Archive of Our Own

Din Djarin knocked on the door three times even though there was no need –he knew the other knew they were standing there. The door opened on its own and from afar their eyes met –or rather, the bright blue gaze met the dark visor, though strangely it knew where to look every time. They smiled at each other, and though only one pair of lips were visible, somehow the other always knew the expression was there nonetheless.

For the past few months, it had been like this. Colonel Ward had been kind –or maybe devious– enough to put him in contact with someone in the New Republic who needed his assistance as an independent contractor. Much to his surprise, this person had turned out to be none other than Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. To say it had been awkward at first was selling it short, yet by the time that job had been completed both parties had been satisfied enough to shoulder the discomfort –and ask for more.

Simply put, the man provided interesting jobs and paid handsomely for them –which was quite useful considering how expensive Grogu’s eating habits were–, and Din never left a job unfinished, always tried to deliver something even if it came accompanied with bad news about dead ends –which Luke seemed to appreciate, as his collection of ancient relics, books and artifacts were growing alongside his knowledge of the old Jedi Order. 

It was a good deal. Good enough for the relationship to flourish beyond simple work partners into actual friendship, and Din couldn’t be any happier about it.

“Hi. Had any luck?” Luke asked, leaning back on his chair, whatever he had been doing all but forgotten.

Din placed the newly acquired piece on his desk, a small statue of a woman with some kind of bird on her shoulder, letting it speak for itself. He felt victorious, smug even, for completing this particularly tricky job and bringing the asset back in one piece; even Grogu stood proudly on the table beside the object, though whether he was satisfied or simply copying him was unclear.

The Jedi chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he replied lightly, inspecting the relic, “it’s very well kept, too. I appreciate your care, I imagine it’s very old and fragile. Was it where I told you it’d be?”

Sighing, Din shook his head; he shifted from foot to foot, catching the way the other’s eyes glanced at his leg, undoubtedly beating his futile attempts at hiding the ugly scratch he had gotten for his trouble.

“Not really, but we still found it, so,” he shrugged, standing straighter and ignoring the pain to pretend he was fine. “Who’s the woman?” he tried, a diversion. 

Luke stood up, moving around his office to reach a shelf on the other end, maybe subdued for now. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. I keep seeing her image in old texts, but none really mention her name. They call her ‘the daughter’,” and he placed the new statue next to the other two they had brought him in past jobs –one a young bald man, the other an old bearded man. “I haven’t figured out what or who they represent, but it’s nice to get the full set.”

“You sent us to that hell-hole just to complete your statue set?” Din asked in disbelief, sitting on the edge of the desk to alleviate some of the pressure off his leg.

The movement didn’t go unnoticed. Luke watched him carefully now, which made him both nervous and excited. An invigorating sort of anticipation.  

“These relics tend to have secrets in them, either engraved or only accessible with the Force. I found strange markings on the other two that made no sense, so maybe now that I have this one I’ll be able to decipher them,” he explained with a grin, adding, “but, yeah, it’s also nice to have all three together. So, thanks. You never disappoint.” 

He winked playfully at him, and Din felt his face warming up from it. “It's fine,” he mumbled. 

“You guys look tired, though. Was it really that bad?”

Din shrugged noncommittally, though Grogu did scrunch up his nose in disgust, most likely remembering the various death-traps they had to sort out to get it.

“Ah,” Luke murmured, offering them a sympathetic grimace. “Does that mean I’ll be charged extra for it?”

“What?” he asked in confusion, at last catching the way the man and his son were staring at each other, probably holding a silent conversation in that Jedi-way of theirs. “No, it’s fine.”

Grogu shook his head and then lifted his chin up, almost in a sort of challenge, eyes glinting mischievously; Luke chuckled, impossibly endeared, and something within Din melted a little at the exchange.

“Very well. You drive a very hard bargain,” Luke teased lightly, grinning. “How’s five percent extra?”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to do that,” Din argued again, tapping his son on the head to get his attention, “knock it off. You can’t just change the terms of the deal. We made an agreement, we stick to it.”

His son grumbled and frowned, pouting, though he still stared the Jedi down, unfazed, and where did he even get this from? Certainly not from either of them, they always held their end of deals.   

Luke laughed openly and breezily, smiling beautifully as he said, “getting greedy, are we? Fine. Ten. And that’s my last offer.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Din huffed, shaking his head even if he was more fond than annoyed. To his son he asked, “where did you even learn how to haggle?”

The boy chirped and mumbled something incoherent that Luke translated for him. “Apparently he’s been spending a lot of time with..." a confused pause, "...a green Mandalorian and a woman? He’s been present in some meetings and has seen them doing it.”

Din huffed again, sighing. “Of course you have,” he muttered bitterly, crossing his arms, “I’m not letting them babysit you anymore.”

At that Grogu grumbled as if complaining, his forehead creasing in another frown, clearly displeased.

“Well. At least he accepted ten. Honestly, Din, if the place was half as bad as he’s showing me then you deserve it,” Luke commented, moving back to his desk to pick an already prepared credit bad and adding more in it. “If I’d known it was that dangerous, then I wouldn’t have sent you there. It's not worth all that trouble.”

“It was fine,” he insisted, uncomfortable and maybe a little overly defensive, because they weren't weak. “It was nothing we couldn't handle.”

“I’m sure,” the other reassured with a gentle smile, “I wasn’t questioning your skills. I just don’t like you getting hurt, that's all.”

Frozen in place, Din looked away and said in his flattest tone, “who said I was hurt.”

But he wasn’t trying very hard to hide it anymore; by now he knew better than to lie to a Jedi, and he had learned rather early that the other was incredibly perceptive. No matter what he did, he was always caught –which wasn’t entirely a terrible thing. Not anymore.

Luke shot him a knowing look, unimpressed and very much disappointed, and Din let out a shaky breath, tense with anticipation, heart speeding up a little. He privately gestured towards Grogu, who he had managed to successfully hide his injury from, and the other thankfully understood. Though he always did.

