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“You're dating Luke.”
It's a statement. It's abrupt, it's precise, it's to the point.
Han fidgets a little where he's sat under Leia’s unflinching gaze. It's intimidating, and he guesses that's probably the point, but he refuses to let her know. He straightens up, sitting up tall.
“Yeah, I am.”
Han wasn't sure what he'd expected when Luke had invited him over to dinner.
The half hour before dinner was great. The two of them had lounged around in Luke’s room, Luke's head on Han’s stomach as they talked.
“This room is cute.” Han murmured, pointing over at a faded Bill Nye poster.
“Cute isn't what I'm going for, but I'll take it.” Luke smiled, “I haven't decorated since I was seven.”
“Really? No teen rebellion? No Playboy centrefolds up on your walls?” Han teased, chuckling.
Luke shook his head, trailing his fingers over Han's thigh.
“Leia used to tear out the posters from her friends’ magazines, all the teen heartthrobs. She gave them to me.” His tone was fond.
“That's… Painfully sweet. Where did you keep your cutouts of Justin Timberlake, then?”
Luke scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“I was more Backstreet Boys than N-SYNC.”
“I can't believe you had a boyband phase.”
“Shut up. I've seen the photos of your punk phase. Were you drums or bass?”
Han laughed, giving Luke a small poke.
“I'm never letting you around my mom again.”
Leia had been the one to call them down for dinner, poking her head round the door. Luke was reluctant to let Han go and disentangle their limbs, but he did so eventually. It was warm curled up to Han on the bed, syncing up their breathing and looking up at the glow in the dark stars he'd stuck to the ceiling years before.
Hand in hand, the two of them went downstairs to the dining room. Han was placed at the head of the table, with Leia wedged between him and Luke. He tried not to feel awkward where he was sat.
Luke's dad was probably one of the scariest men Han had ever seen. He was tall, intimidatingly so, his gaze sharp and expression disapproving. Han found it difficult to eat with those eyes trained on him.
Luke's mom, on the other hand, was probably one of the nicest people Han had ever met. She was firm, but soft spoken, gentle, yet unrelenting. She'd been determined for Han to feel at home, introducing him to the rest of the Skywalkers brightly, like there was nobody else she wanted her son to date.
Leia watched Han like a hawk, ready for any excuse to drag him from the house and forbid him from ever talking to her brother again. She picked up on everything Han said during dinner, questioning him until she was told to stop (by Luke, Han's knight in cute sweaters).
“And you plan on dating him for how long?”
Han blinks at the question, not sure what to say. Sure, he's thought about marrying Luke, fleeting daydreams. He's never thought about marriage properly. He's never really wanted to marry anyone before.
He really wishes Luke could hurry in the bathroom.
“As long as he wants me.” Han says eventually, giving an honest nod.
Leia seems happy with the answer.
“Do you plan on hurting him?”
Han's answer is instantaneous.
“God, no. He's perfect, he's all I want. Why would I hurt him? I love him.”
“Good. If you do hurt him, I'll hurt you, just as bad.”
“Leia.” Padmé chides gently.
“You're scaring the boy. Leave him be.” Anakin agrees.
Han doesn't know how to feel after that. He's just glad that Luke comes back soon after, leaning over to kiss his cheek before sitting down.
“So, what did you guys talk about while I was gone?”