step into the first store, he has no real idea how to go about finding it. Waxer is also a little wide-eyed next to him, and the tension in his shoulders tells Boil that they both feel a bit out of their depth.
Boil supposes it’s a bit silly - no one’s even shooting at them right now - but there was no training on how to order food at restaurants, file for civilian transport permits, or shop for clothes. He’s never completely sure if he’s doing the wrong thing or not, and while most of the civilians they’ve interacted with are typically polite or at least indifferent, not everyone is willing to be patient with their lack of knowledge, if they even opt to allow clones in their establishments at all.
“Um,” Waxer finally says with a shrug, “I guess start with human apparel?” He nods his head towards the sign pointing up. The first store they’ve stopped in is a huge multi-level building with a big, flashy neon sign outside. It’s a brand that Boil’s seen before during their leave on Coruscant, and it seemed as good a place to start as any - it’s big enough to maneuver around in if they need to leave, has plenty of other shoppers to blend into, and has multiple exits. As they step out of the lift on the designated floor, though, he’s already regretting it.
The floor is sprawling with rack after rack of garments that aren’t organized in any system that Boil can reasonably identify, and bright neon banners hanging from the ceiling are constantly scrolling loud advertisements. The sign just outside the lift is no help at all - its directions point to departments labeled ‘Seasonal Favorites’, ‘Uptown Chic’, ‘Starlit Sultry’, and other similar titles.
“Um,” Waxer says again, looking at the sign, around at the floor, and then back at the sign. “Any idea if one of these is code for regular pants?”
Boil huffs in annoyance. The sign looks like part of the civilian cocktail menu at 79s. “None of these even sound like they sell clothes here.”
They both need at least a few of the basics. Boil has the list in his head - shirts, pants, shorts, socks, underwear, and some warm outerwear. They have some civvies that they received when they were discharged - it was apparently part of a donation program to help clones who decided to leave the army. It’s appreciated, because other than their blacks, armor, and uniform greys, they don’t have anything else, and they don’t always want to be immediately recognizable as clones when they’re out and about on Coruscant. But, the clothes are obviously secondhand and don’t quite fit right. Waxer has his pants hiked up nearly to his ribs because the legs are far too long for him. Boil’s shirt is loose enough that he’s had to tuck folds of it into the back of his pants to keep it from billowing around him, and his pants have weird, too-small pockets so that anything in them falls out whenever he sits down. The only thing either of them are wearing that fits properly is the boots that go with their greys and the knit cap Boil bought for Waxer on a whim a few days ago.
“Because you could get cold in the middle of the day on Tatooine,” Boil groused when he plopped it on Waxer’s head. Waxer made a face at him, but he’s worn it every day since.
Boil stares at the unhelpful sign as if the labels will start making sense if he studies them enough while Waxer gamely steps over to the closest rack of clothes, tentatively pulling what looks like a shirt out so he can see it. The already brightly-colored shirt immediately lights up in an even brighter display, echoing the neon banners above them. Waxer shoves the shirt back into place in surprise, which apparently sets off a chain reaction down the rack of shirts, all of them lighting up with neon proclaiming the name of the brand. Waxer shuffles back to Boil and they look at each other for a moment.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Boil breathes a sigh of relief as they exit the enormous store. It turns out to be the cornerstone of a larger shopping district, so they quickly find other, smaller, clothing stores to investigate. The next one they wander into, while easier to navigate and with much clearer signage, doesn’t have a lot of practical options. The clothing is flashy and heavily adorned with feathers, sashes, and glittery appliques. Boil supposes that if someone wanted to look like an exceptionally colorful Kiros bird, it would be perfect.
They only go inside because Waxer has to take a look at an ostentatious set of shirts, pants, and jumpsuits on display in white and gold. “212th colors!” he tells Boil. Boil glances at the shopkeeper as they go inside, but his eyes are firmly on a datapad and there aren’t very many people in the store, so he relaxes a little.
Waxer ends up trying on a jacket from the set - it’s made of a highly reflective, weirdly slippery material that they’ve never seen before.
“What do you think, a jacket for all the 212th members?” Waxer asks as he pulls the jacket on while Boil raises an eyebrow at him and tries to keep from laughing. Waxer does a spin once he gets it on.
“You look like a nighttime hazard sign.”
“You mean you don’t think this should be added to required mission prep equipment?”