“Hm. Was Zeb here?” the man said instead, completely changing the subject. 

“Uh, yeah. At the bar, I think.”

“Very well. Grogu, could you do me a favor?” Luke rummaged around his desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a data stick that piqued the boy's curiosity. “Could you bring this to Zeb? He asked for it earlier and I forgot to give it to him.”

Grogu took the data stick and inspected it, chirping something, head tilted to the side as his ears twitched with interest. 

Sighing, Luke rolled his eyes with fond annoyance. “Fine, I’ll give you some credits for the job.”

Din huffed, gently tapping his son on the head in admonishment, murmuring, “quit trying to rob him and do it as a favor for once.”

Grumbling, his son reluctantly accepted. He jumped off the table and left the office with steadfast resolution. He was on a mission now.

“You gotta watch those influences, Din,” the other commented, an amused eyebrow raised, “he's getting greedy.”

“You could’ve just said no,” he countered, “as far as I know, you’re a better haggler than him. Or me.”

Luke snorted. “You underestimate the power of his sad eyes,” he joked, “or overestimate my ability to ignore them.”

“The great Jedi, bested by a child?”

“Oh, give me a break, I'm only human,” the other replied with a grin, “and anyways, you're no one to judge. He’s got you tied up around his pinky, it’s unbelievable how much you spoil him.”

“I don't spoil him,” he argued even though it was a blatant lie; his son truly knew how to use his cuteness to manipulate others, especially him. “I just make sure he never needs anything.”

Humming, Luke smiled, a knowing look on his face again. He moved towards a cabinet and pulled out a med kit they were overly familiar with by now.

“Does that include hiding your injuries from him?" he commented with mild levity. "You know he can heal them in a split second, right? It doesn’t take a toll on him as it once did, he’s gotten much better at it.”

“I know,” Din murmured sadly. “I just don’t want to worry him, he freaks out over any small cut.”

“That’s because you’re careless,” Luke bit back, and this time his tone was snappy and admonishing. “What’s the point of wearing so much armor if you still let yourself get hurt?”

Din huffed, straightening in his seat, offended. “I don’t go around looking for it. Work’s dangerous, that just happens.”

"Right. And how come you get more injured than I do, when I don't wear armor?"

"I don't have a desk job," he snapped and, okay, maybe that was unwarranted and a bit harsher than necessary but he definitely didn’t like the accusations. "Nor any weird Jedi powers." Luke grimaced, hurt, and he looked away in shame as he awkwardly added, "I didn't mean it like that." 

“Then how did you mean it? You know I don't have a stupid desk job either.”

He didn't answer. He didn't like arguing with him; Luke could always see right through him somehow, making him say stupid shit just to get out of it, almost always hurting him in the process. It was irritating. Shameful.

Opening the med kit on the desk, the other simply let out a long and tired exhale, frowning, shaking his head. “Just show me,” he said at last. 

And Din almost didn’t. He almost played dumb and walked away, already feeling terrible –but he stayed, because there was some truth to the man’s point, even if it was still a bit off and he had worded it wrong enough for him to argue his way out of it. 

Properly sitting on the desk, Din took his belt and a tasset off, awkwardly spreading his legs open and moving torn cloth away from damaged skin to reveal the small cut on the inside of his thigh, near his knee.

“Do I even want to know what caused it?” Luke asked rather dejectedly, eyes widening as he inspected it further. “Stars, it's still bleeding. Why didn’t you take care of it? It could be infected by now.”

“I didn’t have time,” he lied, uselessly adding, “I forgot.”

The other gave him a look that screamed he absolutely wasn’t buying any of it, slowly saying, “you forgot the bleeding wound on your leg that most likely caused pain every time you walked?”

“It doesn't hurt that much,” he lied again, feeling even more guilty.

There was another tired sigh but no further prodding. Gentle, warm hands ripped the fabric open to make more room, as calculating eyes quickly analyzed the cut and promptly began taking care of it. It stung when he touched the sensitive spot, but Din barely noticed, heart speeding up, suddenly short of breath, brain fogging dumbly in anticipation. Luke was impossibly close, standing between his legs for better access, solely focused on his job, on him, occasionally glancing up, making his heart beat faster.

For the past few months, it had also been like this. It had first happened by accident; Din had shown up after a successful job with a burn on his arm he had genuinely forgotten to take care of, and the Jedi had adamantly refused to let him go before the wound could be properly dressed. He had accepted because he had thought the man would just use his Jedi powers to heal it and that would be it. What he hadn’t accounted for was the fact Luke couldn’t do that, actually, and instead had looked after it the old fashioned way, arising unexpected feelings from deep within his mind and body. Feelings he hadn't even known existed. 

Just like now. Din hated that this had become a habit, that Luke was right and maybe he had become a little reckless lately because of it, but damn him, he liked it. Maybe it was insane, maybe it indicated some unresolved issues he had yet to figure out, for he truly felt a strange sense of giddiness, an almost immoral excitement at the idea of the man’s hands bandaging him up, of him tenderly looking after him like this. 

It had to be the intimacy. Hell, maybe it was a Mandalorian thing? Truly, he hadn't felt this way with other people –not that many had done it, almost no one, ever–, but to present a weakness was as close as one could get to being naked in front of another, and for some reason he enjoyed it. Luke never judged him too harshly, always took good care of him, always treated him with respect. 

Although their friendship had bloomed healthily, he still had no idea how to get closer to him, how to ask for that warmth that surrounded the man like a flame, that brightness that pulled him into his orbit every time he was nearby.  

Fine, so maybe he was a little insane. Luke had yet to refuse him however, and until he did he was going to take whatever he was allowed. It was easier that way.

Focusing on the helping hands, he watched as they cleaned the wound, as they washed away all dirt and blood, as they gingerly disinfected and applied healing bacta cream over and around it, cooling the irritated flesh, as they covered it with clean gauze.

