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“How in the kriffing...?” The barista stared, then held up the cup to his coworker; the second gave a helpless shake of the head, and the first called, “Hey, Vanto! Got any ideas about this name?”
Eli Vanto, thinking he should never have let slip that xenolinguistics were a hobby of his, turned with a sigh. “Honestly, Kallus—"
“No, really,” Alexander Kallus said. “I can’t even take a stab at this one.”
Eli peered at the cup Kallus held up to him, then quirked an eyebrow despite himself. “No, okay, I see your point,” he said, and then lifted the drink before taking his best guess. “Mitth’raw’nuruodo? Mitth’raw’nuruodo, I’ve got your tashrumilk latte!”
A face popped up from the gathered crowd—a blue face, nonhuman and quite striking in that regard, with red eyes and soft blue-black hair tied back in a long ponytail. He dropped back down off his toes, then picked his way through the waiting patrons.
“Apologies,” he said, when he reached the counter. “My datacard should specify my name as Thrawn. It wasn’t my intention to be difficult.”
Eli felt heat rise to his face. “But I got it right, didn’t I?”
Thrawn’s lips curled, a barely-perceivable smile. “And if I said no?”
“Then I’d say you don’t know how to pronounce your own name.” Eli wasn’t, in fact, that certain. But in for a credit in for a fortune, he supposed.
“You’d be correct,” the alien said, eyes growing somehow more luminous. Eli flushed, hoping he burned his cobalt lips on his twelve-ounce-extra-hot-triple-shot-tashrumilk-latte.
Kallus gave a low, soft whistle as Eli turned back to the bar. “Sparks flying, there. I saw it.”
“Krayt spit,” Eli muttered, starting to work on the next drink in line.
“No, really!” Kallus insisted. “Nice piece of non-human, too. Cheekbones like vibroblades, did you see that?”
“I’m telling Garazeb!” their third coworker called, from where he was fixing a blue-milktea.
“You just do that, Rath Velus,” Kallus replied, with a laugh. “A little jealousy does a relationship good, once in a while. Besides,” he nudged Eli, who bobbled the steaming pitcher he was working with, “this one’s all Vanto’s.”
“Ha,” Eli said, rapping the bottom of the pitcher on the counter. “Ha-ha. Hilarious. Go arm-wrestle a wookiee.”
“Do you think he’s a student here?” Sinjir Rath Velus asked, peering out into the coffeeshop lobby as though the strange alien would reappear. “Not everyday you see a non-human on campus.”
“You see my boyfriend every day, idiot,” Kallus pointed out.
“Oh yes, how could I miss that walking purple rug?” Sinjir retorted. “You can smell him over the caf the minute he walks in, anyway.”
Kallus snorted, but didn’t argue that point. “Anyway, it’s unusual, but not unheard of.”
“What even was he? Pantoran, perhaps?” Sinjir pressed, then paused to hand out the milktea. “Never seen anything like him, and I’ve seen a fair bit of the galaxy.”
“Chiss,” Eli said, and then called out the latte he’d been making. When he turned back, his coworkers were both staring at him; he flushed. “What?”
“What exactly is a Chiss?” Kallus asked.
Eli’s blush deepened. “We... have legends, back on Lysatra...” he said, looking for more drinks to make and finding no such distraction. With his coworkers still watching expectantly, Eli sighed. “They’re... it’s all Wild Space myth, anyway. I don’t even know if any of it’s true.”
“But you believe it is,” Kallus guessed. “Some of it, anyway.”
“I mean, some of it, sure,” Eli said, shrugging. “Legends usually have some core of truth. But anyway, I’m not interested. We’ll probably never see him again, anyway.”
“Seems like the caf-addict type to me,” Sinjir said, with a frankly unfair level of certainty.
Eli shook his head, but didn’t bother arguing. “C’mon, let’s get to work. Yularen is going to have all our heads if we’re late getting out, again.” And he hoped that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t—not even for so long as the duration of his next shift.
“Look—look there," Kallus said, elbowing Eli in the ribs.
