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(Also: My hc for Hunter is that he has a vagina. It's not necessarily a trans hc but you're free to read this however you like, it doesn't change the draft anyway - it's not explicit at all. I'm just sharing my hc tbh 😭)

Hunter woke up, to no noise in particular.

Years of being ripped from restless sleep by a fighting crew, blaster fire or just the droning of mashines had made Hunter both chronically tired and an equally light sleeper.

This morning felt different, his heightened senses knew before his brain did. He took a deep breath, slowly turning around. Soft clean sheets hugged his body tighter and with a satisfied hum he noticed how comfortable the bed was; and that it was a bed at all. Slowly, he opened his eyes, expecting to be greeted by dark steel and artificial lighting.

He found none of that. Instead, the only light in the small room came filtered through flowing white curtains in front of an open terrace door. Judging by the pale yellow hue, Hunter realised that it must still be early morning. He watched the sheer fabric of the curtains dance lazily in the breeze, his sensitive nose picking up the smell of saltwater and sand.

Pabu.

His heartbeat seemed to match the slow rhythmic tide of the ocean and Hunter took another deep breath. Silence would feel unnatural most of the time but this morning all he could feel was peace. Relief.

The last one and a half days still weighed heavily on his shoulders. One night ago, when they had landed on the little island after the last Tantiss mission they had been happily welcomed by the villagers once again. The whole batch had needed immediate medical treatment and Hunter could only remember the following day as a blur of being fed, dozing and having the bacta pads and bandages removed from his body. He had washed himself in the evening, cringing at the dirt and dried blood that had stained the water.

Then he had dried himself off, retreated to his assigned bedroom and...

Hunter scanned the other side of the bed. It was made for two people but currently, he was the only one in it.

His gaze fell back on the curtain and his sharp eyes, although tired, could make out a small movement behind them. For a second his body tensed, his muscle memory telling him to grab for a weapon. But then he recognised the figure and slumped back into the sheets.

Crosshair.

Hunter knew that he, too, usually had trouble sleeping, often being awake in the middle of the night to clean his rifle. But this night he must have slept, at least a little bit. Hunter slipped his bare foot under the second blanket and felt that it was still slightly warm. His eyes fell close again and he hummed quietly.

There was still a dull ache, his muscles had been through a lot the last days. But the mattress was so comfortable that he barely registered it and instead focused on an especially pleasant memory of the evening before. He felt himself smiling a little, just half asleep now.

He turned again, the sheets moving with a quiet rustle against his bare skin. He knew he was naked, and a comfortable warmth spread along his skin, igniting another memory deep in his chest. He felt comfortable but the empty side of the bed bothered him enough.

Hunter yawned and blinked his eyes open again, noticing how much brighter it had gotten already during the few minutes he had been drifting off again. Slowly, he sat up. His hair was washed but messy from sleep and he blew a strand from his eyes before shuffling to the edge of the bed. He swung his legs over it and felt the clean wooden floor of the bedroom beneath his feet. Turning his head toward the door again, he rose from the sheets, the breeze tickling his bare skin. He felt strangely sensitive and vulnerable now, noticable in the goosebumps on his arms.

Hunter quietly passed through the little room and raised his hand to brush the curtain aside a little. He didn't care much about being naked, he sensed that no one was around except them this early.

Outside, Crosshair sat on a chair by the little wall that enclosed the terrace. His rifle leaned against it, seemingly assembled yet of no interest. Hunter noticed a trail of ants crawling up and down the shaft.

"Morning", Hunter said, his voice still raspy from sleep.

Crosshair had noticed him, he must have, since he didn't flinch when he spoke. He was watching the sunrise, eyes fixed on the endless horizon, but he slowly turned his head to look at Hunter. The sight seemed to momentarily disable him from answering, but Hunter didn't mind. He was basking in Crosshair's raw attention like it was the midday sun.

Unlike Hunter, Crosshair was fully dressed. Hunter knew that he would have preferred his armor but they had left it in the ship after being stitched back together yesterday. He was now wearing a simple white shirt and some brown linen pants, that he had been given by the villagers. Hunter couldn't help but smile at the sight, the ordinary outfit made Crosshair look almost... well, ordinary. Hunter felt more and more at home.

"Can't sleep?", he asked and Crosshair, after forcing himself to look at Hunter's face, nodded slowly.

"No... but I haven't sat here for long.", he answered and looked at the water again.

"It's quiet.", he remarked and Hunter knew that he thought 'too quiet'.

