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Chapter Text

It wasn’t hard to get separated from the other younglings. The nanny droids were generally good for one thing: making sure their charges followed the (copious) rules, but they were less proficient at keeping track of every single child in their care. It was just the matter of lagging behind the group as they wandered the empty halls of the Senate building, and when the larger group turned a corner to visit the chambers of the Arkansian delegation, Kyla ducked into another office and hid in the shadows until she couldn’t hear the droning of the tour guide. 

Finally, Kyla thought, scratching irritably at her head. Mother had forced her to sit still while she deftly wove braids across her scalp, and even though she was promised a new holo later that afternoon, it wasn’t enough to cure Kyla of her bad mood. She’d been hauled out of bed and into the refresher that morning without a moment to fully wake up, and the shower didn’t even help—not when mother wouldn’t let Kyla play with her little plasti starships or fill the sonic stall with enormous, green-tinged bubbles that smelled like mint. 

“It’s not a shower without bubbles,” Kyla grumbled as her mother dragged a brush through her still-wet curls. Her head moved with every stroke, and Kyla tried to jerk away in a bid for escape, but Elsie toddled in with a tray of breakfast and she stilled. It was a bribe, Kyla was pretty sure—bribes were something Dad talked about under his breath when he thought Mother couldn’t hear him, and she was almost certain it had to do with food or extra time at the children’s gym. Dad sometimes told her it would just be “a little longer, starfighter, so go on and play some more—and here’s a sweet bribe for my sweet girl—” he tossed her a sweet or a credit to buy a ice cream while he talked in hushed voices with people in strange outfits who Kyla knew Mother wouldn’t approve of. 

“You can have bubbles another day, sweetheart,” Mother had said, and then she launched into a one-sided conversation that Kyla mostly tuned out as she crunched on toast. Something about the Senate—Mother’s job—and being on her best behavior, and other children for Kyla to play with. 

The only thing worse than mother’s too-tight braids was the fact that she expected Kyla to want to play with children she didn’t even know, and Kyla had announced that a Sarlacc erupting from the depths of Coruscant’s lower levels, devouring her in a single slurping bite would be preferable. Mother was not impressed with her vivid imagination, so Kyla stewed as her braids were finished, taking too-large bites of toast and pretending she was the Sarlacc and could do what she wanted with her day. 

She didn’t care about Youngling Day at the Senate. She’d already seen everything there, anyway: Mother’s office in the Alderaanean chambers, the cafeteria that was somehow always out of sweetmallow cakes, and the refreshers whose hand-dryers used to make Kyla cry because they were so loud.

Mother had dropped her off with the other younglings before she swept a kiss across Kyla’s forehead and promised to pick her up at the end of the day, and she didn’t even blink when Kyla stomped her foot and demanded to be taken back home. It had taken all of two minutes and a brief glance around the playroom for her to make the decision: If Mother wouldn’t take her home, then Kyla would find her own way back. Dad had taught her how to hail a droid taxi, and since Mother made sure that Kyla was wearing her chain code tucked into an inner pocket of her dress, the taxi would know exactly where to take her. It was almost as if Mother wanted her to leave the tour group and go back to their apartment. 

Kyla had done the first part of the plan: escape without notice. The next part—sneak down the back corridors and stairs until she reached the landing level—would be trickier to accomplish without notice, but she was nothing if not confident. She had just gotten to her feet and was just about to sneak back down the hallway when a small girl came out of nowhere and stood in front of Kyla, her hands on her tiny hips. 

“What are you doing?” She demanded, giving Kyla an up-and-down glare. She looked familiar, but then again, all the children on their tour were wearing matching uniforms: a grey smock over blue leggings and long-sleeved shirt. The smock was embroidered with the Republic’s crest done in matching blue, and when Mother had pulled the dress over her head and straightened the hem, she’d poked the middle of the cog, trying to turn Kyla’s pout into a giggle. It hadn’t worked. 

“Going home,” said Kyla irritably. Every moment she spent talking to this girl was a moment she could have been at home, reading one of her books or working on the spare parts Dad had left out, and she was annoyed at being made to wait. 

“But the tour isn’t done yet—”

“Tour’s boring. I’d rather be at home.” 

“I’ve never been here before,” the other girl said as she shuffled in place, her shoes drawing designs on the carpet. “It’s interesting.” 

Kyla scoffed. “I’ve been here lots of times. It’s boring. Trust me.” 

“Your hair’s pretty, though,” The girl offered, reaching her fingers out as if to touch the intricate braids, but Kyla jerked her head away with a glare. The curious fingers flew to the girl's own hair, twisting the end of her pigtail braids wistfully as she still stared at Kyla’s plaits atop her head. 

“I hate it. Mother does it too tight. And my ears are out.” 

Shrugging, the girl withdrew a bag of candy from her pocket and began digging through it. Picking a brightly colored piece and popping it into her mouth, the girl chewed madly. Sticky taffy was spiderwebbed to her teeth and her tongue was stained orange as she grinned at Kyla, holding out the bag in some sort of peace offering.

“I’m Rey. What’s your name?” 

Kyla sighed a long-suffering sigh, and replied so quickly that the girl— Rey— squinted at her and screwed her face up as she worked out where one name stopped and the next began. 

“Kyla Breha Amidala Organa-Solo. And I want to go home.” 

“If you stay, you can share my candy,” Rey said, shaking the bag towards Kyla again. Kyla inched closer and peeked in, but before she could select a candy, Rey snatched the bag back, clutching it to her chest with a sly grin on her face. 

“You can share my candy,” she repeated, “if you can get us onto one of the repulsorpods. Because you’ve been here so many times.” 

Kyla gaped at her, because while she wasn’t adverse to a certain amount of rule-breaking, bypassing the security system to get to one of the Senate’s viewing platforms was something she could get in real, actual trouble for. 

Rey must have seen the look on Kyla’s face, because she wheedled, “Unless you’re scared?” 

“I’m not scared,” snapped Kyla, balling her fists at her sides; ready to defend herself against such accusations against her bravery. But…maybe she was scared, just a little bit. Not scared of the repulsorpod or cracking the code to open the locked door, but scared of what Mother would say. Scared to disappoint her, scared to see that furrow between her brow and that specific tightening of her lips. Even at six, Kyla was well-acquainted with that look, although most often it was directed towards her dad’s retreating back. 

“Or can you just not do it?” Rey asked slyly, crunching a piece of hard candy into powder between her front teeth as she skirted around Kyla and peered at the computer terminal that was embedded into the wall. 

“I can!” Kyla insisted, already reaching into her pocket for the multitool she swiped off of her desk at home when her mother wasn’t looking. “Just watch—”

With her tongue caught between her teeth, Kylo shouldered Rey out of the way and ejected the scomp link from the multitool. Thrusting it into the socket, she let the hand-held machine work its magic as both girls watched the gears spin with baited breath. Rey crouched next to her, and the berry scent of her candy filled Kyla’s nose and made her mouth water in anticipation of the promised prize. 

Over the steady whirr of the machinery, the sudden electro-tuned voices of droids made fear pool at the base of Kyla’s spine, and she whirled around to face the hallway door.

“It’s the nanny droids,” she hissed at Rey, who was still staring transfixed at the scomp, one hand still buried in her bag of sweets. “We gotta go—” 

The droid’s footfalls came closer in a familiar thud-thud, thud-thud rhythm, and just when Kyla was preparing to sprint to hide behind a couch, sticky fingers speared between her own and then Rey was holding her hand—

“It's not,” Rey whispered back, holding Kyla’s hand with surprising strength even as Kyla struggled to free herself. “It's the cleaning droids. Listen—”

Rey’s hand was warm in hers, and Kyla let the smaller girl tug her down to a crouch as they both stared at the open door to the hallway. Kyla held her breath as a pair of cleaning droids toddled by with a hovercart in front of them, but the two humanoid robots didn’t spare a single glance their way. Once they passed, Kyla blew out a relieved breath, and when Rey got to her feet, she allowed the other girl to tug her up as well. Shoulder-to-shoulder, they stared at the computer terminal and willed the door to unlock. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” murmured Rey, her fingers twitching against the back of Kyla’s hand and before she could stop herself, Kyla was echoing her murmured encouragement.

“Come on, come on—”

The machinery clicked and whirred, and Kyla glanced at Rey, afraid that the other girl would decide this wasn’t worth waiting for and leave her alone with the locked scomp link and no candy for her trouble. Kylan was close enough to see the smattering of freckles sprayed across Rey’s slightly upturned nose. They weren’t anything like her own beauty marks, the ones that were darker and larger—the ones that children at school made her cry about in her grandmother’s arms while Breha promised her that they were the echoes of a constellation not yet discovered. 

Just when Kyla was starting to wonder if the scomp wasn’t ever going to work, and as Rey shuffled her feet across the carpet again, there was a soft metal-on-metal clicking sound, and the doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss. Beyond them, the cavernous hollow that made up the Senate chamber loomed, shrouded in darkness and silence. 

