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The little green baby outstretched in your hands fusses and lashes in your direction, clearly hungry. “What do you want? I’ve tried everything we have here buddy-”, your sentence cut short by a shriek. You sigh, defeated. Grogu continues to melt down in your hands – denying all food you offer. Rolling your eyes, you climb up the ladder, determined to hand this difficult situation right over to Din. You met Din almost a year ago on Nevarro in a small cantina after he broke up a bar fight. A bar fight that you may have been in. A bar fight that you swear you did not start, something he regularly accuses you of doing. You see the familiar silver glint of his Beskar helmet in the starry sky of hyperspace. You let out a small breath from the effort of hauling yourself up a ladder with one arm, his head swivelling at the pitch of your voice.
“Din I can’t deal with this beast anymore. All he does is scream. And cry. And poop. Please, just take him,” you groan, sinking into the chair behind him, pushing the hysterical baby towards him. You hear a small sound distorted through the modulator, somewhat resemblant to a chuckle. Din takes Grogu from you, hushing him while holding him in his arms. The whole scene is akin to a movie, the domestic atmosphere swallowing you in a pillowy hug. You catch yourself smiling at Din, his helmet tilted towards you. You picture his eyes, his brown eyes he once told you, peering into yours. “I thought I hired you to look after him?” he gruffs, clearly amused. You smirk, kicking his boot as a ‘shut up’. Grogu’s cry lowered in decibel, before slowing to a halt. Your head tilts back in relief, a small sigh escaping your lips.
“I’m going to wash my face and head to my bunk, is there anything else you would like me to do before I sleep, buckethead?”
“Not that I can think of. Rest well, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I can’t wait, Din”, you smile.
You turn your back, heading down the ladder.
Din smiles back, unknown behind his helmet. Maybe one day you’ll see it.
—
You stretch out in your bunk, the small space kindly given to you by Din. You slip into your blue pajama set, patterned with loth cats and stars – the yellow heart-shaped buttons on your shirt stumbling underneath your fingertips. You sink into the blanketed paradise you call your bed, the fuzzy pillows kissing your cheek. Everyday you thank the Maker for the talented Weequay shopkeeper who created the fluffy masterpieces adorned on your bed, something Din calls a “waste of cargo space”. Your eyelids begin to falter, dreams poking your consciousness.
You awake suddenly, gasping. You hear footsteps outside of your makeshift tapestry-doorway, Din poking his head through the coloured, striped fabric. You stare into him, chest heaving with adrenaline. Your bed dips as he sinks his body into your blankets. “Is everything alright, mesh’la? I thought I heard you yell,” he whispers softly, his hand - his bare hand, drifting over to your wrist. You collect your thoughts, realising he’s only in a shirt and brown sleep pants. To be fair, you just assumed he slept in his armour everyday. That was probably a dumb assumption. You take one final deep breath before speaking, a slight shake catching Din’s attention. “It was just a nightmare. I don’t really get them that often, which I may think is why I yelled. Oops…” you try to joke, unfortunately missing. He shifts closer towards you, your arms brushing, warmth radiating like Suns. You close your eyes, leaning your forehead against his.
His body stiffens, stopping you in your tracks. He exhales through the modulator, pulling you into an embrace, his thumb stroking your back gently.
“Din, I promise I’m okay, really-”
“No.”
“No?” you whisper into the crevice of his neck. He shivers a little, a giggle bubbling in your throat. He shakes his head, slightly bonking you with the helmet - a small ‘ouchie’ and a shared laugh flooding your ears. You lay back down in your comfy arcadia, pulling Din down with you, accompanied with an ‘oomph’. He is much too big for the small space, but carelessness is one of his biggest traits.
“Close your eyes,” he mumbles into your ear. “Huh? What?” you startle. Close your eyes? In bed? Is he stupid? “Like.. to sleep?” you ponder outloud, earning a chuckle from the masked man beside you. “No, to take my helmet off.”
—
You think back to when you first boarded the Crest, the immediate attraction you felt towards the mysterious bounty hunter. The pang of loneliness you felt whenever he went on a hunt. The warmth that encapsulated your chest whenever you shared a meal back to back, bickering over pointless topics. Over time, you felt him slowly shedding the wall built around his heart, each brick toppling over with every conversation. You find him squeezing your arm as he walks past you in the hull of the ship, or scaring you with a monotonous “boo”. You liked the current, strange friendship the two of you have, co-parenting a weird, green, magical baby.
Honestly, you didn’t think anything would happen between the two of you. For as confident as he is to others, his awkwardness shines above all when it’s the three of you in the ship. Sometimes if neither of you could sleep, you’d parade him with millions of questions – some earning an answer and others with a grunt, followed by a gruff “next”. If left alone with you for too long, he’d begin shifting from foot to foot, fiddling with his gloves like a nervous public speaker. You thought it was adorable, commenting on it sometimes before he sighs under the helmet and shoos you away, mumbling about how annoying you are sometimes. These little moments brought you immense joy, even if you knew he didn’t like you nearly as much as you liked him – or if he liked you at all.
So you thought.
—
“To take your helmet off?!” you whisper-shout, the answer you weren’t quite expecting from your smart little quip. He shifts next to you, his head slightly nodding with what little space he has. “Are you sure? I.. I mean I’m flattered you trust me, honestly. I won’t look if you are being serious, I’m not that horrid-” he stops you mid ramble with a squeeze of your hand. “I’m sure, cyar’ika. Just close your eyes.” he murmurs. Your eyes shut, well, squeeze shut as hard as humanly possible. Din takes notice of this, his hand ghosting over your cheek as he raises his helmet off his head and onto the floor beside the bed. Immediately you feel the change of demeanor, his body relaxing into your bed. You lift your hands to sift through his hair – his curls you notice, a sigh escaping his lips and onto your neck. You wonder when was the last time somebody has ever held and touched him like this, or if he has ever been held and touched like this at all. You press a small kiss into his forehead, smiling as you smell the musky-scented soap he used for his hair. “You’re so beautiful..” he trails off, feeling his eyes gaze over your features. His unmodulated voice rings through your ears, a perfect monotonous melody with rich bass undertones. A flush creeps onto your cheeks, spilling onto your ears. “Shut up” you joke as you nuzzle into his neck, peppering small kisses onto the littered razor scars from dodgy shaving attempts on his chin. “Maybe I should have nightmares more often?”