Chapter Text
1-. An afternoon of Museum
Boba sighs as the bus stops in front of the city museum. He doesn't remember how he was assigned to care for the students on that field trip. He was supposed to stay in his office! Devising strategies and plays; the season was about to start and he wasn't ready yet.
But he imagined he couldn't complain ... Getting out of the routine wasn't so bad, besides, he didn't have to accompany Solo's idiot class. He was pretty sure he'd be already hanging that guy before reaching their destination.
Instead, he was supporting Professor Djarin with his students…
Din? Was that his name?
Boba sighs again as he watches the other teacher get off the bus, silently guiding the walking students to the entrance, while he stays behind, carrying the more “rebellious” students who weren't as excited about going to this destination.
He felt bad for not remembering his name, much less knowing what class Prof Djarin teaches in the highschool. Boba scratches the back of his neck trying to remember ... Was it history? Maybe it was languages ... Surely something associated with the museum visit.
The only memories he had of this professor is that almost every day they met in the teachers' lounge at the same time, just to prepare coffee as they greeted each other with a short: "Good morning".
Djarin gave him the impression that he was someone polite, but also, extremely reserved. He hardly ever spoke at the teachers' meeting and whenever Boba saw him in the offices, he was reading or grading tests.
Could he be a literature teacher? Boba inquires again in his head, too concentrated in his thoughts and when a student catches his attention, he realizes that he was at the entrance of the museum.
The students were clustering in the center and Boba couldn't help but count the students, hoping that none of them would get too smart and run away.
Thanks to any celestial being, they were all formed: some interested in the route and others grumbling at being forced to go.
He couldn't blame them… he wasn't THAT excited to go either, especially since his role was to be like a lookout to avoid disasters. Practically the students were going to be divided into three groups (to be controlled more efficiently) and a guide would take them around the museum.
He just had to prevent someone from breaking something priceless and could consider his day successful, which is why he just crosses his arms over his chest and hopes his image is intimidating enough to avoid any "nonsense" from some prankster.
This was going to be a long day.
"I don't think I've thanked you for joining us, Coach Fett."
Boba blinks in confusion, and turns to find the reserved professor at his side. Expressionless as almost always and watching his students enter the first exhibition.
"It's nothing, professor," he says in reflex, not thinking if that was true or not.
"I imagine you were busy with other things, but when Professor Plo Koon reported sick, we almost canceled this trip ... I really appreciate that you offered to accompany us at the last minute, I couldn't have done it alone.”
Boba was completely sure that he hadn't offered himself to accompany teenagers to a museum. He was betting it was Fennec who wrote down his name in this "emergency" as a joke; who knows, he would never understand what crosses that woman's mind.
"I really wasn't that busy." He shrugs his shoulders, dismissing it. "Besides, breaking the routine isn't bad, swapping playbooks for Monet art doesn't bother me” Boba says casually, pointing to the Impressionism art gallery.
Some famous paintings had been brought in as part of a special and temporary exhibition. He bets that's why Professor Djarin had insisted so much on that trip and they couldn't cancel.
Surely he could not schedule another date for when Professor Plo will improve.
Boba could understand it perfectly.
There was silence for a few seconds, although the reserved professor watched him carefully.
"Do you know the works of Claude Monet?" There was so much astonishment in these words that Boba would be almost insulted, if it weren't for Professor Djarin's expression… His eyes seemed to shine behind his glasses.
"Something, although impressionism was never my favorite style," he replies, trying not to sound too interested in the other teacher. Feeling like he was failing miserably, but he wasn't going to panic.
"I have more conventional tastes." Pointing to a painting of a gigantic landscape, with an almost infinite horizon and soft colors. With a tiny human silhouette, right in the center of that landscape, almost being eaten by the nature around him to be so insignificant. “I prefer the movement of romanticism; with its themes of freedom, exploration and self-knowledge…” Boba laughs before continuing. “If I had a shred of talent, it would be something I'd try to recreate.”
"I didn't imagine that you were so idealistic." Something in Professor Djarin's voice was humorous and the tiny smile on his lips agreed with him. There was no mockery, but there was "something", a certain charm that made the coach's cheeks take on some color.
