#this is really technically din & thessa but i didn't mention her name so like . whatever

[max--phillips]

I have no self control, and @razorcresting made a post with follow up from @crushingonmando that I could not stop thinking about about Din getting teary eyed at ASPCA commercials and secretly donating to them. So I wrote this because I could.

Warnings: none! Just some dumb fluff.

Words: 1.1k

“It feels like forever since I just sat down and watched holovid,” I said, leaning over the couch in our hotel room, pulling up a blanket. “Is that something you ever did? Actually, have you ever had a day off in your life?” I asked, leaning into Din, who was still armor-clad thanks to the unfamiliar environment. We’d found ourselves on Coruscant, and after we’d done what we came here for (namely research; trying to find out more about the kid and his species, and maybe, if we were lucky, the Jedi), I insisted we stay in the city to take a couple days off and recharge.

“My definition of a day off is probably far different than yours,” he responded, wrapping his arm around me.

I rolled my eyes. “My definition of a day off is this. Sitting around, watching mindless vids, eating snacks, and cuddling,” I said, flipping through the channels. There were way too many to choose from, thanks to the fact Coruscant was still the figurative center of the galaxy. I finally settled in on something that appeared to be a sitcom about a human, and three of his friends, another human, a twi’lek, and a devaronian.

“My definition of a day off is cleaning weapons, repairing the ship, and not actively putting myself in danger,” Din said.

“See, that’s too much work to be a day off,” I argued. “You should just… relax. But you don’t really know how to do that, do you?”

“What’s ‘relax?’” he asked sarcastically, looking down at me.

I scoffed and turned my attention back to the holovid. The show went to commercial, which are too much fun to heckle to switch away from sometimes, so I left them on. After a weird ad for a local store, it switched to a commercial for an animal shelter network that did work all over the galaxy. I rolled my eyes as the extremely sad song that always plays under it started.

“Maker, they’ve been using the guilt trip card since I can remember,” I mumbled, looking at the pets in kennels with their unreasonably sad expressions. A woman talked about the shelters and the animals in the background of the commercial. “I can barely watch those, it’s like, I want to just adopt all of those pets myself.”

“We don’t need another small animal running around the ship causing trouble,” Din responded. He sounded oddly distracted, though, his grip around my shoulders unusually stiff.

I laughed. “Okay, that’s fair. One womp rat is enough,” I said, looking over at the baby who was sleeping soundly in a crib the hotel had provided.

The show we were originally watching came back on, and we watched it in silence for a while, occasionally commenting on something one of the characters did or said that was ridiculous or a joke that didn’t land. Maybe it would make more sense if we’d seen any other episodes of it, but so far, it didn’t seem like a good show. It wasn’t about anything, it felt like, no plot, just… these people’s lives. I didn’t get it. The theme song was annoying, too.

After a while of making fun of the show, it cut back to commercial. That damn animal shelter commercial came back on, and I sighed, defeated.

“People watch these shows because they’re funny! Not to cry at sad animals!” I said, pleading with the unlistening holoprojector, starting to get a little choked up at it myself. These were always hard to watch. Those poor helpless souls, who could be so cruel to them?

That’s when Din’s breath hitched, and I looked up at him. He was practically stiff as a board under me, and he was clearly trying to steady his breathing. Stars above, this stupid commercial was making him tear up!

“Oh, cyare, are you okay?” I cooed, sitting up and wrapping him in a hug. I changed the channel.

“No, wait, change it back,” he said, his voice straining, hugging me back and seeming to relax a little.

“Seriously? I’m gonna start crying, too, you know,” I said, doing as I was asked nonetheless.

“They’re just…” he started.

“Too cute and sad?” I suggested.

“Yeah,” he responded. I nuzzled my head into his neck and gave him a kiss there, then resumed cuddling into him. “This is why I don’t watch this junk.”

I laughed a little, looking at the last couple sad animals before the commercial changed. “Those have always been incredibly sad,” I said. “And you’ve never seen them before?”

He shook his head slightly. “No,” he said, voice still a little strained. “I’d have been okay with keeping it that way, but…”

“Sure you don’t wanna adopt something? Small and cute, takes care of itself, like a tooka or something?” I asked, only partly kidding. Din was right, we probably didn’t need another little creature running around, but who knows, maybe the kid needs a him-sized friend.

“I’m positive,” he responded, running his fingers through my hair, seemingly most of the way calmed down.

“Alright, no more of that tonight,” I said, switching the channel to something that would be more entertaining, hopefully, and maybe not air such depressing commercials.

--------

I’d put myself in charge of keeping track of our credits. Din agreed it probably would be a good idea, since, sure, we were finding odd jobs to do every now and again, but simply searching the galaxy for a species that apparently only had one member and an extinct order of sorcerers wasn’t the most lucrative position. It would be best to start budgeting. I’d been tallying for a few months now, and every month, we were exactly 9 credits short of where we should be.

“Do you have any idea what this is about?” I asked. “For a few months now, starting the same month we went to Coruscant, we’ve been nine credits short every month.”

Din looked over his shoulder at me. He was in the pilot’s chair of the cockpit, and I was tapping away at a datapad in the co-pilot’s chair. He shrugged.

“Some help you are,” I commented sarcastically, smirking at him as I went back to the datapad. “I mean, it’s nine credits, so it’s not a big deal, it’s just weird that that’s the exact amount every month.”

“Maybe someone forgot about a subscription?” he suggested.

“Who would be subscribed to anything?” I asked back, furrowing my brow. “Wait. Wait wait wait.” This started the same month we were on Coruscant. We were watching holos that night.

“What?”

“Din, are you donating to those animal shelters?”