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The wind whistles around you with such ferocity that you momentarily fear it might sweep you away into the frigid ocean below. You would rather avoid taking a plunge into the choppy ocean that crashes on either side of the jetty you are taking tentative steps along.
Of course, a Mandalorian would never make it easy for you to catch up to him. The hours you have already spent searching for him today are a testament to that. It was early morning when you first noticed he was missing. Now, sunset appears imminent as occasional golden beams break through the thick, grey clouds.
Your companion cuts a lonely figure at the edge of the wooden structure. His helmet rests by his side, glinting ever-so-slightly in the low light. The sight of him helmetless still surprises you, even though it perhaps should be one you should be accustomed to by now.
Since he broke his Creed to say farewell to The Child you never even met but whose absence casts a long shadow over the man you adore, Din has relaxed a little concerning matters of the helmet.
Still, the sight of his damp dark brown curls fluttering slightly in the wind catches you off-guard. It feels so thrilling and new each time you see him like this, no matter how many times you have seen him freed from the confines of his helmet.
As you approach the jetty, you understand why he has chosen such a destination. It is secluded, soundtracked only by the waves crashing against the side of the jetty, with only the endless ocean and sky for company.
The risk of being spotted by anyone else is slim. He faces nothing but the ocean until it disappears beyond the horizon; a self-imposed exile.
You come to a halt a few paces away, taking in the sight before you and planning your next move. He sits on the jetty's edge, his long legs dangling down towards the ocean below. You suck in a tense breath, wondering whether it is safe. What if an errant wave from the storm, which threatens to break at any moment, surges up over the side of the jetty and washes you both away?
You shake your head at the stubborn man, momentarily resenting him for putting you in this position. Then, you crouch down to join him. Your devotion to him is absolute.
When you finally sit beside him, it is plain to see that a storm of equal strength to the one brewing over the coast rages in the dark brown eyes you love so much.
“Talk to me, Din,” you say gently, imploring him to open up.
You wish that he would tilt his head to meet your gaze. Instead, his eyes remain firmly fixed on the horizon.
From this angle, his profile is in full view. You are unsure whether your sudden bout of breathlessness is caused by his appearance or the anxiety of sitting in such a precarious position.
You take a moment to appreciate his handsome face.
Your eyes trail across the curve of his striking nose. A feature you are certain that was sculpted by the Maker. It stands out on his face, untouched by his anguish; a strong, constant attribute, unaltered by his heartbreak.
Elsewhere, his devastation is evident as he stares towards the ocean; a haunted, vacant look in his eyes. Each wrinkle which lines his handsome face seems more pronounced, and his plush lips are curved downwards into a slight pout. The smattering of grey hairs, which have slowly appeared at his temples and in his patchy facial hair and neatly trimmed moustache, already make him look older than the man you first encountered mere months ago.
Back then, you had never intended to catch a glimpse of his face. When you promised him passage on your ship, he explained that he would never remove his helmet in front of you.
Seeing his face had been a complete accident. You had assumed Din was secluded in his bunk. Instead, he was so engrossed in inspecting dust on the blaster that he was meticulously polishing on the workbench in the ship's hull that he did not hear you approaching. You were mortified at the misunderstanding, an emotion replaced by devastation when he did not speak to you for several days.
Such a transgression occurring only a few weeks into your travels together had certainly not helped to thaw the somewhat frosty nature of your dynamic, at least not in the short term.
With the benefit of hindsight, you can see that it was perhaps the best thing that ever happened to you. It caused Din to slowly but surely open up to you. To reveal aspects of his life he had previously kept hidden. He told you of the loss of his parents and his subsequent adoption by Mandalorians. He spoke fondly of Grogu, of their travels together until it was cruelly cut short by the arrival of a Jedi. He revealed that he had not removed his helmet for so many years until he encountered the kid. He told you how he loved him, how he lost him. And of how he wished to begin living a new Way, by baring his face to you.
Naturally, you believed your increasing closeness meant you had gotten past the point of Din hiding his emotions from you. His absence on the ship this morning and forlorn appearance on the end of the jetty indicates otherwise.
Realising that Din has not responded to you, you supply the words you know he cannot bear to utter.
“You miss Grogu,” you finally offer.
Din simply nods, his lip quivering at the mere mention of the boy’s name.
“I know. It’s hard,” you sigh, wishing that there was something you could do to alleviate his pain.
Din Djarin is a good man. He does not deserve to feel this way.
Unfortunately, it is all too easy for him to forget that fact. There is a certain darkness that follows him, which pervades his being.
It surprises you, given the selflessness he shows towards you and has throughout your travels together. Din is always intent on ensuring your comfort before his own. He allows you to nap first after a long hunt and gives you the freshest ration packs. When you are too tired to pilot, he takes control of the navigation systems and steering. Your ease is his priority.
It makes the tales of his past life that he has occasionally shared difficult to reconcile with the gentle and kind man you know.
“You will grow around this, Din,” you remind him, “The pain will never lessen, but you will simply expand enough to accommodate it.
Din shakes his head. He does not believe your words. But you are not going to accept such negative thinking from him. You silently vow not to leave here until he is aware of his attributes.
“You have so much to offer to the galaxy. I wish you could see that,” you sigh, somewhat exasperated that he cannot see himself in the same way you adore him.
