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The hour grew late. What once was a warm evening sky melted into the deep blues of midnight, stars illuminating the darkness. As enchanting as it is, watching the stunning display reminds you of your missing Mandalorian.
While Din had gone out hunting his current bounty, you stayed on the Crest, waiting for his return. Though Din was well aware you could handle yourself, armed with the force and lightsaber, he had grown more protective as of late. Ever since Grogu left, you noticed the shift in him. There were times, like now, where he even tried to limit your help on certain jobs. Deep down you assume it's his fear of losing someone else that’s getting to him.
Today you indulged him after hearing the desperation seep through his modulator. So you remain behind, as much as it kills you to stay here helpless and waiting. There was just something about the way Din asked, that you simply couldn't deny.
Looking out of the viewport at the unfamiliar woodland planet before you, a sound coming from up the ramp grabs your attention. The thudding continues as you cautiously make your way down from the cockpit.
Barely more than a shadow in the waning moonlight, is Din, legs scarcely keeping him upright and moving. Without a second thought you rush to him, helping him sit atop a storage crate before he collapses. It's now in the dim light of the ship you get a better look at the state of his body. Blaster burns and blood stain the perfectly crafted beskar with the flight suit beneath it in tatters.
"Karabast, Din," you breathe, looking over him. A wave of frustration and pain washes over you, but it's not your own emotions you're experiencing, it's Din's. "What happened?"
"Bounty put up a fight," he grumbles.
You attempt to collect yourself long enough to retrieve your med kit as Din lets out another strained sound. After pulling out all the necessary supplies, you go to work at what looks to be the worst of the wounds. His side seems to have the only real damage thanks to his armor.
Gently, the surface blood is wiped away with a spare rag kept in the kit. Silently you cursed yourself for not sharing Grogu’s talent for healing, if that were the case this would go much easier. The fact that you weren't able to see the injuries properly isn’t helping either, with them still mostly shielded by Din’s battered suit. Normally you would never pressure him to show himself, but in this situation the circumstances require it.
“Din, I really need to get a better look at you, if I'm really going to be able to help,” you say firmly, eyes brimming with worry.
A discontented grunt escapes him as you continue pressing the bloodied rag to his side. You begin to wonder if he was even able to catch your words, but then slowly he moves to peel away his armor and top half of his flight suit. In a careful urgency, you attempt to aid him in any way possible.
With the outer clothing and beskar carefully stripped away, you are able to get a proper look at him now. The bleeding has thankfully begun to ease up, and seemingly only one cut on his side required stitches. These fresh wounds are not alone though. A cascade of scars ranging from vibrant to faded litter his skin, along with a collection of various tattoos. A mythosaur marked his shoulder paired with words in a language you don’t recognize, along with an array of other intricate designs scattered about. It’s like his own little galaxy, and its gravity is pulling you in.
Quickly you mentally readjust, preparing to stitch up his side. After a light spray of bacta, you ready the needle, hoping it takes the edge off.
“Okay, let's get this over with,” you breathe before beginning to mend him back together.
A ragged groan strains through Din’s modulator, his body struggling not to flinch. It was a rarity to see him this physically vulnerable, and never had it been this severe. Not enough for him to ever have to bare himself to you. It makes you ache, seeing him like this now. Continuing with the stitching as carefully as possibly, you center yourself once more, attempting to put all concentration on the task at hand. Right now Din needs you focused and calm.
“Come on, you're a Mandalorian, you got this,” you tease lightly, endeavoring to put him at ease as you finish up.
Din’s entire body stiffens. Waves of frustration radiate from him so strongly, they feel like a punch to the stomach. He pulls himself up to sit upright on the crate, knuckles whitening under his death grip. The sudden movement startles you, and drops you to your knees. Thankfully, you're done stitching.
“Din, be-” you start, but he cuts you off.
“Don’t. Don’t call me that,” he snaps, holding his helmet in his hands.
Before you can respond to his outburst, another shockwave of emotions hits you as he roughly removes his most critical piece of beskar. He tosses the helmet aside with a reckless abandon. Instinctively you avert your eyes, only glimpsing a brown blur before doing so.
“Din, what are you doing?!” you ask in shock, eyes wide and heart racing.
“I'm not a Mandalorian, not anymore,” he answers in a tone so forlorn it cuts you to the core.
Desperately you want to see him, to look in his eyes as you comfort him, but even still you can't. Despite Din’s current state that may not be something he’s ready for, and you don’t dare add to his conflict. No matter how deeply you crave it. Even when he removed his helmet to say his goodbyes to Grogu you couldn't bring yourself to truly take him in.
