Star Wars College AU (Solo & Sabre)

[Sabre]

College is expensive. This is something Rey knew in her head, in her bones, in every second of her day when she considered attending one of the top engineering schools in the world. She hadn’t actually considered that she’d get in, nor that her student visa to move from the UK to the US would get approved. Yet here she was, a sophomore with a full class load and a 4.0. She’d done her math what felt like a thousand times when her acceptance letter came in, crunched the numbers of attending so often they seemed imbedded behind her eyelids even when she closed them. With her scholarship, grants, financial aid, and savings (meager though they were) it should have been enough.

Half the problem with American schools, as she would come to find, is that they tacked on a good dozen or so fees you didn’t know about until the bill was received. Oh, that and the fact that a bunch of nameless college ‘officials’ could get together every year and decide to jack up the prices what they considered a ‘reasonable’ number to compensate for inflation. Funny how that didn’t effect or raise scholarship though, or change the fact that the federal minimum wage hadn’t risen more than a quarter over the last few years. Funny.

With a student visa, Rey could not do traditional work and she damn sure wasn’t about to risk losing everything working under the table. That fact, coupled with the outrageous $4k a semester for board and another $4k for a meal plan on top of regular school and living expenses left her little choice but to pile a work study on top of her overflowing plate. She should count her lucky stars she even qualified for it.
Funny that, the American concept that students could demonstrate need for financial aid but not be needful enough to meet an seemingly arbitrary threshold set by the government.

She stood in the quiet study room in the upper left wing of the library, outrageously early, and too nervous to sit. Her supplies were laid out neatly on the table and she preened at her tucked in button up, hoping she looked the part. It was late in the season, there was only one student in need, and yet her advisor was oddly reluctant to give her even that. Were they really so hard out on money that a few hours of minimum wage a week was too much for a student in need to ask?
‘Maybe they think I’ll be terrible at teaching.’ Her eyebrows knitted together as she pushed the insecure thought away and straightened her uncomfortable name tag. She knew the subject like the back of her hand; being a bad teacher shouldn’t be possible.

 

[Solo]

Why he was even required to take higher-level math courses, he didn’t know—he was going to be graduating the following spring with a dual major in political science and English literature, on the fast track to accepting an internship with one of the city’s top law firms upon completion of his degree and entrance into grad school—but it had been arbitrarily placed upon him as a requirement, and that was when he found out his skills in math had deteriorated greatly since high school. He’d always been passable at it, but not skilled to the point of being able to pursue a career in something less ‘volatile’, as his mother had put it, but as he’d paid less attention to his entry-level requirement math classes and more attention to things that would actually help him with his degree, he’d found his Calculus grade suffering to the point that they were threatening to fail him. If he didn’t pass the class, he wouldn’t be able to get his degree, and the firm would rescind their invitation, and then—​

​

He wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on that. The insecurities that had long since plagued him, drilled into him from childhood by a family that seemed far more successful than he could ever hope to be, would not take this chance to strike out on his own away from him. With his tail between his legs, he’d gone to his professor, who had sent him along with a hastily-written phone number for someone the professor had called ‘Ray’.​

​

So, on a Thursday night when he should have been working on his thesis or getting a head start on the predicted graduate courses, sneak peeks fed to him by Professor Holdo, who had taken a shine to him even though he was Han and Leia’s son rather than because of it, he was making the trek to the library, a place he hadn’t spent time in since he was a sophomore himself. Already in a foul mood, in no temperament to be spending time with some snot-nosed underclassman who thought himself to be an expert in the subject, probably someone with just as little social experience as him which would be his only saving grace—he could probably brashly shove his way through the interactions, his gruff tone and intimidating stature enough to bully the sure-to-be nerd into getting him up to snuff and passable.​

​

When he was met with the sight of a petite brunette with her things spread out on the table his tutor had directed him to, his scowl only deepened.​

​

“Excuse me,” he barked as he plunked his backpack onto one of the chairs, taking another and pulling it out far enough to make space for his six-foot-three frame. “You’re in my spot. I’m meeting someone here, so why don’t you go work on your Communications 101 homework somewhere else?”​

​

(( Ben is a dick and I am sorry. Only a little bit, though. He'll get better. Kind of. xD ))​

 

[Sabre]

Rey still wasn’t sitting, but considering her petite statue and the above average height of the conference table she didn’t have to do much leaning. Luckily the university had not changed versions of her calculus book out for the newest year, so she needn’t buy another, in fact she could have sold this one back to put a bit of cash in her pocket were it not for every available margin being filled with her notes. She held a highlighter, still capped, between her index and middle finger as she used it to guide her reading along her meticulously taken notes that she’d written just a hair too tiny for comfort in effort to fit them all in.

In came big foot, stomping- or rather, just awfully heavy on the hollow sounding floor - and throwing his bag around like he owned the place. If he was anything like the majority of the student body his parents very likely did own some part of the school and he was acting like an entitled brat because of it.
Chances are, if he was one of those ‘my-parents-paid-my-way-to-ivy-league’ students he’d be picking her apart with his eyes in seconds. That old money always seemed to see the age of her clothing, no matter how pressed and pristine, and the callouses and scars on her hands as if they were fresh and inflamed.

Rey was already on the defensive in her head. Outwardly, she forced a stiff smile as she lifted the cover of her text book and tapped her high lighter to it. “Calculus, first through fourth.” She corrected- then pointed that same highlighter towards the laminated sheet on the door. “I know you may not be aware of the change, but this conference room is now schedule based use instead of open use. You will need to schedule with the library admin forty-eight hours in advance if you want a two hour time block. This one is mine, and I’m afraid there will not be enough room for both you and my student.” Then she took her seat, emphasizing her claim.

It was true that there would be enough room, probably, maybe- there was another chair if he moved his damn backpack. The room was already on the small side, probably a broom closet or storage space before they converted it. His size made it feel smaller, cramped even. Rey’s eyes ran over him, dark hair, disgruntled expression, looking like he might have just eaten something sour and slumping a little. Was the table too short or did he have bad posture? And why was he so prickly?

Suddenly, something clicked a brief memory of her advisor muttering something about a ‘prickly boy’ and ‘good luck be with her’ while she walked out of her cubicle after procuring the one and only student available. Her eyes finally met his.
“You’re my student.” She breathed, the statement pulling all of her tension out along with it as if it were a sigh. She visibly softened too, maybe even slouched a little. A little. “My name is Rey, but you probably knew that already. I wasn’t given your name on account of some student privacy policy or because Ms. Kanata thought I would harass you for homework-“ a pause, as Rey turned a thought around in her head a few times. ”-which if you do have some of your homework with you I’d like to look it over, along with any notes you’ve taken. Especially on anything you don’t understand.”


(( Him being a dick is part of the fun ))

 

[Solo]

The confused expression etched into his face only deepened as she continued to speak, caramel eyes squinting as he attempted to figure out just who this girl thought she was. If she was anyone to be known, he would already know her; it wasn't that he was popular around campus, but he was certainly well-known. Hell, an entire wing of campus was named in his mother's honor, the family long since making donations to its alumni fund whether under the Organa name or the Skywalker name of his grandparents. That, combined with his volatile personality and academic standing, had led to most students at least knowing of him - and likely knowing to steer clear of needling him into one of his infamous rages.​

​

This girl was doing quite the opposite, though, taking a seat opposite him as though she could merely tell him to leave and he'd obey, continuing her falsely-confident statements until a metaphorical light bulb illuminated over her head. She introduced herself - Rey, not Ray, and he smacked himself mentally for not asking for more details from the professor, thinking the location of the conference room would be enough for him to ferret out the nervous-looking student who had been bribed into taking him on as a tutoring client - and his scowl turned to an expression of disbelief, of suspicion. He had always been far too expressive with his emotions, unable to contain them to the point of not having a poker face, and around the girl - Rey, he had to struggle to correct himself, she'd more than established at least the respect for using her name rather than a dismissive term - that certainly didn't seem to change.​

​

"You're saying you're the calculus expert Maz told me about?" he clarified, his shock evident in his tone. How could this girl - she looked barely old enough to be enrolled as a freshman, let alone the minimum sophomore age required to take the slightly advanced course - be that good, so good that she'd been given him as a student when he was going to be graduating the following semester? And how didn't she know his name? Surely, Maz had given her some sort of warning, he thought, until he considered the situation further and realized that of course, she hadn't. Maz was a brilliant woman, but she was manipulative, more than even him, and he could see her leaning back in her chair at her desk and cackling at the fact that she'd thrown the girl to the wolves. Still, Maz was one of the people close to his parents that he trusted to know what she was talking about, and if she'd assigned Rey to him, she clearly thought she could handle him.​

​

He'd show her otherwise, if he had anything to do with it.​

​

Leaning back further in his chair, he tipped it off its front legs so he could lean it back slightly, his arm resting on the table behind him to aid his balance. "Look, isn't teaching me this shit your job? I wouldn't be coming to you if I was doing the homework well, and I doubt you could even read my writing, let alone decipher the way I take notes. I'm sure you have to have some sort of course prepared or they wouldn't let you tutor, so let's see what you've got."​

​

Pausing, he studied her, before offering one hand for her to shake. "Ben Organa-Solo, by the way. You should probably know that by now if you pay attention on campus at all."​

 

[Sabre]

He looked downright confused by her. Her assertiveness perhaps? Unwillingness to bow to bullying when she knew she was in the right? Rey was proud of her ability to stand firm, especially with how often she’d metaphorically broken her back in the past bowing to others out of necessity. If his confusion had stayed steady she’d be chuffed and start preening her collar again, but then came the disbelief and following suspicion- and then he just had to say that.

