Marriage was not a concept Boba had ever concerned himself with. As a bounty hunter traversing the Galaxy with no set location to call home, he never envisioned himself to settle down and join with someone so intimately nor so vehemently. People came and went in his life—that was just how it was.

His father had never married. At least, not to Boba’s proficiency. Boba didn’t know the first thing about holding a passionate interrelation with another. Let alone binding his entire being to them. Boba was a recluse at heart; he preferred the quiet. The tranquillity was a hymn of his own he had forged over the years.

Then you arrived.

When you first appeared, Boba did what he did best: ignore. He discounted your presence, everything that so much as reminisced about you—from the dewy drizzles of rainfall cascading along petals, to the scintillating lustre of a campfire as it fissured and burst. But, some things were more arduous to spurn than others.

He had estranged you, kept you at arm's length. For your sake, Boba would apprise himself. His position was minacious, and your involvement would only get you hurt, or divert him.

Much to his trepidation, Boba had grown attached. Lingering glances, grazes of skin, stocked thoughts that brimmed with you, instantaneous nerves that he was in no way familiar with—Slowly you became his new hymn, your chiming laughter exuding into the silent lull he was familiar with. And for once, Boba was content with the change.

Marriage gradually seeped into his thoughts, bleeding into his fleeting moments of daydreams. His indifference for it had faded, the mediocrity concerning the topic no longer there. And what an astonishment it was to him when you actually agreed. Especially when you agreed to marry the Mandalorian way.

Even if it was just the two of you, and there’d be no commemoration with flocks of others, Boba didn’t care. The stars would know of your love.

Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.

For all of eternity, you would be one.