Chapter Text
“It was mutual,” Din says again, over and over.
It’s what he says when everyone asks why he and Luke broke up. His friends, his coworkers, and a few other random people press him for answers. Some of them drop it after that, but most of them press further.
Like now.
“I still don’t get it,” Boba says gruffly. “You were attached at the hip. And Grogu, too.”
They sit together in the empty kitchen, stainless steel countertops wiped clean. Boba has produced a bottle of whiskey from somewhere, and they each have a glass. Grogu is with a babysitter—Din called to say goodnight just a half-hour ago.
They do this sometimes. The restaurant is just a handful of months away from opening. It’s been their shared dream since they were boys, and sitting in the kitchen now still feels unreal.
“Mutual,” Din says again. “I had the restaurant and Grogu. His father was sick, and he needed to go back home. He—we didn’t want to try long-distance, so…”
He lets the sentence trail off, taking another sip of his drink.
It’s technically true. Din was busy with the restaurant. Luke’s father was sick—a bone cancer in his forearm—and Luke did go back to Tatooine to care for him. Din would visit him on weekends for the three months after that. The final time that Din had visited, Luke had sat him down at his parents’ kitchen table, and they had talked.
Din had left Tatooine early, shut himself up in his apartment, and didn’t speak to anyone but Grogu for a week.
“Here’s the thing,” Boba sets his glass down on the table. “I know you. I know Grogu. And I knew Luke pretty well, too. So I don’t believe that speech for a goddamn second.”
Din doesn’t look at him. Boba can read him well, better than most people. It’s partially true.
But Din had wanted to do long-distance. He’d wanted to try. Grogu was never an issue—Luke loved him, and Grogu loved Luke, and the two of them had fit so perfectly together side by side in Din’s heart. If Luke had asked, Din would make the two-hour drive from Coruscant to Tatooine and back, every weekend.
But Luke hadn’t asked.
“I don’t want you to sacrifice your career,” Luke had said. “I don’t want this to be a burden to you. If we broke things off, it would be better for you.”
Din hadn’t known what he was supposed to say. “I love you,” he had said, and he had hoped it meant everything. I want to try. You’re never a burden. It wouldn’t be better.
It hadn’t worked.
So now he sits here, one year later. He’s surrounded by everything he’s worked toward. His restaurant around him, stainless steel counters and fancy refrigerators and all. Grogu is safe, asleep in bed, and he is Din’s.
“You know I’m right,” Boba says. “I just can’t grasp it—there’s no way the two of you would agree to that. Vod, I know you would fight to follow him to the end of the universe. There must’ve been something else.”
“I was just—I was scared.”
“Scared of what? That you’d stay together and break up anyway?” Boba asks. “Or was it because you were scared that he did want to break up, and then you didn’t say that you wanted to try? Because I know you, Din. I know that you loved him, and you wouldn’t want to hold him back.”
Din swipes at his eyes. “He suggested,” he says. “I—I thought it was what he wanted. So I agreed.”
“Maybe he thought it would be better for you. And for Grogu”
“I don’t know if it was,” Din said hoarsely. “But there’s nothing I can do about it now.”
Boba stays silent. He reaches out and fills Din’s glass, and Din fits his hand around it. “I think I’m still in love with him,” he murmurs. “Is that crazy of me?”
Boba clasps his shoulder and squeezes. He still doesn’t respond, but Din leans into his touch, and it’s a soft sort of comfort for him.
They sit and drink in silence, until Boba, finally, takes him home.
* * *
Anakin Skywalker’s diagnosis had come a month after Din had bought the property for his restaurant.
Din had met Luke’s father only a few times. Anakin was a stern man at first—middle-aged but fit, and with a steady glare that didn’t fade for days. But eventually, he’d warmed up to Din, and they often chatted about their motorbikes together. Anakin was deeply fond of Grogu—‘the first grandson’, he had joked.
He was far from old, but the disease—a cancer that attacked his right forearm—was enough to make it so that he couldn’t work. Luke’s mother had retired years before.