Eli didn’t want to look, wanted only to stare sorely down at the latte that Kallus had just made him spill, but he glanced up anyway. He found himself momentarily entranced by the Chiss standing at the register.
A Chiss... He’d never imagined he might see such a being in real life, let alone right here in the Imperial Cafe. The legends described warriors of unmatched caliber and confidence, of brilliant minds and unerring loyalty. Eli swallowed dryly. They also told of beauty and that, at least, seemed well-founded.
The Chiss, Mitth’raw’nuruodo, glanced up; Eli quickly looked away, beginning to remake the latte he’d ruined.
“Oh, Eli.” Sinjir sidled over once he’d taken the Chiss’ order; Eli silently pleaded for another customer to walk up. But Sinjir’s next question threw him. “What do you think of our blueberry scones, hmm? Do you like them, much?”
Eli blinked. “They’re good? Why?”
“I'm not surprised—it's quite clear you’ve got a taste for blueberries,” Sinjir said, grinning. Eli’s face warmed with a blush.
“You’ve been planning that since last shift, haven’t you?” he asked, finishing off the latte. He moved to hand it out, trying to ignore how close the Chiss had chosen to wait by the counter. “I’ve got that latte for Juahir.”
“Juahir—she was one of Arihnda’s friends, back in the day.” Kallus whispered, once the girl had left. “It was like a war zone around here, when she worked with us.”
“What?” Eli asked. “Who’s Arihnda?”
“Oh, that was before your time, was it?” Sinjir paused, lest his words be drowned by the whir of a blender. When he could be heard again, he said, “She was certifiable.”
Eli raised an eyebrow.
“He’s not exaggerating,” Kallus put in. “Remember when she was gunning for the manager position?”
“Up against Yularen?” Eli asked, skeptical.
“She had Wilhuff’s backing, somehow,” Sinjir added. “He was regional manager, at the time.”
“I’ve heard some of the stories about him,” Eli admitted. “Glad I never had to work under him.”
“You should be,” Kallus said. “And Arihnda was a piece of work, too. Made it miserable, working here.”
“She was frighteningly good at getting dirt on people, even by my own high standards,” Sinjir added.
“What happened?” Eli asked, hands automatically crafting the next latte in the queue. “Did she go down when Tarkin did?”
Kallus shook her head. “Arson.”
Eli blinked. “Pardon?”
“It's true! She tried to burn down the whole blasted starfighter hanger,” Sinjir said. “Apparently she didn’t believe the pilot training programs were worth the funding the Academy was putting into them.”
“There was also the fact that government classes, her field, had received a budget cut that year,” Kallus added.
Eli’s eyebrows rose. “That’s... wow.”
“Good riddance,” Kallus said, with a snort.
Eli focused, for a moment, on finishing the latte; he lifted it to eye-level, and his heart dropped when he saw the label.
“You two distracted me,” he said, with a sideways glare at each coworker.
Sinjir gave him a devilish smirk; crooned, “You made a heart on it.”
“I didn’t know whose it was!” Eli snapped the lid solidly onto the cup before calling, “Mitth’raw’nuruodo!”
The Chiss strode up the the counter, damnably confident. “My drink from yesterday was excellent. I’m pleased you’ve made it again today, Eli.”
Eli’s thoughts scattered for a moment before he realized, Stupid, you’re wearing a name tag, of course he knows your name. And isn’t it the worst when customers do that? “Hope it lives up to expectations!” he said, with forced, service-industry-brand cheer.
The Chiss, clearly neither fooled nor insulted, said, “I’m certain it will,” and raised the paper cup before departing.
Eli watched him go, still flushed hot. At least he hadn’t popped the lid off his damn tashrumilk latte and seen the art. A heart was the most basic of designs—it was nothing to read into, anyway, even if he had seen it.
“Going to write your com frequency on his cup one of these times?” Kallus asked, coming up behind him. Eli took a half-hearted swipe, but Kallus slipped easily back.
“Quit it. You have a customer.”
