Din Djarin x Reader novel
Tomorrow, Mando and I would part ways.
From the moment that thought entered my mind, the entire night seemed like a light on the verge of going out.
The bustle of the city, the amber glow spilling from the tavern windows, the sound of strangers’ boots striking the stone-paved streets—everything felt just a little too far away. It was all still right in front of me, and yet it already seemed to be slipping into memory.
If someone told me that was all it had been, they would be right.
Compared to the length of a lifetime, it was nothing more than a fleeting moment. We had slept a handful of times aboard a ship traveling from one planet to another. Shared a few meals. Faced danger more than once. More than once, I had been saved by the sight of his back standing between me and whatever wanted to hurt us.
And yet, to me, those few weeks had felt long enough to repaint everything that had come before them.
At first, I had only been another person accompanying him on a job.
He was a bounty hunter. I was a guide who happened to know the region. I knew the road to our destination, had met the client once or twice, and could serve as both interpreter and negotiator. That was why I had been hired.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Mando was a man who spoke only when he needed to.
His voice through the helmet was low and difficult to read, and his replies were always brief. No matter what I said to him, the answer was usually something like, “Yeah,” or “No,” or “Wait.”
At first, I thought he was terribly unfriendly.
I could never tell what he was thinking. I could not even tell what he was looking at. Until then, I had never realized how much distance could exist between two people simply because one of them had no visible face.
But after spending time with him, I began to understand.
He was simply clumsy with people.
Whenever we passed through a dangerous alley, he always made me fall back behind him. When he bought food, he ordered enough for me without asking. If exhaustion slowed my steps, he pretended not to notice and quietly adjusted his pace to match mine. On cold nights, a thin blanket would somehow appear beside the seat I used aboard the ship.
He probably would not have called any of that kindness.
It was necessary for the mission. Losing a companion would be inconvenient. If the guide collapsed, the job would become harder.
I was sure he had all kinds of practical explanations prepared for himself.
Even so, I could no longer pretend not to see it.
Not in the way of someone who embraced you. He did not offer sweet words, nor did he smile easily.
But whenever I needed him, he was there.
Before my outstretched hand could close around empty air, his hand would silently catch my wrist.
That was the kind of kindness he carried.
And so I fell in love with him.
I had always imagined love would be something prettier.
A racing heart. The thrill of meeting someone’s eyes. Joy and despair hanging on every word they spoke. Something light and breathless, something almost foolish.
But when I actually fell in love, I discovered it was far more painful than that.
Every time he showed concern for me, happiness flooded my chest—and loneliness followed in equal measure. For one moment, I would believe his gentleness was meant only for me. Then I would remind myself that he was probably the same with anyone in his care.
I searched for reasons behind his kindness, found them, hurt myself with them, and then let that same kindness save me all over again.
I repeated that cycle until the mission ended.
We delivered the cargo to the client, collected our payment, and dealt with the group that had been causing trouble. The next morning, I would board a passenger transport leaving from the city’s port.
Mando had said he would leave for another planet a few hours later.
When I asked where he was going, he went quiet for a moment.
He had his work. He had his own path.
I was only a temporary companion who had happened to join him for one short stretch of that journey.
I had known from the beginning that it would end tomorrow.
Once morning came, I would no longer follow his back. I would no longer walk beside him or hear his low voice inside the ship.
I understood all of that.
And still, that night, I could not make myself walk straight back to the inn.
“Could we walk for a little while before we go back?”
I asked him just before we left the tavern.
Mando stopped outside the entrance and slowly turned toward me.
More precisely, the black visor of his helmet turned in my direction. But after several weeks together, I had learned to recognize when he was looking at me.
“We have an early morning.”
“I know. Just for a little while.”
“I am. That’s why I only want to walk for a little while.”
It made no sense, even to me.
But he did not argue further.
We walked side by side through the city at night.
The streets that had been loud with merchants’ voices and the rattling of carts during the day had transformed after sunset. Small lanterns hung beneath the eaves, swaying gently and casting shadows against the walls. The air smelled of spices and roasted meat. Laughter drifted from somewhere in the distance, along with the soft sound of stringed instruments spilling from an unseen shop.
