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imarvelatthestars · 5 months

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I - Labyrinth

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Pairings: f!reader x Tai, Commander Appo, Captain Vaughn, Sergeant Fox, & Sterling [no cl*necest!]

Content: some world building; reader & friends go to a bar and reader gets intoxicated; jealousy, flirting

labyrinth [n., lab·y·rinth] - a complicated irregular network of passages or paths in which it is difficult to find one's way; a maze

It’s been a good two years – arguably the best two years of your life. You no longer live paycheck to paycheck, wondering where your next meal might come from, you don’t lurk in your flat late into the night, lonely and bored to tears and wishing for a friend to share your thoughts with. Now you have five friends, although the word feels too simplistic for what they do for you. The clones that have made your home theirs are more than just friends, more than roommates or even mere acquaintances.

You muse on it now as you watch one of them. Tai leans a bit on his cane as he stands to receive the credits from your latest shopper. He nods pleasantly at the Duros woman, and grunts when he plops himself back into his chair and passes the credits off to you for safekeeping. He’s still so young, yet he carries himself like an old man, grunting and huffing when he moves, his mouth often drawn into a serious line that’s almost impossible to read. But you’re certain you’ve learned to decipher all his tells.

The blink-and-you’ll-miss-it quirk of one side of his mouth, usually his right, means he’s amused. The slow and steady nod paired with weary eyes is usually his way of saying thank you when he doesn’t have the words to express it. The flaring of his nostrils and tightening of his jaw is anger plain and simple, simmering under his skin and threatening to break loose all hell on whoever has caught his ire. This look, though, the empty expression paired with imperceptibly rounded shoulders and the bouncing of his left knee while the other leg is stretched out is the one that makes your heart hurt the most.

“You want some bacta?” you ask as you sort the credits into your makeshift register. “I think there’s a few stims left in my bag.”

Tai has a terrible habit of undermining his own pain. You’ve theorized that he doesn’t want to come off as weak, but you can’t be sure. He’s never really told you. Maybe it’s just pride, or shame. Either way, he often turns down any offers of help from either you or his brothers. This time, though, he doesn’t, and you think the nerve pain must be worse than usual for him to accept the offer on the first try.

You gesture with a nod of your chin in the direction of your bag, propped up against his chair. “G’head. They’re somewhere in there.”

He hesitates to rummage through your things, you can see it in his eyes, in the way his hands stutter, but he finally relents when you raise an eyebrow at him.

He’s always been respectful of your space, like the rest of his brothers. They outnumber you, they’re stronger than you, and they could easily do whatever they liked with your flat, with your most prized possessions, with you, but they have always shown you nothing but respect and kindness. They’ve never encroached on your space even a single time, never made you feel uncomfortable for being the only woman in a flat full of men.

Family. There’s no other word for it. They’re the people you trust most in the galaxy, the ones you run to for support, the ones who make you laugh, the ones who make your life brighter. You love them. They know you do, you’ve said it often enough, yet you still feel as though something’s missing.

They’re your family, but you love them in a way that is distinctly un-familial.

It’s embarrassing. It’s shameful.

But after two years of living with them through good times and bad, you know it’s the truth. You notice them in the way friends should never notice each other – Appo’s sure and steady leadership and that rumbly voice of his that sends shivers down your spine, Vaughn’s loyal and attentive energy that ensures you never feel anxious or alone, Fox’s too-charming smile and the bulky musculature resting beneath tattooed forearms, Sterling’s kindness and respect and that ridiculously attractive way that he combs his hair back, Tai’s gentle yet hidden affection and the stolen smiles that make your heart beat ever faster.

They’re brothers, you remind yourself as you have for a solid year now, ever since these feelings first became manifest. That’s weird. They’d think you’re disgusting. Not for loving them all at once, but for wondering what it would be like to be shared amongst them. For desiring such a thing.

