Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Never in his over four decades of existing as a sentient being in the galaxy, did Kallus ever think he’d be having a near-crisis over synonyms , but this was– quite possibly– the most stressed he’d been since the Death Star. 

The dilemma is as follows:

Friend wasn’t the wrong word, but it didn’t encompass all of it. Accomplice felt better than friend did, but the connotations about crime to be made with that one just made the whole thing feel wrong. Associate was too detached– corporate, imperial– so that was completely off the table. Partner wasn’t the worst of the bunch, but if he ever used that descriptor he’d have a lot of clarifying to do after the fact.

He supposed that, realistically, the term he was looking for would be best friend , but still, even though it was true , it just didn’t feel right . 

Though, perhaps that was at his own fault; Kallus couldn’t even remember the last ‘best friend’ he’d had. At first he’d thought of his academy years, and the rowdy group of boys that he’d spent most of his time with, but they were never close the way he supposed ‘best friends’ should be. So then he thought of Jovan, which didn’t even really count because they’d been more boyfriends than actual friends, so that idea was promptly tossed to the side. Before Jovan there had been Sailyn, the daughter of the man that owned the neighborhood bodega back on Coruscant. They’d known each other since they were young, they spent time together often, they’d gossiped, and bitched, and been a pain in the ass to nearly all of their teachers growing up. They’d only stopped talking when Kallus left for the academy, he had nothing but fond memories of her, so… yes, Kallus supposed that perhaps she had been his last best friend , but what they had was so much different than the current situation at hand– 

If Sailyn is the control group , Kallus thought to himself, then this situation is like a treatment group . He bit his lip. And this… is a bad analogy because I haven’t taken a science class in twenty years .

So maybe best friend wasn’t the right term. But it also wasn’t the wrong term. But Friend and accomplice and partner in crime and crewmate and best mate and brother in arms also weren’t wrong . They just weren’t right.

“Zeb is my best friend.” 

Hera shot him the kind of look that made him feel like he was fifteen again and getting scolded by his mum. 

“That’s not what I’m asking,” she pursed her lips. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.” 

“If that wasn’t what you were asking , you should have made yourself more clear,” Kallus brought his mug of caf to his lips, “‘ what is Zeb to you’ can have a myriad of interpretations.” 

Hera rubbed her temples, “we seriously need to get your head checked.”

“My head is fine,” Kallus huffed. “I haven’t had any complaints yet-”

“Alex!”

“What?”

“Stop deflecting, this is serious,” 

“I’m not deflecting,” Kallus took a long sip of his caf, taking a moment to appreciate the warmth of the liquid, a sharp contrast to the chilly air. 

“ Wowww ,” Hera drawled, her expression unimpressed, “lying to your captain? First thing in the morning?” 

“ Wowww, ” Kallus mocked, “interrogating your crew members? At this hour?” Years ago, when Kallus first joined the rebellion, he wouldn’t have dared to even think that sentence, but he was very glad that he could speak it out loud now.

“My gods,” Hera groaned, “you’re worse than Sabine.” 

Kallus set his mug down with a clank against the metal table. “Take that back.” Hera crossed her arms. “I am begging you to take that back.”

“I’ll take it back under the condition ,” she leaned across the table, raising a finger in front of Kallus’ face, “that you answer my original question.” 

“Oh, you mean the question I already answered?” Kallus downed the rest of his caf, pushing himself up from his seat at the table. 

“That you answered badly on purpose ,” Hera said pointedly, watching raptly as Kallus washed and dried his green speckled ceramic mug, placing it gingerly in the cabinet full of other mugs, only to grab the larger amber colored one sitting next to it. 

“But I did answer you,” Kallus said matter-of-factly, pouring the remaining caf from the pot into the new mug. Hera scoffed. 

“I am trying to have a serious conversation with you.” Kallus paused, setting the empty caf pot on the counter, a thoughtful expression adorning his features.

“Well,” he turned to face Hera, “I do hate to inform you of this, but this is a four glasses of Chandrillan Blue deep kind of talk, and I’m not too privy on taking up day drinking quite yet,” he turned back around to fish the sweetener, and the powdered creamer out of the cabinets, “so better luck next time.”

“Well that within itself is kind of an admission, is it not?” Hera crossed one leg over the other, propping her head up on her hand. 

“It’s not,” Kallus said decisively, scooping three spoonfuls of sweetener into the mug in front of him, “it just means that I’d rather be drunk if you’re going to prod me for non-existent information.” He moved to the creamer, adding two spoonfuls before stirring. 

Hera hummed. 

“Maybe I should have Chop ask you about it next time.” A threat.

“Or perhaps AP-5,” Kallus raised a spoonful of caf to his lips to test the concoction in front of him, “at least he wouldn’t speak in riddles.” The caf in the spoon was much sweeter than he would have liked it, which meant he’d done it right. 

“Well I guess that’s on me for assuming that the intelligence agent would have the ability to read in between the lines,” Hera huffed. 

“The Coruscanti educational system is in shambles,” he set the mug aside, “you shouldn’t have set the bar so high–” 

The swoosh sound of the galley door cut him off, but he couldn’t be too mad about it; his timing was impeccable this morning. 

“Mornin’,” Zeb greeted, his voice still low and gravelly from sleep. 

“Good morning,” Kallus said, hand outstretched with the mug as an offering. Zeb wordlessly took the mug with a tired smile that only grew after taking a first sip.

“S’ still warm,” he mumbled contentedly. Warm caf was something of a commodity on Hoth, and even Zeb, with his layers of warm, soft ,downy fur, was aware of just how satisfying it was to have a full mug of it first thing in the morning. 

Kallus did not smile at how Zebs fur stuck up wildly in every which direction, he didn't smile at the way he cradled the warm mug to his chest, and he certainly didn't smile when Zeb's ear twitched in that way that it did every morning, (the reason for which Kallus was not privy to). But had Hera not been staring daggers at him, he probably would have.

Chapter Text

In a sick and twisted turn of fate, Hera was right. Kallus did, in fact, have to get his head checked. 

On account of the concussion, of course. 

It had been a while since he was last concussed– if he were to recall it correctly, he’d say that Atollon had been the last time he’d had a proper knock to the head– so it really was just a matter of when, not if, but it hadn’t even been his fault this time. That trooper came out of nowhere.

“Look here,” Hera snapped her fingers in front of Kallus’ face, a stern expression on her features. 

“I am looking,” He huffed as Hera moved a flashlight across his field of vision. 

“Well you weren’t ,” she clicked the light off, “you were too busy looking at your girlfriend over there,” she motioned vaguely at where Zeb stood against the cargo bay wall. Kallus glared in response, mostly because his head hurt too bad to come up with anything witty. 

“Hera don't be ridiculous,” Zeb started, an amused look adorning his features, “if anything, he’s the girlfriend.” Kallus rolled his eyes.