Luke’s sister had been pregnant with her first—unable to care for their parents in the way that they needed. So Luke had picked himself up for the summer and moved to Tatooine.
They’d discussed it heavily. Anakin’s treatment was meant to last nine months, at the very least. Din would drive to Tatooine on the weekends with Grogu, staying in Coruscant to handle the restaurant.
For a while, Din had thought it was working. He had treasured those weekends dearly, looking forward to every Friday and dreading each Sunday. He had tried so hard to ease every one of Luke’s worries.
Looking back, now, he sees every way in which he didn’t.
* * *
Din picks up Grogu from his aunt’s bright and early, when he’s still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He takes the two of them out to breakfast, where Grogu devours eggs and bacon, while Din slowly sips a mug of coffee over his omelet. “What do you want to do today, ad’ika?” he asks.
Grogu looks up and grins, his mouth covered in yolk. Can we go to the park? he signs.
“Playground?” Din asks, signing. He reaches over to wipe off his son’s face. “Or grass?”
Grogu fusses, leaning away from the napkin, but still manages to look eager. Grass!
“And what shall we do for lunch?”
Pizza, please, Grogu signs, solemnly.
Din smiles, crumpling up the napkin and tossing it on the table. “Pizza it is, then,” he says, then reaches for his coffee. He always feels a little bit guilty after leaving Grogu overnight somewhere, but his friends insist that they need at least some time away from each other. But today is a sunny Saturday morning, and he has all day for his son.
They finish up breakfast quickly enough. The park is full of children, couples, and elderly folk on late-morning walks, but they find a less-crowded area easily enough. Din settles down on a bench, while Grogu scurries off a few feet on his tiny legs, gathering dandelions in his fists.
Din and Luke always took Grogu to the park together. Usually, Luke would be the one gathering wildflowers with Grogu, until they had picked enough to stuff into pockets and buttonholes and behind each others’ ears. Din was always content with just watching them, his two favorite boys.
When Luke had first left, Din wouldn’t take Grogu to the park. Not for a few months, at least—Grogu seemed to understand, somehow. Eventually, the sting faded, but Din still couldn’t come here without a little bit of pain.
But it feels good to see Grogu running around again. Din just watches him, occasionally nodding or smiling when Grogu turns to see if he’s still looking.
He’s not quite strong enough to join Grogu in the grass yet. That was always what Luke loved to do, and there was nothing that filled Din with happiness more than watching the two of them together. But the thought of being the one to chase Grogu around—that was always Luke, and Din doesn’t think he’d be a good replacement. Not for that.
Some for now, he just watches. Grogu chases frogs and butterflies on his short legs, giggling like a madman. Din leans back on the bench and fights down the waves of longing that wash over him—more than anything, he wishes that Luke was there too.
Then Grogu shrieks.
It’s bloodcurdling loud. Immediately, Din is on his feet and running toward him. He tugs Grogu into his arms, checking every inch of his body for bruises or cuts. He finds nothing, but his heart rate spikes, hammering against his ribs. “What’s wrong?” he gasps, reaching for his son’s face. “What’s wrong, Grogu?”
But Grogu is wriggling out of his grasp. He’s beaming, Din realizes, hands slipping from Grogu’s face. Not scared or in pain. Happy.
In his shock, Grogu has ducked out from under his arms and is running away. Din swears, low, and scrambles after him, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. He’s not out of shape, but Grogu’s glee makes his tiny legs go faster than Din can handle. “Grogu!” he shouts, but Grogu ignores him, dashing past dogs and parents and hot dog carts, until finally, he sees—
Din stops.
Down that dirt pathway, where Grogu is bolting toward at full speed, is Luke. Luke Skywalker, all blue eyes and pale blond hair and soft smiles, stands in front of him, just a few hundred feet away. He’s dressed in loose, light clothes, still wearing those eccentric leather boots, still wearing that necklace, still—
Din stops and stares and he can’t help it—still, the only thought in his mind is Oh.
Oh, he’s so beautiful.