“Wizard,” Rey breathed as she let go of Kyla’s hand to tiptoe through the door frame and towards the repulsorpod. Kyla didn’t wait for the scomp to eject before she followed Rey, still keeping an eye on the hallway just in case. They stepped onto the repulsorpod together, the floor beneath them shifting ever-so-slightly as the antigrav engines adjusted to their presence. 

The chamber was enormous, and the last time Kyla had visited her mother at work it had been full to bursting with droids and beings from planets that spanned the known galaxy. The noise had been deafening, and any open space was filled with cameras and microphones, which only added to the cacophony. Kyla didn’t like it—both the noise and the lights were too much— but seeing it like this, completely empty and entirely silent made Kyla wonder if she liked it even less. 

Before Kyla could blink, Rey was kneeling on the cushioned seats that spanned the circumference of the pod, stretching across the balustrade on her belly and craning her neck to get a better view. She had dropped her bag of candy in her excitement, and sweets in every color of the rainbow spilled across the black upholstery. 

“You should get off,” Kyla told Rey, as she shoved candies back into the bag. “Someone’s gonna find us and we’re gonna get in trouble.” 

“Trouble—trouble—trouble—” Kyla’s words echoed throughout the dome, but it may as well have been in Huttese for all that Rey didn’t listen, so Kyla plopped down in one of the front-facing chairs with a huff. She helped herself to a piece of candy, picking a yellow-speckled cube after examining each option in turn. Artificial shuura fruit flavor coated her mouth as soon as the candy landed on Kyla’s tongue, and she scowled.

“What, don’t you like it?” Rey was suddenly in the seat next to her, and one hand was buried in the bag of candy that sat between them. 

“It doesn’t taste real,” grumbled Kyla, wishing she could politely spit the candy out somewhere.

Rey looked at her oddly. “Of course it’s real. It’s candy.” She shoved more sweets in her mouth and kicked her feet, the heels of her shoes clanging loudly against the durasteel of the platform.

“Don’t make so much noise!” 

“Why? No one’s around to hear us.” 

“But they could be,” Kyla mumbled stubbornly, trying to ignore the way Rey’s sticky fingers were touching the adjacent console, bringing up the lights until their pod was awash in a soft golden glow. 

Silence lapsed, the only sound between them the rustle of plasti-foil as Rey rummaged for more candy, until the only two that remained were the green and purple bellfruit-flavored ones that Rey said confidently were “dis-gust- ing” . 

“This is kind of boring,” Rey said suddenly. “Nothing’s happening. I thought it would move or fly or something.” 

Kyla giggled, despite herself. “I told you! All the senators do here is talk. It’s awful.” 

“I thought they helped people, though?”

“Mother says mostly they just argue with each other,” Kyla said confidently. “I’ve been here and watched. Even with loads of people, it’s still boring.” 

“Ugh,” Rey groaned, and slumped back into the seat, slithering down the leather until all that remained on the cushion were her braids. Her hair was a lighter shade of brown than Kyla’s, but in the plaits there were some strands that looked gold, and others that looked red—so much more interesting than Kyla’s near-black waves that had been yanked into submission on the top of her head. Reaching out to gently trace one golden hair, Kyla murmured, “Your hair’s pretty, too.” 

Rey tipped her face up and grinned at Kyla, showcasing a wiggly front tooth. “Really?” 

Kyla nodded solemnly, and Rey’s smile spread. “Wizard.” 

“I’m hungry,” Kyla complained, just before her stomach let out a mighty growl. Both girls had taken off their shoes and were laying on their bellies, their stocking-clad feet kicking in the air as they rested their chins in their hands. 

“You could have had more candy,” Rey replied, but her stomach gave a resounding gurgle in reply that sent both girls into peals of giggles.

“Maybe we should find the group again. I bet it's almost lunchtime.” Once she caught her breath, Kyla’s voice was wistful as she thought about the enormous cafeteria in the basement of the Senate building. 

“There might be nerf kebabs.”

“Jogan fruit pie,” countered Rey.

Kyla sat up. “Cushnip and fral.” 

“Rum custard!” 

“Roast queg.” 

“Jogan fruitcake,” said Rey firmly, and Kyla wrinkled her nose in distaste. 

“I like sweetmallow cakes better.” 

“Those are good,” Rey agreed with a dreamy sigh. “I like all sorts of cake.”

“On Alderaan, Cook makes the best sweetmallow cakes. He makes it for my name day every year. And then we go on a picnic” 

“I’ve never been on a picnic. I never get to go anywhere,” Rey murmured, and Kyla froze. 

How was it possible? Mother and Dad took Kyla on all sorts of outings and picnics: on Coruscant, on Alderaan, even on Chandrila when they visited. Despite how busy Mother was with work, she always made time for Kyla—and if she wasn’t there, Dad was. Or Uncle Chewie. Or even Uncle Lando, sometimes. All of the grown-ups took her places. It was just what grown-ups did. 

“Wish I could go somewhere nice. Grandfather says that we have a house on Naboo that’s almost a castle but he won’t take me. No one will.” Rey’s lip was between her lips and suddenly she wouldn’t meet Kyla’s eyes. 

“You’ve never been on a picnic?” Kyla still couldn’t wrap her mind around this truth—not to mention the suggestion that Rey didn’t have anyone other than the grandfather she didn’t seem to like much. 

Rey stiffened and glared at Kyla, her lip popping free and curling into a sneer. “No. So what? Someday I’ll take myself to Naboo and go swimming in the lakes and go on loads of picnics and do everything I want! It doesn’t matter what you think!” 

At some point during her proclamation, Rey sat up, her hands forming tight little fists in her lap while angry tears glistened in her eyelashes. Kyla had no idea what to do—all she’d wanted to know is how a girl her own age had never gone on a picnic! Everyone she knew went on loads of picnics when the weather was nice and their parents could get away from work. 

“I’m…sorry?” Kyla said tentatively. “I bet my dad would take us. He flies everywhere. He’s real fast. And his ship is so cool,” she offered, as a sort of peace offering—kind of like Rey’s plasti-foil bag of candies had been—but Rey’s eyes narrowed for a long moment as she considered Kyla’s offer.

Finally, her forehead smoothed out and she grinned at Kyla. “I heard your dad was a smuggler.”

“Shut up! He is not!” Kyla laughed at the thought of it—because her dad? No way. 

“That’s what my grandfather said,” Rey said confidently. “That he was a smuggler and maybe even a pirate.” 

“So what if he is? I bet that makes him even faster. He did the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs.” 

Rey cocked her head to the side. “I don’t even know what that is.” 

Kyla considered. She didn’t know exactly what it meant either, but Dad told everyone that he’d done it, so it must mean something good. “Well. It’s fast. Probably the fastest ever.” 

Rey dropped back down to the carpet, laying on her back and propping her feet on the cushioned chair. 

“Can you fly?” 

“Dad lets me help take off and push the hyperspace throttle.” Kyla rolled to her back too, nestling her toes next to Rey’s on the chair. 

“Ok, but that’s not really flying. You don’t steer or anything.”

“It counts!” Kyla elbowed Rey in the ribs, earning her a giggle as Rey squirmed away. 

“Does not!” 

“Does too! Dad said so!” 

“Well, your dad’s wrong.”

“Is not—”

“Is—”

“Children!” a sharp robotic voice interrupted their argument, and both Rey and Kyla sprang to their feet, finding each other's hands as they faced one of the nanny droids they’d spent the day avoiding.

Both girls fell into sulky silence as the droid ordered them to put their shoes on, ushering them out of the repulsorpod and back into the Senate hallway, where the rest of their group waited.

“You will be returned to your adults and they will be issued a warning about allowing their younglings to wander without permission,” the droid intoned, herding the two girls in the opposite direction from the rest of the children towards the banks of turbolifts, where they were met by two humanoid caretakers—presumably one for each other.

Rey and Kyla were separated, despite the tight grip they had on each other's hands, and when one of the caretakers prompted her to ‘ say goodbye, and be polite ,’ Rey stepped forward and took Kyla’s hands in hers. Anticipating a formal handshake, Kyla tried to arrange her fingers correctly, but Rey instead bobbed forward and pressed a brief, sticky kiss on each of Kyla’s cheeks. Then, with their hands still between them, Rey bowed at the waist until the backs of her Kyla’s hands touched her forehead, and only then did she straighten up and let go. 

It was over in an instant, and Kyla was pretty sure that it was a ceremonial greeting like the kind Mother made her practice before fancy parties—but it was also the first time she’d ever been kissed by someone other than her parents who didn’t tower over her or smell like cigarra smoke or too much perfume. Instead, Rey smelled like the candy they had shared, and her hands were warm where they held onto Kyla, and it made her feel…kind of warm inside. Not quite happy, but also much less miserable than she’d been that morning. 

