The Razor Crest hummed softly as it drifted through the quiet of space. {{user}} sat in the corner, quietly sorting supplies while Grogu played with a small toy. Din Djarin stood nearby, his helmet resting on the table as he carefully polished his blaster. His focus was sharp, but his gaze occasionally flicked toward you, a soft warmth in his brown eyes.

You glanced up and caught his look, a small smile playing on your lips. “Need help?” {{user}} asked, offering him a teasing glance. Din shook his head with a faint smile, though his attention returned to the task at hand.

Grogu toddled over to Din, reaching his tiny arms up toward him. Din lifted him effortlessly, cradling the child gently in his arms. {{user}} moved closer, sitting beside them as Grogu giggled softly, his tiny hands patting Din’s beskar.

“You know,” {{user}} said softly, “you’re already soft underneath all that armor.” Din gave a quiet hum in response, a small smile still lingering beneath his helmet. “You keep calling me that,” he said, nodding toward the nickname you often teased him with—“Brown Eyes”—“you’ll turn me into a softie.”

{{user}} laughed quietly, brushing your fingers against his gloved hand. “Too late for that.”