Chapter Text
There’s no more than a day between planets the next time they land.
Because the ship had put down so far from the village on their last stop, they hadn’t been able to refill the tank, or repair the small amount of damage that had been done to it by the latest run-in with a bounty hunter. The buildup of carbon scoring was coming to a level that had the Mandalorian holding back tears over the state of the Razor Crest. This time the Mandalorian has had better rest and lands the ship easily in a hangar on the small, forgotten planet of Kirrn-6.
Like most Outer-Rim Planets, Kirrn-6 has an atmosphere of dry heat. The sun blazes in the wide green sky, unchallenged by clouds, but the tilted axis of the planet means that this area is slightly cooler than the deserts of Tatooine or Jakku.
There’s a little variety to this planet, not much but it’s a change from the endless amounts of desert planets they’ve travelled to (and after Corin’s last stint in the desert, the Mandalorian is eager to avoid them for a while. Only because Corin is useless to him as a babysitter if he’s ill. Definitely for no other reason. Shut up). Rather than desert, the biome here is closer to chaparral: hills rather than dunes, dry yellow grass rather than sand, and scrawny scrub trees with sparse coatings of dark leaves rather than- bones? There’s not very much in the way of vegetation in the desert for the Mandalorian to draw comparisons.
When they leave the ship the Mandalorian goes through his usual routine of scaring away whatever repair droids are hanging around, while Corin takes the Child up into his arms and carries it to the exit before it can get itself into any trouble. The kid has an alarming record for that sort of thing.
The exit of the hangar opens onto a wall of noise, a visual and auditory assault, and an impassable blockade of people. The streets are full and lively, a parade of dancers and singers, shrouded in bright flowing clothes and decorative masks. Vendors shout to be heard over the cacophony, desperately attempting to catch the attention of passers-by and sell their wares. Ribbons and confetti and coloured mists swirl through the air, and there’s an underlying beat and rhythm coming from various instruments being played in the procession, but it’s buried under the noise of the celebration and too vague to get a proper sense of it. It’s giving the Mandalorian a headache.
The Mandalorian physically has to take a step back in surprise, and his hand goes up to reclose the door and separate them from the chaos of the outside. Unfortunately, this is one of those moments where the Child incredible ability to make life difficult is activated.
It squeals excitedly, wriggling in Corin’s arms in such a way that means the man can’t keep a solid grip on it. Corin crouches slightly as he loses hold, so that when the Child drops to the floor it lands on it’s feet, unharmed from the short distance. The Child takes advantage of it’s freedom to waddle at high speed into the crowd, and the Mandalorian feels panic well up in his chest as he loses visual on it.
Both he and Corin follow straight after without a moment's hesitation, and are separated immediately. The crowd of people is so dense that he has difficulty pushing through it, but the thought of such a small kid lost amidst the parade, unnoticeably tiny and easy to trample- the Mandalorian feels sick with worry, and stops that train of thought before he can spiral to far down. He curses the crowd, as it would be impossible for him to use the scope on his rifle to locate either of his companions in the packed conditions.
It takes what feels like hours, probably is minutes, and either way is too much time before he spots the Child again. He breathes a sigh of relief, because not only is the kid not flattened, but it’s safely back in Corin’s arms. He makes his way over, shoving through to the edge of the parade to where they stand. When he’s within shouting distance, he opens his mouth to suggest they go back to the ship and wait out whatever celebration is happening here, but his plan is quickly foiled; they are standing in front of a food vendor, Corin chatting cheerfully with the Ocsin chef as the Child quickly devours the food it’s been given.
He stops at Corin’s side, and it takes a second for him to notice (the Mandalorian doesn’t want to laugh at the way Corin jumps out of surprise when he finally does realise he’s there, really). “Hey!” Corin’s grinning, something full and bright and unguarded that the Mandalorian doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. Corin’s not a moody person, he’s talkative and loud and warmer than anyone else the Mandalorian has ever been in the presence of, but this is something more. A new, carefree side of his companion.
