#quiet boy

The wind whistles in your ears and the thumping of the car’s shitty stereo echoes in your chest, hair whipping around your face as you howl into the night, your head leaning out of your friend’s car window as it rounds a corner. The cold air stings your skin, but it leaves you feeling so alive - the dismal, stirring feelings that clouded around you earlier are now forgotten, thanks to your friend Danielle dragging you out of your house with the promise of a good party. She helped you pick out an outfit - a band shirt torn at the shoulders, jeans that could barely be considered pants with how big the holes at the knees are, and your chunky boots (classic) - and you both crowded the bathroom counter, leaning into the mirror and dancing to music as you applied your makeup.

“Jason is an idiot, anyways. I don’t think he’ll be at the party, but everyone there knows him. Who knows, maybe you’ll find someone better to throw in his face.” Danielle had teased, making you smile and cementing the plans to go out in your mind. She always had your back, and she was quick to tell you how stupid that guy had been. You knew it was going to be just a fling; the man was still very obviously in love with a woman he had been trying to forget, so it was unsurprising that he ghosted you.

A truer friend there never was; she’d pulled you out of your slump in record time and had shoved you into her car to get you to the house party to scrub away Jason’s slight against you. You were soaring on the ride over, singing along loudly to songs with your friend and not caring who saw you dance at stoplights.

But when you finally pull up to the house, you’re hit with a wave of feeling, insecurity - maybe there was a reason Jason chose someone else - but also excitement. You’ll show that fucker. If nothing else, you were going to get wasted and shove your tongue in someone’s mouth.

“Do you even know whose house this is?” You ask as your friend locks her car. She just shrugs.

“Friend of a friend. I was invited by Alex, who knows the guys. Should be fine. Everyone else is from the circle.”

Danielle had only just brought you into this “circle”. You’d danced at the edges, Jason the first one you’d actually tried to interact with outside of group activities, and we all know how that turned out. So you’re a bit nervous to be surrounded by the people you’d only just met that probably already had ideas about you. You’d gotten to know a few of them better because of Jason, but you had mostly been wrapped around his finger when in their presence so this should be… interesting.

You begin the walk up the walkway, only reaching the porch before you suddenly stall. All thoughts and insecurities fall right out of your head when the door swings open and you catch sight of the man at the back of the foyer. A man with red and black skin, flickering torches for eyes, and a crown of horns encircling his head. The door closes again as partygoers exit. You only caught a brief glimpse, but it was enough to make your breath catch. You slap your hand over Danielle’s chest, stopping her in her tracks before she too can see him.

“Dibs.” you say.

She doesn’t even fight it, she just gives you a knowing grin.

“There she is.” She teases, giving you a playful shove.

Then you’re finally entering the house. It’s oddly dark, and your eyes are immediately drawn back to the brooding zabrak. The flicker of candlelight casts shadows over his face that only accentuate his already sharp features. His lamplit gaze flicks over you with an arched brow, not seeming impressed. You hold his gaze, defiant. He is certainly striking up close. When you’re able to look away from his golden eyes, you follow the markings on his face - down the gentle slope of his pointed nose, noting the two black diamonds on it that you muse must be marking the difficulty of the run ahead. You’re no skier, but you’ve got a penchant for getting in over your head, so this should be nothing new.

He must not be too upset about your presence, because his formerly free hand now holds a wicker basket out to the two of you. Keys. Your friend obliges, tossing them in the basket where they then disappear into a closet that he nudges closed with a heavy boot. Can’t linger - need to play the game - so you nudge Danielle towards where you assume the drinks might be.

You find the kitchen, see the keg, but you’ve never been a beer gal. You instead veer straight to the bottles of hard liquor on the counter, solo cups haphazardly strewn about. You find one that doesn’t look like it’s been used, and reach behind a girl who’s sitting up on the counter with her tongue probably halfway down a chiss’ throat to grab a bottle of cheap-ass Skyy vodka and splash some into your cup. The crackling intonation of a dinky, battery-powered stereo fills this room with noise and Danielle has to raise her voice for you to hear her.

“You’re hitting the road running tonight…” She says as she eyes your drink. She opted for the beer.

“Liquid courage,” you retort.

“Like you’ve ever needed that.”