There wasn’t time to say goodbye, or thank you, or anything at all before the girls were escorted towards separate turbolifts, their caretakers acting as if either of them were about to make another run for it. Kyla knew she'd be taken to Mother's office, with the wide windows that overlooked the shipping lanes and the strange murals on old rocks that bracketed the doors. Mother would be behind her enormous desk, which would be covered in datapads, and her hair would be up in braids that matched Kyla's. She'd rise to greet them when the door opened, thinking it was another visitor, but when Kyla would walk in with the caretaker, Mother would give her a disappointed look and shake her head before sitting back down in her chair, preparing to teach a lesson that Kyla should have learned by now. Kyla should have been thinking of a good explanation for her behavior, or trying to create a distraction, but instead, as the turbolift's doors slid shut and she felt the lift begin to rise, she only wondered if she'd ever see Rey again.  

Chapter Text

The white streaks of hyperspace slowed past the viewport, each line disappearing until a field of stars against a midnight background appeared in their place, half a galaxy away from the polluted skies of a pre-dawn Coruscant where the shuttle took off from, a reluctant and recalcitrant Kyla the only passenger. 

Mother would have called the position Kyla was in (slumped against the wall with her forehead pressed theatrically against the cool glass of the window) a “melodramatic pile of feelings,” but that didn’t stop Kyla from sighing again, even if there was no one around to hear her. 

Uncle Luke had gifted Threepio to Kyla before the trip, and the droid had teetered stiff-legged and straight-backed up the gangplank as well and installed himself next to the couch at her side. Kyla lasted all of two hours before reaching behind the droid’s head and switching him off manually, and she wished that Luke had given her something useful or interesting or at least something that couldn’t lecture her when she slouched. 

While that decision saved Kyla from Threepio’s endless ‘useful tips’ on decorum and behavior, it also turned the shuttle eerily quiet, save for the engines and life support systems working in the background. 

Three days of silence was almost enough to make her excited about the Legislative Youth Program. 

Almost. 

Naboo loomed large as the pilot pointed the shuttle downward, a descent that felt both like an inevitable fiery crash and the beginning of what would surely be the worst six weeks of Kyla’s life. Thick clouds and swirls of mist evaporated as they approached the planet, a verdant surface of greens and blues expanding as far as Kyla could see. Sailing ships with enormous white and gold sails drifted across huge lakes fed by white-foamed waterfalls and lazy rivers that cut through thick forests, only to puddle together into water that appeared almost too blue. Shuttles made their way across the planet’s surface, moving so slowly that Kyla was certain that  they must have been just as caught up in the beauty of the planet as she was, despite herself. 

Kyla had stepped foot on more planets than she could count, but even before she caught sight of Theed spreading in all directions below her, all terra cotta roofs and stucco walls climbing with greenery, she knew that Naboo was somewhere special. Good thing, too, she thought grumpily, as her shuttle crossed a vast market square with more cloth-draped booths than she could count. She was going to need every inch of Theed’s sun-drenched beauty to make up for the Legislative Youth Program. 

Spending six weeks learning how to wade through parliamentary procedure only to have to practice defending laws that would improve the lives of the very people who didn’t want them enacted was a nightmare beyond even Kyla’s vivid imagination. Grandmother Padme had participated before she was elected Queen, but Kyla had no such aspirations nor opportunities on her homeworld of Alderaan. Truthfully, Leia thought that this would be good for her, and her final words to Kyla on the landing platform had been, “Make some friends.” 

As if it were all that easy. 

It wasn’t that Kyla was adverse to the possibility of a life in public service. In fact, she liked the idea of helping people and improving lives—but she’d rather do it behind the scenes. She wasn’t like her mother, whose no-nonsense attitude and way with words made her a force for change in front of a lectern or amongst the people she served. She also didn’t have the steady, calming disposition of her grandfather Bail, or the bravery and eagerness of her father. Kyla was a foreign entity to her family; a disappointment never discussed but somehow always silently acknowledged. 

She had no Force abilities like Uncle Luke or the rarely-mentioned Anakin Skywalker. 

No deep political interests or opinions like Mother. 

No desire to escape the drudgery of a planetary life by spending time amongst the stars on the Falcon like Dad. 

The expectations of her family’s bloodline weighed heavily on her shoulders, and even as a toddler, it seemed as if there were only two possible paths for her to take: either a two-faced life in politics or the ascetic life of a Jedi. 

Luke’s Jedi school was no place for an unexpectedly Force-null teenager, and with that bad hand of genetic sabaac, her future was decided for her. Even her mother (and Uncle Lando, and Maz, and definitely Uncle Luke) thought she was missing out, but as Kyla grew up and found out more about the potential of her ancestry, she was grateful not to be led down such a path. Libraries and studying and the subtle art of lawmaking behind the scenes were much more appealing—especially when you compare them with the nightmares Kyla had as a little girl: of masked warriors swinging lightsabers around in a forest, the snow on the ground painted with blood.

Before Kyla’s thoughts could snag once again on the nightmares she couldn’t forget, the shuttle’s pilot effortlessly brought them into a covered landing bay overlooking a valley blanketed in grass and delicate white flowers. With a shudder, the landing pads engaged and for the first time in three days, Kyla was subject to a planet’s own gravity. 

The welcome party was less an ambassadorial delegation and more a cluster of platform workers to bring along her luggage, and for that, Kyla was grateful. The less small talk and effusive praise she had to dredge up from her mother’s lessons, the better for all of them. Instead, they barely spoke at all, and she had been led to an open-air planetary transport and was driven through the winding, cobbled streets of Theed towards her temporary apartments near the Royal Academy. 

Food stalls lined the streets and the smells of frying meat and fresh bread permeated the air. Kyla’s stomach growled, and she hoped that she’d arrived late enough in the day that dinner would be served sooner rather than later. The further into the town they went, the spice-laden breezes were replaced by sweet honeysuckle, and the booths shaded by swaths of fabric became few and far between. Vibrant purple bougainvillea climbed up the side of buildings and twisted across balconies until entire streets were shaded in glossy green leaves and amethyst blooms, and Kyla sucked in deep breaths of fresh, honeyed air.  

Naboo certainly was beautiful, and Kyla couldn’t bring herself to hate the planet itself, Legislative Youth Program or no. At least not yet. 

The transport passed under a curved archway and stopped in the courtyard of a sprawling, pink-stone building, and as the door slid aside with a soft ding to urge Kyla to her feet, a tall, willowy older woman emerged from a portico to greet her. Her hair was pulled away from her face and piled on top of her head in an effortless way that Kyla could never quite emulate, even if she had the gold hair clips and pins that her escort had used. Her short-sleeved robes swayed in the slight breeze as Kyla stepped into the afternoon sun, but it was the colors of the garment that stopped her short.

Alderaanean fashionistas generally kept to the deep blues, greys, and whites that were traditional, and while Kyla had seen far more risque and revealing fashions on Coruscant, this gown was something entirely different. Simply cut and masterfully tailored by an expert in their craft, the fabric appeared to be different colors depending on how Kyla looked at it: straight on, the garment was the soft pink of a most delicate flower, but as she led Kyla under a shaded veranda, the fabric shifted and turned a deep purple. Once they were inside, the woman stopped in front of a sunny window to allow Kyla to catch up, and the dress was a shade of barely-there lavender. 

The woman’s robes caught so much of Kyla’s attention that she had barely enough sense to listen to what was surely a well-rehearsed welcome speech. Something about a welcome dinner later that night, and that the apartments had been built three hundred years ago by a former Queen interested in architecture? The only thing Kyla was certain of was that instructional seminars would begin in the morning, and that thought had her stewing as apprehension made her stomach sink. 

The interior of the building centered around a sprawling open entryway with staircases on opposite sides, leading to second and third floor galleries. Overhead, a ring of windows held up a domed roof, letting the sun in so everything was cast in light so beautifully golden that it looked like someone had conjured it up from a dream. Kyla’s apartments were on the second floor towards the back of the building, and she dutifully followed the woman across thick carpets, peering into still-open doors of other chambers beyond. 

Each arched door stretched nearly to the ceiling and blended in seamlessly with the decor: frames of gold and ivory, the doors themselves decorated with curved lines and abstract patterns that brought to mind seaweed floating in a lake, or a kite’s tail in the wind. Kyla’s apartment door opened without a sound, and the woman who must have gotten the hint that her young charge had a hatred of small talk, gave a little bow and disappeared somewhere down the stairs again, leaving Kyla alone in her brand new rooms. 

They were on the small side—they must be, for how many doors there were off of the hall—but beautifully furnished in light wood and jade green wallpaper. A desk sat to one side, the cushioned chair tugged out just enough to welcome a person to sit and study. A small vase on top of the desk held white flowers with brilliant blue centers, and as Kyla stepped further into the room, the flowers slowly turned their cupped faces in her direction. 