Crosshair hadn't been on Pabu before. He would still have to get used to this, but Hunter knew that he would adapt eventually. They all would.

"Yes. It's nice.", Hunter agreed and stepped out of the room, his bare feet hitting the cold terracotta tiles of the terrace. The breeze wasn't too cold but it still carried night's chill and he shuddered as it brushed over his body.

Crosshair gave him an amused look and Hunter knew what he would say before he could open his mouth. Hunter effectively shut him up by stepping into his space and placing a hand on his shoulder. Immediately he felt Crosshair's hand on the small of his back and another shudder ran through his body. Their intimacy wasn't new. But it sure had been some time since they were affectionate like this.

Bright and flashing neon lights, a million distorted voices coming from the holo-ads, the stuffy smell of mould, machine oil and heavy smog certainly told Obi-Wan that he had left the upper levels of Coruscant at last. Down here, at level 1313, he felt the strangers eyeing him, and the Force around them seemed to vibrate with distrust, anger and wariness - he was exactly where he knew he needed to be. As a valuable member of the Jedi Council with a reputation for clever schemes and diplomatic skills, he had been sent to investigate an underground ring of illegal weapon-smugglers. He had been shown a few faces and names and while looking around, he realised that finding the culprits would be harder than he had expected. The underground of Coruscant was just as busy as the upper levels, except that people down here knew exactly how to hide in the, mostly intoxicated, crowd.

Stepping off his borrowed speeder, Obi-Wan wrapped his robe around himself more tightly, his hood hiding his face and making him fit right in. Most people here did not like to show their faces for various reasons. He rounded a few corners, stepping over trash and unidentifiable puddles, ignoring a few strangers who called out to him. His first destination was a popular yet somewhat hidden place, located behind a few almost innocent looking dumpsters. But the flickering purple neon sign Bar caught his eye, and he slowly approached the staircase leading to the rusty door. As he had already expected, a weequay bouncer stood in front of it, giving him a sceptical look. Obi-Wan smiled as he descended the cracked steps, hidden by his hood, and simply raised his hand, making a swift movement in front of the bouncer's face.

"You'll let me in", Obi-Wan said slowly but confidently.

Only a moment later, the man stepped aside and Obi-Wan pushed open the heavy door.

Immediately, he was met by new sensations. The deep bass of the music that he could barely make out on the outside now hit him and he was greeted by even dingier lighting, a choir of mingling voices, some laughing, some cheering on the twi'lek dancers that sensually moved to the beats. Obi-Wan’s face contorted for a second when his brain registered the smells in the club. It stank of cheap alcohol, sour vomit, and sickeningly sweet perfumes that didn't do much to cover up the stench. Instinctively, Obi-Wan wanted to cover his nose, but quickly regained his composure and looked around as the creaking door slammed shut behind him, trapping him in the strange parallel world.

He looked around for a few seconds, hoping to spot one of the suspects. This particular bar seemed to attract a variety of different species and criminals, and Obi-Wan couldn’t rely on the Force to discover bad intentions. This place was basically pulsing with danger and vice.

He sighed and made his way across the crowded room, trying his best not to attract any attention from the group of sinister looking trandoshans to his left. Slowly, he sat in an empty spot by the bar, his back to the dancers. Even though he wouldn’t consider himself shy, the sight made him somewhat uncomfortable.

“What can I get you?”, a young male voice asked, seeming closer to him than it was. Obi-Wan raised his head to look at two very differently looking hands of a bartender in front of him.

He could tell that the guy hadn’t spoken very loudly, and considering the deafening music he briefly wondered why it had sounded like he was hearing his voice inside his head. It was like the man’s voice was a clear frequency from a radio and all the other noise in the bar had been tuned down to a minimum.

Not wanting to show his face, Obi-Wan held his gaze as low as possible and answered with a slightly fake voice: “A glass of quanya, thanks.”

The bartender wasn’t offended by his customer’s anonymity and simply turned around to pour him his desired drink. While the bartender was working, Obi-Wan shortly focused his Force on him and was caught off guard by the intense answer he received. The man was beaming with energy and Obi-Wan felt as if he was being both pushed away and pulled closer at the same time. It took a few seconds before he even managed to cut their short bond, and the intensity left him almost breathless.

The bartender didn’t seem to have noticed – or just didn’t care. He turned around again and with a clink he sat the little glass down in front of Obi-Wan. The latter noticed that the man’s right hand wasn’t just a different colour, it was a prosthetic.