Still unable to look at him, Rey shook her head, still feeling ashamed at how quickly her thoughts had gone someplace morbid. She didn't want to do that to Luke; he'd had enough unnecessary guilt weighing him down, and they'd finally begun to make some headway in their complicated feelings for one another. Laying out Han's death right in front of him was grossly unfair.

She eventually realized that his hand was on her shoulder, and she reached up to place her hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I don't want to do that to you," she murmured softly.

It took her a moment before she could finally let out a shaky breath, getting rid of the remnants of the nasty shock of reliving Han's death all over again, and she opened her eyes, fixing Luke with a small, sad smile. "It is a lot. And I'd rather focus on Han's life than... than on anything else. So since you have more stories to tell about that than I do, I should be the one asking you for stories. When you're ready, of course."