“Din,” Luke murmured as he gently lifted his leg, moving the dirty clothes away to uncover more skin. “Is everything alright?” 

Shrugging, he said, “s’fine. Doesn’t hurt.”

Luke grabbed bandages next and began to wrap them around his leg, but he shook his head.

“I meant with you. What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, worried the other might’ve caught on, might’ve somehow been able to read his mind. 

Blue eyes met his, piercing through the beskar helmet as if it wasn’t even there. They were dripping with concern and something more private he wasn’t able to discern, to understand.

“Why is it that every time you come back, you’re hurt?” 

“That’s just how work is,” he replied casually, shrugging again.

The eyes twisted into anger, eyebrows lowering as the expression shifted into that of a deep scowl. “Don’t lie to me. Aren’t we friends?”

Din sighed, looking away with guilt.

Luke stopped mid-work, a hand squeezing his uninjured knee reassuringly. “You can talk to me. What’s going on? You were never this reckless before.”

Swallowing, Din bit his lip and then said, “maybe I was just better at hiding it before.”

Like ice the angry frown melted away into worry, steaming from an open and honest affection so intense it took his breath away.

“Is this my fault?” the man murmured softly, sadly, “are these jobs really so dangerous?”

And Din was almost overwhelmed by shame; he could not let him think he was to blame for this idiotic obsession of his –even if it had happened as a result of knowing him, as a deep craving for moments like this one. 

“No,” he said firmly, a hand on his shoulder for good measure. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Then why,” and the tone was close to a plea, “why won’t you take better care of yourself? Do you truly want me to believe you just forgot you had this injury?”

He didn’t reply. He had no excuse, no lie ready to counter it. He thought and thought, but couldn’t come up with anything good enough to ease the man’s worries, to put this argument to rest. He was right. It was also the first time Luke had brought it up; could he have noticed at last? Was this the last time Din would be able to get this?

Luke didn't speak either; he was expecting an answer, seemingly not about to let it pass this time. 

So Din said, “I’m sorry,” and hoped for the best.

That thankfully did the trick. Luke’s resolve completely crumbled, ire evaporating even if his concern was as strong as ever. Sighing, he let it go, and just like that the argument was over; he finished bandaging the wound and released him, putting things back inside the med kit –and Din missed his touch and his warmth immediately, but saw it a punishment fit for his transgressions. 

He placed armor and belt back on their place, the sounds uncomfortably loud in the midst of the tense silence. 

“I should go check on Grogu now,” he said, awkwardly trying to break the ice. 

And Luke hummed and nodded noncommittally, awfully subdued, eyes strictly focused on cleaning up and returning the med kit back to its place.

"Luke," he tried again, because he wanted their usual levity back but had no idea how to get it, at a loss for words, not wanting to insult him with more excuses. The man looked at him at last, not hiding his sadness, a clear jab for his lies, and all he came up with was, "thank you."

A hand gently caressed his helmet, bright eyes meeting his though it should be impossible, and Luke nodded, offering him a small smile, saying, "any time."

Din knew he meant it. Despite his complaints, despite his anger, he'd still do it. He would still look after him because he was sweet and generous –because no matter how many times Din lied and showed up with stupid excuses and open wounds he forgave and healed. Because he was a kind man, and Din was taking advantage of it. 

He left without another word. 

Damn him, but he loved it –even if it left him with a stomach churning with guilty bile and a heated face full of shame, he loved it– and maybe that wasn’t all he loved, but that thought went deep into uncharted, dangerous territory and he would much rather not go there at all.

It was easier that way. 

***

Din knocked on the door three times even though there was no need, just a habit at this point –though the sound echoed strangely louder than usual, making him wince. The door opened on its own and from afar their eyes met, almost as if it were second nature –though his own vision was blurry today, and the blue swam in and out of focus, making him blink the spots away. They smiled at each other, that beautiful grin he would never grow tired of –though it melted into something else far too quickly, concerned.

For the past hour the world had been spinning slowly. He had never been to a carousel, but he thought this had to be what it felt to be on one. Lights were too loud, sounds were too bright, he felt unbalanced, sick to his stomach.

But he was fine. He was no stranger to migraines, nothing a nap wouldn't solve. Probably. 

“Din,” Luke said hastily, and when did he get this close? Suddenly he was right there in front of him, warm and strong hands holding him steady, upright. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Eerie Jedi powers, no doubt –or maybe he had patched him up enough times to notice when he was in pain. It made his heart ache with longing and guilt. 

How could this had happened? The plan had been to spare him the nurse job today. Luke had been doubtful last time, questioning, so he had made sure not to get injured, for he worried the man would finally notice if he kept showing up hurt. He had been careful! 

“S’just a headache,” he mumbled, but the words were slurred and maybe he hadn't been as careful as he thought. Still. “M’fine.” 

“Did he hit his head?” Luke asked, but he wasn't talking to him anymore. Grogu chirped something, still on his shoulder –and stars, he had forgotten he was even there– making the man frown. “Oh.”

He didn't enjoy being manhandled around, even if he kind of liked having Luke's hands over his body and– alright, something was definitely wrong with him today; he was usually able to keep his more lewd thoughts caged in the back of his mind, locked inside a tightly shut vault never to leave except for lonely, sleepless nights. 

Sitting down on Luke's chair, his world spun violently for a moment before it settled back down again.

“I'm fine,” he managed, proud that his voice was even this time. “I’m not hurt, I was careful.”

Grogu sat on his lap, big accusatory eyes staring him down as if he was silently admonishing him. What were the two on about? He didn't remember getting shot or anything. 

“If I'm blindfolded, is it okay to take your helmet off? Or would that break your Creed?” Luke said then. 

It took him a moment to understand what he was asking, and the question shocked him –not because he didn't like the idea, but because he hadn't expected the outright offer. Really, after so much time considering it, he had been looking for an excuse to take it off in front of him.

