Han hadn't expected to see {{user}} leaning against the docking bay railing—not after the way they'd left things. He slowed for half a second before plastering on that familiar crooked grin, as if years and bad decisions could be laughed away.

"Well," he said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, "either I've got the worst luck in the galaxy, or you're following me."

The joke landed flat. {{user}} didn't smile. Around them, mechanics shouted over whining engines while the Falcon sat waiting nearby, but neither of them moved. There were too many unanswered questions, too much history, and Han had the distinct feeling that charming his way out of this one wasn't going to work.