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Cobb Vanth is a simple man. Outsiders often mistake that for ignorance. But he hasn’t come this far without some wits.
What he’s saying is he sees how much Boba Fett wants to take Mando—Din—for a ride and how much Din wants to take Boba Fett for a ride and how much neither of them see it.
Which is fine. To a point.
Look, Mando’s done Mos Pelgo a service. Fett’s got a past with the Hutts and the Empire, but when Cobb’d come in to see the new King he’d offered Cobb a chance to tear some slavers’ heads. Cobb’s inclined to like him too. They deserve a nice thing, if they’d bothered to get their heads outta their beskar asses.
So, while Fett’s and Din’s relationship or lack thereof shouldn’t be Cobb’s business, he’s making it his business.
Cobb makes his move during an afterparty in the throne room. Big raid on a slavers’ compound, only a few injuries on their side while the other guys were decimated. Everyone else has stumbled off except him, Din, Shand, and Fett, and they’re all well on their way to getting wasted.
Almost all of them. Cobb’s got a plan, you know. Gotta stay sober a little longer.
In the time they’d been separated, Din’s helmet policy is looser. He’s taken his off, revealing what Cobb must say is quite a looker. And Fett’s been looking, more obviously with every sip. Shand keeps nudging him, giving him shit for it while sending Cobb commiserating glances. Cobb likes her.
They’re all nice and loose when Cobb says, “Reminds me of the party after the krayt dragon. Whole town just lit up. Remember, Din?”
“Krayt?” Boba says, a little more guttural to try and cover his slur.
Din hums, pretty brown eyes a bit glassy. “He had your armor. Wasn’t Mandalorian.” He overenunciates the word, also trying to cover his slur. “Had a problem. I fixed it. I fix problems.”
“That you do,” Cobb replies warmly. He keeps his posture casual, legs spread wide, leaning in his chair. Gotta sneak up on ‘em. “Though I hope you haven’t made a habit of flying into the problem’s mouth.”
Both Fett and Shand round on him.
“What,” Fett mutters.
Din shrugs, movement slight overexaggerated like he’s not aware of his own limbs. “Couldn’t damage it outside. Went inside.”
Fett grabs his chin and yanks him close. Their wide eyes stare at each other like they’re communicating through the Force.
“You,” Fett says slowly, “flew into a krayt dragon?”
“And blew it up,” Cobb says, miming an explosion. “Flew out like a shot, covered in slime. Even stuck the landing! Show-off.”
“Had a problem,” Din repeats, “I fixed it.”
Fett stares a second longer before breaking into loud, raucous laughter that throws his head back. “You mad bastard! Flew into a krayt!”
Din’s flushed face gets redder. “Needed the armor.”
Fett throws his arm around him. “Of course. You’re so Mandalorian.” He sighs. “Stars, Din, I bet you were gorgeous.”
Shand sits up. Cobb motions her to keep quiet, saying, “Was definitely a sight.”
“Then you carried my armor across the Dune Sea,” Fett murmurs, eyes flicking around Din’s adorably bashful face. “Recognized my right to it. You know,” giving Din a little shake, “you know I’d marry you, right? I would. If you were int’rested, I’d marry the hell outta you.”
Cobb doesn’t hide his grin. Gotcha.
Din gasps through his nose. “Why?”
Fett pushes their foreheads together. “Flew into a krayt. Powerful warrior. The hell isn’t there to like about you?”
Din’s throat bobs. In a small voice, he says, “I’d marry you.”
Fett looks so taken aback it’s almost cute. “You would?”
“Yes,” Din whispers, all wide-eyed sincerity.
Cobb swears Fett growls, like a massiff with a bone. “Do it then. Mad bastard. Karkin’ marry me.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Shand says, “You two have fun. Vanth, wanna play strip shot?”
Cobb’s already following her out, leaving the lovebirds to their whispered Mando’a—at least he assumes it’s Mando’a. “What’s strip shot?”
“You take a few shots of spotchka, then we shoot. Every shot missed is a piece of clothing.”
“Now that don’t sound fair. You’re the best shot around.”
Shand raises an eyebrow. “You backing out?”
“Hell no.”