“That’s not true.” 

“Mmmm” Zeb scanned over Kallus, who swayed with every hyperspace induced rock of the Ghost. “You got any evidence to back that?”

“You do have some very pretty lashes,” Hera said as she stood from where she’d been crouched, “for a blonde guy.”

“I cannot believe that I willingly associate with you,” Kallus groaned. “Both of you.” 

“Awe c’mon, Alex” Zeb pushed himself off the wall, “She’s got a point,” he said with a chuckle. “yer like uh,” he paused for a moment, “who's the girl from that one movie?”

“I dunno, maybe if you got more vague I could tell you,” Kallus drawled sarcastically.

“She’s got the dress..?” Kallus stared for a long moment. “Red.” 

Kallus rubbed at his temple, “this is an inquiry for Sabine, she knows about holofilms,” he wobbled as he attempted to stand from the floor, “and pop culture-” between the way that his knee twinged and the way that his vision was swimming he really had no other option than to fall flat on his ass. “Help me up.”

“I’ll think about it,” Zeb said as if he weren't already extending a hand down.

The way that Zeb effortlessly hauled Kallus to his feet was something that, despite experiencing it nearly every day in sparring sessions for nearly four years straight, Kallus would never get used to, or take for granted. 

During his last few years at the academy, when Kallus had finally grown into his broad shoulders (and his head no longer looked slightly too large for his body), Jovan would moan and whine over, “you’re heavy ,” or “you’re crushing me,” or “get up yourself, I’m not going to pull a muscle helping you up.” (All of which Kallus realized, in retrospect, were kind of insane things to tell your significant other, but most twenty two year olds are just that, so he supposed he couldn’t really read into that all too much.) So, needless to say, it was nice having someone who could just pull him up–

“Am I interrupting something?” Hera’s monotone drawl cut through Kallus’ hazy thoughts, reeling him back to the reality in which he was standing in front of Zeb, their hands clasped together where Zeb had grabbed to help him up. 

“No!” Kallus yelped, jumping back; the memory of his conversation with Hera only a few days ago made itself evident. The last thing he needed was another early-morning interrogation. However, it seemed as though that would be unavoidable, seeing how Zeb, with all his prowess in making unbelievably ill-timed jokes, responded to Hera’s question with,

“Yeah ya are, was just’ about to propose,” with an unserious grin. Hera shot Kallus a look that hovered somewhere between disappointment, disbelief and annoyance.

“Well, congrats to the happy couple, got these straight off the registry,” she said, handing Kallus two small pain tablets. When she had left the cargo bay to fetch them, Kallus had no idea. 

“I don’t need these,” he grumbled.

“You will if you don’t take them and I find out about it,” Hera smiled before making her way back up the cargo bay ladder.

“I dont– this is ludicrous– my head doesn’t hurt that badly,” he turned to Zeb, “and I would never put these on the wedding registry.”

“Really? It’d be a good way to get some for free.”

“Absolutely not. First item on the registry is a spice rack.” 

“A spice rack ?”

“Mhm.”

“You can’t cook to save your life,” Zeb stared at Kallus incredulously, “why’d’ya need a buncha spices?”

“Oh that won’t matter, I’ll not be the one using them.” Zeb pursed his lips. Kallus passed him on his way to the ladder, a sly smile on his lips.

“‘M not cookin for you,” Zeb rolled his eyes, but the way his lips quirked at the corners was all Kallus needed to know that he was bluffing. Hell, he didn’t even need that . 

Usually when Zeb cooked it was for the whole crew, but every once in a blue moon, when Kallus got sick, he’d be the only one treated to the flavorful rice, fried root vegetables, and warm stews that made up Zeb’s list of favorite Lasana recipes. Kallus would return the favor if his cooking skills were any better, but apparently eating nearly nothing but instant noodles and ration bars until your late thirties does things to your palette. (Instead, Kallus simply takes it upon himself to keep Zeb company while he suffers)(Which works out surprisingly well, because apparently human and lasat immune systems are different enough that Kallus couldn’t even catch the lasat equivalent of the common cold if he tried).

“ Mhm .”

“‘M not,” Zeb repeated, following Kallus up the ladder. 

“Whatever you say,” Kallus shrugged as he waited for Zeb to catch up. 

“Yer a pain in the ass,” Zeb huffed as he joined Kallus at the top of the ladder.

“But you have to admit,” Kallus started, rounding the corner to the hallway as he made for his bunk where he could shut off the lights and wait out the concussion induced nausea, “you’d be terribly bored without me around.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Zeb waved him off, “go take a nap or somethin, ya idiot.”

Chapter Text

“You must be a bad omen,” Kallus said into the ongoing silence that filled the Phantom II. 

“ I'm the bad omen?” Zeb scoffed.

“I've been stranded in subzero temperatures zero times without you around,” Kallus said, staring discontentedly out the viewport at the blinding sea of white outside. 

“Well,” Zeb leaned over Kallus’ shoulder to look out the viewport, his hand on the back of the pilot's seat keeping him anchored, “‘s not like I make a habit of it when you’re not around, either.” He straightened, making sure to cuff the side of Kallus’ head as he did. Just for good measure.

Kallus pivoted in the chair and made that face where his eyes would narrow and his nose would scrunch with annoyance, an expression that Zeb had come to associate with whatever snarky remark that would follow. With that face on, it was really a matter of when not if Kal was about to open his smartass mouth-

“Maybe you should. That way I could go more than three minutes without you messing up my hair .” 

There it is . 

“Oh yeah, ‘m sure everybody outside'll think you're a right mess,” Zeb drawled, sarcasm dripping from his words as he shuffled through the overhead compartments. Kallus scoffed.

“Stars forbid I want to look presentable .” He hiked the hood of his parka over his head.

“Ya look fine ,” Zeb rolled his eyes. Kallus made that face again. “I barely even touched ya,” Zeb cut in before Kallus could open his mouth. 

He shuffled around the compartments until- 

CLANK

The box he was searching for clattered unceremoniously to the ground, its contents– three thermal blankets– spilled onto the floor. “Yer just a drama queen,” Zeb finished his thought as he crouched.

“I am not- ” Kallus was promptly cut off by one of the thermal blankets nailing him square in the face. He gathered the soft material in his hands, a steely glare on his face. “You piss me off,” he pointed an accusatory finger at Zeb. 

“Uh huh,” Zeb mumbled dismissively, grabbing the back of the pilot's chair and forcefully spinning it back around towards the dash, “‘m sure I do.” He scanned over the readouts that flashed angrily at him. “Is that the most recent diagnostic ya ran?” Kallus hummed to the affirmative. 

“I'll be running another in a few moments. Just to uh,” he took a moment to glance over the flashing red lights, “cover all of our bases,” he swallowed, “I suppose.”

“You've run, what,” Zeb pushed himself back up and planted his hands on the ceiling, “three?”