“It's fine,” he murmured at last, and kriff, now he sounded breathless. “You can see my face.” 

Luke gaped. “I... What? But– wouldn't that…?”

Sighing, Din leaned back on the chair and closed his eyes, sharp pain pulsating between them, nauseating bile churning in his stomach. But he had to get this one out while he had the chance. 

“Yeah, but... The rule was placed during a time of war, when it helped us survive. Now that we have our planet back, things are different,” he explained, feeling the pain recede ever so slowly as he spoke. “The other tribe removes their helmet and still walks the same Way we do. They're still Mandalorians.” 

“So you… you take your helmet off now?”

“Not really, just for Grogu.” He patted his son's head, who had been holding his other hand tightly as if to offer comfort. “Because he's Clan. But... I've been thinking about taking it off for others, the ones I trust.”

“Oh.” 

Saying it and doing it were two different things however, and he still found himself hesitating. His head was clearer now, he had thankfully gotten off the carousel –or it had stopped; it had been a simple headache, there had been no need to make such a big fuss about it. He had been careful, damn it. 

Luke was smiling sweetly at him, a soft expression on his face. A hand found his arm and squeezed reassuringly, that affection he had seen there last time back on his eyes again, mesmerizing him. 

Slowly, Din took the helmet off. He thought he'd feel different when he did it, he thought he'd feel bad –a sinner, an apostate– or that he'd feel overwhelmed –senses picking up new things all at once. But he felt neither. It felt natural, as commonplace as removing it to have dinner with Grogu, as familiar as putting it away to sleep. 

Yes, Luke was brighter, almost glowing under the early afternoon light coming from the one window in his office –but he was always bright, he was always glowing. His eyes met his own but Din was used to that. They smiled at each other and though now Luke could finally see him, he wasn't surprised.

Everything had changed and yet nothing had. 

“How do you feel?” Luke asked gently. 

“It's fine,” he replied, and added as a joke to break the odd tension in the air, “there's a lot of dust, though.” 

Humming, Luke quickly glanced down at Grogu, then back at him again. “And your headache?” 

Din sighed; leave it to him to ruin the moment with another health check. “Gone.” 

Grogu babbled something, and when Din managed to tear his eyes away from the Jedi he found his son nodding proudly, his little clawed hand letting go of him; suddenly he felt cold and tired again, just not as terrible as before, and it finally dawned on him that the boy had healed him. It had happened enough times for him to know how it felt.

“Wait,” he started, confused. “What… happened?”

The other two exchanged a knowing look, and there were no words needed for him to understand. The little schemers had had a plan of their own, it seemed. He tried not to feel betrayed.

“It wasn't just a headache, Din,” Luke explained with a disappointed frown, “you had a concussion, but Grogu took care of it,” and he touched his shoulder, right where no armor covered it, focusing for a moment before grinning. “Amazing job, by the way. Well done.” 

Preening under the compliment, the boy smiled toothily up at them, beyond proud of himself. 

“Ah,” Din said flatly.

So it had all been a diversion. Luke had entertained him while his son healed him, as if he were some sort of child that needed to be distracted with candy to get a shot. It was infuriating. Shameful. 

Worse of all, it meant his plans had failed miserably. Avoiding injuries? Failure. Not worrying his son with them? Also failure. Having a special moment when he removed his helmet? Stars, that one was certainly an embarrassing big failure.

At least Luke wouldn't have to patch him up today. But that also felt like failure.

“Alright then,” he started, fighting his shame and losing the battle. “Uh. The job went well, despite that... issue. We left the artifact on the ship because it's heavy.”

“And you'll tell me all about it in a moment,” Luke replied with an overly innocent expression. “But first, Grogu, could you do me a favor?” 

Din experienced a déjà Vu. His son perked up with curiosity, maybe with surprise, jumping on the desk as the other man moved about his office looking for something. 

“Give this to Colonel Ward,” he continued, scribbling his signature on a datapad and handing it to the boy, “it’s a report she asked for earlier. I finally finished it.” 

Grogu tilted his head to the side, taking the object and clutching it with both hands as if it were an important relic. He chirped something and nodded, jumping off the desk and walking away with determination. 

All the while Din was left staring at the interaction with confusion. What was going on now?

“Can't you send it though the net or something?” he asked because really, there was no need for an in-person delivery of a digital report.

Luke glared at him, and it made him cower a little –he had never been on the receiving end of that particular expression before; there was anger swirling in his eyes, annoyance on his frowned eyebrows, and something else too, at the edge of his down turned lips, perhaps concern? It was hard to tell even without the helmet dulling the image.

“Yes, I could've,” the man replied sharply, “but I needed to have a word with you in private.” 

“Ah.” Din tried to stand but dizziness hit him out of nowhere and he had to grab the back of the chair to stay upright. Then a hand pushed him down, and he lost his balance and sat down again. “Hey, what–.”

“What’s going on?” Luke interrupted, voice taut and stiff, firm as if Din were a misbehaving youngling. 

“What do you mean?” And this time Din didn't have to lie; the concussion had been an accident! 

“Don't play dumb with me. You got your head almost crushed by a rock and you thought you could just walk it off? Are you insane?”

“I didn't–,” okay, wait, that may have actually happened. Crap. He forgot. “It wasn't that bad, the helmet absorbed most of the blow.”

Luke scowled, and Din knew this was about to become an argument he wouldn't be able to escape. It wasn't often they argued, but it certainly was bad every time. 

“You had a concussion, the helmet didn't absorb shit! Force, you felt sick and you didn't care? You had a kriffing headache and you didn't think it could be serious? A sign, maybe? Are you mad or just plain stupid?”

Now that was unacceptable and quite frankly unnecessary, an overreaction at best, an insult at worst. Din crossed his arms, standing up again because he didn't like having to look up, even if it sent a new wave of nausea up his throat.