Funny how the simple act of offering help and Tai accepting it is what encourages your mind to leap to such places. This certainly isn’t the first time, either. Sharing a flat with 5 charming, handsome, funny, strong, brave men will do that to you. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve seen Fox roll up the sleeves of his flannel until they stop just above his tattoos, of how many times Vaughn or Sterling will come home after a long day and immediately rip off their filthy shirts as if they’re still living in the barracks, of the glimpses you’ve caught of Appo when he shaves early in the morning (wearing nothing but his boxers and sleepshirt, no less). Even merely watching Tai at work, watching his hands smooth over the wood or stone or seashells that he carves each day, is enough to send you into a tizzy sometimes.

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s enough to bring you back to the present, away from lingering thoughts of bare skin and strong, broad hands.

You smile as he replaces your bag in its original spot. “Course. At least the day’s almost over, right?”

Tai nods, but doesn’t respond beyond a single grunt. Must be pretty bad. You decide then and there to do something nice for him tonight, tomorrow at the very latest. If not to show how much you care (too much), then to take his mind off the pain.

The opportunity comes in the form of a good dinner for him and his brothers. Food duty is a responsibility shared by all and passed around in a consistent schedule, although there are days when one person is too drained to manage it and someone else takes over. It takes a bit of good-natured arguing and the fluttering of your eyelashes to convince him, but you eventually manage to snag the duty from Tai tonight. He hardly pretends to be relieved.

Sterling had told you once that the food they’d received growing up on Kamino could hardly be classified as such. It was either tasteless slop or ration bars, both packed full of the appropriate nutrients but there was no joy to be found in the eating of it. You’ve made a point since then to note what each brother enjoys best and to accommodate them when you can. Vaughn and Appo seem to like dishes with a bit of kick to them, and it’s helped to expand your own tastes in the process. Fox likes anything sweet, anything that will dribble down his chin and make a mess. You try not to let your mind wander at the thought. Tai’s preference tends to be milder than the others, but he’s been known to be adventurous with his palette every now and then. Sterling, on the other hand, seems keen on anything and everything. He’ll eat just about anything you give him.

It would take far too much time to accommodate each of them tonight, though you’ve done so before. But tonight was meant to be Tai’s night and he’s the one you’re most worried about, so you choose to focus on him this time. A nice plate of roasted fish and vegetables is mellow enough for him while also being filling enough for the other men, and it leaves the whole house smelling delicious.

Fox tells you as much when he comes home. He throws an arm around your shoulders as you eye the timer atop the oven, and you do an amazing job at pretending not to notice how fucking amazing he smells. Even after a long day of manual labor, he still smells a bit like spiced cologne as it mixes with his sweat and natural musk. “Hope you didn’t do all this on my account,” he laughs, all the while wiggling his eyebrows.

“You think too highly of yourself, Fox,” you say, dryly, but there’s a bit of humor in the quirk of your smile.

He makes a big show of being offended, from dramatic exhalations and a hung head, to the resting of his hand over his heart. “I’m hurt, mesh’la.”

You bump his hip with your own, a friendly gesture to get out of the kitchen while you’re still working. “Yeah, yeah, go be hurt somewhere else. And take a shower, you’re all gross.”

The mock salute he offers in response only serves to make your chest literally ache. He’s so kriffing endearing, it kills you.

Sterling and Vaughn come home soon after, each of them looking tired and sweaty after a long day. None of the boys work nearly as hard as Fox does, not physically at least, but their jobs take a lot out of them, and you see it every day. They work long hours, hardly complaining beyond the brotherly banter they spew over beers and shitty holos, and more often than not, their shoulders are slumped, and their shirts stained with sweat and grime. A warm, home-cooked meal is the least you can do. Still, you make a point of serving Tai first.

“I can get it, you know.” His voice is imperceptibly low, and you have to strain yourself to understand him, but you needn’t ask for clarification. You know what he means.

“I know. But you don’t have to.” Tai starts to protest again, even as he starts poking at his food, but you stop him with a shake of your head and a firm expression. “I’m happy to help.”

Even after two years, he still tries to fight you. But this is one battle he’s almost always going to lose, and you hope that one day Tai will come to the understanding that you don’t help him because he’s not capable, but because he deserves some grace. Tonight is just another step toward that finish line.

By the time Appo comes in from his shift, the others are mostly finished eating. They’ve stationed themselves across the living room as they always do, sprawled across the sofa and chairs with their individual serving tables, or just a plate in hand in Fox’s case, balanced before them.

