Chapter Text
Ben turned his key in the lock, his shoulders gradually losing the tension he’d accumulated during the day. While working at First Order Law came with definite perks, sometimes he just wanted to tear out his own hair in frustration. His (mostly disgusting) clients and colleagues drove him crazy throughout the week, leaving him pent up and desperately clinging to his sanity.
Everyone deals with stress differently. Snoke feasted on the bones of his enemies. Mitaka spent every other evening at his therapist’s. Phasma punched training dummies and occasional idiots who had enough stupidity to challenge her. Hux flooded Instagram with photos of his cat. Ben had something different. Every Friday, he slipped out early (well, First Order idea of early). He left his Kylo Ren persona behind the closed door of his office; he took off his jacket and rolled his sleeves, too impatient to change. He took out a familiar blue notebook, not that he really needed it after doing exactly this for more than a decade. He made his pick and got out everything required. Then the magic began.
Cooking was probably the only thing to give him peace of mind. Perhaps it was what some people called moving meditation. Thoughts didn’t exist in that realm - instead, Ben’s mind was filled with sensations. Smells, shapes, and colors mixed together to create something new, delicious, and exciting. At this point he could probably do it with closed eyes. He wouldn’t though. Every moment was too precious. Ben lived for those evenings, filled with calmness, mouthwatering smells, and happiness.
This evening’s choice was pasta. He expertly prepared the ingredients, marveling at the sharp fragrance of herbs, the crispness of raw tomatoes. Ben’s movements were like a well-oiled machine, sure and confident. From time to time he glanced at the recipe. Despite knowing it by heart he found reassurance in his grandmother’s delicate handwriting. The recipe book was his only connection to his past, a precious thread to the life he never actually had. A belonging of a sort. Through this book he got to know his late grandmother. With it Padme Naberrie gifted him an escape from harsh reality.
Time flew while cooking. In no time he was stirring ground beef and sausage in a mix of butter, oil, onion and garlic, the mass sizzling in the pan. He added salt and pepper and his favorite herbs. By the time Ben mixed in tomato paste and puree the whole kitchen smelled delicious. Leaving the sauce to simmer, he turned his attention to the pasta. The water was heating on the stove as he reached for the cardboard package. It was almost empty. Ben grabbed a new one but it refused to open. Cursing under his breath the man looked for the scissors which were not in their designated place. When he finally found the elusive object the doorbell rang. Ben gritted his teeth. The bell kept ringing. Whoever they were, they were persistent. With an annoyed huff he went to the door, determined to give a piece of his mind to the offender as he yanked it open. But the words stuck in his throat when he saw a young doe-eyed woman. She smiled brightly. No one had smiled at him like that for a very long time.
“Hi! I’m your neighbor from 47b and…” And then her eyes dropped to the kitchen scissors he was for some reason was still clutching in a death grip and she took an involuntary step back. His eyes widened in horror.
“Sorry, I was cooking. I’m not a serial killer, I swear,” Ben hastened to reassure her, feeling equally stupid and guilty. That was exactly how his life worked.
“Good to know,” the girl replied shakily. With surprise, he noticed that she was a pretty little thing. Her eyes were big and hazel with green specks, her golden skin was dotted with freckles. Her coveralls did nothing to hide her trim figure and for some reason she looked so cute it hurt. And the poor creature was terrified which hurt as well.
“You were saying?” Ben prompted her tentatively. The girl eyed him warily.
“I’m your neighbor from 47b and I think you might have my mail.” Oh. “You see, they often forget to identify the unit and it might have ended up in 47a instead of 47b so…” He nodded. Things like that happened all the time.
“I’ve got it. Come in.” She didn’t move. With a sigh he returned to the kitchen to get rid of the offending scissors, leaving the girl behind.
“The name is Rey Sands,” she called after him as he looked through his mail piled on the coffee table in the living room.
“Ben Solo. Give me a second.” His rummaging through the letters was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of boiling water spilling over. “Oh, shit! Here, take it.” Ben pushed the pile into her hands before rushing to his hopefully unscathed supper. For a couple of minutes he completely forgot he wasn’t alone in his apartment until his guest cleared her throat behind him.
“Um, there was nothing in… What are you doing?” The girl, Rey, suddenly asked.