Din momentarily looks like he might burst into tears before he closes his eyes and scowls slightly. The wrinkle above his nose becomes more prominent. You ache to reach out to smooth it beneath your fingertips. But that would be overstepping an invisible line the two of you wordlessly tread.
To lighten the mood slightly, you decide to gently tease him. The playful ribbing is a defining feature of your dynamic. Something familiar and comfortable to fall back upon.
“I was worried about you, you know. When you didn't wake me up with a steaming mug of caf this morning… I had to make my own. I was rather grumpy, calling you all sorts of names,” you inform him, “I’ve been looking for you all day, you buckethead .”
Your light reading has the opposite effect to what you intended. The affectionate usage of a derogatory nickname for Mandalorians causes Din’s bottom lip to tremble. The few tears which glistened on his waterline since your arrival finally spill over, trailing hot paths down his cheeks. You wish you could wipe them away, but that would surely be a transgression.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Din finally chokes out.
“You don’t have to exile yourself whenever you feel this way. You don’t have to pretend everything is alright in front of me, Din,” you remind him, keeping your voice soft, “You don’t have to hide your emotions.”
Din despondently shakes his head, “I feel so weak,” he admits.
You feel rage bubbling up within you, that he would ever think such a thing of himself.
“Din Djarin, you are the furthest thing from weak. You are the strongest man I know. You lost your boy, and you did not let it define you,” you remind him, “You carried on. For him.”
“Carried on hunting people,” Din scoffs.
You are stunned by his response. He has never shown any disillusionment with his line of work...
... until now.
You scan his face, desperate for the faintest tell as to his emotions. But it is as though he has placed the helmet on his head once again. Din is utterly unreadable, his brown eyes intently focused on his gloved hands as he nervously fiddles with the stitching. He is avoiding your gaze.
“Do you want to stop collecting bounties?” you question.
“How can I?!” Din exclaims, “Fighting is the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”
“That isn’t true, Din,” you shake your head, frustrated at this negative pattern of thinking he is trapped in, “Even though I have only known you for a short time, you have already proved you possess many commendable qualities.”
He finally meets your gaze, raising an inquisitive eyebrow as he seems keen for you to continue.
“You’re a deeply caring and considerate man, that counts for something for a start,” you insist, “Plus, you can fix a blaster or repair a ship better than anyone I’ve ever encountered in all of my years of travelling. You’re great at working with strangers, embracing their cultures and differences even if they are alien to you. You have so many talents, Din. There is an entire galaxy of possibilities out there. Starting fresh is daunting, turning your back on all you have ever known. But if anyone can do it, you can, Din Djarin.”
Din nods slowly, then turns to you with a pained expression, “Will you stay by my side?” he questions.
“Always,” you whisper, without missing a beat.
Din reaches out and takes your hand in his. The gloves are surprisingly soft, the stitching slightly rough and frayed against your skin, thanks to the way he has been fidgeting with them. He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb and softly smiles at you, a demonstration of his appreciation.
“No more running, or hiding,” you nod, “No more exile.”
“No more exile,” Din confirms.
You sit there for a few moments in companionable silence before you lean your head on Din’s shoulder. The beskar of his pauldron is cool beneath your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine both from its frigidity and at the thrill of being so close to him.
The gesture strays dangerously close to crossing a line you have never defined, but when Din does not recoil, you settle into this newfound closeness. The anxiety of before is replaced by tranquillity. Especially as the waves calm down and the clouds begin to part, revealing the sun, which has been attempting to permeate the dense greyness for most of the day.
The sky glows, bronzed by streaks of reddish-orange and amber as the sun begins to disappear beyond the horizon. It is breathtaking. You lean away from his shoulder, glancing at him as if to confirm that he can also see the sight before you, that it is not a figment of your overactive imagination.
You are awestruck by the sight of him. When you happened upon him, brooding and moody as he sat on the edge of the jetty, you thought your Mandalorian companion could not be more magnificent. You are pleased to discover that you were wrong.
Din is bathed in soft, golden light; his tanned skin coppered by the beauty of nature. The deep wrinkles in his face have lessened now, and his lips no longer pouty as they almost threaten to curve into a smile. He is mesmerising.
He catches you red-handed, drinking in his beauty. Din smirks at you, raising an eyebrow as he shakes his head at you. No doubt you will take the heat in the form of plenty of teasing later. For now, his expression grows serious and sentimental and he opens his mouth to address you.
“Thank you,” Din whispers.
“You’re welcome,” you smile.
You would be content to stay in this moment for a while longer, but with darkness rapidly approaching, you need to return to your ship.
As you stand, you reach out and offer your hand to Din, “Come on, we have the rest of our lives to begin.”
Din nods and smiles as you pull him to his feet. He bends down and carefully replaces his helmet before taking your hand once more.
The two of you walk hand-in-hand along the jetty, the waves no longer ferociously crashing at the sides in the fading light. The storm has abated for now, and you reckon you will at least be able to make it back to the ship before another one approaches.
With a smile, you glance at the impressively armoured man by your side. Overwhelmed by relief and gratitude that you could break down those hard emotional walls of his, almost as solid as his beskar’gam , and reach the man below.
As you reach the beach, Din squeezes your hand softly. You are certain that he is returning your smile beneath his helmet. Buoyed by the promise of a future together.
With you to stand by his side and pull him back from the abyss, Din Djarin has returned from exile.