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pentechnics · 3 years

Text

Aloe

Chapter 3 of Latch

Summary: You need to come to terms with your new reality. Lots of changes have been coming all at once, and you trying to embrace them. Conversations with the people around you prove to help you do that more than you expected. Learning more about Din has somehow increased the shadow of mystery surrounding him.

Pairing: Firefighter!Din Djarin x fem!reader (no y/n)

Series content: modern AU, firefighter!Din, coffee shop AU, fluff, slowish burn, sexual tension, mentions of fire/burning buildings, mentions of burn injuries/scars, eventual sexual content (will tag for specific chapters), falling in love, Din is a sexy firefighter, you’re a cute barista/baker, sweet and spicy, eventual mentions of abandoned children (will tag for specific chapters), some bits will be from Din’s POV but most is from reader’s

Notes: Latch is back, babes! And I am excited to share more of this story with you all! I'm sorry if this chapter feels uneventful; I promise all these smaller moments are part of the plan. They'll be worth it! I really appreciate your patience with me as I slowly work my way through my various WIPs; I promise you this story hasn't been getting neglected! I really hope you all enjoy this chapter; please let me know what you think! Thank you so much for all your constant support! Lots of love to you all! ❤️

Taglists under the cut; let me know if you’d like to be added/removed! Also, please tell me if you don't get notified when I tag you. Some folks have been having that issue and I want to make sure I'm at least doing what I can to try fixing it!

“Looks like your bandages are ready to come off,” the doctor said, “though that right arm will need a compression sleeve for a while longer.”

You let out a sigh of relief from your spot on the patient bed. You shivered a bit against the cold of the room, dressed only in a hospital gown.

“Fair warning,” the doctor looked over the rim of her glasses, gaze meeting yours. “I know you’ve seen what the skin looks like while it’s healing, but even now there will be scarring. We did everything we could to reduce how much damage your skin took, but there’s still quite a bit.”

“Okay,” you said with a nod, voice confident despite the pit of anxiety suddenly opening up in your stomach. “I’m ready.”

The doctor nodded and proceeded to remove the bandages. The now somewhat familiar image of pink streaks on your left arm and both legs entered your sight, though they were much less fleshy than they had been in the past. Still very prominent, though. Your right arm was still puffy with the more severe burn right next to your bicep, small blemishes popping up around some of the edges.

The doctor kept the bandages away and pulled out a skin-tone garment.

“This is the compression sleeve. Over time it'll help the texture of your skin and hopefully reduce the swelling and itching you’ve been experiencing. It’ll also help your circulation and keep that arm as active and flexible as possible in the long run.”

You nodded and took in all her words, carefully slipping the sleeve on as per her instructions.

“Wear it at all times except in the shower. You’ll need to hand wash it every day; I’ll send you home with more information about all that. And I’m also going to prescribe a cream to you — apply it once a day to these smaller burns for four weeks, and then go down to once every two days. Feel free to call or come in if anything comes up but if all goes to plan, I’ll see you here in a month to check on them.”

Her words registered in your brain, but your mind was occupied. You hadn’t realized how… altered your appearance was now. You were never one to care about conventional beauty, no, your worries laid elsewhere. You could already imagine every other customer coming into the shop and staring at your scars, curiosity dripping from their expression, debating whether or not to ask about them. In your line of work, that was going to get really old really fast.

“How does that sound?”

Your head snapped up to find the doctor awaiting your response.

“Yes, that sounds good. Thank you so much, doctor.”

She nodded.

“Don’t worry about them, hon. Over time they’ll become more faded.”

You tenderly brushed your fingers over the pink streaks on your arm. They were dry, somewhat rubbery to the touch.

“But they’ll probably still feel like this, right?”

“The cream should help with that.”

You sighed and thanked her again. Before letting you go she gave you a referral to speak with a psychiatrist.

