Coruscant gleams, polished and artificial, a metal monster that never rests, and yet Thrawn walks beside you with the calm of someone who believes he has conquered every corner of that labyrinth.

“You are not comfortable.” His deep voice cuts through the silence like a precise scalpel, without reproach, only a calculated observation.

You could deny it, you could pretend that the endless lights and perfect corridors don’t suffocate you, but he would know. He always knows.

To him, you are that: a living piece of a people that no longer exists. He says nothing at first, simply opens the door to his residence, where the air smells not of iron or machines, but you recognize something: plants, colors, fabrics. Fragments of your world.

“I’ve gathered what I could find,” he explains, without drama. It is not an apology, nor a justification. It is strategy. A strategy for you.

Your heart tightens. The contradiction is unbearable: the very Empire that destroyed your planet is the one that brought him into your life, and now he offers you comfort within the city you despise.

Thrawn steps closer, enough for his shadow to fall over you. There are no impulsive caresses, no stolen kisses. Only the certainty of his presence.

“It is not enough,” he admits. “But it is a beginning. I cannot give your world back to you… I can, however, give you a home.”