The medal hanging around his neck is heavy and awkward, almost as heavy and awkward as the weight of everyone's attention. There are possibly more people at this celebration than Luke ever has seen in one place before, and it seems like every single one of them wants to shake his hand or give him a hug.
He has never felt more backwards or out of place in his life. Han was smarter than him—he took off right after the party started. Luke should have joined him, but… there, talking to one of the generals, is his reason for staying.
Do you think a princess and a guy like me—Han had asked and he'd said no, fiercely, because he's been asking himself the same question since before he even left Tatooine.
They're the same age, but she's seen so much more than him, done so much more. Leia is everything he will never be, not if he lives another hundred years. She's self-assured, beautiful, confident. Strong in a way he can barely understand. Dressed all in white the way she is, it seems like a sacrilege to even think about touching her, but he does, and his cheeks flare hot every time.
She moves through the celebration like a walking moonbeam, and even as he thinks it he knows it's a stupid thing to think and he shouldn't say it out loud, but he can't stop watching her. A princess, he rescued a real princess, and she'd kissed him. Twice. That has to mean something.
"Hey, Skywalker!" Wedge catches him around the neck and gives him a shake. "What the hell kind of planet are you from, anyway?"
"Tatooine." Luke cranes his neck. Is she leaving? She can't leave yet, he has to talk to her.
"No wonder you're not scared of anything. That place is a hellhole."
Luke, who is scared of a lot of things, absently pats Wedge on the shoulder. "Yeah, it is. Hey, listen, I'll find you later." He follows Leia out into the warm Yavin night.
He rushes to catch up. "Leia!"
Her smile is frayed around the edges and she—is she crying?
Luke stops, mortified. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"No, you're okay." She holds out her hand and he takes it.
"What's wrong?" It's a stupid question. They've lost so many good people. His own losses are still a gaping, empty place in his heart. Biggs—that one's still fresh enough to burn through him, Obi-Wan, Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru.
"It's just—Alderaan. It was my home. My parents—"
The bottom drops out of his stomach. "Oh." He can't make any other sounds come out. The horror of it is unfathomable. Tatooine may be a hellhole, but it still exists. If he's ever homesick, as unlikely as it is, he can still go back. He can still imagine flying through Beggar's Canyon. Beggar's Canyon isn't space dust and asteroid chunks.
All he can do is hold her hand.
When she steps into his arms, romance is the last thing on his mind. He hasn't known her long, but he knows these are the only tears she will let herself shed for her lost world. Once they've passed, she'll put on her princess face again, and go back to helping lead the war, and never look back.
That she's letting those tears soak his shoulder means more to him than any half-hoped-for kiss ever could. He would follow her to the ends of the galaxy—knows he probably will, in fact. In that exact moment he decides that he will spend the rest of his days making sure she never has reason for tears like this again.
The Force is still new to him, but he can feel its weight behind his thoughts, burning with truth. With destiny. The bright center to his universe is right here in his arms, startling to sniffle.
She pulls away from him and even with red, puffy eyes, she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Without thinking about it, he brushes the tears away from her cheeks, and the motion makes her smile—just a little, but enough.
"Come on," she says, taking his hand again. "I don't know about you, but I think I need to get drunk."
Luke, who has been drunk exactly once in his life, agrees. Unexpectedly, there are better things than kissing a princess, like becoming her friend.