My eyes flutter open to the sound of a groan next to me. It sounds pained, weak, tired. 

I struggle to recall... anything. 

Where am I?

What day is it?

What the fuck happened?

My eyes open fully to take in my surroundings. It's very dark out, so there's not much to see, but I stare straight up- up into the underside of a starfighter. Memories of the previous night flood into my brain, forcing me to relive each second of it all. Even the agonizingly hard ones.

Why am I waking up? I was supposed to stay awake. I sigh at myself angrily.

A groan escapes his lips, willing my gaze to the right to fall upon my metal man. He moves slightly, finally showing signs of progress. He shifts his torso ever so slightly and groans quietly from the pain. 

"Try not to move," I tell him. I let out a small sigh of relief, knowing he's going to be okay. As long as he's awake and conscious, he'll be fine. His head shifts side to side before turning to his left to look at me laying next to him in the dirt. 

"Wha-" he starts. His hand lifts up from the ground on either side of him and travels swiftly to the wound on his back.

"Hey, take it easy. No touching," I tell him. I pick myself up off the ground and lean toward him, putting my hand on the back of his and guide it away from the wound. He swipes my hand away from his and lifts himself up to a sitting position before I can protest. He groans softly.

"How- how long has it been?" he asks me, sounding out of breath. I'm not sure of the answer. I told myself to stay awake to make sure I kept him safe, but I failed. I have no idea how long it's been. A few hours? A whole day? 

"About two hours," I tell him. I get up farther to match his seated position. He looks me up and down a couple times before grabbing my arm gently in his hands.

"Let me clean you up," he says, noticing the deep gashes on each of my arms. I wanted to save the bacta for him, so I just cleaned up the blood on myself and covered my wounds with a few thin pieces of cloth. My flesh wounds are not at the top of my priority list at the moment.

"No, I'm fine. Let me see your back- it probably needs another coat of bacta by now." I try to pull my arm away from him, but he tightens his grip.

"After." 

"Din-"

"After." 

Din lets go of my arm and puts his hands on the ground to try to get himself on his feet. He groans again, but this time loudly. The muscles in his back need more time to heal before he tries to carry the weight of himself. 

"Din, stop," I command him, this time sternly. He surprisingly listens and plops himself back down onto the ground with a grunt. I reach into the bag I brought down here with me and pull out the extra bottles of bacta. Without hesitation, he takes them from me and grabs my arm again. 

"Any suture tape?" he asks me. I shake my head, knowing it would be helpful to use to keep the gashes closed while the bacta does its thing. I used the last of the tape on his wound in my initial panic.

He sighs then brings his right hand to his helmet, then reaches under it toward where his mouth would be. His hand slides out of his black and yellow leather glove slowly. He drops the glove from his teeth into his lap and does the same with his other hand. 

My eyes are wide watching him in the dark, trying to make sure I get every glimpse of him as I can.

He grabs hold of my forearm and brings it close to his visor, presumably to take a closer look at my wounds. He touches a button on the side of his helmet and leans in close. Then, he uses his fingers to pinch together my wounds as he sprays bacta on them, one by one. He waits until the bacta seals the skin together before moving on to the next, pausing each time to look at me to make sure I'm okay.

His fingers are tanned and rough looking; the hands of a working man. They're lightly calloused and dry at the fingertips, but seemingly well manicured. He's clearly quite hygienic, judging just by his hands. 

The higher up my arm he goes, the more the pinching stings. Once he's reached the meatier part of my upper tricep, I wince slightly. His head whips upward to look me in the eyes.

"Should I stop?" he asks.

"No, I'm fine," I reassure him. He doesn't take his gaze from me for a few seconds, making sure I mean it. Then, he returns to his work. Gingerly, he continues sealing each one of the wounds on my arms. 

Once he's satisfied with his work, he takes one final look at all of them. "Beautiful," he says. I'm not sure if he's complimenting my arms or his work, but the sentiment makes me smile and blush feverishly. I'm glad it's still dark.

"My turn. Let me see," I say, desperate to get his eyes off of my red-hot cheeks. He waits a beat or two before turning around to let me get to his wound. He lets out another few grunts as his muscles contract, sending shockwaves of pain throughout his back. 

Earlier, I left the back plate of his armor off for easy access to the wound. I lift his shirt to examine how it's healing. The bacta closed the wound, thankfully, but the area is bruised and, I think, bright red.

"How could you see my wounds? I can barely see what's going on in the dark."

"Optical filters in the helmet."

"Oh, so you have night vision, too?" I say with some sass.

"And thermal vision," he informs me. I don't reply, but he continues, "I could see you blushing before." I stop moving and my heart drops to my toes, but a smile widens on my face.

"Come on, dude," I push him playfully. He chuckles softly. "Not fair! I'm not allowed to even see your face, but you can scan every detail about mine?!" I tease. 

He giggles softly, trying to keep his emotions relatively tame so as to keep his muscles from contracting too much. He takes a deeper breath and says under his breath, "some day."

"I can't do much in the dark," I tell him. "I can barely see the wound itself. I can't really tell color, either." I push his shirt back down to cover the wound, "I'm going to try to find a flashlight in the ship. You stay put."

I crawl out from underneath the wing of the ship and stand up straight in the fresh air. The temperature has definitely dropped since the sun fell beneath the horizon. It's not cold, though. It's refreshing and crisp. I take a deep breath, basking in the feeling and closing my eyes to truly take it all in. 

