The Razor Crest crashed. Terribly. On a terrible planet. In a terrible system. With a terrible person. Din, not you. Don't worry. But you should worry about the circumstances.

"Where's the---karkin'---blankets!" He cursed loudly, shoving crates aside. You two hadn't even been stranded for long, but Din was already going through the seven stages of grief. Currently, he was in denial. For starters, he hated the cold. But he also hated that he couldn't find blankets or a heater. He also hated you. Triple whammy.