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In the end, she has to hand it to him— he'd always been an expert in taking her by surprise, and it would appear that he's chosen not to shake the habit even in death.
"Rey Skywalker?" There's a vaguely sardonic twist to the corner of his mouth. "Does that make you my cousin now?"
"It seemed like a fitting tribute," she says in wooden tones. Be it dream or vision, she might as well play along— draw this out until reality comes crashing back. Who knows when he'll come to her again as solid and as vibrant as this?
"I see." Suddenly he's leaning into her, their faces so close together. "Tell me," he murmurs, his lips almost brushing against hers, "have you ever heard of the term kissing cousins?"
She registers the smell of alcohol on his breath at the same time that his eyes flutter shut and he slumps face-down into her lap, snoring softly. You're alive, is all she can think at first, staring down at his head of lush black hair.
Ben Solo is alive.
Alive and very, very drunk.
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