"I'm not an idealist!" He wanted to look annoyed, but his goofy grin only made him look, in his own mind, pretty pathetic.
"There's nothing wrong with it, Coach.”
“Call me Boba.”
“I'm Din" And again, that little smile does something inside of Boba, making his heart race.
Boba wants to think of something else, congratulating himself for not having erred in the teacher's name. It was better to think about that, rather than admit how handsome he looked with such a small smile.
“Hi Din” There was no way he wouldn't feel stupid after introducing himself like that, when he had known (barely) the teacher for months.
But there was no bad reaction, not even a mockery.
In fact, he wouldn't have noticed anything but his deep brown eyes.
"Do you want to take a tour in the museum, Boba?" Din asks, pointing to the same room where his students had entered.
“I would love to.”
2-. A night of Football
"Touch down!" The sportscaster's voice was excited.
And it seemed really important or amazing, as Boba waves the bowl full of chips at the score and smirking with excitement, cheering the name of the team he supported for tonight.
The fries almost fell, but nothing was wasted.
Din smiles slightly at the joy on Boba's face.
It seemed to radiate something ... And he wanted to contemplate that Super Nova of emotions for a long time.
"What a great move, don't you think? The defense didn't see that running pass coming, they changed the formation at the last second.”
Din feels his cheeks taking some heat, ashamed of almost being caught staring at his teammate's face. If he wanted not to be so obvious about his “distraction”, he better had to answer what Boba wanted, so Din clears his throat before answering.
"It was spectacular," he says, convinced, as if he's not lying.
Even if it was.
Din had several minutes in which the football game had stopped being flashy (To be honest, Din was never a fan of that sport). Boba's concentrated face and its volatile gestures had trapped him since the last minutes of the game.
But he couldn't admit that. Never.
Three months have passed since the museum excursion, and since then everything has turned into a snowball rolling down the hill; getting bigger and bigger every day... and now it was already untenable.
Din was madly in love with teacher and coach Boba Fett. Every day it was like falling deeper and he wasn't trying to avoid it, drifting off the snow on the hill.
He sighs like it's nothing, looking away and trying to focus his attention on the plasma television in the living room.
There were some commercials airing, so distracting his mind was easier.
Since the museum trip, the two had more and more coincided. And what began as amazement at the coach's knowledge of art evolved.
First it was disbelief, then curiosity, passing through empathy, passing through liking, until he lost interest in knowing what facet he was in. With each passing day, Din noticed more qualities in that man that caught his attention.
The simple “good morning” in the hallways changed to chats between classes and the occasional lunch together in the teachers' lounge.
Speaking, Din noticed that they had things in common, such as some similar points of view and visions in ethics and philosophy, and many other things (too many things) where they did not coincide, especially in hobbies and tastes.
But instead of distancing themselves, that only made their talks more entertaining and they will never run out of topics to talk about.
Din found that he could spend hours talking to Coach Fett and it always felt like he were running out of time.
It was never enough.
And without knowing when it happened, one day he woke up knowing an absolute truth.
He had fallen in love with this man.
But how not to do it? He was so passionate, with convictions of steel and with goals so clear that it made him feel guilty for not knowing what he would have for breakfast the next day.
He was so handsome, so strong, so masculine… So… So… So… Straight, that just thinking about it broke Din's heart.
He subtly bites his lower lip at the thought as a beer commercial flies across the television. How had he allowed this to escalate like this? Din didn't want his heart to be broken again, for falling in love with the wrong man “An unpleasant misunderstanding”, as had been told to him in the past.
He wanted to laugh at his bad luck ... But in a way, he didn't regret his unintentional choice. Boba was so good and big-hearted, underneath that tough face and “bad temper”
He just had to keep up appearances… Everything would continue as it is now.
Din might have remained in his mind bubble, if it weren't for the hand that was placed on his shoulder. With a slight start, Din turns to face Boba.
"Are you okay, Din?" The sincere concern in the coach's voice made something inside his chest melt.
"Yes, I just feel a little tired," he says so naturally, that he himself was amazed by his lie. "It's nothing, Boba."
“Sure? I can take you to your apartment.”
Please don't go on ... Don't make me fall further.
Din dissolves his thoughts, before any of it escapes his lips.
