#whynotwin

She was sweeping up the last bits of glass when a commotion outside snapped her head up.

Yelling. Screams.

Selene set the dustpan down and crossed quickly to the door.

"What the hell...?" she muttered, trying to peer through the windows — but it was too dark to see anything.

She stepped outside into the cool night air — just in time to see people running past her.

Not toward her — away from something.

Instinct screamed at her to go back inside, lock the doors, tell the remaining customers to get home.

But then a sharp, panicked scream cut through the night.

Fuck.

Without thinking, Selene took off toward the noise, pushing against the tide of bodies scrambling to get away.

She spotted a young woman crumpled on the ground — no older than Selene herself — shaking with fear and still drunk from whatever celebration she’d been part of.

People dodged around her like she was debris, some even stepping over her in their rush to flee.

Selene shoved her way through the chaos and dropped to her knees beside her.

"Can you stand?" Selene shouted over the noise.

The girl only sobbed, curling tighter in on herself.

"Listen to me," Selene said, gripping her by the arms. "I'm going to help you. But you have to get up. Just stand, okay?"

The girl’s fingers tightened around her arm in response.

"O-Okay," she whimpered, voice cracking.

Selene hauled her upright, the girl practically collapsing against her.

Keeping a firm hold around her shoulders, Selene used her body to shield her, forcing a path back toward the bar.

When they finally stumbled inside, two regulars — Kit and Victor — rushed over, grabbing the young woman from Selene’s arms and easing her into a chair.

"What the fuck happened, Selene?" Kit asked, wide-eyed as he checked the girl over.

"No idea," Selene said, trying to catch her breath. "Just... chaos. People were running from the docks like it was on fire."

She peeled off her long-sleeved button-up and draped it around the shivering girl, who had clearly been dressed for a night out.

Selene crouched down to meet her eyes.

"You’re safe now, alright?" she said gently, though her mind was already racing.

The girl clutched the button-up tighter around her shoulders, still sobbing quietly.

Selene glanced toward the door, unease prickling the back of her neck. Whatever was happening near the docks wasn’t over yet — the shouts and faint blaster fire were growing louder.

Kit threw a nervous look outside. "Maybe we should bolt the doors."

"Yeah," Selene said, wiping her palms on her pants. "Do it."

Victor was already moving, sliding the heavy bars into place across the front entrance just as another sharp crack of blaster fire rang out.

Selene stiffened.

This wasn’t just a regular drunken scuffle.

The high-pitched whine of the shots sliced through the night air, different from anything she’d heard before.

This was something else.

The Mandalorian.

He must’ve finished his sightseeing.

And now someone — no, the whole damn town — was running for their lives.

Selene moved back to the young woman.

"Did you see what happened?" she asked, crouching low, keeping her voice calm.

The girl nodded shakily, swiping tears from her face. "It was Dreck. He—he pulled a blaster at the tables. He started shooting! Some man came for him — not one of us — he was after Dreck!"

Selene felt her stomach drop.

Dreck.

The local thug who half-ran the Sabacc games, handled all the dirty money floating through the docks. If he felt cornered, he’d burn the whole place down before letting himself get taken.

And if the Mandalorian was the one who went after him—

Shit.

Selene stood, pacing a few steps before turning back to Kit and Victor.

"You two stay here," she said sharply. "Keep her safe. If anyone else comes pounding on the door, don't open it unless you recognize them."

"Where are you going?" Victor asked, even though he already knew.

"I'm going to see if I can help."

“Like that?!” he said, gesturing at her bare arms.

Selene looked down — she was in just her undershirt after giving away her long-sleeve.

Victor shrugged off his jacket and threw it at her. Selene caught it and yanked it on, pulling the hood up over her head.

"I’ll be back."

Kit swore under his breath, but neither of them tried to stop her.

Selene slipped out the side entrance, keeping low along the shadowed alleys. The distant hum of fighting was closer now — sharper.

Selene crept toward the docks, keeping hidden behind a row of cargo crates.

Chaos.

Blaster fire lit up the night in stuttering flashes, and people were still scattering, wild-eyed and terrified.

Near the main loading platform, she spotted him —

The Mandalorian — a dark, cutting figure against the flickering lights.

His movements were precise. Deliberate.

He was calm — a storm moving through the wreckage.

Across from him, Dreck was a mess — wild-eyed, drunk, screaming curses as he fired blindly, not caring who he hit.

Selene ducked instinctively as a bolt sizzled past her head, slamming into the crate behind her. Her heart thundered against her ribs. She collapsed onto the ground, staring at the smoking hole inches from where her head had been.

She struggled to breathe.

Why had she left? She should’ve stayed inside, like any sane person.

