askarmitagehux:

techiehux:

askarmitagehux:

techiehux:

askarmitagehux:

techiehux:

askarmitagehux:

techiehux:

“Oh, uh. It’s my sh-shift! I have to be on t-time,” Techie explains as he hops into his technician overalls, slipping them on right over his casual clothes. Usually he’d try and take a sonic first, but any longer and his supervisor will yell at him. 

“I know you w-want to help me, but… People will notice, right? If I get, er, special t-treatment.” Now he’s frantically smoothing down his hair and tying it back with a blue hairband.

“I suppose they might,” he sighed. “But it’s just… I don’t know, whenever you have to go, I feel like there is something wrong. Will you stop by after work? I would love to perhaps share a glass of some sort of liquor?”

“Sure!” Techie grins. He won’t tell Armitage just yet that he doesn’t drink. That’s sure to be a heavy conversation. “I’ll comm you wh-when I get done,” he says, picking up his toolbelt and giving Hux a sideways, one-armed hug. There’s real affection in his eyes.

Hux smiled and watched him go. That same evening, after their shifts were both done, he was waiting for his brother in his own chambers, already sipping the best bottle of whisky he could find, and looking forward to spending some time with his dear brother.

Freshly cleaned and well-groomed, Techie put in the access code to Hux’s room and met him at the table once the door slid open. “Armie,” he smiles in greeting before sitting down across from his brother. It feels comfortable to be here. With him.

“You got s-started already,” Techie says, eyeing the glasses and bottle of whiskey.

“I hope you don’t mind?” Hux smiled and opened the bottle for Techie. “I do hope you enjoy whiskey? It’s honestly one of the better ones you can get in these parts of the galaxy. Nothing but the best for you.”

“Th-thank you,” Techie says sincerely, though his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes a glass and cautiously fills it with the (expensive) whiskey, making no move to drink it. “Where did you g-get it from?”

“I get it shipped with other food,” he smiled. “A privilege of being a general. If you ever need something, I will be happy to get it for you. You know, small creature comforts at the very least.”

Techie was touched. “I d-don’t really need anything, Armitage. Really. But thanks…” His eyes never left the whiskey, watching warily as though it would jump up and drown him.

“Um, I. I don’t drink,” Techie admits, slowly. “Not anym-more.” He hadn’t wanted to taint this peaceful get-together with another one of his sob stories, but there was no way out of it. If he so much as sniffed the glass he’d throw up.

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