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This mission had been a disaster. A complete and total failure if not for the sheer dumb luck that they're all still inexplicably alive. Their client had told them her bounty should preferably be taken in alive but his offensive attack forced the Mandalorian to kill him in the ensuing fight. The encampment had been too heavily fortified, too close to the town. Too many unavoidable casualties. They had won, of course; every enemy fell to their blasters, but at what cost?
The kid. Stars, the kid had been in danger. The kid had saved him. Again.
Corin would cry if the instinct hadn't been practically beaten out of him by the Academy and his father, but the image of the small precious being shivering with effort as it held the blaster bolt immobile a breadth away from Corin's chest was burned into the back of his eyes whenever he closed them. The Mandalorian had been gone for the rest of the afternoon to receive whatever payment he could threaten out of the client (and most likely throttle her for severely underestimated her enemy's power). The child was in a deep sleep, recovering from its overexertion.
Steadily worsening nightmares had plagued Corin's mind in the weeks following the Imp attack on Dhased and their escape from the planet. He knew that sleep would evade him for yet another evening, so he took to pacing the small room they had rented like a loth-wolf in a zoo. He was antsy and tired of waiting for the Mandalorian to return.
He needed to take a walk.
Deep thunder rolled on the horizon as he slowly made his way through the desert town. A dry lightning storm by the looks of it, he noted: and a pretty big one if the prickling sensation that hung in the air was anything to go by. The kid would probably be frightened awake by the booming thunder but Corin judged the system to be at least a few hours away. More than enough time to clear his head and get back.
The normal bustle in the streets that had greeted them upon arrival was all but gone; the people choosing instead to hide indoors after the firefight that occured that afternoon. The people couldn’t have possibly known that Corin was involved in that, right?
He passed by a cantina and thought for a moment to walk in and get himself a stiff drink. He deserved it after his harrowing day. He didn't drink often, but perhaps tonight…? No. He needed to stay lucid, for the kid. For the Mandalorian. The last time he drank, well…
He remembers laughing, and a warm solid body beneath him. The rich depth of strong Mandalorian wine on his tongue. Snuggling up to sleep better than he had in months. The embarrassment that followed the next morning. Cringing at the memory, Corin turned up his jacket collar to both hide from the townspeople and to protect himself from the stinging sandy wind that smacked him as he turned away from the cantina door. Lost in thought, he aimlessly turned the corner and realized he didn’t know where he was going.
“Hey there, handsome. You’re looking lonely,” a voice called from behind the corner of the tavern. A Miralan woman in a light shawl stepped into the waning light and made Corin jump. “Need some company?”
“N-no thank you,” Corin shied away from her and backed up.
“Maybe you’re just not his type, dear,” another voice added, and a young man emerged from the shadows to stand beside her. He was handsome and far too young, in Corin’s opinion, to be doing what he was doing. “We have a few friends too, if you’d rather meet someone else. We all offer fair prices. They say my partner is the best bed in the parsec—”
“I’m sure a-and I’m flattered, but...no. No. Another time, maybe,” Corin batted away the pair’s advances and turned down the next closest fork in the meandering paths of buildings, frantic to rid himself of his quickly darkening thoughts. He followed where the narrow streets may lead, almost desperately hoping he could get lost if only to figure his way back out again. He turned around after finding yet another dead end and willed the voices in his head to quiet. In turn he received voices coming from the crossroads of his upcoming path.
His bad luck had continued to follow him into the night as a squad of loyalists to the now-dead target began to search the front of the dead-end street: all four men dressed in similar clothes to the thugs Corin had helped dispatch that afternoon. Likely on the lookout for the perpetrators of their employer’s assault. Kriff.
Corin hadn’t prepared for any sort of fight. He only had one vibroblade tucked into the shaft of his boot, a precautionary measure that the Mandalorian had told him to start taking. Corin couldn’t take them all on four-to-one with just a measly knife! He hid further into the shadows and backed as far into the dead end as possible. Maybe if they split off he could take them in pairs, or if he made a distraction—!