“Yes.” No qualifiers, or justifying herself. Her voice was flat, the look in her hazel eyes equally so. Being a woman, and young one at that while looking younger still than she was due to her slight frame— she knew she didn’t look the part. She got the same looks and suspicious questioning in robotics club and whenever she volunteered at the local garage. Rey should be use to having to prove herself. Familiarity didn’t stop the sensation of pins pricking up her spine at the thought of being underestimated.

He tilted back in his chair and the thoughts ‘Pompous’ and ‘Brat’ rang in her head while she schooled her expression into one of cool neutrality. She listened to him, but her eyes diverted as she opened the textbook and orange binder to the current pages, her tongue pressed hard to the roof of her mouth as she formulated what should have been a icy reply until he cut her train of thought off by introducing himself. She looked back up to his offered hand- massive, elegant, far less blemished than her own- and gave him a firm and respectable handshake.

His name tickled two sources of familiarity: the first being the overheard whispers of “Terrifying.” and “Unstable delinquent.” and maybe even a little “Destruction of school property” sprinkled here and there from guys in her robotics club. The second source was the last name Organa. No way the name of one of the biggest alumni contributors with their name stamped on half a building was a common one.
So he was one those. Ugh. And now what? He was trusting his name and reputation to precede him, for her to roll out the red carpet and fall on her knees and beg for his good graces and connections?

She blinked, a beat passing that felt felt like a big question mark had formed over her head while she feigned a look of blank confusion, like she’d never heard that name before in her life. “Riighht— I don’t pay mind to gossip or student forums. Nice to meet you Ben Organa-Solo.”

She tapped her highlighter against the page of the text book, drawing attention back to it. “Moving on. Teaching is actually you and your teachers responsibility, I’m here to help you understand the material. Understanding is different, because it’s personal.” She gave him a pointed look but the gold tin sitting beside her supplies caught her eye. She’d almost forgotten it.
“I do have a lesson plan. It covers from chapter one to twenty, and at this point in the semester you’re probably on chapter thirteen. Reviewing chapter thirteen with you doesn’t do you any good because calculus is cumulative and failing it now means you didn’t understand one of the chapter prior to it. I need to know which one.”

Rey grabbed the tin, snapping it open with a metallic sound before placing the lid under it. The large and slightly misshapen snickerdoodle cookies within were exceptionally aromatic. Extra cinnamon. She slid the tin across the table to him. “I need to see your homework and your notes. It will save you time, since I won’t have to start from the first chapter. Unless-“ she narrowed her eyes at him. Pompous. Entitled. There was a good chance he had been coasting through the majority of his classes on the downright bribery of his parents. The school had only recently started cracking down on that kind of thing after multiple student reports of it had blown up on social media. “Unless you haven’t done any of the work and we need to start from the beginning regardless.”

 

[Solo]

At the very least, he’d give it to her that she had a firm handshake. It reminded him a bit too much of his mother for comfort, diplomatic, but with an icy edge, like she was giving off the air of respect but deep down was plotting his murder. He wouldn’t put it past the resourceful girl to know where to hide a body.​

​

My parents would love her flitted through his mind, and he brushed it away with a bitter scowl. Of course, they would, he thought—they’d love any kid more than their own, especially one that seemed so like them. Whereas Ben had been moody, isolating, and downright contrary from the start—not from the start, of course, but they’d tell the story that way, and who was he to correct them? —he could tell this girl was full of fire. Not many would stand up to him and remain unscathed to tell the tale, and while it had angered him at first, it morphed into a sort of intrigue. Everyone had a breaking point, everyone could be pushed so far as to rise to battle with him—he just had to find hers.​

​

Benjamin Organa-Solo never did back away from a challenge. It wasn’t in his blood.​

​

He eyed the tin suspiciously as she slid it across the table, reaching out to pick one up and holding it away from his face to scrutinize it as though it were going to bite him. They smelled delicious, but he wasn’t in the habit of accepting food from strangers, as nice as this one seemed. One bad drug test could threaten his spot on the water polo team, and considering he had recently been made captain and he knew the team couldn’t succeed without him—along with the fact that it allowed him to humanely let out his aggression, whether that be by training or by fouling when the referees weren’t watching—he had to be skeptical of everything he consumed. Thankfully, he had turned twenty-two that year, and as such wouldn’t be penalized for alcohol, or he might have gone insane. “There’s nothing in these, is there?” he questioned, bringing it closer to his face to sniff before holding it away again, eventually setting it down on top of one of his unused notebooks.​

​

Letting his chair fall back down so that all four legs connected with the floor, a loud clunk resounding in the quiet hall, he leaned forward to study her. “Well, if I’m gonna be paying you, I might as well get my money’s worth,” he said with a slight shrug of one shoulder. “Start from the beginning. I’d hate to see you make a lesson plan for nothing,” he teased her, his emphasis on the words only sounding mocking.​

 

[Sabre]

Rey watches Ben with her peripheral as she flips through her binder. He was so, so prickly and she knew she should be annoyed with him. She could be, would be, so red in the face and practically barking at him now if she had let her temper flare- but she didn’t. He was frustrating sure, mostly in a way that made her want to grab his broad shoulders and shake him until he listened to her. Of course he was also incredibly entertaining, stimulating even, his verbal jabs lighting up her brain like she was working on something mechanical. Maybe she should join the debate team?

He looks at her cookie with such suspicion, and when he implies shes laced it with drugs and gives it a sniff she can’t help the way her lips quirk upwards and an undignified snort leaves her nose. His paranoia is comical. “Oh yes-“ She mocks, abruptly reaching across the table and snatching a cookie from the tin. “-my cookies are full of a brain stimulating drug called sugar. Not to mention cinnamon, flour, a pinch of salt and an unhealthy amount of butter.”
Then to satisfy some weird urge to, what— flex her metaphorical nuts? She isn’t sure, but she shoves the entire cookie in her mouth in one go. Which was a mistake because she can’t quite look at him with her mouth full without the threat of laughing and spitting snickerdoodle all over her books.

Her throat bobs when she swallows, the too big bite stinging on the way down though she manages not to show it.
The way he mentions paying her catches Rey’s ear, throwing all prior processing thoughts out the window as she suddenly feels tugged in two different directions. She needs the money, of that she is certain, and him paying her plus the meager amount she is getting paid by the school means she could easily double her income for tutoring without the extra effort. There was the option to let him remain under the impression that he was the one paying her, but- was the risk worth it?

Her teeth click together as she makes her decision, her stomach pulling itself into a deft knot in her middle. “You won’t be paying my anything, Ben. Im doing this as part of my work study.” Ultimately the risk is too much and he is too well known. Her student visa could easily be invalidated if the school or anyone else found out she was double dipping or working under the table.

He teases her, and she should bite back, but the brief thought of losing everything she had worked so hard for sombers her exponentially. “Okay, then let’s start with chapter one. I have my guideline here-“ she taps the handwritten pages of her binder. “It mostly a review of algebra three and a refresher of how to read equations. We can easily cover it and chapter two today to reinforce your calculus foundation.”

Rey commences the lesson, and at some point during the two hours they are together she gets tired of passing books back and force and slides her chair and all of her supplies up next to him instead. He’ll find that she actually pretty good at explaining things, and intuitive enough to know when he has questions he neglects to ask. She never takes a break from being difficult, but maybe that’s a good thing. When they finally get to the first set of simple problems she won’t leave him alone until he works them in front of her- and then when she looks them over she explains when he’s wrong. It’s almost worse when he’s right, because then she won’t let him have it until he provides an in depth explanation as to why his work is right.

