Chapter Text
It’s not supposed to be this easy, but it feels inevitable anyway.
Din calls, and calls. He invites Luke over for dinner. They take Grogu to the movies together, holding onto each of their hands and swinging in between them as they walk.
The last month of summer is filled with Luke. Luke stays for dinner. Luke brings Grogu to the park. Luke is with them in the grocery store, reminding Din to buy milk. He picks out paint chips for the restaurant. He fixes the dishwasher, which has been leaking all summer, and cleans out the oven, emerging covered in grease.
August feels fleeting in ways that Din cannot describe. Grogu chatters away about his first days of Kindergarten, but Din wants to keep him tucked into the crook of his arm and keep him close to his heart. Luke’s presence in his life becomes ever steadier, but school starting means it's back to work for him, too. The opening day of the restaurant, although still months away, feels like it’s looming.
Still, Din holds them close as the days get slowly colder. Luke by his side, Grogu in his arms. And everything feels alright for those last few weeks.
* * *
Grogu’s first day of school is a teary affair.
This is Din’s fault more than anything—he’s been glassy-eyed from the first moment that he woke up. Grogu is properly excited, showing little signs of first-day jitters.
But by the time dropoff rolls around, Grogu’s just about as teary as Din. The teacher attempts to coax Grogu from his tight grip on Din’s jeans, but his efforts are mostly in vain. Grogu’s hands are dug tight as if claws sinking into prey.
Din mouths an apology to the teacher before leading Grogu to a quiet corner. He crouches down, and Grogu releases his jeans once he realizes that the threat of being left alone has been diverted somewhat. What’s wrong, ad’ika? he signs.
Don’t wanna go.
You were so excited all summer. And this morning, too. What changed?
Grogu’s lip quivers. Want you to stay.
Din’s heart squeezes. I can’t, ad’ika. I’ve got work, and you’re gonna have so much fun today. When Grogu’s expression remains steadfastly downcast, he gently nudges his arm. You can learn about frogs and make so many friends. What about Winta? She’s probably waiting for you.
Grogu glances at the door, still teary, but the reminder of his friend seems to perk him up a little. But I’ll miss you.
Din can’t help but choke up a little at that. I’m gonna miss you too, he signs. Grogu’s lip is quivering again, and he dives right into Din’s arms.
Din squeezes back, hard. “It’s alright, buddy,” he murmurs into Grogu’s curls. “You’re going to have so much fun. And I’m going to be there right at pick-up, and we’ll have the rest of the day together.”
Grogu sniffles, releasing Din’s neck. He nods.
Din produces a pack of tissues from his pocket. “Tell you what,” he says as he uses a tissue to mop up the mess of snot and tears on Grogu’s face. “After I pick you up today, we can do whatever you want, if I can make it happen. That sound good?”
Grogu nods, wiping at his eyes.
“Well then. What do you want, ad’ika?”
He thinks for a moment, his face screwed up into childish concentration. Then his face splits into one of his toothy grins, a big watery smile. Can Luke come to pick-up, too? And stay for dinner?
Din is surprised only for a moment. But of course, Grogu wants him now—Din himself is longing for Luke’s steady presence at the moment. “I’ll call him and see what I can do,” he says. “But if he can’t, we’ll have dinner with him another time and you can pick something else for today. Alright?”
Grogu grins even wider. Yes!
“Then I’ll try my best.” Din opens his arms, and Grogu dives into them one more time. “Ready, kiddo?”
Grogu nods into Din’s shoulder.
“Good.” Din squeezes his son tight, then releases him. “Be good today, alright? And when I pick you up, you better tell me every little detail.” He presses his forehead into Grogu’s forehead. “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, ad’ika.”
Grogu nods. Love you, Buir.
Din pulls away, but not before pressing a quick kiss to Grogu’s forehead. “Have a good day today, kiddo. I’ll be back.”
* * *
He makes it to the car before he starts fucking crying again.
He’s never been much of a crier. Even as a child, his sobs had never lasted much more than a few quiet tears after scraped knees and bruised egos. When his parents died, his grief was silent and private, manifesting in stewing in solitary contemplation. Foster care wasn’t much different.
