Chapter Text
The Mandalorian left Mos Pelgo almost a year ago, and still Cobb relentlessly yearned for the man.
He reminisced about their time spent together before: inviting Din to his home after the Krayt Dragon was slain, taking meals parted by his bedroom door to give Din the chance to eat with him in privacy. And all those nights later on, sharing sweat, their bodies fitting together perfectly, tasting each other's mouths in the dark, Cobb's scarf tied tight around his eyes only adding to the thrill. Then holding each other close, feeling Din's skin and sighing in contented delight. Soft lips at his temple and strong arms around his waist, making him feel like something treasured.
Cobb thinks of the child, how quickly the kid warmed up to him. He thought of how he would read to the little guy before bed so Din could take a shower, hold him close when a nightmare awoke Cobb but not Din. How he'd smile at the kid and know Din was smiling too, under the helmet.
Watching them leave, taking part of his heart with them. Feeling tears fall down his face as a pure, raw ache overtook his whole body.
The Mandalorian had left Cobb with just his name. It was late, just a week before the Mandalorian would finally leave, though neither of them knew it at the time. Panting hard, they were tangled together and sharing heat and breath once more. Cobb knew he'd fallen in love, to his future dismay, and Din wasn't helping by ghosting Cobb's bare chest with soft kisses.
"Damn, Mando," Cobb had said, " You really know how to make a guy feel special."
Din had stopped kissing him then, and moved up to Cobb's face, brushing his lips against Cobb's cheek.
"It's Din," he'd replied, " My name. It's Din Djarin."
Cobb couldn't see him, but he tilted his head down towards Din's voice.
"Din," he'd said breathlessly, smiling.
Din kissed him then, long and hard, and Cobb had felt Din's smile against his own.
Now his nights are spent alone. Again.
His village and his people had greatly benefitted from Din's arrival, and he did too, of course. But where they spoke of the Mandalorian in excitement and thought of him in fondness, Cobb couldn't get the taste of him out of his mouth, couldn't get the feel of Din's touch burning his skin out of his mind, the way his words and his trust and his vulnerability struck deep in Cobb's heart and mended it, stitched it together with his own.
Now, Cobb would sit out on his front step, up until force-forsaken hours of the night, watching the stars glint like the metal of Din's armour. Too many times he'd fallen asleep like that, waking up to the painful suns turning his skin pink. Nothing he couldn't handle; certainly didn't hurt nearly as much as the emptiness inside.
He liked to pretend he didn't look for Din, not anymore. Cobb knew he wasn't coming back. They promised their paths would cross again, but he doubted Din had meant on Tatooine.
Despite that, Cobb could never leave Mos Pelgo. His place was here, and he wasn't able to give that up for a man who couldn't even promise a long life, let alone a life spent with a simple Marshal in an unmarked dust spot on some outer rim planet. As much as he'd like to.
So he'd pretend he didn't look for Din. He must, however, because he saw the man everywhere. Cobb thought that after a while, the disappointment would lessen, would finally leave him be. Instead, it hurt worse every time.