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Words. They can get you out of tight situations. A quick lie works wonders to get someone off your back. They can save a life; used in the heat of battle to alert Din to the thug who’d snuck up behind him. Yet, sometimes, they can part the sea. Something so vulnerable time itself stands still just to let you breathe.
“Look at me… please,” he’d begged, softly enough you’d had to stop talking to hear him, unable to find your voice again once he’d stopped.
Your eyes had been closed the moment you saw him reaching for his helmet. You knew he’d have to wipe his face and collect himself after everything, so you’d given him his privacy. Just like you’d done countless times.
The two of you are sitting alone in one of Boba’s spare rooms. The Razorcrest was blown to bits, and Grogu long since taken by Luke Skywalker. Neither of you knew what the future would hold - if you’d see Grogu again, if you’d stick together. Nothing was certain now. Yet he sat across from you on the large bed of his room. You’d come over after a quick shower to check on him, an attempt to make sure that he hadn’t left without you.
His words struck you like a knife through your chest and twisted.
“Din, are you sure?” You don’t have to.
“Please, I just - I - I’m not sure what I need… I just… want you to see me,” he stammers. Someone typically calm and collected, held together by the toughest glue, stammers because of what? You?
Slowly, you open your eyes, as if giving him time to rethink the whole ordeal. He doesn’t. Your eyes open to see the scruffy mustache, soft brown eyes clouded with tears, and slightly-flattened curls of helmet hair. He’s stunning. Too stunning to be the sobbing mess he is; tear tracks down his face, and a frown twitches at the corners of his lips.
You see worry knit in his brows and you know you’ve been staring too long. Carefully, you raise your hand to his face, cupping his cheek and brushing away his tears slowly with your thumb. He leans into your touch, his eyes closing as if the simple gesture would pull all the pain from his heart.
“It’ll be okay. He’ll be okay,” you whisper, not sure what he needs to hear right now.
Din whimpers, his voice unmodulated yet muddled with tears. You’re given very little warning before he slumps forwards, wrapping his arms around your torso and burying his face into the crook of your neck. A wrecked sob echoes through the room as the Mandalorian comes apart in your arms. You wrap your arms around him, attempting to rub his back through his armour.
Soft words of reassurance are all you can offer him.
He pulls back after a moment, and you’re almost scared he’s about to tell you off - tell you to leave so he can get some rest. You’re ready to leave if that’s what he needs. You watch his hands go to the sides of his armour with confusion flashing behind your eyes. Carefully, he pulls away one of his shoulder pads and you realize he’s serious.
“Din, do you want me to go?” you ask, already standing up from the bed.
He looks up at you, cloudy eyes holding yours for the briefest moment before he drops your gaze.
“Can you… stay?”
He’s never asked you to stay after he’s removed his armour. It takes you by surprise, your mouth opening to speak yet no words coming to mind. Of course, you want to stay. You want to do a lot of things; kiss him, reassure him it’ll be okay, leave and go get Grogu back from the Jedi - training be damned - but you know you can’t. The most you can offer him is the quiet request of your company. He’s waiting for a response, not quite meeting your gaze. You nod your head slowly, sitting back down on the bed.
He sighs a little in relief as you sit down, continuing to pull his armour off. He stacks it carefully on the floor, leaving him in nothing but his flight suit. He moves to tug that off as well, and you advert your gaze, giving him some semblance of privacy as he finds his sparsely-worn sleep clothes. You know he’s done by the little cough - an apology on his tongue - letting you know to look up.
He looks out of place. Dressed in comfortable clothes, standing at the foot of the bed and shifting from side to side.
You’re out of place as well. Dressed in similar clothes, sitting on the edge of his bed.
You almost want to get up and leave, had it not been for his words ringing in your ears. All but begging you to stay. It’s not that you find his company uncomfortable. Far from it. You find a certain solace in the bounty hunter that others lack. Instead, you simply don’t think you can trust your tired lips to keep to themselves.
It’s a silent dance. He pulls back the sheets, then looks back to you nervously. As if asking your permission. You scoot back, eyeing him carefully. He seems satisfied when you settle into the bed, carefully slipping in beside him. He’s awkward. You can see how much he wants to curl up to your side, to be reassured that it’ll be okay, yet he sits nervously, as if unsure if you want him there at all.
You wrap your arm around him, pulling him to your side and tucking him under your chin. He sighs as you wrap your arms around him, mimicking you. He doesn’t break save for quiet sniffles as he curls close to you, a wordless prayer on his lips for the pain to vanish. You know him like you know your favourite gun. How he ticks. What makes him break. How he flourishes. You know he misses the kid just as much as you - if not more. You can’t offer him the comfort he needs, but you can offer him the closest thing: solidarity.
As you lay there with him, slowly rubbing his back, the galaxy never felt so empty.