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Vel knows the exact moment it’s going to be a problem.
Not because of Han Solo—he’s always a problem, in the way a loose power coupling is a problem: loud, unpredictable, and somehow still standing after it should have blown itself apart—but because of the way Kleya looks when she’s irritated. Which is to say: calm, barely there, with that maddeningly serene stillness she wears like armour.
They’re in one of the wider corridors near the hangar, Hoth humming around them in its usual symphony of cold metal and barked orders. The base is all urgency, fogged breath, and barely contained panic, and Vel has just come off a shift training recruits who keep trying to hold their blasters like they’re afraid of them.
She’s tired, cold, and halfway to snapping at the next idiot who asks her where Command is again. And then she hears Han Solo’s voice.
‘C’mon, Your Worship, you don’t have to freeze me out like that.’
Leia’s boots don’t even slow. ‘I’m not freezing you out, Captain Solo. I’m simply busy.’
‘You’re always busy when it’s me,’ he says, wounded in that performative way Vel has seen him use on half the galaxy.
Vel rolls her eyes automatically, already veering towards the supply junction where Kleya said she’d be—
—and then Han’s attention shifts as Leia disappears around a corner, and his voice grows a little lighter and a little more curious.
‘Huh,’ he says to himself. ‘Didn’t know we had two goddesses on ice down here.’
Vel stops dead. Kleya is standing by a crate of ration packs, hands folded behind her back, posture immaculate despite the fact that the base is half a snowdrift away from disaster at any given moment. She’s listening to someone—Vel doesn’t catch who—without speaking, head tilted slightly, expression unreadable.
She looks up for a split second as if sensing being watched and Han Solo grins wolfishly at her like he’s just found a new card to play in Sabacc.
‘You new around here?’ he asks, strolling closer. ‘Could’ve sworn I’d remember a beautiful face like yours.’
Vel feels it then. Not jealousy—no, that would imply something named, something she’d already acknowledged—but a sharp, instinctive flare low in her gut. The kind she used to feel hit right before a fight broke out in a cantina during her smuggling days.
Kleya’s eyebrow lifts a fraction. ‘No,’ she replies coolly.
Han chuckles. ‘Strong, mysterious type, huh? I like it.’
Vel is suddenly very aware of the distance between herself and them. She's too far away. Entirely too far away. So, she starts walking; her pace swift with purpose.
‘Solo,’ Vel calls flatly.
He turns, recognition clicking in, and his grin widens into something more familiar. ‘Oh, Sartha, it’s you. Heard you were a captain around here now, congrats. Anyway, as wonderful as it isn’t to see you, I’m kind of in the middle of something here.’
Vel’s mouth curves, familiar and unfriendly. ‘You always say that right before things inevitably go wrong, Solo. Thought I’d save us all the trouble.’
‘Didn’t know you were also running security,’ he drawls, eyes flicking back to Kleya. ‘Sartha your babysitter or something?’
Kleya doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. She just watches, assessing, like she’s already decided Han is beneath the effort of dismissal. Which—Vel remembers with a jolt—only tends to make him worse.
She doesn’t look at Kleya when she answers for her. Instead, she keeps her eyes on Han, steady and unimpressed. ‘It’s not my fault you need supervision to remember basic manners, Solo, it says more about you than me.’
Han lets out a short laugh, unfazed, shoulders rolling like this is all part of the fun. ‘Wow. Guess promotion came with a temper, huh, Sartha.’ He flashes Kleya a grin that makes Vel scowl. ‘Relax, Captain,’ he says, hands up. ‘I was just making conversation.’
‘With her,’ Vel says, sharper than intended.
Kleya’s gaze flicks to Vel then. Not surprised. Not offended. Just… curious. It should make Vel ease off but it doesn’t.
Han turns fully towards Kleya again, ignoring Vel purposefully. ‘So, if you’re not new around here, what do they call you?’
Kleya’s mouth curves into the smallest hint of a smile. The kind she uses when she’s being polite and nothing else.
‘Kleya.’
‘Just Kleya?’ Han says. ‘No title?’
