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You bolt up on your cot, upper body ridged with fear and panic. Your breathing is quick and shallow, and you can feel your body fighting to hold what little air it can in your lungs. You try to focus your eyes on something, anything, but the world is dark and blurry. Maybe it’s from the darkness of the hull of the Crest engulfed by the void of space or maybe it’s due to the tears still welling from the corner of your eyes. Regardless, you can’t see a damn thing and it isn't helping with the ever building wave of panic threatening to crash over your body.
A familiar voice whispers your name in a low, raspy yet concerned tone, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps padding across the creaking metal floor, acting as a minor distraction to your crumbling mental state. You turn your head toward the source of the sound despite being fully aware you won’t be able to see more than rough outlines of the ship’s usual stationary objects. The voice whispers your name again with more urgency and you can see the outline of the Mandalorian moving in your direction.
“Din?” You whimper, searching the dark for his outline. He kneels down in front of your cot, knees making a soft thud on the floor as both hands reach out to cradle your head. He’s got his left hand under your jaw supporting the weight of your tired head and his right gently placed just next to your cheek, thumb rubbing away the tears as they trickle down. His touch is noticeably cooler compared to the heat in your cheeks. Din holds you there, comforting you silently as he waits for your breathing to slow into deeper controlled breaths.
“Sweet girl, I heard you crying from my bunk.” He pauses, sighing seemingly to himself. “Is it- is it the nightmares again?” His voice is filled with concern, like your pain hurts him more than it does yourself. His voice is natural and soothing without the helmet distorting it. Thank Maker the darkness of the hull obscures his face, keeping him hidden from your gaze. The last thing you’d want is to destroy the most important aspect of his life, his livelihood, because you can’t sleep through the damn night.
His hands leave your face, arms wrapping around your torso and pulling you into his warm embrace. He took your lack of a response as a yes, thank the Maker, because any words you try to string together would only open the flood gates of emotion you tried so desperately to hold inside. Din pulls his waist up to the frame of the cot and pulls his body into yours, pressed so closely that you can feel his heart thumping between your chests. Your head drops into the crook of his neck and arms drape loosely around his shoulders.
“Come on, sweet girl.” To your surprise, Din pulls you forward and, in one fluid motion, has his hands under your thighs, lifting you with him as he stands. “Don’t let go,” he warns, before turning on his heels and walking back to his bunk. You sink deeper into his hold, soaking in the warmth of his body, the way he breathes deeper as he carries your body into the tiny bunk he called his sleeping quarters. He shifts one hand under your rear to support your weight as he slides the door open, then closed again behind you. He sets you gently on the bed, waiting for you to move enough to make space for him next to you.
You don’t move, of course. Your brain isn’t functioning at full capacity right now. Maybe it’s the sleep exhaustion, or the shock from being carried like a child, but your body doesn’t move. Din huffs, giving your body a little nudge encouraging you to relax into the pile of blankets. “Lay down, make room,” he gruffs, his exhaustion making itself more present. You obey, sliding closer to one side. Din lifts the corner of the blanket, giving him unrestricted access to you. He crawls in next to you, intertwining his legs with yours and slipping an arm under your body so that he can draw you into a tight embrace. Your head aligns with his chest as you hug him back and you can hear the ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum of his heart.
You often forget how human he is, always covered head to toe in bulky armor and hiding behind a modulated voice. With him gone most of the time you cherish these moments, the times where you can hear his voice in the way only you know, feel his breath lightly ghosting the top of your head as he drifts back into sleep.
“Din?” You hum into his chest, his name barely audible on your lips.
“Hmm..”
“I-I’m sorry I woke you up.” Your voice is so small and it gets lost in the fabric surrounding you. Din slowly slides a soft hand up, under the bottom hem of your shirt and glides it over your back. He rests it between your shoulder blades, fingers dancing over your skin. It’s his way of telling you it’s okay without him having to say it out loud. You nuzzle your head against his pecs and hold back on saying more. It’s pretty obvious how tired he is, I mean, you did inadvertently wake him up on his first real night of sleep after returning from a brutally long job. Your eyelids begin to grow heavy and you can feel the impending need to sleep growing. Moments of absolute silence pass as you slip in and out of consciousness. Your mind goes blank, no longer tormenting itself with anxious thoughts.
“I’d walk through fire for you, sweet girl. I-I’d do anything for you.” The words roll off Din’s lips and cascade directly into your soul. So this is what absolute peace feels like, you think to yourself, just before giving in to the need to rest.