It's hard to imagine sleeping after everything Luke saw and did on Mindor, but he knows how ridiculous that is; he's as exhausted as anyone else, and sooner or later his body's going to demand the rest. It's not such a frightening prospect as it might be after being buried in that meltmassif tomb. Even though it's dark in this small room, there's the occasional blip and click and flash of light as odd bits of machinery run, and there's a deeper whirr coming from the engine and hyperdrive and all the circuitry keeping the Falcon flying, and bright lights that filter through the frame of the entrance. Chewie's growling echoes faintly through the hallways as much as conversation from Threepio, Han, and Leia -- and less faint is their glowing presences in the Force. There's nothing empty in regular old darkness. Even Darkness isn't empty or meaningless; that'd just been the lie spun by Cronal's black hole.

He's managed to doze a little by the time Han sits on his feet, but that actually earns a short-lived smile into the couch's fabric as he lifts his legs a little to make all that moving around easier for Han. He'd kicked his boots off before lying down, but it occurs to him that it probably didn't do much to spare the couch considering how filthy his flight suit and the rest of him is. Oh, well.

"I'm still awake. I'm not hungry."