Kallus clicked his tongue, but moved off to take the order of the woman at the counter. Eli ignored Sinjir’s chuckling as he started to break down a caf machine for cleaning.
The Chiss was, unfortunately, back the next day, and the next, and the day after that. He picked up the habit, too, of requesting that Eli make his latte. Usually Eli took a certain amount of pride in customers doing things like that, but in this case it just made the whole thing more troublesome.
Mitth’raw’nuruodo—or Thrawn, as his data card now correctly identified him—was typically alone, and never lingered for longer than it took to collect his drink. One morning, however, he arrived with company.
“I didn’t know you drink caf!” the man exclaimed, after Thrawn had placed his usual order. “You’re more of a tea person, I thought.”
“Usually, yes,” Thrawn replied, his crimson eyes fixed unsubtly on Eli. Eli refused to meet his gaze, pretending instead to read and reread the order he now had memorized. “But the barista here, one Eli Vanto, makes them so... artfully.”
The man—a human, with wildly unkempt brown hair and keen eyes, lightly tanned skin—laughed. “You and your art,” he said. “Why am I surprised...”
Strange company... Eli thought, taking both their drinks and then turning toward the bar. He nearly ran bodily into Sinjir, standing entirely too close behind him.
“Don’t you know who that is?” Sinjir asked, when Eli gave him an exasperated look. Eli shook his head. “That’s Nevil Cygni.”
“Who?” Eli asked, thinking Sinjir likely had more productive things to be doing.
Sinjir eyed him skeptically; his voice dropped when he said, “Nightswan.”
Then it clicked, and Eli almost dropped the carton of tashrumilk. Nightswan! Though he’d apparently never heard the man’s real name, he absolutely knew of him. He glanced up at where Cygni and Thrawn had settled in at one of the cafe’s tables, the latter opening a notebook and turning it around; Cygni bent over to read something.
“Krayt spit...” Eli breathed. Nightswan was only the best pro holochess player from here to the Outer Rim. He’d heard rumors that Nightswan was filling in for one of the psych professors, but he’d brushed them off as idle gossip.
His thoughts were interrupted by laughter—Nightswan's laughter. Thrawn was staring quizzically at the man, whose head had tipped far back in his amusement.
And they’re just... what? Old friends? Eli thought, grimacing, realizing he’d assumed Thrawn simply didn’t have friends.
Nightswan patted Thrawn’s arm, as if to erase any doubt in their voyeur’s mind, and then pointed to something in the notebook. Thrawn’s answer was a patient argument, and Nightswan thought for a long moment. As the conversation continued, Eli forced himself to focus on their drinks.
“Hello now, since our dashing Chiss friend has taken a liking to you, why not ask him why Nightswan is here?” Sinjir asked, and Eli glared at him. “Do you suppose he’s really a substitute? Seems a bit beneath his station.”
“I’m not asking him!” Eli objected. “No—no! You ask, if you want to know. Night—I mean, Cygni seems approachable enough.”
“A true gossip savant like myself never goes trawling for their own information,” Sinjir said. “Too dirty a prospect, that.”
Eli rolled his eyes, but returned again to the drinks. He could craft Thrawn’s in his sleep, by now—caf, steamed tashrumilk. Making Nightswan’s order, alternatively, nearly gave him a contact-high. Vanilla, chocolate, and koja nut blended, with two extra shots of caf and extra whipped topping.
As he finished off Thrawn’s latte, snapping the lid into place, Kallus brushed past him with two paper bags in-hand. “For Cygni, two jogan fruit pastries!”
Nightswan hopped up from the table; Thrawn, slower, followed him. Eli, seeing his opportunity to not call out the drinks, slid them across the bar alongside the pastries.
“I ordered no such thing,” Thrawn said mildly, as Cygni smacked one of the paper bags into his chest.
“I did. You know, it’s like you forget you like sweets until we hang out. Sad, really.”