The two of you share a laugh and click your plastic cups together before deciding to wander the house. Candles are littered around the space, and they bring a certain warmth and charm to the overcrowded rooms, illuminating patches of faded wallpaper and peeling paint. The furniture is just as “well loved”, dipping with years of abuse and covered in stains you decide not to consider too long. With this many bodies packed into the space, you feel like you’re all sharing collective breaths, the air you breathe feeling hot and sticky like it had just come from someone else’s mouth. It isn’t altogether unpleasant, though, and it feels familiar; you’ve been to enough house parties and underground shows to feel comforted by the swaying of bodies pressed too tightly together.

The perfect perch opens itself to you: the arm of the worn couch, with a perfect view of the foyer and its zabrak gate guardian. You don’t want to be too obvious, but if he catches your hungry glances, it’s not the end of the world. (After all, you do want him to know you’re interested.) You’ll need a distraction to keep you from staring, and luckily one finds you instead. A thick-set twi’lek in cargo shorts and an almost-too-tight band shirt settles in front of you, blocking your view. Of course. At least you knew this one.

“Surprised to see you here alone,” the twi’lek teases.

“You knew he was going to crawl back to her,” you say and offer him a wry smile, your eyes crinkling a bit too much to just be mirth.

“So you’re here to rebound?” he says knowingly.

Your eyes flick past him as you notice the zabrak desert his post. He’s talking to another girl, leading her towards the kitchen. Shit. Maybe you should have perched closer. The twi’lek follows your gaze before you can catch yourself. A shit-eating grin splits his face, his teeth looking too sharp to be used for anything good.

“Got your sights set on Maul?” He sounds like he’s trying to sell you a car.

“No, Sal. I’m not nearly drunk enough to start climbing men.”

So his name was Maul. That could sound really pretty rolling off your tongue. The thought produces a warm feeling in your chest and you decide to take another hearty swig of your drink to hide any flush that reaches your cheeks. With how you’re downing it, you might be drunk enough for that climb soon. You’re already feeling the buzz.

“I can fix that,” Sal challenges.

“Why do you care..?” you scoff. You narrow your eyes at the twi’lek in front of you. He offers a shrug, but something sparkling in his eyes has you curious; like he knows something you don’t.

“Because Jason is a dick.” He holds his hand out to you, ready to hoist you off of the couch and lead you back to the drinks. “Besides, you’re too pretty to be hiding in the corner alone.”

While his words are playful, you don’t sense any actual intent behind them, and it comforts you. You should feel comfortable with the man offering to make you drinks, and Sal’s smile is genuine when you take his hand. Danielle reappears and follows behind you as Sal drags you towards the kitchen. Wait, that’s where you had seen the zabrak headed. You don’t have enough time to panic before Sal has dragged you into the same room as Maul.

“You like tequila?” Sal asks.

You focus back to the twi’lek, eyes a bit wide. You nod, and then Sal is off to the races. He leaves you by the counter and heads towards the opposite side of the kitchen, where you spy a cutting board with slices of lime. But limes aren’t the only thing Sal collects, no - he found Maul before you could. The girl he had been speaking to is nowhere to be found, and you overhear Sal shouting over the music to him as he drags the zabrak over to you. “I need you for something!”

Maul seems confused, but doesn’t argue, just raises his brow again like he had when you entered the house. You mirror his confusion and offer him a little shrug before Sal shoves a dirty looking shot glass into your hand, some of the clear liquid sloshing onto your hand. It’s rather tall; a double. Before you can throw it back, Sal wraps an arm around Maul’s shoulders and leans into him, all too smug.

“I’ve seen the shit you get up to - bet you’d take your chaser off his tiddy.” His free hand reaches over and gropes one of Maul’s pecs shamelessly. Maul swats at his hand, but there is a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Sal must know him pretty well - or you just really misunderstood what kind of guy Maul was. Danielle is laughing beside you.

“Wouldn’t be the wildest thing I’ve seen her do,” she says.