“Your physical therapy is over now,” she said, “but as an extra measure I’d recommend making an appointment with our psychiatrist. You’ve been through a lot, and they’ll help you process it.”

The idea rubbed you weirdly, but you agreed nonetheless. As you wrapped up your visit, replacing your clothes and making your way out with the prescription, extra compression sleeve, and written instructions from your doctor in hand, you were suddenly far too aware of the people you passed. Even though you were wearing full-length pants and a jacket over your short-sleeve, the little scar at the base of your neck was still exposed.

This was going to take a lot of getting used to.

~~~~

Your first shift at Cal’s after that appointment was the following afternoon. Even though you couldn’t stop thinking about your exposed arms, no one had made any comments. And if anyone was caught staring, Omera went out of her way to block their view of you. Your heart warmed at her generosity.

She took over the counter when Kuiil called you into the kitchen.

“Today, we’re making three different cookie recipes. Please take some eggs out of the fridge.”

You nodded and did as you were told, curious about what sort of cookies Kuiil wanted to make. When you returned he had you begin on a snickerdoodle dough while he started a chocolate chip one. You watched as he worked; his movements were so clean and confident. Yours seemed clumsy in comparison. Beyond the fact that he was obviously a seasoned baker, you knew very little about his background.

“Kuiil, how long have you been baking?”

“All my life,” he said while mixing the chocolate chips into the dough. “I grew up with a mother that adored baking for the family. She taught me all the tricks I use today.”

You rolled up small balls of snickerdoodle dough as he continued to speak.

“When I served in the military, I often made treats for my comrades when we had some off time. It gave them a reason to smile, and it helped me escape the situation.”

You nodded. Kuiil had briefly mentioned his time in the military in past discussions, but he didn’t stay on the topic for long. You looked up and saw a scar on the side of his head: a dark streak that ran from the back of his cheek onto his neck. You assumed it was from those days. You’d noticed it on the day you met him, but didn’t give it a second thought.

“The military was not my place, but at the time it was my only choice,” he straightened up and stuck two full baking sheets in the industrial fridge to chill. You followed him with two more to hand off.

“As much as my mother gave me, there were things even she could not provide. I joined the service so she wouldn’t worry about paying for my schooling.”

“That was a brave thing to do, but I’m sorry it wasn’t under better circumstances.”

You didn’t know what else to say. How do you address something so deep, so removed from anything you’ll ever experience? He didn’t give you much time to contemplate it before he nodded and guided you back to the kitchen island to start the third dough.

“Sometimes things occur in life that change us, whether we ask for it or not. What matters is how we treat our new selves.”

His words reverberated through your head, intermingling with your thoughts from the other day. You looked down at your scars and took a deep breath. You smiled. The comfort in his words helped cushion your anxieties, and gave you hope that life with these marks maybe wouldn’t be as dramatically bad as you’d imagined.

“This next dough is an old recipe of mine. I came up with it during my time in the service.”

Your brow raised with intrigue.

“What kind of cookies will they be?”

“Cinnamon hazelnut.”

“That sounds amazing,” you said. How often were those flavors combined, after all?

He walked you through each step, giving you pointers and guidance along the way. But apart from that you were the one primarily making the dough. Delight filled your heart at the trust he placed in you.

You hoped they’d turn out okay.

~~~~

When the cookies were all placed in the oven to bake, Kuiil sent you back out to help Omera. You helped her finish an order just as another customer walked through the door. He looked vaguely familiar; you weren’t sure if it was because you were all too used to that firefighter uniform, or if you’d actually met him before.

But he seemed to know you. Upon seeing you his eyes lit up and he gestured your way.

“Hey, it’s you again!”

“Hello!” you replied with a smile. “Do I know you?”

“Not really — I wasn’t on the job but I heard all about you from the folks at the station.”

Your heart skipped a beat; did Din talk about you at work? You weren’t sure if you should be flattered or concerned.

Plenty of other firefighters were involved, silly, you said to yourself. Could’ve been any of them.

