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Thrawn sits in the bridge office aboard the Chimaera. He didn’t fail his mission. He has a fleet. The Grysks will be decimated once and for all. Peace will be brought to the galaxy. And yet—
Now, keep in mind that a man’s just as good as his word
And it takes twice as long to build bridges you’ve burnt
Thrawn enters their shared dormitory at Royal Imperial. Usually, they travel together but Vanto has been fretting over an upcoming military strategy exam and decided to skip training in the dojo in favor of studying more.
Therefore, Thrawn expects to find him at the small desk wedged in the corner of the room. He does not, however, expect to hear an unfamiliar twang radiating from a small box on said desk.
“Oh sorry, sir.” Vanto silences the device.
“What were you listening to?”
Vanto’s face brightens in the infrared. “Just some music from Lysatra.”
Thrawn eyes the device on the desk. It is not an item that he is familiar with, even with his meager time in lesser space. “Most people simply stream music from their datapads, correct?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“That is not a datapad.”
Vanto huffs, a small smile on his lips. “No, it’s not. It’s a tape player.” He presses a button on the side and the clear lid pops open. He pulls out a small rectangle no bigger than his palm. “Service is really spotty on Lysatra so we record music and put it on tapes like this. I suppose I could just stream music now, but it’s just a habit I can’t shake.”
“I see,” Thrawn observes the item and hands it back to him. “Who is featured on this…tape?”
“Well my cousin made this one for me. It has all sorts of Lysatran folk artists on it.”
“Interesting. You may keep playing it, if you like.”
“You’ll tell me if it grates on you?”
Thrawn isn’t certain what is meant by “to grate” but he assumes by Vanto’s hesitant expression that it has a negative connotation. “Of course.”
In the blazing sun, I saw you
In the shadows, hiding from yourself
When the lights are on, I know you
The lights in the club strobe from blinding white light to complete darkness. Everyone is scantily dressed, painted in body glitter, hands raised above their heads as they sway languidly to the music. In order to blend in, both Thrawn and Eli are dressed in a similar lewd fashion. Thrawn can’t seem to erase the feeling of Eli’s hands brushing against his collar bone as he undid half the sealing strips on his already translucent shirt.
“Sir, they’re gonna peg you as Imperial from a klick away all buttoned up like that,” he had explained and, at the time, Thrawn couldn’t compose a single coherent thought. They had been too close. Thrawn can’t remember the last time someone has been in such close proximity without a weapon in hand.
Now, the music is pulsing, the lights are strobing, and there is a man pressed up against Eli. It is part of the cover. They are trying to score spice so they can meet the dealer and ask for the identity of the supplier. Thrawn has reason to believe that it is the Pykes, but military intervention requires proof. Or at least that’s what Rossi said when she abandoned them here.
Thrawn watches as the man grinds up against Eli. It makes him grip his own drink tighter. This glitter covered man does not deserve Eli's space, his attention, his—
His eyes are remorseful when he catches Thrawn’s gaze and places a sloppy kiss on the man’s mouth. The man reacts eagerly, grabbing Eli’s ass and pulling him closer. Eli creates a small amount of space between them, just to whisper something in his ear. The man grabs his hand and leads him up the stairs to the balcony. Thrawn follows.
Upstairs, he catches a glimpse of Eli following the man into the restroom. Thrawn hesitates for just a beat. It could be that Eli did find a willing partner, or he could be led into a trap.
Thrawn pushes through the crowd of spiced-out party goers and into the bathroom. It is in disarray. The mirror is broken. Paper towels are strewn about. Eli is on the floor. The man is on top of him, choking him.
Very few times in Thrawn’s life has emotion won over logic, but in this instance, rage consumes him. He yanks the man from his friend and makes quick work of him, only stopping short of killing him when he feels Eli’s hand on his shoulder.
Thrawn turns to face him. His cheek is warm in the infrared, indicative of a bruise that will blossom tomorrow. Thrawn touches his cheekbone and Eli hisses. “You are hurt.”
“Nothing bacta can’t fix.”
Thrawn tuts. He wants to pull him close. He wants to hold him gently, carefully. Not like the battered man on the floor, but like he deserves to be held.
Eli must read his mind because he steps closer and lets his head fall against Thrawn’s chest. “Thanks for the save and I’m sorry if…”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” Thrawn pulls away just enough to touch his cheek again. “And you have saved me many times.”
He scoffs. “Saving you from a translation blunder is not the same.”
It is, but he doesn’t argue the point.
Eli groans. “We have to do this again tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but this guy didn’t exactly lead us to the ringleader.”
“Yes he did,” Thrawn says, and nudges him so that he flips on his back. “He is a known dealer for the Pykes.”
“He is?”
“He is now.”
“An accusation like that could ruin this guy’s life. Especially if he deals for someone else.”
“That is not my problem. Come. We’re leaving.”
Eli smiles and takes his hand. In the distance, the music throbs.
I don’t know what it is
Something about this
Takes me back home
And makes me feel warm
See how he looks at me
Feel electricity
Thrawn is aware that there is a fraternization policy, but he can’t bring himself to care at this moment. They are at a nice restaurant on Coruscant—they aren’t here for a court martial, or Ascension Week. Instead, they have been recalled for rest and recovery.