He can’t breathe.
Luke hasn’t noticed him. But with Grogu’s delighted shrieking, he turns, and Din catches a glimpse of those wonderful blue eyes, right before they widen in shock.
Grogu barrels into his side, tackling him into a hug.
Din unfreezes. He’s bolting down the path—for all that Din tried, Grogu never understood why Luke was no longer around. He asked about him, and he asked often. Grogu had missed him, almost as much as Din himself did—of course, Grogu would find him.
But Luke—
Luke, wonderful Luke, doesn’t even hesitate before he’s hugging Grogu back. As Din approaches, slowing down, Luke tucks his arms around Grogu and burrows his face into Grogu’s curls, closing his eyes. Grogu coos, his happy screams fading into soft sounds of contentment.
Din stops where he is and stares, again. Luke doesn’t let go for a long time, and when he does, it’s slow and reluctant. Immediately, Grogu’s grinning and signing at a rapid-fire speed, and Luke is nodding along, just as he always did.
“I missed you too, Grogu,” Luke says, and he’s smiling so wide. “Yes, of course, I did—of course I remember you! How could I forget—oh, Grogu.” At this, he wraps his arms around Grogu and pulls him in again. “Grogu. How did you find me, Tadpole? Did you search the whole city?”
Grogu laughs and signs again. Dad brought me.
And suddenly Din can’t breathe again. Luke looks up, and his wonderful blue eyes catch Din’s gaze, and he freezes—
“Din,” Luke says.
Din opens his mouth, but his apology seems to get stuck in his throat. “Luke,” he whispers. “Luke, I—”
But Grogu’s waving his arms to get his attention again. I found him, Dad! he says, beaming wider than Din’s seen in a while. I found him!
At this, Luke’s arms wrap a little tighter around Grogu. “I’m sorry,” he says, a flush spreading up to his face. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t see him coming—I’m sorry.”
“You’re”—Din swallows—“you’re in the city again?”
Slowly, Luke nods. “My dad is…doing better. Much better.”
“And your mother?”
“She’s good. It would take a lot to take her down.”
Din nods, a few more times than what is warranted. “It would. And your sister? Han?”
“Uh.” Luke’s flush gets just a bit redder. “Leia came with me today. I don’t know if she’s still here.”
“You’re back,” Din says, again.
Luke nods. “For about a month now.”
A month. An entire month Luke was in the city and Din didn’t know. There’s a pang in his chest—he wonders, for a split second, if Luke had ever thought of reaching out.
Grogu wriggles, looking for more attention, and Luke squeezes him tight and then lets him go. “You’re so big now, Grogu,” he sighs, and his hands are moving as he speaks. “You must be at least a foot taller!”
Grogu laughs. Three feet taller!
Luke laughs, too. “Three? You must be nearly as tall as I am!”
His hands are still moving as he speaks. Din is staring at his hands, and he can’t help it.
When they had first met, Luke hadn’t known any sign. He had learned, over the two years, enough to understand it, but slower to sign back. He was eager to learn, always but even after their two years together it was still slightly stilted and slow.
Now, it’s fluid and confident. Grogu seems to have noticed, and he beams, delighted, signing even faster. Din can’t see what he’s saying from here, but Luke laughs and signs back with each question.
“Thank you,” Luke says. “Of course, yes. Leia’s here, but I think she’s wandered off. No, I don’t, but—oh.” At the last question, Luke winces and reaches out to stroke Grogu’s hair. “Ask your dad, alright? That’s his decision.”
Grogu doesn’t appear deterred by this at all. He swivels around to face Din. Can Luke get lunch with us?
Din’s heart gains a tiny, paper-thin crack.
“I…” He chances a look at Luke, but he’s avoiding Din’s gaze. “…I don’t know, Grogu.”
Grogu pouts, giving Din those big brown eyes. Please, he begs.
“I know you did, baby, I’m sorry, it’s just—Luke probably has plans for today. He’s got better things to do than to hang out with us.”
But he used to be with us all the time, Grogu whines. I missed him.