“It’s not that serious, I hit my head all the time and I'm fine, beskar is strong and so am I.”

The other waved his hands in the air with despair. “You’re not invincible! What if you had passed out? What if it had gotten worse? Do you have any idea how much it would've frightened Grogu? Or m–?” He cut himself off and shook his head, sorrow written in all his features.

Damnit. Luke was right, unfortunately. Ever since he had almost died on Nal Hutta things had changed with his son; he had grown almost obsessed over his well being, panicking over anything, from little cuts to simple burns, and he'd fret and fuss and would not let him go unless he had healed and double and triple checked to make sure he was truly alright. It was disheartening. He hated putting his boy through that.

He looked away with guilt, and now he certainly wished he had kept his helmet on. He felt naked, exposed, and he was sure he was going to lose this argument. So, he did the only thing that ever worked in this situation, his last resort, maybe a secret weapon. It was all he had left. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, pouring all his shame into the word, meeting the man's eyes to show he meant it. 

“No, no, you can't just–” Luke grimaced, a remorseful expression mixed with anger, as if he was trying to fight something off and was failing at it. Wincing, frowning, he stammered, “you– you're not off the hook just because– don't start with–” and he scrubbed his face tiredly and sagged. Defeated. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“That,” he vaguely gestured towards him as if that was any explanation, “you can't just apologize and– and then go and do it again. It doesn't fix anything!”

“I didn't get a concussion on purpose!” Din bit back. 

It was the truth –he wouldn't do that, thank you very much, he kept his 'not-very-accidental’ injuries superficial. He wasn't that crazy.

“Oh, really,” Luke sneered, and Din froze with surprise, with fear. “You think I'm that stupid? You think I wouldn't notice?”

“I… don't know what you're talking about,” he said but damn it, it sounded like a lie even to his own ears. Stars, he didn't have his helmet on; how good was his Sabacc face? Was he hiding his expressions well? Or was it all bare for the other to see?

Huffing, Luke asked, “do you really not care about your own safety?” and he wasn't angry anymore, he was desperate, which was worse. “As long as you keep Grogu safe, it doesn't matter what happens to you, it doesn't matter how badly you get hurt?”

Din opened his mouth to argue further but didn't know what to say. He hadn't thought of it that way; it was true his son always left unscathed from their jobs, and it was also true Din always took whatever cut, bolt or burn that went his way to keep him safe –the rock had been about to crush his boy and he was certainly not going to let that happen, so it hit him instead. 

“I'm his father,” he said simply, because really, what other reason did he need? “It's my duty to keep him safe.”

“And what about you?” Luke insisted, hands grabbing his shoulders to shake him a little. “How can you keep him safe if you die?”

Sighing tiredly, Din shook his head. “All of this because of a concussion?”

“It's not just a concussion, Din, it hasn't been for a very long time,” the other replied in a low voice. “Every time you come here, you have a new wound. You get shot at, electrocuted, stabbed, cut, punched, I-I just don't understand, why are you so careless with your own life?”

“But I am careful,” he argued, because he was! Truly! He only ever brought Luke mild slashes and easy-to-fix cuts. Nothing serious. 

“No, you're not,” Luke said sadly, “or not enough. Din, I– I can't do this anymore, I can't watch you come here with open wounds that you refused to patch up. I… I care about you. Can't you be more careful? For me, at least?”

And he… Well, he couldn't argue with any of that, could he? Perhaps he had taken things too far. It wasn't as if he had been trying to get serious wounds, he always got injured one way or the other during jobs, all he did now was leave the wounds unattended just so Luke could take care of them and... Okay, so maybe that hadn't been a good idea at all. It dawned on him at last that he had been so busy with his own desires that he had never stopped to think how the man felt having to patch him up every single time they met after a job. It probably wasn't nice, seeing a friend bruised so often –Din knew he'd freak out if the roles were reversed. 

He was an asshole. There was no other way to put it. 

“I'm sorry,” he said earnestly, not trying to get out of the argument, just genuinely apologizing for his terrible behavior.

But Luke frowned again, clearly displeased by his answer. “Fine,” he snapped, “be like that, then.”

Letting go of him, he rummaged in his desk to pull out the usual credit bag to drop it on his hand with a little more violence than usual, body tense, expression taut, eyes angry and, worst of all, heartbreakingly hurt. 

“Luke–” he tried, thinking of something to say to reassure him, to make that pain go away. 

“You’re fired,” the man interrupted coldly, icily cold. 

“I'm– what?”

“If these stupid relics are the cause of your injuries then I'm eliminating the problem from the root. If you won't take care of yourself, then I won't give you any more jobs. You're fired.” 

“You can't just… fire me,” Din said weakly, caught off-guard without any good counter-argument. 

“Why not? You work for me, don't you? I give you the coordinates, you bring me the assets.” Luke's tone was serene, but not calm –it was his Master Jedi tone, his General of the New Republic tone, the one he reserved for the nuisances and the annoyances. For the pricks that thought could play him. “So I'm putting an end to that. You may leave now.”

For a moment Din just stood there, blinking with surprise, mind catching up. This was bad. Was he a nuisance or an annoyance to him? He certainly was a prick that thought could play him, that thought could use him as his personal medic because he was insane and liked it more than he should. But this shattered his delusions of friendship, this completely destroyed whatever tiny hopes he had harbored of feelings being reciprocated. This utterly broke his heart. 

Oh, no. His eyes stung, he needed to put his helmet on right now or else he'd–. 

“Kriff, Din, I’m…” Luke's hands found his face, and the gentle touch shocked him to his very core. “I don't want to do this, but you're leaving me no other choice.” 

His tone was low, fragile in a way, close to breaking; his hands were warm as they caressed his cheeks but they held an impossible sorrow in them, mirrored in his saddened eyes. Din could say nothing, for what could he possibly reply to all that? Admit that he was insane? Unwell in the brain? So blinded with love that he couldn't think coherently?