“If we wanted to be immediately spotted by everyone in a 10-klick radius, then sure.”
As they leave in search of more practical clothing items, Boil relaxes a little more. He’s been actively trying to avoid being anywhere around other civilians that they can’t easily exit, and shopping for clothes could potentially make that difficult. He can still remember the awful look on Waxer’s face the last time they had a bad run-in with a civilian, and he doesn’t want Waxer to ever feel that way again if he can help it. But, Waxer’s still smiling after they giggled over the ridiculous jacket, and he’s happily wearing the hat Boil gave him - so things are okay for now.
The next couple of stores - many with open-air stalls that have sprawled out onto the walkways and plazas - don’t have any lights, feathers, or glitter, but they do introduce Boil to a new source of irritation. When Waxer finds a shirt that fits perfectly but is made of a flimsy and uncomfortably scratchy material, another more comfortable shirt - labeled with the same size designation - is too small. By the time they’ve tried on a few different items from a couple of different sellers, Boil has learned that not only do the same size designations on clothing often not mean exactly the same dimensions, but that different shops or clothing manufacturers don’t even use the same sizing categories.
“How in the nine hells do civilians know what size clothes they need to buy?” Boil mutters as he frowns at yet another type of size designation he doesn’t recognize on a pair of pants. The shop they’re looking through now seems to have a bunch of different styles and sizes all mixed together on the racks. Waxer is on the other side of the clothing rack, thumbing at the fabric - they keep coming across that weird scratchy material that neither of them want - and he shrugs.
“I guess they just have to try on every item before they buy it?”
Boil shakes his head. “If they just had one consolidated sizing system, this would be a lot easier.”
Waxer chuckles. “You going to advise them on that? Lieutenant Boil, adviser on pack organization, nuna walker repair, and clothing size centralization.”
Boil just snorts. He’s not necessarily volunteering, but he’s also pretty sure he could organize it better than this. With a sigh, he moves to the next rack. He’s still sorting through pairs of pants, having given up on looking at size tags and trying to eyeball if a pair looks like it’ll fit, when Waxer slowly moves around the rack of clothes to stand next to him and nudge his shoulder.
Boil looks up to see Waxer staring determinedly down at the rack. He tilts his head and shakes it just slightly - ‘don’t look now’, the movement says. Boil leans closer to him.
“What is it,” he whispers, immediately on alert.
“The clerk is following us,” Waxer whispers tersely back. Boil moves away a little and turns as if he’s going to inspect the next rack to his side. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the Pantoran shopkeeper they saw as they came in. She’s closer than he thought - she’s only a couple of meters away, staring at them icily and making no attempt to hide it, even though there are several other customers shopping around them. She’s also standing between them and the main exit. It sends a chill down his back.
Trying to move casually, Boil steps further away to another aisle of racks and shelves, with Waxer right behind him. The shopkeeper follows them, staying the same distance away. Boil keeps moving and turns a corner into an aisle of taller displays full of hanging robes and dresses. Momentarily out of view of the shopkeeper, Boil exchanges a glance with Waxer. There’s another exit door at the opposite side of the shop that they noted when they came in.
They both hear sharp footsteps behind them - Waxer starts moving down the aisle and toward the exit. Boil determinedly doesn’t look behind him and moves to follow Waxer. He can hear her moving and nearly feel her glare on them. She doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t think, but out of the corner of his eye Boil sees a couple of other patrons notice them as they pass, staring. An unpleasant feeling, like the prickling awareness he sometimes feels right before the start of a fight, creeps down his back. He keeps his eye on Waxer’s back in front of him. Waxer skirts past a display table, nearly runs right into a couple entering the store, and then he’s out the door, with Boil on his heels.
Boil resists the urge to break into a run - Waxer seems to be doing the same, but barely, walking as fast as he can down the walkway past shop doors and street vendors. They don’t stop until they’re around the corner at the end of the block.
Waxer’s shoulders are hunched up, and he’s fidgeting like he does when he’s in need of a good run. Boil doesn’t know what to say to him - their interactions with civilians since they became civilians themselves have been mostly fine, and some even pleasant, but once in a while they still come across… this. Nothing has ever escalated beyond glares and sometimes insults, but even that still feels like a punch in the gut. They still haven’t eaten indoors at a restaurant. Boil hates the feeling when something like this happens, when someone goes out of their way to show them that they’re not welcome just because they’re clones, but Waxer always seems to take it harder.