Rey has a whole lot of high expectations, she even gives Ben homework. Then she’ll stress that he shows his work until her eyes are twitching and she’s blue in the face.

Somehow, she manages to never insult his intelligence— and when he deserves her praises, she gives it in subtle abundance.

 

[Solo]

When Ben had been informed that he would need a tutor to bump up his grade—no longer able to skate by on athletic performance, money, or name value—he had initially been reluctant, to say the least. At best, he had figured that he would be able to bully the kid through doing all his work and schmooze his way through the final exam; after all, even though the school had told him that money wasn’t a way to get by anymore, there was a price for everything, and he’d be willing to find it if it meant leaving college behind and finally starting off in the working world. He had spent his whole life watching his mother use her Skywalker lineage and watching his father lie and charm to get what they wanted—why couldn’t he do the same?​

​

But as the tutoring session went on, he found that he liked spending time with the girl, something he hadn’t been able to say about anyone in—well, he couldn’t remember how long it had been. He tolerated most people in his life, but that was mainly because they had something beneficial to offer him—his parents for their money, his teammates for their collective athletic success, his mentor for his ability to give Ben a boost in the corporate world based on what he did rather than who he was. This girl didn’t know who he was and didn’t seem to give a damn, and she intrigued him with her mix of attitude and gracelessness. Watching her shove the entire cookie in her mouth as though it would fit, stubbornly chewing and swallowing it even though he could tell she was struggling not to spit it out, was endearing.​

​

So, instead of arguing and lashing out—well, he did a bit of that, but that was to be expected; if she wasn’t going to drop her attitude, he wasn’t either, even if he was acutely aware that he had been the one to start things off on a combative front—he put his nose to the books and did the work, although clumsily at first. By the end of the lesson, he found that he could work through equations he hadn’t bothered with trying before, pleasantly surprised that it came naturally to him. It was a frustrating and exhausting endeavor, with her constantly pointing out his mistakes, but at the end of the lesson, he found himself with a better understanding of the subject than when he walked in, which was enough of an improvement for him to consider the day a success.​

​

In fact, he found himself disappointed when their lesson ended, an alert on his phone ringing to warn him that he had only a half hour until water polo practice. “Shit,” he muttered, silencing his phone as it blared incessantly from his pocket. “Gotta run. Practice,” he offered her in way of an explanation as he stood, messily shoving his things into his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. Hurriedly, he scribbled his number down on a piece of scrap paper, sliding it over the table to her with a half-smile. “Let me know when we need to do this again, okay? I’ll try and make time.”​

​

With that, he jogged from the library, taking the steps from the upper wing two at a time.​

-​

Over the next few weeks, he and Rey found themselves establishing a civil rapport, often littered with the bickering that had made their first meeting so memorable, but ending on a relatively unbothered note, save from the time he’d met up with her after a particularly tough meeting with his mentor. Snoke meant well, Ben knew, and he only expected more than Ben could give to challenge him and prepare him for the workplace, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t get tiring going from one person insinuating he was stupid to the next, and he’d had a minor blow-up at Rey due to pent-up stress. He’d gruffly apologized by the end of it, but he knew she was likely still bothered, so he’d made a note to at least try to be nice at their next session.​

​

On his way to another meeting with Snoke, Ben’s car, a sleek, black, brand-new Mercedes S-Class, began sputtering, and he smacked the steering wheel as he pulled it into the parking lot of a grocery store, getting out and yelling in frustration as he saw the smoke coming from under the hood. After placing a call to the dealership he’d purchased it from only to find that they didn’t have any appointments open—he’d reamed out the poor receptionist, dropping at least three instances of ‘do you know how much I spent on this car?’ in their conversation—he flipped through dealerships on his phone, placing a call to the first one that would take it. Once he had it set, he rode with the tow truck to the dealership, only staying long enough to toss his credit card over the counter and tell them to do what they had to before hopping in an Uber.​

-​

Snoke had been furious that Ben was late to the meeting, berating him for everything from not prioritizing his time down to buying the wrong car—even though Ben had purchased the model he’d told him to—and he was exhausted by the time he made it back to the mechanic shop to pick up his car. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and his hair was a mess when he walked through the doors, striding to the counter and tapping his fingers on the counter as he waited for someone to bring his keys to him.​

 

[Sabre]

At first glance the mechanic shop entrance was empty of any of the actual mechanics, and on top of that there was no bell on the counter or way to alert the men inside the auto bay. The bell on the door should have done that , but upon further inspection there was a rather noisy heater pointed out the open door just behind the counter that masked the noise. That doorway gave an open view of the shop garage. Red, the elder gentlemen that had taken Ben’s car in that morning sat in the corner on a ragged looking shop stool nursing a black tumbler of— coffee? Tea? From the looks of him and the rosiness of his cheeks it was probably alcohol. A handsome and familiar fellow stood to his right, leaning back against the cluttered counter and flipping a tool from hand to hand, and a little bit further down there was a thin and mousy looking blond man hunched over an old computer. By all appearances they were standing around shooting the shit rather than actually working on the vehicle beside them.

If Ben got any closer he could overhear the group of lazy mechanics and see that there was in fact someone working on his car, though they weren’t much more than a pair old brown boots from that angle, scuffed to hell and covered in oil stains.

“I’m telling you the engines shot.” The blond calls over his shoulder, and Rey thinks she might just kill him. The mechanic shop is her happy place, a place for her to unwind and curse and be who she really is when she’s not at school or tutoring or trying to look like some kind of perfect foreign citizen. She loves it so much she volunteers simply because she can’t actually work here.

“No it’s not, Skeeter, you ripe plonker! The fuel injector is just clogged beyond- Christ! You think a car this beautiful would get regular maintenance.”
It’s a weird kind of love, because her and the guys do nothing but argue and they definitely take advantage of the free labor and spend all of their time fucking around while she’s actually fixing things. It’s part of the charm. She kind of feels like she’s back in foster care, bickering with the rest of the dirty nameless children.

“Yeah I’m gonna order that engine-“
“No!” Rey is practically vibrating with anger, but she never stops being careful with the piece of equipment she’s holding on to underneath the car as she cleans it with a soft brush dipped in some sort of corrosive fluid. “You just wanna charge fifteen thousand for an engine replacement, drop it in and call it a day, but I’ve already replaced the coolant tank and when I finish cleaning this fuel injector this machine will run likes it fresh off the lot. Replacing the engine without doing that will have it down and truly out in less than month. We don’t even need an engine!”

She’s finished, she covered in muck- carbon, she thinks, these new expensive models of the s class seem to build it up faster than any old clunker. ‘There should be a recall.’ Now she’s just holding the heavy weight of it above her so she doesn’t jostle anything loose before she can screw the pieces of it back on. She reaches out with her free hand to where she keeps her perfectly laid collection of tools in the order she already knows she’ll need them. Except now there’s one missing.

“Where my socket wrench?”
Rey feels around a little more, confirming the missing 10mm wrench, and she already knows who took it.
“DAMERON!! You bloody wanker! Where’d you take my fucking wrench?”

And it’s like she’s pulled a string on his back, because next thing she knows he’s all charm and stupid smiles and she can’t see them but she knows it’s there as he leans close to the car but just out of reach.
“Relax, sweetheart-“ and in the background there is the distinct garbled sound of Red choking on his drink when Rey growls, growls! at Poe from underneath the vehicle. Red and Skeeter feels like they should step in, because damn- Dameron’s making a very bad decision right before their very eyes, but they don’t. “-I’m right here. You don’t need to yell. Here’s your precious socket wrench.”
He drops the tool into her open hand and as soon as it connects Rey’s kicking her feet in his direction, trying to get a solid connected kick in but he’s already slipping away from her. So she curses him instead.


“You goddamn short, dodgy, salad tossing, bell end! When I’m done mounting this fuel injector I’m going unmount your stupid balls, stick them up your sphincter dry, and then I’m gonna kick your ass again!” She yelling, so much that her voice echos a little in the concrete space. Skeeter is snickering.
“I’m starting to think you like it, D.” The reddening of Poe’s ears is tell enough to make the other two men break down laughing.