Another shot cracked through the night, yanking her from her spiral.

Still shaking, she peeked around the edge of the crate, scanning the scene.

Dreck had backed himself into a corner and — desperate — grabbed a bystander, shoving the terrified woman between him and the Mandalorian as a human shield.

Selene’s breath caught.

Without thinking, she shouted, "Hey! Leave her alone!"

Dreck’s head snapped toward her voice — and the Mandalorian seized the opening.

One smooth, practiced shot — and Dreck went down hard, stunned and crumpling without another word.

The Mandalorian strode forward, cuffed him with some kind of high-tech binders, and gave the terrified bystander a short nod, a silent permission to run.

Then — slowly — his helmeted gaze found Selene in the shadows.

She froze.

He couldn’t see her. It was too dark. She was more than halfway hidden behind the crates.

And yet — when she peeked back out — he was still staring in her direction.

His head tilted slightly — almost a silent question:

"Are you alright?"

Selene swallowed hard.

No way. She had to be hallucinating.

Shock. Stress. Adrenaline.

Without waiting to find out, she bolted, running back to The Star’s End, leaving the docks.

The way back to the bar was a blur.

Selene guided frightened bystanders along the way, telling them to head to The Star’s End if they needed shelter or somewhere warm to wait out the chaos.

She even sent out a quick comm to two regulars she trusted — one was a trained medic, the other a healer. She promised free drinks if they could come help with the wounded.

By the time she returned, the bar had become a makeshift nurse’s station.

Thankfully, the only blaster wound was a clean shot through the arm — painful, but not fatal. Others had scrapes and bruises from the panic at the docks, but nothing they couldn’t handle.

By night’s end, the bar was full. Locals helped carry the injured home, and those more seriously hurt were taken to the town’s small hospital.

Selene stayed on her feet the whole time — handing out towels, throwing together quick meals, even pouring the occasional shot for someone too shaken to sit still.

When the last guests finally left and the doors were bolted, silence settled over the place like a heavy blanket.

Selene moved slowly through the room, doing one final check of every table, wiping down surfaces, straightening chairs.

Her thoughts drifted back to the first young woman she’d helped — the one who’d been trampled in the crowd.

She hadn’t seen her again after the girl left the second time.

Didn’t even get her name.

Selene frowned.

Was she like Selene — someone with no place to go?

Or maybe she had a family, like Demi, and just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She was too tired to think about it. All she wanted now was sleep.

Selene stepped behind the counter and poured herself a stiff drink, her hands trembling as she brought it to her lips.

Out of the corner of her eye, something flickered — a glint of light in the window, or maybe just a reflection.

She froze.

But when she looked again, there was nothing. Just shadows and the quiet hum of the bar’s old lighting.

She must’ve been more exhausted than she realized.

She downed the drink in one go and climbed the stairs to bed.

It was quiet, but in her mind, the chaos hadn’t stopped. Blaster shots. Screams. The scent of scorched metal. Selene lay flat on her back, eyes wide open, staring at the cracked ceiling above her bed.

Her muscles ached, her feet throbbed, and her head still buzzed from too much adrenaline and not enough rest.

She tried to force her mind blank, to push away the weight of the day, but sleep wouldn’t come. Every time she got close, her heart would stutter and spike, anxiety clawing its way back up her throat.

“Motherfucker,” she muttered, voice hoarse. Frustration knotted in her chest, and before she realized it, tears slid down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly, angry with herself.

She refused to cry.

It wasn’t like this was new. She’d done this kind of thing before—helped during riots, tended to the wounded, opened her doors when no one else would. Rick had always hated that. Said it wasn’t her place. Beat it into her, even.

So why did tonight feel so different?

Him.

The Mandalorian—steady, controlled, lethal in motion, yet somehow gentle when it mattered. The way he moved, the way he looked at her… it was burned into her mind.

Her eyes fluttered shut, but her thoughts only sharpened.

She could still feel the brush of his fingers against hers, brief and unintentional. But what if it was intentional next time? What if his hands held her—not to take, not to restrain—but to ground her? To want her?

Selene turned onto her side, tucking the pillow under her cheek, her breath catching as her mind wandered. She imagined the cool press of beskar against her bare skin, the rough scrape of his gloves tugging at the hem of her shirt. The heat he’d carry, despite all that armor.

Her thighs shifted, pressing together.

She exhaled shakily, one hand drifting down her stomach. Her pulse was still thrumming from the memory of the docks—his figure in the smoke, the precision of his shot, the way he turned to her afterward like nothing else mattered.

Like she mattered.

Could he see her now? She imagined his gaze on her—sharp, focused, that slight tilt of his helmet as if silently asking, Are you okay?

