Han might have spent time on her planet, but she doubts he understands how big of a deal this is for her. Mere strands stand between her and letting him see her with her hair completely down. Few have beyond family and a household of attendants that haven't served her in years, most of which were lost to the Death Star's destructive ray. She's tended to her own hair for a long time now, and only accepted the assistance of her mother's handmaidens when she was masquerading among them once she got it half up herself.

And now it's tumbling down, unraveling between Han's fingers like a silent promise. An unspoken agreement to something they haven't yet talked about, something she's pretty sure has already been solidified in her head. Something she's snapped at her father on more than one occasion for assuming.

She wouldn't be allowing him to do this otherwise.

"Even if it's in this bucket of bolts?"