Rey slides herself and the dirty rolling creeper she’s laying on out from underneath the car. She wears brown pants and a ribbed off white tank, not that the color of those things is discernible at all considering the amount of stains. She’s absolutely filthy, covered in black muck and oil, some of that oil from the car and some of it that is most definitely hers from all the sweating she’s done today. She turns the towel previously draped around her neck to its slightly cleaner side and uses it to wipe her sweaty face, and she’s only about mid face wipe when she freezes. In that moment her eyes lock with the must-be owner of the car, her student, and someone she would rather never see her out of the most professional attire. Honestly, she’d rather be caught with her pants down than in the state she’s in now.

 

[Solo]

Upon walking into the mechanic’s, Ben hadn’t thought the day could get any more irritating. It had been a long day, stretching over thirteen hours from when he’d left his townhouse to when he’d gone to pick up his car, and most of it had been spent with his mentor alternating breathing down his neck and berating him for his supposed shortcomings. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to it—quite the contrary, considering he’d dealt with it from his parents growing up, then his uncle, then Snoke, so it was more of a constant than anything else in his life—but it did tend to wear him out, and if the bags under his eyes or his trademark slouch worsening by the second didn’t sell him out, his attitude surely would. Not that he was pleasant to begin with but exhausted, he was even more of a force to be reckoned with.​

​

He tapped the desk once, twice, three times, before his eyes darted towards a pen on the counter. After drumming it on the surface a few times, he lifted it and stared at it for a few moments before aiming it like a paper airplane and chucking it into the shop; if that didn’t get someone’s attention, he was going to jump the counter and demand it, but just as the object left his hand, his eyes connected with one of the mechanics as they pulled a towel down their face—revealing Rey’s face, which thankfully was not the one hit by the flying pen.​

​

“Ow, god damn it, who the fuck—” Poe sputtered, picking up the pen and storming towards the front of the shop, his face breaking out in a smarmy grin as he came face-to-face—or as close to it as he could, with their six-inch height difference—with Ben.​

​

“Fucking Dameron,” Ben groaned, rolling his eyes as he stepped back from the counter, having to ball his fists underneath his armpits as he crossed his arms over his chest to keep himself from lashing out and punching him. Of course, he had to deal with Dameron.​

​

Poe Dameron, asshole extraordinaire, son of his parents’ best friends and everything his parents had ever wanted in a son, stood before him, looking ridiculous with an ink smear on his forehead being the only mar on his otherwise perfect tanned face. No grease or sweat stained him, proof that he was there more to mess around than he was to work, which was a perfect description of the older version of the kid Ben had grown up spiking the punch at his parents’ functions with. To say they had grown apart during high school would be an understatement; they’d gone so far in their separate ways that if Ben jumped across the counter to punch him, it wouldn’t be the first time and it likely wouldn’t be the last.​

​

“Is that any way to talk to the guy who has your precious gas-guzzler up on a lift right now?” Poe teased with a smirk, leaning back against the half-wall that divided the cramped office with the shop in the back.​

​

Eyes narrowing, Ben stepped to the counter again, gesturing back towards the other mechanics, including Rey. “You don’t have my car on a lift, they do, because I guarantee you wouldn’t dare get your manicure dirty,” Ben growled as he motioned for Poe to move to the side. “Now get someone out here so I can pay for my repairs. I don’t trust you with my credit card.”​

​

“You left it with us, Benny. You’re lucky Rey here stopped us. Not that often we get a special snowflake AmEx black in here. We coulda charged you for a brand-new car and you probably wouldn’t have noticed,” Poe teased, but as Ben made a half-hearted swipe for him, he laughed and darted into the back. “He’s all yours, sunshine,” Poe sang as he wrapped his arms around the shoulders of the other two men, disappearing towards the back of the shop.​

​

Ben was seething. He swore he saw red as he clenched his eyes shut and took a deep breath to calm himself down. When he reopened them, he stepped back from the counter again. “Can I please just get my car and go home?” he called to Rey, the pleasantry sounding anything but.​

 

[Sabre]

Rey feels like she’s frozen in time, somehow gaping with her mouth closed as Poe talks to Ben and she can’t really hear what they’re saying to one another but she does now know two things: One, the two men know each other but judging by the body language they are exchanging it’s not the friendly sort of relationships, and two- when Ben crosses his long arms so far across his chest his hands are in his arm pits he kind of looks like a dying spider, which is weird imagery but whoop there it is.

Ben swipes at Poe, who is so much more slippery than people give him credit for, and he skips back in to the garage with that stupid grin on his face before grabbing the other two mechanics. Rey doesn’t register what he says next but she does very clearly get the tone when Ben yells across the shop to her.


“Can I please just get my car and go home?”

There’s a pause, where she considers her option and she really doesn’t want to go out there and give him an even better view of her being the mess that she is, but she also realizes that sending drunk, moron, or smarm, is just going to make the situation even worse.

Rey stands abruptly and goes to the counter, collecting the coolant tank that looks more like a child’s rubber coin pouch now than an actual car part. She stops and tosses the keys to one of the mechanics. “Skeeter, bring his car around. Don’t let Poe do it.” Skeeter solutes her and Poe deflates a little. They all kind of leer at her, watching her like she’s some kind of doe going into the lions den when she steps out of the garage into the shop.

She isn’t keen on letting the guys eavesdrop, so she stops at the door and kicks the heater holding it open to the side. It slams shut behind her.
Her eyes haven’t quite met Ben yet, she plops the hunk of plastic on the counter and is typing away on the computer in front of him, one hand occasionally coming up to push her the hair that has come out of her ponytail to the side. When she does look up what she see gives her pause.

Ben looks... exhausted. She’s seen him on a bad day before and been on the receiving end of his usual grumpiness more than once. He had been especially disgruntled and a jerk to her during their last tutoring session, which she’s still sore from. There are bags under his eyes, his hair is mussed, his clothes look like he’s been sitting in the same position for days, and she’s beginning to worry if he’s even slept since the last time she saw him. The printer whirs to life behind her.

“I’m going to make this as quick as possible, but there are some things you need to know.” Her voice is soft, even, she decided not to be combative or ‘poke the bear’. Her hands fold over the opaque white piece of plastic on the counter. “This is your coolant tank and as you can see, it pretty much exploded. There are two caps here-“ And she points out the two yellow caps but taps the one on the left for emphasis. “-one needs to be tight and the other needs to be loose. Whoever serviced your car last tightened them all the way so when your car started to over heat there wasn’t anywhere for the steam to go and the tank swelled to the point of bursting, hence the smoke. I had to replace it, and you’re pretty lucky your engine didn’t catch fire.”

She turns around, quickly collecting the stack of papers from the printer that includes his receipt and a diagram that she lays out on the counter. She grabs a red marker and circles a few things on it as she explains them. “Your car overheated because your fuel injector was clogged, and I cleaned that out, but it was clogged so prematurely because the bridge that connects it to the engine is shoddy. We can replace it, but that isn’t going to do you any good when the only replacement available is the factory part that has the same problem since you’ll have to replace it oh, let’s say every three to four months until Mercedes finally recalls it in two years.”

She shows him the receipt too, itemized for everything that’s been done. It’s actually fair and to the point in comparison to what it could have been. There’s a note at the bottom. “I’ve recommended here that you get the fuel injector cleaned each time you get the car serviced. Insist on it if you have to, otherwise it’ll damage your engine over time.” Finished up, she shuffles the paper in to a neat stack and prepares to give it to him. But she doesn’t, she’s just there looking at him with it resting in her hands.

Ben looks so tired and like he’s slowly sinking into the floor with how heavy is slouch is getting. Driving while fatigued is almost as impairing as drunk driving, and the thought of him getting hurt on his way home ties her stomachs up in knots.
She’ll blame it on worry, on being frazzled, on just being plain stupid when her next whim tumbles right out of her mouth before she can stop it.

“Can I drive you home?”

She cringes internally the second it’s out of her mouth. It’s genuine, concerned. It sounds like the wrong thing to say too, the kind of thing that will rub him the wrong way one iota too far and he’ll snap. She goes stiff all over, bracing herself as she finally offers up his receipt.

