"Ezra cuts his hair one day and simply doesn't tell Kanan." - Their Colour and Light

Without really realising it, Kanan had spent the entire day out by the perimeter of Chopper Base. It had been happening more frequently since he'd been cleared by the medical droids; after all, if he was well out of the main hustle and bustle of the base, then he couldn't get in any of the rebel's way or distract them from their important tasks. It was bad enough that he was blind to begin with, but Kanan would rather walk out into the Atollon desert without a sensor on hand than let himself be any more of a dead weight to his friends than he already was.

He'd decided to call it a day when his stomach began grumbling it's disapproval at not having anything in it since breakfast and when it felt like night-time was approaching by the way the warmth was slowly being sucked from the air. Kanan had been making his way towards the base's semi-permanent Mess Hall, a path he'd recently worked out for himself through a combination of meticulously counting his footsteps, listening intently and having Chopper guide him back and forth along it until he had it memorised.

At least, he had been on his way there, before a new and unexpected pile of what felt like stacked supply crates were suddenly blocking his path.

It wasn't a big deal by any means- it was a simple matter of Kanan feeling his way around the blockage and then reorienting himself once he was on the other side. A simple task, really, even a child would have been able to do it. He'd had much worse problems in his time.

It's a good thing, really, that these crates are here, Kanan thought to himself as he felt around clumsily. The more supplies for Phoenix Squadron, the better.

Kanan had spent an awful lot of time since Malachor trying to find the positive in whatever situations he found himself in. It didn't always work, not when he had oppressing darkness as a constant companion.

When his shin hit a crate for the second time, Kanan began grinding his teeth in an effort to stave off a yell of frustration. It should have been a simple walk across the edge of the landing platform. His route had been working so far, and one little variation to it shouldn't have put him off so much, but to Kanan it almost seemed like the worst thing in the galaxy.

Because if he couldn't even walk to dinner without needing someone to guide him, then what good was he at all?

Kanan ran a hand down his face and forced himself to take a deep, calming breath.

No use in getting worked up over something so small. Breathe, jedi, the solution will come to you.

Kanan stilled, one hand on a crate, and took stock of his surroundings with his remaining senses. To his left, he felt an open breeze coming in, tinged with the familiar odor of fighter fuel. That meant that the landing platform was in that direction, so he turned his head to the right, and sure enough heard the familiar hum of the artificial lights that were set up all around Chopper Base's main buildings. He could even hear footsteps and unfamiliar voices from the same direction, but judging from the fact that whoever was there hadn't tripped over themselves trying to ask him if he needed help (like a lot of people had been doing lately), Kanan guessed that no one had seen him in trouble. Yet.

He much preferred to keep it that way.

Now that he at least knew which direction he needed to head in, Kanan cautiously turned and stepped towards the landing platform, running his hand along the crates to find where they ended.

In the distance, one of the voices told a raucous joke, and another chortled in response. Kanan hit his shin again and muttered a curse under his breath.

"Hey Jenkins, Jenkins, did you see the Bridger kid's new haircut today?" one of the voices said, youthful and unabashedly loud.

Kanan stopped in his tracks at that, a bolt of surprise lancing through him. Curiously, he turned his ear towards the conversation.

The woman's companion, Jenkins, chuckled. "Sure did. Now the kid actually looks like a fighter and not some scruffy-haired tooka with a laser sword, huh?" The two laughed again companionably, and Kanan heard what he thought was the sound of a hand being slapped against a back.

Unsure of what else to do, Kanan ducked below the height of the crates, now really not wanting to be seen. He frowned to himself (at least, it would have been a frown if his eyebrows weren't in the process of regrowing), confused, and the still-healing wound under the bandages around his eyes twinged with pain.

Assuming there was no one else on base known as 'the Bridger kid' who also happened to possess a laser sword, then apparently Ezra had… cut his hair?

Why don't I know that? thought Kanan, as he crouched with a crate to his back. Why didn't anyone tell me that?

He was blind, not dead for Force's sake. A haircut wasn't the most important thing in the galaxy, but it was a big change and Ezra was still one of the most important people in Kanan's life. He should have known about it before now. He should have been one of the first to know, not apparently the last person on the entire planet.

The two voices' conversation quickly turned to talk of food, and soon enough they were both agreeing to head for dinner. That managed to jostle Kanan out of his thoughts.

Dinner. The Mess Hall. That was where he was going too.

As if to emphasise the point, his stomach made a very audible gurgle.

Two sets of footsteps faded away, and Kanan finally pulled himself to his feet again. He felt his way to the end of the line of crates, skirted around them, and managed to reorient himself back onto his pathway

"Why didn't Ezra tell me?" he said quietly to himself. Something sad seemed to seize at his heart.

"Kanan! You okay mate?" a familiar gruff voice called to him out of the black, and a heavy set of footsteps approached. Kanan turned in Zeb's direction and forced on a smile.

"I'm fine buddy, but those crates got me a bit turned around for a moment. You headed to the Mess too?"

"You know it," Zeb replied. "Come on, I'll make sure you don't get stuck behind anymore crates, eh?"

Zeb reached out and took Kanan's shoulder, and they walked off together.

This was inspired by a line from my other fic 'Their Colour and Light' (which I put at the start) because I kinda wanted to expand on it. Kanan in that period between season 2 and 3 is rly sad to think about.

This has two more chapters that are drafted but not quite complete. Gonna be around 4-5,000 words all up.

Also, frick I'm bad with titles. And summaries. Ahhhhh.