It's been an eventful few hours. Taking a second to breathe feels critical.

I open my eyes and take a look around. It's not nearly as dark as I had assumed it was. The covers over our makeshift tent must block out a great deal of light. Whatever moon orbits this planet is quite bright in the night sky, casting a faint level of light across the desert. Enough that I can make out shapes and general structures in the distance. 

I put a halt to my sight-seeing and climb up the side of the starfighter. The hatch hisses open as per usual, and I drop inside. It doesn't take me long to locate the small flashlight strapped underneath the dash at the pilot's seat. I grab it and exit the ship. 

I land with a thud and grab hold of the tent fabric before lifting it to the side. I crouch down and make my way inside again. My eyes are met with the completely bare back of Din.

"Uhh?" I stupidly say out loud. He's still sat in the same spot I left him in, only without a shirt on. My eyes rest on the view of him, getting high off the sight. 

"It's cold," he says. I snap out of my trance and realize I'm still holding the tent open, letting all of the warm air escape. I let go of the fabric in haste, but drop the flashlight in doing so. I awkwardly chuckle as I bend down to pick it back up.

How embarrassing. He makes me flustered.

I stumble over to him and sit on the ground behind him. I grip the flashlight in my left hand and hit the button on the back to switch it on. I illuminate Din's wound with it.

It's very bruised, clearly indicating internal bleeding. The center of it is a dark red-purple. The father outwards it goes, the less purple and more red it becomes. The skin looks to be fully intact, though, so that's a fantastic sign. 

"Internal bleeding, I think," I inform him. "Big, dark bruise over the whole thing."

"Dank farrik," he says aggressively. 

"We can just soak it in bacta. It'll clear up in a few days- no biggie," I suggest.

"We don't have a few days to waste," he says. He sighs frustratedly. "What about a hypodermic?"

"A shot?" I ask, confused. 

"Bacta won't do any good on the outside. Inject it inside."

"Is that safe?" I ask. I don't ever recall hearing that it was safe to inject bacta. It's always been more of a surface level treatment.

"Why wouldn't it be?" 

I exit the tent once more and make my way into the ship to find a medical needle swiftly. I return to my spot behind Din and say, "Are you sure about this?"

"There's only one way to find out," he says. Very reassuring. 

The needle comes wrapped in a sterile bag. I peel open the plastic and take it out careful not to touch anything with it. I stick the needle into the vile of bacta and start drawing out the liquid into the syringe. 

"How much should I use?"

"Not too much," he says. I draw the liquid to the line marked "2". I'm not sure what that means, but it looks like a good amount to me.

"Right into the center?" I ask. I wish I had clear instructions. He nods his head.

I put the now half-empty bottle of bacta down at my side and position the flashlight to shine on Din's back. I bring the syringe over to the wound and position the needle at the center of the bruise. I put my free hand on the surface of his back to steady myself. 

His skin feels hot to the touch, like he's generating enough heat to boil some tea or something. The surface of his skin is also very smooth. He feels like he's been baking in the sun all day. 

"You ready?" I ask him. He nods his head one more time and I push the tip of the needle into the skin at the center of the bruise slowly.

He grunts as the needle breaks through the surface. Every muscle fiber in his back tightens in response. I watch as muscular ripples appear all throughout his back. His spine straightens the farther I push the needle in, causing him to sit up straighter.

He lets out a faint whimper that turns into a quiet wail. Even more muscles bulge out of his back as he tightens his shoulders and arms, trying to keep from crying out. It was painful just to move too suddenly for him earlier. I can only imagine what pain this is causing...

I push down on the plunger of the syringe as quickly as I can, desperate to end the suffering he's in. I take my eyes away from the task at hand for a moment to check him. I can't see his facial expression, but I can see he's craned his neck to look straight up, clearly not having fun. His ungloved left hand grips his beskar-covered thigh so hard his knuckles have turned white. 

The veins in his forearms protrude from his soft looking skin. A sheen of sweat coats him and glistens in the minimal light I have available to me. Every detail of him that my eyes can find make my heart flutter. Sculptures could be crafted to represent this man, but none would live up to the reality of how beautiful he is.

Focus, Koda.

Once the plunger has reached the end of its descent, I pull the needle out from Din's skin. As soon as it's out, Din releases the intense flex he held. 

"You okay?" I ask him, worried.

He breathes deeply, unable to fully catch his breath yet, "yeah, I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" He nods his head as he drops it into his palms. I put the bacta and syringe to the side and grab him by the shoulders, guiding him to turn to face me. "We still have a few hours of darkness left. Let's get some rest and start again when the sun comes up."

"Inside the ship."

"Huh?"

"We sleep in the ship," he declares.

"Alright, but you're gonna have to help me get you in there." He nods again and starts crawls his way out from underneath the wing of the ship. I toss our belongings inside the ship and then climb on top. I stick my hand out, waiting for Din to grab hold.

He grips my forearm and uses every ounce of strength within him to climb the side of the ship. I plant my feet and pull as hard as I can, still sore from dragging his body up the hill earlier. Once he's up, he wastes no time dropping his body into the pilots seat and reclining the chair all the way to the floor.

"Shirt?" It's very unlike him to not have a shirt on. I'm not complaining, though. 

"Sweating. And sleepy." Within seconds his body is limp once again, entering what looks like a killer nap.  I shrug my shoulders and follow suit, climbing over him to settle into my seat behind his. 

I close my eyes and do my best to drift off.