But since Grogu joined his life, Din thinks he’s probably shed more tears than in all the years before. From first steps to first babbles to first days of school, Din’s been a father who cries at every little change.
Watching his son grow up is a joyful grief, and Din’s heart aches with it.
He’s hardly thinking about it as he pulls out his phone and dials Luke’s number. He stares blankly out the window, his fingers tapping idly on the steering wheel as he listens to the dial tone in his ear.
Luke picks up on the seventh ring, just as Din is about to give up.
“Din!” He sounds breathless as if he’s running. “Hi—I can talk for like ten minutes. Did you just drop Grogu off?”
Din swallows. “Yeah,” he croaks.
And Luke gets it right away. “Oh, Din,” he says, and everything seems to slow. “Was it hard?”
“Harder than daycare.”
“Oh, Din,” Luke says again. His voice is soft and soothing, and Din presses the phone to his ear desperately. “You’re brave. Both you and Grogu. It’s a big step.”
“He’s so big, Luke,” Din chokes out. “He’s growing up—it’s so beautiful, but I’m so fucking sad.”
“I know, I know. It is sad, Din—but Grogu’s always going to be your little boy. He’s always going to have those big brown eyes and beautiful heart and he’s always going to love you with everything he’s got.” Luke speaks, slow and careful, and Din soaks up every word. “You’re his everything, Din.”
Din takes a shaky breath, then another. Luke hums in his ear. “That’s it,” he says. “Just breathe for a second.”
“Luke,” Din says.
“I’m here.”
“I just don’t want him to grow up too fast.”
Luke makes another sympathetic sound. “There’s not really anything you or I can do about growing up,” he says. “It’s real bittersweet. But we just gotta treasure every minute, you know?”
“Yeah. I know. Thank you for picking up.”
“Of course. I’ll always pick up when you call.”
Now that makes Din laugh. “Sure.”
“That’s sarcasm,” Luke says, and Din can almost see the pout on his face. “I always pick up. On the first ring.”
“Maybe every other time, yeah.”
“Hey! It’s not my fault that sometimes I sleep through the phone ringing.”
Din laughs again, and he wipes the last of his tears from his eyes. “What time is your last class?”
“Hm? Oh, well, today it’s two-thirty—but Thursdays and Fridays are three-fifteen. Why?”
“Grogu asked if you could come to pick-up. And come over for dinner.”
“Oh,” Luke breathes. “Oh, Din, I don’t want to intrude—”
“No, no—I want you with us. I wanted you there this morning, too.” Din cradles his phone in both hands, hoping. “I understand if you don’t want to, or if you have other plans.”
“You wanted me there today?”
Din swallows. “Yeah. Once Grogu asked, that was all I could think of.”
“Oh,” Luke says again.
“Is that—is that too much?”
“No, far from it—it makes me really happy, Din.”
Din breathes out, tension releasing slowly from his chest. “Good. That’s good.”
“I’m happy to come for pick-up, too. And dinner too. If that’s alright.”
“It’s more than alright.” Din feels his chest lift. “I’ll pick you up at around three-forty-five. Does that sound good?”
“Oh, I can take the bus.”
“No. I’ll pick you up.”
Luke sighs at him, but Din knows he won’t push it any further. “Alright,” he says. “I’m looking forward to it.”
* * *
Grogu is properly delighted when Luke is there at pick-up. He dives into Din’s arms first, and Din scoops him up and tucks him right into his arm where he belongs. But he coos delightedly from his perch, his hands signing rapid-fire. You came!
Luke laughs. “Of course I did, Tadpole! I wouldn’t miss your first day for anything.”
Dad asked you?
“He did—called me right after I dropped you off.” Luke flashes a smile. “Anything for my two boys.”
Din feels his chest fill up with pride. His two boys. He’d nearly forgotten how Luke used to say that, as if the three of them were an inseparable group. Grogu seems to puff up as well, beaming from ear to ear. Dinner, too? he signs.
“I’d never turn down one of your dad’s home-cooked meals any day,” Luke says. He leans in with a mischievous quirk to his brow, dropping his voice to a whisper—the secret is only known by the fact that Din can see every word that he’s signing. “I hear that he’s got a good soup simmering for when you get home.”
