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Kanan Jarrus is pretty sure that Ahsoka Tano’s obsession with boba tea is almost as bad as his to coffee. Daesha’s coffee, in particular. It’s what Kanan always misses the most every semester. At least, it was, until he convinced Daesha to start making her coffee blends available in stores. Or she decided to do so all on her own. But Kanan likes to think that his talk of how much he missed it is what did it. Daesha did say “keep telling yourself that,” after all, and anybody who’s smart does as Daesha says.
So when she tells you and your friends to come by her coffee shop as often as possible, it’d just be rude not to show up every month. It definitely isn't an addiction to her drinks that has Kanan Jarrus, Cal Kestis, and Ahsoka Tano sitting at their usual table, sun streaming through the window and glinting off of their respective drinks. Just respect for Daesha, that’s all. (The same goes for Kanan’s weekly visits. He lives close by. He has no excuse not to drop by once a week. Or three times. He prefers not to keep count.)
Okay, maybe they’re a little bit addicted. Cal has stated he’d be happy to live off of nothing but Daesha’s blackberry lemonade smoothies, after all.
But it isn’t just the drinks that keep bringing them back—Daesha’s just feels like home, even though it’s only been around for a few years, and that’s a big deal for three people who lost their homes when they were just kids. String lights stretch across the ceiling of the central room of the coffee shop, combining with the abundance of natural light to set the perfect ambience, and Kanan’s never seen the massive rock fireplace in the center of the coffee shop unlit. Insanely comfortable rusty red-orange, dusty blue, and plum purple couches are placed all over the room, each of them with at least one coffee table within arm’s reach. Soft chairs with the same color scheme are pulled up to homey wooden tables all around the room as well.
Framed paintings of picturesque landscapes dot the airy beige walls of the central room of the coffee shop, while one room feels like stepping right into a cabin in the mountains, complete with another fireplace and wildlife-themed decorations. Another is filled with beach chairs and nautical decor, and yet another has flowers and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and has the air of a Parisian tea room. Each of these rooms contains a wall mural of the environment they represent, and each room has a unique color scheme. Daesha says she likes her customers to both feel at home in her coffee shop, and like they can travel the world in it, because some people feel the most at home when they’re traveling.
Kanan’s personal favorite room is the central one, because it was the only one when he first started coming to Daesha’s, and he’s got the most nostalgia and memories associated with this room.
“Oh, I found out who my roommate’s gonna be today,” Ahsoka Tano, who has long blue-and-white braids trailing down her back, warm brown skin occasionally marked with white due to her vitiligo, and ocean-blue eyes, announces, taking a sip of her sun-hued mango bubble tea.
“Let me guess,” ginger-haired, freckle-faced Cal chimes in, grinning, forest-green eyes glinting with mischief. “Jar Jar Binks.”
Kanan laughs as Ahsoka shudders. “That’s just your luck, Ahsoka.”
“Even the Council wouldn’t stick me with a male who’s twenty years older than me, thank the Maker,” Ahsoka replies dryly.
“I don’t know; I think you guys are a perfect match,” Cal quips, grinning wider. A meow of agreement (or, at least, it sounds uncannily like one) echoes from Cal’s calico (Kanan’s lost count of how many times he’s made a pun involving those words) emotional support cat, BD, who’s peeking over Cal’s shoulder from where he sits in his little backpack.
Ahsoka’s mouth drops open in feigned horror.
“You know, now that you mention it…” Kanan ponders, eyebrows drawing together. “You actually remind me of him—hey!”
Ahsoka, the one behind the kick that Kanan just received to the shin, levels an (overdramatic) venomous glare at him. “Say that again and I’ll kick your chair over.”
“Do that, and I’ll record it and post it on YouTube,” Cal adds, pulling out his phone and opening his camera app.
“Ehh, not in the mood to go viral and become world-famous and loaded today,” Kanan decides, leaning his chair back.
“Shame,” Ahsoka sighs.
“Don’t worry; I’m sure your big break’ll come someday,” Kanan tells her sympathetically, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Nah, I just really wanted to kick your chair over,” Ahsoka smirks, her glare dissipating.