He puts his hand on Waxer’s arm, and Waxer leans into him immediately, bumping their shoulders together. He squeezes Waxer’s wrist. He can see Waxer try to shake it off, almost managing to pull off a smile as he looks at Boil.
“Good thing we weren’t going to buy anything there, huh?”
Boil huffs a little, pressing their shoulders together even more. If he could somehow protect Waxer so that he never had to see that hunched, ashamed look on him ever again, he’d give whatever it took in a heartbeat.
“Why don’t we get something to eat,” he suggests softly. “Sit for a while.”
Waxer tugs his hat a little further down over his ears and nods, still recovering a little. “Yeah, that’s, um… yeah.”
A few minutes later they’re sitting on a makeshift bench just outside an alley where a street vendor has set up shop selling grilled tip-yip skewers. Boil was a bit wary of the other customers seated at the various benches around the food stand, but no one paid them any mind. As soon as Boil takes his first bite, he forgets to pay attention to the other customers anyways. It’s crisp on the outside but so juicy inside that it runs down his chin, and it has a deep smoky flavor that’s kind of like when they’ve cooked foraged roots over a fire, but better. The food they’ve tried over the past couple of weeks continues to surprise and fascinate him - the vibrant flavors, the variation in textures, the endless possible combinations - he wants to try them all. If only they were shopping for food instead of clothes. He can’t wait to shop for food once they get closer to departing.
Waxer has already downed his last bite when they hear a familiar voice.
“Hey!” Boil startles for a moment before he realizes the voice aimed in their direction is another clone - a couple of them, actually, both wearing civvies and one of them waving.
“Waxer, right? And Boil?” The clone addressing them has a mohawk that reminds Boil of Wooley, and a trail of star-shaped tattoos running down his right temple and along his jaw. He’s definitely familiar, but it takes Boil a moment to place him.
“Brax!” Waxer says suddenly next to him. He jumps up to give the clone a hug. Boil remembers now - Brax was from the 501st, and they met him on Umbara shortly before they left the planet. All of them had a rough time on Umbara, but the 501st had the worst of it, so some of the 212th had helped with evacuating their wounded. Brax and his squad were helping coordinate transport, and he and Waxer ended up chatting a lot while waiting for transports to arrive. Waxer had apparently seen him a couple more times while they hitched a ride with the 501st on the Resolute. Waxer always made new friends easily, and Brax was cheerful and talkative, even after the hell his battalion had gone through. Boil’s surprised that Brax remembers his name, too.
Brax and his friend both also have skewers and sit down across from them. Brax introduces his friend as Kip, who nods and smiles a little, then keeps eating his tip-yip.
“So now that you’re out, what are your plans? Are you staying on Coruscant?” Brax asks in between bites.
“No, we’re planning to go to Ryloth, actually.”
“Ryloth, huh? I never got deployed there - you’ve been there, I take it?”
“Yeah, we were there on multiple missions. We’re… planning to meet a friend there.” Waxer smiles a little to himself. “What about you?”
Brax swallows the last bite of his skewer. “Joined up with a few other 501st boys to get a ship - we’re going to go do some exploring around the mid-Rim. Just… hop around, see some sights.” He snorts. “Visit planets without getting shot at.” He slaps Kip’s shoulder lightly. “Kip’s coming too.”
Kip, who finished his skewer a while ago and has just been listening as Brax and Waxer talk (Boil can relate), smiles and nods. There’s something sad in his expression, even when he smiles. It’s a look Boil’s seen on so many brothers over the years. He also looks pretty young - Boil would be surprised if he was even nine standard. He knows that near the end of the war, the Kaminoans were sending out clones younger and younger as demand for troops continued to increase. He also knows that there were some shiny troops that got deployed into some of the fiercest fighting of the war one day, only for the war to be all but over the next day. He wonders if Kip is one of those - just enough time to lose squadmates or batchmates, but not enough time to find footing in his battalion and stabilize.
It’s good that Brax and his squadmates seem to be looking out for him.
“Ryloth is a ways out,” Brax goes on. “So you boys are getting ready for a bit of a trip?”
“Yeah, that’s actually what we were doing today - getting civvies." Waxer makes a face. "Or, trying to.”
Brax nods in commiseration, then frowns thoughtfully. “Have you tried Zivok’s?”