Oh no. Shit. He was in love with him. That was bad, really, really bad. He couldn't love him, Luke had just fired him, had just said he wanted nothing to do with him anymore. It was over.

…Then why was he cradling his face as if it were the most precious thing in the galaxy?

Breathless, he managed a bleak, “Luke” –and only that word because he hadn't come up with anything else to say to fix this, to make it better. 

“Don't say you're sorry again,” the man pleaded, “I hate it when you do that. It breaks my heart. I just want you to be safe, is that so bad?”

Hope bloomed in his chest, unbidden, unwelcome; Luke felt guilty too, he thought it was his fault Din was hurt –he was breaking things off with him because he cared about him. 

He still didn't know what to say. 

The truth, his mind supplied, because it was over. He had to be frank with the man right now or lose him forever, even if the consequences could be terrible.

“I like you,” he blurted out at last, the easiest thing to admit, an understatement to what he truly felt, for he was afraid to use the real word. “I like it when you take care of me.”

Bright blue eyes opened wide with surprise, mouth agape with realization, and Luke let out a shaky exhale, lips moving in an attempt to say something yet no sound leaving his throat, so Din decided it was finally time to find his courage and confess. 

“I ignore my wounds because I want you to patch them up.”

“That's– I…” Luke stammered, deeply shocked. “Din... I don't...”

His hands squeezed his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks, still speechless, eyes roaming all over his face in a desperate search for something, but for what, it was unclear.

“I'm sorry I put this on you,” Din continued, because he was already talking about it, better see it through. “I know it's crazy. I shouldn't have done it, I didn't mean to upset you.”

“I'm not– I mean, I... Maker, you– I…” he shook his head as if to snap himself out of it. “I like you too.”

It wasn't the answer he had been expecting, and it was Din's turn to freeze with surprise.

Luke blushed, and that too was unexpected. “I won't lie and say I didn't like looking after you,” he finally replied, “I was happy that you trusted me. That you'd let me do something so... intimate.”

Din shuddered, unable to stop it; he didn't think he'd get this lucky.

“Luke–.”

“But,” the man interrupted, sobering, “I noticed it was getting worse each time. It worried me. It… it hurt to see you ignore your wounds, I thought you just didn't care about your own life.” And he frowned, face drawing closer, tone dangerously low, “and now you're telling me you did that on purpose?” 

“I…” 

“And not only that, but you lied to me? Said nothing was going on, said you were fine, stars, you made me think I was overreacting!”

Looking away with guilt, Din didn't insult him with another apology.

Instead he said, “yes.”

“Why?” Luke forced him to meet his eyes, moving his face with his hands, desperately repeating, “Force, Din, why? Why would you do that to me?”

“Because I love you,” he blurted out. 

Wait. No. It was out. That wasn't supposed to be out. He was only going to confess the other stuff, not this! That was supposed to stay locked inside the mental vault, what happened to his mental vault? 

Luke was taken aback. “Y-you– I– you–” he stuttered helplessly, “how the hell does that– why would you– if you– then why would you–?”

“I didn't know what to do,” Din admitted, feeling as if the other's eyes were boring holes on his face, “I didn't want you to know, but I wanted to be close to you. I didn't think things through, I just wanted to–.”

Luke kissed him. Honestly, he thought he deserved being punched, not kissed, but he wasn't about to complain. However, he had no idea how to kiss anyone, so he simply relaxed and let the other do the rest, holding on to his arms as warm lips moved and sucked on his own, as gentle hands tilted him to the side to do it all over again. 

Then they parted, and though Luke had a dazed expression he recovered quickly to glare at him once more. 

“You're crazy,” he accused, “there's this thing called flirting, you know? Asking people out? You do that when you like someone. You go out on dates with them,” and he shook Din's face a little, as if trying to snap him out of it, “you don't get hurt so I patch you up later. That's not– that's not how it kriffing works!”

Din let out an embarrassed and small, “sorry” that made the man roll his eyes and kiss him again, chaste but intense, filled with fondness and despair. 

“Stop apologizing, damnit. You're doing that on purpose too, aren't you? You know I'm weak for it.”

“Maybe,” Din admitted in a low tone. “But you're right. I should've handled it better.” 

“No shit, pal,” Luke sighed, kissing him one more time, sending him incredibly mixed signals.

It made his heart beat faster, made his breath shorten, made his brain lag and forget everything else. They were so close, closer than they had ever been, gentle lips sweetly kissing his own, hands cradling his face, solely focused on him, on him, and their eyes occasionally met because Din could not decide whether he wanted to keep them closed to blindly enjoy the sensations, or open to watch the other man's sweet expression. 

An amazing, soothing caress that could rival being bandaged by him. Beat it, actually.

When they separated, Luke nuzzled their noses together and Din was incredibly glad he had been brave enough to leave the helmet off during the fight. He doubted he would've been able to get this otherwise. 

Receiving a soft peck on his lips and then another on his cheek, he thought yes, this definitely beat the feeling of having him look after his wounds. This was so, so much better –intimate, warm and comfortable. Best of all, his face was flustered, not embarrassed with shame, his stomach flipped with excitement, not with guilty bile.

After a moment Luke took a long breath, growing somewhat serious. “Okay,” he started firmly, “here's what we're going to do: from now on, you'll look after your wounds immediately. Under no circumstance will you ‘forget’ or ignore them. Clear?” 

Din nodded dumbly, delighted even if also thoroughly chastised. This wasn't the Master Jedi or the War General tone, this was someone else's, closer to Luke's, to his friend. He really liked this tone. 

“I will still look at them when you come back, to make sure you did a proper job and to redress them because your bandages are always sloppy,” he continued with a knowing smirk, still leaving no room for arguments. 

Sighing with perhaps a bit more satisfaction than was healthy, Din nodded again. 

“Good. Next, you're going to ask me out on a proper date like a normal person,” and he shook his head with fond disbelief. “I still can't believe you. I swear, what were you thinking?”

