Ben turned the shot glass in his fingers once and then set it down before folding the machine instructions and slipping them away into the pocket of his coat. He would be rude, he supposed, to bury his head in work he was barely invested in just to avoid giving Organa his full attention. He shifted on the bar stool, his knee swinging out so his body pivoted towards the senator in an attempt to seem more inviting. But it was difficult to smile, lift his head or find the energy for pleasantries. That sands of Tatooine had already eroded away from him so much of poise and control he’d once held as a Jedi on the Council. Hiding how he felt wasn’t as easy a task for him as once it was, and that was true for both his positive and negative feelings, which made a close proximity to Bail Organa even more difficult to navigate.
Still, he managed a gentle smile, and lifted his eyes to the rows of bottles behind the bar as he tipped his head towards the senator.