It’s A Me

“Why did you take off your helmet?” you ask softly.

Din’s eyes open and flicker away. “I’ve never seen you look that scared,” he finally replies, voice stiff. 

The hard, thin line of his mouth compels you to drop your gaze, and you look down at the glove in your lap, touched. “Thank you.”

He responds with a barely audible, “You’re welcome.”

Silence descends, by virtue of sheer exhaustion. This clusterfuck of a conversation is far from over, but you’ll have to unpack the rest of it tomorrow. 

Din stands and goes to fetch his helmet from where he left it on the dresser, and this time you are mindful to keep your eyes averted. You slump forward with a sigh, propping your chin in your hand. Now what? Go cry in the shower, or wait until morning to sob yourself sick? Both prospects seem equally pointless, and after all the post-explosion shenanigans, it will be a bonafide miracle if you hobble out of bed tomorrow without screaming. 

Shower, you conclude. A real one, with scalding hot water and actual soap. 

You are bracing yourself for the aftermath of cheap hotel shampoo when Din suddenly chokes out your name in a broken voice — your real one.

You snap your head up, stunned. “How do you -”

The helmet hits the ground, and Din collapses onto his knees at your feet. 

“You’ve seen my face,” he pleads, reaching out to grasp your hands in both of his. “You’re seeing it now. What if –” He swallows, fighting valiantly to remain composed. “What if I took my helmet off when it’s very important?”

“This isn’t a break-glass-in-case-of-emergency thing,” you try to explain. “How am I supposed to know what you’re feeling?”

“You always know what I’m feeling, better than anyone else,” he insists. “Better than Grogu, even.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh, Din…”

Acting on impulse, you reach forward and smooth his hair away from his brow, lightly running your fingertips through the overgrown curls. All you want is to comfort him, but this man has been starved, and the consequences are instant. 

Din catches hold of your hand and closes his eyes, shuddering as he presses your palm to his cheek. 

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely. He opens his eyes again and tightly laces his fingers with yours. “Be with me. I’ll do anything.”

Link to Main fic: Short Debts Make Long Friends - An over-educated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

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