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Luke’s hand slowly goes out from under the roof on the temple on Yavin 4 and feels droplets of water hit his skin, his heart starting to thump in his ears. On Tatooine catching drops on your skin meant a loss of harvest, meant scrambling for instruments, and fixing the moisture vaporator, cursing under your breath. And here the drops just kept falling, whispering non-chalantly against the leafs, and ground, and stone, and Luke's hand, and he had never heard a sound so beautiful.
Han scoffs behind his back. For him this water from the sky is clearly an inconvinience. For Luke it's a blessing.
He feels his skin go cold under the weight of the drops, and is afraid to let go. But his fingers part slowly, and the liquid trails gracefully onto the already wet gound. Luke takes a deep breath, and before Han can even register it, he watches with wide eyes as Luke runs out into the pouring rain. He looks up taking short gasps, his face lit with an amazed smile, as water soaks through his clothes, that were Han's not even a day ago, as it causes his golden hair to turn brown, and stick to his forehead, as water causes him to close his eyes, and drops get trapped in his lashes, and trail down to his dry lips, right into his panting mouth.
Luke looks down, where he stands in the middle of the puddle, and after taking a minute thought, sromps. Drops fly all over the leafy floor, and a surprised, awe chocked laugh escapes Luke's chest, before he stopms again, and again, then jumps, and keeps laughing, and all of a sudden all this, the adventures, the people lost, people gained, all his decisions he has doubted, tossing and turning on a foreign metallic bed, all of this becomes non-important and worth it at the same time. Luke can feel every droplet hugging him, and tries to desperately to salvage the feeling, scared he will never get to feel this again, scared of nothing more than to wake up, and let his feet feel the sand-covered floors, and wanting to be back there, having finally felt something different for the first time.
Luke's face is soaking wet, and he cannot attest that the rain is not washing off tears. Luke's shoulders are shaking, and he will not assure that laughter is not mixed in with sobs. Han's eyes follow his now husband, and he can feel a smile cracking his lips, because he had long forgotten what it's like, to feel the excitement of discovery, if he had ever felt it at all. He sighs, and takes a step from under the roof, tilting his head, and letting the rain drum on his face. He takes a big breath of moist, cool air, and feels some hot weight, gained somewhere in the steamed oily compartments of the Falcon, escape, flying away.
He slowly goes over to Luke, who stands panting, now from exhaustion, looking up at the rainy coulds, and before Han can react fast enough, Luke spins, and starts falling down onto the ground. Han curses, jolting towards him, as Luke starts laughing, but the smuggler slowly smiles, trying to hide it with a scoff. He looks down. Thinks for a moment. Then two. Then sighs, and sits down onto the wet grass, right next to Luke, looking up at the sky aswell.
The rain thumps loudly over the leaves, but he can still hear Luke laughing.