“Go get cleaned up. I kept yours warm.”

He simply nods before heading into the back room and shutting the door behind him. It’s a few minutes later when he comes out, freshly changed, and takes his plate from you mid-serving.

“Sit.”

You shake your head. “No, I got it, just lemme-“

“Sit.”

It’s not said unkindly, although with Appo it’s sometimes hard to tell. The serious lines of his face and the dark pitch of his voice lend themselves to a rather stern and imposing presence. You know him well enough by now, though, and you’ve had the conversation about it before – as much as it may be in your nature, doting on him only makes him feel awkward, and he’d rather you took care of yourself before him or any of his brothers. You still do it sometimes. He makes up for it in his own casual, silent way, and tonight he does it by bringing you a glass of your usual beverage. No shared words, hardly a look spared your way, but a silent understanding that settles between you.

“Anyone else need a karkin’ beer?”

Several sets of eyes slip towards Fox, a few amused, some playfully irritated.

“You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you’re bored,” Vaughn remarks.

Fox makes an exasperated sound in the back of his throat before throwing himself into the sofa, his empty plate now haphazardly balanced on the cushioned arm. You bite back a comment warning him to be careful for fear of sounding more like his mother than his friend. “No, I’m sayin’ it ‘cause I haven’t had a drink in ages.”

“Careful, vod.” Sterling’s eyes are sparkling mischievously. “You remember what happened last time.”

Ah, yes. Last time. He’d had too much booze and too little food, and ended up doing karaoke at the bar until he got booed off stage. And the only thing that could cheer him up was a bit of friendly flirting and reassurance. From you, of course. Friendly, of course. Not that you still found yourself thinking about that night, or how close he’d been when he asked you if you thought he was pretty. Because you didn’t.

But rather than simmer in his embarrassment, Fox shrugs it off with something of a cocky smile. “That was last time. This time, my belly’s already full. All thanks to our mesh’la.” And he raises his glass of water in a toast to you.

“Mesh’la, smesh’la, I’m not encouraging you.” Rather than sit and be the center of his and his brother’s attention, you push yourself out of your seat and start collecting dishes. “If you wanna go make a fool out of yourself, you’re not roping me into it.” And you truly, deeply hope that none of them can tell you’re lying through your teeth. Because the mere thought of Fox being so close to you again, of whispering all his cheesy one-liners and sweet nothings into your ear, it makes your legs go completely boneless.

The only problem with this is that Fox is, well, Fox. The man could charm the pants off a Gungan if he tried, and you’re honestly not convinced that he hasn’t. So when you approach him and wordlessly reach for his plate, rather than give it to you, he takes your hand in his and he smiles that devilish smile that’s made every life form on the planet melt these past two years. “C’mon,” he whispers. He’s pulled his brows into a pleasant, pleading sort of shape, letting them turn up at the inner corners as he watches you. “It’ll be fun.”

Your throat is suddenly very dry. “You think everything’s fun.”

“’cause it is.”

He’s impossible. He’s an idiot. He’s going to make a fool out of himself again, you’re sure of it. And he’s doing his best to charm you, and it is, unfortunately, working, against your better judgement. “Fox.”

He grins. “Yes?”

“You’re kriffing annoying, you know that?”

His thumb runs semi-circles across the back of your hand, and you swear your brain short circuits. Damn him. “It’s a gift.”

Tai and Sterling elect to stay in for the night. Tai’s nerve pain seems to be flaring up again and Sterling’s hardly a bar-goer, so sticking around for his brother’s sake is much more appealing than a night out with Fox. You’re surprised that Appo decides to come along, though.

“Someone has to keep an eye on that di’kut,” he explains once you ask. “Make sure he doesn’t get himself in trouble.”

Even now that the war is over and their lives as soldiers are far behind them, he refuses to leave his role as commander behind. Not for the first time, you find yourself ruminating on this and the way the realization makes your stomach feel fluttery and your heart feel warm. He’s a good leader, he’s a good brother, and it’s another footnote in your expansive list of why you’ve found yourself falling fast and hard for the brothers of the 501st.