The Ocsin turns back and hands him a stick of unidentifiable meat. The Mandalorian wrinkles his nose at the cloying smell of the fat it must have been fried in, but Corin sets the child down on the bar and tears into it with vigor. It doesn’t take him long to finish, and then he turns back to the Mandalorian, smile undisrupted.
“I was just talking to Gen,” - the Mandalorian assumes Gen is the chef - “and apparently we’ve had the luck to arrive on the first day of the Festival of the Moons.” Corin laughs. “It’s going to last all week, can you believe it? I can’t even think of the last time I attended a festival...” The smile slips slightly from his face, the corners of his mouth twisting slightly in the way that they always do when he tries to think of his childhood before he was sent away to become a Storm Trooper.
“I think I did go to one, once. I must have been young, maybe 5 or 6? There were all these banners, and the food was shaped like animals and dyed bright colours. I think my mother might have danced on a float…” Corin shakes his head before his eyes can start glazing over, and the Mandalorian reckons that’s enough reminiscing for today. Even if the Child and Corin are set on staying out and enjoying themselves, he is determined to go back to the ship if it kills him.
As he starts to turn, set on going back and waiting out whatever this is in the ship, a small explosion goes off in his face, obscuring his vision with a haze of blue powder. The Mandalorian stumbles back, hands automatically going for the blaster at his belt, swearing in the worst languages he knows from the shock of it. He slams straight into Corin, and strong hands jump to catch his arms and stop him from falling over. Corin holds him up, steadys him, and then reaches over to lower the weapon the Mandalorian is gripping to before anyone notices and begins to panic (with a crowd this large, mob mentality would pick up on any fear in a heartbeat, and they would be crushed).
He thinks he can hear Corin saying something to him, but his voice is pitched low, too quiet to be heard over the roar of the crowd, and the Mandalorian turns his head to be able to see his partner better. “What?” he asks, making a half-hearted gesture to his head, trying to indicate that he can’t hear him. Corin sighs. “You’re stepping on my foot!” He yells over the noise, and the Mandalorian suddenly becomes very aware of the position he’s in, back pressed against Corin’s chest and leaning heavily into his arms. He rips himself away, nearly propelling himself into the tide of people (and he’s not so desperate to get away that he’s willing to be swept away into the celebrations, because fuck that, so he tries to step subtly back to Corin’s side again).
The Celebrations have grown in the few minutes that they’ve been here, and the Mandalorian can’t even see the hangar where they came from anymore. He resigns himself to the fact that he won’t be able to get back to the ship, and is instead stuck in the celebration. What he can see, though, is a common house. There are several tables set up outside, protected from the sun and mostly empty. The patrons that are sat watching the festival are drinking brightly coloured drinks that he recognises as ambrostine out of twisted straws. The Mandalorian suddenly feels very thirsty.
He heads over to one of the free tables, a server immediately coming over to take his order. Normally, the Mandalorian would be reserved about eating or drinking in public, but the straws can easily go under his helmet and if he has to endure this chaos he’s not doing it sober, so he has no problem ordering a round for himself.
He keeps an eye out for his companions, and occasionally spots them weaving through the crowd, or browsing at the stalls and workshops lined up along the borders of the street. Aside from the main procession there are small areas set up that allow people to learn the dances and songs, to make the festival jewellery that he can see people wearing, and try the obviously-rigged carnival games. Corin and the Child seem to be trying out as many as they can, sampling food one minute and beating large drums with a group the next. He watches as they have a surprising amount of success at the carnival games, earning money and prizes with every win. They drift back to his table to deposit their accumulation of gifts when it gets too much for them to carry.
The sun is drifting higher in the sky as the hours tick by, and the Mandalorian can feel his grip on reality drifting in and out as the empty glasses on his table become more and more numerous. After a while he spots Corin and the Child sitting down at a stall to his left, surrounded by a group of small children. They’re draped in festival clothes, brightly coloured sheer fabrics and that trail out behind them when they move, and their arms and necks are covered in beaded jewellery.
