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It is a tradition that has survived a millenia, the Masquerade. Admittedly, Thrawn has always enjoyed reading the tabloids the day after, dissecting images of various socialites and their wardrobe decisions. It is the event of the year and though military officials have been known to attend, he never thought that he himself would be in attendance. 

Peace, it seems, has brought about many changes. 

“You have also received an invitation to the Masquerade?” Thrawn asks Eli. In his return to the Ascendancy, aided by the very man sitting beside him, their devotion to each other never wavered. They now have an apartment on Naporar, with separate bedrooms, and a pet fish. Despite Un’hee being a near permanent fixture in their lives, neither of them were ready to take on the responsibility of a pet that couldn’t be ceremoniously flushed. 

“I think it was less of an invitation and more of a demand,” Eli says from his position on the other side of the couch, reading glasses perched on his nose. He looks up from his questis, and over the rim of his glasses. “Why?” 

Thrawn shifts. “It will be difficult to identify allies upon first glance.” 

He smirks. “So you want to go together?” 

“If it would not burden you.” 

He sets aside his questis, tucks his feet under Thrawn’s legs, and turns to face him fully. “It wouldn’t be a burden. But I have a counter offer.” 

“Very well.” 

“We go separately, and see who can find the other first.” 

Thrawn stares at him. “I know you have lived in the Ascendancy for a considerable amount of time, but perhaps I should point out our biological differences.” 

Eli shrugs. “I guess it should be easy for you then.” 

Thrawn nods. “If this is what you wish for.” 

“When is the last time you’ve had the joy of dissecting me, huh?” 

“I have never—” 

“Oh that’s krayt spit and we both know it.” 

Thrawn can feel a smile twisting his lips. After all this time, he still adores the way Eli’s accent dances across his words. “Then prepare to be defeated.” 

“Don’t count your guba eggs before they’ve hatched, my friend.” 

Thrawn’s heart kicks at the endearment. 

~

As Thrawn assumed, the Masquerade is a lively affair. He is dressed in a dark blue cloak, adorned with small crystals and embroidery to resemble the constellations on Rentor. His mask is pure white, styled to cover the entirety of his face. It may be a time of peace, but he still hates that the wardrobe of the evening will limit his peripheral vision. 

He thanks his driver and steps out of the air car into an onslaught of camera flashes. Journalists are demanding that he speak his name for the record and declare who he is wearing, but he remains silent as he ascends the stairs into the gala. 

The ballroom is lavishly decorated. Gossamer white fabric is draped from the vaults of the arched ceilings and crystal chandeliers illuminate the space in warm light. A string quartet plays music in the corner and as is customary, a line is already forming at the bar. 

“Good evening.” Thrawn would recognize Thalias’ voice anywhere and turns to face her. She has opted not to wear a cloak like many of the other attendees of this evening’s affair, but rather a lavish silver gown and matching half-mask. “I see my designer has done you well.” 

“She has. I thank you for loaning her to Eli and me.” 

“Of course. Where is our little alien friend?” 

“I do not know.” 

Her head tilts to the side. “You didn’t come together?” 

“No. He proposed we try to find each other by analyzing the outfits of the other partygoers.” 

Her lips twist into a smile. “That sounds very much like something you would enjoy.” 

“Perhaps. May I ask a question?” 

“Always.” 

“Most people have opted for anonymity tonight. You have not. Why?” 

“Because a Patriarch must always be visible. Hiding is never a politically wise move.” 

“I see. Thank you, your Venerante.” 

She puts a slender hand on his shoulder. “It will always be Thalias to you, my friend.” 

As she melts into the crowd, he realizes that the endearment from her did not flip his stomach as it had when Eli had said it. He files that for future consideration and weaves through the growing crowd of people. 

Eli is shorter than most Chiss, which he thought would aid in his ability to locate him. It does not. If anything, Thrawn keeps thinking he sees him, only for him to disappear in the throng of people. Several women ask him to dance, which he declines. One person initiates a conversation about his wardrobe and he is stuck trying to find a polite way to escape. In the end, it grows suffocating and he all but stumbles into the courtyard just to catch his breath. 

He clutches the stone railing of the balcony and looks out at the dormant garden below. The air is crisp in his lungs and he takes deep breaths as the tension slowly bleeds from his shoulders. 

“Found you.” 

Thrawn turns around. Eli, framed in the light from the party inside, appears ethereal. Other-worldly. Divine. He wears a simple black cloak, black gloves, and a golden mask that blocks his eyes. It is nothing like Eli would ever wear. He is a man of simple clothing—he has had the same pair of pants for well over a decade and despite the fraying hem, refuses to throw them out because they still fit. He favors soft fabrics and knit sweaters. Warm socks and well-worn tunics. He hates shopping, but loves whenever Thrawn brings home a new sweater for him. 

“You always do.” 

Thrawn knows that Eli is smiling as he saunters up. And, despite the wardrobe, he knows that had he seen Eli in the gala, he would have known him by his gait, the slope of his shoulders, the way he cocks his head in amusement. 

“And I always will,” Eli says, stepping up into Thrawn’s space. “I’d go to the end of the galaxy to find you.” 

“You already have.” 

“Yeah,” Eli breathes. “I guess I have.” 

Thrawn can’t bear it anymore. He reaches up and pushes up Eli’s mask. His hair sticks out in unruly spikes, but Thrawn finds it endearing. Like his bed head in the morning when he is groggily setting out to make cacco. 

“Didn’t like my mask?” Eli asks as Thrawn removes his own. 

“Such perfect art should not be covered.” 

A smile blooms across his face like the sunrise stretching across the horizon. “Perfect, huh?” 

Thrawn leans in, uncertain after all this time, and Eli meets him halfway. Thrawn has very little frame of reference for what a kiss should be, but everything about this feels right. Eli’s hands around his waist, pulling him closer. His own hands knotted in Eli’s hair. 

They separate, the air charged between them. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Eli breathes. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“I figured you’d come find me when you were ready.” 

“I found you.” 

Eli smiles. “You always do.”