Work Text:
“Wait, hold on,” Eli said, grabbing Thrawn’s elbow and pulling him back into the dormitory. “You’ve got something on your face.”
“I am aware,” Thrawn said. He pushed Eli’s hand away and smoothed out the sleeve of his jacket. “I put it there.”
Eli stared at his friend—no he thought, correcting himself. Not friend. Boyfriend. Official as of three days ago. Eli had never had a boyfriend before, and the word felt stiff and awkward in his mouth, like a uniform that had been pressed with too much starch. He’d practiced saying it in front of the mirror, noticing the way his lips formed around each letter and how the word still caught in his throat.
Tonight was the beginning of their first weekend as a couple, and they had big plans: dinner from their favorite food truck, then a drink at the cantina, followed maybe by some dancing—if Eli could convince Thrawn to get out onto the dance floor. But now all of that was on hold because Thrawn’s eyes—which already sat in such strong contrast against his skin—were outlined with thin, black eyeliner, and Eli couldn’t stand it.
“On purpose?” he said, incredulous.
“Obviously.”
Even before he said anything, he knew he was being unreasonable. Growing up, his family’s shipping business brought him into contact with cultures from all over Wild Space, and Eli wouldn’t have been surprised if he knew more aliens than humans. Culture varied, and norms were subjective, and he believed that sincerely, but here on Coruscant, men didn’t wear eyeliner—even if they were aliens.
“Nobody wears that here,” Eli said, pointing again at Thrawn’s face. “You can’t—people just don’t do that.”
“I’m here, and I’m doing it.” Thrawn once again began to exit the dormitory.
“If you go out like that, people are going to think you’re a freak,” Eli said, stubbornly wedging himself between Thrawn and the doorway.
“They already do,” Thrawn said, and Eli began to panic.
“Well, they’re going to think you’re even more of a freak,” he said, the words spilling out of him before he even understood what he was trying to say. Thrawn stopped and stared at him.
“What difference does it make to care about what they think?” he asked. “Or is it that you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?”
“No,” Eli said defensively. His statement was mostly true; these last few weeks, Thrawn had been his constant—and only—companion as they adjusted to the Imperial Academy, both of them deemed outsiders by the academy’s elite. Eli hated to think how isolated he’d feel if Thrawn hadn’t been with him, but then again, without Thrawn, he would still be back at Myomar Academy. Hard to say.
“Your body language would indicate otherwise,” Thrawn said. Eli squeezed his hand into a fist, ignoring the sting as his fingernails dug into his palm. “Your muscles are tense, and your face expresses disgust and hostility. You see me as a barrier to your acceptance by our peers.”
“I mean, yeah, sorry, I guess I do,” Eli said. “You might as well put a sign on your back that says kick me, going out like that. Don’t you want to at least try to fit in?”
“Not particularly.”
Eli wrinkled his nose in frustration and rubbed his eyes. What part of this didn’t Thrawn understand? Written or unwritten, rules were rules, and you had to follow them if you wanted to fit in. He’d never considered before that someone wouldn’t want to fit in.
“Fine, even if you don’t care about belonging, what about keeping a low profile?” he said, running out of excuses for his fear. “You’re giving them a reason to notice you. You know they’re only going to pick on you—and therefore me—more now.”
“The other cadets decided how they felt about me long before they met me,” Thrawn said, his voice calm and even, which made Eli squeeze his fist tighter. “They will not change their minds if I attempt to win their approval, and so why would I sacrifice something I want for them?”
Eli let go of his fist. He knew Thrawn was right. Letting someone else dictate who you were was self-betrayal. The more you caved to the demands of others, the harder it became to listen to yourself, even if there was never going to be a moment where they were convinced by your performance and satisfied that you were good—one of the normal ones.
They could debate all night the difference between self-preservation and self-betrayal, but it didn’t change the fact that Eli was terrified of disapproval, and he would do anything to avoid it—even deny the fact that his new boyfriend looked stunning in eyeliner and that he, too, was secretly curious what he’d look like if he allowed himself to play. He might not pick eyeliner, but there were options: lipstick, hair dye, nail polish, clothes other than his cadet uniform, and the list went on.
“You’re just better at this than me,” he said finally. “I’m scared, that’s all.”
“Of applying eyeliner?” Thrawn said, frowning. “I promise you that with enough practice and patience, it’s a skill anyone can learn.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“I’m quite serious. Do you want me to teach you?”
“No,” Eli said. “I don’t want eyeliner.” He thought of everything they had planned for the evening: dinner, drinks, dancing. They all seemed to fade into the background. He bit his lip. “But maybe…do you think you could help me paint my nails?”
Thrawn smiled. “Gladly.”