You turn your attention to her and gawk, though you can’t hide the very obvious smile that is threatening to split your face. But when you turn back to the two men, you see Sal poke Maul in the side and the corners of Maul’s lips curl just a smidge as he looks back to you and shrugs. Oh you’re fucked - absolutely and irrevocably fucked just from that smile. You haven’t even heard his voice, and yet there is a part of you that thinks that only the most heavenly sounds could ever come from those lips. Before you can think better, you tip the glass to your lips and swallow down the burning liquid, grimacing as it drops heavily into your mostly empty gut. You look at Sal expectantly, and when Maul lifts his shirt to his collarbone you nearly choke on the dregs of liquid sticking to your tongue. Of course he’s perfectly chiseled under there, and mapped with more of those intricate tattoos that guide your eye straight down. Sal brings one of the limes to his friend’s chest and squeezes. Your eyes follow the drip of juice as it trickles from between the cleft marked by a reversed heart and down to his belly, where you notice that his pants are slung low - you know if they slunk just a bit lower you could see the base of where you really want to put your mouth. Time to nut up. Instead of leaning forward to just lick the appropriately placed heart, you crouch low and start just below his belly button, the tip of your tongue dipping inside to catch a spare drop as you slide all the way up to his clavicle. By the time your tongue makes the full journey, you’re nearly pressed into the zabrak, and you can feel his breath on your cheek when you fully straighten up. Your eyes meet for just a half of a second before you take a step back, finally sucking in the breath your body had been begging for through the whole encounter.

“Bet you’d lick it off his di-” Maul elbows Sal in the ribs before he can finish, and then the zabrak stalks off, disappearing in the crowd again without a word. The twi’lek is all smiles as he watches his friend go, then he turns back to you. “Hey, I gave it a shot. You’re welcome.”

Rolling your eyes, you take the lime from him and push it between your lips, sucking as much juice as you can from it and shivering. The tart flavor had hardly registered in your mind earlier - you only tasted the salt and spice of Maul. Now, the tang clears your mind a bit, though you know that shot is going to catch up to you soon. You really did that, and he let you. You need air.

“Yeah, thanks. Now we see if I can get him to speak,” you say as you turn away, escaping the kitchen before the charismatic twi can get you into any more mischief. You leave Danielle behind and she seems all too pleased to be left in Sal’s presence; leaning against the counter and tilting her hips to get his attention. No wonder he was trying to pawn you off on someone.

You exit from where you entered, the squeaky screen announcing your arrival to all on the porch. Of course Maul’s out here - and looking damn tasty - all huddled up in the corner against the railing with a cigarette hanging limply from his lips when he catches your eyes on him. To save face, you continue down the steps and walk around the side of the house, towards the backyard. Can’t let him think you were following him: have to play the game, can’t look desperate. Unsurprisingly, the wooden fence is just as rotted as the inside of the house smelled, some posts missing or broken off at certain places and discolored from years of water damage. The gate is wide open, and you slip into the backyard to find it much less occupied than you’d originally thought it would be. It’s pretty dark, only the moon and the cherries of cigarettes dimly lighting the area.

The scent of swampgrass tickles your nose and you follow it, on a mission to find your next distraction. You spy the oh-so-typical group of stoners passing a blunt around a wobbly circle. None of them even so much as blink when you join their ranks. The rotation comes back around to you soon enough and you take a small hit to start - the first pull always tickles your throat a bit too much and you don’t want to choke on your first toke like a poser. There are a few different conversations bouncing around the circle, people butting in here and there from across the ring, but you don’t bother trying to join any of them since you’re still feeling a little out of place.

The brush of stiff leather against your arm startles you out of your reverie. When you follow the leather-clad arm up to its owner’s face, you find Maul squeezing himself into the circle beside you. He still has his cigarette, and you think it’s odd that he’d join when he already has something to occupy him; at least until he finally speaks.

“You’re not from around here.” He isn’t asking. That voice is just as pleasant as you thought it would be: absolutely silky even when muttered around the butt of his cigarette. You shake your head and find that it’s already starting to swim.

“Nah, city girl born and raised,” you reply. “Couldn’t tell ya which though, we moved a lot.”

This seems to appease him. He inclines his head a bit and pulls deeply from his vice. He puffs the smoke out of his nose and you think for sure he’s doing it to get under your skin - he has to know how good he looks when he does it.

“You make it sound like you know everyone in town - really giving me the ‘small town experience’,” you tease, taking another hit from the quickly diminishing joint passed into your hand. You push the smoke out between pursed lips towards the zabrak’s chest. Luckily, it seems like he takes it as the playful gesture you meant and not as a slight.

“Only people I know get to crash my parties,” he warns playfully.

“Oh, well thank you for making an exception,” you play right back.“Great party; though it would be better with music.”