A little emboldened, Din held the other by his waist, watching his expression melt into something soft and affectionate. 

“In my defense,” he tried, “it's hard to think when I'm around you.”

And it shouldn't have worked but it did, as it made any leftover anger crumble from Luke's face, dissipating like snowflakes under the sun. 

“It's so unfair,” he mumbled, caressing his face, leaving a soft kiss on his lips. “No wonder Grogu knows how to manipulate me, he learned it from you.”

Din chuckled with surprise, feeling his cheeks warming up from the accusation, knowing there was some truth to it; though he never thought himself capable of swaying the man's stubborn and Jedi-trained mind, he had certainly tried.

Suddenly nervous and because he felt he owed him this much, he asked, “do you want to go out with me?” 

Luke rolled his eyes but still grinned, saying, “yes, dumbass. And I would've also said yes if you'd asked me months ago.”

“M-months?” He gaped. Had he truly been so blind?

“Yes, months. Maybe if you had gotten your head out of your ass you would've noticed,” Luke grumbled, shyly adding, “though to be fair I'm not very good at flirting, so that's the only thing I'm forgiving.”

Flirting. Flirting? Luke had been flirting with him? When? How? ...What?

“I didn't realize,” he admitted dumbly, “I… would've flirted back.” 

Liar. As if he had any idea how to do that, and the amused expression on Luke's face showed he had thought the exact same thing. 

“Oh? Would you now,” he replied slyly, hands sliding down his face to caress his neck, squeezing his shoulders. “And what would you have done? Hm?”

Caught red handed. Sighing, Din said, “it’s too late now...”

And Luke smirked knowingly, thoroughly amused. “Not that late. I expect you to flirt on our date, by the way, since you're clearly so good at it. Maybe you can teach me, too, while you're at it.”

Letting out a satisfied sigh, Din leaned closer and tried to kiss him, just a soft chaste peck on the lips. Luke hummed, deepening the kiss by darting his tongue out and licking his lower lip, making him shudder, and the hands went up again, caressing the hairs at his nape, taking a fistful of it and scratching his scalp. It was exhilarating. 

“Din…” Luke murmured against his lips, breaking the kiss. He moved further away, a frown on his face now; his hands tilted his head to the point where Din had to move his body too to turn around, really confused. “Damnit.” 

“What? What is it?”

“Sit.”

He wasn't going to obey, but the other pushed down on his shoulders and he had no choice but to; then Luke was by his cabinet, pulling out his med kit, and he had to frown because hadn't he been healed already by his son?

“What’s that for?”

“There's blood on your head,” Luke replied curtly, tiredly. “From the headache, apparently.” 

Sighing, Din mentally prepared himself for going back to the argument. Instead, Luke grabbed some antiseptics and gauze, rounded the chair until he was behind him, and promptly began cleaning up the spot without another word, and there was no pain, no scraping against a scar, nothing –his boy had done a good job. 

What he did feel however was the man's gentle hands on his head, the cool liquid removing what he assumed was dried blood, sweet fingers combing through his hair and untying the knots.

It was heaven. He melted against the chair, against the touch, impossibly relaxed and comfortable. This had been one hell of a day, he could be allowed a little crumbling down. 

“I wish you had just told me,” Luke murmured behind him. “I would've done it. There was no need to get hurt.”

Din hummed in reply, fighting the delightful fog taking his mind. Once the cleaning was done, the man continued simply caressing his hair, massaging his neck, his shoulders –and yes, he certainly should've said something a long time ago. Had he known he could've gotten this months ago he would've even taken flirting lessons, if that was something one could do.

Grogu chose that moment to return, datapad replaced by a mostly empty bowl of chips stars knew where he had stolen from, jumping up his father's lap to offer a smile, his own kind of comfort. Patting his small head, Din grinned, feeling very much cared for. 

Very well, maybe not all his plans had failed today –or rather, despite the failure he had managed to still come out victorious.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he commented over his shoulder, later than ever, a stupid excuse only Luke understood that earned him a playful tug of an ear in admonishment. 

But then he kissed his cheek, and Din figured things would be alright.

***

Din knocked on the door three times even though there was no need –because it was silly, because it was fun, because it was their thing. The door opened and closed, their eyes meeting from afar as he took his helmet off so there was nothing in the way between them, so he could see the way the bright blue gaze crinkled in the corners with joy. They smiled at each other, a gorgeous grin that warmed his entire being, edging his own lips, now bare and visible, upwards too.

“Hi,” Luke said cheerfully, leaving his desk to walk closer. “How'd it go?”

Perched on his father's shoulder, Grogu proudly presented him the latest acquisition, some kind of glowing and fancy cube.

“That's great!” the man said, taking it. “I knew you guys would get it. You never disappoint,” and he playfully winked at Din. 

This time, and because they had gone out on several dates by now, he caught the lame attempt at flirting as it happened. It made him chuckle, warm and content. 

“Well, we couldn't fail such an esteemed client,” he replied with a smirk, his son nodding sagely. 

Luke blushed prettily, growing closer to kiss him tenderly. 

For the past few months, it had been like this; Din had been nervous on their first date, unsure of how to deal with it, inexperienced and at loss. Grogu had tagged along as a sort of moral support –and because the boy had refused to be left out. They had spent the afternoon together doing nothing, and though Din's fingers had itched for action, for work, at the end of the day he had forgotten all about it. 

The following dates had been just as amazing, just as delightful. Now he was allowed to crowd the man's space whenever he needed his touch, he was kissed whenever he took his helmet off, he was cared for without having to get injured for it. 

Truly, he had been a fool. To think of all the things he had missed out on because he had been too obsessed with having him play doctor for him instead. He was his boyfriend now, even if the word still felt alien in his mouth, even if he had trouble using it –too unreal, too raw– and he hadn't told Luke he loved him again, but it was there, bubbling in his chest whenever he saw him, at the tip of his tongue whenever he smiled, in the tight squeeze of his hands whenever they embraced. 

