Chapter Text
Han.
1 ABY.
If Han is being honest, he expected Luke to react poorly to the cold after the Falcon’s climate control module failed halfway to their drop-point. While the life support system ensures they’ll at least stay warm enough to keep all of their fingers and toes, it can get damn cold in space.
“I thought you were a desert boy,” Han says, almost accusing, shivering and bitter that Luke doesn’t seem to be affected.
Luke shrugs. “Tatooine actually got pretty cold at night. It’s not like we had any sort of climate control outside of keeping the sand out. I guess I got used to it.”
“Oh,” Han says, sullenly. As soon as he figured out the issue, he’d halfway started preparing himself for Luke to be cold. He had figured he’d be able to offer some warmth and comfort to the kid, let them soak up each other’s body heat, maybe share a bed overnight. To keep warm. Of course. But now… he’s cold and Luke is fine, and Han-- now Han is in the position where he has to be the one who asks for comfort. Oh, hells.
They’re silent for a moment, and Han tries to reign in his reaction to the chill. He catches Luke glancing over at him and he’s not sure he succeeded. He doesn’t give an inch, though, just stares right back into those bright, blue eyes.
“Why?” Luke finally asks. “Are you cold?”
“No way, kid,” Han insists, but he averts his eyes, unable to keep eye contact at that point. “Space is my home, remember? I’m fine .” His body betrays him, though and his shoulders scrunch up when he tries to repress a shiver. Blast this.
“It’s fine if you are,” Luke says, too damn genuine. “I think I saw some jackets in storage, if you want–”
“No,” Han says. “I don’t want– I don’t need a jacket. I’m fine, kid, don’t worry about me.”
Luke watches him for a few moments more, and Han has to look anywhere else but at the force of nature scrutinizing him.
“Hold on,” Luke finally tells him, getting up, taking away Han’s one source of bright-white heat. When he gets back, he’s holding a blanket in his arms, light blue and frayed around the edges. “Here.” Luke drapes the blanket over Han’s shoulders, and– oh. It smells like Luke and it is so very soft and cozy. Han gives in and immediately pulls it around himself, soaking it up. He hopes Luke isn’t emotionally attached because he never plans to part from this blanket again.
Still, while his physical body is warm, his soul– ugh, his soul is crying out for something different, a warmth that only Luke himself can provide. Son of a bantha.
Luke smiles softly at him, resting his cheek on his hand, elbow on the table, taking in the view. “Warmer?”
“Yes,” Han agrees begrudgingly.
Luke watches him for a moment before realizing that he’s staring, and he looks away. Then Luke draws his arms around himself, as if looking at Han all cozied up made him colder.
“I’m still a little cold,” Han admits slowly, hoping that he’s reading the signs right. Still, he very deliberately does not tell Luke what kind of cold he’s feeling. Luke seems to perk up at that.
“Oh yeah?” He hesitates. “Well… I hear body heat is good,” he says, blushing, “to help with the cold?” Yes. Han rearranges the blanket and holds his arm up, a perfect Luke-shaped spot next to him.
Luke only hesitates for a second before scooting over and joining him under the blanket. Han wraps his arm around Luke and pulls him close.
“This is nice,” Luke admits softly. Han wonders if he’s admitting more than he’s saying outright. “Are you warm?”
“Yeah, kid,” Han says, letting himself press a kiss to the crown of his head. “I’m warm.”