The Mandalorian notices that Corin is dressed similarly, barely an inch of his skin free from the patterned clothes or bands of beads. When he looks down at the bench next to him, he sees Corin’s armour is lying amongst his winnings, and comes to the conclusion that he must have stripped it off earlier to swap it out for his current attire.
The children are showing Corin how to weave threads of leather together to create thicker bangs than the ones he already has on, and the Child in his laps squeals joyfully when he puts the finished bracelet around it’s wrist. The kids laugh, and one particular bold girl reaches forward and pick it up. She coos over it, and the others gather around where it’s now seated in her lap. Corin says something, and he sees their heads turn to look at the Mandalorian when the ex-trooper points in his direction. They all nod, getting up to run into the courtyard of the common house and continue to faun over the Child here instead.
Corin drifts back into the crowd, but the children stay put with the Child. The Mandalorian puts together in his ambrostine-addled mind that Corin must have let them play with the kid as long as they stayed within his view, so that he could go and explore the festival without worrying about the Child’s safety.
Three more drinks later, and the Mandalorian can feel the strong effects of the ambrostine start to take over. He feels bolder, less guarded, and although he knows that a lack of inhibitions is a symptom of over-indulgence, he isn’t sober enough to care.
Corin is back in view, this time with a group of locals his own age. They’re clearly trying to teach him how to dance, to get him to follow their steps and sways, but Corin seems to have no sense of rhythm. He’s tripping over his feet, stumbling into the other dancers, but it all seems to be in good humour; they’re laughing together. The Mandalorian can't think of the last time he's seen Corin laugh so much. He can't think of the last time he's seen Corin laugh full stop.
Watching Corin have fun making a fool of himself makes something stir in the Mandalorian’s chest, some unfamiliar emotion. One of the dancers takes hold of Corin’s hands, her neon green skin making it impossible for the Mandalorian to look away (it clashes with the bright pink of Corin’s sleeves, he decides). Slowly she tries to lead him through the motions, and it improves him to an extent, but not by much. After a moment he trips again, and she laughs and squeezes his hand before spinning back into the dance. The Mandalorian could definitely do better.
He stands up and makes his way over. The Mandalorian is a good dancer and he has already begun to make sense of the pattern they are trying to teach him, and after spending so much time with Corin, the Mandalorian thinks he could have a lot more success if he was helping (because it would be embarrassing to travel with someone who can’t even master the simple steps of a festival dance, and not for any other reason).
When he reaches the group, the girl is spinning Corin. The gauzy outer-layers of his clothes billow out around him, and the beads of his jewellery catch and reflect the light of the setting sun. The Mandalorian has to stop for a second to take it all in, all the twirling making him dizzy.
Corin stops finally, spinning to a stop facing the Mandalorian. His eyes light up when he notices him. “Hey, I thought you were drinking?” He says, tone almost teasing. He beckons, fingers covered in gold rings, and the Mandalorian finds himself pulled over. “Come dance with me, I think I’m finally getting the hang of this.”
“You’re not.” The Mandalorian replies, charming as ever. “I was watching. You really have no sense of rhythm.” He makes a face of mock-offense "Do you think you could do any better?" Corin asks with a raised eyebrow, and the Mandalorian pushes down a laugh of his own. "It would be hard to do much worse." Corin snorts and bats at his shoulder, lightly so as not to break his hand on the beskar. “No sugar coating from you, huh?” The harsh reality doesn’t seem to dampen his mood though, too drunk on the atmosphere to care. Instead he grabs at the Mandalorians hand, tugging at his arm and pulling him into the circle of the dance.
“If you’re so great at dancing, why don’t you show me how it’s done then?” Corin’s grin is daring, eyes alight, and the Mandalorian feels like he’s on fire. He doesn’t dare respond, scared of what might come out if he opens his mouth. Instead he starts moving, dancing the steps he’s all but memorised. Corin moves much easier against him, allowing himself to be lead and spun by the Mandalorian without any inhibitions. Dancing with him, Corin starts to get the hang of the rhythm. He steps on the Mandalorian's feet a lot, but overall he improves.
