Je vous parle d'un temps....

Or the one where anything you write on your skin shows up on your soulmate. Cobb takes up a habit of always carrying a marker with him—markers last the longest on his skin—and he’ll write down his thoughts throughout the day, tell his soulmate about Mos Pelgo, sometimes he’ll make little doodles if he’s bored. He writes jokes and stories, hoping his soulmate reads them. His skin is bare—he had one single sentence show up in his entire life. “My name is Din Djarin.” Nothing else, and Cobb wonders and wonders. And then the Mandalorian walks into his town, and Cobb takes his marker that night and tells his soulmate about shiny beskar and adorable green children. The next morning Mando acts funny, keeps staring at him when he thinks he’s not looking. It isn’t until a day after they defeat the krayt dragon—and Cobb takes the time to tell that story in detail, taking up the skin on both of his thighs and one of his arms—that words appear, dark ink rippling across his left forearm. “I hope our paths cross again.” Cobb smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. Din becomes a bit more interactive at that point—not much, but he’ll let Cobb know he and the child are safe, where they are, what they’re doing. The sentences are usually short and to the point, but Cobb cherishes every one. He keeps Din up to date on Mos Pelgo, the townspeople, the Tuskens. Wishes him “good night” and “stay safe” every night before he goes to bed, tells him “good morning” and “good luck” when he wakes up. Sometimes he’ll just write Din’s name on his arm, a secret between the two of them, and it sends a thrill through him when his own name appears mirrored on his other arm. And then the messages stop. And Cobb’s terrified, weeks go by until finally a message appears, the handwriting shaky. “We’re safe. Kid is with his people. Can I come home?” And Cobb tells him yes, of course. An unfamiliar ship appears in Mos Pelgo soon after, touches down just long enough for one person to disembark, still beskar wrapped but helmet tucked under his arm. And Cobb opens his arms and welcomes him home.

Or the one where any wounds you take—bruises, scratches, scars—appear on your soulmate. And Din would feel sorry for his soulmate—he’s been through a lot, during training and then as an adult—if he didn’t have so many bruises and cuts and scars from his soulmate too. He can’t help but wonder who they are, what they’re like to have just as many injuries as he does. It isn’t until the star-shaped scar appears and someone tells him what that probably means that he understands. And he feels anger and sorrow and a whole mess of emotions that he can’t do anything about because he doesn’t even know who or where his soulmate is—only that they’re a slave. So Din takes that rage and bottles it up, pushes harder into his training so that if he ever does meet his soulmate he can protect them, free them. By the time he meets Cobb, a lot of the rage has gone out, time and stress wearing down on him. He’s not really thinking about his soulmate when he offers to treat the marshal’s injuries after the fight with the krayt dragon—the marshal had offered the same to him, so it was only fair. They’re back in Mos Pelgo that night, in the marshal’s home, and Cobb has to remove his shirt so Din can get to some nasty bruising around his ribs. And there’s that star-shaped scar, right where Din’s is, and Din isn’t even thinking when he reaches out to touch it. Cobb whips around, anger flaring up in him, and Din scrambles to explain. Cobb doesn’t believe him until Din takes his armor and shirt off and shows the marshal the identical mark on his back. And Cobb is silent, unsteady, and so Din pulls him close and apologizes for all the scars he left on Cobb’s body over the years—there’s a lot, he knows. And Cobb apologizes too, because he’s never been able to back down from a fight, and it’s been a rough life. And they spend hours into the night telling the stories of their scars, tracing over them like roadmaps of their lives.