prompt: Mando only realizes his feelings for you once Cobb Vanth enters the picture

warning: implications of unwanted touching, obvious flirting

word count: 1307

pronouns: they/them

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second-person point of view. . .

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In the beginning, he believed he had become sick. There was this deep and nauseating pit that churned in his stomach. Somewhere along the bounty-hunting trail, he must have come in contact with a virus and it miraculously broke through The Mandalorian's natural defenses. What else could possibly explain the rise in body temperate and the irregular heart rate?

He swallowed the gross feelings and persisted, assuming that in time, the symptoms would leave him. Over the course of perhaps a week, he saw little to no change. In fact, he saw little to no pattern in the symptoms. Some days there were virtually nonexistent, others, a rushing storm that nearly brought him to his knees.

The Mandalorian did notice, however, that the symptoms seemed to increase, to an almost unbearable level, when a certain silver fox would send a particular kind of smile your way. Or when the man would reach a presuming hand to stroke your hair and playfully nudge your shoulder--anything to get his hands on you.

When Mando first met Cobb Vanth, he had felt a very rare kind of rage burn within him at the sight of Mandalorian armor on him unjustly. After fighting and rallying together, Mando was starting to warm up to The Marshal, maybe even going so far as to consider Cobb a friend. But then he made the mistake of allowing Cobb to meet you.

"Well, aren't you easy on the eyes?"  Those words from The Marshal were etched across The Mandalroian's brain with a searing metal spike. That rare rage returned to him, silent and dangerous. His eyes burned holes in Cobb's head and the victim of the attack was blissfully oblivious. After all, no one could see the venom underneath the Beskar helmet.

Mando simply observed the interaction from a distance. He felt his gloved fist clench as it lay on the glossy stone bar a few feet away from where Cobb was virtually draping himself over you. The anger in his heart was blindingly intense, yet, unfounded. He knew it. Why? He demanded of himself. Why do I feel this angry?

Mando felt the overwhelming urge to stand up and intervene, to grab Cobb by the neck and throw him off you. Why? You did not exactly appear to be... not enjoying the attention. The sound of your lively laughter bounced off the tavern walls, which only aided in Mando's fury when he knew it was Cobb who had made you laugh. Mando heard the way he spoke to you.

"I like that laugh," Cobb said to you with his smooth accent. "I wonder what other sounds you can make." Mando did not need to see Cobb's face to know The Marshal had tossed a careless wink in your direction. Under the cold metal exterior, his blood reached a boiling point. Again, the question rang in his skull like an obnoxious bell: why do I feel this angry?

Why did he feel this erratic need to stand by your side? The need to break Cobb's arms so he would stop putting his hands on you? The need to intimidate The Marshal into forgetting all about you? The gears in his goal-oriented mind began to turn, the rust falling off them in introspection. Perhaps it was... Perhaps it was because deep within his long-forgotten heart, he wished to be the one to elicit such reactions from you. 

He seldom made jokes, and when he did they only showcased his extremely dry and sarcastic sense of humor, so it was rarely he would hear you laugh so freely. The Mandolorian refrained from touching you as well, for fear of pushing boundaries that were never established in the first place. Perhaps part of him worried you would fear any attempt at physical contact, given his reputation.

Would you even want him to tear you as Cobb did? So candidly, so flirtatiously--surely, the behavior would only drive you away in confusion or offense. That fear of rejection was the only thing keeping him still, too still to be overlooked. Remaining frozen in time was the only way he could manage to prevent a violent outburst fueled by jealousy. That was what it was and he now knew it: jealousy.

From a ways down the bar, you practically felt The Mandalorian push himself away from the structure. The abrupt sound and motion caught your trained senses and your head shot in his direction cautiously aware. You watched him cross the floor and plant his feet near yours.

"A word, (Y/n)?" The request sounded more like a command then he intended it to. He observed the emotions that flickered across your expression swiftly: perplexity, concern, urgency, aprehention, and finally relaxed. It happened in seconds, but it did not go unnoticed.

"Of course," You nodded slightly. You leaned away from the bar and allowed The Mandalorian to lead you out of the saloon. You traced his footsteps felt in the sand, blindly following where he was walking. He stopped, though you were at no destination, just the somewhere in the baren street.

"Is everything okay, Mando?" You wondered aloud, his strange actions a little worrying. His broad shoulders were taut and your eyes captured the way his leather-sheilded fingers twitched.

"No," He admitted with his back was facing you, which only aided to your concern. His helmet turn in your direction, but his body did not move. You could see just the corned of his dark T-shaped visor.

"Does he make you uncomfortable?" Your eyebrows furrowed at his question. It took a moment to realize who he was referring to.

"Cobb's just friendly," You shrugged your shoulder loosely. "He doesn't mean any harm, he's just playing around." You spoke as if you knew him for more than a two days. It baffled The Mandalorian that you could not recognize The Marshal's blatant advances.

"You're dense," Mando remarked bluntly, turning to fully face your smaller form. 

"You're not exactly an expert at analyzing social cues," You told him, your arms coming to fold over your chest. "No offense."

"I'm saying if you don't like it, I'll make him stop," Mando spoke firmly. He meant his words. Your arms dropped to your side as a curious smile made its way to your face. Part of you questioned if you heard him correctly.

"That's very... thoughtful, thank you," You mumbled, your eyes scanning him to try and find some semblance of an expression. "I apreshite the offer, but I can tell him off myself." Your comment picked at Mando's fragile heartstrings 

"You won't," The Mandalorian stated with certainty, taking. small step closer to you. "You're too nice." You let out a small chuckle, though it was more akin to a little scoff.

"It sounds like you want me to be more mean," You remarked observantly without missing a beat.

"I don't want you to--" Mando allowed a sigh to escape through the static modulator, deciding to change his choice of words. "I don't want to let him make you uncomfortable." You could not help but speculate where the conversation was coming from. What had prompted him so suddenly?

"Nothing's going to happen," You told him with a semi-patronizing smile. "Trust me." Mando did trust you, far more than he trusted anybody else. Trust was the problem. He trusted you with his heart, but not the knowledge that you held it in your hands like a small, trembling, wounded animal. You could kill it if you handled it just a hair too carelessly.

Maybe he ought to trust you with that vital information. But if you knew you held something so precious, would you drop it? Throw it back to him to avoid the commitment? There was too much at risk--too much at risk for Mando to justify confessing his poorly understood emotions. 

Maybe one day... Maybe one day you would see he is sick, so terribly ill. Maybe one day you would realize he was in love with you.