She bit her lip and sighed. This was foolish. He was a bounty hunter. He would be gone by morning again.

She thought to herself that maybe it wasn’t just about him. Maybe it was about being wanted. Touched—not because someone felt entitled to her body, but because they chose it. Chose her.

She  hated Rick for what he’d done to her. For warping her sense of love, of safety, of her own goddamn body. He didn’t just ruin sex — he ruined touch. Made it feel invasive, dirty, something to endure instead of something to crave. He hollowed her out, left her flinching at kindness and numb to intimacy. He didn’t just take things from her — he stripped her of the right to feel like she belonged in her own skin.

She couldn’t even remember what it felt like to sleep with someone she actually liked. Sex with Rick had always been fast, unfeeling—something to get over with. He never asked what she needed. He never cared.

There had been others. She hadn’t been faithful. Still, none of them were real—not lovers, just temporary company when the loneliness got too heavy.

But tonight?

Her hand slipped lower, beneath the waistband of her underwear. Slow, teasing, cautious. She rubbed gentle circles, her thoughts drifting back to the Mandalorian—his presence, his silence, his strength.

She pictured tha Mandalorian again standing tall in his armor, the way he moved with quiet certainty, like nothing in the galaxy could shake him.

He didn’t need to shout to be heard, didn’t throw his weight around to prove anything. He was just... solid. Capable. In control. 

Everything Rick wasn’t. Rick was loud and insecure, always needing to remind everyone he was a man — fists first, words second. But this one?

He didn’t take power, he carried it. She imagined what it would feel like to let herself fall into someone like that — someone who wouldn’t flinch at her fire or try to smother it. Someone who could handle her and hold her, who wouldn’t take from her, but protect what was his.

A man who wouldn’t twist love into something ugly. And gods, some dark part of her wanted to belong to him — not because she was weak, but because she was tired of pretending she never needed anyone.

She pictured him again on the docks, his blaster still warm, his body tense, yet his focus solely on her. That tilt of his helmet, that silent question.

And with that image, her body trembled.

She came with his name barely whispered on her lips.

After, she lay still in the dark, her hand resting on her stomach, breathing slowing. Shame tried to creep in, but she pushed it away. Maybe she’d regret it in the morning. Maybe he’d never come back. Maybe it was all just fantasy.

But tonight?

She remembered her run-in with Yelner all too well—no matter how hard she tried to forget.

He’d pounded on the front door half the night, yelling for Rick to come out and pay what he owed. Of course, Rick was nowhere to be found. Typical. And Selene? She was the one who had to deal with his fury.

She’d pleaded with him while he smashed bottle after bottle across the bar. He only left after she handed over everything in the register.

Fucker probably deserved whatever the Mandalorian had in store for him.

She wasn’t totally sure how bounty hunting worked, but she figured it was one of those “dead or alive” type deals. And judging by the way he carried himself… Selene had a feeling the Mandalorian wasn’t big on prisoners.

She shuddered.

“Whoever it is definitely picked the wrong person to screw with. I’d hate to be on the Mandalorian’s radar,” Demi said, chugging her drink.

Selene had just dropped off another round when she heard a chair scrape sharply across the floor.

She turned, instantly on alert.

Near the back, two regular shitheads were squaring up—Dockhand Bren, burly and already halfway through his fifth drink, and Kael, a wiry merchant with a sharp tongue and a reputation that’d been circling the drain for months.

“You calling me a liar?” Bren barked, pushing to his feet. His voice was thick with booze and anger, loud enough to silence half the room.

“I’m calling you full of shit,” Kael slurred, clearly not intimidated by the size difference.

“Say that again,” Bren growled, one hand drifting toward the blade at his hip.

Selene was already moving.

“Hey!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the tension like a blaster shot. “You want to fight, take that shit outside. You throw down in my bar, you deal with me.”

Bren froze, jaw clenched. Kael raised both hands in mock surrender, laughing like it was all a game.

“Relax, Selene. Just a friendly disagreement.”

Selene cocked her head, one hand resting casually on her hip—just close enough to the blaster tucked into the back of her waistband.

“Yeah? Then maybe next time, don’t reach for your knife during your friendly disagreements.” She gave Bren a look, and to his credit—or maybe his fear—he actually looked sheepish.

Kael opened his mouth, clearly ready with some smartass comeback, but Selene cut him off.

“Save it. If I even see the two of you speak to each other again tonight, you’re both out.”

A beat passed. Bren grunted. Kael shrugged like it wasn’t worth it. The tension began to fade as the rest of the bar went back to pretending they hadn’t been watching.

