Din Djarin/Mando/The Mandalorian: One Shots, Imagines, etc.

Sympathy Act

A/N: requested by sadstrarwarsfan14 - also sorry but din is so fricking hot in this picture like UGHHH he is just 👌

Warnings: self harm, swearing, self hate, angst, blood

Word count: 1120

You're trembling all over. You can barely breathe. Goose bumps prickle your skin, even as sweat rolls down your forehead. You can't keep doing this. He'll find out sooner or later, and what will he do? What will he think of you then?

The thought of the disgust that will twist his face into a sneer under the helmet at your actions almost cripples you. It crushes you under its weight. Maker, he'll hate you, he'll leave you, you'll be nothing in his eyes. He'll wonder why he even ever bothered with you, if you're such a failure, so far beyond repair. You don't even know why he's still with you, still rocking you in his arms when you break down into an ugly mess of tears.

You hiss as the blade breaks the skin, pressing your lips together to keep in a cry of pain. You've managed to hide it from him so far, keeping your sleeves pulled down over the scars and fresh wounds criss crossing your wrists. However, you know he's noticed the way you've been acting recently. You've seen the slight confusion in his body language if you pull away too quickly, seen his hesitation to touch you after you snap a little too harshly at him.

Because, to be honest, this latest relapse has taken its toll on you.

You haven't been able to sleep well in weeks, instead staring up at the ceiling, wracked with the fear that he'll find out. Your eating habits have also suffered, only remembering to eat when he, bless his heart, pushes a plate in front of you, a worried hand brushing your shoulder. He's noticed a drop or two of blood on the floor before, and you know there's only so many times you can blame it on your period.

Tears prick your eyes as you make another cut in your fragile skin. Your ears ring, and you squeeze your eyelids shut, tears oozing out and forming on your eyelashes, one escaping and slipping down your cheek. Another harsh slash on your wrist, and the pain starts to numb as your body adjusts. Gritting your teeth, you cut again, deeper this time, and fresh pain oozes into your senses. The ringing in your ears becomes louder, more insistent, and you double over in front of the sink, lifting your head to be greeted by your dishevelled reflection - cheeks hollow, limp hair mussed, eyes red rimmed with deep purple semi circles resting under them.

'Fuck,' you croak. Sneering at yourself, you point at yourself in the reflective glass. 'Fuck you. Look at you. You're nothing, you - you...'

Your face crumples, a sob climbing up your throat. Fingers clenching around the cracked ceramic of the sink, you feel pain shoot through your arm as you clench your fist and the cuts stretch. Crimson blood oozes out, and you watch it drip into the sink, savage red pooling onto yellowing white.

Suddenly, the door hisses open, and you have just enough time to hide the razor under the hand towel before Din comes in, armourless apart from his helmet. He sees you and stops in his tracks.

'Oh, sorry, I'll just...'

His gaze falls on the blood in the sink, then on the cuts on your arm. You turn away, refusing to meet the dark stare of his visor. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you bite hard enough to draw blood. Why does he have to walk in at this fucking moment? Why does he have to just stand there, frozen? Why won't he just yell at you, just get it over with?

'I - I'll get my stuff and go, okay?' Your voice cracks, but you ignore it and start splashing cold water over your bloody wrist, wincing at the stinging.

'Wh - where are you going?'

You shrug. 'I don't know. Just somewhere where you'll never see me again, so you can forget you ever even knew me.'

'What - I - Why? Why would I ever w - want to do that?'

'Why wouldn't you?'

'Because... because you're...'

'See, you don't even know!' You scream. 'Just let me go, and quit the fucking sympathy act!'

He's quiet for a moment, filling the doorway. 'I didn't finish my sentence.'

'Go on, then,' you spit. 'It won't help, anyway.'

'I want you to - to stay, because I...' He looks at his feet, or at least the movement of his helmet suggests it. 'Because I love you.'

You snarl. 'I said, quit the sympathy act!'

'It's not an act!' He yells back, matching your tone.

You nod sarcastically, voice bitter. 'Sure.'

His shoulders slump. 'It's not an act, my cyar'ika. I do, I do love you, I - '

'How can you even call me that? How can you even say that? I'm literally standing in a bathroom with open cuts on my wrists, and it's - it's revolting and...'

You start crying again, curling away from him and covering your face with your hands, uncaring that blood gets smeared on your face. Sobbing, you flinch away from his touch on your shoulder, slapping away his hands. Maker, does he really think that he can convince you to stay after he's seen the mess that is you? After he's seen the mess you've made of your own skin? Doesn't he find it disgusting?

And then arms curl around you, slowly, giving you plenty of time to move away, but this time, you don't have it in you to shove him off you. You feel him stroke your hair, hear the flick of a switch as the lights turn off, and then the hiss of his helmet being removed. Warm lips press against your forehead as he turns you around and pulls you to his chest.

'I love you,' he whispers. 'And I want you to love you as much as I do.'

You can make out his silhouette as your eyes adjust, make out his hands as he rummages in one of the small cabinets set in the wall and produces some bacta patches. Gently, he takes your wrists in his hands and eases the patches on, pressing a soothing kiss onto the centre of your palm as he feels you wince at the touch of the patch on your open wounds.

'Cyar'ika,' he whispers as he takes you in his arms again. 'This isn't a sympathy act, and I'm not doing this out of pity, or anything else that you'll tell yourself. Just - just let me love you.'

You close your eyes, clinging onto him, clinging onto his words. 'Th - thank you, Din.'

'I love you,' he murmurs, and this time, you believe him.

Your voice cracks under the truth it speaks. 'I love you too.'