[There's only a careful, weighted pause as Han reaches in, physically correcting Ben's course with all the patience of a man who's getting punched repeatedly in his gut. Knuckles resisting the pull for a half-beat-- and then he follows along, expression tense, but tepid compared to how hot it ran only moments prior.
After a few turns he tilts his chin towards his shoulder, clearly addressing the only other person within earshot. ] I have it.
[Tight as it sounds, it's not for the reason Han Solo might expect. He hates weakness-- hates himself for being weak when all the noble notions and self-righteous stories about his birthright are stripped away-- but more than that, he hates seeing the deep, weathered scores that mark Han's knuckles. Age mapped out in spots and stripes and scars; so much older than what seems right or fair.
Having it there resting over his gloves is too potent a reminder. Stupid. Senseless sentimentality. Exhales once through his nose and sets his stare elsewhere, turning his attention to the next bolt instead. ]
no subject
After a few turns he tilts his chin towards his shoulder, clearly addressing the only other person within earshot. ] I have it.
[Tight as it sounds, it's not for the reason Han Solo might expect. He hates weakness-- hates himself for being weak when all the noble notions and self-righteous stories about his birthright are stripped away-- but more than that, he hates seeing the deep, weathered scores that mark Han's knuckles. Age mapped out in spots and stripes and scars; so much older than what seems right or fair.
Having it there resting over his gloves is too potent a reminder. Stupid. Senseless sentimentality. Exhales once through his nose and sets his stare elsewhere, turning his attention to the next bolt instead. ]