The man at your side doesn’t get a chance to jab back, because one of the stoners in the circle butts into your conversation like it was fair game.

“Yeah, Maul, why don’t you bring out the guitar?” The space cadet is all easy smiles and bloodshot eyes, leaning against the timeworn fence.

“No power means no amp, idiot,” Maul growls, but there isn’t that much venom in it. He sounds more exasperated than anything. His attention is brought back to you when you giggle.

“What, no acoustic laying around? You don’t want to play Wonderwall for me?” you ask jokingly.

Delirious laughter echoes around the circle and one of the voices pipes up to call “play freebird!” and you answer before Maul can with “fuck freebird!” - and he laughs. Holy shit, his laugh. You want to hear it again, over and over. It tickles some deep part of you, and you aren’t sure whether it is all him, or just the weed and alcohol finally softening your senses. (Probably the latter.)

“Do you like Wonderwall?” Maul asks, his eyes now holding more warmth as he regards you. You crinkle your nose at his question and he seems amused.

“No, but I’m sure I can still upset you with my tastes.” You pose it as a challenge, and he lifts his brows as he waits for the blow to land. “I listen to ska.” You lean in to say it conspiratorially and he plays along, slapping a hand to his chest in mock-disgust. You continue with a shrug. “Look, I could sit here all day and tell you how much I like Rancid and Blackflag, but it would be more interesting to tell you about my more ‘controversial’ picks.’”

“Ah, so you like that cheery shit,” he concludes.

“My voice is better suited for Save Ferris than most NOFX songs,” you reply. “And I’m sure most people would rather hear that than something that sounds more like a nexu in heat.”

You can see how he stifles his smile so that he can pretend to be serious, holding up a finger as though he might wag it at you disapprovingly.

“Then you’ve forgotten the cardinal rule of punk, my dear,” he chides.

“Don’t give a fuck what people think and scream ‘til you’re hoarse?” you finish for him.

He nods, pleased with your answer.

“Well, I’ll start by not giving a fuck what you think,” you say casually “I like my horns section. Besides, it’s not about the sound; it’s about the message.” You fold your arms over your chest, pretending to pout, but you know he notices how you push up your rack with the gesture. Your words are starting to slur.

He doesn’t say anything for a bit, just watches you out of the corner of his eye as you idly watch someone roll another joint. The previously pleasant haze of pot begins to stir your head around a bit too much - it’s probably not helped that you’ve been drinking hard liquor on a nearly empty stomach - and your limbs are starting to feel heavy. You should sit down.

“I’ve got to figure out where my friend got off to,” you mumble, brushing your fingers over Maul’s jacket sleeve as you turn to leave. You hope he accepts the excuse and doesn’t take it as you ditching him. You were really enjoying his company, but you’d rather end on a high note than end with him seeing you hurl. Luckily, if he is upset he doesn’t show it, he just nods and crushes his cigarette beneath his boot.

You find the back door and slip inside to glance around for Danielle - to at least say you tried - before making your way back to the couch with the distinctive dip in the center. The lights come on just as you make it to your destination and flop down onto the furniture: it’s too bright. There is someone on the other end, but you don’t pay them any mind. You’re losing focus anyway. Your head bobbles a bit as you try to sit a bit straighter. There is movement at your side, but your vision is tunneling and you don’t want to roll your head to look that way, considering it feels like your brain would slosh around with the movement. Then there is a hand on your thigh. You weakly push it away, making a sound in the back of your throat to make your displeasure known. But the hand comes back and squeezes a bit more insistently. Someone is leaning into your neck and speaking above the music that has started up. Something about “liking to go for his friend’s girls”, that’s all you catch as you try to remove his hand with your noodle-fingers. The voice sounds familiar, and as he leans in, you recognize him; one of Jason’s friends, one who had always watched you a little too closely. Inwardly, with the last bit of rational thinking you can muster, you panic. You can’t fight him, can barely make words, and doubt anyone would hear you if you tried to scream above the music.

The couch cushions shift and you wobble with the force of the body hitting the back of the couch. Another hand is on you, but it’s wrapped around your shoulders and tugging you back away from the person on the other side of you. You manage to turn your head this time, looking through clouded eyes at the person saving you. Red and black skin, crown of horns.

