Fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. In the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths...
"Tell me, Mandalorian," you laugh, letting your eyes lazily dance along the outline of his gleaming Beskar, admiring the flickering flames reflecting back against it. "I have a question." You didn't need a mirror to know that mischievous glint in your eyes had returned. You could simply feel it: the up-to-no-good attitude radiating from within like a blazing warning beacon.
Happy.
You are happy. You haven't felt this in so long, you're simply drunk on it.
After several hours singing and dancing at Kuill's homestead, your spirit- yourheart- are bursting with bliss, like they might just erupt wings and soar up of your body, leaving the bounds of the physical realm for the mysterious realm of the Force.
The euphoria has pretty much eradicated any anxiousness you still felt regarding the day's prior embarrassing events. Though, to be honest, as much fun as the dancing has been, the Spotchka is perhaps the most to blame for your loosened lips.
Which leads you back to your question for the Mandalorian.
He leans forward, resting both hands atop his knees, quiet, patient, and long-suffering as always when dealing with your jestering mood.
"Mandalorian-" you drop down to your knees, directly in front of him- "dance with me."
He stares, neither speaking nor moving at your request. You might have wondered if he had heard you, except that he is staring directly into your eyes... At least, you assume it's your eyes. A bit hard to tell with the, you know, helmet and all.
You chuckle again, rolling your eyes. "You know-" you motion circles in the air with your hands- "dancing: when two people grab hands and let the music dictate their movements?"
He jolts his head away, staring down at the dirt.
"I don't dance."
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting out into laughter at the frown in his voice. But you lose the fight, the grin stretching across your face despite your best efforts. "The Mandalorian doesn't dance." You say it as a statement.
He begins rapidly tapping his fingers against his thigh armor, probably hoping you'd just go away.
No chance of that, Mando.
With a smirk, you reach out and grab onto his upper arm, just below where his armored veneer ends, and you teasingly squeeze.
You open your mouth to smart off again, but the words fall flat when his gloved hand slaps down on yours, pinning it in place against his bicep. Your lips part. At first you thought he might throw your hand off- maybe you broke some Mandalorian code by, you don't know, touching him or something. But you watch, blinking, as his shoulders relax, falling back into repose.
