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The Mandalorian is lonely.
He isn’t lonely all the time, and never as lonely as he was when Grogu first met him. But he is still lonely sometimes, and sad, and it makes Grogu feel sad to feel it.
He is lonely today.
He is doing repairs, standing outside in the humid heat. Grogu sits on the ramp, looking at him, as the Mandalorian sighs and rips some wires out of his ship.
Why is he lonely? Grogu is here.
Perhaps he’s forgotten. Grogu considers this, his lips pursing together and ears lowering in thought. Maybe he only needs a reminder.
Grogu babbles, just loud enough to draw his attention, and watches as the shiny beskar of the Mandalorian’s helmet glints as he turns Grogu’s way.
“Are you hungry?” His voice is quiet, but concerned. Grogu frowns.
No, he thinks, and tries to project the feeling of fullness that lingers in his heart, the contentedness that a filling and carefully prepared morning meal has left him with—but the Mandalorian doesn’t pick up on it. He never seems to understand.
Instead, he just sighs. “There’s snacks on board.” He tilts his head up, towards where the ramp meets the belly of the ship. “You know where.”
Grogu knows. The Mandalorian leaves snacks for him near his hammock. Grogu likes them, but he doesn’t want them right now—he wants to help the Mandalorian.
The Mandalorian is turning back to his work again, pulling a few new wires out of a pouch at his side and doing something that makes very bright lights shoot up out of the compartment he’s working in. He doesn’t seem to mind, but Grogu flinches. They’re very bright.
They make noise, too, and this time, Grogu must ensure that he is loud enough that the Mandalorian can hear him over his task.
“Habu,” he tries.
The Mandalorian doesn’t turn his way.
“Habu,” Grogu says again, more insistent.
The Mandalorian still doesn’t look.
“Patu?”
Finally, he turns. Grogu feels a flash of unpleasantness, anger. He curls into the safety of his coat, warm and forgiving.
“What?” There is something unhappy in the Mandalorian’s tone, vibrating in his voice and in the Force. Grogu did not mean to upset him. “I told you, there’s snacks if you’re hungry.”
The Mandalorian still doesn’t understand. Grogu looks down, and mumbles quietly. He does not want snacks.
“What is it?” The Mandalorian asks again. “You don’t… do you need the bathroom?”
Grogu mumbles quietly again.
It does not make the Mandalorian happy. Instead, he says something gruff and quiet under his breath, and turns away again.
“I have to work,” he says. He does not sound happy about it. Or maybe he’s just not happy about Grogu.
Grogu hopes it’s about the work.
The Mandalorian’s hands start moving again, and the bright lights come back, and the little noises. He does not feel any less lonely, and Grogu feels sad. Why can’t he help? Why doesn’t the Mandalorian understand that Grogu is here, and he does not have to be lonely?
He tries to project to the Mandalorian again—this time, the warmth Grogu feels when the Mandalorian carries him, or the contentedness when they are both settled in for the night and his quiet snoring helps Grogu to sleep, or the comfort of having his food made into just the perfect size for him.
Again, the Mandalorian does not react. Grogu frowns, and wonders if the Mandalorian cannot feel like he does, through the Force.
The thought makes him sad. Then, it makes him decide to try something else.
It takes a moment for Grogu to navigate to his feet. The air on this world is very wet, and Grogu likes it—but it is very hot, too, and he likes that less. It makes moving feel ugly and sticky, but if he can help the Mandalorian…
He maneuvers to his feet, giving the area around them a sweeping glance. It is mostly empty, and Grogu can’t see any threats, so he toddles down until his feet move from the cold durasteel of the Razor Crest’s ramp to the soft, warm mud of the ground. He likes the mud much better. It feels nice, and he might sit in it—but he has a task, now. He can sit later.
The mud squelches beneath his feet as he moves over to the Mandalorian. He is very quiet, and the bright lights are very loud, so the Mandalorian does not hear him.
Grogu waddles right up beside the Mandalorian’s leg. His boot is speckled with mud, and smaller pieces of armor shine, but Grogu does not hesitate to wrap small arms around that boot, pressing himself as close as he can, until one of his ears is smushed by the leather and the bits of mud feel cool against his face. Now, the Mandalorian will know that he is not alone.
Only something happens. The boot he is holding onto shifts suddenly, and the Mandalorian flinches, and Grogu looks up to see the Mandalorian looking down at him, wires held loosely in his hand.
“What are you—” The Mandalorian hesitates, his voice growing a bit steadier. “What are you doing?”
Hugging, Grogu thinks, projecting the answer on instinct before he remembers that the Mandalorian cannot understand him that way. He babbles again, but the Mandalorian doesn’t understand that, either, so, when all else fails, he reaches to hug the Mandalorian’s leg again, settling once more against cool, mud-spotted leather.
For a moment, nothing happens. Everything is still. But then the Mandalorian shifts again, more carefully this time, and leans down, gloved hands lifting Grogu into the air, until he’s braced against his chest.
“Hey,” the Mandalorian says, his voice quieter than before, gentler, and just a bit hesitant. “Are you okay?”
Grogu looks up to his visor, and babbles.
“Are you lonely?” There’s a faint crease of worry in the Mandalorian’s voice.
Not me, Grogu thinks, you—but then he, too, hesitates, his ears lowering some. It has been a long time since he’s had a friend.
But now, finally, he has one. “That’s okay,” the Mandalorian says, his voice very, very quiet, and after a moment, he nods. “… that’s okay, kid. We’ve… got each other.”
Yes, Grogu thinks, feeling a small bubble of lightness. He hopes that the Mandalorian can feel it, too, as he reaches out, tapping one yellowed nail against the clean, shiny beskar of the Mandalorian’s armor just to smile at the noise it makes—and though he cannot see his face, Grogu can feel the Mandalorian’s returned smile in the Force.
He is happy. And most importantly, he is not lonely anymore. Neither of them are.
“You’re covered in mud,” the Mandalorian says after a moment, peering down at Grogu, whose feet feel nice and cool and whose cheek feels like it is covered in little tiny dots. Grogu just smiles again, and kicks his feet a little.
“Come on,” the Mandalorian says gently, and Grogu clings to the warm feeling his words put out into the Force, the way his tone alone feels like an embrace. “Let’s get cleaned up, okay?”
Grogu babbles, smiles again, and feels less lonely than he did before.