Thrawn looked perturbed, but accepted the bag. He met Eli’s gaze briefly when he picked up his latte, but his attention otherwise remained on Cygni. Eli caught something about the Thrugii asteroid belt as they returned to their table.
“That fellow must truly be something, if he can keep up with Nightswan,” Sinjir commented, at exactly the same moment that Kallus said, “It looks like you’ve got some competition, Vanto.”
Eli snacked Kallus’ arm; his coworker just chuckled. “I’m not competing with anyone. If they’re together, all the better. Saves me the trouble.”
“It’s a good kind of trouble, though,” Kallus countered. “A worthwhile kind of trouble, I promise you.”
“Oh Eli…” Sinjir whispered. Eli turned, ready to tell him that he needed to do his snooping on his own, and then froze.
Thrawn had taken the lid off his latte; was showing Cygni, with a small smile playing on his lips, the elaborate rosette pattern that Eli had made on its surface. Eli’s face grew hot; he felt suddenly faint. He made art on every latte he crafted—but did he perhaps take a bit more time and care on Thrawn’s every day? Sure, but only because he was certain the Chiss never saw them, never knew they existed—
But he was realizing, with a sinking, vaguely ill feeling, that Thrawn always left. He’d never seen the Chiss actually take a drink of his caf. Eli had no reason to assume that he didn’t always take off the lid before drinking it. Thrawn gestured, tracing one side of the rosette with a finger; Cygni nodded, agreeing with some inaudible comment, and then glanced over towards the bar. Eli ducked away, nearly tripping over Sinjir as he did.
“They both look impressed, at least,” Sinjir offered.
No, no, no... Eli thought, hurrying past Kallus and into the back of the store. Not only was it Mitth'raw'nuruodo out there looking at his latte art, which would have been bad enough, but it was the renowned holochess player Nightswan.
"I have to quit," he said, aloud. "I'll put in my two weeks—no, I'll just walk. That's it, that's what I'll do."
Kallus and Sinjir were good enough to keep the cafe afloat until he'd talked himself down from that particular conviction.
... ... ...
Eli put extra feeling into the twist-click of the key, locking up the day's turmoil along with the cafe. When he turned down the path, though, he startled; a figure stood a respectful distance from him, clearly waiting.
"Hey," the man called. "Good close?"
Eli drew a steadying breath, forcing himself to start walking. "I mean, the store didn't flood or catch fire, so I'd call it decent."
The man—Nightswan—fell in beside him. “Eli Vanto, right? Mind if I walk with you, for a minute?”
Eli nodded, trying to keep his back straight and his step steady. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.
“My drink was great,” Nightswan said—an attempt, slightly awkward, to ease the tension.
Eli nodded, feeling his head jerk with the motion. “I’m—I’m glad. Always good to hear.”
“You know,” Nightswan said, abandoning the pretense of small-talk, “Thrawn’s really fond of you.”
Eli almost tripped, despite his efforts.
“He’s just... he’s bad at making that clear,” Nightswan continued, with a helpless gesture of one hand.
“He likes the lattes I make,” Eli retorted. "A lot of folks do. I’m good at my job.”
Nightswan’s eyes lit up, to Eli’s confusion. “Aah, see, he was right.”
“What?”
“Thrawn said you take a lot of pride in your job,” Nightswan said. “Even though it’s a service job, you take care to do everything with a certain artistry. His word, not mine—artistry.”
Eli felt heat rise to his face. “The latte art. I’m sorry, but you can tell him I don’t do that for him. I honestly thought he’d never noticed. Most people don’t.”
“He’s not like most people,” Nightswan replied, amused. “And he knows all that, already. In fact, he’s never spoken to you about it because he knows it makes you self-conscious when people draw attention. You don’t do it for praise or recognition, but for the craft itself, and for self-satisfaction.”
Eli stopped walking. He wanted to be insulted, wanted to snap that Nightswan—and Thrawn, by proxy—was wrong. But he was, instead, stunned and a touch mortified that the Chiss had deconstructed him so thoroughly.