You assured Omera that you could take this order and guided the firefighter to the register to ring it up.

“What’s your name?”

“Mayfeld. Miggs Mayfeld,” he said. You shook his hand and introduced yourself.

“I work pretty closely with Mando. Man, did he have eyes for you the other day.”

“... Mando?” you asked with a tilt of your head, confusion flooding your head as you started on the drinks.

“Oh, sorry — that’s what everyone calls Din at the station.”

“Ah,” you nodded.

You ignored the other bit he’d said in favor of focusing on the half-made mocha in front of you.

“Is there a reason you all call him ‘Mando?’”

“Not a super glorious one or anything.” Mayfeld started with a shrug. “Some of us are pretty into Star Wars, and we’re convinced he’d be a Mandalorian in that universe. So, we call him Mando.”

“That’s actually really sweet,” you said as you got started on the next drink: a chai latte. “What about you, then, what’s your kyber color?”

Mayfeld raised a brow at you before snickering.

“Okay, you just got a lot cooler.”

You laughed.

The two of you made small talk from there, talking a bit more about Star Wars before shifting to other topics.

“I actually saw your boss on TV the other day. Greef Karga, right?”

“Yes,” you set down the creamer and gave Mayfeld your full attention. Karga hadn’t told you anything about doing a news interview.

“Mentioned that you all are gonna rebuild the store yourselves? That’s a pretty intense move.”

You nodded. Seems as though Karga had made the final decision to go with that plan. You’d need to call him at some point, see what else he’s gone ahead with doing.

“Our chief mentioned it at a meeting we had this morning, asked if anyone on the squad wanted to help out. Put together a whole team to send your way.”

“That’s so kind of you all,” you said, exasperated as you took in his words. “You’ve all already done so much for us.”

“We were just doin’ our jobs, sweetie. But the real person you should be thanking is Mando. His hand shot up so quick when it got brought up,” Mayfeld laughed, “Chief ended up making him head of the team.”

Your brow shot up. Questions arose in your mind surrounding why Din would be so eager to get involved. Mayfeld let out a little sigh.

“I don’t think some of the folks that volunteered would’ve done it if he didn’t.”

“Why do you say that?” you asked.

“Well,” he sighed. “There’s just somethin’ about that guy that makes you want to believe in him, makes you want to follow him. Even into a blazing fire.”

He went silent for a moment, gaze wandering down to the countertop.

“He’s a good guy.”

You smiled. That much was obvious to you at this point, but there was something else behind Mayfeld’s words. Something deeper. You wanted to know more.

Before you could ask any questions, the two of you heard faint sirens. Your head snapped to the window. The sound grew louder as a fire engine raced through the intersection beside the shop, cars pulling off to the side to make way. Your eyes followed it until it was out of sight, your ears locked on the sound of the siren until it ebbed away.

“Damn, they must’ve just gotten a call.”

“Is it okay that you’re not there?”

“Oh yeah,” Mayfeld waved a hand at you. “Our unit is huge. And since it was only one rig, it sounds like a job that one company can handle.”

You didn’t fully understand some of the terms he was using, but you nodded along anyway. You wondered if Din was in that truck, jetting off to help whichever unfortunate soul needed it today. An idea sparked in your head and you hopped over to the bakery display.

Along with the other pastries from Mayfeld’s order, you plucked out an extra one and placed it in a bag before scribbling a name onto it. You grinned to yourself before standing back up and guiding Mayfeld to the farthest corner of the counter to collect his order.

“Here we are,” you said as you walked through each drink and baked good he’d ordered. You slipped the extra one in along with the rest of the bags, hoping it wouldn’t catch too much attention.

“Thank you very much,” Mayfeld said while piling everything into his arms. “You’ve been most lovely to chat with. I can see why Mando likes you.”