Vel opens her mouth but Kleya beats her to it. ‘Titles are inefficient.’
‘I like that,’ Han laughs. ‘Very sexy.’
Vel does not like that. She doesn’t know why. She tells herself it’s because Han is irritating, because he never shuts up, because he flirts like it’s a survival instinct and maybe it is, but that explanation starts to crack the longer this goes on. Because Han isn’t touching Kleya. He’s not crowding her space. He’s not even particularly smooth. And yet Vel feels like someone has reached into her chest and twisted.
‘So,’ Han says, leaning back against a crate like he owns the place. ‘You been stationed here long?’
Kleya answers politely albeit briefly, every response clipped, distant, and clearly uninterested. Vel watches him miss every cue, and worse than that she notices herself watching him. This is ridiculous. She doesn’t care. She and Kleya are friends. They’re… whatever they are. Shared silence, shared tea, shared glances that last a beat too long but don’t mean anything. Kleya survived losing Luthen. Vel survived losing Cinta. They’re both tired. They’re both grieving. Of course, they’re close. That doesn’t mean—
Han grins wolfishly again, his obnoxious voice cutting through Vel’s pathetic attempt at rationalising. ‘You know, Kleya, you kinda remind me of someone.’
Vel feels her jaw tighten in unbridled irritation.
‘Yeah?’ Kleya asks indifferently. ‘And who might that be, Captain Solo?’
‘A certain princess I know,’ Han says lightly.
The corridor goes very quiet, and Vel sees red. Not metaphorically. Literally. Like the world narrows to heat and pressure and the overwhelming urge to remove Han Solo from existence with her bare hands.
‘This a game to you, Solo?’ Vel snaps.
Han startles in surprise. ‘What?’
‘Calling her princess?’ Vel says, stepping forward now, close enough that he has to look up at her. ‘You think that’s funny?’
Kleya’s eyes flick between them, sharp now. ‘Vel—’ she starts.
‘No,’ Vel says, without looking at her. ‘No, I’m actually curious. Because last I checked, you had just finished annoying one princess who could shoot you for it, so now you’ve decided to try your luck with another beautiful woman who’s simply trying to do her job and—’
‘Whoa,’ Han says, hands up. ‘Easy. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘You never do,’ Vel seethes. ‘That’s the problem.’
Something is pounding in her ears. Her heart. Her pulse. Something else, too—something hotter and more terrifying. And she realises, with a sick lurch, that the thought of Han Solo touching Kleya—kissing her, even jokingly—makes her feel ill.
That’s new.
That’s bad.
That’s… not something friends feel.
Han glances at Kleya, clearly reassessing. ‘You okay with her speaking for you?’
Kleya’s gaze stays on Vel. ‘She’s not speaking for me,’ she says calmly. ‘She’s reacting.’
Vel finally turns, their eyes meet, and something in Vel cracks. Not loudly, not cleanly, but just enough. Because Kleya isn’t embarrassed. She isn’t upset. She isn’t even annoyed. Instead, she’s watching Vel like she’s just learned something interesting.
Han clears his throat. ‘Alright. I get the message. I’ll… uh… see you both around.’
‘Don’t,’ Vel mutters as he finally takes the hint and leaves, boots crunching away down the corridor.
Silence settles in his wake, and Vel exhales hard, running a hand through her hair. ‘Sorry. He just—’
‘You were angry,’ Kleya interrupts, eyebrow arched, and gaze probing.
Vel laughs once, sharp, feeling herself buckle beneath the weight of those insightful molten eyes. ‘Yeah. Imagine that.’
‘You’re not usually angry on my behalf,’ Kleya continues.
Vel swallows thickly, her spine prickling. ‘I wasn’t—’
She stops. Because lying feels pointless. Because something in her chest is still burning. Because she remembers the way Cinta used to look at her—steady, knowing, like Vel was something worth choosing—and the way Vel told herself she’d never feel that again. That she didn’t need to. That she was done.
Apparently, she was wrong.
‘I don’t know what… that was,’ Vel finally admits. ‘But I didn’t like it.’
