Chapter Text
Cobb wakes up with his face half-buried in soft hair and his arm wrapped around a firm torso. He squints through his eyelashes just enough to see if there's light filtering in through the window—there is—and quickly shuts them again.
The man in his arms must sense the change in his breathing, because he feels Din tense slightly, then relax again. It's been long enough for Cobb that waking up tangled with someone else feels foreign, but he can't imagine what it must be like for Din, who might have never felt someone breathe against the back of his neck before.
There's no benefit in pretending to be asleep, so Cobb says quietly: "I've got my eyes closed if you need to—"
"It's fine."
Cobb swallows and says nothing. His pre-Empire mattress creaks plaintively as Din rolls over and kisses him lightly on the cheek, just under his eye, still closed.
"Cobb, really. It's fine." Cobb wants to do the right thing, and if he isn't supposed to look at Din's face, then he won't do it. But he wants to. And Din if says it's okay...
His eyes flicker open. The shape of Din's face is familiar from mapping it with his fingers last night, but he isn't expecting the warm brown eyes, or the darkness of his hair and mustache, or the way his lips twitch into an uncertain smile.
"Well, aren't you pretty," Cobb murmurs.
Din huffs, but presses forward to kiss him again.
Cobb makes a pot of caf and pulls some kind of a breakfast together. Din, in his flight suit but still armor-less, sits at the kitchen table and watches him with those dark, sad eyes. His expression is utterly open and unguarded in a way that Cobb finds both refreshing and a bit unsettling.
"You're gonna have to leave again, aren't ya."
"Yes," Din says. "Not immediately, but soon."
Cobb turns away to pour the caf into two mugs. Din is still watching him closely when he turns back again and places one of the mugs in front of him.
"Thanks," Din says automatically. His fingers wrap around the mug, but he makes no move to drink from it.
"This have anything to do with what you and Fett were talking about the other day?"
Din nods slowly. "After the Purge of Mandalore, the remainder of my people went into hiding across the galaxy. No one knows precisely how many survived. For a long time, we were protected by our secrecy, but that is starting to change."
"You want to help them reorganize."
"It wasn't my intention to get involved," Din admits with a slight grimace. "The situation is more complicated than just diaspora. Mandalore is uninhabitable, and its people haven't worked together effectively in longer than anyone can remember."
"Sounds like you have your work cut out for ya."
"We all do. And I know it isn't my place to ask this of you, but if you're willing...it would be nice to have a place to come back to, for a change."
"You won't stay with your people?" Cobb asks, his brow furrowed. He'd been sure that Din was gearing up to say that he wasn't going to be returning to Tatooine, which, given the explanation for it, would have been hard to fault him for.
"No. It's..." Din's gaze dances around, as though looking for the end of the sentence in the air.
"...Complicated?" Cobb guesses. Din laughs.
"Yeah."
"Complicated his fine," Cobb says, reaching across the table for Din's hand. "And you're always welcome here, partner."
Din smiles broadly, eyes crinkling, and covers Cobb's hand with his own.
The Mandalorian and his child stay for four full days. On the morning of the fifth, Cobb helps him load the speeder bike. The scene is familiarly bittersweet, but lacks the uncertainty of his previous departures, particularly once Din pulls him close and knocks their foreheads together gently.
A kiss, as Cobb has learned.
"I hope our paths cross again," Cobb says, his eyes twinkling.
"You won't have long to wait."