Without another word he was gone. Gone, leaving you with endless possibilities of what that parting sentiment meant.

~~~~

Din climbed out of the rig with a huff, immediately getting to work with the rest of the company to check the hoses, fire suits, and other important equipment they used on the job. His arms protested each movement, sore from lifting the hose to douse the grass fire they’d been called to put out. In the end the fire wasn’t a big one; it didn’t take long before they successfully contained it. They were back at the station within the hour.

He was grateful for jobs like this. Small and out of the way of hurting anyone, with cooperative traffic and weather conditions helping the team eliminate the danger. They were rare; half the job depended solely on luck, after all. Din was glad it was on their side today.

When the equipment was checked and replaced as needed, Din walked into the station and settled down at a nearby fold-up chair and table. He took a deep breath, letting the remnants of his adrenaline peeter through his system and out of his fingertips. Even though this job was an easy one, it didn’t mean he didn’t immediately seize up when the alarm went off, or that he wasn’t anxious the entire ride over. No matter how many calls they got, the unpredictability of each situation left too much to the imagination.

He sighed. Times like this had him wishing he could bring Grogu to work with him. Seeing that bubbly little face would instantly relieve the stress on his shoulders. Maybe he couldn’t have that, but he could do the next best thing.

He stood and headed to the locker room, opening up his bag and retrieving his phone. He clicked the screen to life and unlocked the device, revealing a photo of his happy, laughing little baby as his home screen. Tiny brown tufts of hair were beginning to grow on his head, and his big brown eyes peered back at Din.

He smiled as the tension started to lift from his frame.

His peace lasted all but a minute before the door clambered open behind him.

“Here you are, Goo-Goo Eyes! I was lookin’ for you.”

Mayfeld.

Din tried his best to mask his annoyance at being interrupted as he put his phone away and turned to face his visitor.

“What is it?”

“Sorry to bug you, pal, I just have a delivery.”

Mayfeld held up a small paper bag. Din accepted it with a furrowed brow.

“I didn’t order anything,”

“I know. I think your… friend at Cal’s snuck it into the order for you.”

Din peered at the black letters spelling his name on the bag before peeking inside.

He couldn't help smiling at the fluffy muffin sitting inside. It was definitely from you. How’d you even know if he was working today, he wondered.

“Ah- there’s the eyes again!”

Din’s scowl returned in full force when he looked up at Mayfeld, who held his hands up and backed away.

“Just sayin’. Not a bad thing. They’re cute, actually. You should wear ‘em more often.”

Mayfeld didn’t leave room for Din to react before leaving the room. He sighed and closed up his locker, tensing his muscles to keep the heat from Mayfeld’s comment away from his cheeks. He took his muffin and made his way into the break room, settling at a table and taking a bite.

It was another honey muffin, but it tasted different from the one he tried before; maybe you didn’t bake this batch, he thought to himself.

Regardless, each bite reminded him of your warmth and grace during his visit to Cal’s. The image of your smiling face entered his mind, bringing him a sense of peace, and another strong urge to see you again.

~~~~

You were settled on your couch later that evening, book in hand and blanket draped over your legs. As per usual, your books were your salvation. Reading took away your anxieties, frustrations, and fatigue in record time. For years it was your preferred method of winding down and preparing for the night.

Today’s adventure was taking place in medieval France; The Last Duel told the story of the last officially recognized judicial combat in the country. One man, Jean de Carrouges, fought another, Jacques Le Gris, to the death to decide the outcome of a criminal accusation brought on by Jean’s wife, Marguerite. Understanding the backstory and customs of the time and getting to know the main players was something this author seemed to really be stressing with the book’s narrative, and you were completely engrossed.

This book wasn’t something you’d typically read; historical fiction had a very small, selective space on your bookshelf. But when a new shipment came in for the Mark a few months back that included this one, you were immediately intrigued. It was a reprint, originally published a decent while ago.

You regretted not buying all the books that had caught your eye in the time prior to the Mark going down. Once it returned, you promised yourself, you wouldn’t take the Mark for granted. But for now an order from bookshop.org had to suffice; you refused to let Amazon or even Barnes and Noble profit from the poor Mark’s demise.

