The Falcon was quieter than usual tonight.

You knew Chewie was off ship probably hunting down spare parts or something about thermal regulators- and that left Han. Somewhere on board. Probably tinkering. Probably swearing at a wrench.

You didn’t even bother knocking. You just overrode the access panel like you’d done a dozen times before and slipped inside, shutting the airlock like it might keep the rest of the galaxy off your back.

Your chest still ached from the sprint, your heartbeat louder than the steps echoing down the ship’s corridors. You hated the dark. Hated it. And he knew that. You’d told your date- twice. But he took you there anyway. Some “immersive adventure” in pitch black, where the thrill was stumbling around blind. You lasted three minutes before the panic clawed its way up your throat and you bolted.

And of all places you could’ve run, this ship was the only one that ever felt like it might not let you fall apart completely. You’re sitting by the control panel, the familiar glow of the console lights painting your face, hands still trembling slightly when his voice cuts through the silence like a laser.

“So… he doesn’t know you’re scared of the dark.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Dry. A little smug. But there’s something in the way he says it, too. Not sharp. Not biting. Almost… careful.

You glance up, and there he is- leaning against the frame, arms crossed, that stupid half smile on his lips like he’s been waiting for this exact moment to say I told you so without actually saying it.

You roll your eyes. “Nice to see you too, Solo.” He shrugs, but he doesn’t move from the doorway. Doesn’t ask what happened. Doesn’t need to.

“You know, I always figured if someone was gonna make you bolt like that, it’d be me.”

A pause. He looks down. Then back up. It was a joking way for him to check you out.. but he still did it.

“Guess I lost that bet.”