“And a half.”

“Right,” Zeb tapped his claw against the ceiling.

Click.

Click.

Click .

“Listen, Alex, I'm no phaseball expert, but I'd consider that bases covered .” Kallus sighed heavily, knocking his head against the back of his seat.

“Allow me this delusion, will you?” He rolled his head to the side to stare at the readout as his fourth diagnostic came back. Same as the others before it. 

They were low on fuel, low on battery, their long range comms were down, the hyperdrive was still screwed and the outer hull was definitely worse for wear. “Phaseball is a stupid sport anyways,” Kallus grumbled.

“I thought you liked Phaseball?” Whatever response Kallus mumbled was lost on Zeb as the blonde pried open one of the cover panels on the side of the dash, revealing the maze of wires beneath it. Zeb watched as he ripped his thick gloves off with his teeth.

“Hold,” he said bluntly, holding the things out towards Zeb.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Zeb responded, taking the gloves from Kallus anyways. 

Zeb watched as Kallus began to dig through the wires, his nimble fingers– fingers much smaller than Zebs own– sifting through the mess. Zeb supposed that Kallus actually had pretty big hands for a human. Hell, Kallus was big for a human. He was tall, tall enough to look Zeb in the eyes without looking up; his shoulders were square and broad enough for his stature to show through the layers he bundled in on Hoth; his arms were strong, the bands of muscle visible under his pale, freckled skin (or rather, they would be if Kallus were to wear a t-shirt, but that was a rare occurrence these days); his legs were strong too, his thighs and calves thick with muscle mass born of sparring sessions and ground missions. If Zebs' memory served him right, he could have sworn that his hand nearly wrapped two thirds of the way around his leg back on Bahryn. It’d been years since then, surely Kallus’ thighs were larger and stronger than they had been then. 

In the deepest, darkest crevice in the back of his mind, Zeb wondered how much space would sit between his fingers if he were to carry Kallus like that again. 

Zeb had to shake his head to rid himself of the thought, as he always did when that traitorous voice in his head dared to speak up. 

He swallowed thickly.

That Voice was becoming more and more of a problem as of the past few months. It was irrational. It never meant anything when he found himself thinking about Kallus’ strong arms, or his muscled back, or how well his greying hair suited him, or the way he would just barely stick his tongue between his teeth when he laughed, or how beautiful those big brown eyes looked when the light hit them just so, or how endearing it was when he would worry his bottom lip between his teeth, or how–

He had to shake his head again.

That doesn’t mean anything , he’d tell himself. That Voice was nothing more than an unfortunate genre of intrusive thoughts.

Zeb was no fool, and he’d be the first to admit that he’d been giving himself a flimsy excuse not to think about That Voice any further, but it was admittedly better than the alternative. 

“ Zeb ,” Kallus’ voice whipped Zeb back into reality.

“Hm? What?” 

“The cold getting to you already?” Kallus asked, a bemused smile on his face. Theres the tongue thing . “I asked if you could hand me a flashlight.” 

“Oh,” Zeb stood quickly to search the overheads yet again, “yeah, one sec.” I need to get a grip . 

It wasn’t long after that before Kallus stood triumphantly, hands on his hips. 

“Comms should be operational,” he said, leaning over the dash and prodding at the buttons on the console. Before Zeb could respond, the image of Hera appeared, illuminating the cabin– which had begun to grow steadily darker– with bright blue light. 

“What trouble did you two get into this time,” Hera said, only half joking. 

“Yeah, about that,” Zeb started, scratching the back of his neck, “we crashed.” Heras face dropped. 

“ Boys ,” she narrowed her eyes, “this was supposed to be a milk run!” 

“Well yes,” Kallus nodded, “and I should make it clear that we did complete the mission, all is well in that regard.”

“There was a bit of a tussle on the way out, and I s’pose the hyperdrive just didn’t wanna cooperate,” Zeb clarified, “got thrown outa hyperspace a few minutes after we jumped.”

“And then you crashed?”

“Precisely,” Kallus said. Hera sighed deeply.

“Send your coordinates.” A beat of silence passed as Kallus did just that. Heras eyes flicked side to side, no doubt scanning the location that Kallus had sent. “How did you two end up in the Kijimi system ?!”

“I’d tell you if we knew,” Kallus pursed his lips. 

“Alright, well you’re a ways away,” Hera frowned, “you two might have to get cozy for a while. We might not be able to run a pickup for another ten hours or so.” 

The pair exchanged a look. 

“We’ve been in worse situations,” Zeb shrugged. 

“Alright, well stay in touch if anything goes sideways. I’ll update you guys on our ETA when I can.” And with that, the Phantom fell back into shadow. 

“It’s probably best to power down,” Kallus said, “it’s well insulated enough in here that we should be able to stay warm for the night.” 

And so that’s what they did. 

It had grown completely dark outside in a matter of minutes, leaving their flashlight to be their only source of light as they laid out the blankets. One blanket was laid on the ground to protect from the cold metal floor, and two were left to the side, to be thrown over the pair once they laid down. 

Zeb got comfortable first, positioning himself against the wall, his feet pointed towards the pilots chair at the other end of the ship.

What Zeb didn’t expect was for Kallus to strip himself of his parka, laying it on the floor at his feet, leaving himself in the grey, threadbare, long sleeve shirt that Zeb swore used to be his. He also didn’t expect Kallus to demand that Zeb do the same. 

“I don’t wanna freeze ,” Zeb wrinkled his nose. 

“You won't ,” Kallus scoffed, “sharing body heat will be far more productive than relying on our jackets.” Zeb had to admit that he’d probably need a source if anybody else had made that claim, but by some curse of the force, he always found it very difficult to tell Kallus no. 

He laid his own parka to the side the same as Kallus did, leaving him in the thermal bodysuit he’d layered under. 

Kallus slipped under the blankets and Zeb yelped as an ice cold finger pressed against his arm. 

“Oh I get it, you’re just a cold blooded bastard trying to leech ,” Zeb accused, no heat to his words. Kallus laughed quietly.

“You’ve figured me out,” He smiled, tucking his hand into the space between Zeb’s arm and his ribcage.

“Well that’s just usin’ me fer my body,” he grinned into the darkness, pressing his arm tighter to his body to trap Kallus’ hand there.

“Oh, c’mon, I’m not that shallow,” Kallus pressed the side of his face into the fur on Zeb’s shoulder, “you’re funny,” Zeb could feel him smile against him, “sometimes.” 

“Well one of us had to be,” Zeb huffed. Kallus couldn’t see in the dark, so really it was no use in trying not to smile, but Zeb did it anyway. 

“Thank the stars,” Kallus mumbled, “we’d be an insufferable pair if you weren’t.” His hand shifted, instead of laying pinned, those nimble fingers gripped softly at Zeb’s bicep.