Grogu gasps. Din rolls his eyes good-naturedly—he’s indeed got a pot of bone broth on the stove, with Boba keeping a good eye on it while he’s out. It’s one of Grogu’s favorites, stuffed full of soft potatoes and carrots and a juicy cut of meat. He’s also got loaves of sourdough rising and ready to be shaped and baked when he gets back, but Luke doesn’t know about that either—sourdough is his favorite, a good thick crust and a healthy scrape of salty-sweet garlic butter.
Grogu is buzzing all the way to the car about his day at school. Din hums and nods and responds to every exclamation, with Luke quick to chime in after him. Grogu is practically wriggling with the combined excitement of promised soup, Luke, and his school day, making it hard for Din to buckle him into his booster seat.
“Hey, sit still for a second, buddy?” he asks, and Grogu obeys. “Thank you—is your backpack secure?”
Grogu nods. I have drawings, he tells Din solemnly. For you and Luke.
“Really?” Din bumps his forehead with his own. “You gotta show them to me once we get home. Perhaps you’ll even deem them fridge-worthy.”
He makes sure that Grogu is properly comfortable, armed with his snack and backpack before he straightens up and shuts the door of the backseat. When he looks up, Luke is digging through his messenger bag with a frown. “Hey, Din, could you call my phone?”
Din is already pulling out his phone—he pulls up the phone app and types in Luke’s number, his free hand digging his car keys out of his back pocket. Luke’s phone starts ringing just as he manages to dig them free.
It’s Brandy, You’re a Fine Girl, by the Looking Glass. Din almost laughs. Luke tugs the phone out of his bag and silences it, just as Din is rounding the back of the car to the driver’s seat. While Din pops the door open, Luke slides into his seat.
“You have a ringtone for me?” Din says as he buckles himself in.
Luke’s ears turn red, but he looks at Din with a brow quirked high. “You have my number memorized?”
Din huffs out a laugh. “Never forgot it,” he says, starting the engine. “The ringtone?”
“It reminds me of the times that we, you know, used to dance in the kitchen and stuff with Grogu,” Luke says. He shrugs, but the flush is spreading to his cheeks. “I liked those times.”
Din blinks—he’d nearly forgotten those late nights, back when Grogu was still unstable on his two legs, and Din and Luke would each hold one tiny hand. “I did too,” he says. As he pulls out of the driveway of Grogu’s school, he plays the memories over in his mind as Luke hums in the passenger's seat, Grogu cooing at the sights out of the car window.
After dinner with ladlefuls of piping hot soup and thick slices of sourdough, Din plays Brandy from his CD player and pulls his two boys in for a dance.
* * *
It becomes a habit all too quickly.
Three days a week, Din picks Luke up from his work, and they drive to Grogu’s school together. Afterward, Din drives the three of them home—sometimes Luke drives, too—and they’ll eat dinner together, just the three of them.
Sometimes, Luke helps to tuck Grogu into bed. On those days—usually a Friday night—he’ll stay late enough so that Din can crack open a bottle of wine. They’ll split it as they watch movies together on the couch. Those are Din’s favorite nights, where he has Grogu asleep and content in the next room over, and Luke is next to him, close enough that he can feel his warmth.
Grogu loves it. Din loves it too—he loves having Luke sitting next to him in the car, with Grogu tucked into the backseat. He loves it when Luke is the one to chase Grogu around the apartment, trying to get him to brush his teeth. He loves watching shows with Luke, putting on one of those god-awful telenovelas, or maybe even a baseball game.
Baseball has always been Luke’s thing. Before, he’d occasionally watch a game or look up a player’s stats, but now he’s an even bigger fan. “I watched all the games with my dad in the hospital,” he had explained to Din once, almost sheepish. “I know it’s not your favorite, so you don’t have to watch it with me.”
But it makes Luke so happy when Din watches, so he does. He’s almost always hopelessly lost—Luke goes back and forth between cheering and cursing out umpires, but he always patiently explains each play to Din when he asks.
Din loves it. But Luke is still nervous about it—one day, about three weeks after Grogu’s first day, he asks Din if he enjoys it. They’re sitting in the car, on the way to Grogu’s school
Din doesn’t even have to think about it. “I do.”