But those are thoughts best left behind on a night like this. You can’t let yourself dwell on it if there’s going to be alcohol, so you push it all as far from your consciousness as possible and choose instead to focus on having fun with your friends, on the pretty lights and mostly good music and the too-sweet flavor of your berry-infused shot.

“-and I was like, ‘no way, the first season is way better than the second!’”

From what you remember, Vaughn’s been caught up in some holo-soap. It’s been taking up a lot of his attention when he’s not working or out painting his murals, but it’s honestly not your thing and you only barely understand what he’s talking about. His brothers, however, don’t seem nearly as lost as you feel.

Fox takes a long swig of his beer and arches his eyebrow incredulously. “You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you think the actress is hot.”

Vaughn’s attention flickers to you for a moment. He stammers wordlessly for a couple of seconds and you’re sure that if you could see it, he’d be entirely flushed. “Pfft, no. It’s all about the story. Substance, vod. Hotness is secondary.”

Even Appo looks doubtful at that. “Since when?”

He frowns. “Shut up. Neither of you’d know substance if it bit you in the shebs.” To you, he leans in a bit and pretends to lower his voice as if he’s relaying a secret. “Imagine being the only one of your batch with decent taste.”

Despite your earlier dinner, the alcohol has already started to make its way through your blood stream. You’re only buzzed at the moment, but it’s enough to make this otherwise ordinary remark seem outrageously funny, and you end up having to smother your laughter in the crook of your arm.

It’s then that something calls out over the din of the bar.

In all the time you’ve known him, Appo has never been one for grand expressions. He conveys what he needs to in the movement of his eyebrows, the subtlety of his eyes, the tilting of his head, the lilt of his voice. So the moment that he responds to the calling of his name with a wide-eyed, panicked expression and the sudden ramrod straightness of his back, you know that something’s not right.

A yellow-green Nautolan passing by the table, the one that had called his name, claps a hand on his shoulder just as Appo shifts to turn toward him. “That is you!” he exclaims in a smooth, smoky voice. He laughs quite happily, enough that his head tentacles jostle. “It’s been, what, months now?”

“Something like that.”

You’ve never seen him like this before, so unyieldingly stiff and uncomfortable, yet it’s clear he knows this man. Even the others seem unsure what to make of this interaction, though there’s something more than mere uncertainty in the looks Vaughn and Fox are passing each other. They look worried? Anxious?

The Nautolan takes this lull in the conversation to acknowledge the rest of the table. “Sorry to interrupt, fellas, ma’am. Appo ‘n’ me go back a bit, haven’t seen him in forever.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem,” you offer in place of everyone else’s silence.

He extends his hand, and you take it. “Benshar. I hope you haven’t been keeping him from me!”

Appo outwardly cringes, more than you’ve ever seen him do before, not even the last time Fox got plastered. What in the galaxy…?

You absently wonder if there’s some sort of love triangle going on that you’re unaware of, but quickly abandon the thought the moment it comes to you. Sterling and Appo might be of the persuasion of all genders, but Sterling isn’t here and even so, neither of them seem the type to be interested in the same person, let alone allowing themselves to get caught up in that kind of drama. No, something else must be going on.

You smile. “No, no, of course not. But if you two need some time to catch up, we could always-“

“That won’t be necessary.” Appo clears his throat as the attention suddenly falls solely on him. His hand hooks around Benshar’s elbow as he suddenly backs away from the table. “C’mon.” And just like that, he’s gone.

“Okay,” you begin the moment they’re out of earshot, “what the hell was that?”

Vaughn downs the rest of his drink. Fox takes a ridiculously long swig. Neither of them audibly speaks, but they’re very clearly communicating to each other in a way only clones seem to understand. You doubt you’ll ever be able to master the subtle cues they’ve spent a solid decade practicing, but it does leave you out of the loop this time, the one time it really matters.

“Guys, I’m not stupid. Clearly that was something. What is it?”

A few seconds pass before Vaughn shifts uncomfortably. “Old flame.” He refuses to look you in the eye.