Copper curtains had been pulled back with ornate wooden hooks carved in the shapes of graceful waterbirds, and the glass panes were separated by copper glazing that matched the curtains exactly. Beyond the marble terrace below, a vast green lawn spread down a gentle slope until it met pristine white sand, an aqua lake lapping at the shores beyond. 

The bed was inset into the wall, creating a dark sort of cocoon that Kyla itched to crawl into and forget about the dinners and the lectures and the obligatory socialization that was ahead. The mattress was framed top to bottom in golden wood, carved in such a way that when sleeping, Kyla knew she’d feel as if she were cradled inside a most luxurious basket—or that she had fallen asleep in a fairy’s house in the middle of a sea of reeds. 

Linens that matched the blue-green color of the planet nearly identically were carefully folded and set at the foot of the mattress, crisp-looking ivory sheets and pillowcases already in place with precise corners. Shelves lined the walls above the bed, ready for Kyla to display trinkets or holos or anything else she’d desire to show off. 

The Naboo clearly leaned into delicate luxuries, she decided before plopping onto the chair by the desk, propping her heels on a little blue pouffe that sat nearby. A bowl of fruit rested on the desk, and Kyla snagged an oblong shuura, the unripe green skin just barely giving way to the blush red of a perfectly ripe fruit. Biting through the flesh, Kyla chewed viciously, both hating and loving the way the flavor burst on her tongue, the juice dribbling down her chin as she swallowed. Of course Naboo would have flawless fruit on top of everything else, she thought, tipping the chair back on two legs and rolling her eyes.  

An hour later, Kyla had opened the door to accept delivery of her trunks (and Threepio, now switched on and more than a little put out over being out of commission for three days), had eaten all the fruit in the fruit bowl, and had tracked the movement of a sunbeam across the carpet. In other words, she was bored out of her mind. 

She dug her datapad out of her pocket and reread her mother’s last message: full of positivity and encouragement about “getting the most out of this opportunity” and “starting on a path towards galactic-wide prosperity”. Annoyance flared, and Kyla tossed the pad onto the mattress, where it bounced off and landed on the floor with an unfortunate crack. Threepio had jolted and had begun his familiar scolding monologue when Kyla slapped her palm against his neck and forced him to power down with a mechanical groan. 

“Pfassk it,” Kyla muttered, bending down and turning over the pad—and sure enough, a web of cracks emanated from one corner, rendering the screen entirely unreadable. Her next curse was louder and more creative, but even that was drowned out by a sharp rap at her door. Before Kyla could get off the floor, a handmaiden of indeterminate age let herself into the apartment and announced that it was time to dress for dinner in a steely tone that made any arguments dry up on Kyla’s tongue. 

The woman opened Kyla’s trunks and sorted through the clothes, explaining concisely that each member of the Program would don the formal attire of their home planet for dinner tonight before shedding the gowns and finery to wear the same drab jumpsuits and robes for the remainder of the program. From Kyla’s reading, she knew it was meant to be a commentary on coming together and mutual cooperation, but she despised the grey starched fabric and how her hair would have to be severely scraped back into a bun on the back of her head, her curls tamed to within an inch of their disobedient lives. 

“It’s like they want us all to be droids,” Kyla had hissed at her mother before boarding the shuttle on Coruscant, but Leia had shot her a look that expressly told her to kindly shut up immediately before you cause an inter-planetary incident, and Kyla had slammed her lips together, biting back a tidal wave of complaints. 

Because she was on Naboo to represent Alderaan, she had to be on her very best behavior, and neither Leia nor Breha would allow her to forget it. Kyla wouldn’t be surprised if her mother had installed a cabal of spies in the Program just to keep an eye on her. Maybe even this handmaiden was in Leia’s employ, and as soon as she turned around, Kyla stuck her tongue out and made a gesture that her father had taught her with a warning never to show her mother.

But duty—and Alderaan—called, so Kyla stood where she was instructed and obediently allowed a woman she’d never met before to undress and redress her as if she was a child’s doll. 

First, there was a dark blue underskirt in near-translucent satin, held away from her body with a stiff petticoat whose fabric scratched at Kyla’s legs despite the creamy stockings that had been tugged up her thighs. Next, an overgown of thickly-woven brocade, the sleeves in matching blue with intricate cutouts: tight from wrist to elbow and ballooning wide to the shoulder. It had a high neck that forced Kyla’s chin high, and a golden brooch with the House Organa insignia was fastened at the base of her throat. 

The overdress ended in a triangular point at her front, and when Kyla twisted to look in the mirror, there was a matching one down her back—it brought to mind the tunics that she’d seen the Jedi of centuries earlier wear, although where theirs was more function than form, Alderaanean court dress clearly took the opposite approach. 

While she always felt a little like she was living in someone else’s shadow, Kyla had never felt so much like she was in Padme’s than right then, and she wanted nothing more than to immediately pack her things, haul Threepio back to the shuttle, and to go home. But even more than the certainty that she wanted to go home, Kyla knew that even if she begged, Mother wouldn’t pick her up and Dad was probably far enough out of range that he may as well not even exist. She was stuck. 

Kyla scratched her arm through the sleeve cutouts, earning a light shooing motion and an indulgent smile from the handmaiden—so different from the sarcastic quip and light hand slap she would have gotten from her mother, and another wave of homesickness washed over her.

To break the spell, Kyla clasped her hands demurely in front of her and asked, “Does everyone have to dress like this?” 

Even though the woman had already told her that yes, everyone will be in formal attire, she smiled and said, “Oh yes, you should see the delegate from Zeltros! I’ve never seen such fine shimmersilk!” She sighed beatifically, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before she added, “The young lady from Naboo rivals your own late grandmother’s regalia, even.” 

Instead of Padma Amidala—who Kyla likely should have been thinking about and trying to emulate—her thoughts immediately went to Rey: the small girl she’d only spent a few hours with all those years ago. Rey had said she was from Naboo. The odds that she’d be the delegate were slim to none, but if she’d learned anything from her dad, it would be that the odds meant nothing if you simply ignored them. There was still a chance that she’d turn a corner and there Rey would be, grown up and glowing against a bank of windows. 

What might Rey look like now? So many years have passed—would she still have the freckles of a child who spent their afternoons outdoors, or would she have traded her tan for the pale skin of a student who studied inside? Would she recognize Kyla, if she caught a glimpse of her? Her hair was still the thick mass of black waves, and while her mother had stopped forcing it into tight hairstyles against her scalp, Alderaanean braids had been woven in. They were so small that they were nearly invisible, save for the gold thread that Leia had braided alongside the hair, and Kyla hated that her hair would have to be hidden under a headdress for dinner tonight. 

She still hadn’t quite grown into her ears, but her eyes still held the same amber shade that they did that day in the Senate offices, and none of her moles and beauty marks had (unfortunately) disappeared. Yes, Kyla decided, she would be recognizable if Rey remembered that day happening at all. 

Would Rey still break the rules as easily as she breathed? Did she still have a sweet tooth, and carry candy in her pockets to sate her hunger? Was she as quick to laugh and just as fearless as she had been? Would her kisses be as soft against Kyla’s cheek as she remembered (and remembered, and remembered) them to be?

A rustling of tissue and a grunted aha! from the handmaiden pulled Kyla out of her thoughts of Rey, and suddenly she was staring at a headpiece, pulled triumphantly free from its hatbox. A twist of fake hair the same color as Kyla’s own was braided thickly around gold fabric by Breha herself, until it looked like a halo sitting on top of Kyla’s head. She crouched low to allow the woman to fasten it in place, wincing as a pin scraped her scalp. The headpiece wasn’t particularly heavy, but in combination with the layered gown and Naboo sun, Kyla felt certain that she’d be unbearably warm in no time at all. 

Especially when a piece of sheer blue fabric was draped over the back of her head, cut into three panels: one down her back cut to match the shape of the overdress, and one over each shoulder. Kyla vaguely remembered her mother telling her something about how the three parts represented something about the Alderaanean royal household or its citizenry or something, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember and the lore had just been replaced with annoyance at the whole ridiculous thing. 

The final touch to her outfit were a pair of heels with a blessedly square toe and a low heel, which the handmaiden presented reverently, like she was drawing out a sacred object from a long-hidden vault. Slipping the gold shoes on and straightening out her skirts, Kyla looked into the mirror she was offered and winced. She didn’t look at all like herself. Like she was acting the part of a girl who dressed like this: the princess that she hated to admit she was. 

“Let’s get this over with.” Kyla’s sigh could have rattled the windowpanes, but she followed her escort out of her rooms and down the gallery hall, presumably in the direction of the dining chamber. 

It didn’t take long for Kyla to realize that the building was actually a tacked-together complex of multiple structures, attached through porticos and covered breezeways, long tunnel-like hallways and corridors lined with mirrors that stretched to the ceiling. She had caught sight of herself in one of the mirrors, her appearance stretching and distorting until she looked just as monstrous as she felt in the ancient glass. The low hum of other people ebbed and flowed as she walked on—but whether it was members of the Naboo royal court, servants gossiping in an out-of-the-way chamber, or other reluctant participants in the program, Kyla had no idea, for she didn’t see another soul. In fact, the only visual proof of the building’s occupancy at all were the occasional hems of a long, jewel-toned skirt that flared out when the wearer bustled around a corner ahead of her.

