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“Now son, we expect you to take very good care of Chewie while we're away.” Ben's father Han wears a stern expression, and his voice holds a note of warning at odds with his usual easygoing demeanor as he hefts Chewie's considerable bulk into Ben's arms. The portly creature looks up at Ben with big, baleful eyes and exhales a deep, resigned whuff. Ben bristles; he doesn't enjoy this any more than Chewie does.
“The first thing you should know is that Chewie has very sensitive paws, so your mother and I carry him around everywhere,” Han continues. “His little baby feet have never touched the ground.”
This can't be for real. He searches his father's face but finds no trace of Han’s trademark snarky humor. Ben's stomach sinks, and suddenly he regrets agreeing to this whole dog-sitting thing. “Dad, seriously, what the f–”
“Han, don't forget to tell him about Chewie’s music," Ben's mother Leia interjects. "He has a different playlist for mealtimes, snuggle time, bed time…”
Ben’s mind is awhirl. Playlists? His neck and ears flush with a surge of heat. “Where was all this TLC when I was a kid?” he bursts out. “You guys used to leave me alone with servant droids... I'm pretty sure one wanted to kill me.”
But his mother just rolls her eyes. “Oh, Ben, don't be absurd. If it had wanted to kill you, it would have.”
Ben blinks. This entire thing is ridiculous; his life is a joke. “Shockingly, that doesn't make me feel any better.”