Sometimes they were awful stories, but at least they always ended well. Already Ben has dredged up some of them; the game that won the Falcon, a perennial favorite of both of theirs, almost always guaranteed to have Ben nodding off before the final hand was played. So often it felt like there was so little he could do for their son, but they had that.

In spite of everything it had been so hard to send him away. Han had never like to think of it that way, not away; he was with family, it seemed like the safest place he could be. They truly hadn't seen any other option; couldn't ask Like to come to them, after all, not when he was trying to live his own life and rebuild the Jedi. Even before Ben turned there had been nights when they fought about him being gone, not blaming each other but themselves, bitter and lonely and worried. Maybe it's no wonder how they grew apart after.

Wordlessly he grabs Ben's other shoulder to pull him in for an embrace, something in him crumbling. Part of Han is desperate for forgiveness he can't ask after, for him and Leia both. For not doing better, somehow. For how things went. He's not sure what to call it, but Ben believing they tried their hardest is the first bit of salve on an old, still-raw wound.