“Ask for forgiveness, not permission,” Cal suggests helpfully, shooting them a thumbs-up, still pointing his phone camera at the two of them.
“So immoral, Kestis,” Kanan comments, shaking his head, leaning back farther in his chair.
“Anyway, now that we’re thoroughly sidetracked,” Ahsoka continues, taking another sip of her bubble tea, “my roommate’s name is Hera Syndulla.”
Kanan’s chair crashes to the ground. Unfortunately, he was in it when this tragedy occurred. His friends burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“I caught it on video, Ahsoka!” Cal barely gets out, raising his phone victoriously before descending into another fit of laughter.
Kanan sets his chair back up and sits to find his best friends wiping away tears of laughter. “Isn’t that the girl you were crazy about in high school?” Cal asks, still chuckling a little.
“I think you mean “ has been crazy about since high school” ,” Ahsoka corrects, grinning like she’d just stolen Christmas or something.
“I liked her in high school, yeah,” Kanan admits, butterflies still flitting in his stomach. He makes the executive decision to attribute them to the fact that he hasn’t heard her name in years.
“I’m gonna let that understatement slide this time, pal,” Cal teases, patting Kanan’s arm. Kanan sighs exasperatedly.
“You three keep causing chaos like that, and people are gonna start asking me why I don’t charge them for entertainment,” Daesha, owner of the renowned coffee shop they’re sitting in right now declares, shaking her head, sending her long golden French braids swinging back and forth, her deep blue, almost violet eyes sparkling with amusement.
“We still have a couple months before we go off to school,” Cal offers to the coffee shop owner, grinning. “If you’re looking to hire.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Daesha replies, winking at him. “So, how’re you three feeling about college? And yes, I know everyone has probably been asking you that, so if you’re so sick of answering that question that you’re planning to be sick all over my floor, don’t bother answering it.”
The trio chuckles. “Kanan seems to be feeling a bit off, so he should probably keep his mouth shut on this one,” Ahsoka teases, eyes glinting evilly.
Kanan sighs again. “Oooh, two dramatic sighs in one day,” Cal notes interestedly. “Hey, Ahsoka, think we can get him up to five?”
“I’ll take that as a challenge,” Ahsoka responds, pointing a finger his way.
“I’m excited to go back, yeah,” Kanan actually answers Daesha’s question like a normal person, ignoring them. “Even though these two’ll be tagging along to cause problems this time around.”
Daesha laughs. “You’ll have your hands full, yes?”
“Like you’re not a handful yourself,” Cal points out to Kanan, voice light and grin teasing.
“Pray for us, Daesha,” Ahsoka requests with feigned earnestness.
“Yeah, yeah, fair enough,” Kanan waves away their banter, fighting his own grin.
“But yeah, I’m definitely excited to be heading to college,” Cal explains, turning to Daesha, who’s been observing their antics with an amused smirk tilting her mouth to one side.
“So am I,” Ahsoka chimes in, still wearing her everything that comes out of my mouth is chaotic and I’m proud of it face. “And Kanan has a reason to be really excited.”
And, inwardly, against his will, Kanan has to agree with her. The thought of hearing that voice for the first time in four years, the voice that changed his life, is enough to make his heart race.
~
“Okay, did you get soap?” Ahsoka quizzes the boys over FaceTime, the three of them finishing up their packing the night before moving into school.
“Yep,” Kanan replied, peering into a tote to make sure.
“Got it!” Cal chimed in, his hand appearing into the frame, holding a bar of soap.
“You get Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Ahsoka?” Kanan asked her as he grabbed two more shirts from his closet and added them to the pile.
“Obviously,” Ahsoka replied, sounding offended at the idea of her forgetting the DVDs of their favorite TV show. “Cal, do you have the movies?”
“Oh, kriff, I forgot,” Cal replies, his voice fading, probably because he’s heading off to go find said movies, which would be a collection of the trio’s favorites—including the Guardians of the Galaxy trilogy, Ant-Man, and The Emperor’s New Groove.
