Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
━━━━━ deleted scene. chapter xxxvi: trepidation. din braids zoya's hair.
"Hey," Zoya says, leaning her hip against the doorframe. Din, focused on the vibrant glow of the galaxy, mumbles an indistinct hello in return. She lingers in the entranceway, fidgeting with a small rubber band, stretching it between her fingers. "Would you be able to help me with something? Really quick—I don't think it would take too long."
"Of course." Din swivels in his seat, eyes finding her face easily. "What is it?"
"Well," she says, drawing the word out. "I was wanting to braid back my hair before we get to Nevarro, so it won't be all in my face, but I've always been shit at it." The half-truth slips easily from her lips. She wants her hair out of her face, true. She's bad at braiding her own hair, false.
"You want me to do it," Din completes her thought slowly, picking up on her clues.
Zoya smiles. "Yeah. Can you?"
"I can do my best," Din says, not wanting to send her to Cara for help, even though he knows she'd be better at it.
Her face brightens even more, if it's possible. Din starts to stand, but she waves a hand, stepping closer to him across the cockpit, holding up the small band so he can see it. "I'll just sit in front of you, yeah? It'll be easier that way."
"O-Okay," he says, unsure why he's stammering.
She passes him the band before sinking to the floor before him, inching back so that his knees frame her shoulders. He touches her hair with one hand, hesitates, then pulls both gloves off in one fluid movement, tossing them past Zoya's head onto her usual seat. Before she can make a comment, Din threads his bare fingers carefully through the russet waves that tumble down her back, and the words catch in her throat as chills cascade down her arms.
"So, um," Din clears his throat, "how do I do this?"
"Three pieces," Zoya instructs, and his fingers brush at the nape of her neck as he gathers all her locks.
He takes longer than she'd expected to divide it into three sections. If he would have removed his helmet, she would have been able to see the look of concentration that knits his brows, crinkles the edges of his soft brown eyes.
"Okay," he says finally. "Now what?"
Slowly, Zoya tells him how to weave the pieces together. It doesn't take him long to pick up on the simple pattern, but she can feel his frustration radiating behind her as he loses his grip on one of the sections for the third time.
"Shit," Din mutters. His knees brush her shoulders as he puts one of his hands on the back of her head, applying gentle pressure until she tucks her chin into her chest.
"What?" Zoya suppresses a smile even though he can't see her.
Carefully, he folds the escaped portion back into the braid, continuing to twist the strands together. "Lost a piece for a second."
"It's okay," she says, trying not to laugh. "Have you ever braided before?"
He scoffs. "What do you think?"
"Mm," she muses, and he wraps the band around the end of the plait to tie it off. "Judging by the little piece you forgot here"—she picks up a thin strand from where it lies against her neck, holding it up for him to see—"I would say probably not."
Din groans. "Fuck."
"It's okay," Zoya says with a laugh, and he tugs on the end of the braid to ask her to raise her head up again.
"I'm done," he tells her, examining his work.
"Yeah?" she asks, and he makes a little noise in assent. "How does it look?"
"Other than that damn piece I missed, I think I did a good job," he says, dropping it onto her shoulder so she can take a look. Though Zoya can feel that it's loose and twisted awkwardly in some spots, she grins, turning to look up at him over her shoulder.
"Thank you."
His bare fingers rise to touch her cheek. "You look . . . really nice."
"All thanks to you," Zoya says softly.
Din's eyes lower, unable to look at her even with the helmet in the way. I wasn't talking about the braid.
She shifts, tucking her legs underneath her so she can clamber to her feet. "We're close, yeah?" Zoya asks.
"Yeah," he says, glancing back out the window.
Before Zoya can talk herself out of it, she reaches down and slides her fingers around one of his hands, feeling the brush of his skin on hers with something electric-like dancing down her spine on tingling feet. Din looks up at her sharply, startled by the sudden contact. She smiles softly down at him, the braid he'd woven her hair into falling forward over her shoulder.
"Thanks for doing my hair," she says. "Even if you're not the most experienced braider, I think you did great."
Din's fingers tighten around hers as his eyes catch on the strand he'd missed. "Not sure if great is the right word. There's always room for improvement."
It's such a Mandalorian thing to say that she can't hold back her snort. "Well, practice makes perfect. I'm coming to you every time I want my hair done from now on."
He can't prevent the smile that softens his mouth. "I'll be counting on that."
｡･:*:･ﾟ✧ ｡･:*:･ﾟ
this was originally in my oc one shots book, but i decided to move it here so there's an easier way to see it!! i miss these two so much!
