Chapter Text
You’re already regretting this.
The steady thrum of music and laughter spills out into the Coruscant night from the lively bar. The pulse of the bass and beat echo in your chest, faster than your usual rhythm. For you, it feels too loud, too crowded, too much. But the warmth of your friends at your back pushes you forward.
“Come on, Lyra,” Miri says, looping her arm through yours. Tall and graceful, with deep blue Pantoran skin and long purple curls pulled into a low bun, Miri always sounds calm- even when she’s dragging you into chaos. “You promised! Just one drink. No hiding in a corner.”
“I don’t hide,” you murmur, already scanning for the quietest table near the wall.
“Please,” Tessa laughs behind you, nudging you forward.
Her voice is bright, a tone of mischief already blooming. With her glossy pink Theelin skin and wild fuchsia hair thrown in a high, messy bun, she stands out even in the chaos of 79’s. Dressed in something barely passable as a top and glittering from neck to waist, Tessa looks like she was made for a place like this.
“You’d melt into the shadows if you could. Look at you- you’re already trying.”
She’s not wrong. You’ve never been the spotlight type. You prefer concert halls and practice rooms, strings humming beneath your fingers, your sound speaking where words don’t come out right. You remind yourself, again, that tonight isn’t about performing. It’s about showing up, being present, and letting your sisters- well, almost-sisters- drag you out to celebrate the end of your latest run with the Coruscanti Operatic Ensemble.
You met them during your first season with the ensemble- back when you barely spoke above a whisper and kept your sheet music in color-coded folders. Miri was your stand partner, always helping you turn a page, and always watching out for you. Tessa showed up two rehearsals late, loud and unapologetic, and decided you were her new pet project. Rae- the last member of your little group- rolled her eyes through every warmup exercise but always had extra rosin in her case.
Somewhere between late-night post-performance caf runs and surviving group critiques, they became your people.
So here you are. Blue skin shimmering softly under the neon lights, golden cheek tattoos catching occasional glances as you pass. You’ve braided a few strands of your short lavender hair, swept it back with a little silver pin your eldest sister gave you when you left Pantora. You even wore the sleek, dark jumpsuit Tessa picked out- sleeveless, form-fitting, with just enough edge to suggest you might, in fact, dance.
You will not dance- you’re almost sure of it.
The bar is already packed- mostly clones, with scattered civilians threading through. It’s easy to tell who’s who. You catch snippets of laughter, backslaps, someone shouting across the room, ‘Buy Kix another drink before he tries again.’ Whatever that means.
“Let’s go find a booth,” Tessa suggests.
Shorter than the rest of you, with choppy teal hair and silver tattoos that run down her jawline instead of across her cheeks like yours, Rae crosses her arms and surveys the bar. “Somewhere with a good view. Just in case anyone interesting walks by.”
The group finds a booth near the edge and slides in, grateful for the illusion of privacy. Miri sits beside you, Rae and Tessa across. Their conversation flows easily, picking up stories from work, gossip, bits of news about someone’s failed date last week.
Tessa leans over the table with that signature grin of hers. “Alright. A drink, then one dance. That’s all we ask.”
“I didn’t agree to the dance part,” you mutter.
Miri leans against you. “You did when you let us dress you in that,” she says, nodding to your sleek black jumpsuit.
You attempt a smile. “I said ‘I’d try.’”
They accept that answer with cheers and drag you out of the booth. The dance floor is alive, mostly with clone troopers. Some are in normal clothes, but most are in their signature white armor- the crowd a blur of motion and laughter. Bodies move with the rhythm or wild abandon. You shuffle along the edge, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.
“You have five seconds to pick a dance partner, or we’re picking one for you!” Tessa teases, already bouncing to the beat.
You step back. “‘Dancing’ and ‘dancing with someone’ are two very different things!”
They laugh, but Miri leans in to whisper, “Want to grab a drink instead?”
Grateful, you nod, and the two of you head for the bar.
It’s a little less overwhelming over here, but only marginally. You place your hands on the counter, grounding yourself in the feel of smooth metal under your fingertips.
The human bartender with long, dark curly hair raises her eyebrow. “What’ll it be?”
“Uh…” You hesitate, blinking at the colorful drinks on the screen behind her.
“She’ll take a Blue Nova,” Miri cuts in, smiling.
You open your mouth to object, then shut it again. It’s not like you’ll finish the drink anyway. You’re just about to thank her when a voice slides in beside you, loud enough to be heard over the music.
“Haven’t seen you around before.”
You turn, instinctively shrinking back half a step.
The Kage man standing beside you is tall and definitely older than you, easy to see from the way he’s dressed alone. Leather jacket, open collar, and one of those too-bright smiles that never quite reaches the eyes. He leans an elbow on the bar, his body turned fully toward you.
You blink. “Um… hi.”
He chuckles like you’ve told a joke. “Don’t be shy. Just saying- it’s kinda hard to miss you. That hair? Those eyes?” He gestures lazily. “You’re practically glowing.”
Your face burns instantly. “I- I’m just here with friends.”
“You got a name?” he asks, clearly ignoring that.
“She’s fine, thanks,” Miri says sharply, stepping up beside you. Her tone is polite, but her smile is tight. Protective and calm, but obviously a ‘don’t-test-her’ calm. “We’re just ordering drinks.”
The man barely glances at her. “Come on, I’m being friendly. You’re not gonna let her answer for herself, are you?”
