It's a good thing she's not actually sleeping at this point, just getting ready for bed. Leia's pulling off her shirt when she hears the knock at the door. For a moment, she freezes, trying to remember if she missed a shift in the pilot's seat--but no, it's Chewie right now, isn't it? Letting the fabric drop back over her, she calls, "Come in."

Her cheeks grow warm when she sees just who it is. She hasn't been avoiding Han by any means, but there hasn't been a moment quite like the one they'd shared a few days ago. That he hasn't pressed for anything more than a smile or two hasn't gone unnoticed by her; she's vacillated between gratefulness and disappointment since then.

(Just think, she tells herself ruefully, on a night when the memory of his callused fingers makes sleeping more difficult than usual, you would have killed for this a few weeks ago.)

"Someone's up to no good," she says, glancing at the bottle he's carrying.