Chapter Text
Luke finds the posting at a Starbucks.
Yes, Starbucks is probably one of the worst places to look for a new job posting. Yes, even at first glance, the demands to even apply to the job seems ridiculous. Yes, Luke should probably be spending more time online job hunting instead of sulking at Starbucks. Even with all that, Luke’s eyes catch the ad, and he rips it off of the notice board and tucks it in his pocket.
As well as the other two ads of the same job posted there.
Leia thinks it’s ridiculous. The job, the posting, it has to be a hoax. No one pays a twenty-four-seven babysitter 12,000 bucks a month, she claims, and deep down, Luke knows she has a point. He also knows that no proper babysitter posting ever asks for a letter of recommendation and a short video introducing himself, as if he’s Elle Woods applying for college. Still, Luke’s good with kids, the job pays well, and it even offers a room all for himself at the house rent-free so he can stop crashing at Leia’s couch because he can’t afford to pay for his own place. If it is real, getting this job would be a dream come true.
If it is real. Leia still isn’t sure, even though she does write him the “recommendation letter” and email it to Din Djarin, the name on the posting, as is requested. She also badgers Luke to share his location when Din asks for an interview, just in case this Din person is a human trafficker or something and uses job postings to get to people. Luke is pretty sure she’s exaggerating. Pretty sure.
So he shares his location and makes his way to the small café Din wrote down at his email, dressed in his sharpest clothes—meaning, a black jacket, white t-shirt, and dark jeans. Mentally, he’s reciting everything he knows about job interviews—and it is a lot, considering he switched about five jobs in the last two years. He will go out there, meet Din, leave with a great first impression, and finally land a job that will pay more than his daily coffee. Luke has a plan.
But of course, that plan is thrown out the window once he actually enters the café and his eyes find Din. Because holy shit, the man is hot.
Luke prides himself into being able to hold his composure in a myriad of situations. His sister is a congresswoman famous for chewing out her opponents while standing straight like royalty, and Luke likes to think he inherited at least some of the genes Leia did.
And he worked retail for a few months. That job alone teaches you how not to scream in pain every ten minutes.
Even with all that, Luke realizes in about a second that he has a weakness, and it’s guys with kids. More specifically, hot dads who, by all accounts, look like they can rip off your head if you so much as look at them the wrong way, but who turn into a soft mush whenever their kid is around. And Din, sporting a black leather jacket and a whipped cream mustache at the same time, definitely fits the bill.
Din, as if feeling Luke’s rising panic—or more likely just his presence in a mostly empty café—lifts his head, and his eyes meets Luke. He licks his lips to get rid of the whipped cream, missing a small spot on his real mustache, and Luke feels the sudden urge to lick it away himself.
He’s so fucked.
If Din knew just how difficult it would be to find a proper babysitter for his son, he would’ve never even attempted. He’d hoped, by including a ridiculous amount of requirements, that he could weed out the worst of the applicants, and yet he’s met about thirteen babysitters, hired four of them briefly only to fire all in less than a week, and he wants to bash his head into a wall.
He probably would’ve, too, if it isn’t for the little guy currently sitting on his lap, his silver ball clutched between his sharp knuckles. He isn’t looking at Din, only watching the light dance on the shiny surface of the ball, and Din sighs.
“I’m sorry, kid,” he murmurs, hugging Grogu closer. “I know you’re sick of meeting babysitters.” Tension rolls off of Grogu in waves, but the kid doesn’t react at all, at least other than rolling the ball in his hand. Din knows that whatever babysitter he ends up hiring, Grogu won’t be happy. He wants his dad to stay at home to take care of him, or if that’s impossible, Auntie Cara or Uncle Greef can certainly step in. Grogu doesn’t want a babysitter.
Except if it was up to Grogu, he’d stay at home all day, in his safe space. It’s been a year since Din found and adopted him, and still the kid is hiding behind the walls he built for himself, refusing to open up to anyone. Even a trip to a café like this can be a lot to Grogu, and Din wants him to be more comfortable with strangers. He knows he can’t very well throw Grogu into a preschool and hope that will work.
But Grogu does need to get used to strangers, staying with strangers when Dad or Auntie Cara or Uncle Greef is not around, and a babysitter seemed like a good middle ground to start with. Yet Din never imagined just how hard it would be to find a good babysitter for Grogu. Most applicants aren’t trained professionals and don’t understand Grogu’s needs, never mind being able to respond to them properly.
The last thing Din wants is to come home after a grueling day at work and find Grogu in the middle of a panic attack as the babysitter tries to hold him down. The mental image still makes Din shiver.
Din slips away from his thoughts when Grogu looks up at him, eyes wide and pleading. Din sighs. “I know you want me to stay with you, but I gotta work, kid.” Grogu, for a kid who doesn’t talk at all, is incredibly smart. He casts his eyes down again, looking at his silver ball. He’s disappointed, sure, but he understands Din. And maybe that’s the worst—if Grogu threw a tantrum, at least Din could be upset. The resigned silence just breaks his heart.
“How about I get you a milkshake?” he offers, knowing how much Grogu loves them. Grogu’s ears perk up and he glances at his father through his lashes.
Five minutes later, Din is sporting a whipped cream mustache smeared on his face by Grogu, who refused to drink the milkshake and instead used it to “teach” Din a lesson. As much as he wants to be angry at Grogu, his kid is giggling and it’s such a rare sight that Din lets it go.
At least until someone walks into the café and Din’s eyes find the familiar mop of blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
Din quickly licks away the whipped cream mustache, hoping he looks at least somewhat presentable to a potential employee. Hugging Grogu close, he stands up to meet the man, who seems to be frozen by the front door of the café, just staring at Din, face slightly flushed.
A feeling of warmth shoots through Din. Luke looks friendly, childish, hastily put together, as if he’s a high school student excited to get his first job. A far cry from some of the babysitter candidates Din interviewed. He looks down at Grogu and sees him stealing glances at Luke as well.
Grogu never looked at any of the other babysitter candidates.
Maybe, he thinks, it won’t be as impossible to find that perfect babysitter.