“You two are lucky I don’t make you hug it out in front of everyone,” Selene muttered as she walked past, just loud enough for the nearby tables to hear.

That earned her a few laughs. Bren slumped back into his chair with a heavy thud. Kael kept smirking, but one sharp look from Selene wiped the smug off his face.

She made her way back to the bar, passing Demi, who was now wide-eyed and sipping a fresh drink.

“Damn,” Demi whispered. “You ever think about becoming a bounty hunter?”

Selene smirked. “Eh. Bartending’s more fun.”

As the night settled into its usual rhythm of drunken yelling, Selene found a rare pocket of calm. She leaned against the back counter, pouring herself a small glass of dark whiskey.

Right on cue, Demi slid her own glass beside her, raising her brows in silent request.

Selene smirked, topped it off, and clinked her glass against Demi’s. Her cheeks were flushed—from the heat, the liquor, maybe a little of both.

“My comm’s been buzzing nonstop,” Demi half-slurred, glancing at her wristband. “My brother’s convinced I got kidnapped by pirates or fell off a cliff or something.”

Selene chuckled low in her throat. “You’ve been here since lunch. I don’t blame ‘em.”

“Yeah, well, they should know better by now,” Demi said, elbowing her lightly. “This is just the pregame.”

Selene swirled her drink, then knocked it back in one go. The burn was welcome. Sharp.

She envied how Demi’s family still checked in—even if it made her roll her eyes.

Selene never had that. No comm buzzing. No one to miss her.

She didn’t know what happened to her parents, didn’t even remember what they looked like. Sometimes she imagined her mom with the same wild black hair, her dad with soft, steady brown eyes like hers. It helped, even if it was all fantasy.

“This might be my last one,” Demi said, glancing at her watch. “Now my dad’s buzzing me. Guess my joke about the pirate threesome wasn’t that funny.”

“No worries,” Selene murmured, eyes distant. “You won’t miss anything good.”

Demi didn’t reply at first. Just picked up the bottle and quietly refilled Selene’s glass.

She knew. She’d heard it all in the early days of their friendship—about the sanctuaries, the odd jobs Selene had to work to survive.

She knew about Rick, too. About the drinking, the cruelty, the nights Selene showed up with a busted lip and no excuses.

Demi had patched her up more than once.

“You’ll be alright, Sel,” she said softly, giving her arm a quick squeeze.

Selene gave a tight smile, not trusting herself to say more.

Demi let the quiet hang for a moment before nudging her again. “For what it’s worth? You built something here. This place? It works because of you. People come back for you.”

Selene blinked, a little caught off guard.

“You’re a pain in my ass sometimes,” she said, lips twitching. “But... thanks.”

They shared a small smile, the kind that lingered longer than it should’ve—before a shout from across the bar broke the spell.

Selene pushed off the counter. “Back to it.”

“You bet,” Demi said, hopping off her stool. “And when your secret Mando boyfriend shows up again, I want all the details.”

Selene didn’t see the Mandalorian that night. All she saw were passed-out patrons, and the sticky residue of too many spilled drinks.

By the time she finished cleaning up, it was well past midnight—and Rick was still nowhere to be found.

Thank the stars.

Maybe tonight she could actually sleep without him stumbling in, slurring sweet nothings until they turned sour. Maybe he’d find somewhere else to crash, someone else to bother.

She gave the bar one last look before slipping through the kitchen doors. Tugging off her apron, she mentally reminded herself to wash it tomorrow and hung it on her usual hook.

With a groan, she dragged herself up the stairs to the living quarters above. Her favorite thing about living where she worked was never having to walk far to get home—but tonight, even those stairs felt like punishment.

At the top, she kicked off her shoes and padded toward her bedroom. She paused at the door, fingers lingering on the knob. She knew Rick wasn’t in there—the only entrance was through the front, and she’d locked it behind her—but still, the thought of stepping into that shared space made her stomach twist.

Instead, she turned and slipped into the spare room. It was mostly empty, just a small dresser and a beat-up lamp she’d fixed up when they moved in. The cot took up most of the floor.

Good enough.

She didn’t want to risk another night like the last one. Didn’t want to wake up to Rick slurring her name and pawing at her in the dark. She just wanted sleep.

Selene stripped off her clothes and pulled on an old shirt of Rick’s—soft, oversized, worn thin with time. It hung to her mid-thigh.

It’d do.

She crawled into bed, the cot creaking under her weight, metal bars pressing into her back no matter how she shifted.

She sighed, eyes heavy, the noise of the bar still faint in her ears like a ghost.

And then, finally—

Sleep.

She couldn’t have slept for long when she woke up heart pounding, her shirt clung to her skin with sweat. It took her eyes a second to adjust the small room, cold air, and faint scent of whiskey clinging to her hair.