Another fracture appears in his heart. “I know. I know.”
“I”—the line of Luke’s throat bobs—“I could…I’ve missed you too, Tadpole.”
Grogu swivels back. Then have lunch with us, he begs. Please—please, Dad!
“Grogu—”
I found him, Grogu signs, his eyes wide. Didn’t you miss him too?
Din swallows. “Luke,” he says. “I—we were going to get pizza, if—”
“I—”
“Please.” Din’s throat is dry. “If you would like.”
Luke looks back up at him, his wonderful clear blue eyes bright and so, so familiar.
“Alright,” he says. “I will.”
* * *
Soon, they’re settled into chairs at one of Grogu’s favorite pizza places. Grogu’s placed in between them with two slices of cheese pizza, while Luke’s opted for pepperoni, and Din mushroom. Luke had paid—had his credit card in the cashier’s hand before Din had even pulled out his wallet.
Din picks at his slice, while Grogu already has sauce all over his face. “How’s your father?” he asks Luke.
Luke smiles. “My father is well,” he says softly. “He—his arm was amputated. But he’s done with treatment—cancer-free.”
Din nods his head. “Good,” he says. “I’ve—I’ve been thinking of him.”
Grogu’s head bobs, grinning ear to ear. Me too!
Luke laughs. “He sent me back here,” he says. “Told me he was sick of seeing me moping—I mean, he thought I was too restless, back on Tatooine.”
“Are you back at work?”
“Yes—I’ll be back in September. Third graders.” Luke glances at him. “I’ve heard—your restaurant. It’s doing well, I’ve heard.”
Din nods again—he’s been doing a lot of nodding. “Yes. Things are calming down now. I’ve got a good crew.”
“Boba still with you? Cara, Paz, Fennec, Bo-Katan—”
“Yes. All of them.”
“And you, Grogurt?” Luke pokes Grogu’s side. “Excited for kindergarten?
Grogu giggles, and Din’s heart—goddamn it all—swells at the sound, warm and happy. He’d nearly forgotten Luke’s fond nickname. Yes! Grogu signs to Luke. Just two more months.
“Your sign is better,” Din says. He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth, but there’s nothing else in his mind.
Luke nods slowly. “I’ve been practicing,” he says.
He’s been practicing. For Grogu?
Din swallows. “It shows.”
Grogu chimes in with his own agreement. Much better. Faster.
“Why, thank you, Tadpole.” Luke reaches out, napkin in hand, and wipes Grogu’s chin off carefully. Grogu, miraculously, doesn’t protest or even squirm. “I’ve been taking classes. I’m glad I get to show it off to you now!”
Grogu beams. I missed you, he signs.
“And I missed you too.” Luke looks up at Din. “You’ve hardly eaten.”
“I’m not very hungry, really.” Din nudges his plate toward Grogu. “Here, kid.”
Grogu hesitates—his finger reaches up to trace the edge of the paper plate. Why don’t you eat?
Din’s heart clenches—he knows his son is being reminded of those days after the breakup when eating would slip his mind more than once a day. But he knows Grogu is hungry—he’s always willing to eat more. “I’ll be okay, ad’ika. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Here,” Luke says suddenly. “Why don’t you eat my crusts if you’re still hungry, Tadpole? Is that still your favorite part?”
Grogu swivels to look reverently up at Luke. Can I?
“Of course!” Luke slides his plate to Grogu, but his watchful eyes never stray from Din’s face. “You try and get a few bites out of that, Din.”
Din smiles. He picks up his slice—he’s suddenly ravenous, and even half-cold mushrooms seem like a feast. He bites into it just as Grogu digs into Luke’s crusts—the cheese is still soft and the mushrooms and sauce are bursting with flavor. He’s finished with the slice before he can even blink, and he slides the crust onto Grogu’s plate. “What do you say to Luke, Ad’ika?”
Grogu grins. Thank you, he signs with his free hand, as the other reaches for Din’s crust.