“Hey, I know you…” you mumble before your vision fully fades and your head falls forward onto his chest. Maul gathers you to his side, glaring over your shoulder to the attempted assailant. You don’t see how he flags down a larger zabrak to “escort” your attempted rapist out of the house, or how few teeth the man has after the yellow zabrak gets his hands on him.

The first time you wake up, you’re still pretty drunk, but not black-out-drunk. You first take in the fact that it’s dark again, but now it’s quiet. There are still bodies littering the house, though they are in various stages of rest, some even sprawled out on the floor. Then you realize your view is bobbing up and down slowly, and you hear a steady beat of hearts. You’re still pressed into Maul, your head resting neatly on his chest, narrowly avoiding the studs on his lapel. Sounds like he’s asleep, so you decide to make the best of the situation and close your eyes again.

When you stir again, golden light filters through tattered curtains to shine right in your oversensitive eyes. You grimace, your face screwing up; your head throbs and your mouth tastes bitter, and the light is absolutely blinding. Without thinking, you recoil, leaning back into Maul’s arm, still curled protectively around you. The movement causes him to stir as well, his eyes blinking open with a soft grunt. Your hangover is forgotten for a moment when you look at each other, sleepy and probably sore from sleeping on this shitty couch, but he looks incredible in the early morning light. Then the embarrassment catches up to you. Your face and neck flush aggressively, the heat of it making you nauseous. You reel back again, and Maul releases you.

“Uh, thanks.. for.. that,” your words limp from your throat, staggered and croaked. Maul only nods. You rush to your feet and stagger a bit, and Maul lurches forward in his seat - but you don’t fall, and he doesn’t catch you. It would be a shame if you weren’t already feeling like you looked like a sloppy mess in front of him.

“Did you see where my friend went?” you ask. He thrusts his chin forward in a nod towards the foyer. You spare him another apologetic smile, but your words catch in your throat. You have no idea if you’ll ever see him again, but you’re not sure he would want to after he just babysat you for the night. You probably looked totally trashy, passing out on his couch after only a few drinks. But just in case, you tell him your name. He rumbles “Maul” in response, and that seems like the end of the conversation. With a sad little wave, you finally exit the room, leaving Maul sitting there and looking after you thoughtfully.

The closet that Maul had stashed the keys is now wide open, four legs hanging out through the doorway. Two of those legs belong to Danielle. You roughly kick one of her shoes, and you hear an answering groan. Sal grunts and rolls away from her, his belly meeting the doorframe and preventing him from getting far.

“Come on, bitch, I need breakfast. I’ll be outside,” you mutter, turning to go before she can even respond, still feeling Maul’s gaze at your back.

When Danielle finally makes it to the car after saying her goodbyes and tracking down her keys, you’re leaning against the passenger door, the heels of your palms digging into your eye sockets almost painfully. She starts up the car with a groan; clearly she’s feeling just as awful as you.

“Drive-thru?” She asks and you confirm with a grunt. You need hash browns and OJ, stat. You’re rolling down the road with Danielle’s ridiculously giant set of spare sunglasses covering half your face and the radio droning at a low volume when you hear your phone chime.

“It’s Maul. Let me know when you get home safe.”

You begin typing a message, but he beats you to the punch, like he could read your damn mind.

“Your friend gave it to me.”

You turn to Danielle, awe and gratitude making your jaw go slack. She must feel your eyes on her, because she glances away from the road for a moment before grinning.

“He already texted you?”

“He wanted me to tell him when I got home safe.”

Your friend’s grin softens, as does the look in her eye. “Yeah Sal said he’s like that, him and his brothers. You should thank Sal, he was determined, like he’s really trying to get Maul laid or something- not that I know what that looks like or anything.” You both laugh, and she watches you bite your lip as you look at the screen.

Maybe he would want to see you again.

-----

Next Chapter

This fic has quickly become my comfort fic. If you haven’t checked out nxctuary, PLS DO!!! 88:88 made me feel so fucking cozy and nostalgic I just couldnt cope and had to write this. This is about 80% true to one of my real experiences and I was saved by a great guy that I ended up dating for awhile, which is why it’s still a fond memory for me <3

A special thank you to my best friend and editor @unironicallycringe, they write legend of zelda fic, if that’s your thing, check them out! 

If you would like to be added to a taglist for any specific one of my works or just in general, let me know!

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