“So,” Ahsoka begins, and Kanan can hear the smirk in her voice from across the room. “Tell me about this Hera Syndulla who’s gonna be my roommate. Disregard the fact that she and I have FaceTimed like five different times by this point.”
Kanan pulls a hand through his hair, a childhood nervous habit returning. He blames it on the fact that Cal fixes his hair every five seconds. “It isn’t just that I liked her in high school,” he explains, adding the last shirt to the pile and heading into the frame of the FaceTime so that he can actually see Ahsoka when he’s talking to her. Which, he now realizes, was a mistake, because now he can see the evil grin on her face.
“You remember how I told you that I was a biiiiit of a dumpster fire during high school?” Kanan asked, his memory flashing back to the overwhelming depression, the countless girls he used and led on as nothing more than distractions; his adopted father, Kasmir, attempting to uplift him in any way he could.
“We all struggled after what happened, Kanan,” Ahsoka assures him, gentleness replacing her usual (mostly) good-natured snarkiness. “We were just kids.”
“Yeah,” Kanan replies, appreciation for Ahsoka and her full understanding of what he went through—what all three of them went through—flooding through him. “You’re right. I know. But Hera Syndulla was honestly the one who snapped me out of it. Encouraged me to get back on the right track. Reminded me that my actions had consequences.”
“You’ve never mentioned that before,” Cal comments as he walks into the room, movies in hand.
“You always said that someone came along and changed things, but you never said who,” Ahsoka adds, raising an eyebrow.
“I just assumed both of you didn’t know her,” Kanan told them, shrugging.
“And you knew there was a slight possibility we’d tease you about it,” Cal remarks, a hint of a smile infusing his expression.
“You know me well, Kestis,” Kanan confirms, and he can’t help but grin, just a little. “But yeah. She…scolded me, basically. Which I really needed. It changed my perspective…changed everything. She changed everything.”
“And you’re nervous about what she’ll think when you see her again?” Ahsoka provides, understanding written clearly on her face.
“Pretty much,” Kanan replies, rubbing a hand over her face. “It’s stupid, I know.”
“It’s not stupid, Kanan,” Cal argues, his voice as gentle as Ahsoka’s. “And, for what it’s worth, I think she should be proud of who you’ve become.”
“Thanks, Cal,” Kanan tells him, warmth spreading through him at his friend’s encouragement. “It’s all thanks to her, and you guys, really.”
“You’re the one who made the decision to change,” Ahsoka points out. “No one made that for you.”
“And we’re really proud of you,” Cal adds, earnestness written all over his boyish face.
Kanan’s heart swells as appreciation for his closest friends washes over him. Cal and Kanan had been pretty much inseparable as kids. They had gone to the same elementary and middle schools and both had a parent in the same force of secret service police officers. That’s how they met Ahsoka—her older brother and guardian was in it, too. They’d all lost touch after what the country called 6-6, since it happened on June 6th a little over eight years ago. That was the day that Kanan and Cal lost their adoptive parents, and Ahsoka learned what had happened with her older brother. During Kanan’s senior year of high school and Ahsoka and Cal’s sophomore year, they found each other again, and, though Kasmir taking him in years ago had done wonders for his overwhelming loneliness, reconnecting with them had forced him to literally stare his past in the face. And, though part of him had wanted to run away from anything that reminded him of the childhood that had been ripped away from him when he was just a kid (though he had hated being called that, and still does), he was determined to hold onto his friends, no matter how much the memories made the ache seem unbearable. And then, somehow, talking about everything with them, helping each other through flashbacks and breakdowns…it was like healing salve on a wound. They had healed together.
Naturally, they’re stuck with each other now. The Jedi (the not-so-secret code name for the tightly-knit part of the secret service Kanan’s mom had been a part of) had been their family—they’d even been honorary “junior officers”, planning to go into the same field as their adoptive family members. Cal and Ahsoka becoming the brother and sister he’d never had had been pretty much inevitable. They’ve mostly communicated through FaceTime and phone calls, though, besides their monthly hangouts, so the idea of getting to live on the same college campus as them…well, suffice it to say that Kanan’s never been more ready to move back to school.
