Rough Day by guardianangelicas

Brown Eyes

This story doesn't belong to me. It belongs to guardianangelicas on AO3.

"What?"

"Hm?"

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"What's the hold up?"

"I'm just..."  The helmet looks you up and down, considering.  You scrunch your nose at him and rock back and forth on your feet impatiently as he sighs.  "It's going to be like teaching a foundling to read.  I'm just trying to figure out where to even begin."

"Because it's so fucking pretty here, I'm just going to pretend you didn't say that," you say pointedly, looking around at the vast field of flowing grass surrounding the two of you and breathing in the warm, fresh air into your lungs.  "Your vibe is clashing, Din."

"Because I don't really know what that means, I'm also going to pretend you didn't say that," he returns, and the child's giggles float up alongside the breeze as he chases after another, slightly smaller green reptile that you also currently have no name for.  He tilts the beskar thoughtfully at you, and you squint against the way the sun catches the visor directly in your eyes from this angle.  "What do you want to learn first?"

"I want to shoot a gun," you blurt without thinking.

"Okay, hand-to-hand it is," he nods firmly, and then pats his unarmored chest with one bare hand.  "Hit me."

You blink down at the dark fabric stretched across his left pectoral, and then back up at the metallic visor staring back at you.

"Hit me," he says again in response to your silence.  "Hard as you can.  Right here."

"Are you sure?"  You ask, lifting your gaze up to him once more with a twist of your mouth, already out of your comfort zone.  "What if I hurt you?"

"Are you fucking kidding?"  He actually sounds... pissed off.  "Hit me."

You immediately shove your hand up against his chest in response to the sharp order, and your palm makes a quiet slapping sound as it collides with what feels like solid rock concealed underneath black fabric.

Din says absolutely nothing.  Almost a... forced silence.  Like what he wants to say will very likely be vaguely mean and dismissive of your feelings, so he's keeping his mouth firmly shut under the helmet.  He just pats his chest again, each one purposeful and distinct, easily making twice the amount of noise hitting himself as you did hitting him.

You ball your fist up this time and whack him with it, considerably harder this time and even making a solid thud against his pectoral, though he doesn't even move a fraction under the blow.

"I am..." he tries to choose his words carefully after another moment of purposeful silence.  "...insulted."

You grit your teeth and raise your arm up and back, swinging it out at him as hard as you physically can, but then the curve of his broad shoulder suddenly jerks back just before you can touch him and your fist is caught from the side with a gentle grip.

"Better.  You wound up that time, that gives you momentum.  But never come at someone like this," he tells you, lifting your arm back up to the way it was before and then slowly hinging it down again against his chest.  "This is how you were going to hit.  See how your pinkie is taking the brunt of the punch when you come down at it from an angle like this?"  He pushes your fist against his chest a few times to demonstrate your pinkie squishing against the solid plane of muscle.  "No matter how hard you hit me, your hand is going to take that much force, too.  That attempt had about half the power you want, but you might've broken your finger if I let you make contact like that."