“Pretty sure we already are.”

“You’re probably right,” Kallus murmured. Zeb smiled. It was these moments, the quiet moments with Kallus that always felt so easy. So right. “Goodnight, Garazeb.”  

“G’night, Alex,” Zeb replied, and for a moment he thought about how easy it would be to dip his head down and press his lips to the soft, greying hair at Kallus’ crown.

He shook his head to banish the thought.

As Zeb fell asleep, he just hoped Kallus couldn’t feel how quickly his heart thudded in his chest.

Chapter Text

In Zeb’s experience, Kallus’ personality was what one might call an acquired taste .

It had been so long since Phoenix Squadron had first landed on Yavin IV, but Zeb could remember the months that followed rather vividly; After everybody was settled it took a shockingly short period of time before nearly all the mission briefs that came across Hera’s desk detailed imperial troop movements in painstaking detail, or contained codes to imperial channels that the Rebels had never even heard of before, or even– in one very perplexing extraction mission– contained a list of imperial interrogation drugs and their antidotes. 

Zeb didn’t need to see the ‘ Mission plan by: Capt. A. Kallus’ to know who’s desk in intelligence the reports had come from. 

It wasn’t long after that before Intelligence decided that Kallus should simply join Hera and Zeb on the missions that he’d written up in intelligence. That’s where the– well, Zeb wouldn’t call them problems , but there wasn’t really a better word– began.

Zeb had very little question about Kallus’ loyalty to the rebellion; it was undeniable that he had saved the Ghost Crew’s and Phoenix Squadrons asses a handful of times, and beyond that, even though his loyalties were misplaces at the time, he’d proved he was capable of being an honorable man on Bahryn. Loyalty wasn’t really the issue at hand.

The issue at hand was that Kallus was unbelievably fucking frustrating. 

He wasn’t exactly nice , but he wasn’t mean either. He was snappy , but not without reason. He was mouthy and downright bossy during missions (always spouting some sort of, “that’s the wrong code,” or “ stop that,” or “ move , let me do it,” or “ SHH ,” the list goes on) but he was unnervingly quiet otherwise.

He was defensive and stand offish, but in all fairness, so was Zeb. 

They wouldn’t fight – if they were fighting there’d have been an incredibly large amount of bloodshed– but they weren’t not fighting. Hera called them pissing matches , but Zeb… really hated that term, actually. 

They were… disagreements . 

Very snappy disagreements. 

It was only in the months that followed, after Kallus got into the kid’s good graces, and then Kanans, and then Heras, that Zeb was sort of able to see the appeal. 

Yes, Kallus was frustrating, that much was certain, but as it turns out, he was capable of being gentle and kind. He was capable of teaching Sabine how to reprogram an MSE droid, befriending Chopper, making Kanan laugh, letting Ezra poke fun at him, and earning Hera’s respect. He was capable of introspection, empathy, and regret. 

He was capable of change . 

Even still, years later, Kallus was awkward, and bossy, and snappy, but that was all a part of the package. They were irrevocable pieces of what made him him , but, in Zeb’s humble opinion, once he saw the Kallus who was kind, thoughtful, hardworking, and dedicated, that’s what made all the other things worthwhile. That’s what made his annoyed expressions and snipey remarks not only bearable, but endearing .

So what the fuck was up with the gaggle of late 20 somethings making heart eyes at Kallus without even knowing about the good parts, huh?

“And I’m sure that double the amount of people dislike me, Garazeb,” Kallus had said as he pried a maintenance access panel open on the side of The Phantom II, “you’d understand that better than anyone, I’m sure.” 

“Well,” Zeb scoffed, “I jus’ don’t get it.” He leaned against the side of the ship, craning his neck to get a glimpse of how Kallus furrowed his brows at the hyperdrive access hatch. “They’re everywhere .” There was probably one in this very hangar bay as they spoke .

“You're making this up,” Kallus huffed. “Hand me the spanner.” 

“I’m not!” Zeb argued as he bent down to retrieve the tool. “I dunno how you haven’t noticed ‘em,” he paused to frown at the memory of one particular offender, one of the commando lieutenants, who’d spent an entire 20 minutes finding excuses to touch Kallus’ bicep during a mission brief. “Makin’ googly eyes' at you when you do anythin’ .” He passed the spanner to Kallus, and for a brief moment, he wished that they weren’t wearing gloves so that their fingers might’ve brushed. 

Zeb shook his head. 

“Careful,” Kallus started, “Hera might accuse you of being a jealous girlfriend.” 

“She did that cause you were bein’ a jealous girlfriend,” Zeb fired back. For a moment he hoped, as slim of a chance as it may have been, that Kallus would just agree with him. 

“All I did was mention that a certain pilot,” the one that had slid into the seat next to Zeb in the mess hall after Kallus had momentarily moved to get a 2nd cup of caf, “had very little decorum in taking my seat .” With one final CLANK , Kallus handed the spanner back to Zeb before pulling out a slender sheet of metal with a data chip embedded in the middle. “Without asking, mind you.” 

Zeb rolled his eyes as he took a seat on the ground next to the toolbox.

“She was askin’ me about a mechanic thing,” which was true, “s’not like she was givin’ me the eyes like your little fanclub does,” which was also true. 

Kallus hit Zeb with one of the nastiest side eyes he’d seen in his entire life (or this month, at least) and Zeb got the distinct feeling that he was in trouble. 

Kallus cleared his throat. 

“ Speaking of mechanic things,” Kallus popped the data chip out of the sheet, carefully cradling it in his gloved hand, “give me my datapad.”

“What’s the magic word,” Zeb raised a brow. Kallus rolled his eyes.

“ Zeb .”

“Yer bein’ bossy,” Zeb grabbed the datapad from where it had been sitting on the hangar bay floor, waving it tauntingly.

“You’re being overly difficult.” 

“ C’mmooonnn ,” Zeb drawled. 

Kallus, wearing the least amused expression in the galaxy, gingerly took off his glove and set it on the ground, carefully resting the data chip on it. 

Zeb didn’t even have time to furrow his brow because the speed at which he went from sitting straight up to having the wind knocked out of him as his back hit the ground was staggering . 

He did , however, have time to raise the datapad over his head, just out of reach from where Kallus had landed on top of him. 

From there it was a familiar dance that they did, one they’d become comfortable with during their days of sparring on Yavin IV. 

Kallus lunged forwards, Zeb flipped him onto his back. Kallus yanked at Zebs arm to throw him off balance, Zeb fell downwards without the support of his arm, bringing their faces close enough that he could feel Kallus’ hot breath against his cheek. Kallus wrapped his legs around Zeb’s middle and threw himself with enough force to roll them over once more. Kallus lunged once more, trapping Zeb under his bodyweight as he made for the datapad. Zeb didn’t move this time.