“Cyar’ika…” Din says, voice softer, but still pained. “You can look at me now, it's safe. My Creed…I have forsaken it.”
He awkwardly maneuvers his injured body down to the floor next to you with a grunt. Heat rises in your cheeks as he takes your face in his hands, gently impelling you to meet his gaze. Staring back at you are irises painted such a glistening, deep brown it's as if the sun itself has melted to forge them. Beneath them lie a captivating aquiline nose and lush lips, lined by a defined mustache and thin scruff. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him; to say he’s handsome would be a disservice.
The moment is so overwhelming you feel on the verge of trembling. In an attempt to steady yourself you hold Din’s hands in your own, placing them on your heart. Oh his hands. How you wish to never be parted from them; you never want to be parted from him.
“It's really you,” you finally breathe. Gingerly you run a hand through his dark curls, your thumb brushing one of the smaller pieces of beskar that adorn his eyebrow, the other lying in the tip of his ear. Though his hair is damp with perspiration it fails to deter you.
“Yeah, it's me,” he whispers, leaning into your touch. The way he melts into the motion warms your heart.
“Din, you didn't have to show me your face just because of what happened,” you murmur, pulling away.
“I know, but I wanted to,” he confesses. “It's something I've been thinking about since I was cast out. If anything this situation has given me a chance to show myself to you with no repercussions.”
You're taken aback at his revelation. Even in his time of personal crisis this man was thinking of you. Din was excommunicated from his people, from his way of life, and still a part of him worries about you. Guilt makes a home inside your gut at the thought. If you were stronger, Din wouldn't have had to put himself in the compromising situation he did.
“I’m sorry, Din. If I had any proper training, and really knew what I was doing…Grogu wouldn't have had to go with Luke. You wouldn't have had to remove your helmet, and be in this mess. I'm so sorry.”
As a wave of tears fight for release, you divert your gaze in shame. You feel so unworthy of accepting his greatest secret. Seeing the face of your friend, your partner, the man you've fallen for has been a dream for so long. Now though under these circumstances it only feels wrong.
“No, cyar’ika, it wasn't your fault,” he says, anguish etched onto his face. “I made my choice, and now I have to deal with it.”
“Din,” you start, tentatively trailing fingers along his cheek. “You did what you had to do to save Grogu. I don’t know if it's any consolation now, but I don't think there's anything more honorable than that. If it matters, in my eyes you're still a Mandalorian.”
There’s a flash of emotion in his golden irises that's difficult to decipher before he responds.
“What you think always matters,” he says, voice tender and low. “You could've chosen to go with Luke, to train with him, but instead you stayed…with me.”
That look is back in his eyes, one you finally identify as yearning. The affectionate longing emanating from his gaze grips you in a chokehold. Once again, you find yourself struggling to take a breath.
“Of course I stayed,” you whisper. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”
Heat returns to your face at this newfound intimacy. Heart feeling like it's going to burst from your chest, you avert your eyes from Din’s, returning to exploring his menagerie of scars. Without thinking, your fingers move to caress his marked skin, unable to resist the temptation.
Din tenses at the sudden contact, the sensation still so foreign and new.
“I’m not ashamed of them,” he admits. “You’re just the first person to really see me like this. I guess it'll take some getting used to…”
“You are beautiful Din,” you breathe. “All of you.”
Feeling emboldened by a surge of adrenaline and fervor, you replace your hand with your lips. Delicately you press careful kisses to the scars that decorate his chest; you fear he may shatter from your touch. Din’s breath catches in his throat and you freeze, apprehension taking root.
The notion evaporates altogether as he takes your chin in his hands, and guides you to his own mouth. You thought you were breathless before, now it feels as if every drop of air has vanished from your lungs. Din kisses you with such a devotion it feels as if you've entered another galaxy. It's all you can do to keep your lips moving in tandem with his.
Tangled together, your hands threaded through his curls, you both finally concede to the need for oxygen. Ragged twin sighs escape you, followed by matching hazy smiles. No words feel grand enough to adequately express your feelings.
“I don’t know what to say,” you blush, laughing lightly.
“I do,” says Din warmly, pressing his head to yours. “Thank you, cyar'ika.”
Your smile widens even further.
“Always. We’re gonna be okay,” you assure him. “Now go get yourself cleaned up, and I'll cover you in bacta patches.”
“Okay,” he chuckles. “As you wish.”
He graces you with one more quick but tender kiss, before complying. Everything else could wait for now. You’ll figure out the rest later, together.