The Mandalorian finds that he was right about his ability to dance, but there's another factor he hadn't considered that throws him off his game: Corin is practically glowing. He's covered in glitter and coloured powder, the same stuff that had exploded over his helmet when they had first arrived here. His festival clothes mean that more of his skin is on show than normal, although a large amount of it is covered by the numerous necklaces and bracelets he has amassed over the day. The sheer material of his clothes fans out with every move they make, and when the spin it wraps around the Mandalorian and tangles them together.
There's a part of the dance that slows down for a minute, is more of a sway-on-the-spot. Somehow the Mandalorian's hands have found their way to the bright yellow sash at Corin's waist, while Corin's arms are looped over his shoulders. The Mandalorian is still too drunk to care about the proximity.
It's the first quiet moment they've really had together since landing. Corin is looking up at him, and then he laughs, a brief slip that he covers with an unconvincing cough. "You, uh. You've got something there." He gestures to his face, and it dawns on the Mandalorian that after he was attacked by that powder bomb earlier he had never cleaned the dust from his helmet.
Corin's eyes are soft, smile fond. "Here, let me get that." He raises his sleeve, uses the excess fabric to brush away the powder. He's fixated on the helmet, concentrated eyes and his teeth biting into the corner of his lower lip. The problem with such focus directed at the helmet is that it means Corin is all but staring into his eyes; only the visor separates them. When he pulls his hand away his skin is coated in a thin layer of blue dust where it's sunk through the mesh. The Mandalorian can't break his state from the blue-stained patch of his wrist.
When they finish the dance, the Mandalorian finds himself equally relieved and disappointed. The group of locals they had been dancing with are still circling, laughing and whooping with each other, pulling them in different directions. The girl who had been dancing with Corin comes over to the Mandalorian. "You're an amazing dancer!" She says, resting a neon hand on his shoulder. "And a better partner it seems. He is lucky indeed." She twirls away into the arms of another as Corin comes back over.
"You're gonna have a lot of admirers after that performance. Dancing seems to be a pretty big thing around here." He says, leaning in close so the Mandalorian can hear him over the noise. He puts his hand where the girl's had been just moments before. There's still hints of blue around the base of his fingers.
The Mandalorian can feel the effects of the ambrostine shifting into the second stage, from uninhibited to lethargic. He feels suddenly too tired to deal with all this chaos. "We should find the kid. Need to go and get our stuff. Look for a place to spend the night." He brings his hand up to grip Corin's wrist, tugging him along through the crowd back to the courtyard of the public house. The children are still there, skipping circles into the dust, with the Child waddling between them and attempting to do his own little dance.
At his table, their stuff remains untouched, including the numerous empty glasses that the Mandalorian had drained over the day. Corin raises his eyebrows at the sight, though whether the action is out of being impressed or concerned he can't quite tell. "Wow, ok. No wonder you were dancing and acting all- that's a lot of ambrostine, Mando." He frowns. "How the hell were you on your feet at all? I think I would die drinking half that much." The Mandalorian shrugs, taking a seat and leaning back to get comfortable. "Mandalorian drink is stronger. I have a higher tolerance than most."
Corin sighs, rolls his eyes, apparently unconvinced. "Whatever you say. But seriously, I wouldn't drink anymore if I were you." The Mandalorian waves his hand in a dismissive motion, feeling challenged now to prove to the other just how much he can handle. They are (luckily or unluckily, depending on perspective) interrupted by the arrival of a third party.
"Hello again." It's the girl, the green one, and the Mandalorian immediately finds that his face has collapsed into a scowl. Corin shoots him a look, almost as though daring him to cause trouble, like he can read his mind. The ex-trooper turns to her with a disarming smile, brushing wayward strands of his hair out of his eyes.
