we could be immortals || scruffiests
Luke rolls his eyes skyward, fond exasperation in the smiling curl of his lips. Han is just as bad a winner as he is a loser, though Luke isn’t quite fool enough to take it without the obligatory pinch of theatrics that so often accompanies Han’s teasing.
In a way, Han is right. It does feel more natural, somehow, for Luke to lose to his friend. No, he’s more than that – Han is his hero, has been since the day they met in that crowded cantina on Mos Eisley. He’s everything Luke has always wanted to be: a free man, able to spread his wings amongst the stars and fly from port to port on adventures to rival the books Luke has grown up absorbed in.
Things are different now, of course; he’s no longer trapped on Tattooine, though the dust and dunes of the desert planet remain forever engrained in the pores of skin. He’s as free as Han now, but that doesn’t stop Luke from admiring him for other, lesser witnessed qualities. He’s smart, far smarter than people give him credit for, and brave. He risked his life to save Luke on Hoth, Luke’s own recklessness almost getting them both killed in the process, and he’d done it because Luke was his friend. Not to mention the carbonite, a suspended tomb Han had had no idea of knowing if he’d ever leave alive. It’s that selflessness, hidden deep beneath layers of sarcasm and false bravado, that Luke admires the most.
Not that he’d ever tell all of that to Han, not to his face at least.
"I think my reputation will survive. I could always say it was a pity victory.” His grin falters a little, a quick glance toward the doorway checking for any hovering Padawan. “Are you serious about me cooking dinner? You know how that’ll end - I’ll be exiled for poisoning my own students.”
He fixes Han with a look, his tone heavy with meaning, “A gracious winner would help the loser out.”
Han barely has the time to gasp in offence at being called anything in relation to pity before Luke speaks again--and speak he does in a way that has that offence melting away into pure amusement. He's perfectly aware of Luke's culinary skills; besides the fact that he'd grown up on his aunt's home-made cooking and never felt a necessity to learn how, being in the desert for most of his life can only mean Luke's knowledge in food is... decent, at best.
Anything about Luke being "decent at best" is admittedly something Han automatically becomes fond of regardless of what it is. There's something about Mr. Selfless Jedi Master not being able to do things, really.
"Who said I was a gracious winner?" comes Han's expected quip, but what else is there Luke could have predicted from him? To be a Solo is to make things more difficult than they have to be at all times, even if “things” involve Han's best friend (who by nature he'd never call his best friend out loud). "You lost fair and square, kid. You better serve your punishment fair and square, too."
It's obvious in the twitch of Han's jaw that he doesn't mean what he says--that he'll cave if Luke asks a little more, as he always does. It's remarkable that Luke convinces him all the time, but it's even more remarkable that Han doesn't even care any more.
Han's fingers curl around his own hips as he rocks on the balls of his feet, false in his innocence as he always is. "I mean, I know you'll miss me in exile, but you'll just be getting what you deserve now, won't you?"

