Waxer blinks, and looks at Boil. Boil shakes his head - he doesn’t remember a shop called Zivok’s.
“Uh… no, I guess not.”
“Some Corries pointed it out to us - they’ve known about them for a while, I think. It’s kind of outside the main thoroughfare here, but the owners are nice, the prices aren’t bad, and…” he chuckles “...they already know what size we are for their stuff, so you don’t have to do any guessing.”
Waxer raises an eyebrow at Boil, considering. It sounds promising. He wasn’t sure he wanted to even go to another store after the morning they’ve had - and he’d be ready to leave immediately if Waxer said he wanted to - but they really do need to get something. He hates these pants and their useless pockets. Brax and Kip are both wearing civvies that look like they fit pretty well and don’t have any strange neon or feathers on them, so it seems like it’s worth a try.
Brax gives them directions and they part ways. Waxer hugs Brax again and wishes him well. Kip still doesn’t say anything, but he smiles when Waxer wishes him a safe journey and waves at them both as he and Brax walk away.
Zivok’s is definitely outside of the shopping district they were in earlier, but it’s not too far of a walk before they’re standing in front of a small but tidy storefront. It looks like it only has one exit, and Boil’s still a little skittish after what happened earlier, but the fact that a brother recommended it helps calm his nerves. It seems to have done the same for Waxer, as he walks in without hesitation.
There’s a counter immediately inside the door with a human and a Togruta standing behind it. They both look up as Boil and Waxer enter, and Boil freezes.
“Hi there!” The human, an older man, says cheerfully.
“Uh… hi,” Waxer says after a pause. “We’re… um…”
“Looking for some new clothes?” The man interjects, managing to make it sound like a reasonable answer and not like he’s taking pity while Waxer fumbles for words.
“I… yes. A, uh, friend of ours recommended you?”
The human nods knowingly. He turns to the Togruta. “I’ll be right back, ok, Deris?”
He steps out from behind the counter. “Let me show you where things are.” Waxer looks at Boil, then shrugs a little and they both follow him. The shop isn’t huge, but it isn’t tiny, and they don’t see many other people inside. The man stops in the middle of the floor. Boil already likes the look of this shop better - everything is organized, and the items he can see from where they are look straightforward and practical.
“We’ve got tops over here on the left, coats and jackets behind that, then pants and shorts on the right, underwear and socks in the back, along with sleep clothes. Shoes are in the back right corner if you need them too. Changing rooms are in the back on the left. You can grab a hover-basket here for anything you decide you want.”
He turns back to them. “We’ve seen a few of your friends in here, and they’ve usually been a size CZ3, though once a while they’ve needed to go up to a CZ4, so you’ll want to try things on first to see where you land. If you need any help finding something, you can ask me or Deris at the counter for help.”
“I… that’s, uh, great. Thank you,” Waxer manages to say. Boil settles for nodding in agreement. The man nods at them with a smile, and heads back to the counter. Boil feels himself relax a little. He looks over at Waxer, who gives him a little grin.
They each grab their own hover-baskets and start perusing the aisles that the shopkeeper pointed them to. They’ve come to an unspoken agreement that they’re each buying their own clothes, even though anything that fits one of them will fit the other. Aside from the paint on their armor, they’ve never had a choice in what they wear, so it only makes sense that they would choose their own clothes, now that they finally can.
Boil is immediately drawn to some of the sturdy work pants, most of which have extra sections of pockets along the legs. One of the things he’s missed the most about not wearing his armor anymore is his nicely organized utility belt storage. The sections for each size are clearly labeled, and he quickly finds a pair in the recommended size to try on.
Force, this is so much easier.
Boil looks up when Waxer laughs suddenly from the next section over. He holds up a pair of undershorts for Boil to see. They’re bright blue with little yellow stars all over them.
Boil chuckles, incredulous. “They have patterns like that for underwear?”
“Apparently… they have a bunch of different types.” There are at least a dozen different patterns in the display, all in vibrant colors with planets, birds, flowers, and clouds, as well as some more abstract shapes. Boil can’t hold back a laugh as Waxer picks up another pair to show him - pale purple with little smiling, cutesy tooka faces all over it.
“Hey, we could have a different color for every day!” Waxer says excitedly.
Boil rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
Waxer just grins at him as he tosses one of each of the most colorful patterns into his basket.