Right. The spare room.

She pressed her palms over her face, trying to steady her breathing, and remember the dream already slipping from her mind. It didn’t seem she was dreaming from her memories, it hadn’t been the old memories from the foster sanctuaries or her sad life.

No—this time she’d seen him.

The Mandalorian.

Not in her bar, though, she didn’t think her memory already failing her but it was somewhere darker—an alley or maybe the docks, lit only by the dull purple glow of R’hye’s moons. He was standing over someone—no, dragging someone.

Yelner.

She didn’t remember hearing anything, just the same heavy thud of boots like she heard at her bar this time they were hitting the wet ground and the sharp metallic glint of armor lighting the dark.

It felt real enough that for a moment she almost believed it had happened. That he’d found Yelner just like she and Demi had guessed and finished whatever business he came to the planet for.

Selene scrubbed a hand over her face and sat up slowly, the cot creaking beneath her.

Just a dream.

But the unsettling feeling stuck in her gut anyway.

If the Mandalorian had been hunting Yelner… well, good. Yelner deserved whatever was coming to him.

Selene peeked through the blinds. The sun was brighter than she was used to.

Oh shit.

She’d actually slept. A full seven hours, maybe more. So why did she still feel like shit?

Her bare feet hit the cold marble floor as she stood, stretching with a quiet groan. She padded softly toward the master bedroom and eased the door open.

Still untouched.

Well, fuck. I could’ve slept in the bed after all.

She mentally punched herself.

She took a quick shower and got ready for the day, it felt different. Her hair even cooperated with her, falling into soft waves instead of its usual chaotic mess. She had enough energy to swipe on a little makeup, and when she caught her reflection, she didn’t look like someone running on fumes.

“Not bad,” she murmured to herself.

Downstairs, she moved with an unusual lightness. She started a fresh pot of caf for the morning crowd and set out the pastries—flaky meiloorun danishes stuffed with spiced fruit preserves. The hot breakfast special was already warming, and for once, she had time to breathe.

She put on a bit of music—something low and mellow, nothing like the thumping bass that usually rattled the walls at night.

Cup of caf in hand and a still-warm danish on a plate, she allowed herself a quiet moment at the bar before unlocking the door. Technically, she could open and close whenever she wanted. Some days she was up before the twin suns crested the horizon, and others, like today, she took her sweet time.

Regulars had been known to throw pebbles at her windows when she opened late—sometimes she served them in her pajamas with sleep still in her eyes. She didn’t mind. There was something comforting about being needed.

“I guess it’s time,” she sighed, hopping down from the bar and heading to unlock the front door.

She’d barely made it back behind the counter when she heard it creak open.

“I am so sorry, you must’ve been waiting all morning,” Selene joked, half-turning. “Please don’t be mad—”

“I don’t mind. My partner, on the other hand, might have some words,” came the familiar modulated voice.

Selene froze.

Her head whipped around.

There he was.

The Mandalorian stood just inside the doorway, beskar catching the morning sun like polished silver. And beside him, perched at his hip, the green child giggled, big eyes lighting up at the sight of her—a jarring contrast to the bounty hunter’s silent stillness.

“Oh. Well, in that case, let me offer my deepest apologies... and maybe a cookie or two, for good measure,” Selene said, surprised at the ease in her voice.

You’d be a great mom.

The thought slipped in uninvited, hitting her like a sucker punch.

She thought—just for a second—that she saw the Mandalorian tilt his helmet. Maybe in amusement. Maybe disappointment. Maybe nothing at all. She hoped he’d at least rolled his eyes at her weak attempt at humor.

As he stepped closer, the heavy thud of his boots echoed off the wood floors. Her smile faltered as she remembered her dream.

He hesitated before sitting, placing the child carefully on the counter, nestled against his chest.

“Did we frighten you?” he asked.

“No—no, gods, no. I just... had this weird déjà vu,” Selene said, her words tumbling out a little too fast. “Don’t you hate that? When it’s so real, it kind of messes with your head?”

She laughed lightly, praying she didn’t sound completely unhinged.

He didn’t respond right away. She could feel him watching her, analyzing her like she was a bounty with too many moving parts.

She held her breath.

Then he sat down fully, pulling the child a little closer.

Selene reached under the counter, sliding over a small plate with a danish and a napkin. “For the little one,” she said softly. “On the house.”

The child cooed and reached eagerly for the treat, tiny claws tugging at the pastry.

The Mandalorian gave a slight nod. “He approves.”

Selene let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. A warm smile tugged at her lips.

“I won’t be staying long,” the Mandalorian said, voice even, almost too casual. “Just stopped by before heading out.”

