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Yan Dooku, Jedi Knight, favoured diplomat of the Order, trained negotiator, flopped down face first on the floor in his formal robes. “You are far better at …peopling, than I am, Sy.”
Sifo-Dyas, also of the above, snorted and followed suit, lying down near enough to have an arm overlapping Yan’s back. “Barely.”
The carpet of the quarters they had been given for the duration of their stay —welcome sanctuary after each long, long session of attempts to arbitrate peace between two factions who Sifo suspected no longer even remembered what had begun their grievances with each other— was shockingly comfortable.
“People genuinely like you,” Yan said, “Younglings, random strangers, anyone. They tolerate, and at best respect me.”
Sifo shuffled over to snuggle closer to Yan as this really seemed to be getting to him, but he had to set a few things straight. “Yet where a roomful of politicians would eat me alive, you have them running rings around you.” That had been very useful this last week.
“They wouldn’t eat you alive, you’re too prickly when you want to be. And too pretty.”
“Alright, left alone I would somehow start a fight while trying to flirt or vice versa, overturn a table and cover the highest ranking foreign dignitary in muja juice.”
That got a laugh out of Yan, Sifo felt the vibrations against his side, even as Yan protested. “You sell yourself short once again.”
“So do you, Doo. You never can live up to the soaring expectations of perfection in your head.” It was time for the hard truths to come out.
The latest was today where Yan had attempted to imitate Sifo’s success in gaining the goodwill of a whole lot of their fellow diplomates with a select retelling of some of his best tall tales. It had gone quite miserably, as the deliberate, deadpan observations that would have Sifo and Jocasta in stitches had flown right over this crowds head and into offence, which Sifo had rapidly had to smooth over with more drinks.
Usually it was Yan who regained the Council’s or whatever applicable authorities’ regard for them with appropriate apologies for the station and situation. With a framework, no matter how complex, of etiquette and rules laid down, Yan would wield it like a saber, with salvation or cutting edges as needed. He commanded the room.
Also he could scare the absolute shit out of people when he wanted to. Sifo could too, though that was usually medically and unintentionally. Mostly.
In that moment though, Yan’s sheer confusion had been simply pained as he looked to Sifo to get them out through the power of amicable bullshittery, when it was over their heads.
Yan made a noise. One that told Sifo he had hit the nail right on the head. Anything less than perfection to him…
“The problem is with the expectations, not you.” Sifo continued. He nudged their bond to try to tell Yan he meant no hurt by this, he just needed reminding sometimes. “For all your vaulting ambitions, you are a person, not a paradigm.”
Sifo heard Yan swallow.
“I guess, Sy” his best friend whispered, which Sifo figured was the most he was going to get out of him.
He’d turned his head so Sifo could now see those big, brown eyes of his beneath Yan’s fringe which had by now fallen out of its careful combing and product. Sifo brushed his hair back with his fingertips, skimming over the concerned crinkles of Yan’s forehead. It was always win one, lose one in the battle against Yan’s overly harsh concept of himself. He breathed out finally with a sigh, the warmth tickling Sifo’s face. Win one.
“Generally, I get get clocked as noticeably weird but friendly, whereas you put out standoffish competence to the galaxy,” Sifo put forward, “It gets different responses out of people, but ultimately, like anything, they simple are what we make of them.”
“Huh,” Yan mused, “That does make a certain amount of sense.”
“But,” Sifo interjected, “We don’t have to go into that all right now. The mission is over, we and all carafes of muja juice survived intact and we have time to kill before our transport outta here.”
Yan’s eyes sparkled. “There’s always those sticky toffee something-or-others in the street markets we walked past earlier that you were staring at like a starving tooka. And dinner out of some kind.”
Sy booped his nose for that. “I like how you think.”
Yan’s laughter was loud and so very welcome after the day they had both had, even more so when he wrapped his arms around Sifo in a proper hug. Then he swept Sifo’s long hair out of the way and rolled them both over so Sifo could sprawl out on top of him, head resting on Yan’s chest over his beating heart. Comfort, for them both.
Sy looked up and pressed a kiss to the underside of his best friend’s jaw. “Though, I’m pretty happy to stay here for a while, I must say.”
Yan just grinned at him. He was the best.