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For so many years, Din had thought of life as something to be withstood.
A sensation neither forced nor bestowed, simply put upon one to handle, survive, and make one’s way throughout. He’d traversed, travelled, and traipsed through the galaxy by this thought, never doubting its truthfulness.
Yet, this night, he feels himself thinking otherwise as he slowly walks up the ramp to the Razor Crest. The ship is parked in a clearing, surrounded by tall trees that sometimes feel as if they are looming, that at other times feel as if they are guarding.
Tonight, it is the latter.
The ramp closes with a soft click, sealing him inside the safety of the ship he’d called home for so long. The lights are dim, the door to the sleeping alcove open. Your figure rests beneath the sheets, on your side, eyes closed peacefully in sleep. The kid lies in his hammock, hanging a few feet above you.
A smile tugs at Din’s lips. He’s tired, and the urge to crawl into bed next to you at that very moment is a hard one to resist.
He slowly begins the removal of his armor, starting with his legs, working his way to his arms and chest. Each piece is a weight lifted off of him, a lightness added to not only his body, but also his demeanor.
He finishes with his helmet, and while the removal of it is still difficult at times, tonight it’s a relief, for he has recently begun to associate the removal of the heavy headpiece with being home. Of being with his family, being with his love.
He walks to the ‘fresher, closing the door so as to not wake you with the sound of running water. He lets the warm stream run over him, soothing his sore muscles and washing away the violence of the hunt, cleansing himself of it, for he’s back home now. He wishes to leave all of that away from you, away from the kid.
When he emerges from the small room, dressed for sleep, he makes his way to the sleeping alcove, crawling in beside you. The child gives a coo of acknowledgment, and Din raises his hand to the edge of the little hammock, letting the kid’s three little fingers grasp one of his own. Din draws his hand away only when Grogu lets go, seemingly satisfied with the small touch.
Din finally lays down in the sheets, and you groan quietly, nestling into his side. His eyes flutter shut in contentment at your warmth, at your hand that curls into his hair.
It all feels full circle. Like every day leads back to here, and almost always, it does.
Grogu was the one who’d given Din the means to truly love life, to make the sensation something more than a thing to be withstood.
You were the one who’d taught him how to harness those means. You were the one who’d only added onto that love, who’d built it higher and higher with the solidarity of the three of you.
You’d taught him how to have a love for life, and he realizes: he’s happy.