Nightswan’s smile took on a commiserative softness. “You get used to being unapologetically picked apart like that. He doesn’t do it for any real reason. Well, not usually. Not with people he likes, anyway... I mean... kriff, there’s a reason to everything he does, but nothing underhanded, I mean... not usually... okay, sometimes he uses these things to his own advantage, sure, but he doesn’t mean any harm by it...”
Eli had mostly stopped listening. At some point, he cut into Nightswan’s attempts at explanation. “You said Thrawn’s ‘fond’ of me. What does that mean? To someone like him?”
Nightswan smiled. “Depends. But it definitely means he’s been trying to figure out the best way to ask for your com frequency.”
Eli shifted uncomfortably. “But why? I mean, I got pretty lucky, with the cafe, but most people on campus don’t want a thing to do with me. Wild space yokel, and all.”
“Ktah, you realize he’s something right out of wild space myth, right?” Nightswan asked. “That kind of thing doesn’t matter worth a tooka’s tail, not to him.”
“Then why hasn’t he just talked to me?” Eli asked, exasperated. “Did he put you up to this? Is this some kind of tactic?”
Nightswan held up his hands; shook his head. “No, no. He’d probably be cross if he—well, realistically he does know I’m talking to you, he’s just that good. But he wouldn’t approve. I’m surprised he didn’t try to stop me, actually.” At that, Nightswan scrunched up his face slightly and mumbled, “No... is this your game, you clever devil...? Can’t manage to ask the boy out, but getting me to do it for you, that’s easy, hmm...?”
“Ask me out,” Eli echoed blankly.
“There’s a new art gallery opening this weekend, a couple of blocks off-campus,” Nightswan said, with a shrug. “He mentioned he might invite you. But now I’m pretty sure he maneuvered me into asking you, instead.”
Eli wanted to say yes—very much, he wanted to say yes, even if art exhibits weren’t his cup of proverbial tea. But he also wanted to say no—he desperately wanted to say no, to be contrary, to prove to this damnable Chiss that he wasn’t so easily won over. But Nevil Cygni was also a strangely hard man to say “no” to, all sincerity and earnest brown eyes. Eli wondered if Thrawn had factored that into his plans. The answer was probably yes.
“Tell him ‘We’ll see,’” Eli said at last. “He’s going regardless, right? I’ve gathered that he likes art. So tell him he’ll have to wait and see if I show up.”
Nightswan’s eyes glimmered—a delight in mischief. “I’ll tell him that. It’ll actually catch him off-guard, I think.” Then his voice dropped, almost conspiratorial. “Are you going to come?”
Eli raised an eyebrow. “Wait and see. Or figure it out,” he added, although fairly sure he hadn’t even decided, yet.
“Oh, I’m no good at that,” Nightswan said. “We’re pretty well-matched at chess, but he’s always been better with predicting beings and their behavior.”
Eli shrugged. “Then ask him if I’ll come or not. And you’ll both have to wait and see if he’s right.”
... ... ...
Nevil Cygni gazed up at the full-length mural depicting picturesque Lothal. The artist had cared to include a playful family of Loth-cats in the lower portion of the piece, and their rollicking through the painted grasses lent the illusion of motion.
“Can we go?” came a pettish voice behind him, and blue fingers curled around his shoulders. “You know Thrawn. We’ll be here for hours and miss our dinner reservations. I pulled strings to get us in to this place.”
“Abandon your poor brother?” Cygni asked, admonishing.
“We’ll be back in five, six hours and he won’t even have noticed we’ve gone,” the other Chiss said, and lightly kissed Cygni’s neck. He whispered, “You clean up so nicely,” and then carried on: “They have a whole wing devoted to the Clone Wars era. He’ll get lost in there.”
“If I said yes,” Cygni said, reaching back to mesh his fingers with the Chiss’, “you wouldn’t even have the heart to do it.”
“I’ve ditched him at enough art galleries that I’ve worked through the brotherly guilt.”
“Don’t you want to see if Eli Vanto turns up?”
