𝐜𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐞'𝐬𝐞 - 𝘥𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘫𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯

Take Care

take care • gn!reader
After Din sustains an injury on a job, you have to help him take care of himself—something he grows more and more fond of.
• note: custom art by the incredible ​xxlumos on tumblr. do not repost.

—§—

You know as soon as you hear Din's helmet hit the floor of the hull that something's wrong.

You furrow your brow and stand up from where you've just been fixing up a few of the controls in the cockpit, taking your toolbox with you as you make your way down to where he is. Din's helmet's been discarded by the hatch, looking as if it's been thrown there. He's got his back facing you, the rest of his armor on as he puts something into the armory.

"Din?" you finally ask, not bothering to hide your concern as you say his name. Almost instantly, he turns his head over his shoulder to look at you, a few wisps of his curls falling in his face as he does so—thanks to the roughening-up of his knot of hair from his helmet. Still, you notice that his own brow's more furrowed than usual, his dark gaze almost pained. "Is everything okay?" you go on. You gesture towards the place where his helmet lays on the floor. "You dropped your helmet."

Din shrugs—though you don't miss the slight way his jaw clenches at the action—as he smiles at you. "I did," he agrees, his voice even raspier than you're used to as he leans closer to you, "so I could do this." With his words, he presses his lips against yours, his left hand rising to cup your cheek and bring you even closer to himself. When he pulls away, his nose brushes yours, causing you to briefly feel the cool metal of his beskar nose ring as he continues smiling at you in a dazed manner. The butterflies in your stomach tell you that you're wearing the same exact expression.

"Well, then, I guess I can't complain," you joke, causing Din to chuckle as he turns back to the armory and closes it. You walk over to where his helmet is, picking it up in your hands and observing it. Just like the rest of his armor, it's in desperate need of cleansing, leaving grime on your fingertips as you grip it.

A rough growl from behind you makes you turn around quickly. You see Din standing at the ladder that leads to the cockpit, his head lowered and staring at his right arm that droops by his side. Your brow furrows again in worry as you leave the helmet on one of the cargo boxes.

"What is it, Din?" you question softly, approaching him with gentle steps as you easily capture his attention again. His gaze is even more pained than before, causing a pit to grow in your stomach even as he speaks.

"Nothing, cyare," Din assures you, attempting to offer you a smile. "My arm's just sore from the hunt."

"Sore?" you echo, seeing Din nod as he turns back to the ladder. He begins to make his way up by somehow only using his left arm.

That's not something a person with a "sore" arm would try to manage.

You stand there in a dumbfounded manner as you piece it all together in your head. The helmet removal, the pained gaze, the growl—something's very wrong with his arm. Knowing Din, it's going to take a lot for you to get it out of him. You'll be lucky if he even tells you the truth about what happened to it, solely because the man never wants to trouble you. No matter how many times you remind him that you're his riduur, that you vowed to care for him in all circumstances, Din still tries his very best to be tough and take care of himself.

"Haar'chak!" Damn it! Din's exclamation suddenly tears you from your thoughts, sending you up the ladder as fast as you can go. As soon as you step in the cockpit, you see Din supporting his right arm with his left hand, his shoulders tensed up as he sits in the pilot's seat.

"Din," you sigh, earning his attention yet again as his gaze meets yours with desperation. You want to break at the way his dark eyes glitter with tears of pure pain. Gently, you kneel beside him, running a hand over his head to brush away the wisps of hair. "What happened?"