“Really, I don’t want to force you into watching it—you almost fell asleep when we were watching on Saturday.”
“That was because we were up late the night before.”
That makes Luke frown even deeper. “Have I been keeping you up?”
Before, when Luke would go on nervous spirals like these, Din would quiet him with some gentle affirmations and a kiss. He can’t exactly do the kiss part now, although he longs for it—for a moment, he entertains the thought of doing it right now. Maybe Luke would hate him for it, or maybe he’d blush, or maybe he’d kiss back, leaning right over the gearshift as they’re waiting for the light to change green.
But he can’t. So he settles for reaching out to lay his hand on Luke’s. He squeezes gently. It works like a charm—Luke immediately quiets, and he seems to relax somewhat.
“I do like baseball,” he says, easing the car into drive as the light turns green. “Even if I don’t understand why foul balls are sometimes strikes.”
Luke huffs out a laugh. “I told you, it’s only when—” and then he’s off on his little tirade, Din grinning to himself in the driver’s seat. He squeezes Luke’s hand again.
He doesn’t move his hand until they get to Grogu’s school. Luke doesn’t mention it, either. He only lets go once he has to park the car, and they head into the building together—Luke gallantly holds the door open to let Din in, as if they’re both two primly-dressed royalty.
The woman who checks them in gives them an appraising look. “Luke Skywalker, right?” she says. “I notice you’re not on Grogu’s contact list—would you like me to put you on it? Just in case there’s an emergency and you have to pick him up by yourself.”
Din doesn’t even have to think about it. “Not a bad idea,” he says, turning to Luke. “Do you mind?”
Luke’s face is a delicate shade of pink, but he shakes his head rapidly. “No, not at all,” he says, and he tells the woman his phone number and email, and she types it all into her computer. He still looks a little bit put off as they walk down the hall to Grogu’s classroom.
Din almost asks him if he’s alright, but the thought slips his mind as Grogu runs down the hall into his arms. Luke’s expression is quickly back to normal, busy asking Grogu questions about his day.
* * *
Din’s usually a pretty organized person, but sometimes there’s just a day when he’s not.
Such as today: It starts when he sleeps through his alarm, and Grogu’s the one who has to shake him awake. They’re out the door in a crazed mess, Grogu with mismatched socks and Din missing a jacket in the cold October chill.
Din is a mess at work. The rest of the day goes somewhat alright—until he’s on his way to pick up Luke when he realizes he left the paperwork for a flat-top grill back on his desk at the restaurant. He groans aloud as he pulls into the driveway of the high school. He’ll have to pick it up before he picks Grogu up.
The issue is, Boba doesn’t yet know that Luke is in town again. Luke’s aware of this, but he has gently nudged Din to let Boba know. Din, however, is concerned that Boba will rip Luke’s head off if they ever cross paths again, and Luke will refuse to defend himself.
He explains this to Luke as they're driving back to the restaurant. “Boba probably won’t be at the restaurant,” he says as he buckles his seatbelt. He was getting ready to leave when I left.”
Luke nods. “It won’t be the end of the world if he’s there.”
Din doesn’t respond, but he does get a vivid mental image of Boba strangling Luke with his bare hands. He wonders if he’d be able to pry him off.
His fears ease somewhat as Luke chatters away in the passenger seat, talking about his day. He relaxes enough to nearly forget about Boba entirely until he’s pulling up in front of the restaurant and turning off the engine.
“I can walk over to the school and pick Grogu up, if that’s easier,” Luke offers.
“It won’t take too long. I just need to grab something.”
Luke hums, and he unbuckles his seatbelt as Din does. “I’ll come with you. I wanna see how it looks now that you’ve got the tables set up.”
They walk up to the restaurant together, close enough that their arms brush. “Glad you told us to get the dark stain,” Din says to him as they enter, Luke gallantly holding the door open for him. “Much better than the one I had picked out.”
“I told you, it’s a classic look—”
“Vod?” a voice calls.
Din freezes. Boba rounds the corner. “You’re back? You forgot the paperwork for the flat-top—”
Boba freezes.
Luke steps into the restaurant behind Din.
Boba’s gaze locks on Luke. For a moment, it’s utterly silent. Din swallows, wishing that Grogu was here.