“Thanks, guys,” he tells them, feeling a grateful smile make its way onto his face. “You’re the best. And, for the record, I’m proud of you, too.”
“Thanks, K,” Cal and Ahsoka reply at the same time, then laugh at their apparent telepathy.
“There’s the Jedi mind-reading again,” Kanan jokes, referencing how people had often called the Jedi mind-readers. In reality, one of the reasons each officer was chosen to be part of this elite force was due to an extremely high level of empathy, and their body-language-reading training only made this ability stronger. All three of them had always exhibited this trait, too, which was one reason that their guardians had started them in the junior officer program.
“Hey, Cal,” an irritated, gruff voice sounds from the redhead’s side of the call, “your cat’s trying to help in the kitchen again!” A soft thump , and BD peeks into Cal’s frame, meowing in response to Ahsoka and Kanan’s snorts of laughter.
“What’d he do this time, Greez?” Kanan asks, and rustling is heard from Cal’s side as he lifts the camera from the floor to his father figure’s level.
“Oh, hey, Kanan; Ahsoka,” the short, bald, olive-skinned man greets them, smiling slightly, then his expression grows more disgruntled again. “That cat almost knocked over at least five glasses of milk in five minutes!”
“May I ask why you had five glasses of milk sitting out in the kitchen?” Ahsoka asks, amusement infusing her tone.
Greez waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my kitchen. You kids ready for move-in?”
“Definitely,” Ahsoka answers, nodding.
“Can’t come soon enough,” Kanan agrees with a grin.
BD meows affirmatively from where he’s perched on Cal’s shoulder. “I didn’t ask you, cat,” Greez tells him, pointing a finger at the cat. BD licks his finger, and Kanan has no idea how a cat can look both adorably innocent and triumphantly mischievous at the same time. Like Cal says, there’s no other cat like him.
“Yeah, I’m starting to agree with you, Kanan,” Greez declares, wiping his finger on his shirt, looking disgusted. “Can’t wait to have these two off my RV.”
“Aww, come on, Greez,” Cal says, feigning a hurt expression. “You’re not even gonna miss us?”
“‘Course not,” Greez responds gruffly, but no one misses the sad expression that crosses his face.
“You sure?” Cal asks, a grin starting to appear on his face. He looks into the camera, his grin growing. Kanan and Ahsoka grin back.
“Okay, okay, fine, you win—I’ll miss ya, kid,” Greez gets out, crossing his arms. He glances at the screen and, thus, Kanan’s and Ahsoka’s faces, then scoffs, throwing up his recently crossed arms. “I swear, you three aren’t even in the same room, and you still manage to pull stuff.”
“We’ll take that as a compliment,” Ahsoka replies with a grin, a devilish glint back in her eye, as it so often is.
“You know it,” Kanan confirms, shooting a finger gun into the camera.
“I don’t even wanna know what you’re gonna get up to when you’re at school,” Greez remarks as he starts to head out of the camera’s line of sight, but Cal turns it to follow him.
“You sure about that?” Cal asks, and, though only half of his face is in the frame, his expression is obvious. “I’m sure we’ll have some great stories to tell.”
“Yeah, that’s one way to describe em,” Greez mutters, looking over his shoulder to see the camera still pointed his way. “Good luck at school, kids. Let me know if you need anything. If that cafeteria starts killin’ ya, you still remember those recipes I taught ya, right, Kanan?”
“Yes, sir,” Kanan replies, giving a two-fingered salute. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of these two.”
Greez chuckles and salutes him back, waves again, and heads out of the room, looking considerably less grumpy than he had when he’d first come through the door.
“Told you you’re a dad friend,” Cal tells Kanan with a grin, settling his phone back onto the floor.
“You totally are,” Ahsoka agrees, settling her chin on her hand and smirking.
“Yeah, yeah,” Kanan chuckles, waving his hand dismissively. “But you’ll be thanking me when I save your butts—or your stomachs, I guess—from the cafeteria food a few months in.”
“Thanks, Dad,” the two of them chorus.