They work their way through each section. Boil carefully compares different styles and selects one of each item he’d like to try on, figuring he’ll come back and choose more if needed once he’s checked the fit. Waxer is moving through each section a bit faster, seeming to pick out any item that attracts his attention to try on.
“Ooh…” Waxer makes a pleased noise as he rubs a corner of a shirt between his fingers. “Feel this!” he motions to Boil. Boil raises an eyebrow, but feels the fabric - it’s surprisingly soft, especially on the inside.
“Nice, right?”
Boil nods absently. The shirt is softer than any clothing he’s ever had, but the fabric still feels strong and well-insulated. It would be perfect for keeping Waxer warm. He watches as Waxer searches for one in the right size and tosses it on top of the pile of items he already has to try on. It seems to fit right in with the other items - several of the pieces Waxer’s chosen are made out of the softest materials that the place seems to carry. It’s good - Waxer deserves that kind of softness, whenever he wants it.
In the outerwear section, Boil gets waylaid by a dark blue vest. It’s a sturdy but comfortable material, like everything else he’s seen in the store. He opens it up a little to see that the inside is lined with extra pockets, with closures on them to make sure that anything inside is secure.
He pauses, looking at the vest. What he really needs is more of a jacket or coat that can keep him warm if needed during space travel, or during Ryloth’s winters. They’ve been researching Ryloth’s weather and while the area around Nabat doesn’t have harsh winters, it can get cold enough to warrant some protection. Boil forces himself to move away from the vest. He almost jumps when Waxer pops up next to him.
“I’m going to try some stuff on, ok?” Boil hums in acknowledgement, putting the vest out of his mind. He doesn’t need it.
Boil is placing a red shirt in the basket to try on - he didn’t think he’d be going for colors but there’s something about the dark rusty red that he likes, something reminiscent of a sunset on a planet they’d been to years ago - when Waxer clears his throat behind him. Boils turns and something in his chest squeezes.
Waxer is fully dressed in new items he’s picked out, aside from his boots, and he spreads his arms to show off the outfit. He’s wearing a grey pair of pants with the blue shirt he picked out, which drapes just a bit around the neck, along with a dark reddish-brown jacket. He’s smiling, as if none of the stress and frustration of the rest of the day existed. Boil stares at him.
It’s not as if it’s the first time he’s seeing Waxer in civvies, but the clothes not only fit him well, they look comfortable. And Waxer looks comfortable in them. The only thing Boil’s completely, truly wanted over the last three years has been for Waxer to stay alive and safe, and as he stares at Waxer in his soft blue shirt, he’s nearly overwhelmed by the knowledge that there can be so much more - not just alive and safe, but… relaxed. Comfortable. Happy. Force, Boil wants nothing more, and the feeling is so big that it makes his heart hurt.
“Um,” he finally says, realizing that he’s just been staring at Waxer. “It, uh… looks good. Yeah, it’s good.”
“Yeah?” He turns around in a circle.
“Y-yeah… it fits well?”
“Oh yeah, it feels great. Nice to finally wear pants I’m not going to trip over.”
Boil snorts in agreement - the first time Waxer tried the donated pants, he’d had to roll up the legs and constantly hitch them back up to keep from stumbling over them.
Boil gathers up his selection of shirts to place with the items already in the basket, but as he does he finds himself looking at the vest again. He touches the corner of it, inspecting the inside pockets, even though he’s already looked at them thoroughly.
“You’re getting the vest, right?” Waxer asks him. Boil freezes momentarily. He didn’t think Waxer had noticed, but this was his second time taking a long look at the vest, so it’s not surprising.
He doesn’t need the vest. He has enough shirts picked out already. He still needs a warm jacket, and the vest isn’t going to cover that. It has such nice pockets hidden around it, but the pants he’s getting also have multiple pockets, so he doesn’t necessarily need the extra storage to replace what he’s missing from his utility belt.
“I… don’t need it,” he finally says. Waxer steps in next to him, bumping their shoulders together.
“But you want it,” Waxer says after a pause. Boil doesn’t reply.
“Why not try it on, at least?” Waxer continues, with a tone to his voice that says he thinks Boil’s being silly.
Boil pauses. He supposes there’s no harm in trying it on… and Waxer will definitely get on his case about it if he doesn’t.