"Talari, can I help you?" She shakes her head, smiling wide enough to show two rows of serrated teeth. "Actually, I was thinking that there is something I can do for you. You have just arrived here, correct?" Corin nods. "Well, then you probably haven't had time to find a place to stay."
"No, we haven't." Corin replies slowly, clearly already piecing together where the conversation is heading.
"My sister is the one who owns this common house, see. I know there are plenty of free rooms, I could book you into one if you would like?" And of course they would have the luck to be camped out in this girl's - Talari's - yard. The Mandalorian feels bitter as he watches Corin thank her enthusiastically, grumbling as he has to stand up to follow them up to the rooms.
Corin and Talari are several steps ahead of him, chattering loudly as they head up the stairs to the first floor. The Mandalorian's feet drag, busy glaring at the pair in front of him as the alcohol makes his limbs move slower than he wants. The girl cannot seem to keep her hands to herself, and he notices with no small amount of irritation that her constant touches have wiped away the blue dust.
The room is at the end of the corridor, a spacious area with a large closet and several comfortable looking chairs and- and one fucking bed. Always with the goddamn double bed. The Mandalorian notices how Corin slows down as he notices it, how his eyes widen slightly and his cheeks flush indiscernably (indiscernably to anyone but the Mandalorian, that is).
"I, um-" Corin's stutter cuts through whatever Talari is saying about the north-facing windows and sun-rise. She and the Mandalorian turn on him, and under the pressure of the combined gaze he backs down in whatever he was about to say. Instead he makes a weird strangled noise and backs out of the room. "I had better go and get the kid, it's getting late." He speed walks down the corridor, clothes flapping behind him like wings and then whipping out of sight. Talari and the Mandalorian are left alone.
She clears her throat after a moment, steps into his space and places a green hand on his bicep. "I'm sorry about before, if it seemed I was being too forward." She says, and she does sound genuinely apologetic, although for the life of him the Mandalorian can't figure out why. "I'll admit that I was coming onto him a little at first, but that was before I realised- well, when you came over I understood and backed off. He is very lovely, but you danced together so well I would never dream of coming between that. You are lucky to have found each other."
Oh. Oh, now he gets it.
Talari sighs, stretches her arms. "Well, he mentioned a child, so I guess I had better go get a cot." She pats the cheek of the Mandalorian's helmet and disappears out the door. Belatedly, he realises that touch must just be a very integral part of their culture. Some tight stress in his chest eases with the knowledge.
The tiredness from his ambrostine binge has gotten worse, and the bed is beginning to look very inviting. He walks over to it, runs a gloved palm over the thin fabric of the quilt. It's obviously hand-made, sewn together from odd patches of patterned cloth, but there's a sort of quaint beauty to it. He sits down on the edge and pulls at his boots until they slide off, dropping them heavily at the foot of the bed. He's too tired to do much more, and he falls back on top of the cover still fully dressed in armour.
When Corin comes back in, he's laden with the day's winnings. The Child is walking behind him, tiny hand fisted in the fabric of his leg and reducing Corin's gait to a shuffle so as not to trip the kid up. As they enter, the kid slowly peels off to go and explore it's new surroundings. Talari comes in behind them dragging a cot, and she exits again with a nod in the Mandalorians direction and an exaggerated wink at Corin. The other man shakes his head and sighs, but the smile on his face cancels out the weary pretense.
He drops their stuff in a heap on one of the chairs, and then turns around to face the Mandalorian with his hands on his hips. "I see you've wasted no time in making yourself at home. Didn't think I'd need any help carrying this lot up?" He asks dryly, but he's still in too much of a good mood to be properly put out, and his lips twitch upwards traitorously. The Mandalorian doesn't even bother sitting up to respond. "That all belongs to you. I don't see why I should have to suffer for your winnings."
Corin turns away to try and hide his laugh, but the Mandalorian can see his shoulders shaking. "Right, sure. Well if you're set on being completely unhelpful tonight I guess I will be putting the little one to bed." The Mandalorian hums in confirmation, and is ignored.