Four shots in quick succession lit up the alley. Four bodies dropped to the dirt and a fifth jumped from the roof above to land heavily right in front of Corin. In an instant Corin’s blade was drawn and humming right below a throat clad in familiar brown and beskar.
“Corin?!” The Mandalorian sounded totally bewildered. “What are you doing out here? Where’s the kid?”
“Asleep in the room. He's safe. I had to take a walk.”
“You actually want to show your face after today? There's still loyalists crawling all over town, they know who we are now! We have to leave, and quickly!”
“Well what are you doing then?”
“Picking off whatever loyalists I can while making my way back to the hostel. The roofs give me the best vantage point. I thought you were some bystander."
“What were you gonna do if I was? Kill me as a witness?”
“Scare you off, most likely,” the Mandalorian shrugged.
“Do you do this with every witness?”
“Not every. But this time warrants it.”
Corin resheathed the blade in his boot before crossing his arms over his chest. “'This time' you could’ve done something different. I’ve been holed up in the hostel waiting for you for the entire afternoon and you didn’t even spare so much as a comm that you were fine. Radio silence is a bad sign.”
“I’m sorry if I didn't check in but I needed to stay silent to hide. It’s far easier to spot beskar than civvies,” the Mandalorian gestured at Corin’s clothes. It was true that it was easier to blend in wearing common clothes than armor, particularly on a planet with little Imperial trace left upon it but the occasional warlord and his loyalists. “I only let you accompany me on this bounty because you always make a big fuss about it if I don't.”
“Why do you think I can’t do this? How many times have I helped you out on a job? You know I'm more than capable of doing so."
“It’s not that I don't think that you can, Corin," Din sighed. "It's...no. I don't want you risking it."
“I have the skill and I believe you're underutilizing that!” Corin’s indignant reply echoed off the narrow alley walls and the Mandalorian twitched his head toward the intersection to check if they were heard. “You're constantly harping about my safety when you know damn well that I can take care of myself. Remember when I hunted for our food? Remember the Festival? I stood my own there!”
“That was different. An emergency situation that required immediate action, I don’t like having you on standard bounties.”
“And why not? What makes bounties any different than a surprise Imp attack?”
“I—!” There was too much, far too many reasons, too many variables and emotions in that question for the Mandalorian to parse into words. Corin huffed.
“You don’t even have an answer, do you? I can take care of myself. Always have.”
"Are you sure about that? Because someone needs to be watching the kid at all times or else things like that can happen!" He poked a gloved finger over the spot that the fated blaster bolt would've killed Corin if the child hadn't stepped in to stop it. Corin smacked the hand away from his chest and pointed his own hand in turn into the helmet's face.
"Don't blame this on me! You could've kept him in the ship and locked it down! The shipyard's further out than the hostel!" The Mandalorian huffed at the accusation that caused grating feedback from his vocal modulator. Had the moment been less tense Corin might have even cracked a snide joke about the Mandalorian sounding like Lord Vader.
"You know he would've screamed if he thought we were leaving him behind." It was a weak response and the Mandalorian knew it, but he couldn't think well enough to come up with anything more convincing.
“And he screamed all the same when he thought you were going to let me die!” Corin regretted the words as soon as they escaped his lips. Now he was in for it.
Corin knew he couldn't win the argument the way he had in the past, he had to up the ante now. So when the Mandalorian's hand came swinging once more Corin grabbed his wrist, ripped the glove from his hand, and threw it to the ground in one swift movement. The Mandalorian froze in stunned confusion and anger as he processed what just happened, but Corin took full tactical advantage and pressed a kiss hard to the man’s bare palm.
What Corin didn't expect was for that hand to grip tightly to his jaw, short nails digging in hard enough to sting, and the silver helmet to swoop dangerously close to his face. Time to kiss his sorry ass goodbye because Corin was well and truly kriffed now. His impulsiveness always had its consequences. He flinched back, head hitting the rough wall, and tried to collapse in on himself like a dying star. The Mandalorian gripped his bicep with the other hand to pin him in place.