Glowing red eyes narrowed. “I think if he doesn’t, I’ll go over to that frosted cafe and have a word with the boy.”
“Don’t stand up Syndic Mitth’ras’safis’ little brother, or he’ll bring the whole kriffing Ascendency down on your head?”
Thrass smiled; squeezed Cygni’s hand before releasing him and stepping back slightly. “You know it’s no idle threat.”
“Oh, I’m aware.” Cygni turned from the mural, glancing toward where Mitth’raw’nuruodo was circling an ancient vase in its display case. He hadn’t mentioned Eli Vanto, nor given any indication of the outcome he was expecting. But Cygni was certain.
He expects Vanto to show. He hopes Vanto will show. He wouldn’t have worn his hair down, otherwise.
Thrawn looked up suddenly, and Cygni turned; a young man, looking nine kinds of uncomfortable, was picking his way across the crowded gallery room. He wore a navy blazer over a white shirt, semi-formal, as opposed to his caf-stained, standard-issue grey apron. Handsome... Cygni thought indistinctly. He glanced back at Thrawn, wondering why the Chiss hadn’t moved. Eli didn’t seem to have spotted any of them, yet. Does he expect me to greet his date, too? Surely not.
But then Thrawn was moving, and moving with improbable efficiency to arrive at Eli’s side; the momentary stillness, Cygni realized, had been Thrawn calculating the best way across the crowded room. Eli jumped, and Cygni saw him snap something that might have been cross. But when Thrawn offered his arm, Eli took it, and together they made their way to where Cygni and Thrass stood near one wall.
“Good to see you again, Eli,” Cygni said, raising a hand in greeting. “Glad you could make it.”
“This is my brother, Mitth’ras’safis,” Thrawn told Eli, inclining his head.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Thrass said, and offered his hand. When Eli took it, Thrass lifted his hand and touched its back to his forehead—much to the Eli’s blushing confusion. Thrawn raised an eyebrow at him. Thrass’ other hand remained tightly intertwined with Cygni’s. “You can call me Thrass.”
“Do you care for art, Eli?” Thrawn asked, once his brother had disengaged.
“I-I don’t know all that much about it,” Eli admitted, glancing around. “I like it well enough, though.”
“Thrawn can tell you anything you’d ever want to know about it,” Cygni said.
“And after we’ve finished here,” Thrawn said, “I’d be pleased if you’d join us for dinner. My brother has a way with these things.”
“He means I got us into Noci,” Thrass said, and Eli’s mouth dropped open. “If he can tear himself away in time for us to make the reservations.”
“Want to come to Noci with us, Eli?” Cygni asked.
“Yes! I-I mean, I’d be glad to join you,” Eli said, glancing at Thrawn. The Chiss’ lips curved up in a subtle smile, and Eli’s face warmed.
“Excellent. Should we investigate the Clone Wars wing first?” Thrawn was already moving, although Eli caught on quickly and managed to keep up. “I’ve always found their use of the contrasts to be a fascinating reflection of the polarized viewpoints of the time...”
To the credit of Thrawn’s restraint, they made their reservations with time to spare. Thrass moved smoothly into the lead as they entered the restaurant, Cygni on his arm. The Chiss greeted several other patrons as they were shown to a table.
“What do you do, Thrass?” Eli ventured, once they were seated.
Thrass looked away from Cygni long enough to reply, “I’m a Syndic—part of the Chiss Ascendancy’s political hierarchy. But with the Ascendency just starting to step outside its own borders, I’ve been doing a lot of traveling.”
“Too much traveling,” Cygni put in.
“Since my brother is established at the Academy here in the Core, it made me a natural choice for liaison,” Thrass explained. “Plus, most Chiss want nothing to do with the galaxy beyond our space, but some of my brother’s wanderlust has rubbed off despite my best efforts.”
“What do you do at the Academy?” Eli asked Thrawn, seizing on the segue. “You are a student, right?”
Thrawn nodded. “I study military theory and strategic tactic.”
“Almost a pity there’s no war on right now,” Cygni said.