It wasn’t that he let Kallus win, it was just that he couldn’t help but get a little bit distracted by the view.

Even through the layers of snow gear that bundled the pair, Zeb’s mind strayed. 

How easy it was, to imagine Kallus at this angle now, pinning Zeb under his weight, thick thighs bracketing either side of his torso, sans the thick jacket and snowpants in between them. It was all too easy to imagine Kallus in that grey long sleeve and the baggy plaid boxers that hung low on his hips, the ones Zeb hadn’t seen Kallus in since the fleet had been gathered at the Mako-Ta docking stations. It was far less cold then, and every once in a while, when Zeb got up earlier than usual, he’d catch Kallus standing in the galley in those boxers and a ribbed tank top that would hug his chest in all the right ways. Zeb couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t appreciated that outfit more when he’d had the chance.

‘Cause you didn’t want him then , The Voice answered for him, and Ashla did he hate that.

“ Zeb ,” Kallus snapped his ungloved fingers in front of his face.

“Hm?” Zeb really had to get a grip. 

“Are you alright?” 

“What?” Zeb swallowed as his whole body grew hot with embarrassment, “oh, yeah,” he blinked, “yeah- fine, I’m fine!” Kallus frowned. “Never been better.” 

“Right,” Kallus seemed unconvinced as he swung his leg over and away from Zeb so that he could stand. Zeb could have sobbed in disappointment as the scant amount of body heat that had seeped between them dissipated, replaced by the cold air of the hangar. 

“Just uh,” Zeb swallowed. Again. “Didn’t sleep well.” He couldn’t decide who he was trying to convince: Kallus or himself.

“This is a problem,” Zeb said later that night to Hera, who sat at the common room table with a mug of steaming tea in between her hands. 

“What’s the problem?”

“ Alex problem.” Zeb slid into the seat across from her.

“Oh, of course,” Hera nodded, “the Alex problem,” she said in the same tone that somebody may use when saying that grass is green, as if this were a conversation that they’d had a million times before, despite the fact that it absolutely was not.

“I’m goin’ crazy ,” Zeb whispered frantically as to not be heard through the thin walls of the ship, “I can’t even have a conversation with him without losin’ it.”

“Why is that?” Hera said in that all knowing tone that she used with Jacen when she would ask him to tell her what color his hair was.

“ I dunno ,” not a complete lie, to be fair. 

“What do you mean you don’t know ?” 

“I don’t-” Zeb winced internally, “I don't like thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Well, maybe that’s a sign that you should,” she said matter-of-factly, bringing her tea up to her lips, “you might learn something new.”

“That’s- No.” Zeb shook his head. “No.”

“What do you mean, no ?” Zeb scratched the back of his neck. 

“It’s jus’” he stared up at the ceiling, “I’m not a great liar,” he started.

“Mhm, you’re terrible at it.”

“Right,” he shifted his gaze to the wall, “‘n’ if I know why I’m losin it, ‘n’ then he asks about it,” he looked down at this table this time, “then he’s gonna know ‘n’ the whole thing is just,” he waved his hand flippantly before burying his face in the other one, “ruined.” Hera hummed.

“Or,” she took a sip of her tea, “you two could talk it out, and everything might turn out fine,” she said as if it were the most simple thing in the world. 

“That’s a terrible idea,” Zeb grumbled. “Alex doesn’t talk, he just… makes weird faces,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. 

“Well,” Hera made a face as she tilted her head back and forth, clearly in an inner debate, “okay, yeah, that’s because Alex is weird,” she stated. Zeb pursed his lips. This was not helping. “We can worry about that later,” she waved her hand in dismissal, “where do you stand on this?” 

Before Zeb could open his mouth, the sound of the common room door opening sucked all the air out of the room, because, speak of the devil. There he was. The weird face maker himself. In the flesh. 

Kallus entered the room quietly, his steps muffled by thick socks. His black sleep pants brushed against the floor as he tread towards the table. His face was tired, as if he’d awoken mere seconds before walking in, but the two mugs in his hands, one green and speckled, and the other a fiery amber, told another story. He set the latter one down in front of Zeb. 

“This is my formal apology for being a jealous girlfriend ,” he said, “or something along those lines.” For a moment Zeb couldn’t help but think about how Kallus was acting like he hadn’t even noticed Hera– until he was struck with the realization that while he was foolishly daydreaming about those stupid plaid boxers, his silence could have been, and apparently was mistook for agitation. ‘ Sorry for being snappy and tackling you in the hangar bay ,’ is what Kallus probably meant.

Suddenly Zeb felt very disappointed in himself.

“What is that?” Hera asked, leaning over to catch a glimpse of the contents of the mug.

“It’s poison,” Kallus answered promptly, “I’m poisoning him.” 

“I knew this would happen someday,” Zeb took a sip from the mug. It was hot cocoa mixed with mint tea, a combination that Kallus had made for Zeb a few months ago, and had since become one of Zeb’s favorite of the warm delights that made being on Hoth just a little bit more bearable.

“It was only a matter of time,” Kallus nodded in agreement. As Zeb moved to take a second sip, the soft sensation of slender fingers combing over his neck scruff took a front seat in his list of priorities. “Your fur was sticking up,” Kallus explained as the ministrations came to a stop far too soon.

“Oh,” Zeb said very smartly and intelligently without sounding stupid at all, “thanks,” he managed to muster a smile through his dumbfounded state, hoping that it would do in place of explaining that he was never upset in the first place.

“Mhm,” Kallus hummed softly before turning back towards the door which he came through. “Goodnight Garazeb.” The door swooshed open, “and Hera– goodnight Hera,” he added as an afterthought before the door closed behind him. 

Hera turned to Zeb with a raised brow. 

Zeb set his mug down and sighed into his hands.

“I’m so fucked.”

Chapter Text

To be completely honest, Kallus wasn’t usually the superstitious type.

Obviously there was the force , and all that Jedi stuff that he never really wrapped his head around, and that was real , obviously. He’d seen it (and felt it in the sense that those bruises he got after being thrown across the room by one Ezra Bridger stuck around for days ), it was there , he knew that. He just wasn’t superstitious when it came to the idea of ghosts , or spirits, or poltergeists, or whatever other kind of things made up that list. 

Growing up on Coruscant, there were always whispers about the lower levels being haunted. As a kid Kallus had always thought the notion was ridiculous; he’d grown up there and he’d never seen any ghosts, but as he grew older he realized that He couldn’t really blame those superstitious types for having the thought. It was always so easy to forget that the roads and alleyways he’d traversed as a kid were tens of thousands years old, embedded with the dark and depressing history of a planet long devoid of anything natural . To think of just how many people could have met their end on those streets– by his childhood apartment, near the neighborhood bodega, in that one long-abandoned warehouse that was definitely used for spice dealing– was staggering. 

In some cases, the ghosts of people weren’t where the superstitions ended.

