The shrieking alarm stops as suddenly as it started, leaving behind a ringing silence in the spaceport bar. Gradually the chatter of the patrons and the clinking of glasses resumes as the stormtroopers gather in front of the sealed blast doors.
Just another day in the Galactic Empire.
Boba is sitting on one of the benches along the wall, the perfect vantage point to see who is and isn't unnerved by this new development. He sees a man leave the bar, very deliberately not looking at the doors. Their eyes meet.
Cassian Andor.
He's a rebel agent, but he keeps himself well below the radar, which means there's no price on his head. Not yet. They know a lot of the same shady people in the same shady circles, and they see one another often enough that Cassian knows him without his helmet.
He pauses at the table in front of Boba, drink in hand. "You know what this is about?"
"Worried?"
"I wasn't until I saw you."
It's almost a compliment. "Relax, Andor. You're not important enough for a lockdown."
Cassian shoots him a quick, irritated look, but no one's close enough to hear them. "What are you drinking?"
"Carbonated water with a mint shot." The stormtroopers are beginning to fan out through the room, keeping their distance. For now.
"Is it good?"
"Tastes like plasticine."
"Ha. Mind if I sit down?" He nods at the bench beside Boba, who issues permission with a tilt of his head. Ah. That's why the sudden interest in his presence and choice of drinks. He's blending in. A couple looks less suspicious than a lone person. Cassian drops down beside him, close enough that their shoulders touch.
He lifts his glass to his lips, using the motion as cover to watch the stormtroopers move through the crowd. Boba finds himself studying the line of his throat as he swallows.
Cassian clearly hasn't shaved in several days and his hair is long enough to cover his shirt collar in the back. Just the right length for someone to run their fingers through.
Boba puts his arm back along the bench, behind Cassian's taunt shoulders. The close proximity lets him appreciate at his leisure the other man's long lashes and high cheekbones. Somehow he's pretty and scuffy at the same time.
Cassian has to be aware of his gaze, but he doesn't look at Boba. Instead he switches his drink to his other hand and rests that hand casually on Boba's thigh. His fingers are long and slender, and there are callouses on the inner pads.
He has the hands of a sniper. Careful, precise. Always at a distance.
Boba moves his feet, letting his legs fall apart a little more. Cassian's hand slides down to the inside of his thigh, just above his knee. Close enough to be intimate, but not obscene.
A stormtrooper passes by them with hardly a glance, and a few minutes later the lockdown ends. Boba expects Cassian to move away at once, but he doesn't. In fact, he leans against him a little more, the warmth of his palm seeping through the heavy fabric of Boba's pants.
Finally, Cassian turns his head. "Fun's over," he says with a careful little smile. "Let's do it again some time."
"Let's," Boba agrees.
His hand draws back and his eyes sweep the room as he stands. A few seconds later Cassian has vanished in the crowd. Boba takes another sip of his drink. He doesn't notice the taste.