Chapter Text
Din Djarin did not consider himself a particularly interesting man. He woke up, he tended to his adopted son, he taught classes on traditional Mandalorian martial arts at the community center, he tended to his son some more, and then he went to sleep. Rinse and repeat. Sure, it was often strange to see a mando'ad in full armor, even in the heart of Little Mandalore where most of their faith just stuck to sabatons, spaulders, and vambraces, but there were enough Children of the Watch in Los Angeles that his appearance shouldn't have been that strange. He'd seen weirder on the aruetiise that wandered around town.
Din Djarin did not consider himself an interesting man, but apparently the man he met at the community center disagrees. Luke Skywalker, recent amputee looking for advice on how to go about making his own prosthetic, had been pretty deeply interested in Din since they met. What had started as offering to introduce Luke to the goran for more in-depth metallurgy knowledge had turned into bringing Din coffee at his work in the evening had turned into playdates with his son and the man's nephew had turned into... Something Din wasn't entirely sure of anymore. Somehow he ended up meeting Luke's family—and having an absolutely riveting conversation on the absolute shit condition of the American Foster Care System—and somehow Din was seriously considering introducing Luke to his own family, no matter how much of a dick Paz could be.
Even after finally getting his prosthetic made, Luke was pretty interested on keeping Din around. And somewhere between talking with Luke's sister over the phone or taking him out for a night on the town, Din was starting to think maybe he wanted to keep Luke around too.