“You know, maybe I’m forced to be a dad friend because you two act like kids so much,” Kanan points out, unable to hide his own grin.
“You say that like you don’t do the same thing,” Ahsoka shoots back, raising an eyebrow.
“You know how I feel about people calling me “kid”,” Kanan reminds them, smirking at…himself, really.
“How could we forget?” Cal asks, eyebrows drawing together as he shakes his head, Ahsoka laughing in the background as she resumes packing.
“Hey, kid,” Kasmir’s voice echoes through his and Kanan’s apartment. “You have to see this YouTube video. It’s a requirement.”
“You summoned him, Kanan,” Ahsoka states, poking her amused face into the frame upside down, her duo of thick blue-and-white Dutch braids dangling into the camera’s view.
“Guess that’s my cue to head out,” Kanan says, stretching his arms up. “I’ll be more productive packing on my own anyway.”
“Ouch,” Cal comments.
“I’ve never been so offended in my life,” Ahsoka’s voice declares, her sass evident even as she’s not visible.
“But same,” Cal adds.
“Yeah, me too,” Ahsoka admits.
“See you two tomorrow,” Kanan tells them, smiling uncontrollably, excitement buzzing through him.
“See you then!” Cal replies, looking as giddy as Kanan feels. “Love you guys.”
Ahsoka and Kanan flash the ASL sign for “I love you”, their thumbs, index fingers, and pinkies extended, into the frame, and Kanan taps the “end call” button. As he gets to his feet to head to the living room, his enthusiasm only grows. Tomorrow .
~
It happens when he’s least expecting it.
Kanan is heading past Ahsoka’s dorm on his way to help Cal move in when he hears it.
That voice.
The one he’s never forgotten, that’s echoed through his mind for years, inspiring him, pushing him to be the best version of himself. It hasn’t been the only thing to do that, but that doesn’t make it any less powerful.
“Excuse me?”
The moment he heard it, he knew. And was immediately embarrassed by this fact.
Sure enough, when Kanan turned around, he saw her.
Hera Syndulla.
She’s no longer a kid like they had both been when they had known each other, no matter how much Kanan had denied it. But it’s unmistakably her—her hair is still in those distinctly vibrant lime-hued bubble braids, her eyes are the same shade of jade green, and, of course, her voice, though it’s a bit lower than when he last heard it, is the musical, warm, and unmistakable one he remembers. She wears aviator sunglasses perched on her head, a gray headband keeping her curly flyaways out of her face, a matching gray turtleneck tucked into high-waisted jeans, and a brown leather jacket tied around her waist.
“I was wondering where the bookstore is?” Hera asks in that voice of hers.
Kanan finds that words are failing him, which is a bit inconvenient when you just got asked a question. He clears his throat, hoping and praying it can behave like a normal throat and let him speak , for the sake of his dignity.
“Just across the commons, next to Erso Science Center,” Kanan answers, the words coming out a bit strangled, but he thanks the Maker anyway.
Hera smiles warmly, and Kanan can’t breathe for a second. Okay, more than a second. How can I possibly still be down this bad? He asks himself incredulously.
“Thank you,” she replies, “I really appreciate it.”
“Sure thing,” Kanan responds, managing a small smile. “All the abbreviations are unnecessarily confusing.”
“Tell me about it,” Hera agrees, rolling her eyes. Then her eyes widen, a spark of recognition flashing in her eyes. Kanan braces himself, ready for her smile to fade. When she’d last interacted with him, he’d been…a different person. “Kanan Jarrus?” she asks, eyebrows sky-high.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Kanan replies, running a hand through his hair, his ponytail loosening as his nervous habit returns. “Hey, Hera.”
“Hey,” she tells him, and, to Kanan’s surprise, her features don’t tighten, and frigid cold doesn’t replace the warmth in her expression. “How are you?”
“I’m…I’m great,” Kanan replies, a relieved smile making its way onto his face. “How’ve you been?”
“Been doing well,” Hera answers, smiling back, adjusting her sky-blue (literally; there are clouds painted on it and everything) backpack on her shoulders. “Ahsoka’s told me a lot about you and Cal.”