Her hand paused halfway to her cup. “You found your bounty, then?” she tried to ask casually bringing her mug to her lips.

His helmet tilted a fraction. “I did.”

Selene swallowed. She didn’t know what she expected, of course he would just leave after finishing his task.

But there was something in the way he said it—not final, not sharp. Just... unfinished.

“Well,” she said, feigning brightness, “I hope R’hye treated you kindly while you were here.”

A pause.

“It had its moments.”

Their eyes didn’t meet—couldn’t, not with the helmet. But something in the air shifted. That unspoken tension hummed between them, familiar and strange all at once.

Selene looked down, fussing with her cup, suddenly unsure of her hands. “Safe travels, then.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stayed there, watching her for another breath too long.

Then finally:

“Maybe I’ll be back.”

She looked up, surprised, but he was already rising from the stool, the child bundled in his arms, still munching on the last bite of danish.

Selene opened her mouth to say something—she wasn’t sure what—but the moment was already slipping.

He nodded once and turned toward the door.

She looked down and saw another thick pile of credits on the table. And just before the door shut behind him, she swore she heard him say, almost too quiet to catch:

Well, for starters—it began as a dump. Sticky floors, dirty mugs... it was the kind of place that drew in the wrong crowd.

Rick inherited it after the original owner couldn’t pay off his debt to him. And of course, he left it for Selene to run by herself.

She cleaned it up. Made it into a legitimate business.

The only problem? Every time she got ahead, Rick managed to screw things up.

He took money meant to pay others. He brought in his rowdy group of “friends” to drink for free. He even stole bottles from behind the bar.

She unlocked the front doors and stepped outside, letting the cool wind brush against her face. The Star’s End sat far enough from the fishing docks to stay dry, but close enough that the scent of salt and seaweed still lingered in the air.

It was tucked along the main road—just past the bustle of the harbor, but just before the vendor stalls and market stands that marked the edge of town.

The building itself stood two stories tall, all weather-worn wood and soft edges, like it had been part of the town forever. She spent days attaching warm string lights hung along the awning outside, the place emitted a soft, golden glow even before the suns were fully up.

Selene even hand-painted the sign above the entrance reading The Star’s End. The bottom floor held the bar and dining space, while the second floor was the living space for her… and Rick.

The rest of the morning was uneventful, regulars coming in getting caf, hungry fishermen coming off of their early morning shift looking for a warm plate of food.

Selene felt like she was going through the motions haphazardly until she heard something coming from the closed off kitchen.

“Here you go hun.” She said with a soft smile while setting a plate of meat skewers and rice to a new regular who liked to read the paper by himself at the bar, away from everyone else.

“I’ll be right back” She called out not to anyone in particular, mostly everyone who came in knew it was just her working there and gave her grace when she got slammed with orders.

She pushed through the swinging kitchen doors and caught sight of Rick sitting on a stool, helping himself to the meat pies she’d prepped for the lunch rush.

Of course.

She sighed loudly through her nose. He turned to look at her mid-bite, completely unbothered.

“Hi baby,” he said, still chewing.

She grabbed the warm sheet pan from in front of him and started stacking the pies onto a serving plate, slapping a glass lid on top to keep him from grabbing more.

“Well, look at that,” she said dryly. “Up before noon. Big plans today, or were you just doing quality control?”

Rick smirked. “Actually, yeah. Gonna meet Zed down by the docks—he owes me a few credits. Might swing by Rallo’s after that to double it.”

“Wow. Sounds like a busy day,” she said, unimpressed.

“While you’re out doing all that, maybe one of your buddies can finally fix the toilet in the refresher?”

This would be the fourth time she’d asked. Selene wore a lot of hats at The Star’s End—cook, cleaner, bartender, waitress—but plumbing was one skill she hadn’t quite mastered yet.

“Mhmm,” Rick hummed in that patronizing tone of his. “Like I said, babe, he can only squeeze us in between his real appointments. He’s doing us a favor, remember?” His voice went soft, the kind people used when breaking bad news to a toddler—like that would somehow make it easier to swallow. Then, without warning, his arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his lips pressing light, lazy kisses to the top of her head.

“Where did you go this morning?” He said in between kisses

Typical fucking Rick.

She rested her hands on his, but not out of affection—more out of control. If she had to endure this, she could at least manage it.

“I had to get everything prepped for the week,” she said, keeping her voice even. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

You would’ve just gotten in the way.

He made a low hum of acknowledgment, then let go and slipped out through the kitchen doors into the dining area.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath and followed him, just in case.

The second Rick stepped onto the floor, he switched it on—the charm, the swagger. He greeted fishermen by name, shook hands, clapped backs, slid a few credits across the bar, winked at a lady on the other end of the bar.