Kyla’s feet started to ache: her toes had begun to press into the hard patent leather of her shoes uncomfortably, and she wished that she could have kept her soft, worn-in boots on under the dress. No one would have seen under her skirts to judge her for them, and yet—somehow her mother would find out and she’d return to her apartment to a message scolding her for her incorrect choices. Although, she thought with a wry half-smile, her datapad was broken, so any message would go unread. 

That thought was comfort enough, and for the first time since she began to dress for dinner, Kyla felt as if she could breathe a little easier. However, that feeling began to dissipate nearly as quickly as it began as she emerged into an enormous ballroom and her handmaiden quietly faded into the background, leaving her by herself in a sea of other exquisitely-dressed people—and, seated on a low-backed chair in an enormous gown of scarlet and orange: the Queen of Naboo. 

It had taken an agonizing half hour, but Kyla had been presented to the queen. Her full name rang out in the flat affectation of a protocol droid for everyone to hear, and as one, everyone’s head swivelled in her direction, murmurs of interest erupting from every corner.

Kyla-Breha-Amidala-Organa-Solo!  

She might as well wear a placard announcing her connection to the Most Royal House of Naberrie and dance around naked for all the attention she was getting. 

Still, she curtseyed low in front of the dais in the same way she practiced in front of Breha and Leia all those afternoons until her ankles had threatened to give out, plastering a placid look across her face just as long as it took her to make her way to the edge of the room, trying her best to blend in with the wallpaper.  

Kyla had no idea how long she stood there, accepting canapes from circling waiters, kissing cheeks and hands and making awkward little bows at her fellow Program participants. The room was loud—the speaker droid was pumping some sort of stringy music at top volume, and combined with the excited chatter of the crowd, everyone’s voices steadily got louder and louder. Not only that, but Kyla was almost entirely certain that she botched the traditional Mon Calamari greeting and that she’d be dwelling on the possibility that she insulted someone on her first day on-planet for the foreseeable future. 

She scanned the crowd for someone she recognized—it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibilities; her social circle (well, really, her mother’s social circle) would have included most of the parents of the Program participants—but as people milled around in groups of threes and fours, Kyla couldn’t see a single face she knew. 

Not even Rey. 

Not that she was looking specifically for her. Because it was a statistical improbability that Kyla would turn around in a ballroom in the capital city of a planet that Rey had wanted so desperately to visit and see the girl she met all those years ago. Just because sometimes Kyla dreamed about Rey, about the children they had been, her mind spinning elaborate stories about the adventures the two of them got up to, until they were captains of their own starships somewhere in Wild Space, finding lost treasure and defeating pirate lords, it didn’t mean a thing. It didn’t mean anything at all that Kyla’s ears perked up whenever she heard someone talk about Naboo or that she can’t ever look at candy without remembering the way Rey’s fingers had felt sticky against her own, or how her cheeks smelled like sugar and fruit from Rey’s fumbling kiss.

As if to save Kyla from herself (and the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her mother repeating “a melodramatic pile of feelings” ), a chime rang out and drew everyone’s attention. Doors swung open on the far end of the room, and Kyla allowed herself to be herded with everyone else towards the enormous banquet hall, set for an elaborate formal dinner. 

Sitting in her regalia was an uncomfortable affair, rivalled only by the amount of awkward small talk that Kyla was forced to participate in, and as plate after gilded plate was placed in front of her, she grew more and more weary of the entire charade. Her responses grew clipped, her shoulders slumped and her fork scraped back and forth across the bone china in a staccato beat that had more than one dinner guest giving her a sideways look. The eager Ghor boy who had sat next to her gave up on attempting conversation and eventually left with an annoyed huff, taking his plate with him and squeezing in with the Outer Rim contingent, right next to the delegate from Jabiim. 

It was fine. Fine. Kyla wasn’t there to make friends despite what her mother wanted, and she knew that she’d likely spend the next six weeks alone and feeling sorry for herself, even if she didn’t make an effort to integrate like her mother wanted her to. 

Just when the dessert course (a vibrant green mousse dusted with gold flecks on top of a cracker painted with the Royal House of Naboo’s seal) was being finished and people had begun milling about again, there was a rush of gold fabric next to Kyla, and then suddenly—just like in her dreams—Rey plopped herself in the chair next to her. She grinned at Kyla and leaned close, brushing her lips across Kyla’s cheek in what would have been a casual greeting between friends, if Kyla wasn’t frozen in shock, unable to move or even speak. 

All she could do is blink, and blink again, entirely unable to form a coherent thought as Rey dragged her finger through the remains of Kyla’s dessert and sucked the mousse off the tip of it. Dressed in a form-fitting gold gown with a pleated cape, Rey’s hair wasn’t in the child’s braids that Kyla remembered: instead, it was in thick, lustrous waves down her spine, falling over one shoulder as she tilted her head and dimpled at Kyla again. 

Each of Rey’s cheeks had a tiny circle painted on, and when she flashed a smile at Kyla, the dots moved as the apples of her cheeks plumped. It was charming, and something that Kyla knew she’d absolutely never be able to pull off; not to mention that any dots on her face would blend in to the beauty marks already vying for position. 

Kyla had outright refused the makeup that her handmaiden offered, but Rey clearly didn’t mind the pots of paints and brushes and oils. Her lips matched the red dots on her cheeks, the top one outlined perfectly to follow the curve of her cupid's bow. Her lower lip simply had a single vertical line of red in the center, drawing Kyla’s gaze to where it had smeared ever so slightly during dinner. 

And her eyes— had her eyes always been that color? That light brown that bordered green that reminded Kyla so much of long walks in the cool forests on Alderaan? Surely she’d have remembered that exact color, even after all these years. As Kyla started getting lost in that sea of green-brown, Rey’s cheeks hollowed around her finger again and her thick eyelashes fluttered shut in delight. Kyla had to rip her gaze away and she took a hasty drink of some fizzy concoction in an otherworldly orange color, choking a little as the bubbles went up her nose. She had just managed to school her face in something resembling placidity and nonchalance when Rey began talking at her in a speed that surely rivalled the Falcon’s. 

“I thought that was you when I saw you across the ballroom! I wasn’t sure if you’d be here tonight, I knew your name was on the enrollment list—I peeked at Grandfather’s datapad—but didn’t believe that it was you until just now! How exciting is this, anyway—” She paused long enough to help herself to some of Kyla’s orange drink, and Kyla stared openmouthed as Rey wiped a stray drip from her chin with the back of her hand and continued chattering on. 

“Your dress is so pretty, but I guess ladies from Alderaan are always wearing that blue color, aren’t they? And your headdress, with the braids! Is that real or fake hair?” She reached out to touch the too-hot coil of fake hair— just like she did on Coruscant— and Kyla managed to stammer, “Uh. It’s, um, fake—” before Rey kept talking. 

“Are you excited for this? I know I am, I can’t wait to learn how to make a speech—like a proper one—and how to pass laws to help people, because that’s really what this is all about, isn’t it, Kyla, we’re going to help so many people all over the galaxy. And not just in places like Coruscant and Kessel and everything, but planets no one ever cares about like Bracca and Ord Radama and Lira San—”

“Lira San is barely populated,” interrupted Kyla before she could stop herself. “Not that it doesn’t mean the Lasat don’t deserve help,” she amended when she saw Rey’s face, “but they don’t like a lot of interference. I’ve heard. I think.” 

Kyla trailed off as Rey’s head cocked to one side, considering. She’d done it now: she’d finally found Rey again, and immediately karked it up by being a snotty know-it-all, and now Rey won’t ever want to talk to her again and she’ll leave, taking her tight gold dress and her soft looking hair and her sweet perfume with her—

“You’re probably right. We’ll just have to find a way to meet them where they are, I guess. That’s what the Senate is supposed to be doing, anyway. Help planets in just the right way, in the name of inter-planetary cooperation and peace, right?” 

She took a deep breath and seemed to realize that Kyla was more or less stunned into silence at her side, and stopped talking, sucking her lip between her teeth in a nervous-looking gesture. Kyla blinked, her vision zeroing in on the way the sharp point of her teeth bit into the red-painted flesh of her lower lip (why was she looking at Rey’s lips anyway, stop being so strange, Kyla) before she forced herself to drag her eyes up to meet Rey’s. 

“Um. Yes. You’re right. And, um, hi. Again.” 

Rey’s smile was blinding and the knot in Kyla’s belly that had begun to tighten as soon as she hit atmo that afternoon started to loosen.

“Hi.” 