 

[Solo]

With the others retreating into the back, his anger slowly subsides, but he can feel it still churning inside him, only tampered down by the waves of exhaustion that crash against him. All his limbs feel like they’re made of cement, and he finds himself resting one forearm against the counter to keep himself propped up. If he lets go, he doesn’t know if his legs have enough left in them to hold him up; all he wants to do is go home and crash until he needs to be up for class in the morning. Totaling the hours up in his head, if he skips breakfast and orders something at the café outside the English building in between morning classes, he can manage around seven hours—that’s if he can get out of there relatively quickly, something he finds he’s not going to do in as little time as he wants when Rey starts talking.​

​

He tries to focus on her words—really, he does, and he manages to absorb some of them—but he’s grateful that she’s also jotting her notes down on the papers in front of her. At the very least, he can present them to the next mechanic when he takes his car in for the next check, though after all the trouble he’s gone through with it that day and how disparaging Rey is in her comments about it, he’s half tempted to take the thing back and trade it in for something more reliable. There had to be something flashy enough to satisfy Snoke and still be something that wouldn’t leave him stranded before his meetings—maybe he’d ask Rey about it when he started being able to form coherent sentences again. As it stands, all that he manages to do is nod as she speaks, finally taking a second pen and scribbling his signature on the copy of the receipt she would need to keep. It’s nothing like his normal elegant handwriting, but he doesn’t trust himself to write anything halfway legible if he has to focus on it for more than a few seconds, so the scribble would have to do.​

​

It’s only when she blurts out an offer to drive him home, hurried and almost tinged with regret, that his head snaps up to really look at her. Despite being just as disheveled as he is, while he must look dead on his feet she’s quite the opposite, glowing with happiness even as she looks him over with concern. He can tell she’s in her element there, covered with grease and in clothes that he can’t even tell what color they were originally but they surely aren’t that color anymore, and he briefly wonders when the last time was that he felt that happy. Despite focusing on it for an abnormally long time, he comes up with nothing.​

​

“I—I don’t want to bother you,” he mumbles, trying to pick up the stack of papers but dropping them back onto the counter as soon as he tries to tighten his grip, his muscles in his hands going slack instead. Pawing at them, he manages to shuffle them back into a somewhat-organized stack, tucking them in between his bicep and his side instead. “On second thought… Maybe it’s a good idea.”​

​

It isn’t a good idea, and he knows that—he should just take an Uber home and have another bring him back in the morning to pick up his vehicle, but that would add on more time spent waiting for the cars and another stranger he’d have to force at least marginal interaction with, and he thinks he’s maxed his quota out for both those things with the day he’s had.​

​

“Can we leave now?” he asks hopefully. “I don’t know when your shift is over but I really need to get home.”​

​

( Sorry for it being so short! )​

 

[Sabre]

(It’s perfect)

Ben doesn’t yell at Rey. She stays cringing for a few moments more, just in case. Instead he mumbles and answer to her, which is incredibly jarring for someone that’s never heard him do anything less than perfectly annunciate each word. Her downcast gaze snaps back up to him, her hazel eyes wide as she stares at him rather dumbly for a moment.
He accepts her offer, sort of, and shes gaping because this is not the path she expected this interaction to take at all. She shoves the niggling little voice in the back of her head back where she can’t hear it. It doesn’t matter what she expected, this is where she is now.

“I’m a volunteer, I can leave whenever I want.” Rey grabs her old brown coat from under the desk and shrugs it on. It isn’t pretty, stained from years of use and covered in carefully mended holes and patches, but it’s much cleaner than her shirt and she would absolutely hate to get oil anywhere on the pristine interior of his car. She comes to stand beside Ben, not quite touching him but standing close. She hovers like a mother would around a newly walking toddler, prepared to catch him. He’s got a foot and probably eighty pounds on her, and strong as she is she doesn’t think she could hold him up if he falls, but she could at least break his fall.

“Let’s go. Maybe- maybe uh, concentrate on staying upright. Here, I’ll get the door.” She takes tentative steps away and opens the door for him. It chilly and dark outside. Rey’s breath is immediately visible but just past that is the steam rising from his car, already on and waiting for him in the parking lot with Skeeter leaning against the driver side door.

Rey hovers next to him the entire trip to the car, gently steering if she needs to. It’s unlike her to fret so much or be over protective. She tries not to dwell on it, but she can’t breath a sigh of relief until he’s safely sitting in the passenger side seat, however long it actually takes him to get there.
Skeeters eyes are bugging behind his coke bottle glasses when she asks him for the keys.
“You’re seriously gonna drive this guy home?”
He doesn’t say it, but there’s an unasked question of whether she’s sure that’s safe for her to do, Rey glowers at him and snatches the keys from his hand without asking again. “I am. Consider me signed off for the night too.”
“You know him?”
“He’s a friend.”
“Ooh~ I see.”
“You don’t see a damn thing Skeeter. Get your eyes checked.”
And with that Rey butts him out of the way.

She gets in the car, adjusts her sights and the seat. She turns on the cars gps too, selects home and hopes its right or that he’ll correct her if it’s not. Her eyes briefly flit to poor, exhausted Ben, wherever or however he may be at that given moment. “Don’t worry,” she gives him a half smile. “I’m a good driver, promise.” Maybe he can take a nap while she drives.
If he gives her the chance she does prove to be a very good driver. She shows him that she’s incorrigibly careful and good at maneuvering, rolling into stops and turns slow and smoothly enough not to jostle him. More so, she appears to just enjoy being behind the wheel and wears a little smile the entire drive.

 

[Solo]

The exhaustion only compounds as time goes on, and by the time she reiterates her offer—confirming that it hadn’t just been a hallucination, which he had suspected; it wouldn’t be the first time he’d started seeing or hearing things from lack of sleep—he’s barely moving of his own accord, autopilot taking over as he follows her instructions and exits the shop. The cold barely registers, his cheeks flushing pink and the small puffs materializing in front of his nose as he breathes being the only indication; he doesn’t shiver and he doesn’t make any effort to pull his coat tighter around him, because he doesn’t truly feel the cold. If anything, it comforts him, the brisk air a metaphorical slap in the face that brings him back to conscious thought.​

​

Rey—all five-foot-something of her slight frame—guides him into the passenger seat, his large frame flopping into the plush leather with a ‘thwump’, and he paws behind him clumsily to slide the seat back and give his legs some room. He feels out-of-place, completely aware that that wasn’t where he was supposed to be sitting in his own car; seeing the interior from the opposite side feels surreal, though he supposes that could be compounded by his tired state. Nothing feels real at that point, especially seeing the bright, bubbly girl slide into the driver’s seat like she was meant to be there.​

​

The curt, crisp voice of his GPS starts to ring through the speakers, the sound being the only thing coming from them. He doesn’t listen to music often when he drives; either the soothing classical music he uses to study would lull him to sleep, or the intense, angry hardcore he preferred during his free time would cause him to drive even more aggressively than he usually did. Getting into an accident because of his own anger would only infuriate Snoke more, and if their earlier meeting was any indication, he couldn’t afford to do that.​

​

“Better than I’d be, I’m sure,” he mutters under his breath as he runs a hand through his unruly black waves, attempting to tame them to make himself look a little less crazy. “Sorry you—well, you didn’t have to drive me home, but you get it.” Words weren’t his strong suit on a good day, and the intricacies of language were completely lost on his addled brain. “Still. Sorry.”​

 

[Sabre]

The silver detailing on the steering wheel sticks out apart from the black on black on more black of the rest of dash, shiny and perfect. Rey doesn’t look at it, but her thumbs frequently smooth over the textured metal in appreciation. The car is beautiful and drives perfectly steady despite its flaw. She can’t recall ever driving something so luxurious and expensive; it feels like a privilege. Her smile causes fine creases around her eyelids, the only way to tell the expression is genuine.

The night is dark, the car is dark, and its only through passing street lamps and her peripheral vision that she gets a glimpse of Ben trying to soothe his wild hair back into place. When he says sorry the word feels like it echoes through her addled mind.

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. Ad infinitum.

That’s exaggerating, of course, but she does feel a certain way about hearing him say it. Perhaps it dances too close to frayed edges of bitter memories. Perhaps it’s the implication that he’s burdening her.

“Don’t be sorry,” she says, her tone too gentle to be chiding. “for accepting my help. You’re not burdening me, I’m being... thoughtful.” And she makes that half-a-laugh noisy nasal exhalation. Like the notion of her being thoughtful is so downright silly.

‘You will arrive in three miles. Your destination is on the left.’

“I-“ Rey starts, but thinks better of it and snaps her mouth shut. Her tongue runs back and forth against her teeth. She has a philosophy she thinks he could benefit from, a philosophy of the saying ‘thank you’ instead of ‘sorry’ and all of the grace of gratitude, but it’s difficult to put into words and he’s probably too tired to appreciate a lecture.
Her eyes briefly flick to him, then back to the road. Despite better reasoning her self imposed silence never lasts very long.
“Knowing you’re safe and going to make it home in one piece gives me peace of mind I’m grateful for.”

