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Space was cold. Sometimes too cold, but it was a sensation that had become all so familiar. Unlike the open vastness of the galaxy surrounding you, Din’s own recent icy disposition was not a welcome one.
Months you had been traveling with the bounty hunter in shining armor, and you had gotten along well. Grown close in fact. Comfortable together. Yet over the last several weeks, Din has become distant. Even when the two of you were in the same room, you felt miles apart.
At first you wondered if he was missing Grogu again, but this seemed different. The bite that would sneak into his tone, or the curt way he would brush you off was painfully foreign. Nothing like the grief he expressed over his son leaving. These developments however, were making you ache.
“We’ll be landing in about an hour,” Din suddenly spoke, having come down from the cockpit. The sound of his voice snaps you out of your reverie.
“Great,” you smile, attempting to mask your frustrations.
He didn’t offer a response past that, and the silence was maddening. As nerve racking as the notion was, you had to talk to him about what was going on.
“Din…can we talk?” The words tumble out barely above a whisper, but your tone thankfully is steady enough.
The Mandalorian turns to face you, setting aside the gear he was handling. “Is something wrong?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” you explain. “Lately things have just felt…off.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Din replies brusquely, tilting his helmet away.
No, you weren’t going to let him get out of this. Not this time. This was making you crazy. Emboldened by your own stubbornness and desperation, you press the conversation forward.
“Din, please. Yes you do. For weeks now you’ve been shutting me out; pushing me away. I-I miss you. I miss how things used to be.”
Tears threaten to spill from your eyes at your words, at the buildup of the past month. The world feels like it’s crumbling down, and there’s nothing to do to stop it.
You lean back against the wall of the Razor Crest in defeat as Din turns his helmet back in your direction. His stance shifts awkwardly as if he wants to come to you, but doesn’t. A heavy sigh sounds from his helmet instead.
“I’m sorry,” he speaks quietly. “I never meant to hurt you. I shouldn’t have done that just because…”
Din’s voice trails off, his helm dipping to face the floor.
“Because why?” you plea, sorely wishing you could see what was going on beneath that blasted beskar.
Instead of answering, he swiftly makes his way to you, an intensity in his gait. Suddenly his visor is mere inches from your face. He places a hand firmly behind you on the wall of the ship, the other ghosting at your hip, a whisper of a touch. Melting into the steel keeping you upright, you barely manage to keep the gaze of his visor. Never have each other been this close.
“Because every time I see you, all I can think about is kissing you and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that,” he utters out, voice raspy and low.
Warmth spreads through your body, eyes wide at his sudden confession. A million thoughts race across your mind, as you struggle to string together a coherent sentence. You do, however, want to tear his helmet off and oblige him.
“You can,” you murmur. “I mean, could that work? Because I want that too.”
Despite not being able to see his face you can see him contemplating the question. The close proximity is not helping the decision making process.
“Close your eyes,” his voice softly hums through the modulator. “Don’t open them until I say.”
Complying with his request, you shut them. Din removes his hand from your waist to shed his helmet, gently setting it down next to his feet. Then slowly, he presses his lips to yours.
The kiss is soft, and Din’s lips are rough but warm. Cautiously you reach for his face, your hands brushing against his scruff. The added touch causes him to break away for a moment.
“I’m sorry, was that too much?” you worry, eyes still closed.
“No, Mesh’la,” he murmurs. “Don’t stop. Please.”
And he kisses you again, slower and deeper than before. Starved for the mere feel of your skin. You reach out for his face again, sliding your fingers up to cling to the waves of his hair. Din blissfully groans at the sensation, and wraps his now gloveless hands tightly around your waist.
Moments later you both slowly pull away, breathless. Neither wanting this euphoria to end.
“Cyar’ika,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against yours gently.
You have never felt closer to anyone than at this moment. Even though you still can’t see his face, being able to share this with him means everything. It was more than enough for now.
Din lets you go and the sound of his helmet sealing rings through the air. “You can open your eyes now,” he says, tracing a still bare hand across your jaw.
“Please say we can keep doing that,” you smile, blinking your eyes open.
“Of course, my Cyar’ika.”