Corin has to scout around for a second to see where the Child has wandered off to, but his face relaxes once he catches sight of it trying to climb the sheets to get up next to the Mandalorian. "There you are, trouble. I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news but you won't be sleeping there tonight." He scoops the child up into his arms, bouncing it gently to the Child's delight. It squeals gleefully, small hands waving and Corin's eyes soften at the sound, smile content. (And wow, sometimes the Mandalorian is struck by how attractive his companion really is. You know, when he's not making a complete prat of himself)
He sets the kid down in the cot after a minute, stroking along its ears until it settles into the mattress, and then he turns on the bed. He falters for a moment then, faint blush returning to his cheeks. "So, uh, only one bed then?" The Mandalorian doesn't bother responding; the answer is pretty evident. Corin bites his lip, hesitant. "Right, well. Those chairs look pretty comfy, I-"
The Mandalorian cuts him off with a groan of irritation. "Don't be ridiculous. It's nothing we haven't done before." Why is Corin always so difficult? Why can't his thoughts follow logical sense for once so that the Mandalorian can actually understand what's going on in his head. Thankfully he doesn't seem to be in an argumentative mood tonight, as he nods quickly. "Yeah, right." The Mandalorian thinks that's the end of it and starts to settle back against the pillow, until Corin pipes up again. "Are you going to sleep like that?" Cracking his eyes open, he can see that Corin is frowning down at him, although it takes a moment for the Mandalorian to understand why.
"It's like a second skin, I'm used to it. I fall asleep in my armour all the time." He says by way of response. Corin mutters a quiet "right, right" under his breath, but still apparently isn't convinced. The Mandalorian rolls his eyes. "If it bothers you that much, do something about it." Corin startled at this, going fully red and looking mildly terrified at the implications if the sentence. "Wait, do you mean-"
"It doesnt matter to me whether I sleep in my armour or not. If you have a problem with it, take it off yourself. I'm too tired." The Mandalorian says simply, and prays that will be the end of it. Fuck, he would kill for some quiet now.
That really does seem to be the end of it for a while. Corin gingerly lowers himself down next to the Mandalorian, not bothering to pull the quilt over himself in the comfortable warmth of the night air. Then (because of course it would never be that simple) he feels Corin fidgeting, tossing and turning next to him. Internally he curses the choices that lead him here, but before he can open his mouth to verbalize that irritation, Corin is moving, sitting up.
He feels the delicate way that the other man lays his hand on his shoulder, and his heart stops. There's a brief moment of confusion, then realisation, then surprise; he hadn't expected Corin to take him up on his offer. His fingers work at the straps for his shoulder armour, peeling it away and setting it carefully on the bed between them. He stays a still as he can, like Corin is some nervous creature that will run from him at the first sudden move.
It takes several minutes longer than if the Mandalorian had being doing it himself. Corin is delicate, slow, almost reverent in the way he removes the beskar plating. The Mandalorian has seen the way he treats his own pauldron, as though it's the most precious object in the galaxy, and so it holds up that he would treat the rest of the armour in the same way. He would say that the slowness is due to Corin trying not to wake him up, but theres no way the other thinks he's asleep, he's far too still for that (and that knowledge makes the moment heavy, makes it intimate in a way he doesnt think he can comprehend in his addled mind.)
Eventually it all comes off, his metal shell stripped away and placed with care with his boots at the foot of the bed. Corin reclines back again once he's put it away, but misjudges how close the Mandalorian is, and ends up within a much shorter proximity than he had been before. He starts to wriggle away, but the Mandalorian cannot take anymore movement disrupting his sleep, and so he reaches out a hand over Corin's chest, effectively stopping him in his tracks.
"Sleep." He murmurs. Corin's heartrate evens out.
Outside the window, the celebration has quieted from raucous shouting to a low hum, a vague buzz of soothing music. The Mandalorian can feel himself drifting off, his final thoughts on the soft sounds of Corin breathing, on the way he can feel the rise and fall of his chest under his arm. It's good, it's comforting to feel the peacefulness of another life and know that they are safe besides him.