"No, no, I'm fine." He raises his hands, as if he can keep some distance between the two of them. "Just a little tired, it's been exams week." He smiles, just to calm the coach's inquisitive gaze, as if he knew something was not right.
He couldn't read him that easily, could he?
Boba keeps his gaze for a few more seconds, until he nods, agreeing with the other teacher.
“You need something?”
"No, just some fresh air, does it bother you if I go out to smoke?”
Din is somewhat fond of seeing Boba's grimace at the mention of a cigarette, it seemed funny to him how that man seemed to have such a remarkable dislike of smoking.
"It's your lungs." Is the coach's “ rough ” answer. And then he softens his features, like he's worried. "Are you sure you're okay? I can take you… ” But Din didn't let him continue.
"It'll be a cigarette, I'll be back to watch the last quarter of the game." He smiles slightly as he shows the pack.
There was nothing to worry about. He just needed time out to settle his thoughts, re-order his head, and continue with the facade of only friends.
It seemed that Boba wanted to say something more, but the whistle of the start of the game managed to distract him, causing a window to escape.
Din sneaks away and almost gets his way, until something catches his attention, now he is the one who is distracted and lowers his defenses.
An old book, quite worn by the years, with the cover somewhat flaked. A book he recognized and was on a table near the living room door.
It was his old “The Art of War” book, which he happened to lend to Boba a week ago.
"Are you really reading my book?"
"Of course!" Boba grins from ear to ear, causing the floor to shake under Din's feet. "It's brilliant, I've even changed some formations of the training to put into practice some of the things I've read from the book."
"I think Sun Tzu was referring to battles and wars."
The sound of helmets colliding with each other from the game breaks the silence between the two, before Boba smiles and takes his beer to drink as he returns his attention to the television.
"A soccer final is just as intense as being on the battlefield." He takes a long drink before continuing. “You need a strategy, know your adversary and have the courage to stand where you are. Because in the end there is only one victorious side.” And he raises his eyebrows to end his allegory.
Din didn't know what it really was, but there was something so… attractive about Boba. Maybe it was for his securitie when he spoke, for all that overflowing masculinity, or something as simple as Boba paying attention to his tastes and taking the time to read something he recommended.
He was so tempted to walk back, to sit on his lap, demanding his attention and devouring his lips, to forget about football, wars or whatever happened while the world revolved around the Sun. It could just be the two of them …
He takes a step towards the sofa, but stops abruptly.
He couldn't do that, he didn't want to lose Boba just because something inside his mind and heart screamed that there was a ray of hope. He couldn't throw everything overboard. He could not accept another misunderstanding and less if he had to see his face every day in the hallways of the school.
He clenches his hands tightly, until he digs his nails into the palms, pain being the catalyst to react and return to the earthly plane.
"You're the expert," Din mutters and places the cigarette between his lips.
The coach seems to see that reaction out of the corner of his eye and points “annoyed” towards the door.
“Nothing of that here, go to smoke on the balcony or in the patio. I don't want my house to smell like cancer.”
Din chuckles, still holding the cigarette to his lips and holds up a hand, yielding this time.
"Easy, I'm going out, and don't finish the fries. I'll be back.”
Din hears a vague “Yes, yes” as he walks through the hallways of Boba's house. Since when had he given him the confidence to walk freely around his home? As if Boba wasn't afraid that he was snooping where he shouldn't or was afraid that Din would take something. Were they already close enough to be friends?
That was another blow to his chest, he definitely couldn't ruin what they had for his stupid heart.
Once outside, he lights his cigarette while looking at the night sky, being distracted by the stars and the Moon.
He had to use all his self-control if he wished not to ruin this.
…
The following Monday, Din finds in his office a new book, a very beautiful limited edition of “The Art of War.” Not at all similar to his old book he bought when he was in high school.
It had a note on the cover, with a handwriting that he could already identify anywhere.
« I'm sorry, I've scratched your book with ideas and markups. I was ashamed to return the book to you in that state. If we win the game on Saturday, I promise to invite you to dinner to celebrate. I owe you for everything. Boba.»
Din caresses the note with his thumb before holding the book to his chest.
“...Shit.”
It was too late. His heart was beating fast and his cheeks were painted a sweet red.
There was no going back.