Every part of it felt like scenery arranged for a farewell.
Tomorrow, it would be over.
Every time I thought it, my throat tightened a little more.
Mando walked beside me as he always did, his armor shifting softly with every step, his gaze fixed straight ahead. I could not see his profile.
I had never seen his face at all.
And yet somehow, I had begun to imagine even the expressionlessness beneath his helmet.
To love someone whose face I did not know.
He answered briefly when I called him.
“You’ll come see me off tomorrow, won’t you?”
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.
Surely it was too much to ask of someone who had only worked alongside me for a few weeks.
But it was already too late.
After a short silence, he answered in his low voice.
Those few words sent a sharp ache through my chest.
I smiled as normally as I could.
“Are you sure? You might secretly be terrible in the mornings.”
It was such a small conversation, and yet I wanted to wrap it carefully and carry it home with me.
His voice. The scent of the night. The color of the streetlamps. The faint sound of his armor.
Beginning tomorrow, all of it would become a memory.
And I knew that the instant it did, it would seem even more beautiful than it did now.
That knowledge made the present unbearably precious.
When we turned the next corner, we saw a building glowing more brightly than all the others.
Its large doors had been thrown open, and music and laughter poured into the street. It seemed to be part dining hall, part ballroom. Round lights hung from the ceiling, and musicians were arranged along the wall. At the center of the floor, several couples were dancing hand in hand.
I had not known a place like this existed in the city.
Mando noticed that I had stopped and halted beside me.
“…Some kind of dance party, I think.”
“We don’t need to go in.”
His answer was immediate. I could not help laughing.
“I haven’t said anything yet.”
“It’s written all over your face.”
Something about that was so funny that my shoulders shook.
Inside, a lively song was just coming to an end. The dancers applauded, and someone shouted something over the noise. A man who seemed to be the host stepped onto a raised platform, lifted a cup, and called out to the room with a broad smile.
I could not hear every word, but I understood the end.
The final song of the night would be for lovers.
Something fluttered inside my chest.
The musicians began to play.
Unlike the cheerful songs that had come before it, this melody was slow. Soft and faintly sorrowful, it seemed to dissolve into the night itself. The dancers naturally drew closer, took each other’s hands, and began to sway as though they were the only two people in the world.
The words echoed again and again in my mind.
I knew, and still I could not make myself walk past.
“I still haven’t said anything.”
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“Since we’re here, let’s dance.”
He fell completely silent.
For a moment, I wished I could see the expression beneath his visor. Was he troubled? Exasperated? Or did he truly feel nothing at all?
“I’ve never danced before,” he said.
“I’m not very good at it either.”
He sounded so serious that a smile slipped across my face.
“Yes, I can tell just by looking at you.”
Laughing, I took hold of his arm and pulled.
More accurately, I tried to pull him. He did not move at all. A fully armored grown man was hardly going to be dragged anywhere by someone with my strength.
Still, I refused to give up. I gripped him around the wrist with both hands and tugged again.
The moment I said it, I realized how desperate my voice sounded.
Perhaps I did not truly want to dance.
I simply did not want the night to end like this.
Not as his guide. Not as a temporary companion on a mission.
Just once, before it was over, I wanted to take his hand as a woman.
In the middle of a song for lovers, I wanted to let myself misunderstand what we were, if only for a moment.
And if it had to end, surely I could have tonight.
Mando remained silent for some time.
The city lights reflected against his armor, staining the silver surface with a muted glow. His hard, cold silhouette looked terribly out of place against the softness of the music.
At last, he spoke with what sounded like a quiet sigh.
“…Only for a little while.”
I smiled because I was so happy I thought I might cry.
“Okay. Just for a little while.”
The moment we stepped inside, the warmth wrapped around my skin.
The smell of alcohol and food, perfume and smoke and human bodies. It was completely different from the cool night air outside, thick and alive like a creature breathing around us.
Several people glanced over when we entered, but quickly lost interest and returned to their dancing.
Mando was painfully out of place.
An armored bounty hunter stood in the middle of a love song. Everyone around him wore light fabrics and elegant clothes, laughing easily as they moved, while he looked as though he had wandered in directly from a battlefield.
