Work Text:
It wasn't supposed to happen like this. In fact, it wasn't supposed to happen at all. Kai had only accepted the COMPNOR job because of the benefits and the fixed hours. He'd planned on compartmentalising: clock in at nine, churn out military imagery like a droid, virtually mindlessly, then clock out at five, go home and create actual, legitimate art. Don't fraternise more than is necessary, don't make friends, keep one's head down as much as possible.
But it's not in Kai's nature to be reclusive or to keep his head down; he's barely two days in and he's on first name basis with the entire department and with a handful of folks from other departments.
Barely two days in and he's asked someone out. Someone he's only spoken to a handful of times, whose favourite colour he could absolutely not name, whose favourite food he does not know…
Oh, he'd liked Faustus the second he'd laid eyes on him, he'd been well and thoroughly charmed by the raw, starstruck adoration in the man's sea-blue eyes, by the contrast between those bright eyes and his thick, dark curls. Shoulder-length, tightly coiled strands, perfect for wrapping around one's finger, and among all that ornate blackness a single, disarming streak of white, right in the front, a beautiful frame for a beautiful face.
Kai had been flattered by the ease with which Faustus had handled his name, and then even more flattered when the man had showed up at the vis-dev office just to deliver a piece of jewellery he'd accidentally left behind when collecting his code cylinder from his office. But all that is just… not enough. He'd planned on taking more time to actually get to know Faustus, to just drink tea and caf with him during lunch breaks, and chat in the turbolift. He's not even sure how old Faustus is, for the love of the Force!
What came upon him, what possessed him to just… ask a virtual stranger out like that, he can't fathom. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
But here he is, pacing around the exhibition rooms at Bezuidenhout's, unable to hold still, constantly glancing at the chronos, counting down to four-thirty, like some love-struck teenager.
He doesn't know shit about that man and he asked him out like they're in some cheap romantic comedy, some damned Holomark film! And what's he going to do if this turns out to be a complete nightmare?
An old High Republic chrono bell goes off outside, announcing to the entire neighbourhood that it is now four-thirty. Kai sighs deeply and rubs at the hinges of his jaw with two fingers. He's not prone to self-medicating but in all honesty at this very moment an edible would not be unwelcome. Just a small one, to calm his nerves.
On the other hand though… Faustus has never seen Kai on edibles before, and it's highly likely that he's never seen anyone on any sort of recreational substance. He might be alarmed… and the perspective of Faustus not being present in Kai's life in any capacity is simply intolerable.
“Mr ten Meer?” A protocol droid waddles into the room. “There is a gentleman at the front desk. He is asking for you.”
Kai bolts.
The human mind is such a wonderful and peculiar thing. It can spot parallels and patterns in the most unexpected of places, it can conjure up breathtakingly enchanting tales and images. It can also build the oddest of associations.
For some not all that strange reason Kai's subconscious had made a very clear connection between “Faustus”, “work” and “dresscode”, and therefore left him fully expecting to see his… guest clothed in the minimalistic grey robes he seems to favour for the office. Nothing in the Galaxy could have possibly prepared him for…
That particular style of coat, if Kai remembers correctly, is called “hi-lo”. The front is cropped roughly at hip level, while the back is left to hang low and long, and is often tiered with more decorative layers. The cut Faustus has opted for is the more minimalistic, less structured one and it works spectacularly for him and his slight frame; the open front puts his legs, clad in tight black denn, and so very long for someone so small, centre stage. It's all working for Kai too. He'll happily drop to his knees before Faustus here and now if he is so much as given a hint…
“Can I have a word with you before we go in?” Faustus walks up to him, every step punctuated with a click of his walking stick against the marble floor. “Just so we're on the same page and nobody's wasting anybody's time.”
“Of course,” gently, Kai guides them to the side of the foyer, well away from the front desk. His stomach curls into a tight knot of worry and fear. His jaw aches.
“So, uhm…” Faustus's voice drops to barely more than a whisper. “To be absolutely clear, this isn't my first podrace, if you know what I mean. I just… I'll be blunt. I'm not too sure what is going on here and why and where it is going but I'm… open, if that makes sense?”
“It absolutely does.”
“Good. And it's only fair that I tell you now… I was not born in the gender I present as. I'm obviously… in the process and I've had one surgery. I do not plan on having more anytime soon.”
“Okay. I understand. Thank you for letting me know, I appreciate your transparency.”
Silence falls between them, heavy and breathless. Faustus's eyes narrow for a moment, his curls bounce as he tilts his head to the side. “You don't have any questions? Any… I don't know, last words?”
“Any last words?!” Kai repeats after him, appalled and shaken to his very core. What sort of animals had this poor, sweet young man been subjected to?! Who had treated him so badly that he now feels the need to preface any romantic encounter with a… a disclaimer?!
“At this point people generally tend to either be disgusted or get weirdly excited. I'd rather not waste my time on them,” the man confirms Kai's suspicions and does so with a bizarrely casual expression and tone, like he's describing the weather.
“I am not disgusted. You are not disgusting. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Oh.” A pretty, pink blush blossoms on Faustus's cheeks, spreading from the slopes of his orbital bones, down, down, all the way below his collar, like a still wet watercolour on a fine sheet of flimsi. Kai slips both hands into the pockets of his cardigan; he can't trust himself not to reach out and touch…
“So…” He ventures. “Would you like to see the art?”
It's the largest and, as of now, probably most intimate and personal painting Kai has ever created. A canvas seven feet tall, featuring the artist himself, perched on a rock in the middle of a vast crystal-clear pond. He's clothed in a simple white shift, its fabric soaked through and thus rendered barely visible. It clings to his limbs, to his back, tents where his knee is bent. His hair (he had green highlights back then, and what a choice that was), just as wet as the shift, is plastered to his forehead and shoulders, his skin shimmers in the painted sunlight. He's got an ancient beskar sword in one hand, the blade barely touching the surface of the pond.
He had left little to the imagination, both when taking the reference holos and when painting the piece itself, he'd needed the confidence boost back then.
But now he's once again worried. Faustus has been awfully quiet from the moment he'd set eyes on the painting, and he's been staring at it intently for much longer than most people tend to.
They should have gone somewhere else, to a different gallery maybe, or to a museum, a cafe, anywhere but here.
“Lord of the lake?” Faustus looks up at Kai with an arched brow. “Really, Mister ten Meer? Lord of the lake?”
Oh thank the stars! He's not upset, he was just reconciling the subject matter with the title of the piece!
“I thought it was clever. And your Liefdens is excellent. Where did you learn?”
“One of my professors at uni was from Liefden. Your tattoo is not in the painting.”
“It didn't fit the vibe I was going for.”
“No disrespect but… yeah, I see what you mean. The yellow of the sunflowers would look pretty stark against all those blues and greens. The orange– uhh, the ginger is enough of an accent.”
Oh fuck. Kai's heart clenches in his chest for a second, then suddenly expands, till it feels like it's literally swelling up, ready to burst through his ribcage. His breath catches in his throat, stomach seizes on itself and explodes with thousands of tiny fluttering wings.
Faustus turns towards him, eyes still fixed on the painting. “One second. How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?”
“Fifty.”
Those brilliant blue eyes dart up to meet his own, then dart back to the painting, back to Kai, and once more to the painting.
“Woooow,” Faustus smiles from ear to ear with unbridled adoration, and Kai almost combusts on the spot.
“And you?” He says softly. “If you don't mind me asking?”
“I'm thirty-one. Will that be a problem?”
“A problem?! Absolutely not.”