You were loving every bit of this book. So much so that you didn’t notice the hours going by as you read. The sun slowly dipped under the horizon, casting various hues of purple and blue into the sky, and making the words on the page increasingly hard to see. You reached over to turn on the lamp that stood next to the couch, eyes not leaving the book.

You yelped a bit when your arm extended too far and you tumbled over, finally bringing your attention back to the world around you.

Your apartment was cloaked in the fleeting reflections of a dusk just gone, lights from the buildings around your apartment beginning to glow and cast their yellow shadows. You chuckled to yourself; this was confirmation that you’d picked a really good book. You put Jean, Jacques, and Marguerite down on the couch and rose to turn on the lights and shut the blinds.

When you went into the kitchen to grab a snack, the faint sound of a siren caught your attention. It wasn’t so close that you’d be able to see it from your window, but the baritone honking that accompanied it told you it was a fire truck. Your muscles tightened. Your body went still. For a moment, you held your breath.

Vivid scenes of the fire suddenly assaulted your head. Flames steadily growing, devouring the endless shelves of books as they went. You ushering people out the door. Ash filling the air.

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. It’s not really there, you said to yourself.

I’m okay. I’m not in danger.

You slowly let your breath out. You stayed put for another few minutes and recentered yourself. When you opened your eyes, the noise of the siren was gone. You took a deep breath and proceeded with getting your snack.