But strangely, I did not dislike it.
If anything, the way he stood out felt so perfectly like him that I found it unbearably dear.
At my request, he awkwardly held out his right hand.
Even through the glove, it was large.
It was a hand that had saved me more than once. When I nearly fell. When he pulled me away from danger. When I climbed aboard the ship.
A hand I had always touched for only a moment before it slipped away again.
Even through his glove, the contact sent a painful rush of heat through my chest.
“Your other hand goes here.”
I took his left hand and guided it toward my back.
“Yes. Just above my waist.”
“That’s where your hand is supposed to go when you dance.”
As I spoke, I tried to keep my voice from trembling.
His hand settled hesitantly against my back.
There was cloth between us, and his hand was gloved, but even without armor separating us, his touch was cautious. His fingers seemed uncertain, as though he were touching something fragile—or something he had no right to touch at all.
That hesitation was so gentle it hurt.
I placed my other hand on his shoulder—or rather, against the hard plate of his pauldron.
I wanted to feel the warmth of a person beneath my palm.
Instead, there was only cold beskar.
There was always a distance like this between us.
I could not see his face. I could not touch his skin. I did not even know whether I was allowed to call him by his true name.
“Match your steps to mine.”
“Well, start with your right… No, wait. Your left, from your point of view?”
“I told you, I’m not very good at this either.”
“Don’t try to escape now.”
Then he tightened his grip on my hand, just a little.
Together, we took our first awkward step to the music.
Mando nearly stepped on my foot.
“It’s fine. You didn’t actually step on me.”
Then I nearly tripped over one of his boots.
“Sorry. Your feet are harder than I expected.”
“I don’t know what ‘normal’ means for someone in armor.”
I laughed quietly, and he said nothing.
But I thought I felt the air between us soften.
The other couples moved as though they were gliding across water. They held one another’s hands, gazed into each other’s eyes, rested their foreheads together, and surrendered themselves to the gentle music.
Our steps fell behind the rhythm. We could not agree on when to turn. His armored body was heavy, and my hand kept slipping out of position.
“You really are terrible at this,” I said before I could stop myself.
His voice came back low and flat.
“I told you I couldn’t dance.”
Even though he was terrible.
Even though we would part tomorrow.
Even though I could not tell him how I felt, and all I was doing was stretching the final night by a few minutes.
That fact alone made the whole world look different.
Mando was completely serious.
He was probably thinking about each step with the same focus he used during a mission. Rather than moving with the music, he placed his feet with the caution of a man crossing a floor filled with invisible enemies.
His clumsiness made me want to laugh, and love him, and cry all at once.
He was not accustomed to dancing.
He was not accustomed to taking someone’s hand like this, or resting his palm against another person’s back.
He knew how to fight, but not how to dance.
He knew how to protect someone, but not how to stand close to them without uncertainty.
It was so painfully like him.
“Mando, look at me a little more.”
“It’s difficult to tell with the helmet.”
“What more do you want me to do?”
He sounded genuinely troubled.
“Hmm… Then just do it in spirit.”
“Yes. Look at me with your feelings.”
The instant I heard myself say it, embarrassment washed over me.
What was I talking about?
He only lowered the black visor slightly and turned it fully toward me.
I felt as though he were gazing at me.
I could not see his face. I could not see his eyes or his expression. I had no idea what he thought of me.
And yet, in that moment, I was certain that he was looking at me.
Warmth spread through my chest.
At the same time, something inside me went unbearably cold.
When the song ended, our hands would separate.
Tomorrow, a far greater distance would open between us. His ship would fly toward a planet I did not know, and I would return to my own life. We were not close enough to exchange ways of contacting one another. We had made no promise to meet again.
In a galaxy this vast, the chances of crossing paths by accident were surely smaller than a miracle.
So this was our last dance.
The thought blurred my vision.
If I cried, I would only trouble him. Mando was kind. He might stop without asking why. But I did not want him to comfort me, and I did not want him to stay out of pity.
I only wanted to hold his hand until the music ended.
“Don’t look at your feet,” he said suddenly”
“If you keep looking down, you’ll run into something.”