“Hey Ricky!”

“What’s up, man?”

“When we shootin’ dice again?”

Selene returned to the grill, flipping the skewers and keeping one eye on him the entire time.

Then he made his way behind the bar, back to her. “Alright, I’m off. You think you can manage without me?”

She couldn’t tell if he was joking or genuinely delusional. Instead of answering, she plucked two skewers from the grill and handed them to him—her silent way of hurrying him along.

He took them with a grin and leaned in for a kiss.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t lean away. Just glared at him through her lashes and gave him a quick peck—eyes still open.

Their marriage had never been built on love. Selene had been young when they met. Alone. No family, no money—just a string of bad jobs and worse luck. And when Rick came along with a smile and a promise, he seemed like an answer. A way out.

At first, it even felt real. He said all the right things, played the part of a caring partner. He wasn’t even ugly. Nice smile. Long lashes. Strong.

She needed someone strong.

He filled her head with lies about building something together. But the moment the papers were signed, everything shifted.

She became the one holding the business together—cooking, cleaning, paying bills—while he sank deeper into late nights, bad bets, and a steady haze of alcohol.

Now, six years in, Selene couldn’t even remember the last time they felt like husband and wife. He had his affairs and a string of lovers. And she had the bar.

They still lived together, but only because neither had anywhere else to go.

She didn’t love him. She wasn’t even sure she ever had. But at the time, it felt better than being alone. Now it just felt like another trap she couldn’t escape.

“Don’t wait up for me,” he said, slapping her on the ass as he passed.

She didn’t respond. Just watched him stroll out through the back, whistling like he didn’t have a single care in the world.

The lunch rush came and went. The fishermen had returned to the docks, leaving behind empty mugs and scattered plates. Selene moved through the dining area, stacking dishes high in her arms before dropping them into the sink to soak.

“You’ve got some muscles on you, girl,” came a perky voice from behind her.

Demetria—Demi, as most people called her—was hard to miss. The first time she walked into The Star’s End, every man in the room had tried to buy her a drink or charm her into taking them home. Selene had poured her shot after shot that night, but Demi left alone, dropping a generous tip on the bar even though her drinks had all been covered.

Selene loved her instantly.

Since then, their friendship has bloomed. They talked about everything—or at least, Demi did. Selene didn’t have much of a life to share, but she loved listening to Demi’s stories, especially about how she grew up. Demi had a way of making even the smallest details sound like an adventure.

“Well, if I knew you were just watching me clean, I would’ve made you help,” Selene said, genuinely smiling for the first time that day.

They gave each other a quick embrace, and then Demi launched into a story about the latest man she was planning to marry.

Selene listened thoughtfully as she worked.

By the end of Demi’s long story, even she didn’t seem sure if she wanted to marry him after all.

“And when you think about it, how can I marry someone who’s the same height as me? I mean, what if I need help reaching the top shelf? How is he going to help?” Demi was talking too fast now, her voice climbing higher and higher.

“I mean... you could always just get a stool,” Selene said, setting down a large plate of Spiced Reef Fish for a mother and her two kids.

“You know that’s not what I mean, Sel. I need someone to take care of me.”

Selene smirked as she wiped down a table, pocketing the credits left behind.

“You mean you want someone tall enough to reach your wine glasses and rich enough to pay for the wine.”

Demi giggled, clutching her chest dramatically. “See? You get me!”

Selene smiled to herself and moved on to pour drinks for a group of vendors visiting on their break. “Do you ever think about that, though?” Demi asked softly. “Letting someone take care of you for once?”

Selene snorted. “Yeah, right.”

When she turned back, her eyes met Demi’s—watery and concerned.

“Don’t start, Demi,” Selene said firmly. She refused to let anyone feel sorry for her.

“I know, I know. I’m not supposed to cry over you,” Demi said, her voice soft and shaky as she took a deep breath.

“There are people who have it much worse than me. I’m doing just fine.” Selene gave her a tight squeeze, then handed her a towel. “Now here—wipe your eyes and start opening the windows.”

“You’re such a bitch,” Demi laughed, getting up to let the cool air into The Star’s End.

Selene went through the kitchen doors, unloading the dishwasher and starting the next load. She knew she could take a minute back here now that Demi was out there.

Selene wouldn’t call her an employee, but she definitely helped out more than Rick ever did. Maybe Selene should’ve married her instead.

She sat down, thankful for the chance to give her feet a rest. It was heading into late afternoon, and she still had the whole night ahead of her.

She made a quick sandwich, eating it way too fast—her body would hate her for it later. Maybe she’d pour herself a drink before the night rush started, just to loosen up a little.