You hoped that incident would be another small one.

~~~~

You were pleasantly surprised when Din showed up in Cal’s at the end of the week.

It had been almost two weeks since the first time he came in, but only about twenty minutes since the last time you thought about him. You wondered if he’d come by again, and scolded the way you’d search the doorway every now and then to see if he’d pop up, as if you could summon him whenever you wanted. Now that he was actually here, you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered while he grinned at you from across the counter.

“Good to see you,” you said with a smile. “Have you been well?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said as he took a seat on a barstool. “And yourself?”

“Yeah, same old stuff,” you said with a little laugh. “What can I get for you?”

He took a breath as he examined the menu above your head, a calmer demeanor covering his face than the last time he was here.

“I’d like to try that black mango tea you recommended last time.”

Your smile grew. You were surprised he remembered that.

“Okay! Hot or iced?”

He paused for a beat, giving you a small onceover before responding.

“Hot.”

You ignored the heat rising to your face from the small rasp of his voice, coupled with the tiny downward twitch of his brow, instead focusing on ringing up the order and getting right to work on the drink.

‘Don’t read into it,’ you thought to yourself, ‘there’s nothing there. My god, remember to breathe, please.’

You took a deep breath as you poured the boiling water into a mug, the tea bag flopping about as you did so. After adding some sweetener and a bit of cream, you placed the drink in front of Din.

“Here we go, one black mango tea. Careful though, it’s still hot.”

He thanked you and wrapped a hand around the mug. You smiled and took in his presence: he was in a hoodie today, black t-shirt poking out from the top of its zipper. His hair was its usual messy self. You liked it, it made him seem more approachable.

You tried your damnedest not to linger on his neck. It was so defined, so inviting. Your gaze dipped lower to where his clavicle teased its presence above his shirt’s neckline. Your eyes went a bit lower, admiring the way his clothes stretched over his pecs.

You bit your lip and wondered just how chiseled that chest was, especially given the way his fire uniform really stretched its protest whenever you saw it.

You shook the thought away and cleared your throat, trying to breathe through your sudden hot flash.

“And, uh, thank you for the other day.”

You were grateful for the way his voice pulled you back to the moment, but you furrowed your brow, unsure of what he was referring to.

“I got your muffin. You didn’t have to do that.”

A small ‘ah’ escaped your lips as you recalled your little gift. You shrugged.

“Kuiil baked them that day. Since I had the chance, I wanted you to be able to try it.”

“Well, it was a welcomed surprise.”

“Was it a long day that day?” you asked with a smile. He gave a small nod.

“Nothing too big, but it was long.”

“Oh- were you on the fire truck that day? The one that drove right down here?”

You pointed outside along the stretch of the intersection where you and Mayfeld had watched the truck blaze by. Din glanced behind him before giving you another nod.

“Yes.”

He did not elaborate. Instead he took a hesitant sip of his tea, making a silent show of testing its temperature.

Probably better not to ask, you thought to yourself. But a strange, unfamiliar sense of curiosity filled your gut. It was icky, like you wanted to know the details, but at the same time understood that knowing would probably make you feel worse.

“Was it serious?”

The question spilled out before you could think about it. Din looked up, locking his gaze with yours. You saw reluctance, caution, and something else you couldn’t identify. He let out a small breath through his nose.

“No. Thankfully, it wasn’t that bad. We got there in time to take care of it.”

He stopped there. And probably with good reason, you figured. Maybe he’s not supposed to share this kind of information. Or maybe he just didn’t want to spend his day off talking about work. You gave him a nod and decided not to press for more information.

That sickly feeling remained, clawing at your insides, like an incessant pet waiting to be fed. You gulped and tried to quell its call.

“Hey- that’s not good for them.”

Your head snapped back to Din, who was gesturing at your arm. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d begun itching at your exposed burns. You withdrew your fingers and smoothed your palm over the area.

“Thank you,” you said, “I didn’t realize what I was doing.”

He nodded. “I get it.”

You took in his eyes once more; your shoulders deflated as their brown hue filled you with comfort once again. And this time it seemed as though you were looking in deeper. You saw concern, curiosity, and more caution glimmering in his gaze.

You wondered what was worrying him. He glanced away for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Does that happen a lot? You scratching them like that?”

His question was gentle, voice breathy. You glanced at your arm before shrugging.

“Most of the time I’m aware enough when they’re itchy, and I can stop myself. But I guess I slipped up.”

You recalled the past few nights. As per the doctor’s instructions, you’d been applying the cream once a day, but at night…

The nightmares didn’t always accompany the sudden surge of pain in your arms or legs. But when they did, and those images of blazing buildings and burning wood pelting you from above haunted your mind’s eye, you’d wake up in a cold sweat. The pain was sometimes all-consuming. But you couldn’t put more cream on until the next day, so you’d lay there, helpless. And there was no one there to burst in and carry you out of your own thoughts.

You looked back at Din, who was sipping his tea with more confidence. He returned his attention to you when he noticed your movement.

“Can I, um... “ you stopped yourself. Was this an appropriate question to ask? Would he even have an answer? “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Not an ounce of hesitation from him. You took a deep breath, the tiny wave of relief quelling your anxiety.

“You may or may not know, and that’s totally fine, but I thought you might be a good person to ask.”

He nodded and motioned for you to continue.

“So… the doctor prescribed a cream for these burns,” you motioned to your arm, “and basically I’m supposed to put it on once a day. But sometimes they act up when I’ve already done it for the day. And I was wondering if you knew how I could go about…”

“... helping that?”

You nodded. He gave you a small, understanding grin. He sat up and leaned towards you.

“Here’s what you do — get a bottle of aloe vera gel, and keep it in your fridge. When it… acts up,” he raised a brow, as if there was a hidden meaning in those words. “Grab the aloe and put some of it on them. Not only does it feel nice and cool, but it’ll also calm you down.”