‘You have arrived at your destination.’

Rey pulls the car up to his residence and parks in the appropriate location. Funny how she’s followed all of the directions of the gps but didn’t digest the majority of them. Now she’s not exactly sure what side of town they’re in but this doesn’t look anything like standard campus housing.

 

[Solo]

He’s in and out during the drive home; if he isn’t taking micro-naps where he blacks out entirely, he’s in a daze, barely registering where he is or what her words are. She could kidnap him easily, overpower him and toss him in a river, and briefly he wonders if she’s even visualized it. She seems too kind, too sweet, too pure to think about doing anything of the sort, which is another tally in the column of reasons he shouldn’t be allowing her this close to him. He’s a monster; he spends his days picturing a hundred and one ways to make anyone who even mildly inconveniences him disappear, while she gets off work and offers to drive a near-stranger home because she’s worried about them getting home safely. ​

​

They couldn’t be more different if they tried, and he knows it.​

​

It doesn’t stop him from wanting it not to be true. There’s still good in him somewhere, isn’t there? He wants to believe there is, if not for himself, then for her.​

​

As his eyes blink open again outside his townhome, he realizes it’s the first car ride he’s had where he hasn’t offhandedly wanted the car to veer off an embankment. He’s not sure what that means, but the significance isn’t lost on him.​

​

Shifting in the seat, he puts his wide palms on the leather on either side of him, pulling himself up from the half-upright position he’d slumped into during his brief slumber. He rubs at his eyes and attempts to brush his hair from in front of his eyes, looking in the rearview mirror on the passenger side to see a picture of exhausted mess if he’s ever seen one. Rey’s spent the entire day elbow-deep in grease and she still looks more put-together than he does; he winces at his reflection before turning away from it, thankful that the darkness outside makes him invisible in the window behind her. He’d much rather look at her, anyway.​

​

It’s a moment before he speaks, his voice hoarse with the little sleep he’d managed to get. Her words echo in his mind—home, one piece, safe—and he feels a bit choked up at knowing she’d cared that much. No one had ever cared that much. He can’t even remember the last time someone’s cared at all.​

​

“I’m home,” he mumbles, both as a way to fill the silence that’s beginning to make him uncomfortable and as a verbal wondering—not that he didn’t think they’d make it home, she was a perfectly suitable driver, but she could have just as easily stolen his car and dropped him off in the middle of the city and he’d have been none the wiser until he woke up with his wallet gone. “You brought me home.” It’s repetitive, but he still can’t believe it.​

​

Shaking his head, he unclicks the seatbelt, pausing before opening the door. “I… really can’t thank you enough.” The words feel foreign to him; he can’t remember the last time he’s thanked someone, usually preferring a clipped nod if he acknowledges someone else’s actions at all. “Can I get you an Uber home, at least? You can come in and wait if you want.”​

 

[Sabre]

Rey isn’t surprised Ben lives in a town home, but she thinks she would have been if he lived in a dorm or an apartment. She first pegged him for a penthouse kind of guy, but townhome works just as well. There’s greenery she can’t really see and parking space and even a porch. Rey gets a little lost calculating how much rent would be in this area, but the thought is gone the moment Ben shifts and sits up.

He winces at his own reflection and then he looks back to her. He’s a mess with sleep in his eyes and that makes him looks softer and more vulnerable than she’s ever seen him. Then a theres something just so damn endearing about the hoarseness of his voice that she smiles.

“You’re home, er- well, you will be once you’re inside.” His seatbelt unclips and spurs her into action, giving her precious seconds to get out of her own seat and meet him on the other side. She’s standing there when it opens, his keys in one hand and her other offered out to help him up. He may not want or need it, but she still hovers as though he won’t make it to his front door without her.

“Saying thank you is enough.” The air is cold and instantly makes the tip of a Rey’s nose pink. They are definitely in for an early winter this year, even if hasn’t snowed yet.
When they make it up to the door Rey hands over the keys and has a moment where she feels like an all American good ol’ boy from those classic Hollywood movies, the kind where the guy takes his date home and walks her up to the door and then awkwardly loiters in the doorway. It’s just that neither her nor Ben really look the part.

It feels out of character for her not to plan ahead, but up until the moment he mentions Uber Rey hadn’t considered how she was going to get home even for second. “I think I can walk. I usually walk back from the shop because its only a few miles and-..” This is only a few miles more, honestly, so she could walk back.
Rey looks out at the nice little neighborhood, realizes she has very little idea of where she is and that’s it’s cold enough her trusty jacket isn’t going to do much, and that- oh yeah, it’s pretty freaking dark too. She rubs her chilled hand on the back of her neck, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. “On second thought, I would very much appreciate that Uber, please. But I can wait out here instead of invading your privacy- so you can get straight to bed.”

She grins, but the way it’s equal parts sweet and apologetic wrinkles her little nose. Rey’s had enough time around him to learn he’s pretty paranoid. Surely he’d feel better locking the door behind him and finally getting some rest instead having to wait around watching for her to leave.

 

[Solo]

Ben blinks dumbly at her a few times, as though her words aren’t registering—and really, they aren’t, but it’s for more of a reason than his exhaustion. Would she really expect him to let her walk? Sure, he lives in a nice neighborhood, and he’s pretty sure the only actual crime that’s happened there is a result of children being so bored they run around vandalizing mailboxes or smoking weed, but that doesn’t mean that he likes the idea of her walking by herself.​

​

The way she says it—so casually, as though it’s a fact of life—makes him think she does it often, and that twists a knot in his stomach that he didn’t even know was there.​

​

Thankfully, she dismisses the idea—the stupid idea, he would have pointed out if she wouldn’t have corrected herself immediately—but it’s replaced with one almost equally as ludicrous, so this time, he does react, an inelegant scoff huffing from his mouth as he shakes his head. Unlocking his door, he pushes it open and cocks his head towards the inside, raising an eyebrow as she pauses. “First off, if you think I’m just gonna come in here and pass out while you wait outside for an Uber that’s going to take—hold on, where are you going?—around fifteen minutes, if my wait times are any estimate, you’re crazier than I thought,” he starts as he steps inside and nudges his shoes off with his toes, hitting the light switch before venturing from the entryway to the kitchen that’s just inside.​

​

“And secondly, if you think I’m going right to sleep—well, again, that whole ‘crazier than I thought’ thing.” He tries to keep his voice light, but fails; sleep is all he wants to do, but Snoke wasn’t pleased that he’d turned up late earlier that day, and had assigned him extra work as punishment. Humming softly, he busied himself with starting his espresso machine, the smell of freshly ground espresso beans filling the air. “I’ve got work to do. I’ll manage to get a few hours before I have to be back at it in the morning,” he explains offhandedly, as though it were nothing—as though every fiber of his being wasn’t screaming at him to crawl into bed and let her see herself out.​

​

“Coffee? Well, espresso? I’ve got milk if you know how much it takes to make it a latte. ‘Fraid I don’t.”​

 

[Sabre]

Ben’s scoff leads Rey to frown and her brows draw to create a fine wrinkle between her eyes. She thinks it’s not the first time he’s scoffed at her like she’s being absurd.
The front door opening startles Rey rigid and when Ben gestures for her to follow him in she’s not fast enough to hide the way her eyes widen or how the nerves wrapping around her throat makes her gulp. She doesn’t have to step inside to know his home smells good or that everything in it is expensive and classy in that subtle way that having a lot of money can buy. It’s clean too, clean and perfect while she’s dirty and covered in oil and oh god he’ll never get the stains out.

Rey thinks about being difficult or running in the opposite direction, but it’s too shameful to squander his kindness. This is kindness for him, isn’t it?
“You really think I’m crazy?” She checks that notion off as another concern to add to her list. She follows him inside to unlace her heavy steeled toed boots and leaves behind an extra two inches in height when she steps out of them. Knowing her fuzzy fox socks are much cleaner than her shoes makes her feel marginally better about walking on his pristine floor.

Rey gives any furniture and walls a wide berth while she follows Ben into the kitchen. The mention of him doing more work makes her visibly bristle. “You- what work? You’ve been working all day and you look like you’re about to keel over! You need to rest.”
She crosses her arms over her chest to keep from grabbing the counter. It occurs to her that she can’t make a good case for him to get more sleep by pouting, but the defeat in his voice, the heaviness of his limbs, those dark hollows under his eyes— It upsets her in a way she’s not willing to examine right now.