It takes a minute, but it hits you like a ton of duracrete. Of course. Of course. You’d thought about it before, wondered how a group of five handsome and very capable young men could go two whole years without any kind of sex life. There have been isolated incidents in the past where you’d wake up in the middle of the night because you thought you’d heard something in the adjoining room, or a muffled grunt or two coming from the shower early in the morning, but not once have they ever asked to bring somebody home. Not once have you ever seen them kiss another being. You know they feel attraction because they joke about it enough, because Appo and Sterling have both referenced previous encounters. And you know Fox has gotten laid several times since coming to Aurea – how could he not? he’d flirt with a tree if it would flirt back with him – but he’s never bragged about it in your presence, never rubbed it in like salt in his brothers’ wounds. But somehow, you’d thought, you’d hoped that it was because maybe… maybe that unspoken feeling that sits deep in your heart isn’t as one-sided as you’ve always known it to be.

It’s a foolish hope. It’s stupid to think a single one of these men could ever want you in the way that you want them. Surely they’d have made a move by now if they did. But Maker, it hurts. It hurts to know that someone else on this planet has known the taste of Appo’s lips, has heard him sigh and moan, has probably taken him out on dates and showered him in affection, and it hurts that that someone isn’t you. You watch Fox for a bit, trail your eyes along his tattoos, then to Vaughn and the puckered scar in his cheek, and it’s like a vibroblade to your heart. Someone who isn’t you has known them as well, has felt the touch of their skin, their lips, has felt their love.

“So he was flirting. That guy.” It comes out unbidden and a touch more bitter than you mean it to.

Vaughn snorts. “Not very well.”

And you know you shouldn’t say it, really, you do. You know it reveals too much, you know it should embarrass you, but you know if you don’t, you’ll burst. You eyeball your empty shot glass, tongue tucked into your cheek, and shake your head with a humorless laugh. “I need another drink.”

The whole walk to the bar, the whole conversation with the server, the entire wait, and the whole walk back, it’s all you think about – people have known these men, your men, and those people weren’t you. There could be any number of reasons why, they might respect you too much, they might not want to lose out on a good flat if things went south with you, they might want things they feel you can’t give them, and every reason is understandable, but all you can feel is that they went searching for love and pleasure and it never occurred to them to come find you. It’s stupid, really, because it’s not like they owe it to you. It’s not like you’ve ever made your feelings clear beyond a few isolated, innocent comments made in a clearly friendly setting, something meant to be seen as either a compliment or a joke and nothing more.

You’re intoxicated, you finally decide, and that’s the reason it hurts so much. Best thing to do is just drown it out and hope it goes away. You know it won’t, but it’s better than wallowing in your misery. Probably.

You down one shot when you return to the table, but there’s still the massive stein of liquor, one of the brands on the stronger end of the spectrum of what you can handle. Both men eye you warily when you start drinking and you know they have every right to because it’s obvious that you’re not yourself right now.

“What?” They don’t say anything, but the judgement is clear. “Oh please, it’s not like I’m gonna pull a Fox. ‘sides, I’m gonna need something stronger if we’re gonna start talking about our love lives.”

“You okay?” Vaughn asks. He tacks your name onto the end when you shrug him off. “I’m serious. You good?”

“Course I am!” And it’s a bit too cheery, too fake, too not-you. It has to be to keep the tears at bay.

They share another look, and it just adds insult to injury to know that they don’t trust you. Or maybe those shots are running through you quicker than you thought they would.

“Okay. Who else is seeing someone and didn’t tell me? Fox?”

He splutters disbelievingly at the accusation. “Why’re you lookin’ at me?”

“’cause you’re a flirt, Fox. But that’s okay, it’s part of your charm. I’m just surprised I haven’t walked in on you and some pretty Twi’lek in our shower, to be honest.”

Shut up. Shut up, shut up, just stop! Talking! That’s the logical part of your brain, the sober part that’s going down kicking and screaming. The liquor is loosening your tongue, and the angst is coloring it all a distinct shade of envy. It doesn’t occur to you that Fox might take offense, or that you’re the one making a fool of yourself this time, not him, not when all you can feel is the incredible pain of longing for something that was never even yours.

Vaughn’s hand comes into view then, his fingers wrapping around the circumference of your stein to gently tug it back onto the table. “Hey.” He’s gentle, strong. “Why don’t you drink some water first?”

