𝐜𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐞'𝐬𝐞 - 𝘥𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘫𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯

Scars

scars • gn!reader
When Din shows unprecedented hatred for his battle-worn body, it's up to you to reassure him of everything you love about it.

—§—

Completing another job means returning to the Crest and preparing to patch Din up. As precise of a warrior as he is, even Din struggles to escape a fight without something that needs your medical attention. You never mind; doing this job is what earned you a place in Din's heart to begin with, and vice versa. From what you can tell, Din's always enjoyed it too—until tonight.

"Four-to-one, huh?" you say to Din just as the silhouette of the Crest comes into view. "Your favorite odds. I bet you loved that fight."

Din chuckles and nudges your shoulder as he walks alongside you. The baby coos from the satchel hung at your other side, as if he's agreeing with you. "It was... cathartic, in some ways." His helmet tilts as he looks at you. "But I only fought that hard so I could help you."

You raise your brow at him with a fond smile. "Din, I was only fighting one other person."

Din shrugs, looking straight ahead as he opens the side hatch of the ship. "That's still one too many. Especially with the kid."

You shake your head at his protectiveness. Din knows you can handle yourself with all the training he'd given you after he first hired you a long time ago, but he also swore a personal oath to never let you get hurt, and any kind of fighting jeopardizes that. You resolve to say nothing as you instead brush a hand over Din's back for comfort and reassurance whilst boarding the Crest.

The ship's always felt like a home, regardless of how cold and chilling the metal walls can make it seem. Returning to it never fails to make you smile, especially when you take the baby into your arms and he coos with a smile of his own to show his happiness upon arriving home. You tend to him as you open Din's old compartment, setting him in the hammock Din's strung up to fit his tiny size. The baby's eyes flutter closed as you raise your voice to address your riduur.

"I saw that, you know." You look over your shoulder just to catch the confused tilt of Din's helmet. You continue before he can vocalize his puzzlement. "The slash you got on your side."

"Oh." Din's modulated voice is low as he offers his humble response. You furrow your brow, expecting something wittier from him as you close the baby's compartment. His visor inspects the cut along the fabric of his flight suit as you come close and try to do the same.

"Let's get that taken care of." You start to reach for your medpac, but Din stops you, taking a gentle grasp of your wrist as his cuirass rises and falls in a slow and steady breath.

"Can I... wash up first?" Din's timid as he asks the question.

You try your best not to frown at Din's request. In all the time you've spent with him, he's never asked to wash up before receiving first aid. Nevertheless, you nod, offering a sweet smile as you let your hand fall back to your side. "Sure, riduur." You gesture with your head to the refresher. "Do you want some help?"

Din shakes his helmet. "No... No thank you. I can handle it."

Ever since the day you were wed, this is something Din has never said no to. Your concern grows tenfold as you watch him turn away from you. With crossed arms and a troubled sigh, you watch Din go, racking your mind for a possibility as to why Din is acting so distant. Unable to reach a conclusion just yet, you hope for the best and assume he's tired from all the jobs, traveling, and searching for more of his kind.

You get more comfortable to keep yourself distracted, resolving to wash up at another time. You have a feeling Din's going to need you more than he's been letting on. When you return to the hull, you get the medpac ready, setting out the items you always use for Din's battle wounds. You hear him before you see him, the familiar clinking of his beskar giving away his arrival as you look over at him. Catching his gaze even for just a moment is enough to reveal something that makes an unpleasant knot tie up in your stomach. Whatever's wrong with Din tonight lies much further beneath the surface than a flesh wound.