She prioritizes things that need to get done over her health, especially her mental health. She’s a hypocrite. He doesn’t need to know that. Maybe he already knows.
Rey works her jaw and chews her lip. She has no right to be upset or to make demands, even if she’s in the right or- or perhaps not, perhaps her pouting is unfair.
Rey rolls her shoulders and leans back against the counter behind them in attempt to force herself to relax a little. “I would like an espresso. Plain or however you usually make it, please? I don’t really have a preference.”

Examining things in a new light could help, so that’s just what Rey does. Her eyes roam down to his feet and stick there while she vaguely remembers a joke about men with big feet wearing big socks and wonders why it’s funny. His socks look comfortable.
The new light she’s looking for shines down and opens up her eyes.
She realizes that she’s struggling with her approach because Ben’s not her student right now, he’s her friend. That certainly helps cultivate a more empathetic perspective. “Sooo.. that work you have to do, would you benefit from having a temporary assistant? I have no idea what I’d be getting into but I can stay and assist if it would help you finish sooner.”
The offer feels silly. It’s unlikely that she can help, she knows, he probably needs someone trained in whatever he actually does. There’s a chance she’ll make a mess of things. Regardless, the thought is there.

 

[Solo]

Rey is in his house. Rey is in his house. Rey is in his house. No matter how many times his mind repeats it, it feels surreal. A few weeks ago, she’d only been a girl forced to tutor him, someone he did his best not to provoke too much if only for his grade and someone who seemed to hate him on the best of days, and now, she’s in his house.​

​

If the sleep wasn’t already making him delirious, Ben thinks he might be forced into that state by that sheer fact alone.​

​

The protests she makes go in one ear and out the other, Ben offering only a roll of his eyes in return. It isn’t like they aren’t things he hasn’t heard before—from Hux, from his mother, from Chewie, from his father when he bothers to call—but all their words ring untrue in the eyes of Snoke, and that’s whose opinion really matters to Ben. What would be higher on his priorities than someone who’s going to help him graduate with high honors and get him a job after school? It’s an argument he’s had many times over, and he doesn’t have the patience to go through it again; he’d much rather spend their limited time together not arguing when he can—and this is a change that’s happened so subtly he hadn’t even realized it until it makes him drop the spoonful of espresso beans and scatter them over his counter. As his hands brush them to the counter’s edge and back into the machine, his face flushes.​

​

As the machine brews enough for two—a heavier workload than it’s used to, unless Ben has forgone so much sleep that he needs a double shot to keep himself moving, and he almost considers it—Ben gathers two small glasses, moving the creamer and sugar jars from behind the machine out onto the counter. It doesn’t take long for the beverage to brew, and soon enough he’s pouring hers out and sliding it over to her with the fixings, setting his aside to cool.​

​

“It’s nothing you could help with,” he says, but hurriedly shakes his head and huffs out a breath at his rudeness. “I mean—it’s stuff I can barely get through, and I’ve been doing it for years now,” he corrects himself as he tests the beverage with the tip of his pinky. Still too hot. It wouldn’t stop him if she wasn’t there; he’d tossed them back, so desperate for caffeine that he’s burned the roof of his mouth, but he figures she’ll likely try and lecture him for that, too, so he practices a bit of restraint. “It’s nice enough to just have—this,” he says, a bit of forlornness heard in his tone, his emotions more visible and more vulnerable than he is with anyone else—this is another realization that startles him, though thankfully, he keeps hold of the cup he’s rising to his lips again.​

​

“I don’t, uh—I don’t have people over often,” he explains, or at least tries to, again—words aren’t his strong suit, that’s why he never majored in creative writing. “I’m just happy I had the cups clean to be able to offer you something to drink.” It isn’t a joke, per se—but it’s lighter than anything he’s said all night, and he finds it a nice contrast.​

​

“And no,” he says after a few seconds of silence, his voice suddenly much quieter. “To answer your question. I don’t think you’re crazy.”​

​

But I am.​

 

[Sabre]

The clatter of espresso beans has Rey looking back up from the floor, to the counter, to Ben and then back to the counter again as he sweeps the spilled beans into his palm and back into the machine. His loss of dexterity affirms her prior decision to drive him home. It’s nice not to doubt something.

She’s grateful when Ben slides over the piping hot liquid in a small glass along with the cream and sugar. When she’d ask for him to make it as he usually did, it was under the assumption that he was going to mix it for her himself and- well, asking for her actual preference felt a little embarrassing to say out loud.
Sugar, sugar, more sugar, way too much creamer, and by the time she’s done with her concoction it looks more like chocolate milk than any kind of coffee and her cup is twice as full. But she’s happy with it.

Rey uses both hands to bring the cup to her face and breath in the dissipating steam. The smell of espresso is such a small pleasure, but she enjoys it enough to hum about it.
“I understand, I thought that might be the case but my offer was already half way out.”

She’s relaxing, just a little, and blowing on her cup as if the creamer hadn’t already taken the temp down to a manageable level. It’s when Ben mentions he doesn’t get company that the she takes a sip of the warm drink and savors it as her eyes drift across the part of his home she can see without having to move her head. It’s a bit sparse, neutral and clean and honestly- now that she thinks about it his place looks more like he’s renting a high end furnished apartment for the week rather than actually living there. She wonders if he enjoys himself here at all, or if it’s just the place where he occasionally finishes work and passes out until getting back to his daily grind.

Though she wants to ask uncomfortable questions she cracks a smile instead. “Truly? And here I thought you were the type to don vintage dresses and throw dinner parties.” Humor helps her ache. The warm espresso does too. Talking is harder when she doesn’t have a goal or job to do, yet it’s not nearly as difficult with him as with others. “I’m.. pretty happy you let me in and fortunately did have a clean cup. You, Ben Organa-Solo, are the hostess with the mostess after all. I’m kind of crummy guest though, didn’t even bring a gift. ‘spose next time I’ll bring flowers or something.”

She looks down in her cup, drowning her chuckle and the other stupid things she could say.


“And no,” “To answer your question. I don’t think you’re crazy.”

She looks up to him and stares, right in his dark eyes, and the quiet stretches. Her heart pounds in her chest and the blood thunders in her ears. Suddenly her face is hot but not from steam. She almost wishes he had said he thought she was, at least that she can laugh off. “Oh,” she gulps, feeling flustered. “O-k good.. um-“ and she brushes some of her loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Thank you for being kind to me, and making me espresso, and getting me an Uber- which is probably going to be here any minute but it’s been really nice just being and.. talking.”

Time feels like it’s slipping away despite her desire to sit and sip and stare at him. Why does it take awkwardly standing around in his house for all the buried emotional alarm bells to start ringing off their hooks and make her look like a weirdo?

 

[Solo]

It isn't really coffee by the time she's finished with it, but he figures it does suit her. There was no way a girl that acted like that was going to take her coffee black like he does, and while he likely would make a snarky remark, he's too tired to come up with anything witty. He's probably already embarrassed himself enough today, acting so far from his ordinary, that he figures keeping his mouth shut when he'd usually open it is just adding to the idiosyncrasies. At this point, does she even know who he is? Does he? Every day he spends with her, he feels like he knows less and less.​

​

And then she jokes back at him, and the shreds of understandable conversation he'd managed to have so far were gone.​

​

If anyone asks him, he'll deny it to his last breath. If anyone asks him, he'll make up excuses of being tired or being out of it from his car breaking down earlier or the emotional toll it takes to sit through one of Snoke's lectures, especially when the man is mad. Whatever he says, he knows he won't admit the fluttering in his chest that he can't say is solely from the caffeine beginning to give him one last burst of energy for the night, but that's okay; it's not like anyone will ask anyway. The only people he talks to are Snoke, who wouldn't care less if Ben paid him to listen to his problems, and Rey, who he couldn't exactly confront with budding feelings of—something. He doesn't know what it is or even how to try and conceptualize it, and he thinks that scares him more than the actual feelings do.​

​

Too soon, the notification flashes on his phone—Rey's Uber has arrived. "Hey, looks like your ride's here," he says, all her previous words ignored verbally, but they've truly sunken in, and he thinks he'll hear her compliments long after he closes his eyes later that night. "I already have a pretty shitty rating on Uber, so we probably shouldn't keep them waiting," he suggests, though he'll take another hundred one-star ratings if it means she'll stay settled in his kitchen like she belongs there. Rationally, he knows she doesn't, and he knows she doesn't want to, but he can't stop his delirious brain from imagining her with one of her sugary coffee abominations sitting at the little breakfast nook as he cooks breakfast for the first time in forever. Guiding her towards the front door, he pauses as he opens it, regarding her with a softness that most would assume him not possible of summoning.​

​

"Thanks, a lot, for everything today," he murmurs, his voice barely above an audible volume. "I mean it. I owe you big time."​

​

(( Kind of short, but I figured we could do a time skip next? Feel free to skip to whatever or we can discuss in PM if you don't know/don't want to skip to a certain point!))​

 

[Sabre]

The Uber has arrived. Rey smiles but her disappointment still shines through. She’s not good at hiding all her feeling after all. “Alright, alright, I’ll try to be quick.” She swallows the rest of her caffeine in a single gulp before he guides her back to the entryway where her boots lay haphazardly in front of the door.