“I’m fine.” You’re not so far gone that you don’t understand what he’s suggesting. “I’m not drunk.” But you’re getting there. “What about you? You been seeing anyone and keeping it a secret?”

His brows are deeply furrowed as he considers you. “Why?”

“Well, ‘cause clearly everyone in the flat can get some except for me!”

Funny how that’s not what you’d meant to say. Funny how it’s still so true. You think about that pretty Nautolan and how excited he was to see Appo, despite Appo’s obvious discomfort, and you feel your entire body shrink in on itself.

“Doesn’t matter,” you finally say. “I’m happy you guys can find that if you need it.” You’re happy because you want them to be happy. Doesn’t mean it’s not killing you inside. “Just wish I could find it, too.”

The bar suddenly feels too loud and too warm, overcrowded and greasy and uncomfortable even though nothing has changed from this moment and the last. Maybe it’s the weight of Fox and Vaughn’s attention, maybe it’s the weight of feeling so startlingly alone when mere minutes ago you felt as though you had the best family in the galaxy.

“Is that what this is about?” You look up from the intricate wood grain of the table and into Fox’s eyes. Maker, those big, brown eyes. They all have the same ones. So beautiful, so dark and endless. “You lonely, mesh’la?”

“No,” but your face is clearly saying yes.

“Nothing wrong with being lonely. We’ve all been there. Tell you what,” and he shifts closer to you so that your shoulders are pressing together and some of his heat comes over you. If this is the most you’ll ever get, then you’ll take it and run with it. “We’ll help you snag someone, yeah? How about him, over there?”

Following the line of his arm to one of the other tables, you see a handsome young man with a gorgeous head of curly hair, dark skin, and a nose ring. He has a nice laugh and a tall, lithe build.

“Bet he’d treat you good.”

“Vod.” You don’t dare to read into the irritation in Vaughn’s voice, but you let yourself imagine for a moment what it would be like if he were jealous.

His brother ignores him. “Or him.” Another person is pointed out to you, a Pantoran with broad shoulders and a bit of stubble. He’s handsome enough, but his build instantly reminds you of Fox, so you shake your head. “Alright, you pick someone and we’ll make it happen.”

“’We’?” Vaughn scoffs. “Don’t bring me into this one, mate.”

Pick someone. He doesn’t even realize how dangerous that offer is. Three of your first five picks are already in the building.

“Don’t think that’s a good idea,” you tell him after mulling the idea over. Another swig of alcohol pools in your belly. “You might not like who I pick out.”

“Your taste is that bad, huh?”

“Oh yeah. Tall, dark, and handsome. It’s a fucking curse.”

Fox’s eyes darken for a moment, as if something’s occurred to him that he knows he ought not repeat. But then comes that smirk, the one that curls up in the corner of his mouth and makes your head feel light, the one he only ever gets when he’s acting like an absolute menace. “Tall, dark, and handsome. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were talkin’ about me.”

Vaughn damn near jumps across the table. “Fox!”

With his eyes still caught on you, Fox huffs. “Kriff off, Vaughn.”

You take a quick sip of your drink, careful and slow so as not to spill, before giving your answer. “I was.” It comes with its own smirk.

You’ve heard that time travel isn’t really plausible. It happens in small amounts when travelling great distances, when going off-world, but such events are so common nowadays that no one really thinks about it too hard. The computers do most of the thinking for you, anyways. But here in this shitty little bar on this mediocre little trade planet, lightyears away from anything truly important in the galaxy, you feel as though time has slowed itself just for you.

You swore you’d never say anything. You promised yourself you’d never let yourself go down this road. You and Fox have something of a platonically flirty friendship, but there are boundaries neither of you have ever crossed. This moment right here, the subtle glimmer of desire in his eyes, the way you’re gazing up through your lashes at him, the outright admittance that yes, he is handsome and yes, you’ve always known it, none of it is friendly and you both know it.

“Your taste can’t be that bad if I’m on the list.”

You shrug nonchalantly, as if your heart isn’t about to beat right out of your chest. “It’s not a long list.”

“Oh? Care to share?”

