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It is hard to sleep, now that Eli is gone.
In truth, it is hard to do most things - Thrawn had become accustomed to having someone with him so often, that took care of so much, that the change in his routine is jarring to say the least. He could take a new aide, but.. No. It would take too long to train anyone else and he knows he would always be comparing them to Eli, which would be unfair. Who could possibly fill the hole he left behind?
‘Left behind.' Thrawn scoffs at his own thoughts. As if it was Eli’s decision to leave. He knew that the man would say yes when the subject was broached; when had he ever denied anything Thrawn had asked of him?
He can get through most of the day without too much issue, but sleeping is so tied to Eli that it takes extra effort to manage. Every step must be done exactly, in order. Any deviation, any omission, means lying awake in bed, haunted by the person that isn't there anymore.
It starts with a cup of tea; pale green and herbal. He does not drink it, but the scent is necessary to begin the process. He sets the cup on the table and finishes up the last bit of his work for the day as he breathes it in.
After twenty minutes or so, Thrawn makes his way to his bedroom and lingers in the doorway. His Rank plaque and epaulets are removed first, placed in their respective locations on top of the dresser; then his belt and tunic, hung neatly in the closet. He returns to just inside the room after each item is put away and before he removes the next; it is where he has always stood while Eli undressed him. When his tunic is hung and he has resumed his position, he can then sit at the foot of the bed. First the right boot comes off, then the left. Never the other way around.
When he stands and heads to the refresher, he adjusts the room temperature to something a bit warmer.
Reaching into the shower, he turns the water on and sets the timer for ten minutes. He reaches in and sends a small squirt of shampoo and soap to swirl down the drain; like the tea, it is the scent of the substances that is important.
Thrawn washes his face in the sink, then cleans his teeth. When the steam fills the room enough to fog the glass, two shapes appear; a large, sloppily traced heart, and a smaller, more exact copy of the shape beneath the first. He slowly traces a finger over the second one, as he has every night for more days than he can readily count. When the allotted shower time is nearly up, he sticks a towel in the water just enough to dampen it; when the flow stops, Thrawn heads back into his room and deposits the towel, his pants, and his undershirt into the laundry chute. He adjusts the room temperature back down to his preferred setting.
He slips into his bed, where perhaps the most shameful thing lies - poor facsimile of who should be there waiting for him. He presses a button to activate the thermal blanket that is wrapped around a long, firm pillow; one of Eli’s shirts has been pulled over the top of both. Thrawn presses it against his side while he reads for a half hour or so, then he sets his datapad back on the nightstand to charge. He lowers the lights and slides down under the duvet, wrapping himself around the pillow and burrowing his face into the shirt, soaking in the warmth (though not nearly warm enough) and enjoying the feel of something physical (though not nearly solid enough) in his arms. The scent of Eli lingers in the piece of clothing, though that too is starting to fade; Thrawn does not know what he will do when it is gone.
That is a problem for the future, and he has enough problems to deal with in the present.
Sleep, though elusive, eventually comes. The pattern, the routine, has held for at least one more night.