Rey’s not as quick putting her boots on as she was to taking them off. The old oily things are a little too big and the heavy leather is softened by years of abuse. The gets the right on easily but Rey instinctively grabs Ben’s arm for stability as donning the left boot throws her balance off-kilter. “Whoops-“ her nose scrunches up when she looks up at him and giggles, embarrassed. “-I usually do this sitting down.”

The door opens, her driver patiently awaits, but she’s a little caught by the brown eyes looking down at her with an expression she’s sure she hasn’t seen before. “Um- you’re welcome, and your thanks is enough.” Her nervous swallow is audible. She feels she need to do something but a handshake feels too formal and a hug far too familiar. She puts her hand on his shoulder instead. “Thank you for having me. Goodnight Ben, please get some quality sleep.”
Then she’s gone, into the night, into the car, giving Ben a little wave if he sticks around to see the car leave.

-


Where she’s from Thanksgiving isn’t something that people do- so Rey isn’t quite sure what all the hubbubs about because all the turkey she’s eaten in her life has been miserably dry and rather tasteless. It seems stupid to have a day dedicated to it. Nevertheless, she did appreciate having the week off on a nearly empty campus. It gave her time catch up on a bit of everything.

Now everything’s back in gear and she’s feeling... a little nervous actually. There are only two weeks of regular classes left before finals and holiday break. That means two weeks of tutoring and a few odd days of cramming and then not only does she find out her own grades but she’ll ‘hopefully’ find out how Ben did in calculus and that’s almost worse because what if she’s a total failure of a tutor?

The cookie tin is open. Her feet tap against the chair they rest in and Rey is sitting on the table with a cookie in each hand. It’s not a good look, but stress eating seldom is.

When Ben finally arrives Rey shoves what remains of each cookie in her mouth, painfully swallows, and takes big breath of air before asking the very standard conversation starter he’s probably already heard a dozen times that day. “So, how was your holiday?”

 

[Solo]

The car pulls away from the curb, and Ben shuts the door behind her. The townhouse now empty, he sits at his desk and spreads the files he's been assigned out in front of him. Artificial light from the opened laptop illuminates the room, and he tries to delve into his work, but after he's read the same line four times he realizes that he can only focus on the way his forearm tingles where she'd grabbed him. The espresso should have woken him up, but the scent is tinted with cream and sugar and it reminds him of her, which serves to soothe him, not energize him. Before he knows it, he's barely able to keep his eyes open, and he only manages to shuck the pants and top he'd worn that day onto the floor before he half-covers himself with the duvet and falls soundly asleep.​

​

In the morning, his alarm rouses him, bleary-eyed and heavy-limbed, and as he checks his phone before he leaves he finds he's six minutes behind his normal routine - he should be scrambling, but he's moving lazily about, even popping a bagel into the toaster for a few seconds before ambling out the door - and he should be scrambling, gunning his engine to whip his car out of his driveway and towards the office, but instead, his mind drifts towards Rey.​

​

He hopes she has a good day. It's a foreign feeling; he hasn't even hoped he has a good day in quite some time.​

​

-​

​

Snoke is, predictably, furious when he doesn't show up ten minutes early like he's supposed to - a point that has never made sense to Ben, but then again, most of the old man's methods don't, he just knows to follow - but even then, Ben suppresses a smile as a very Rey-like comeback flits through his mind. Thankfully, he still has the sense about him to bite his tongue and delve into the work he'd neglected the evening before.​

​

-​

​

Gatherings of the Organa-Solo-Skywalker rarely go well, and Thanksgiving is no exception. He tries, at least, which is more than his petulant side can say for his parents, for when he shows up on Thursday morning after fighting for that day and the next off just to make sure his mother is happy, the first thing he's met with is a snide remark about his choice of advisor. It doesn't improve from there, with Ben going from staying silent to attempt to keep the peace to snapping at his father that if he didn't want him to go into poli-sci or English lit maybe he should have been around more to influence his son's decision to getting into a full-on screaming match and swiping the rest of the red wine to spend the rest of Thanksgiving holed up in his childhood bedroom. Swilling the liquid around in the bottom of the bottle, his lips wrap around it soon after, draining the last of the alcohol, as his other hand brings his phone up for squinted eyes to peer at. Vaguely, he can make out Rey's contact info, but he stops himself from sending any message. She wouldn't want to hear from him, anyway - probably busy happily celebrating, like she was meant to be, while he drowns his sorrows alone, like he was meant to be.​

​

-​

​

It's almost a relief to get back into the routine that is school and Snoke and Rey. While he wouldn't consider the former two pleasant, they were at least a reprieve from the ever-present reminder that his family thought him a disappointment. The latter, however, was a bright spot in his week, the quick meeting between the two often the only thing he found himself looking forward to as the days advanced. The familiar tin of sweets is open when he arrives, and the aroma of something mouth-watering drives his hand into the tin without question. Humming as he bites into it, he nods with satisfaction, tip of his tongue darting out to clear his bottom lip of crumbs before he chews, swallows, and speaks.​

​

Well, it isn't a response at first, more of a dismissive grunt, but he figures after she took care of him what feels like forever ago, he could at least form words back to her. "If I lie and say good, will you believe me so I don't have to talk about it?" he shoots back wanly, a slight grimace on his face.​

 

[Sabre]

The cookies are usually on the smaller side and a little misshapen, but there always pretty good and perfectly cooked now that Rey has figured out the perfect touch on the old toaster oven in the dormitory lounge. The first time she brought them they were an offering to smooth things over but now they are something else, some language of food that other people don’t quite get. Watching Ben eat something she’s made makes fizzy bubbles of affection burst in her chest. She’s staring at his lips.

The professional in her kicks her butt off the table to refocus her thoughts, and Rey pats the wrinkles from hunching over out of her shirt like she always does. By the time Ben responds the textbook on the table is open and Rey is seated again. She smirks at him and arches an eyebrow. He may as well have asked her something impossible. “How can I believe you if you’ve just told me you’re lying?” Then she purses her lips and looks back to the text book, knowing she shouldn’t be nosy and tamps down on her questions. “But you don’t want to talk about it.”

She says that like a finality, like she’s going to let it go. She tries.
“We’re finally down to the last three chapters now. They’ll be on the final and a great foundation for Calculus two.” And she’s flipping through pages, going through notes which have somehow gotten impossibly longer since the last time he had seen her tutoring binder.

Rey’s image of Ben’s holiday flashes from one possible scenario to the next and she doesn’t exactly suppress the expressions that rapidly change with them. Wealthy, well-known family that he belongs to he probably had his holiday on a yacht with the feast catered by fancy restaurant.
Rey taps her pen, her eye twitches a little. That doesn’t feel right.

Maybe his folks are the type to want a traditional sit down with with the family, and his mother wears an apron and spatchcocks her own turkey?
Rey shakes her leg, practically vibrating in her seat. Normally she’s more controlled, professional, maybe even a little stiff sometimes when she tries real hard, but the more comfortable she gets around Ben the harder it is to subdue her rabid curiosity. Not asking is impossible because she feels like she might explode otherwise.

Rey leans in a little and her voice lowers to a whisper, as if asking him about it doesn’t count if she’s secretive about it. “Why was it bad?”

She doesn’t give him proper time to answer, her hazel eyes going round as she word vomits multiple scenarios that she’s already dreamed up.
“Did your weird uncle show up with an escort and it made everyone uncomfortable? Or maybe she was a stripper that misread the situation and got on the table? Did your estranged sister crash the party? Or did someone burn the turkey or-“ her hand flies over her mouth as she gasps, scandalized. “-or did your parents make you wear one of those awful ‘pilgrim’ hats?”

It all sounds silly yet Rey speaks with total seriousness, thoroughly exposing that her knowledge of thanksgiving is gathered entirely from ads and kitschy holiday movies. When’s she done spilling she gives him an eager look but leans back a little, giving Ben space to fill with the real story of his vacation.