You took in his instructions, committing them to memory.

“And then have some water before you try sleeping again.”

You furrowed your brow. Had you mentioned that it happened in the middle of the night? Or did he just…

Your mind wandered. This was way too precise to have not been his personal experience. You mentally facepalmed; it seemed like an inevitable reality that he’d have some kind of burn given his occupation.

But you still wondered why he seemed to understand your experience so intimately. You pushed the fresh questions aside and gave him a firm nod.

“Thank you. Really, that’s very helpful.”

He nodded back. “I hope it gets better.”

You smiled. Mayfeld’s words suddenly played in your mind:

‘He’s a good guy.’

He really is, you thought.

Thinking of Mayfeld had you remembering the rest of that conversation. A glimmer of mischief rose from within as your grin spread wider across your face. You leaned on the counter.

“You know, I learned something pretty interesting from your friend that day, when you got your muffin.”

Din’s brow scrunched at your new tone.

“And that was... ?”

He slowly raised his mug up for another sip. You couldn’t help smirking.

“I heard some of you would be helping out with the Mark's rebuild.”

Din hummed as he took a gulp of tea, nodding as he set the mug down. The sound was deep, and sent a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah, Chief Fett told us about it and we wanted to help.”

“Yeah? I heard you were especially eager to get involved.”

Din gave you a confused look for a moment before sighing and running a hand down his face.

“Damn that Mayfeld,” he mumbled. You giggled.

“It’s sweet, really,” you said, “It’s definitely not something you have to do.”

“I know,” he said. He looked back at you, eyes growing soft. “It’s something we want to do.”

You smiled. While you still wondered what it was that had him so excited, butterflies threatened to burst from your gut at the thought of asking.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments instead, Din taking the occasional sip of his tea.

“Hey- any idea what that’ll look like, by the way? Chief didn’t have many details for us at the meeting.”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure,” you started, trying to piece what you knew of Karga’s plan together in your head. “I think Karga will have more concrete information when he signs with the contractors. He hasn’t updated us in a while.”

Din nodded, then gave a little shrug.

“Fett gave me his information, I just haven’t had a chance to call yet.”

You made an ‘o’ shape with your mouth as the gears in your brain began to turn.

“You know, I’ll talk to Karga about this to make sure, but it might just be easier if he gives me the info to pass along to you. I see you all pretty often anyway, and from here I could pop by if there’s an update.”

Din’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. Though he quickly averted his gaze and cleared his throat.

“Um, either way is fine by me. Whatever’s easier. But-”

He reached for a napkin.

“Could I borrow a pen?”

You nodded and handed him one from behind the register. He scribbled something on the napkin — ripping it in the process, which had you biting down a giggle as he grunted — and handed it to you.

“That’s my number. Instead of going out of your way, you could just…” he gestured at it with an awkward little shrug.

“... text you?” you offered.

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh.

You glanced between him and the napkin. Then it dawned on you — pretty firefighter man just gave you his number.

Shit.

Tingles erupted from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. What were you supposed to do with this?

Give him updates about the construction, dummy. What else would you do?

You took a breath and smiled at him. You held up a finger to him and disappeared to the back to retrieve your phone. When you returned you unlocked it and plugged his number into it before sending him a text.

“There we go, now you’ve got mine, too.”

On cue his phone dinged in his pocket and he fished it out. He chuckled as he looked at the message.

“Cookies or brownies?’ That’s an interesting question.”

“Just making conversation,” you said with a laugh. “Which would you pick?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a sweet tooth,” he said, pocketing the phone once more. “Can’t say I’ve had much of either one.”

“Fair enough, sweets aren’t for everyone. How about…” you tapped your chin, trying to come up with a different question. After a moment, you snapped your fingers.

“Pasta or pizza?”

Din’s brows shot up.

“Really?”

You nodded. Din just stared at you for what felt like an eternity, before a small chuckle left his lips.

“You do realize that’s an impossible comparison though, right?”

You laughed. The two of you went back and forth on the issue, Din raising the point that there were several kinds of both dishes, some more complex than others, and that it depended on the situation in question. As much as you tried to simplify it, he insisted he ‘could not pit two superior foods against each other.’ You just shook your head and accused him of being indecisive.

His smile in that moment was a little bigger than what you’d seen up to then, his teeth poking out from his pink lips. His eyes smiled as well, wrinkling just a bit at the corners, irises shining. His face had a new radiant energy about it, which made your smile grow in response.

“What about you, then,” he said, “original question: cookies or brownies?”

You scowled. There was no way you could make the same argument for these two desserts, no matter how true it may be. You hummed while you gave it some thought.

“I think I’d pick cookies. They’re my go-to more often than brownies.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod.

Before he could continue, his phone went off once more.

“Shit-” he murmured, staring down at the screen. He looked back up at you, sadness etched into his features.

“Time to head out?” you asked. He nodded.

“Thank you for the tea. You were right — it was very good.”

“Thank you for coming in,” you said with a smile. “I really enjoyed seeing you again.”

“Likewise.”

He stood and held your gaze for an extra moment, as if he were going to say something else. His lips parted just a bit before he leaned off the counter with a sigh.

“Until next time.”

With a final nod he was out the door, walking into the bright afternoon light. Your eyes lingered on his figure until it was out of sight.

You took a deep breath, only just noticing how much your heart was racing. You looked down at the phone still in your hands, still open to the message feed with Din. Then your gaze traveled to the ripped napkin on the counter with his number scribbled on it. You folded up and stuck it in your pocket. Did that really just happen? He gave you his number?

You smiled and pocketed the phone, returning your attention to your job with a new skip in your step.

No matter what you were doing, those deep brown eyes danced along your vision for the rest of the day.