The rest of dinner passed in a flash of gold fabric and perfume and laughter and catching up, and before Kyla knew it, the Program participants were being posed together at the foot of the ceremonial staircase for a holo-photo. A photographer flitted around, arranging and rearranging the teenagers based on his own aesthetic sense, and more than one foot got trod on as everyone got placed exactly where they were supposed to be. Kyla had gotten separated from Rey in the melee that followed dinner, and she hovered at the top step, her skirts brushing her ankles as she shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. 

Would anyone notice if she slipped away and found her own way back to the apartment? Would Rey notice? Would—

“You there!” The shout made Kyla look up as nearly every other head swivelled to follow the photographer’s outstretched finger pointing directly at Kyla. “Come down to the front! The blue of your gown will be perfect here.” 

He turned his attention to his assistant, clearly assuming that Kyla would just obey his command, and the crowd parted to allow her an easy trip down the stairs. To her surprise, as she stepped onto the tile floor, there was Rey, waiting for her at the bottom. 

“Here,” Rey whispered, tugging on Kyla’s arm until they were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the front row of the group. The crowd reformed at the photographer’s command, jostling Kyla and Rey closer together. The photographer started to climb a ladder, the legs braced on the carpet by his clearly long-suffering assistant, and everyone readied themselves for the holo: grins plastered across faces, hair and tendrils and tentacles brushed out of faces, and dresses and suit jackets straightened. 

As Kyla stood still, her fingers brushed against Rey’s, once—twice—three times, a static-like jolt connecting them each time. Shifting to one side, Kyla tried to nestle her hand in the volume of her skirt, but just when the photographer shouted for everyone to smile, Rey’s finger hooked around Kyla’s and squeezed. Light burst from the holo-cam, and in a sea of blinding stars that Kyla cleared from her vision with a series of rapid blinks, the evening’s festivities ended and the Legislative Youth Program had officially begun. 

A copy of the holo arrived on Kyla’s breakfast tray in a thick ivory envelope. Breaking the wax seal, she drew it out, preparing herself to look at it once and never glance at it again, as was Kyla’s normal routine with holos that she appeared in. Rey and Kyla had been in the center of the front row of the holo, and so Kyla didn’t bother with scanning the rest of the image—she didn’t particularly care for or about anyone else on that staircase, anyway. Rey was there, in her gold dress, looking as shimmeringly beautiful under the chandelier as she had in person, and Kyla traced the slope of her shoulders, the curl of her hair, and the exacting pleats of her gown with her eyes before reluctantly looking askance at where the holo-version of herself was standing. 

Instead of the sullen girl that Kyla was familiar with seeing in the mirror—the girl who stood for holos with her mouth pressed into a flat line, tucking her chin in to stare up towards the camera with a scowl on her face—there was someone that Kyla barely recognized. 

Because even dressed as she had been in the uncomfortably formal dress and the awkward headdress and the heeled shoes, Kyla had a soft, gentle smile on her face.

A smile on her face as a slight blush crept its way up her neck and onto her cheeks. 

A smile on her face as she looked away from the holo-cam, her attention solely elsewhere.

A smile on her face as she looked right at Rey. 

Chapter Text

The quiet woosh of aircon drifted through Kyla’s room as she sifted through articles and studies on her datapad. She needed quiet—verging on tomb-like, according to Rey—when she studied, otherwise her thoughts roamed the galaxy and whatever facts and figures she was certain of moments earlier would be lost. Silence was how her reports and committee meeting minutes gave her senior senators a leg up, and even if she wasn’t receiving a grade for being a junior senator, she saw no reason to change her routine. The need for quiet and calm was one of the reasons Kyla was content to live alone, despite her mother’s near-constant nudging to make friends. 

She didn’t need friends. She had Rey. 

Besides, the dorms were so small that adding a second occupant would have bordered on impossible, especially because Rey was in Kyla’s room more often than not. The single bed and the ancient, dented desk took up most of the space, and it was a good thing Kyla’s taste in clothing trended towards utilitarian and practical, for all the closet space she had. Rey had breezed through her door on the first day of senate session without even waiting for it to fully slide open, and just—hadn’t really left. She did sleep in her own dorm, which she shared with two roommates, but more often than not, Rey was with Kyla in her room.

As usual, Rey was supposed to be with her that afternoon to finish up mapping a biplanetary counter-argument to the Banking Clan’s fair trade proposal. Also as usual, Rey was late. It probably wasn’t even her fault, Kyla thought as she unfolded and refolded her legs, wincing as pins and needles shot up her calves. There was always something that caught Rey’s eye and distracted her from whatever task was at hand. It might be one of the very best things about Rey; her enthusiasm and curiosity knew no bounds, and more often than not, Kyla was dragged along for the ride.

Four years had passed since Rey and Kylo found each other at that formal dinner on Naboo, and they’d been inseparable ever since. After the weeks of the Legislative Youth Program (may it rest in pieces), they kept in touch via com until they both arrived as junior senators on Coruscant. They shared seminars, studied together, ate lunches and dinners and snacks together, and spent their limited free time together.

The day before the Senate opened, Rey and Kyla had joined a tour of the building along with dozens of others who’d never seen the rotunda or knew where the chambers were located. They dutifully allowed themselves to be shepherded around as a tour guide droned endlessly on and pointed out refreshers (down the third hallway on the left), the emergency stairs (to the right, every 50 meters and within eyesight at all times), and the private com rooms on every level. 

Kyla and Rey were trailing along at the back of the group when they passed the senator’s chamber they snuck into as children, and Kyla had to shush Rey’s sudden onset of semi-hysterical giggles. 

“Too bad I don’t have any candy to share with you,” wheezed Rey, earring her a glare from more than one of their fellow tour-takers. 

“Shut up,” hissed Kyla. “How do you even know that’s the right one? All of these chambers look the same.” 

Rey’s giggles had stopped as abruptly as they started, and she looked at Kyla in a way that made Kyla squirm uncomfortably. “I’ve always remembered stuff like that. About you.” 

Before Kyla could relive that moment and wonder what that particular phrase meant for the thousandth time, her door flew open, jarring her free from her memories. Rey rushed in and flung her things towards one corner, kicking off her shoes as she skidded to an abrupt stop. Her hair was a mess—the lopsided lumps probably started life as the three knots that Rey favored, but by the time she made it to Kyla’s dorm, they'd fallen to either side of her head, as if Rey had run the whole way. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Rey panted between gasps. 

“It’s okay,” Kyla said automatically, elbowing her pillow to get more support as she sat up straight. She didn’t say it because it was acceptable to be late (Kyla abhorred tardiness with a passion that verged on obsession), but because she was used to Rey being late. It had gotten so bad that she’d amended Rey’s study schedule four months earlier—adjusting the time for each meeting by fifteen minutes so Rey would actually show up on time. 

“No, it's not,” Rey moaned. “I need to do better. Senators can’t be late.” 

“Depends on the senator,” Kyla replied, thinking about the senator from Orto who’d missed a meeting that had been scheduled weeks in advance simply because they couldn’t be bothered to get away from a dinner party. 

“Well, a junior senator can’t be late, anyway.” Rey retrieved her bag from the floor and yanked out datapads, stacking them in a haphazard pile on the corner of Kyla’s tidy desk.

Kyla didn’t say a word, choosing to watch as Rey actually upended the bag and shook it over the mattress in her search for a stylus. 

“Aha!” Rey crowed, snatching the stylus from where it fell and tossing her bag back to the floor. “Anyway, did I tell you what happened yesterday when I went with Aron to meet Fela Keeg?”

Kyla set aside her datapad. Clearly they weren’t going to get any work done, and any story that involved the Banking Clan was one that was bound to be interesting. 

“Nope.”

It helped that Kyla loved Rey’s stories, too. There was always some aspect of wonder and whimsy—nothing like Kyla’s dry retellings of meetings that read more like professional minutes or a historical document. Kyla loved Rey’s stories because they were so different from her own logical run-downs of speeches and committees, but mostly she just loved being let into Rey’s world. It seemed like she lived in bright, vibrant color while Kyla trundled around in grayscale. If Kyla closed her eyes while listening, she could almost imagine being in the stories: her world becoming a little bit brighter and a little more optimistic. 

“Well—” Rey launched into a story that involved some planetary delicacy and carapaces (or were they boned tentacles?), but Kyla couldn’t pay any attention. Not when a loosened strand of hair fell and swept across Rey’s cheek, catching the light and turning her normally brown hair into a wave of shiny copper. 

“And then—I had to try it!” Rey’s face was screwed up in a picture of disgust, complete with wrinkled nose and stuck-out tongue, like she had been transported back to being that youngling in the senate offices, pulling a piece of her least-favorite candy out of a bag.

“And?” Kyla asked absently. 

“And what?”

“How was it?” 

“How do you think it was?” Rey bounced exasperatedly on the bed, her hands flapping in the air. “It was awful! I swear I can still taste it! I was picking bits out of my teeth all night long.” 

