[ With his permission, she flops back over onto her side with a mmph of acquiescence. The very epitome of beauty and grace, this one is. Especially as the wool blanket begins to collect the drool pooling at the corner of her mouth. It may or may not be an improvement to her behavior if she were more alert, more inclined to keep him awake in some desperate need to catch up for lost time. She's missed him, she realizes — missed the ease of his companionship and the understanding therein. As soon as that revelation dawns on her, she's slipped out of consciousness, perfectly serene.
As it turns out, Ben Solo might be her version of Force xanax.
She's too unaccustomed to being held not to struggle against the cage his limbs create, once or twice in the middle of the night, but she's settled into the routine by morning. On the other hand, being so utterly convinced he's an illusion might have something to do with it. Whatever the case, it's a forgotten theory once she wakes to the stifling heat their bodies have produced throughout the night. Her jacket clings to the sweat glistening at her back, but any and all attempts to roll out of his hold are thwarted by the vice grip he has on her. Groggy, she sniffles and bats at his arm, trying and failing to strip the jacket off any further than her shoulders.
— That forgotten theory? Not so forgotten now. The night comes back to her in disjointed pieces as she peers over her shoulder and confronts the mop of inky hair spread across the floor. She stares, and stares, and stares some more in disbelief — and then puzzlement. She'd told him to take the cot, hadn't he? When had he —
Caught up in her thoughts, she doesn't hear the approaching steps or the rapping knock against their door. It swings open with seemingly no warning as one of the caretakers barges her way in, sending Rey almost leaping out of her skin. ]
Oi!
[ They aren't in any salacious position, but that's not the point. She's not sure what the point is, exactly, only that their peaceful bubble has been popped by the intrusion and she can now no longer curl against him and delude herself into believing it's all an elaborate fantasy. ]
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As it turns out, Ben Solo might be her version of Force xanax.
She's too unaccustomed to being held not to struggle against the cage his limbs create, once or twice in the middle of the night, but she's settled into the routine by morning. On the other hand, being so utterly convinced he's an illusion might have something to do with it. Whatever the case, it's a forgotten theory once she wakes to the stifling heat their bodies have produced throughout the night. Her jacket clings to the sweat glistening at her back, but any and all attempts to roll out of his hold are thwarted by the vice grip he has on her. Groggy, she sniffles and bats at his arm, trying and failing to strip the jacket off any further than her shoulders.
— That forgotten theory? Not so forgotten now. The night comes back to her in disjointed pieces as she peers over her shoulder and confronts the mop of inky hair spread across the floor. She stares, and stares, and stares some more in disbelief — and then puzzlement. She'd told him to take the cot, hadn't he? When had he —
Caught up in her thoughts, she doesn't hear the approaching steps or the rapping knock against their door. It swings open with seemingly no warning as one of the caretakers barges her way in, sending Rey almost leaping out of her skin. ]
Oi!
[ They aren't in any salacious position, but that's not the point. She's not sure what the point is, exactly, only that their peaceful bubble has been popped by the intrusion and she can now no longer curl against him and delude herself into believing it's all an elaborate fantasy. ]