Luke is the one to break the silence first. “Hello,” he says lightly.
Boba’s jaw works, his eyes narrowing. “You.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough. Get out.”
“Boba,” Din says.
“No,” Boba says, louder. “Get the fuck out of this restaurant, Skywalker.”
“You can’t kick him out—”
“I don’t want him in my line of sight,” Boba growls. “He’s out.”
“It’s alright, Din,” Luke says, in that same, gentle tone.
“It’s not alright.” Din stares Boba down, but he doesn’t waver. “Boba.”
“It seems like you two need to talk some things out,” Luke says. “I’ll just raise the tension. I’m going to go pick up Grogu, alright? I’ll be back.”
Din tears his gaze away from Boba. “But—”
“I’ll be back,” Luke says again. He squeezes Din’s arm—Boba watches him like a hawk—and steps out the door, letting it close behind him.
Din’s gaze snaps back to Boba—he’s still watching Luke as he crosses the street, turning the corner to Grogu’s daycare. When he’s finally out of sight, Boba uncrosses his arms and stalks back into the kitchen without a word.
Din groans. “Boba,” he says, walking after him. “Can you—”
Boba turns on his heel, jabbing a finger in the direction of the door. “What’s he doing here?” he demands. “How long has this been going on?”
“Nothing is going on. Nothing romantic. I swear.”
Boba crosses his arms. “Is that so?”
“I swear. All we’ve been doing is talking. I swear.”
“Talking,” Boba says. “Talking, but he’s in touch with your son. Talking, but he can pick up your son from daycare. Talking, but he can touch your arm and you look at him the same way that you did a year ago—”
Din’s heart clenches. “Yeah. That’s right.”
“Did you reach out first? Or did he?” Boba doesn’t wait for an answer. “That motherfucking son of a bitch—I’ll rip his face off if he ever steps near this restaurant again—”
“Boba—”
“He broke up with you,” Boba hisses. “He left you here. Who picked you up from the ground when you were feeding your kid and not yourself? Who took care of the restaurant for that week when you weren’t sleeping?”
Din swallows. “I know. I’ll always be grateful—”
Boba waves him off. “I know you’d do the same for me. That’s not the point. But he can’t just show up again and think that things are just going to go back to normal—”
“He hasn’t asked anything of me. I invited him here of my own accord!”
“Who reached out first? You or him?”
“Grogu,” Din says firmly. “I was out with him in the park, Grogu spotted him and ran over—he insisted that we invite him for lunch—”
“How long ago was that?” Boba demanded. “How long have you been seeing him, Din?”
Din hesitates.
Boba groans and rubs his forehead. “Din.”
“It’s only been a few months. He hasn’t initiated anything, I swear.”
“So why are you doing this? Do you want to date him again? Because as much as you insist it was a mutual breakup, you were still broken after it.”
“It was mutual—”
“So why are you talking to him now?”
“It’s for Grogu,” Din insists. “He’s been so happy ever since Luke came back. You should’ve seen him when he saw him in the park.”
“So it’s just for Grogu? Where’s Grogu now?”
“We just about to pick him up—”
“We,” Boba sneers. “So why is he still hanging around?”
“I just needed to pick something up.”
“And what are you doing after?”
Din crosses his arms. “Why are you asking me?”
“Because I care. Forgive me for being a little bit skeptical after that man broke my baby brother’s heart.”
“I thought you liked Luke.” It’s the truth—Din had been terrified, the first time he’d brought Luke home, but he had nothing to worry about. Boba was always fond of Luke; even after all the shovel talks and interrogations, he had invited him into the family warmly.
“I did,” Boba spat. “Before he ran back to Tatooine and left you here to dry.”
“I’m tired of you saying that—”
“It’s the truth!”
“No, it’s not!” Din shouts. “I’m sick of you blaming him for everything. I’ve told you a thousand times what happened—if he left, it’s because I let him go. Luke has never been at fault here—he has been nothing but loving to me and Grogu and he cares for you, too. You’re my brother, Boba, but if you’re looking for someone to blame, blame me.”
“You’re not at fault here, Din—”
Din throws his hands up in the air. “I am!” he says, his voice strangled, his face red. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t regret letting him go. You’re right, Boba—I would’ve followed him through space if it meant I could be by his side for one more day.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking away from his brother’s face. “I’ve loved him for so long and with every day since he left—how can I let go of that?”
