"C'mon, you're not fine," Din utters, gently hovering a hand over your arm, preventing you from stepping away any further.

The Razor Crest's hull is damaged, broken open after a crash on a frozen planet, leaving you and himself exposed to the elements. He insists you lay with him for warmth.

In one swift motion, he has his hand wrapped around your arm, jerking you close until you're practically lying on top of his chest. "Don't be stubborn," he growls, "you need the warmth. We both do."