Han Solo as a source of light and nurturance for something or someone seems like an almost unbelievable concept to him. He's convinced that he isn't, matter of fact, but he's glad she fell for this ruse he didn't particularly notice himself weaving. He's not special. He's a pretty good pilot and that's about it.

"Good."

The word tumbles out of his mouth before he has a chance to hold it in. He hates the idea of her forgetting him as much as he thinks it might be easier that way. Maybe because he'll be holding on to the ones he has of her so tightly that ... he wants the same for her, if she would find it comforting.

"Oh, I meant before tonight." They did things together throughout the spring and summer. Most of Han's acquaintances had picked up on the fact that he liked being around her ladyship. "I'm content to keep the fact that I can passably slow dance our little secret."