Grabbing the large dish rack of mugs and plates, she pushed through the doors into the bar.

Demi was there, talking to another regular about her latest dilemma.

“So do you think I should let him down easy, or should I just tell him it’s because of his height?” Selene laughed to herself as she started wiping the dishes dry, getting them ready for the night.

She got into a groove, losing herself in the rhythm of her work, humming quietly—until she heard the front door swing open.

Conversations died down. Even Demi was quiet, which was practically unheard of.

“Welcome in, what can I get you?” Selene said, turning toward the new visitor.

And there he was. Tall, broad, wearing a visor and full beskar armor.

A Mandalorian.

He walked toward her slowly, scanning the room as he moved.

Selene’s eyes dropped to the small bundle at his hip. A child—green-skinned, ears too big for its head, large dark eyes—peeked out from a sling strapped to his side, gazing at the world with curiosity.

She cleared her throat and set her rag aside. “Out of all the things I expected to see today, a Mandalorian was not one,” she said, half-joking.

The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted slightly toward her.

“Didn’t expect to find decent food on this rock.” Selene smirked.

“Welp, you’re in luck. I happen to serve more-than-decent food, hot caf, and alcohol. Are you eating, or is this a pit stop for the baby?”

He stepped forward slowly, the wood floor creaking under his weight.

“Just stopping for food—for the kid.”

As if on cue, the green child reached out toward Selene, little fingers curling like he wanted her to pick him up.

Too cute.

“Table or bar?” she asked.

“Bar.”

He took a stool at the far end, the child still snug against his chest, now sitting on the bar in front of him.

The only other person at the bar quickly finished his drink, dropped a few credits, and left.

A few patrons peeked over their shoulders, then returned to their drinks. Demi watched from her table, eyes wide.

Selene poured a glass of water and slid it in front of him.

“Something toddler-friendly?”

“Whatever you recommend.” He looked down at the child. “The more protein, the better.” He sighed.

She gave him a quick once-over, then nodded.

“Right. It'll be out in a moment.”

As she turned to head into the kitchen, the quiet began to fade, conversations restarting once people realized they weren’t in danger.

Of course, none of the current patrons would be on the Mandalorian’s radar—these were townspeople, dockworkers, families. If it were nighttime, when the wanderers and shady types came in, it might be a different story.

There’s nothing to worry about, she told herself as she got his food ready.

She decided to serve him her Caf-Braised Brisket Bowl—rice, veggies, tender meat. Simple, but effective. Enough to leave anyone full.

Selene placed the steaming brisket bowl in front of him alongside a wooden spoon.

“I hope the little one’s okay with vegetables. If not, no dessert,” Selene said in a mock-stern voice, directing it toward the child.

The kid giggled and tried to wriggle out of the Mandalorian’s grip.

The Mandalorian sighed and let him go. The child immediately reached for the food with eager hands.

“That won’t be a problem with him. He’ll eat anything,” he said.

Selene raised a brow, half-smiling. “Nothing for you? I’ve got plenty.”

“Just for the kid,” he replied shortly.

Selene should’ve left it at that—should’ve minded her business and gone about her day.

But instead, before she could stop herself, she asked, “You passing through?” as she dried her hands on a towel.

“Maybe. Depends on how things go.” He didn’t elaborate.

She shook her head. “Mysterious. You bounty types always like that, or is it just the helmet?”

He paused. “It helps.”

Selene huffed a short laugh, watching the kid scarf down the last piece of the brisket bowl.

“That normal for him?” she asked, lifting the empty bowl to the Mandalorian’s eye line, as if he hadn’t just watched the kid inhale it.

“He took a long nap.” His tone suggested it had been anything but that.

“Do you mind if I get him more? I meant it when I said I’ve got plenty.”

The Mandalorian gave a silent nod.

Selene nodded back, stealing a glance to make sure Demi hadn’t exploded from curiosity. She hadn’t—though she was clearly eavesdropping like her life depended on it.

Selene plated another generous helping for the child, then packed an extra portion into a box and closed it up.

“Here’s that second helping,” she said, offering a wide smile to the child, who grinned back.

“This is for after he’s done with supper,” she added, sliding a couple of cookies wrapped in napkins toward the Mandalorian.

“And this—” she said quickly, holding out the box of food to him, “—is for you. For later. No charge, just something warm when you’ve got time to eat.”

The Mandalorian said nothing. The only sound was the child working his way through the second plate.

“Well, if you need more food or a drink—you’ve found the right rock,” Selene said, wiping her hands. “Just don’t bring any trouble through my door. There’s enough of that going around as it is.”

“No trouble,” he replied simply. “Just food.”