Kallus could remember being small– small enough that he could barely see over the bodega counter– and being told by an older woman that eons ago, there were creatures that had galloped through grassy plains, that had swam vast oceans, that had even climbed trees (Kallus had never seen a tree when he was that age, so it’s easy to imagine how mindblown he was by the concept). She told him how those creatures roamed the planet until the plains were caked in concrete and steel, the oceans were drained and dried, and the trees were hacked down, all in the name of building warehouses, factories, and apartments. The woman told him that the spirits of Coruscant's long-gone wildlife still drifted through the levels, forever searching for a patch of grass to rest in, a lake or quench their everlasting thirst, or a ray of sunlight so that they might feel its warmth through the veil.

At the time Kallus, in all of his five year old genius, had asked why the spirits couldn't just find a space heater, because those were warm too. The woman had looked at him very sadly, and said that she hoped he would get to see the sun someday, and that once he did he would understand why the spirits yearned to bask in it once again.

Looking back, that was probably the first time Kallus ever realized how badly Coruscant sucked . He didn’t understand the extent of it at the time, but he could remember how disappointed he was when he had turned to his sister to ask if he could climb a tree and all she could do was smile sadly and say, “someday.” 

Kallus didn’t believe in gods either.

He could remember being a little bit older– old enough that he was allowed to walk the block between the diner where his sister worked and the bodega by himself– and sitting at the kids-sized table shoved into the corner of the back room. He had said something about wishing that the holoprojector in his apartment wasn’t broken, to which Sailyn had responded, 

“why don’t you pray about it?” He’d been confused, and asked what good that would do. His sister wasn’t a believer, the concept was foreign to him. “I don’t know, it’s like the force or something. My mum says that if you ask enough then the gods will give you things,” she had paused, “or something like that. I wasn’t really listening.” He’d scoffed and said that if he was gonna ask a god for anything it would be money. Sailyn had sighed in the same way that Kallus’ sister would after a long shift, and told him that she’d already tried. It didn’t work. 

The memory within itself wasn’t anything of note. Two kids too young to understand the point in faith, sitting at a table over a box of crayons and crumpled juice boxes complaining about money problems (sometimes, Kallus wondered if, had he not joined the empire, he and Sailyn would still be complaining about the same things over a box of cigaras and glasses of cheap whiskey). It was years later, when they’d been old enough to sit in back alleys after shifts so long that their feet ached with a bottle of stolen liquor between them, that Sailyn had said, 

“I don’t think there’s gods,” she’d taken a drink, “or anything like that.” Kallus had asked why. “I dunno…” she passed the bottle, “if there are, they abandoned this planet a long time ago.” 

Kallus wasn’t predisposed to faith, but he’d decided then that if there were gods, they were not kind ones. He supposed it didn’t matter much either way, he didn’t have stakes in the matter like Sailyn did, but Coruscant having no gods felt like an easier pill to swallow than having ones that didn’t care.

So, yes, Kallus did believe in the force, and that it probably had a will that he didn’t understand, but he wasn't quite convinced about ghosts, or spirits, or sentient gods. In recent months, however, he probably could be sold on possession. 

To be fair, he had heard about that one time that Sabine and Kanan got possessed by the nightsisters, but those were witches. Dead witches, yes, but witches nonetheless, and in Kallus’ opinion once freaky nightsister shadow magic gets involved, that situation should be counted as an outlier.

Besides, it’s not as if Kallus was frequenting Dathomir for funsies.

No, whatever was possessing him was some sort of entity that was only capable of deeply concerning amounts of gentle affection and yearning.

Kallus would be the first to admit that he was not an affectionate person. He didn’t do hugs or celebratory arms around shoulders. He didn’t know how to give or receive gifts (birthdays were always a nightmare). He could never find the words to express emotions like that either. To Kallus, affection just felt more awkward more than anything, which admittedly, was because– in Kallus’ opinion– vulnerability was possibly the most terrifying thing one could experience.

So yeah, Kallus was weird about that stuff, he didn’t like it, he was bad at it, he didn’t want to participate in it, didn’t want to be near it, point blank period.

Until recently. 

Hence the probable possession.

It was unbearable , the way that Kallus would be suddenly overtaken with disgusting feelings like… fondness… and endearment… and sentimentality every single time Zeb did so much as enter a room.

Kallus felt like an idiot. 

A massive fucking idiot.

Surely he was smarter than this. 

Zeb was an impressive warrior, a capable soldier, and rebel through and through, but more than that, he was an honorable man. Zeb was strong in his convictions, he was kind hearted, he was thoughtful and caring for his family and friends. Most bafflingly, he had offered Kallus forgiveness, forgiveness that he was not obligated to give, that Kallus hadn’t expected even a fraction of. More than that, he offered Kallus his trust , which Kallus had given him in turn.

Kallus had seen Zeb laugh, he’d seen him cry, he’d seen him at the peak of anger and rage, and at his calmest and most serene. Never in his life had he grown to know somebody as much as he knew Zeb, and he could not express how glad he was that Zeb offered him that luxury.

That’s another thing, a thing that Kallus didn’t have the words– or rather, he had the words, just not the heart– to explain to Hera during their cryptic early morning conversations that she’d strike up; Kallus and Zeb’s relationship existed on Zebs terms, and under no circumstance was Kallus willing to violate those terms. Zeb’s friendship was the most valuable thing Kallus had ever been given, and if it were ever put in jeopardy, Kallus would…

He didn’t even know.

He didn’t know what he’d do with himself.

The problem is that Kallus, as much as he despised having to admit it, even to himself, so badly wanted those terms to change. He ached to hold Zeb in his arms, to run his fingers through his velvety fur, to feel his hands around his waist,to press a kiss to his forehead before he fell asleep each night, and to wake up with him at his side every morning. He wanted it so badly he felt sick.

He was an idiot.

He let himself slip this far and now he had to deal with the consequences. 

It just so happened that telling himself that he didn’t want it was so, so much easier than dealing with that insatiable craving head on. Even though Hera kept trying to convince him otherwise. 

“I just think you should just have a chat with Zeb about,” she took a moment to search for the words, “where you stand with each other.” 

“Hera,” Kallus rubbed at his eyes, still heavy from sleep, “it is far too early to be doing this again.” Hera leaned against the galley counter. 

“Can you listen to me?”

“I am listening to you,” Kallus grumbled. “My relationship- my standing with Zeb is the same as it has been for years, nothing has changed.” Hera made a face somewhere in between disappointment, understanding, and sadness. 

“And you’re happy with it?” Kallus chewed on his bottom lip as he turned the question over a few times. 

“If he is.” It was the truth; if Zeb wanted nothing to change then nothing would. That was that. Kallus would survive. Hera seemed to understand, from the way she looked at Kallus like he’d told her his every thought.