You could lay it all on the table now. He’s egging you on, he clearly wants to know, and Maker knows you want to tell him. You want every single one of them to know that you harbor feelings for them and that those feelings run deep. You want them to know because maybe, just maybe, if you bat your eyes and tilt your head just right and they consider even looking your way, they’ll see what they’ve been missing out on, what’s been missing them for all this time. That maybe one of them will have an ‘aha!’ moment and realize that you’re everything he ever needed. It’s desperate. It’s embarrassing. But in this moment, that’s all you really are. A lonely girl with her lonely heart, desperate for one of the men she’s fallen for to see her as she is.

One of your hands drifts in Fox’s direction then, almost of its own accord. You play with the idea of touching the rolled-up hem of his sleeve, but ultimately settled for hovering your hand over it instead. “I don’t know. You got any old flames that haunt this bar? I’d hate to put my heart on my sleeve just for some pretty thing to come along and squash it.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting him to do in response, but leaning further into your space, letting his forearm fill the curve of your palm and his cologne wash over you? Ducking his head down to smile at you as if you’re the only person in the galaxy he has eyes for? It’s almost too much to hope for.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “Don’t be a tease, baby. You got somethin’ to say? Let’s hear it.”

This can’t be real. You’re imagining it? You’re so drunk that you’re making shit up. For surely it’s not Fox who’s flirting with you and meaning every word, who’s crowding you up against the edge of the table and making you feel so small in the best possible way. But then he sighs, and his breath hits your face, and your eyes flutter shut. Somewhere in the background, you can hear Vaughn talking, but none of the words are getting through to you. It’s all just white noise.

“Your list, mesh’la. I wanna hear it.”

“Short list,” you whisper, even though you’ve already said it. “Only five names.”

His burning eyes dip below your nose and you swear you see into another dimension at the implication.

“What the hell is going on here?”

It doesn’t fully register to you that the voice isn’t Fox’s, not at first. They are, after all, clones. The whole point is that they’re identical to each other. It takes Fox moving away and the awkward silence and coolness that he leaves in his wake for you to catch up. He never moved his mouth, did he? That’s when you see Appo.

The mock salute you give him only worsens the lines of his frown. “Commander. Have fun with your boyfriend?”

He studies you in the time it takes you to remember how to breathe and then take another drink. He scowls. “You’re drunk.”

“Not fully, but getting there.” The accompanying finger guns don’t sell him on the idea like you thought they would. “We missed you.”

The scowl morphs into a sneer, and it’s practically murderous. “Didn’t look it to me.” To Fox, he starts, “Take her home. Before I decide to kick your shebs.”

And doesn’t that just burn? He’s so angered at the thought of you being close to his brother, so irritated at the thought of you finding a bit of joy, that he wants you gone? If you were anywhere near any form of logical thinking, you might be able to see this for what it is. But instead of fact, your spotchka-addled brain weaves a brand of fiction so bizarre that it only makes sense to you.

“Want me out of the way so you can canoodle with your boyfriend, Appo?”

His face snaps towards yours, his eyes so wide that you’re almost worried they’ll pop out of his head, but it seems the comment has left him speechless. Good, more room for you to dig your grave.

“You don’t have to hide it, you know. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.” Liar. This whole evening is proof of exactly the opposite.

His hand flexes at his side. Maker, he looks angry. It shouldn’t tickle you the way it does, yet you can’t help reveling in it. He broke your heart just now. Drunken logic dictates that he should feel just as horrible as you.

Rather than deign you with any kind of response, though, Appo chooses to leave. Sober you will thank the stars for this, but in this moment all you feel is the cleaving of a blade through your heart, another confirmation that Appo is lost to you, that all of them are lost to you. There’s no more fight left after that.

Fox takes care of the bill and the table while Vaughn escorts you outside. They both help you into the land speeder – Appo’s speeder – and they take you home.

“You’re on the list, you know. All of you.” And as you stare up at Vaughn from beneath your lashes, hoping against hope, burning every last bridge of friendship you’ve built, you think that he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever met. You press your palm into the swell of his chest, where he’s warm and muscled under the flap of his leather jacket, and you cry. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you.”

You don’t remember anything after that.

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