~~~~

You awoke with a start.

Your muscles were tense, a painful tingle crawling through your veins. A cold sweat coated your skin and made you shiver.

The burns on your legs and left arm were seething with red, angry pain.

Your room was pitch black, save for the faint glow of your night light. You took deep breath after deep breath, trying desperately to ease your pulsating heart.

After an excruciating amount of minutes, the last of the panic seeped through your fingertips and you sat up with a sigh. You grabbed your phone from the side table and pulled up the lockscreen; it was 4AM.

You sat there for a few more moments, steadying your breathing and trying to keep more painful memories from playing back in your mind. You ran a gentle hand across one of the streaks on your arm; the cool touch from your finger brought some reprieve before the area began to sting again.

That’s when Din’s voice entered your mind:

‘Grab the aloe and put some on them. Not only does it feel nice and cool, but it’ll also calm you down.’

You thankfully had purchased a bottle of the gel and stuck it in the fridge that very same day. You went into the kitchen and retrieved it.

As you stood on the cold tile, the even colder bottle seeping its perspiration into your skin, you shivered.

Note to self, you thought, remember your slippers next time.

You squeezed some gel onto your finger and rubbed slow circles onto your burns. Din was right; the cool substance extinguished the pain after a few moments, dulling it out to a much smaller sensation. One you were used to by now. You breathed in the calming scent, a little smile creeping onto your face.

Once each irritated burn had some gel on it, you replaced the bottle in the fridge. But just as you made to exit the kitchen, Din’s voice echoed in your mind once more:

‘And then have some water before you try sleeping again.’

You backtracked and did exactly that before heading back to bed.

Once you were able to get back to sleep, the nightmares stayed away, making way for more comforting, honey-sweet dreams.

****

Extra notes: The Last Duel by Eric Jager is 100% a real book that I absolutely recommend as long as you are okay with some of its more intense material. I finished it a couple weeks ago and still have not stopped thinking about it! Also, if you'd like more information about the firefighter terms I've been using, this link has a great little crash course! Love you all! ❤️

Latch taglist: @the-scandalorian @tobealostwanderer @captain-jebi @prismaticpizza @kesskirata @sunipostsstuff @jaa1682-27 @onebrownoneblue @fangirlalexia @tortles

perm taglist: @booksarekindaneat @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @bluemacaron @whataenginerd @girlofchaos @christina-loves @librariantothejedi-deactivated2 @literallydontlook @the-little-ewok

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mandalorian fanfiction #mando x you #latch #my writing

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