“We learn so we can be prepared for such eventualities,” Thrawn said, and thanked his brother when Thrass poured them all scarlet, four-blend wine. “We learn to shorten the inevitable engagements, and therefore minimize the loss of life.”
“Preemptive strikes, is what he’s talking about,” Thrass stage-whispered over the table, to Eli. “That kind of thinking got him kicked out of the Ascendency.”
“I was transferred,” Thrawn pointed out. “An exchange program.”
“Semantics, dear brother,” Thrass said, waving one hand. “Although Ar’alani might have wanted to acquire that Faro woman as badly as she wanted to get rid of you. Win-win. I hear she’s taken her on personally, as an aide.”
Eli’s eyebrows arched. He’d known one of the Academy’s most promising, Karyn Faro, had been part of an exchange program. That it was Thrawn she’d been traded for was entirely new information.
“And you, Eli?” Thrawn asked softly; Eli jumped. “Your field is supply work, yes?”
“Y-Yeah,” Eli replied, feeling suddenly insignificant at the table. A renowned holochess player, a successful politician, a star student of military theory, and— “Family business. We have a little shipping company out on Lysatra.” —a Wild Space yokel.
But Thrawn’s eyes glowed with—was that approval? Was it meant to be patronizing? But there was no trace of condescension in his tone when he said, “You’d be highly valuable to anyone fortunate enough to obtain your services. However, you might do well to consider other paths. Carrying on a heritage profession is honorable, but you would be an asset in any field you chose. And a candidate of your caliber may have a higher calling than running a supply warehouse.”
“I-I... I don’t know where you get off,” Eli said, a bit brusquely. Thrawn blinked, and Thrass chuckled. “Just... challenging people’s life-choices on a first date.”
“It wasn’t my intention to...” Thrawn began, though he broke off to politely acknowledge the waiter who brought a set of appetizers. The first of the fare was nuna confit on toasted slices of Keshian spice roll, along with colorful salads tossed in a light Candilin orange dressing.
“Never mind,” Eli said, when he turned back. “Never mind. It’s nice, what you said—presumptuous, but nice anyway.”
“It was only an honest observation,” Thrawn said, mildly perturbed. He glanced at Cygni and Thrass, an obvious implore, but neither met his gaze. So, after a moment left floundering, he said, “Would you perhaps like to sit in on one of my tactics classes? You might find it interesting. I could speak to my instructor.”
“It won’t count as a second date, if that’s what you’re hoping,” Eli said, taking a pointed bite of his food.
“But you’ll consider it?” Thrawn asked.
“The class or the second date?”
Thrawn pondered. “Both?”
Eli stared at him, heat rising to his face, but managed, “Let’s just see how tonight goes.”
“Of course,” Thrawn said, too earnestly; Thrass stifled a laugh into a napkin.
The evening continued, fillets of quellfish in flounut butter sauce accompanied by talk of galactic affairs. Thrass’ hand found its way to Cygni’s thigh. Desert arrived as bite-sized frostberry tarts with vanilla custard and miniaturized chocolate layer cakes.
“These come from Csilla, you know,” Thrass said, gesturing with one of the tarts. “One of the girls who works here, Vah’nya, is Chiss. I twisted a few legalities to get her out of military service, so she gets me into Noci sometimes. There, my secret’s revealed.”
“You do such good work for them,” Cygni murmured, bumping his shoulder against Thrass’, his voice a bit too throaty for polite company. “For the Navigators. For your people.”
Thrass hummed, taking a bite of the tart and feeding Cygni the other half. “I do what I can. And we’ll see if you like it so much when I go home end of this month. Un’hee’s case is coming up fast.”
“I’ll like it fine as long as I can come with you.”
Thrass crooned in the back of his throat, then stood. “You can come with me now, to say hi to Vah’nya. I promised her we’d do that, you know.”
“Of course,” Cygni replied, rising. He gave Eli a brief, relaxed salute, and then the two of them vanished into the restaurant.