"You—! Corin, I would never let you die. Do...do you know what you do to me?" His voice was strained and low, almost angry but not quite. His vocal modulator barely held back all the emotion in his words. "How easily?"
Corin cracked open his tightly-shut eyes to see the hunter shaking before him. Oh? The pieces came together as the Mandalorian’s words sunk in. Corin understood.
Oh.
Well, kriff.
"No. I-I...what? Mando, you're trembling. Did you get hurt?"
The Mandalorian sighed deeply. "Of course not." His tight grip on Corin loosened as the helmet tilted downward to stare at the dirt. Whether the reply was to him being injured or if Corin knew, well then—
Corin had never seen the man like this. Was that...disappointment in his tone? What was happening?
"You...?" Corin hesitantly laid a hand on the side of the cool silver helmet and the Mandalorian leaned in to the touch. Corin had desired this, some close physical thing, for so long that he didn't even believe what he was hearing. Memories from a lifetime ago when he was a different man, a different being entirely, instincts so naturally ingrained within his nerves roared to life once more.
"Yeah. You too?" The Mandalorian's reply was quiet. Barely there.
Corin slowly traced the clean lines with a finger, admiring its artisanal construction in this new, intimate proximity. He almost imagined that he saw eyes behind the dark visor, eyes full of longing and sadness. But they were only his own reflected in the glossy one-way transparisteel.
Corin's other hand joined in on the other side of the helmet, more steady now, more sure. That hold in both hands was too much for the Mandalorian to handle. It felt too close; too familiar a sensation rose up in him. Omera, the village—!
Before Corin even had a chance to move he panicked and jerked away, releasing Corin entirely. His beskar made a grating sound as his back hit the rough wall on the opposite side of the cramped alley.
"No." Harsh and unyielding. Corin immediately backpedaled into placating excuses.
"Oh kriff, I'm sorry! I misread the situation. I thought you were asking me to—" the Mandalorian held out a hand to stop him from rambling.
"I am...I-I do. Just not now. Not yet. I don't know." He sighed. "You...you affect me, Corin. More than I ever expected you to. I need time. This is a lot to process."
Corin understood. "Okay. But you're okay with...this?" He motioned between the two of them to encompass their conversation.
The Mandalorian thought for a moment. "Yes."
Feeling bold now, Corin stepped up and corralled him against the wall, mirroring the Mandalorian's actions from mere moments earlier. He laced his fingers between the Mandalorian's bare hand and held tightly, the other hand coming to rest at the back of the hunter's neck. He leaned in, ignoring the dull pain that radiated from his abdomen as the beskar breastplate pressed against his old wound, and dug his face in the soft material of the scarf-like cape that wrapped around his shoulders. It smelled like metal buffing wax and the faded remnants of an enticing cologned fabric detergent.
"And this?" he murmured, making sure to angle his voice up under the lip of the helmet. The ghost of his breath hit the Mandalorian's jaw and he almost groaned at the sensation. Instead he shuddered a sigh, thankful that the helmet hid the sudden hot flush across his cheeks. He ducked his head away to avoid the embarrassment.
"Yes."
Corin turned his head back with two fingers resting in the cheek hollow of the helmet. The men held eye contact, Corin chewing on his lip like he was actively holding himself back from kissing the cold metal for lack of anything else. The Mandalorian half hoped he would. Then something shifted, and the moment passed.
"Okay. I think I can live with that." He cracked a sad, lopsided smile and pulled away, carefully stepping over the bodies of the dead loyalists as he did so. "Let's go check on the kid. Make sure he hasn't woken up and running wild."
The Mandalorian didn’t move from his spot on the wall as he desperately tried to process everything that had just occurred. Night had long since descended upon the town and the electric rumble of the lightning storm was much closer than before. He shivered and shook it off as the static in the air. Corin waited at the intersection of the dead-end before nodding his chin towards the next alley and walking that way. The Mandalorian had no choice but to follow.
He huffed and shook his head, bending down to pick up the discarded glove. He dusted it off on his thigh before slipping it back on and exiting the alley.
Good luck indeed.