“Okay,” she pushed herself off from the counter, “I know you care about him a lot,” she rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, “and I’m glad he has you.” She dropped her hand and headed for the galley door.

If he were a more emotional man he might have cried. But he didn't, because he was fine.

I’m fine.

This is fine .

Chapter Text

It was always quiet this time of night; that pocket between 1:30 and 5 AM after Sabine would finally go to bed, the sounds of the holonet no longer audible through the thin walls of the ship, and before Hera’s alarm usually went off in the morning.

Kallus didn’t usually make it a habit to be awake at this time, these days he usually found himself dozing off earlier in the night, his eyes and limbs heavy from hours of intelligence work done in the freezing cold. Sometimes he thought back to Yavin IV, and how easy it had been for him to work until the early morning hours, the crickets outside as his only company. Sometimes he wished he could still find it in himself to pull shifts like that, but he supposed he was getting old. Although, Zeb would probably try to argue that Kallus just got comfortable . 

The nightmares, however, did not care about Kallus’ age nor his comfort. 

It was uncomfortable to admit to himself that he missed his imperial days when the scenes behind his eyes didn’t vary every night. There was only one that he’d grown used to; the one where Kallus’ limbs refused to move as his ears were assaulted with the begging screams of one of his academy friends, pleading with the mercenary to let him live. 

The begging hadn’t worked. Obviously. 

It had been the same scene nearly every night, the same explosion, the same paralyzation, the same screams. Over and over and over again until he’d grown to expect and accept its recurrence. 

It was only in the week that followed his return from Bahryn that he’d begun to see a forest greyed with ash and blaster scoring, the face of an honorable guardsman, and a borifle dropped at his feet. He’d begun to hear the screams, the blaster fire, and the voice of his superior telling him that the T-17s were a crowd control prototype. He’d begun to smell the smoke and taste the bile in the back of his throat. 

It was that week that he’d started lurching out of bed with an upset stomach and the aching weight of his decisions hanging over his head. 

There had been a few more added to the rotation since then; the voice of Thrawn echoing through his skull, his taunting and monologuing both unnerving and annoying ; the faces of Cassian, Melshi and Kaytoo during their last card game at the tap-cafe; the electronic, heaving breaths of Vader that echoed through the hallways of the Mako-Ta docking stations over the sound of rebel boots sprinting towards evacuation transports; there were even nights where he was confronted with the image of his sister in her last year, gaunt, sickly, and weak, withering away as everybody in the lower levels did at some point or another.

On the nights where he was especially unlucky, he’d be unable to escape the myriad of horrors that insisted on plaguing him, no matter how many times he woke up. 

It was on those nights- the bad nights – that he could be found in the galley during that quiet pocket of the night, sipping on glass of water in hopes that it might help settle that churning feeling in his stomach. 

The water never worked, there was only ever one antidote to his unrest, and Kallus wasn’t about to go wake him up.

Zeb had his own nightmares, and Kallus knew their contents well. 

Every once in a while, they’d both find themselves here, describing the images behind their eyes under a feigned sense of casualty, as if the death, destruction, and suffering of war were topics as ordinary as the weather. 

There had been one night, back when the Rebellion still inhabited the Mako-Ta docking stations, when Kallus had told Zeb about his sister. He’d told Zeb of her selflessness, her kindness, her hope for a better future. He’d recalled her tired eyes and sad smiles; he hadn’t told Zeb about how he could see his sister's eyebags and worry lines whenever he stared at himself in the mirror for too long. He told Zeb of her selflessness and her sacrifice, he told Zeb of the birthday gifts borne of tip money she could scrounge together, and of the long lost home videos she’d take when he opened them. He’d told Zeb how he was older now than she’d ever had the chance of being. He had told Zeb that he missed her.

In turn Zeb had told Kallus stories of his brother: a man more lively than his years, a man who lit up every room he entered, a man so in love with life , so buoyant and bright, so inconceivably gracious and forgiving. With stories of Zebs brother also came stories of a kit, wide-eyed and naive, who would ask Zeb for piggy back rides, stories from the honor guard. That was the night that Kallus found out that Zeb had a nephew. Zeb had told Kallus that the pair had headed to the spaceport that morning, and that he hoped with all his heart that they’d made it, and that they’d found some quiet corner of the galaxy away from all of this . 

“I hope so too,” Kallus had responded in all earnest, but the ‘ I wish I could meet them,’ never made it past his lips. 

Those chats were never comfortable , but in a weird, confusing, and twisted way, they always helped. Zeb very rarely did things he didn’t want to do, so the recurrence of their little chats was enough to let Kallus know that Zeb probably felt the same.

The water was cool as he swallowed it and the glass had grown cold against his fingertips. 

He checked the time.

2:07 AM. 

His glass was still half-full, he’d be a fool to waste it (what with the supply sanctions here on Hoth), so he set it on the counter instead. He rubbed at the corner of his eye as he searched for the electric kettle-

WHOOSH

Kallus nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the galley door.

“Spook ya?” Zeb asked, a sleepy smile on his face, “‘m surprised ya didn’t hear me,” he yawned, stretching his muscled arms languidly over his head. Kallus would be a liar if he said that he didn’t hope for Zeb's thick hoodie to ride up just a little bit , just enough to catch a glimpse of the thick purple fur underneath it.

Alas, he was left only to gaze upon the waistband of Zebs sweatpants. No happy trail in sight. 

Ridiculous. How was he supposed to admire from afar in these conditions?

“I was distracted ,” Kallus scolded as harshly as he could in a whisper, his hand still clutched over his chest, “you dick .” Zeb huffed out a laugh as he padded over to where Kallus stood by the counter. 

“Gotta keep you on yer toes,” he smiled as he leaned against the counter no more than a foot away from Kallus. “What were you makin’?”

“Tea maybe,” Kallus answered, mimicking Zebs lean, “if I could find the kettle.”

“’s not in the cabinet?” Kallus shook his head with a hum.

“Already checked. My working theory is that Sabine commandeered it upon her return from Lothal,” he rested his palm on the counter, “it’s probably sitting in her bunk as we speak .” 

“Yeah,” Zeb grabbed the glass of water, “yer probably right,” he held it out to Kallus to take. 

“You can have it. It’s cold.” 

“Don’t you put ice in yer water on purpose ?”

“Yeah, when it’s hot out,” Kallus started, “but I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he gently curled his fingers around Zebs wrist in order to push the hand that held the glass away, “it’s a bit chilly in here.” Zeb rolled his eyes, but the way that his lips quirked up at the corners betrayed any attempt at looking annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah,” He mumbled, “‘s cold or whatever.” Zeb passed the glass to his opposite hand so as to not jostle Kallus’ grip on his wrist before taking a sip. “’s not even that bad, ya big kit.”

“I’m particular ,” Kallus crossed his arms. He could have sworn that Zeb frowned as his eyes darted to where Kallus had let go of him, but as quickly as the expression appeared it was gone, “is that such a crime?”

