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Luke guides Din and his own entwined hands to his lips, and he places a kiss on the side of Din’s hand below his thumb. Luke exhales, his breath coming out of him the way sand comes up and settles when you step into a body of clear water.
Din’s hand presses against Luke’s face, moving up his cheek, stroking his thumb over his cheekbone below his eyelid. His words come carefully, “I care for you so much.”
The flowers blooming in Luke’s chest from being in the sunlight that is Din’s presence seem to wilt. It is silent for what could have been seconds, could have been minutes—Luke could never effectively determine time when he was with Din. “I’m not supposed to get attached,” he says softly.
Din knows this. Luke has told him many times.
The same response as always comes, “then don’t.”
Luke smiles, bittersweet. Din’s voice is like dirt, grass, rock. Earthy things. The sound roots itself in Luke every time they dare speak.
Of course, it is not as simple as ‘then don’t’. Luke is not unaware of this, nor Din.
“And if I do? What then?”
Din’s helmeted head lolls to the side, as it does, how Luke has grown so fond of. “No need to worry about that, yeah? Cross that bridge when we get there.”
Luke knows his eyes are bright with laughter now, though he does not laugh, doesn’t let himself. If he were to laugh, the world would know of the lies they tell to comfort themselves. The trees would know Luke is already attached. The ferns would know that the two both knew this as clear as day.
“When we get there,” Luke echoes, inclining forward until his forehead meets Din’s shoulder, as if they aren’t there and far past.
“Have I told you of how I like the way you're always pressed against me in some way?”
“You haven’t,” Luke says, evenly, but quiet enough to come nearly breathless.
“I meant to,” Din pauses, for eight heartbeats, Luke counts. He would like to say that this is a trustworthy measurement of time when all else fails, but Din tends to make his heart race, so that invalidates the consistency of that, as well, “eyes closed?”
Luke hums a confirmation. It isn’t needed, because he has his head down, but they’ve been through this enough times that Luke knows Din is just giving him a heads up. Luke nudges Din’s shoulder with his nose as he hears the seal pop on Din’s helmet, and Din drops his head to the side to rest against Luke’s.
“I care for you, too,” Luke says when the silence grows too long and he misses the man pressed against him.
“Is that allowed?” Din doesn’t phrase it like it’s a joke. Luke isn’t sure why, but he likes when Din asks him questions like this one. Perhaps he just liked to share things with him.
“Yes,” Luke sets his hand on the grass next to Din’s knee and takes a bit of the cloth between his index and thumb, “how could I ever keep things safe, if I didn’t care for them? I must care.”
“You’re keeping me safe, then?” Din’s smile is apparent in his voice.
“What else would you call it?” Luke feels happy. He feels happy often, but with Din he feels happy in a different way. He usually just feels good , generally, but with Din, he feels so very real . There’s a physical aspect to the way Din makes him feel, in his chest, like sun rays have passed right through him to his heart. “You’re safe here, with me. You’re always welcome to rest here, and that is what you do, isn’t it?”
Din’s fingers tuck under Luke’s and he brushes his thumb over Luke’s knuckles. “You make a good point.”
Luke doesn’t like to lie, but he has come to learn that he likes when things can be unspoken, or even stated as the opposite of what they are, when there is an understanding of the truth anyhow. He liked that the grass and the clouds didn’t know what he and Din knew.
He turns his hand until he can squeeze Din’s thumb, and he turns his head to face toward Din’s neck, to which Din says: “okay.”
Luke closes his eyes and sits up, and he smiles when he feels fingers brush his cheek, pass his ear, and a palm press against his face. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Din replies, and Luke can hear his smile, steady now. “You’re very pretty.”
“Oh,” Luke lifts a hand to his face to cover it without thinking, “thank you.”
“I like that color on you.”
Luke’s head cocks to the side a little, “I’m not wearing anything different than usual—”
“Not the outfit,” Din pauses, and Luke would love to see his face, to see what’s going through his head, but he keeps his eyes closed, “I meant the blush. It suits you.”
Luke’s head shrinks down further into his hand, “ah.”
“Hey, don’t hide from me,” Din says, like a breath of fresh air.
“Sorry, this is embarrassing.”
“You don’t need to be embarrassed,”—Din's hand comes up and wraps around Luke’s wrist, guides it out of his face—“it’s just me.”
I love you, settles on Luke’s tongue, and he sets his jaw.
He’s been through a lot, felt the fear of thousands at a time, and yet he’s never felt a fear the way this one feels. The fear he’s used to is the kind that makes you feel aside of yourself, alert and pulsing.
No, this is nothing like that. This is set inside him like a stone dropped, and certainly himself, in the same way his hands are his.
His heart envelopes him in a plea to get as far from Din as he possibly can. The longer you take to leave, the more he will ache when you are gone, he thinks , and suddenly, the last thing Luke wants in the galaxy is to ever have to hurt the man in front of him.
He hopes, desperately, that Din doesn’t love him in return, but Din’s hand meets his cheek with such care, despite how calloused, that he highly doubts there’s any chance.
So Luke inclines forward until his forehead is pressed against Din’s, in the way the Mandalorians do, and he buries the part of him that loves, resurfaces the part that cares .
“I’m happy you’re here.”