Chapter Text
There are about a hundred things Ben Solo should be doing on a Friday night. He should be studying for a theory exam—serialism is a pain, and he would very much like to travel back in time to tell Arnold Schoenburg to kiss his ass—but Professor Stephens is nothing but fair, and they’ve been going over the lesson for a week and a half. It’ll be fine. Theory tests always are. He should be practicing—it’s a rare three day weekend and for the first time in months there are actually open practice rooms since everyone has vacated the college to head home or to the coast. He should be in the library, gathering resources for a research paper.
Instead, Ben is at a dingy dive bar with his friends, sipping an Old Fashioned and trying not to grimace at the ‘musicians’ performing the open mic night. He knows that he has a reputation for being pretentious when it comes to music, but any random person can tell that this girl’s dream is to perform on the Voice with her bland and personality-less rendition of some pop song that makes Ben want to die.
His childhood friend, Poe Dameron, is performing later in the lineup. Poe was his only friend when he started at Coruscant University. Then Ben had met Armie and Phasma, and finally found his group in the department.
Being the social butterfly that he is, Dameron rounded up the entire gang to come out and support him.
Poe’s boyfriend, Finn Williams, is here with his easy smile and loud laughter. Finn is a Composition major, which means that Ben only ever sees him at parties and at two am in a practice room surrounded by cans of Red Bull and sheet music. He’s a nice guy, even if it seems as though he doesn’t trust Ben as far as he can throw him. That’s fine. Ben’s used to it.
Rose Tico is there, too, the tiny spitfire of a Music Ed major. Ben likes Rose. She’s got a good heart and a stern voice, perfect for teaching recorders to fourth graders. She wears a lot of floral dresses and almost always has a tuning fork stuck into her messy bun. Out of all of their friends, Rose is the first to call Ben out on being a sullen idiot, and that alone means that Ben trusts her with his life.
Gwen Phasma, cellist extraordinaire, and Armie Hux the Conducting major are here two. They’re Ben’s friends from freshman year, and somehow they meld seamlessly into Poe’s buddies. Gwen is a terrifying woman. She won the state cello competition all four years of high school, and she’s already being scouted by the top orchestras. She’s stern and towers over everyone. Ben isn’t used to being shorter than anyone. But she has a secret soft side, mostly for Ben and Armie whom she treats like her brothers.
Armie is the only person in the music department more uptight than Ben. He takes conducting extremely seriously, relishing in breaking in a particularly ornery orchestra. Tonight he’s actually relaxed a little, showing up in a t-shirt and blazer rather than his usual dress shirt and tie.
And then there’s Rey Johnson. Rey, who transferred in the middle of junior year only to take the music department by storm. Rey, the girl with freckles and captivating eyes and a smile so bright it’s hard to look at. Rey, who surprised everyone with her powerful voice at their first recital. Once he’d noticed her it was hard to stop noticing her. They had almost all of their classes together, and once she found her way into Poe’s friend group that was it. Ben sees her at every movie night, every party. Hell, they even end up at the coffee shop in the campus center together every Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Ben can’t escape Rey. Not that he wants too, of course. He is inexplicably drawn to her. She scares him and entrances him in equal measure, and Ben Solo is caught in her spell.
She’s the real reason he’s here. Poe had asked him to come, of course. But it was Rey’s pouting face that actually made Ben say yes. To distract himself from the horrendous noise that could hardly be called music, Ben was watching Rey down her fourth Tom Collins (of course a girl as bright as the sun would drink alcoholic lemonade). She had dabbed glitter onto her cheekbones tonight, her face shining under the lights.
“I need some air,” she announces, wobbling as she gets to her feet. Immediately, four pairs of hands reach out to steady her.
“Careful, peanut,” Finn cautions. She waves away his concern.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s okay, I’ll go with her,” Ben tells Finn, setting down his empty glass and crossing to Rey with one stride. His hand is at the small of her back, steadying her as they duck out the side door and step onto the patio.
It’s a nice night. Only a couple clouds, not enough to block out the sky, drift aimlessly. The sun is just setting, and it’s warm enough that Rey seems comfortable in her sundress. She tilts her head back, taking a deep breath. The pale glow of the streetlights catches on the glitter until she shimmers in the twilight.
Ben tries not to stare at her. He’s been doing this a lot, recently. It’s enough of a problem that he finds himself getting distracted in their History of Baroque class. In his defense, it’s hard to focus on Handel when the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen in his life is sitting two seats away from him.
Inside, the raucous strains of country music strike up. Ben cringes. He’s never been a banjo kinda guy. He leans against the railing next to Rey and does his best to ignore the twanging intro to some god awful folk tune.
“It’s so beautiful.” It takes Ben a moment to realize Rey has said something. He was too busy watching her and tuning out the band.
“What is?” he asks, sincerely hoping she isn’t talking about the music.
Rey nods at the sunset. “The sky. It’s gorgeous tonight.”
Ben glances over. There’s a couple of clouds illuminated by the sun’s dying rays, some people enjoying an evening stroll. But he wouldn’t call it beautiful, per se. He finds beauty in symmetry. Order. This sunset is anything but. Nice, he supposes, but not beautiful.
“I guess.” Rey shoots him an incredulous look.
“Wow, Solo. I knew you were one of those tortured musician types, but even you have to admit that there are nice things in the world.”
“There are nice things in the world,” he protests. “A quality performance of La Campanella, a perfectly tuned orchestra, a steak dinner. Sunsets have never been my thing.”
She rolls her eyes at him.
“You’re a knob.” That garners a smile from him. Ben simply shrugs nonchalantly.
“So I’m told.”