You wish you had a shield or a cloak. Or straight up invisibility. That’d be ideal.
“I’m not—” you start, then falter. “I mean, I just don’t really—”
“She’s not interested,” Miri says, voice firmer now.
But the guy doesn’t move. If anything, he leans a little closer.
You grip the edge of the bar. “I’m flattered, really, I just—”
“She said ‘no,’” Rae’s voice cuts in from behind you, apparently having noticed the scene from the dance floor. She slides into place on your other side, expression thunderous. “Do you need it translated?”
The man holds up both hands. “Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to ruffle any feathers.”
He backs off with a crooked grin and vanishes into the crowd. You exhale in one long, shaky breath, the noise of the bar rushing back in as if it had been muffled.
“Stars,” you whisper. “That was—”
“Creepy,” Rae says.
“A disaster,” Miri mutters.
“A learning experience,” Tessa adds from behind you, coming to join the group. She raises one eyebrow, already sipping her drink like nothing surprises her anymore. “Next time, maybe don’t make eye contact.”
You laugh- embarrassed, but grateful- and take a sip of your drink the moment the bartender hands it to you.
Miri eyes you carefully. “You okay?”
You nod, the burn in your cheeks subsiding. “Can we go sit down now?”
The booth feels safer. Rae and Tessa claim one end. They make room for you and Miri, and you slide into the cushioned seat with a relieved sigh. Your drink is cold in your hands, and your heart is still racing from the bar encounter, but the girls are talking again- laughing, venting, smoothing the moment over like they always do. You let the noise settle around you, blinking under the colored lights that shift with the beat.
Then the music changes. This time, it’s not a playlist, nor a DJ mix. Your ears catch it before your eyes do. A piano. Not a looped synth, not a backing track. Real keys, real music. You glance up—
—And that’s when you see him.
A clone. At the piano.
He sits behind the instrument like he owns it, confident and careless all at once, dark hair cut in a close, sharp fade. He has a trim goatee, and from what you can see over here, maybe a small tattoo on the side of his head? He’s grinning at the crowd, cracking his knuckles, rolling his shoulders like he’s about to play for the entire galaxy and couldn’t care less if it listens.
You blink, intrigued. What is he doing?
Someone calls out, “Bet he can’t even play!”
The clone twists around in his seat, his grin stretching wider. “Bet I can.”
Then he turns back to the keys and starts to play.
Your mouth parts slightly, a breath catching before you can stop it. Because he can play. Not just decently or casually, either. He’s good.
His fingers glide with ease and flourish, striking chords that bounce through the room with quickening energy. The tune is jazzy, a little dramatic, and definitely playful. Under all of it, he looks confident and smooth, like he’s been doing this his entire life. You lean forward without realizing, your drink forgotten.
“Stars,” Rae chuckles across the table. “Did not expect that.”
“Hmm,” Miri cocks her head sideways beside you. “He’s showing off, right?”
Tessa whistles. “Who cares if he is? He’s about to have half the bar in love with him.”
You don’t answer. You already can’t look away.
He moves through one song, then another. The tune is something familiar now. Clones start clapping, and their voices rise in off-key singing, arms thrown around shoulders. One of them jumps on a chair and belts the chorus, completely unashamed, probably drunk. Laughter ripples through the crowd.
The music picks up again, even faster this time- a beat you feel through the soles of your boots. The dance floor floods with bodies, sleeves rolled up, drinks raised high, a chaotic blend of joy and movement.
But you’re still watching him. The clone at the piano. He’s laughing at the keys now, fingers flying, completely at ease in the middle of a storm he created. And something inside you shifts, mesmerized.
“Lyra,” Miri says, nudging your arm. “You’re staring.”
You tear your eyes away, heart suddenly hammering for a very different reason than when you first arrived here. “I am not.”
“You so are.”
Tessa leans in. “Go talk to him. Request a song. You’re a music girl- go be brave.”
You freeze. “I can’t just— What would I even say?”
Tessa grins. “We’ll help you pick something. And if you don’t ask him, we will.”
Miri’s already rummaging in her clutch. A second later, she produces a pen. Tessa grabs a napkin off the table and smooths it out with her palm, then slides it toward you like a challenge.
“There. Write him a request. Something cute. Or haunting. Whatever your thing is.”
Your fingers hover above the napkin. You glance toward the piano. He’s still playing, still laughing, still impossible to ignore.
“Guys,” you whisper, throat tight. “I don’t even know his name.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Tessa says, smirking. “He’s the piano guy now. Just go.”
You stare at the blank napkin. Your pen hesitates. The idea is ridiculous- you don’t do this. You don’t flirt with strangers in bars. You don’t write song requests on napkins like you’re in some kind of holodrama.
But your fingers move anyway.
You write the title of a song. One he might know- something older, something with meaning. Something you played for years on your own instrument.
Your stomach flips the second the ink dries.
“Go,” Miri whispers, grinning now. “Before you chicken out.”
You shake your head. “I can’t.”
“You already wrote it,” Tessa says. “And he’s almost done with the song. This is your moment.”
You look down at the napkin, at your neat handwriting. You fold it once, twice. It feels small in your hand, yet suddenly heavy. You look at the stage- at him- then back at your napkin.
And then your feet move.
Not your brain. Not your heart. Just your feet- carrying you across the floor toward the piano.
Toward him.