“I’ve got some milk in the conservator,” offered Kyla.

“Nah, I’m good,” Rey cut in before Kyla could technically even offer her a glass of perfectly-chilled blue milk, and just like that, everything was back to normal, as if she hadn’t eaten the Muun equivalent of an ice-grub, and wasn’t, until very recently, picking parts of its exoskeleton out of her teeth. “Let's just study and get this over with.” 

With that, Rey collapsed back onto the mattress, taking a datapad along with her. Kyla waited for a long moment—it wasn’t unheard of for Rey’s attention to loop back around to a topic despite the conversation having ended, but when Rey stayed silent and just scribbled something on the screen, Kyla turned her attention back to her own studies. 

The silence lasted all of three minutes before Rey sighed. Kyla tore her gaze from her notes on the history of High Republic alliances between the Jedi Order and the Hutt Clan, but Rey’s eyes were firmly fixed on her datapad, and the little furrow between her brows told Kyla that she was focusing hard.

Kyla highlighted a few facts about the Battle of Mulita and was about to page through a biography on Avar Kriss when Rey sighed again. Her exhale was even louder and more exaggerated than the first sigh, and Kyla peered over her datapad, blinking as her eyes adjusted from the bright screen. 

“What.” 

“Nothing.” 

It was never nothing. 

“Don’t lie.” 

“I’m fine,” Rey snapped.

“Fine,” Kyla scoffed and rolled her eyes. She was just expanding a picture of the Jedi Master when Rey sighed again, and Kyla, annoyed, clicked off the datapad.

“Rey, for kriff’s sake, what is going on?” 

Rey still wouldn’t look at her. Some deep, dormant part of Kyla twisted. The urge to fix whatever was bothering Rey grew, because something was definitely wrong. Rey was naturally so chatty, that if she stopped talking, you definitely knew something was going on. Kyla leaned over, waving her hand between Rey and her datapad, earning her a disgruntled sound as Rey finally tossed the pad aside. 

“It’s just—” Kyla’s impatience grew as Rey’s voice trailed off and left whatever she was going to say unsaid. 

“What?”

“I don’t know!” Rey sat up, twisting her fingers in her lap. “Do you ever feel like we’re missing out?” 

Honestly, the thought had crossed Kyla’s mind. A few thousand times. Every time she had to put on her heavy ceremonial robes or host a dinner alongside her mother or had to give a speech herself instead of handing her words to someone else to read, Kyla wanted to race to the Falcon and never look back. She wanted to go places that weren’t on an itinerary, to stay somewhere for as long as she wanted, and to not feel like the weight of a billion expectant citizens rested on her shoulders as she walked through the senate hallways. 

But Rey had never mentioned that she felt the same. She loved her work. Loved talking to people, liked making speeches—liked changing hearts and minds. She believed in the work they were doing, despite the way the galaxy worked hard to dampen her optimism.

“Missing out on what?” Kyla tried to flatten out the derision in her tone, but knew that she failed when Rey snapped back.

“I don’t know! Everything? Meeting people! Dating. Finding someone to settle down with!” 

“Rey, we meet people all the time.” 

It was true. Remembering the names of everyone they’ve met was a monumental task and Kyla had begun keeping multiple color-coded spreadsheets on her pads because of it. But a sudden, jealous part of Kyla doesn’t want to consider the consequences of Rey meeting the prospective love of her life. 

“That’s not what I mean!” Rey cried. “Do we spend too much time doing all of this—” she gestured wildly at the datapads on the desk before continuing, “and not enough time trying to actually meet people we could care about? Will any of this matter in the long run?” 

“What we do is important,” retorted Kyla stubbornly. It’s categorically true. They’re putting laws into place to make entire planetary systems better places to settle. Trade agreements and farming initiatives. Inter-planetary space travel and new hyperspace lanes. It’s all important, necessary work—and somehow Rey has lost focus of that fact.  

“What we do is the grunt work that none of the real senators can be bothered with,” Rey snapped, the volume of her voice rising above Kyla’s choked-off sounds of shock. This was beyond unlike her. She could always count on Rey to give her the encouragement she needed to continue on after a long campaign or an all-night prep session, and Kyla was unaccustomed to do the same in return. 

“So what, you want to give up and just…date?” Kyla didn’t bother to camouflage the startled incredulousness in her tone, and sweat began to dot the back of her neck as she started to panic. 

“Yes! No! I don’t know.” Rey’s eyes were glassy, as if she were trying to keep from crying frustrated tears, but Kyla had no idea how to even begin to respond to any of this—everything felt like it was spiraling out of control, and Kyla couldn’t find her footing. 

“Your grandfather—” Her lips felt dry and her jaw ached from clenching it as she forced the words out.

“I know.” 

“And Naboo?” 

“Kyla, I know!” 

Rey fell back onto the bed with a groan. She yanked a pillow over her face and screamed into it as Kyla stared, dumbfounded. It was clear that they weren’t going to finish up their research, so Kyla slowly inched off the bed and stood, stretching to gather up the precarious stack of datapads.

Rey’s voice was somber when she finally spoke. “I just don’t know how we’re ever going to build a life with someone when all we do is work and study and go to meetings.”

“Rey, we’re still young.” 

“I guess.” Rey’s words suggested that she agreed with Kyla, but her sad tone and the way she stared at her limp hands told a different story. 

“I see how my parents are with each other—and I don’t even know if I want that. Neither of them has time for the other and when they are together, half the time is spent arguing,” Kyla offered, trying to find some way to make Rey feel better. 

“I thought your parents loved each other.” 

“They do. Or at least, I think they do.” 

Kyla was pretty sure that Han and Leia loved each other desperately, but could never meet in the middle and make a relationship work. She’d walked in on them kissing just as often as she walked into the middle of an argument, or worse: entering a room that felt heavy with chilly silence. There’d been trips and gifts and romantic overtures, but there were also weeks of no coms from Han when he skirted the boundaries of mapped space, and when Leia was in session, any hope of a quiet dinner or an afternoon picnic was impossible. 

“No, they do,” Kyla amended. “Love each other, I mean. But neither of them balance their lives well. I don’t even know if it’s possible to.”

“Grandfather never had anyone, so I don’t know either.” Rey sighed again. “And that’s the problem.”

Kyla gestured at Rey. “He obviously had someone—”

Rey’s shrieked “Ew!” and ensuing giggles broke the tense awkwardness that had begun to build between them, and when she caught her breath, her voice was wistful. “I just—I want it to be possible. I want to have both. A career and a relationship.”

The way Rey spoke—how carefully she avoided words like husband or wife—was actively driving Kyla insane. Because it’s never been a husband that Kyla wanted. It’s always just been Rey. There’s just never been a good chance to tell her. Not that Kyla would have any idea how to even begin that particular conversation.

Rey wasn’t done, though, and Kyla focused her attention on what Rey was gesturing about. “And we don’t even have enough time to go out and find out if dating is something we want! Much less…”

When Rey didn’t finish her sentence, Kyla prodded, “Much less…?” 

“Kissing and stuff.” 

Oh.

Oh.

Kyla felt her cheeks heat up and she spun to face her desk, arranging and rearranging the scraps of flmisi she hadn’t had time to file yet. “You want to kiss people?” 

“I mean. Don’t you?” 

Her heartbeat had to be audible. Hammering beneath her ribs at a volume that could be heard across the hall. Across the planet. Maybe even across the galaxy, because Kyla could feel it start to race. Because kissing people? Absolutely not. Kissing Rey? Absolutely yes. 

“I…guess,” Kyla hedged, praying that Rey wouldn’t notice the way her voice shook.

“Kyla,” Rey’s voice was closer than she thought, and when Kyla turned around, Rey was sitting at the edge of the bed staring at her. “You do want to kiss people, right?” 

Kyla sat beside Rey with a huff. “I guess. Maybe kissing and stuff would be nice, but we don’t have time or anything, so I’ve never given it a lot of thought.” 

Rey leaned her shoulder against Kyla. “That’s the problem! We’re stuck in a basement committee chamber with the junior senators like Tttg!” 

The thought of the foul-tempered Southern Mustafaran whose short stature put him at perfect chest-leering height made Rey and Kyla shudder. 

“But really,” Rey went on, “the only people we meet are the people who work just as much as we do, and what’s the point of starting something with someone we’ll never see?” 

“We see each other,” Kyla pointed out, barely able to hope that Rey might find her point to be a good one, actually. 

“Well. Yeah. But thats—different.” 

Rey’s words shouldn’t have hurt, but they did. Being categorized as different when they talked about dating and falling in love stung far more than Kyla wanted to admit. As if Kyla would never be—could never be—in that category in Rey’s mind. 

An awkward silence fell, and Kyla forced herself to sit still, her fingers absently picking at the seam in her leggings.

“I just wish—” Rey sighed. “It’s stupid.”