Grogu devours the last of their food quickly enough. Eventually, they start heading out—Din tosses out the paper plates as Luke wipes off Grogu’s chin and hands. Din makes sure that Grogu’s hat is on securely before helping Luke into his windbreaker.
They hover outside the restaurant for a while. Din has Grogu in his arms, and Luke has his hands shoved into the pockets of his windbreaker. “Well,” Luke says. “It was really wonderful to see the both of you. I mean it.”
Din nods. “It was wonderful for me, too.”
And me! Grogu says, wriggling in Din’s arms.
Din holds onto him tightly. “Do you still live in the same apartment?”
“Not anymore. I live a bit closer to the park, now—just a short bus ride away from Leia’s place. She needs the help—I’ve got a little nephew now.”
Din’s crushed with waves of guilt. He’d nearly forgotten. “That’s—that’s really great.”
Luke smiles. “Isn’t it? Not even a year old yet, and already a menace.”
“What did she name him?”
“Ben,” he says. “After—”
“After your uncle,” Din finishes. “How is he?”
“Good. He’s good.”
They stand there for a moment, silent. In Din’s arms, Grogu fidgets. Luke shifts from one foot to the other. “I should head home,” he says. “I need to feed Artoo—he’s probably throwing a tantrum in my apartment.”
Din nods. “Right. I’ll let you go.”
Luke smiles. “Alright. Bye, Din,” he says. “And bye, Grogu.”
Grogu waves—Din can hardly bear to move. Luke turns around, his hands still shoved into his pockets. He walks away slowly, one step after the other—
“Wait!” Din shouts.
Luke turns, his eyes wide. “Din?”
Din takes a step forward, holding onto Grogu like a lifeline. “Is your number still the same?” he asks. He’s grasping at anything he can, now—he has no excuse for why he would stay in touch.
For a moment, Luke doesn’t say anything, and dread fills Din, agonizingly slow. But then his lips part, and he nods, and he’s smiling tentatively but oh-so-softly. “Yes,” he says. “It’s the same.”
Din swallows. “Good,” he says. “Mine is the same, too.”
“Good,” Luke says, his head bobbing. “Good, that’s good. I guess I could—I don’t know if you’d mind me…” He trails off, his throat bobbing.
Din squeezes Grogu a little tighter. “I’ll call you. If that’s alright.”
Luke smiles. “I would love that.”
Grogu coos, looking back and forth between them. Din tucks him a little tighter to his chest. “Alright,” he finds himself saying. “I will, then.”
* * *
Din calls.
He still has Luke’s number memorized—it’s less that he remembers the numbers and more that his muscles know how to press the keypad of his apartment’s landline. The day after their impromptu pizza lunch, after Grogu had gone to bed, he let his thumbs punch in the numbers. His mind wanders as the dial tone rings.
Luke picks up on the first ring. His voice sounds breathless in his ear. “Din?”
“Luke,” he replies, and then he’s gone.
It’s wonderful. Luke chatters away in his ear, sounding both nervous and eager at the same time. He peppers Din with questions, and Din answers each one slowly, dredging up memories from his mind as if dragging them through thick molasses.
Luke tells him everything. The farm back on Tatooine. His cat, Artoo—still a menace in every way. His father and mother. His uncle. His sister and son. The lady at the grocery store. The stray dog that reminded him of old Razor, Din’s late dog from two years ago.
He asks about every part of Din’s life. The restaurant. His friends. Grogu, his school, his friends, his favorite books, his favorite toys.
Din nearly falls asleep, cradling the old landline in the dim light of his kitchen. He must’ve stood there for hours, leaning against the counter and soaking every syllable of Luke’s sentences.
Eventually, Din’s responses have been reduced to single and hums. Luke notices almost immediately—he scolds Din and tells him how it’s late and how he shouldn’t be up at this hour. Because he just knows.
In slow-brained fatigue, Din almost tells him ‘I love you’ as he’s saying goodnight. He stops himself, and immediately he’s awake, his blood ice-cold in his veins.
It’s not supposed to be this easy.