“Then why’d you let him go?”
“I’m fucking—I’m broken, Boba. He’s always had the brightest future, and I was raised in poverty and trash. I’m old. I have a kid. He already had so much on his plate with his father—I would never want him to resent me.”
“Din,” Boba says, his voice cracking. “Din, is there ever a time when you just let yourself want something? You sacrifice everything—for me, for our clan, for Grogu. There are days where I’m so fucking scared for you—I liked Luke because he made you happy.”
“He still makes me happy—”
“And you let him go so easily, Din,” Boba cuts him off. He reaches out, gripping Din’s arm. “I hate him because he didn’t recognize that you would let him go like that. I hated how he left things. And I hate how he thinks he can show up now and everything goes back to normal—”
“Don’t you see, Boba?” Din feels helpless now, spiraling, grasping at anything to make his brother understand. “This is me being selfish. This is me doing something that I want. Luke makes Grogu happy, yes, but him being back in my life, now? It’s for me. I’ve never stopped loving him, and I’m not letting him go now.”
Boba’s hand tightens on his arm. His eyes look strangely glassy. They stand in silence, as Din stares into his brother’s eyes and tries to remember the last time he saw his brother cry.
All of a sudden, there’s the telltale sound of a door slamming, and the faint noise child’s giggles getting ever close. Din starts, turning toward the door of the kitchen as Grogu bursts through it. Luke follows close behind—Boba lets go of Din’s arm and watches Luke like a hawk as he enters, hovering by the door.
“Grogu,” he says, just as his son dives into his arms. Din hugs him tightly, lifting him into the air. “How was school, ad’ika?”
Good! his son signs. There were french fries at lunch.
“Fries, huh? A delicacy.” He nods very seriously, and Grogu giggles again. Din turns his attention to Luke, at the door. “Thank you, Luke.”
He smiles. “Of course. I’m going to head home now—I don’t want to intrude.”
Din shakes his head vehemently. “No—I don’t want you to go.”
Luke frowns, but Boba cuts him off before he can speak. “Go home, all three of you,” he grumbles. He swipes at his eyes. “But I’ll be watching you, Skywalker.”
Luke doesn’t appear offended at all by the threat. “Of course, Boba,” he says lightly. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.
* * *
In the future when he looks back, he knows it is going to happen, one way or another.
From the first day in the park, he and Luke have been hovering in some purgatory, some space between friends and lovers. It is inevitable what happens next.
Din doesn’t know what to hope anymore. In some ways, the routine that they’ve created in this space has been a soft sort of comfort. Luke has a steady place in his mind, an ever-present thought at the surface of his mind.
He has always lived one day at a time—the next meal, the next morning, the next sleep. He relishes in the present, moments where he can feel the weight of Grogu on his chest and the press of Luke’s shoulder against his.
And yet he longs, now. It’s not like the nervous feeling that Din felt years ago when their relationship was still new and tentative. It is a quiet monster in his chest, the devil whispering in his ear that this delicate balance could be more.
He longs for the days when he could kiss Luke’s smiles and curl up next to him in bed. Now, each touch that they share feels stolen, every brush of fingers feeling forbidden.
But he doesn’t dare change a thing. It’s a miracle that Luke is back in his life again, and this tentative dance is better than nothing.
But Boba’s words seem to tip the scales out of balance.
They go through the rest of the week, but Din can feel his careful life slowly fracturing. Something in Luke’s expression has changed, and the easiness of the routine has faded.
Friday rolls around. Grogu’s already been tucked into bed—tired from a full week of school. They stand in the kitchen, elbow to elbow—Din washing dishes at the sink, Luke drying each one with a soft towel.
At some point, Luke slows, and he sets the last plate on the counter. Din glances at him, quirking a brow. “Tired? I can handle the rest.”
Luke just looks at him. “Din,” he says, in that soft, gentle way of his. “Din, what are we doing?”
And Din’s careful balance of life starts to crumble.
He swallows. He knows the question Luke is asking, and yet he can’t bring himself to acknowledge it. “We’re doing the dishes,” he says, lamely. He’s not quite looking into Luke’s eyes—he knows if he does, he’ll break.