“What?” Kyla barely managed to add an upward inflection at the end of the word to make it into a question. As it was, she asked out of a sense of obligation more than actually wanting to know exactly what it was that Rey wished, because the anguish over being different in Rey’s eyes was still burning her from the inside out. 

Rey wouldn’t even look at her, and Kyla held her breath and braced for the worst. 

“I just wish I knew what I was missing.” Rey was quiet enough that the aircon nearly drowned her out, and when the meaning of her words sunk in, Kyla felt more than a little queasy.

“How would that—”

“Kissing,” Rey cut in, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Holding hands. I dunno. It would be nice to know if I actually liked it instead of wanting it without knowing.” 

When Rey put it that way, it made an odd sort of sense, but there was still something bothering her about the argument.

“We hold hands,” Kyla said softly, looking at her shelf where the holo image of their Legislative Youth Program cohort sat, Rey and Kyla in the front row, their hands hidden behind layers of skirts. Kyla didn’t have to see their hands to know that their fingers were locked together, a silent show of solidarity and friendship.  

“Well. Thats—”

“Different. Yeah.” Kyla tried to hide the bitterness in her voice but knew that she didn’t succeed when Rey’s face fell again.

“It seems weird to want to practice something like that—” Rey sounded nervous, and her voice wobbled uncertainly when she spoke.

Kyla scoffed, unable to strop herself. “You want to practice holding hands?” 

“Not that part! The kissing part!” 

Practice.

Kissing. 

Kyla was fairly certain that her brain had stalled. Maybe she was a protocol droid, ancient like Threepio, and someone pressed her power switch, because all she could do was sit in stony silence as her mind tried to wrap itself around what Rey was saying. Long seconds ticked by and still nothing made sense, any thoughts that Kyla once had were replaced by a sea of static. 

“It’s dumb,” Rey mumbled, picking at a ragged cuticle. 

“No!” Kyla rushed out, part of her desperate to somehow patch over this awkward, awful moment, while another, louder voice nudged at the back of her mind. Maybe she could—no, that would be cruel and manipulative—but if Rey had already mentioned the possibility…maybe Kyla could help her practice? 

“It's not dumb. Like you said, when would you have time otherwise?” Kyla was pretty sure that she was playing it cool, being absolutely normal about where she thought their conversation would lead, despite the way she felt absolutely not normal on the inside. The prospect of kissing Rey made her heart hammer even faster, and she felt sick to her stomach in a sort of anticipatory way while her breath caught in her throat. 

“H-how? Should we do this?” Kyla managed to ask, wiping her sweaty palms on her knees as she shifted until she sat fully on the bed, facing Rey. 

“Um, just stay there. Maybe sit up, more? On your knees? And I’ll just—” Kyla rose up obediently as Rey clambered to her knees as well, grabbing for Kyla’s wrist to steady herself as they both wobbled on top of the plush mattress. 

They both inched forward, and Kyla saw flecks of green that she’d never really noticed before in Rey’s eyes. There were the familiar freckles sprayed across Rey’s nose, and a scar on her upper lip. Rey’s tiny baby hairs that curled around her face were a tapestry of brown and copper, and despite how badly Kyla wanted to tuck them behind her ears, she curled her fingers into fists instead. 

“Like…” Kyla swallowed audibly. “Like this?”

Rey’s voice was a whisper when she replied, “Yeah. Maybe I—”

Kyla shivered as cool fingers brushed gently across her cheeks before Rey cupped her face, slowly, carefully. She couldn’t stop herself from closing her eyes: Rey was just too close, and Kyla was afraid she might cry or scream or just run away instead of pretending that this was a very normal thing that the two of them were doing. 

In fact, Kyla was so focused on holding absolutely still and not making a fool out of herself that she was surprised when it happened. Her first kiss was softer than she expected. Soft and shy and almost tentative in the way that Rey pressed her lips to Kyla’s and sort of just—paused there as if to allow Kyla a moment to catch her breath. 

There was no way that Rey could know that Kyla couldn’t even think about catching her breath. Rey moved closer still and Kyla’s hands fluttered between them before landing on Rey’s waist, her clumsy fingers catching on the ties of her wrap top.

They broke apart, but before Kyla could open her eyes and stammer something that would surely be awkward, Rey kissed her again. This time her lips closed over Kyla’s bottom lip and she tugged ever so slightly, warm and slow, like she was waiting for Kyla to tell her to stop.

There was no way that Kyla would ever tell her to stop. 

Rey let out a breathy little sigh and her tongue nudged at the seam of Kyla’s mouth. Kyla opened her lips without thinking, and then opened them wider, accepting Rey’s tentative exploration as she dipped her tongue inside. It was hesitant and nothing like Kyla had expected—there was nothing aggressive or messy or rough—nothing like the kisses she’d seen in holo porn or in the back corridors of the senate rotunda between sessions. 

Kyla’s fingers clenched and unclenched helplessly at Rey’s waist, and Rey’s fingers moved from her cheeks to her hair, threading them through the braids that Kyla carefully wove that morning. Usually Kyla hated having her hair messed up, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care—Rey could take down her braids if she wanted to, just as long as she kept kissing her. 

The fabric of Rey’s shirt was rough under Kyla’s hands, and when she tilted her head and carefully licked into Rey’s mouth (tasting mint—when did Rey have mint?), suddenly they’re plastered against each other. Chest to chest and hip to hip, if anyone walked in on them, there’d be no denying that they were do anything other than what it looked like—not that Kyla would ever deny it, not when heat bloomed between her thighs and she felt a surge of need so intense that it managed to erase any lingering uncertainty.

Her tongue stroked Rey’s, and the heat of her mouth was something that Kyla couldn’t begin to compare to anything. That first exhilarating thrust into hyperspace when your body got yanked backwards by the thrusters opening fully and tearing a hole in space couldn’t even come close, and she wanted to live in that moment forever. There was nowhere else Kylo would rather be than in her dorm on a middling level in an ecumenopolis. Not when everything seemed possible and one of Rey’s hands were in her hair and the other rested on her shoulder so her thumb brushed along Kyla’s collarbone. Not when the bed shifted under them and they had to use each other for balance. Not when Kyla briefly questioned if it would be so bad, really, if they toppled onto the bed after all, limbs twining together as they continued to explore…

Too soon, Rey pulled away, untangling her fingers from Kyla’s ruined braids, and Kyla reluctantly cracked her eyes open. She never expected kissing to make her as short of breath as she felt, but she panted, feeling awkwardly sweat-drenched and weak-kneed. Rey looked much the same: those fine hairs that Kyla noted just minutes before were plastered to her forehead, and her top sagged open, exposing her breastband because Kyla’s fingers had gotten caught in the bow at her waist. 

Rey blinked, hard, and suddenly the moment between them shattered. Kyla heard the low rumble of shuttle engines outside her dorm, and the quiet chattering of other junior senators in the hallway replaced Rey’s breathy sighs and Kyla’s more throaty moans. Kyla was still on her knees, feeling rather bereft as Rey sat down, hard, and before Kyla could say anything, Rey was pulling her shirt back to rights while refusing to glance at her—

Struggling to think of something to say, Kyla had just opened her mouth to break the strange feeling between them when Rey scrambled to her feet, beginning to shove things into her bag without even looking. 

Too many thoughts ran circles in Kyla’s head and she just stared dumbly at Rey, her hands limp in her lap. They should still be in each other's arms, Kyla should be staring into Rey’s eyes and learning how to make her gasp and clutch her shoulder tighter. She should be teaching Rey how to touch her in return, and she should be memorizing the taste of Rey’s skin.

Instead, whatever this was felt like the worst sort of ending. 

“What—”

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” Rey’s words were clipped, and she still wouldn’t meet Kyla’s hurt gaze. 

“But—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Rey interrupted. “Or the next day. Meetings, you know?” 

Kyla does know. In fact, Kyla knew Rey’s schedule by heart, and it was how she knew that Rey didn’t have any meetings until tomorrow afternoon, and even that one was only a celebratory tea with the council of Lira San to celebrate a trade agreement. 

“Rey—”

Kyla didn’t mean for her voice to sound so quiet or sad. She didn’t mean to make Rey pause on her way out the door. She definitely didn’t mean to notice the way Rey’s shoulders shook as she left, or how she lingered outside the door as it slid shut behind her. She didn’t mean to not blink for so long that she could still see Rey’s outline against the durasteel door. And she definitely didn’t mean to close her eyes and pretend that Rey was still there. 

Rolling over, Kyla pulled a blanket over herself and let her tears soak into her pillow. 

She had grown up hearing stories about how Han Solo had been infatuated with Leia Organa from the moment he met her. There were hundreds of holo images of the two of them together, young and beautiful. They were the galaxy’s golden couple, and in each holo, Han may as well be looking at Leia with hearts coming out of his eyes. 

Kyla always knew that when she fell in love, she’d be just as helplessly infatuated. 

She just hadn’t expected that falling in love with Rey would make her feel like nothing more than a stupid fool.