It was maddening. He thought he was going crazy, he had to already be insane. Unwell in the brain and so embarrassingly drunk in love that he could barely think coherently anymore.

Though that didn't worry him as much as it once did. 

“Come sit,” Luke said after he was satisfied, breaking the kiss, “I have to pay my hard-working treasure hunters.”

They sat by a low table at the edge of his office, a tiny little thing, on a small double sofa that had seen better days. Luke tossed a bag that Grogu caught expertly, chuckling when the boy started inspecting the contents with an array of unintelligible chirps.

“It went down smoothly,” Din commented with amusement, “so don't let him scam you out of any more credits.”

Grogu frowned, looking up at his father with something akin to betrayal.

“Busted,” Luke murmured with a smirk. “You know, little one, there are things far more valuable than money. Things you can't just buy.”

At that he leaned down and kissed Din –perhaps trying to get the point across, though Din was certainly not complaining, happily kissing him back. Grogu sighed and rolled his eyes, used to them and even seemingly tired of their antics, somehow, tilting his head one way and babbling something more. Humming, Luke made a show of considering something, though Din knew he had lost any argument the moment they had entered. His boy was just that good at getting what he wanted. 

“Okay, fine,” the other man moved back to his desk, a datastick and a credit on his hands, maybe already prepared for this exact same scenario. “Get this to Ward and buy yourself something to eat at the bar.”

Victorious, Grogu accepted both objects and merrily left, a satisfied lilt to his walk. 

Din chuckled, shaking his head. “You got played again, cyare,” he murmured fondly, using the Mando’a pet name, “and you say I spoil him…”

Luke smirked, sitting beside him, arm over his shoulders to bring him closer. “At least I make him earn it. It's more than you can say, mister ‘whatever he wants, he gets’.”

“I’ve never said that,” he argued with a grin.

“Sure you haven't.”

They kissed slowly, sweetly, because they hadn't seen each other for a while as Din juggled various jobs at the same time and they had no rush to start and end things quickly; they embraced tenderly as they always did when he returned after a job, eager to feel and be felt, to stay close after being separated for so long, sharing their warmth and basking in it. 

Against his lips Luke murmured, “show me,” leaving a soft peck on his cheek. 

Sighing, Din moved the torn fabric over his stomach to present the patched up wound he had gotten a few days ago. Luke appraised it with his analytical stare, judging his work. 

“Hm. I thought you said the job went smoothly?” he asked, though it wasn’t an accusation, not anymore. Standing up to walk over to the cabinet, he brought the med kit over and made his heart speed up with excitement again.

“It did. This is from another job, we had to deal with some pirates on Plazir-15.” 

Luke caressed his cheek, a soft chide on his voice as he said, “you know you could've just asked Grogu to take care of it, I'm sure he would've been happy to.” 

“He already took care of the others, I don't want him overusing it," he replied truthfully, for he had started to allow his son to cure some of his wounds to ease his worries and heal the trauma seeing his father almost die on Nal Hutta had caused. "Just because he can do it doesn't mean he should all the time, body's got to heal on its own too.”

“Fair.” Luke didn't argue further, gently removing the gauze to inspect the injured skin underneath. “Well, at least it's not infected this time.”

“I already apologized for that,” he replied with a grin, earning an eye-roll for his mockery. “I made sure to clean this one properly.”

“You're something else, aren't you,” the other commented, “it's a miracle you've survived this long. Did you at least patch them up when you were a bounty hunter or were you always this reckless?”

“Don't know,” Din said with more softness than he intended, “no one cared back then.”

And Luke sighed at that, a little sad, a little dreamy, leaning closer to leave a sweet kiss on his lips, another on his cheek. 

He said, “well, somebody cares now, so I expect better bandages. This won't cut it anymore, too sloppy.”

“Such high standards,” Din teased, relaxing on the couch, unfazed by the annoyed glare he received. “How about you teach me, then?”

Huffing, the other man shook his head with fond disbelief and began taking care of the wound. He spoke through the whole process, intent on making him eat his words as he explained even the most basic things, but the joke was on him because Din enjoyed the sound of his voice, coupled with his warm fingers tenderly looking after him. 

It always stung a little when he touched the sensitive spot, but he barely noticed anymore, heart quickening its pace, breaths shortening, mind mushy and at ease. They were impossibly close, even if not as close as they could, and he was fine with it, content with the intimacy. Their eyes met whenever Luke glanced up to check on him, expression softening, lips twisting up in a knowing smirk, making him blush and lick his lips with excitement. 

The words were right there. They threatened to cascade out of his mouth. 

“Din,” the man said softly, after finishing his work, “I realized something the other day.”

“Yeah?” he asked rather dazedly. 

“I never told you that I love you, too.” Luke kissed him right after he said it, slowly, maybe a little wetly, intense. 

Their teeth crashed and their noses bumped, kiss broken because Din had squeezed him tightly against him in a desperate embrace, grabbing fistfuls of his clothes, of his hair. 

“I love you,” he said confidently this time, and didn't regret it one bit. 

It was out. It had been out for a long time now, and that was good. Stars, he should've asked him out ages ago, what a complete and utter nerd-herder he had been.

Luke hugged him back and kissed his face, letting him feel his grin on his skin, his warmth on his body; he laughed lightly and caressed his hair just like he liked it, murmuring the words over and over –against his lips, in his ear, beneath his jaw and by his hair– somehow knowing they made him melt with delight. 

The man had forgiven his lies, the deception, because he had a big and generous heart. But more than that he had begun erasing the shame and guilt that haunted him. The work was dangerous and sometimes Din ate more than he could chew, but whatever injury he took for his son his boy healed, and whatever wound he received on the battlefield his lover nursed. 

They took good care of him. He needn't lie or beg for it, and he liked thinking he'd never have to again.