“Oh, no,” Kanan says, an uncontrollable chuckle escaping him.
“All good things, don’t worry,” Hera assures him, a small laugh escaping her as well, and the sound of it sends a little burst of happiness through him. Then something mischievous sparkles in her eyes. “Mostly.”
“Oh, no ,” Kanan repeats, letting feigned fear leak into his expression, even as genuine gratitude for Ahsoka spills into him on the inside. He reminds himself to thank her for putting in a good word for him later.
“It’s Ahsoka,” Hera points out, shrugging helplessly. “What did you expect?”
“Nothing less,” Kanan answers, and they share a laugh. Sidenote: making her laugh might be one of his new favorite things to do. Is that concerning? It’s probably concerning.
“It was nice to see you again, Kanan,” she says, smiling that smile of hers again. “And thanks.”
“You, too, Hera,” he tells her, and he means it more than she can probably imagine. When they’d last interacted, there had been anger and hurt and something else roiling in her expression; rolling off of her in waves. It took him at least a couple week or so to figure out that that “something else” had been disappointment. It’s taken six years and counting for him to figure out why.
He also hasn’t figured out why he is currently blurting out, “And thank you.”
Hera, who had been starting to head in the direction of the bookstore, comes to a swift stop. She turns her head, vibrant braids tossing to the side. “For…what, exactly?” she asks, one eyebrow raised, her tone polite, but there’s amusement dancing in both that voice of hers and her eyes, which are as brilliantly hued as her hair.
“For what you said years ago,” Kanan answers, self-consciousness washing over him, sending his hand through his hair again like he can dispose of the feeling as easily as a tangle. Which, considering how difficult some tangles can be to get out, is actually pretty accurate. “It was what I needed to snap out of it.”
“Oh, that?” Hera asks, turning around fully to face him, self-consciousness wrinkling her forehead and sending her eyes flitting to the ground, to Kanan’s complete confusion. “I exploded on you, Kanan. It took me a lot longer than it should have to realize that.” She meets his eyes, the guilt in them sending a jolt of surprise through him. “I’ve been meaning to apologize for a long time.”
“With all due respect—and that’s a lot, just so you know—no, Hera,” Kanan retorts firmly, looking her straight in the eyes. “I deserved it. I’ve never looked back at that memory with anything other than gratitude.”
For a moment, they don’t move, Hera just staring at him, blinking. She isn’t the easiest person to read, but there’s clearly a lot going on behind her eyes. He just isn’t sure what.
“Huh,” she hums after the moment passes, then continues, her voice…impressed, maybe? Pretty sure that’s wishful thinking , Kanan. “I guess it was your turn to say what I needed to hear.” She shakes her head, sending her twin braids swinging, then her eyes lock onto his again.
“Thank you,” she says, and the genuineness of it, the feeling of having someone he’s been so grateful to for so long thanking him …it’s indescribable, really.
“My pleasure,” he tells her, smiling. “It’s the least I could do.”
Hera hums amusedly. It’s really cute. Kanan mentally kicks himself.
“Let’s call us even, then,” she suggests, smiling back warmly.
“Ehhhh; I don’t know,” Kanan replies, overdramatizing his level of consideration for her suggestion. Because it’s fun. “Your senior speech was pretty incredible, too.” (No, Kanan has not been stalking her on social media. Her senior speech went viral. It was that amazing.)
“Aw, come on,” Hera protests, dropping her head back, and Kanan is pleased to discover that he’s not the only one out of the two of them capable of putting on the dramatics.
“Deal with it,” Kanan tells her, pulling a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and settling them on the bridge of his nose. Because he’s a sucker for memes and, again, being dramatic is one of his favorite hobbies.
Without missing a beat, Hera nods, causing her own aviators to drop onto her nose. “I will,” she replies, and they stare at each other with straight faces.
After a beat, she lifts the glasses to reveal eyes dancing with amusement. “See you around, Kanan.”
He lifts his sunglasses, too, smiling a bit more brightly than he meant to. “Will do, Hera.”