Eli glanced at Thrawn, only to find the Chiss already gazing at him. Flustered, Eli turned back to his cake.
“Did you enjoy the evening, Eli?”
Eli shrugged, speaking through a mouthful of rich chocolate. “Yeah. Good food. Pleasant conversation. The gallery was nice, too.”
“And me?”
Eli looked disbelievingly at him. “What? You?”
“I realize I didn’t even ask you here, properly,” Thrawn said, a note of apology in his voice. “I thought that was the best way to avoid causing discomfort. But I do hope it was a pleasant evening.”
Eli considered that, his eyes narrowed. Thrawn might be handsome, and he might be intelligent, and he might be well-spoken, and he might be all of these things, but— “I liked meeting your brother, and hanging out with Cygni. But next time, maybe it’ll just be the two of us.”
Thrawn’s eyes glowed, a perceptible brightening that startled Eli. “Next time?”
Eli shrugged, swallowing the last of the dessert. “Sure. Next time. Second date. Only you ask me this time, or I’ll say no. I will.”
Then Thrawn’s hand was intertwined with his, and Eli took a startled breath as he was drawn to his feet. Thrawn held his gaze, never wavering.
“Will you go walking the city with me, Eli Vanto?”
Eli nodded, his voice oddly faint as he said, “Sure.”
... ... ...
Cygni and Thrass returned to an empty table.
“Wait, he... no,” Thrass said, the last word an impassioned oath. “No, he didn’t. Thrawn didn’t ditch us. No.”
“Looks like he did,” Cygni said, trying to keep the smile off his face.
“No,” Thrass repeated, pacing around the table once, twice, and then, “Where could he have gone? We have to—"
“Love, you were considering ditching him at the art gallery, remember? You’ve done it many times before, haven’t you?”
“That was different and I was bluffing anyway,” Thrass snapped. “And now he’s gone and—" Thrass’ face lost a bit of color. “He didn’t pay, did he?”
“As if you were going to let him.”
“It was his date!” Thrass objected. “And I thought he’d at least argue when I insisted on paying!”
“Since when have you known Thrawn to argue such a lost cause?”
Thrass sighed. “It’s only decent.”
“Since when have you known your brother to be bound by societal decencies?”
Thrass rounded on him. “Why are you enjoying this? We’ve lost them!”
“I think it’s a good thing,” Cygni offered, picking up one of the little cakes and offering it to Thrass. When the Chiss only glared, he popped it into his own mouth and spoke through it. “Double-dates are all well and good as ice-breakers, but they should be alone for a while.”
Thrass’ anger melted away, at that, leaving despondence. He sank into a chair, eyed fixed forward; Cygni sat beside him, one hand finding the tense knot between Thrass’ shoulder blades.
“Hey. We could use some alone time too, you know. I can think of a few lovely ways to spend the rest of the night.”
“I lost my brother,” Thrass said softly. “He’s out there—"
“On a date,” Cygni cut in gently, “not fighting a war. He’s just on a date with a nice, handsome boy he met in a café. He’ll be fine.”
Thrass gave him a wan little smile. “He’ll be fine. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, love.” Cygni kissed Thrass’ temple. “Now, shall we pay the bill? Or we could dash, like proper rebellious youths. I did my share of that, back in the day. Ever dined and dashed, Syndic Mitth’ras’safis?”
“Stars, I married a low-class renegade...” Thrass breathed. Then, “Once or twice.”
Cygni blinked. “What?”
“I’ve done it once or twice,” Thrass said, and now there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But that was before the Mitth. When my brother and I were just common-borns scrounging for a good meal.”
“How come I’ve never heard those stories?” Cygni asked, leaning in.
Thrass kissed him, on the corner of his mouth, and then flagged down a waiter to pay for their meal. Emerging into the cool darkness of the night, they discussed the many ways husbands, unencumbered by work or obligations or little brothers, could spend a night between them. Dawn found them snuggled together on a park bench, passing a steaming cup of cheap caf between them, watching as the stars disappeared into the lightening sky.