“Mhm,” Zeb hummed, “we oughta lock you up, throw ya in the brig.” Kallus rolled his eyes despite the smile that had fought its way onto his face. 

“Shuddup,” he said as he smacked Zeb’s arm. Suddenly, the realization that he’d just used a move straight from the ‘ inexperienced 20 year old ties to flirt for the first time ’ playbook made him deeply unsettled. If he really wanted to– which he didn’t … because he and Zeb weren’t like that– he knew how to be a suave smooth-talker, but ‘ Shuddup ’? How had he fallen so far?

He just hoped Zeb didn’t notice how flushed he probably was. 

A silence overtook the room as Zeb took another sip before gingerly setting the glass back on the counter. 

“You have water on your face,” Kallus said, his words quiet and careful. Before Zeb could even answer, Kallus’ hand had already reached out towards his face– there's the possession again– to wipe away the droplet that had stuck to his beard. 

Zeb got a look in his eyes that Kallus might have called contemplation, or confusion if his gaze had not been so… soft . 

“We uh,” Zeb swallowed, “we oughta talk, I think.” 

Kallus’ blood ran cold and every single muscle in his body grew tense. Had he crossed a line? Had he made Zeb uncomfortable? 

“We’re already talking,” Kallus said, a poor attempt at deflection. 

“Well yeah,” Zeb’s ears shifted just slightly, “but this is serious,” he made a face, “I guess.” 

“Right,” Kallus responded, shifting so that his arms crossed tighter over his chest, “go on, then.” 

Zeb gave him that look again. 

“Has Hera been needling ya ‘bout,” Zeb’s ears pinned back in a fashion which Kallus had learned was the lasat equivalent of blushing , “stuff.” 

“ Stuff? ”

“Yeah… stuff.” 

“Perhaps if you used your words I’d know what you were talking about,” Kallus drawled sarcastically. If Zeb was going to scold Kallus for all of his unspoken affections , he’d rather him just get it over with .

“ Us , has she been needling you about us .” Kallus shifted awkwardly where he stood. Suddenly the silence in the galley was no longer the comfortable kind that usually accompanied their dead-of-night chats, no, this silence was suddenly very charged . 

“Yes..?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Right,” Zeb looked up at the ceiling.

“ Right ?” Kallus parroted. 

“And what's she said to ya ‘bout it,” Zeb said, the words stilted and awkward as he spoke. Kallus swallowed.

“She’s been insisting that I speak with you,” he watched raptly as Zeb seemed to nod in agreement. 

“So she ain’t brought up Kanan?”

“What? No, she hasn’t mentioned a thing about Kanan,” Kallus furrowed his brow. This conversation was growing more confusing by the second, “she brought him up to you ?” Zeb scratched the back of his neck.

“That is so not fair,” Zeb grumbled.

“Why’d she bring up Kanan?” Kallus uncrossed his arms, opting instead to shove them into the pockets of his sleep pants. 

“Well this,” Zeb made a face, “this doesn’t work if she didn’t tell you the same thing.” 

“ What doesn’t work?!” Kallus wanted to grab Zeb by the shoulders and shake him until he just spat it out . 

“Well I had a- I had a plan for this,” Zeb covered his face with his hand that wasn’t supporting his weight against the counter, but that did nothing to hide the way that his ears laid back against his head. He’s blushing . He sighed again, dragging his hand down enough for his luminous eyes to peer over his fingers. “She was just- she brought ‘im up ‘cause she was saying that she wished she y’know,” he glimpsed at the wall behind Kallus, “told him how she felt more- that doesn’t matter.” Kallus raised a brow.“Well it matters! It matters. Just it’s- that’s- don’t worry about it, forget that I brought that up.” 

Kallus had to suppress a grin at Zebs floundering. 

“The point is that I’ve been thinking ,” Zeb started.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” Kallus teased

“ SHH , I’m talking,” Zeb held his finger up in front of Kallus’ face. “I’ve been thinkin’ and uh,” he paused, “I uh,” a second pause, longer this time. He groaned. “Why is this so difficult?”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, so I wouldn’t know,” Kallus said, a half truth. It was true that he didn’t know exactly what Zeb was trying to say, but he kind of got the jist. He wasn’t going to say that, though. Mostly because it would be really embarrassing if they weren’t actually thinking the same thing. He just grinned at Zeb instead.

“Um,” Zeb made that contemplative, confused face again. His eyes flickered across Kallus’ face “if ‘m readin’ this wrong you can hit me or somthin’.” 

Kallus couldn’t even open his mouth to respond, because one second he was looking at Zeb with his pretty green eyes and his ears pinned back all bashful-like, and the next second he couldn’t breathe through the shock of having Zeb’s lips pressed firmly against his own.

By the time he registered what the hell just happened, Zeb was already pulling away, which Kallus thought was stupid . 

He hooked an arm around Zeb’s neck, tangling his fingers into his thick winter scruff, and yanked him back in for more. Sure, it was a little bit clumsy, and sure their teeth clacked when they both smiled as their lips moved, and sure they probably looked like over-eager teenagers, but Kallus couldn’t have cared less. It was perfect, because it was Zeb . 

 When they both drew back they were flushed and out of breath, love drunk and airheaded. Zeb’s hands had found the small of Kallus’ back where he traced circles through his thermal shirt.

“So,” Kallus started, threading Zebs silky soft scruff through his fingers to distract from his nerves, “what’s that mean?” He asked, voice low and fragile as he willed the words to leave his throat.

“Been tryin’ not to put a word to it yet,” Zeb answered as he dipped his head to brush his jaw against Kallus’ neck. A lasat kiss. Kallus returned the gesture as best he could, but it was difficult to think when Zeb was breathing into his skin like that. “But I want this ,” he said quietly– shyly – into the junction of Kallus’ neck and shoulder.

Kallus hummed in vague agreement. 

“Alright,” he shuddered at the feeling of Zebs beard brushing his neck as he pulled back to look Kallus in the face, “well I knew you had questionable taste, but this is just,” he had to fight his smile back, “this is just ludicrous.” Zeb pursed his lips, but the way his eyes lit up in amusement was telling.

“ Alex .” 

“I’m willing to forgive your taste in men for the sake of my own self interest but I just figured you should be made aware,” Kallus smiled as he dragged one hand away from Zeb’s neck so that he could wrap his hoodie string around a finger, tugging Zeb the smallest bit closer.

Zeb huffed out a laugh as he leaned in once more, this time pressing his lips softly to Kallus’ forehead. 

“Well, it’s in my self interest to go back to bed,” he drew Kallus closer, rubbing his thumb over his waist, “you can join me if ya want.” 

Kallus hummed in agreement through his smile and let Zeb drag him down the hallway by his hand, the glass of water left forgotten in the galley.