The changing rooms are well-lit with a large mirror, bench, and several hooks to hang garments on. It’s more than twice the size of most of the ‘freshers Boil’s ever been in. All the items he’s picked out fit nicely, which isn’t surprising because the same size fit Waxer, and they feel comfortable. He glances in the mirror - he’s wearing the sturdy work pants with extra pockets that are definitely his favorite out of the options, and the red shirt that caught his eye. After deliberating for a moment more, he puts on the vest as well, and stares at himself in the mirror. He supposes that most nat-borns do this every morning - pick out the pieces of an outfit, maybe check how it looks in a mirror. A choice they get to make themselves each day. Boil puts his hands in the pockets of the pants like he’s seen some nat-borns do.
Waxer was right - he’s getting the vest.
When he emerges from the changing rooms, it takes him a moment to spot Waxer. He ends up spotting him because Waxer is still wearing that blue shirt. He’s looking at some pajama sets, and Boil can see him rubbing a corner of the fabric between his fingers, like he did with the shirt, with a soft, wondering look on his face that makes Boil’s heart squeeze. Waxer must sense him looking somehow - he looks up and grins as he looks Boil up and down. He opens his mouth, but they both startle slightly when a voice speaks up in their direction.
It’s the Togruta they saw when they came in. She winces apologetically.
“Sorry… I wanted to check in and make sure you’re finding everything ok?”
Waxer recovers faster. “Y-yeah. It’s, uh, great. Everything’s great.”
The Togruta smiles at them. “I’m glad to hear that.” Boil sees her eyes quickly take in what they’re wearing. “If there’s anything you want to wear out the door, please feel free, but just let us know so we can take the marker tags off for you.”
“Ok! Uh, thank you!”
The clerk leaves and Waxer looks back to Boil with a smile.
“You look great,” he says, and Boil surprises himself when he feels heat rise in his cheeks. Waxer’s grin turns smug. “And I told you that you were getting that vest.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Boil mutters, turning away to sort through the other items in his basket. “At least it’s not tooka print underwear.”
When they’re finally finished browsing, choosing, and trying on, Boil looks over his selections - it seems so lavish, almost decadent, to own so much clothing. Shirts in different colors, multiple pairs of pants and shorts, a warm coat, new boots and socks, pajamas, underclothes in a puzzling array of colors and patterns… He’s wearing one of his new pairs of pants, the red shirt, and the vest, since the clerk said that they were allowed to wear some of their items while paying for them. The Togruta checks them out and the human from earlier bags the items they aren’t wearing. It’s the largest amount of money that Boil’s spent at one time so far, and his heart skips a beat when she tells him the total. But, they can afford it, and Boil supposes he better get used to it - they’re going to be buying a ship soon.
Once they’re finished and about to leave, the human looks them in the eye with a serious expression. “If you’ve got any friends that are having trouble finding a friendly place to get clothes, you can let them know they’re welcome here and we’re happy to have them.”
Boil swallows - he wonders if the shopkeeper knows how much that means. “Thank you,” he manages.
The human wishes them luck, and they head back out onto the streets of Coruscant to hail a taxi. He should not be this tired, Boil thinks as he sits down - there wasn’t anything that day that required particular physical exertion, but Boil still feels surprisingly drained. Waxer seems to feel the same, immediately leaning his head on Boil’s shoulder once they’re in the taxi. Boil tucks his arm around Waxer’s back, feeling the fabric of Waxer’s new shirt against his hand and watching the streets of Coruscant slip past.
For now they’re heading back to the relative familiarity of the GAR complex, but soon they’ll be on their way to Ryloth - with their own ship, their own clothes, their own citizen IDs with their own names on them. Boil has mostly focused on planning the steps to get to that point, because thinking about starting a new, peaceful life on Ryloth produces an odd tangle of feelings that Boil hasn’t completely worked out yet - anxiety, excitement, worry, happiness, hope… Hope still sets off warning bells in his head. It was dangerous to hope - he tried for so long not to do it, not to hope for more, for better. But, Waxer was always good at thwarting Boil’s intentions, in the best way.
Boil realizes that his arm is squeezing Waxer a little and he loosens it immediately.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“S’alright.” Waxer shifts and yawns. “You ok?”
Still feeling oddly sleepy, Boil leans his head against Waxer’s, hand still on the soft fabric of Waxer’s shirt.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I’m ok.”