“You really don’t like sunsets? I mean, look at it. The sky is orange, and the way the sun hits the clouds they turn the prettiest shade of pink. It’s beautiful.”
Ben shrugs. “If you say so.”
“Yeah, I do say so. God, why are you so glum all the time?” Ben turns to her, heat rising in his cheeks. The nerve of her!
“I’m not glum!”
“You kind of are, Solo.” Her arms are crossed across her chest, head tilted as she levels her challenging gaze on him. It’s one of the many things he likes about her. Rey never backs down. In the end, it’s Ben who gives in.
“Whatever.” He turns away, but Rey grabs him by the arm and forces him to face her.
“You’re not getting out of this so easily. You never answered my question.”
“You asked several. Which one did you want an answer to?” Rey cocks her head, considering.
“Why don’t you like sunsets?”
“I don’t not like sunsets,” he tells her, annoyance surging.
“That’s not a proper answer.”
“You want a real answer? I don’t like sunsets because I can’t see them, Rey! There. Are you happy?” When he pulls out of her grasp she lets him go. He leans against the railing with a sigh. He knew he shouldn’t have come to this. He’s not the best with people.
To his shock, Rey leans next to him. Slowly, as though he’s an animal who will spook if approached too quickly. When she speaks, it’s so quiet Ben almost misses it.
“What do you mean, you can’t see them?”
“The colors. I can’t see them.” Now that he’s told part of the truth, the rest of it comes rushing out. “I’m colorblind. Have been my whole life. So to me, everything is black or white or shades of grey in between.”
Silence falls between them, but surprisingly it doesn’t feel tense or uncomfortable. Instead it feels thoughtful.
“Is that why you always wear black?” Ben barks out an incredulous laugh at that. Of all the questions Rey could have asked him, that was not one he expected.
“Yeah, actually. That way I don’t have to worry about colors clashing and being totally unaware.” Rey smiles at him, a little shy, but radiant.
“Nuages.”
Ben blinks in surprise. “What?”
“The Debussy piece. Nuages. That’s what the sky looks like tonight.” He stares at her. He knows the piece, of course. They had studied it in music theory last semester. It’s an Impressionist piece, of course, so that means French turn-of-the-century. Distantly, Ben remembers the title translates to ‘clouds.’
“How did you figure that one out?” Now it’s Rey’s turn to be awkward. She twists the bracelets on her wrist, unable to look Ben in the eyes.
“I didn’t. Not exactly. But you told me your secret. It’s only fair I share one of mine.” Rey blows a strand of hair out of her face. “I have synesthesia.”
Ben knows what it is, of course. Every musician does. It’s a condition that about four percent of the population have where when their brain receives input from one of the senses, it’s simultaneously perceived by multiple. Everyone knows someone who has it and are extremely jealous of those who do.
“So, you see colors when you hear music?” he blurts out. “That’s amazing!” Rey blushes.
“It’s really not that interesting,” she murmurs. “It’s just a part of me.”
“Why haven’t you told anyone?”
“Because I know how it goes. If people know, they’ll pester me with questions about it. ‘Does that mean you have perfect pitch?’ ‘That must make the aural exam really easy.’ ‘Can you tell me what color this song is? How about this one?’” She groans. “Been there, done that. It’s exhausting.”
Ben winces. Being peppered with questions isn’t his favorite, either. Especially given his family. But there’s no way he’s bringing that up right now. Rey actually treats him like his own person and it’s—nice. He doesn’t have to live up to stuffy expectations. He can just be Ben.
“Well, your secret is safe with me, Rey.” He winks at her. She grins back.
“So is yours, Ben.”
Inside the bar, the country song comes to a blissful end. Applause roars in its wake, startling Ben out of this strange but undeniably pleasant moment he’s found himself in. It jars Rey, too, and she steps away from him, looking through the open door.
“Looks like Poe is next,” she says. “We should head back in.”
“Yeah.” But neither of them move. Ben doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t want this to end. He hasn’t been this transparent with anyone, well, ever. There’s something liberating about telling Rey his secret. He wonders if she feels the same way.
There’s so much he doesn’t know about her. What her family is like, where she grew up, why she’s pursuing music. Hell, he doesn’t even know her favorite piece. That’s the first question music majors swap when they meet each other, either that or they silently hand over snacks to console a weeping classmate.
It’s only when the MC announces the next performer “Poe Dameron!” that they find the courage to move. They settle back at the table with their friends, sharing a small smile as Poe strums a chord on his guitar with his roguish smile.
It’s easy to fall into the old patterns of banter after that. Poe’s a damn good guitarist, and his singing isn’t half bad, either. When the night comes to an end and they walk back to their various apartments and dorm rooms, Ben finds himself light. Almost giddy. He laughs at one of Finn’s jokes, teases Hux for being a pretentious bastard and he can’t stop himself from smiling at Rey.
She catches him smiling, but she doesn’t scowl or look away. No, she lights up and positively beams at him. Of all of his friends to learn his secret, Ben is glad it was her.
After a round of goodbyes and a chorus of ‘see you on Monday,’ he’s finally alone in his room. Ben tosses his jacket onto the back of his chair carelessly and reaches for his laptop. His fingers fly over the keys. When he finds what he’s looking for he grabs his headphones—high quality noise cancelling ones—and presses play.
The gentle woodwinds of Nuages fills his ears. It’s light music, soft and sweet. Ben leans back in his bed, resting his head against the wall as the nocturne washes over him. It’s indistinct—one of the markers of Impressionist music—and therefore not something Ben would usually be drawn to. He likes structure and order. And yet this piece whisks him into a world of clouds and sunlight and freckled cheeks sprinkled with shimmer.
Ben can’t stop listening to the piece after that night.