“I don’t want to hear that from you. You’ve been watching the floor this entire time.”
“I’m making necessary observations.”
“Yes, yes. Of course you are.”
Laughing, I lifted my head.
He was looking straight at me.
I chose to believe that the gaze behind his visor was fixed on me.
The music continued slowly. Its gentle melody dissolved into the lights overhead. Someone’s laughter faded into the distance.
Our steps, once hopelessly out of rhythm, began to align little by little.
Not so close that we touched, but not so far apart that we could not reach each other.
His hand rested against my back. Mine lay against his shoulder. Our other hands remained joined.
I had never known something so simple could fill a heart so completely.
More than I could ever say.
Telling him would not change anything. It might only make him uncomfortable. The fact that we would separate tomorrow would remain.
He had his own way of living, and I was not someone who belonged within it.
Mando was a man who was always going somewhere.
He did not remain in one place. He did not stand beside anyone for long. He carried only what he needed and walked willingly toward danger.
That was the kind of man he was.
So I could not tell him I loved him.
But neither could I wish that I had never fallen in love.
Had I never met him, I might never have learned what it was to follow someone’s back with my eyes. I would never have nearly cried over a silent act of kindness, or felt my chest ache simply because a low voice spoke my name.
I certainly would never have dragged a man into a dance on the night before our farewell.
Because of Mando, I was this lonely.
And because of Mando, even that loneliness had become something precious.
After I said it, I gave a small laugh.
“Actually, maybe that’s impossible. You don’t seem like someone who cares much about music.”
He remained silent for a while.
One of his steps came a little late.
His low voice fell into the space between the notes.
“Even though you can’t dance?”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
My chest tightened painfully.
Why did he say things like that?
In such an ordinary voice. So briefly that it could barely be called a promise.
And yet he gave me words I knew I would remember again and again after tomorrow.
He would not show me his face.
He would never let me tell him I loved him.
Tomorrow, he would leave for another planet as though none of this had happened.
And still, he said he would remember.
“Then I’ll remember too.”
“That Mando was a shockingly bad dancer.”
He sounded almost offended.
“I’m never going to forget.”
I laughed, and this time the tears almost spilled over.
As I started to lower my head, he tightened his grip on my hand.
His voice was so gentle that I thought I could not bear it.
Somehow, I held the tears back.
If I cried here, the night would become a sad memory. I did not want that. I did not want sadness to be the only thing left at the end.
So I raised my head and smiled as brightly as I could.
He only put a little more strength into the hand supporting my back.
It was far too distant to be called an embrace. It was only the shape required for a dance.
But it was enough for me.
The song was nearing its end.
The musicians played more and more softly. The movements of the dancers slowed, and the entire hall seemed to dim as though reluctant to let the final melody go.
One more minute. Even one more second.
I did not want to release his hand.
I wanted to remain beside him and pretend we were lovers.
But the song knew nothing of my wishes.
Slowly, it moved toward its final note.
At the end, we attempted an awkward turn.
It truly was terrible. To anyone watching, it probably looked less like dancing and more like two people desperately trying not to collide.
And yet, somehow, our last step aligned perfectly.
For one brief moment, silence fell over the hall.
Then applause spread through the room.
The couples around us laughed together and released one another’s hands. Some embraced. Others kissed each other on the cheek.
In the midst of them, I remained standing with Mando’s hand still in mine.
I knew that, but my fingers would not move.
Mando did not release me immediately either.
I did not know whether it was an accident or his own quiet consideration, but those few seconds felt impossibly long.
Perhaps eternity was always this brief.
At last, I was the one who pulled my hand away.
My voice came out slightly hoarse.
How could I possibly be satisfied?
Once I had taken his hand, I only wanted more. I wanted to talk longer. I wanted to stay with him. I no longer wanted him to come see me off in the morning. I wanted him to take me somewhere—anywhere—and never make me leave.
That selfish wish swelled inside my chest until I could barely breathe.
He seemed about to say something.
His helmet shifted ever so slightly.
But in the end, he said nothing.
Instead, perhaps because he had seen the others doing it, he took one awkward step backward and straightened in front of me.
Then he slowly bowed his head.