Kleya steps closer, not into her space but near enough that Vel feels her warmth. ‘Interesting,’ Kleya murmurs softly.
Vel groans. ‘Don’t do that.’
Kleya smiles perceptively. ‘Do what?’
‘That,’ Vel exhales. ‘That look. Like you’re filing me away.’
Kleya’s mouth curves again, and this time, it’s unmistakably amused. ‘I wasn’t offended,’ she says. ‘For the record.’
‘I know,’ Vel mutters. ‘That’s worse, I think.’
Kleya tilts her head. ‘Why?’
Vel opens her mouth, closes it, and then because she’s always been terrible at half-measures, she says, ‘Because the idea of him even thinking he had a chance with you made me want to commit an act serious enough to send me straight to the brig.’
There it is. The truth, ugly and bright and impossible to ignore.
Kleya blinks, once, and then her expression softens—not startled, not alarmed, just… thoughtful.
‘Ah,’ she hums, like she’s just slotted in a puzzle piece she’d been having trouble placing.
Vel laughs weakly. ‘Don’t say it like that.’
‘Like what?’ Kleya retorts, still smiling.
‘Like you’ve just deciphered a code,’ Vel replies, feeling heat rising swiftly to her cheeks.
Kleya considers her for a long moment. ‘Perhaps I have.’
Vel exhales, defeated. ‘Great. Fantastic. I’m glad my emotional breakdown is helpful to you.’
Kleya steps closer again, just a fraction but it’s enough that Vel can feel Kleya’s breath ghosting against her lips.
‘For what it’s worth,’ she says quietly, ‘I had no interest in him.’
Vel’s heart does something unpleasantly hopeful. ‘Yeah?’
‘None,’ Kleya confirms. ‘But I did find your reaction… notable.’
Vel groans and drops her forehead into her hand. ‘Kill me now.’
Kleya’s voice is almost fond. ‘Later, perhaps.’
Vel looks up and Kleya is watching her. Really watching her. And Vel realises—horrifyingly—that maybe she always has been. That maybe… this didn’t come out of nowhere. That maybe… she’s been falling for a long time and just didn’t have the words for it until Han Solo, of all people, knocked them loose.
‘We’re friends,’ Vel says weakly.
‘Yes,’ Kleya agrees, her hands coming up to smooth out the collar of Vel’s jacket.
‘And it’s complicated,’ she breathes, trembling beneath Kleya’s unexpectedly bold touch.
‘Yes,’ Kleya agrees, hands stilling around Vel’s lapels, and keeping her close.
Vel huffs a laugh. ‘And I’m apparently into you.’
Kleya’s eyebrow lifts in that infuriating astute way she has. ‘Apparently.’
Vel meets her gaze, heat still humming under her skin. ‘You gonna make fun of me for that?’
Kleya considers her and then smirks. ‘No.’ Vel’s breath catches at the twinkle that’s materialised in the dark depths of Kleya’s warm eyes, and she feels herself unable to look away as she falls further and further into them. ‘I find it,’ Kleya adds carefully, ‘clarifying.’
Her smirk softens into something quieter and more intent then, and she tugs at Vel’s jacket—fingers flexing just enough to anchor, just enough to warn—closing the last of the space between them as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Vel doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe as Kleya kisses her. It’s brief. Deliberate. Warm in a way that feels almost startling against the cold gnawing at the edges of the hangar. Not a question, exactly, but not a claim either; just a fact placed gently between them, like a line finally drawn and understood.
When Kleya pulls back, her forehead lingers close, breath brushing Vel’s mouth. ‘Just in case it wasn’t equally as illuminating for you,’ she says softly.
Vel’s laugh breaks out of her, breathless and a little wrecked. ‘Merles help me,’ she mutters, dazed and grinning. ‘You’re impossible, Lieutenant Marki.’
Kleya’s lips curve, just slightly. ‘So I’ve been told.’
And Vel thinks—standing there in the frozen heart of Hoth, pulse still racing—that she may not be done feeling things after all.
Really, she’s just getting started.