His station has afforded him a furnished apartment in one of the more luxurious complexes in the city, which Eli has moved into. They spend their days discussing any variety of topics and their evenings are spent trying out new restaurants.
Thrawn picked this particular location because they have live music. A woman dressed in a dark fur coat stands at the front of the room on a dais, singing softly into a silver microphone. Eli is enraptured and Thrawn is enraptured by him.
A candle sets on their little table, its dim light casting flickering shadows across Eli’s soft features. It turns his hair into soft strands of gold and bronze. Thrawn can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to brush it from his eyes.
Eli turns and looks at him, smile hanging from his lips. It is a familiar sight these days, the soft warmth of Eli’s joy when he looks at Thrawn—so familiar that it feels like home even though Thrawn hasn’t been anywhere close to home in over a decade. “You look nice tonight. I can’t remember if I told you earlier,” Eli says.
“You did.”
Eli brings his wine glass to his lips. “Then I guess you get to enjoy the extra compliment.”
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Of course.”
“You make it sound as though it should be obvious.”
He smirks. “I’m with you. The music is amazing and the food is delicious. What more can a man want?”
Thrawn can feel his gaze lingering on Eli’s lips and all he can think is that he wants to take everything.
Say yes to Heaven
Say yes to me
If you go, I’ll stay
You come back, I’ll be right here
Eli’s datapad is on the nightstand playing soft music. It envelops them. Their room is warm, unlike their space on the Chimaera. Space travel is always cold. But here, in bed, it is warm, welcoming.
Eli drags his fingernails down Thrawn’s back as Thrawn kisses his way up his throat. “Oh fuck,” Eli groans right before Thrawn claims his lips in his own.
He tastes like the glass of wine they had with dinner. He smells like the shampoo he has used every day since Royal Imperial. Love has always been defined as knowing the “little things” about an individual. He remembers Ar’alani lecturing him on how that is an appropriate avenue of showing affection.
But Thrawn knows many little things about a great number of people. It is his duty to deduce people to simple, digestible facts.
Eli could never be so easily reduced, and yet Thrawn relishes in knowing the tiniest things about him: like how ink covers the side of his hand when he writes with marker; or how when he really smiles, it shows the tooth he cracked when he was young; or how he snores when he sleeps.
Or how he groans when Thrawn nips his ear.
Eli slides his hand up his thigh, wraps a callused palm around him. Thrawn thrusts forward. It is instinctual. Carnal.
“You like that?” Eli whispers.
“Do you require more proof?”
He slides his palm down, causing Thrawn’s hips to stutter again. “Once is a mistake, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern.”
Thrawn silences him with a kiss and can feel him smile.
We’re spitting off the edge of the world
Never had no chance
Eli stands across from him in the shuttle, staring down at the journal and language notebook Thrawn has given to him.
“When you told me about this, you never said I’d be leaving alone.” His tone is cold, but Thrawn knows it is an indicator of rage lapping at his ankles.
“My mission here is not yet complete.”
“So let me stay.”
“I cannot.”
“Why?”
Thrawn looks away.
“Is this because of us? Did someone find out—” he doesn’t finish that thought.
“No.”
“So you knew the whole time and you still fucked me?”
Thrawn meets his gaze. “You know I am not so cruel.”
Eli looks away, tears pooling in his eyes. “What don’t I see?”
Thrawn can’t explain it—that Palpatine is closing in, that this mission could very well end in failure, that every calculation he makes leads to Eli being used against him. He can’t allow that. If not for his own failure, then for Eli’s protection.
“It is for the best,” Thrawn says simply.
“Right,” Eli sighs. He opens his duffle and digs around for a moment. He procures his tape player and headset. “Take care of this for me.”
“But you will not be able to stream music where you are going.”
He shrugs. “You need something to remember me by.” He holds up the journal that Thrawn gave him. “Besides, I won’t have much need for Basic anymore.”
Thrawn’s knees nearly buckle. He is prepared to give up every aspect of his life, even his language, simply because he asked. If this is love, he doesn’t deserve it.
“Thank you,” he says and takes the tape player.
“That tape is special, though. I’ve been working on it for a while. There’s a little more space on the B side if you want to add more music.”
Thrawn can’t imagine tainting such a perfect gift. “I will keep it safe.”
“Same.”
They stand there, unwilling to say goodbye and unwilling to depart.
“I’ll see you around,” Eli says finally.
“Indeed.”
I’m gonna die one day
I know it, I know it
There’s no surprise to this pain
Destroyin’, destroyin’, destroyin’
I destroy myself just for you
“Sir?” Karyn stands before him, shifting her weight between her feet. An odd display of nerves.
Thrawn pulls one headset out of his ear. “Yes?”
“We will be exiting hyperpace in five minutes. Do you have orders?”
“Everyone at their battlestations. We will not take prisoners. I want proof of death for every single Grysk.”
His second officer shifts. “Even the women and children, sir?”
“What is to be misunderstood in my original order, Captain?”
“Right. Every single Grysk.”
Thrawn looks down at the worn tape player in his hand. He sent Eli here to be protected and he wasn’t. His death was Thrawn’s fault. This… agony that pollutes his every waking thought is his own making. It would be less painful to dig out the rotting remains of his own heart with a rusty vibroblade.
The song play to the end and the player clicks off. The B side remains empty, a sick equivalence to what remains of Thrawn’s soul.