A/N: Once again, I'm trying to repost here some of the many, many fics I've written and posted on Tumblr during 2017 and 2018. These are not beta-read, so apologies for any language mistakes. If you're interested in catching up with my most recent writing that still hasn't made it here, I have a fic-only blog now at otterandterrierwrites on Tumblr. Say hi!

This story was prompted by graciecatfamilyband/imnothere24, who asked for "a fic for when Han shaves off those ANH sideburns and starts adopting his ESB hair / Leia's reaction". If you enjoyed it, leave a comment! :)

Hair

'...'s got some kind of animal magnetism.'

'Such a brooding face, too, it looks carved in stone. But his eyes are dreamy.'

'And don't forget the body. Guy's ripped.'

Several voices hummed in agreement.

The group of female pilots remained out of sight as Leia walked the length of the transport towards them, but not out of hearing range. She tried to stay clear of common gossip—she couldn't let it affect her work, she couldn't let it change the way she saw the people she worked with… and in any case, the other rebels generally stayed clear of her , their superior, survivor of the worst crime the Empire had committed and symbol of hope. Nobody was going to run to her with gossip. It was usually Leia running into it, and everyone quickly changing the subject when they realized she was there. Like she was going to admonish them, remind them they were still at war, that there was no place for that kind of stuff here. It made her feel isolated sometimes, and yet oddly at home. That's how it had always been, back on Alderaan. The Princess, above from everyone else, even when she tried so hard not to be.

'I'd let Han Solo drag me to that heap of scrap he calls a ship anytime,' a short-haired pilot said just before Leia reached the end of the transport.

Two opposing reactions took place in her body then: she felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment at the same time as she let out an incredulous laugh that she quickly tried to turn into a cough.

Her position was already revealed, though, and four heads turned her way.

'Your Highness,' they all said, pushing their shoulders back. 'We didn't see you there.'

'That's understandable. I didn't mean to eavesdrop into… ah, such a private conversation,' Leia said as way of apology.

'Oh, it's hardly private,' the short-haired woman replied, smirking confidentially. 'We were just talking about the beauty that is Captain Solo; that's not really a secret.'

'Beauty?' Leia blurted out before she could help it. 'Please!'

Utter shock shone down on her from the pilots' faces.

'You don't think Captain Solo is handsome, Your Highness?' a rebel Leia knew as Rhya asked. 'That's a first.'

'Well… I…'

She hadn't really thought about Han Solo that way, if she was being honest, in the months of their acquaintance. She thought about him as a mercenary, a fickle ally, a good person to have at your side in a fight, sometimes a friend; most other times, a thorn in her side. Irreverent, careless, rascally. Large and scruffy. Not handsome . But not not handsome , either. Not her type, maybe. But when she thought of what exactly she didn't like about his looks, she found herself struggling to pin it down.

'He's… he has… goodness, those sideburns!' Leia twisted her mouth. 'Who wears sideburns unless they're over forty years old?'

Again, there were noises of assent, although this time somewhat reluctant.

'So your only objection is his hair?' the first pilot asked. 'Just cover his head with a pillow!'

The rest of the women laughed, and Leia herself smiled—but immediately cleared her throat, suddenly self-conscious.

This is an awful time to start trying to get chummy.

She had already said too much, criticizing a fellow rebel's looks in front of subordinates, and now letting them believe—no, joke, they were just joking, about her ever needing to cover his head with a pillow to—

'I'm sending you all the coordinates and clearance codes for the run to Ottega,' Leia said, feet planted firmly on the ground, back straight as a ramrod, face stern but not unkind (she hoped), all joking pushed out of her by business. 'You should make sure you have all the equipment you need and… uh… get some rest.'

Bowing her head in goodbye, she turned on her heel and walked away from the group at a brisk pace.

What an awful time to start thinking of Han Solo that way.

... who does she think she is, kriffin'—brat, prissy and stuck-up… ridiculous buns and braids… 's not even high enough to reach a—'ve seen better hair on a bantha's back…

Somehow, above the angry banging and fusing and running commentary inside his head, Han heard Chewie growl a question, but he had to ask the Wookiee to repeat the content as he lifted his head from his work in the bowels of the Millennium Falcon .

'[What are you sulking about?]'

''M not sulkin', I'm workin', you should try that sometime.'

'[Sure, you don't sound sulking at all.]'

Han threw Chewie a dirty look. Decided to ignore his friend, he pulled his goggles back over his eyes. Then he pushed them up again and flung them across the floor before glaring up at Chewie.

'D'you think the sideburns make me look old?'

Chewie gave him an odd look, and Han shook his head at himself. Stupid. How would Chewie know? He was fully covered in hair.

'Doesn't matter. I don't care. Her Worship does, seems like, but's not like—'

'[The little princess told you that you look old?]' Chewie asked, tilting his head as he tried to make sense of Han's grumbling.

'Didn't tell me , alright? I just heard… was walkin' by. Said my hair makes me look forty or somethin'.'

'[I always thought you looked more Wookiee than human.]' Chewie tittered, which earned him another glare.

'I don't need her royal permission to wear my hair however damn I please. Next thing you know, she'll ask me to polish my boots!'

Han stood up and walked to where his discarded goggles lay; after leaning down to pick them up, he started towards the hatch.

'[She didn't ask you to do anything],' Chewie noted, from behind Han's back. '[So maybe you do care what she thinks about you.]'

Without turning back, Han kept walking.

'They told me you needed to see me.'

Leia looked up and blinked, then opened her mouth and promptly forced herself to close it. Han Solo stood in front of her working station. When had been the last time she'd seen him? Not in days, she thought… not since before she talked to the pilots about…

He looked different. The sideburns were gone, his hair was… tidier. Not really tidy , it was still scruffy and all, but… somehow, it made him look younger. Less sleazy, too, with the collar of his shirt a bit higher, not proudly showing his chest hair for everyone to see.

He looked attractive.

Leia felt the colour rise to her cheeks at the thought.

'I do need… you—I mean, we… I… ah, here.' She handed him out a datapad, hoping he wouldn't call her out on her fumbling. It was stupid. So stupid.

She did not think he was attractive.

'[You cut your hair.]' Chewie said when Han walked up the ramp later that day, a pleased half curl on his lips.

'Yeah, it was gettin' long. Wanted to try something else.'

'[And the little princess thought it made you old.]' Chewie said, baring his teeth in a grin.

'I dunno what you're talking about.'

'[You polished your boots, too.]'

Han pretended he didn't hear him.