It was the sort of bow a prince might make in an old story.
In his armor, his movements were stiff and far from graceful. He probably had no idea what he was doing and had simply copied the people around him. The position of his hands was strange, and he drew one foot back at an odd angle.
And yet, the moment I saw him, my heart overflowed.
I wanted to laugh, but I also wanted to cry. I wanted to cry, and instead I laughed.
“You look like a prince.”
“…Are you making fun of me?”
It was the exact opposite.
To me, that awkward bow was the most beautiful thing I had seen all night.
He had entered an unfamiliar place, listened to unfamiliar music, and attempted an unfamiliar dance. Then, at the end, he had bowed to me because everyone else had done the same.
All of it had been my selfish request.
He probably did not think it meant much. To him, it might have been no more important than taking a short walk or making a small detour.
But to me, it was different.
It had become a night I would remember for the rest of my life.
When we stepped outside, the night breeze cooled my flushed cheeks.
The music remained faintly audible from inside, but when the doors closed, it quickly receded into the distance. The city lights were still soft, and two shadows stretched side by side across the stone road.
Soon, the night would end.
“Are you cold?” Mando asked.
But if I admitted it, he would do something for me. Even if he could not lend me a coat, he might shorten his stride or search for a quicker route back to the inn.
That kindness would hurt all over again.
So I told him I was fine.
The conversation faded once more.
Perhaps it was because of the dance, but the distance between us felt slightly smaller as we walked.
We were no longer holding hands. His palm was no longer against my back.
And yet, I could still feel the texture of his glove against my fingertips.
I curled my fingers gently, trying not to forget.
Beginning tomorrow, these would be my only memories of touching him.
The strength of his hand when he saved me during the mission. The hand he offered when I climbed onto his ship.
And yet I knew I would remember those moments many times in the years ahead.
“Listen,” I said, still facing forward.
“Remember that song. Really remember it.”
“I already told you I would.”
“I know. I just wanted to say it one more time.”
His low voice sank into the night.
It was probably the only promise we could make.
I could not say, Let’s meet again.
I could not say, Take me with you.
And I certainly could not say, I love you.
So all I could say was, Remember.
Remember our terrible steps.
Remember how we slipped into a song for lovers and pretended, for only a moment, that we were lovers too.
Remember his awkward bow.
Remember the way I smiled even though I was close to tears.
I wanted him to remember all of it.
When we reached the inn, I stopped.
This was where we said goodbye.
He had promised to come to the port in the morning, so our true farewell was still ahead of us.
But the two people who had danced together tonight would end here, in front of this door.
In the morning, we would return to being nothing more than temporary companions who had completed a mission together.
That was why I was almost afraid to turn and face him.
“Thank you for walking me back.”
“We were going the same way for most of it.”
It did not have to be I love you.
I could tell him not to forget me. I could tell him I had enjoyed our time together. I could say I was glad I had met him, or ask him to stay safe.
There were so many words.
But every one of them caught in my throat.
I felt that if I said them, everything would end.
Even though it would end whether I spoke or not.
“…Tomorrow,” he said first.
“You’d better not be late either.”
I laughed softly, because I could not let myself cry.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Was there any phrase more cruel?
I would see him tomorrow.
And tomorrow, it would all be over.
I put my hand on the door.
I could have gone inside without looking back.
But I could not stop myself from turning around one last time.
Beneath the streetlamp, his silver armor glowed faintly. I could not see his face or read his expression.
But I tried to burn the sight of him into my memory.
So that beginning tomorrow, I could recall it whenever I needed to.
On sleepless nights in dark rooms. When my chest suddenly ached for no reason. When I heard a similar melody drifting from some distant tavern.
I wanted to remember clearly that once, there had been a man who bowed to me like a prince beneath the lights of a ballroom.
His low voice dissolved into the wind.
I opened the door and stepped inside.
Beyond the closed door, his footsteps began to fade.
The soft sound of armor echoed against the stone road.
I remained with my back against the door, unable to move until the sound disappeared completely.
I felt that if I cried, I would have to admit that I had truly fallen in love.
But deep inside, I had already known for a long time.
I had fallen in love with Mando.
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