“You know what I mean,” Luke says.
Din stops washing the dishes. Silently, he set the last plate down in the disk rack. He pulls off the gloves, one after the other. And he still doesn’t look into Luke’s eyes.
“Din. Please.”
And because Din can’t ever resist him, he looks up.
Luke’s still looking at him with those clear blue eyes. “What are we doing, Din?” he asks. “Because these past months—I thought I was okay with whatever this is, but Din, I don’t think I could ever stop wanting.”
And Din’s heart, filled with those thousands of thin paper cracks, splits in two.
“Oh,” he says. He wants to say so much more, but like so many times before, the words remain unsaid. It fills him with pain, an ache in his chest that’s been swelling, and he despises himself for it. There are so many things that words cannot articulate—and he knows, he knows that if he could, maybe Luke wouldn’t have left the first time.
Luke continues, speaking in a slow steadfast way. If Din didn’t know him so well, he would say that it was unemotional, but he can see how Luke is twisting his hands and how his clear blue eyes are so glassy. He knows it is far from aloof.
“Din,” Luke says. “When you saw me in the park—what did you want, when you let me back in your life? Was it truly just for Grogu?”
Din breathes in, and out. “Not just that.”
“Was it for you, then?”
Din thinks back to that day in the park—Grogu’s giddy smile, his boyish laughter filling the air. But more powerful than that, even, was the pure selfishness that had filled Din’s chest at the sight of Luke down that dirt pathway. How he had lost that past year when just one stupid word would’ve saved so much heartache.
“Yes,” Din says. “I—I feel so selfish now, but—when I saw you, all I could think about was how much I wanted you back in my life. This whole year, all I could think about was you.”
“I thought of you,” Luke says, and that’s all that it takes. “Every day, I—”
Din chokes back a sob. “I missed you,” he says, and it all comes rushing out. “Grogu asked for you every day. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to reach out, but I just—I was scared. I’m sorry.”
Tears are dripping down Luke’s face, but he doesn’t make a sound. He just reaches out a hand, steady and slow, and rests it on Din’s shoulder.
Din reaches up and grasps Luke’s hand tightly. “I should’ve asked you to stay with me,” he croaks. “I should’ve begged you on my hands and knees.”
“I never should’ve told you to leave,” Luke says. “I thought—I thought it would be better for you. And Grogu.”
Din shakes his head. “I never once cared about driving to Tatooine. I never once regretted any one of the hours I spent—not when it meant spending more time with you.”
“But the restaurant—”
“I have good people on my side. They would have spared me for the weekends—I would trust them with everything.” Din squeezes Luke’s hand. “I was just so scared that you were dealing with too much. You had your father—surely I was more a burden than a helping hand.”
Luke shakes his head vehemently. “Never a burden,” he says. “Just—I thought you didn’t do long-distance.”
“Fuck, Luke,” Din breathes. “I would’ve tried. I would’ve tried for you, Luke, every day I would, but I thought you didn’t want to.”
“I thought—you said you weren’t sure if you could.”
“I could for you. Always.”
Din reaches out as Luke does. Luke lets out a laugh, sounding a little choked, and he grips Din’s hand tightly. “Could we?” he asks. “Try? Again?”
“Yes. For you. Always for you, Luke.”
Luke doesn’t say anything for a moment, just presses Din’s hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss into his knuckles. When he does speak, it’s slow and quiet.
“I had hoped so much that you’d still be here when I came back,” he says. “I wouldn’t ever expect you to wait around for me, and I’d never think that things would just go, you know, back to normal. But I just hoped that we could start something again. For you. And for Grogu.”
“You, and Grogu.” Din presses his forehead against Luke’s. “Always for my two boys.”
Luke lets out a slow breath, only a little bit shaky. Tentatively, his fingers weave into Din’s hair. “So we’re going to try? Again?”
Din nods. “Slow,” he says. “Slowly. But I want your back in my life again.”
“No holding things back. We say what we feel.”
“Anything.”
“Then tell me what you’re feeling.”
Din smiles. “Happy,” he tells him. “I’m happy.”
And Luke kisses him right there in the dim light of the kitchen.