[ there's a fleeting moment in which she's convinced he's going to do just that, surprised to find that there's a rather large part of herself that wants him to. she waits with baited breath, torn between anticipation and a lingering, stinging sense of betrayal (like anything she does now will be an affront to han), but the moment is gone. nothing happens, and she doesn't know what to make of the almost foreign sense of disappointment that washes over her.
her arms drop, but only so that she can slip them around his torso and lean into him. she rests her cheek against his chest, careful not to jab him with the tiara. ]