“Pasta?” It came out like a question instead of a statement. She sniffed the air like a bloodhound and while it shouldn’t look cute, for some reason it did.
“It smells delicious. Not like the usual mac-and-cheese.”
Ben cringed. “Mac-and-cheese is not pasta,” he stated with narrowed eyes.
Rey flushed adorably. “Yeah… Sorry, I’ll just…”
“Do you want some?” The words that left his mouth surprised him just as much as they did her. It was like his body completely refused to cooperate around her.
“Huh?”
“I’m almost finished,” he insisted, hoping for her to stay. Ben tried not to think too closely why.
“I don’t want to intrude,” Rey said shyly while side-eyeing the delicious-smelling pan. She gave a distinct impression of a person in a mutual loving relationship with food, making his lips curl into a smile.
“Nonsense. I usually make too much. Always forget I’m cooking for one.” While it was the truth, it didn’t mean Ben didn’t enjoy leftovers. On the other hand, he couldn’t remember the last time he cooked for someone else, so…
“Oh,” the girl said timidly. “If you’re sure.”
He absolutely was.
There was something particularly satisfying in watching someone try the food he’d made. Watching Rey was like attending a one-man theatre. With the first bite her animated face went through a whole range of emotions, her cute nose scrunching in genuine pleasure as she moaned around her fork. The sound she made was absolutely indecent, making his ears flush and his pants tighten.
“Oh, God, marry me!” Ben almost choked. Rey’s eyes rounded in horror. “I mean… I’m sorry, I wasn’t asking, I mean, there is nothing wrong with you, we just don’t really know each other, I mean…”
He chuckled. “Rey, calm down, I got it.”
She looked at him bashfully, pink-cheeked and guilty-eyed. “It’s just so tasty. All those flavors.”
“Those are called herbs and spices,” Ben teased.
“Those are called evil space wizardry,” she interjected. “People turn to the Dark Side for this.”
He raised his eyebrow. “For a plate of pasta?”
“Yes!” Rey insisted.
“You’re a student, aren’t you?” Ben guessed. The girl flushed.
“That obvious?”
“Yeah. What do you study?”
“Engineering. And you?” she eyed him curiously.
“Not a student,” he answered elusively.
“I gathered that much.” Rey was still looking at him expectantly.
“I’m a lawyer,” Ben conceded. Surprisingly, the girl didn’t look put off.
“Fancy, aren’t we?” she grinned cheekily.
“We are,” Ben nodded with a smirk. “Do you want more?” he asked, glancing at her already pristine plate. For such a tiny thing she sure had a healthy appetite. Seeing her eat like that, uncaring about her table manners, made him unreasonably happy. When was the last time anyone was this at ease around him?
“I…”
“Seriously, it’s no big deal. Give me your plate.”
The girl went bright red. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to feed me like this.”
He huffed in mock-indignation.
“Rey, every cook lives for such approval of his abilities. This,” he gestured to her empty plate, “is the greatest compliment.”
“It’s incredibly delicious,” she smiled shyly. Ben returned the gesture.
“Thank you. I should probably cook more often,” he added wistfully.
“You don’t?” Rey looked surprised.
“I usually work late.” 80-hour work weeks do that to you.
“That explains why you didn’t answer the door yesterday.”
Ben winced. “Yeah, Fridays are usually shorter.” Only because Snoke recognized the need of his employees to get wasted and forget what they did for a living.
“Good to know. Would it be OK for me to check your mail next week?” the girl looked at him hopefully. “I expect an important letter.”
He nodded, rejoicing internally for the chance to see her again. “Sure. Your family?”
Rey looked at her lap, averting her gaze. “Scholarship application.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sure you’ll get it,” Ben smiled encouragingly.
She smiled back, showing her dimples. “Thanks. I hope so.”
Time with Rey flew. Hours felt like mere minutes and he would happily spend more just talking to her or watching her stuff her face with food (not creepy at all, Ben), but their plates were already clean, the dishes washed, and kitchen returned to order. His guest smiled bashfully.
“Thank you so much for food and for your patience.”
“Thanks for the company,” Ben replied sincerely. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself so much.
“See you next week, I guess?” she asked.
“I’ll be waiting,” he promised.