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It had been such a long, tiring, stupid week for Hux. You could tell by the way he held his shoulders tensely, the way his eyes zoned out when walking down long hallways. He answered questions with a sigh instead of a scoff. He hadn't been seen anywhere near the mess hall for quite some time. And you'd caught at least a dozen errors in the reports he filed for your department. What a long week, indeed.
And it was only Monday.
Such times were not infrequent for the General, unfortunately, but he always sought solace from you. Without fail, he'd show up on the other side of your door later in the evening, hair disheveled and coat buttons undone, eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance. You'd invite him in and pop open a bottle of wine, usually one he'd given you as a gift since you knew nothing about how to pick out a good one.
You'd let him rant and ramble, gripe and groan, until he wore himself out. Sometimes he'd leave with an awkward thank-you dancing on his tongue but never making it further into the open. Other times he'd fall asleep on your couch and you'd leave him cozied up under a spare blanket to go retire yourself. He'd be gone by the time you woke, but the next time you saw him he'd have that same look of shy gratitude.
You supposed that's why you continued to let him in. He wasn't exactly your superior, but you were sure there was a level of scandal involved with having the General of the Army drinking wine on the couch of the Chief Ordnance Supervisor every other night. You knew from his respectful attitude that he would not take advantage. He really just wanted an outlet after a long day. But you often wondered if he might be looking for something else by going to you. And it was only ever you. Maybe one of these times you'd get more from him than a reserved smile and a stammered good-night.
So it was quite surprising, and concerning, when later that night his knock never came. You paced about your quarters, unsure what else to do with yourself for the evening, wondering if he may still come and not wanting to get yourself caught up in a different task only to be interrupted from it. When the hour got too late for it to be likely that he would show, you debated what to do. Your bed looked so warm and inviting; you'd had quite the day yourself, to be fair.
But in the back of your mind, you couldn't stop seeing his terse expressions and dragging feet. You knew he'd had a rough day. You knew he needed relief. Comfort. And that nagging need to be the one to provide it for him was one you knew you wouldn't be able to quiet no matter how tired you yourself were.
So you slipped your coat back on, shoved your feet into your boots, and grabbed the bottle of wine you hadn't yet finished from his last visit. Time to find the General.
You figured of all the places he could be other than your room, it would be his office. That's presumably where he'd holed himself up in the past, before having met you. He wasn't the type to give up on a day and go to bed. No, he'd be toiling away over a stack of paperwork, pretending his problems would go away if only he thumbed through enough reports.
You only knocked once before letting yourself into his relatively small office. Your guess had been correct; Hux was there, hunched over his desk, one hand lazily swirling a glass with some kind of brown liquid and the other holding up a piece of paper. It was a sight you'd probably come across a hundred times before. But this time, knowing what you were walking into, there were some notable differences. Stray strands of ginger hair falling into his face. Eyes bloodshot and unfocused. The lamp light dimmed low and unwelcoming.
Hux glanced up as you silently entered and took a seat across from him. His gaze continued to follow your movements as you uncorked the wine bottle you'd brought and poured it into an unused glass from the mini-bar by his desk. After settling into your seat and taking a few gulps, you finally met his gaze with a little smirk.
"Rough day?"
That's how you usually started these conversations, albeit, you were usually in the comfort of your own room, tucking your feet under you as you curled up in the corner of your couch, getting ready to take whatever burdens Hux needed to dump out.
Hux sighed, finishing off his own drink and abandoning his stack of papers as he leaned backward. He grasped his empty glass in his lap, peered down into it for a second. "You don't have to be here."
"I know," you said immediately.
His eyes flicked back up to yours. "Then why are you here?"
You considered for a moment. You knew why, you just weren't sure if you should admit it. "I guess I couldn't fall asleep knowing you were out here feeling miserable all by yourself."
He scoffed a bit at that, looking back down at his glass as if considering whether he should refill it yet. "I'm not miserable, it's just... I just...."
"Had a bad day," you stated plainly, nodding at him for emphasis. "I know. I've become quite familiar with your bad days."
"Yes," he scoffed again. He seemed more annoyed at himself than anything. "Too familiar. I came to that realization when riding the lift to your floor earlier. I had only ever meant to go to you that one time, because it'd been a bad day for you, too, and I knew you'd understand. But then one time turned into... Lord, I couldn't even put a number on it. I'm afraid I've created a rather unfair arrangement for you. I didn't want to keep imposing."
He seemed to have decided while talking that he would refill his glass, so when he finished he kicked forward and began preparing another drink. You sat silent, pondering his words. You supposed it was considerate of him, to give you a break from hearing his woes. But you'd never really seen it like that. You'd never felt like you were being used or imposed upon. You'd thought... well, you'd thought you were simply being his friend.
"You aren't an imposition, Hux," you eventually said. He paused with his fingers hovering over the ice bucket. "If I didn't care about your problems, I wouldn't have even opened the door for you. And I wouldn't have come all the way down here tonight."
"But why?" he turned, exasperated, drink left forgotten on the sideboard. "Why do you stick around with a misery-guts like me? Why do you care at all?"
He was getting worked up, as he tended to with things he didn't understand, situations that he couldn't predict or control. Breaths coming out shorter and heavier, hands clenching at his sides. You stood, instinctually reaching out to him even though you'd never shared such a touch before. Your hands rested on his arms, just above his elbows, and you squeezed just enough to hopefully ground him.
"Hux..." You faltered, unsure what to say as the awareness of your close proximity started to sink in. You'd never gone to him like this, no matter how upset he'd been in the past. What were you to say now?
"Look..." you started slowly, trusting, praying, you'd figure out the right thing to say along the way. "We're two sides of the same coin, right? We're both leaders, both under an immense amount of pressure, both with pasts we wish we could forget. You... you have to talk about it. The more you can put your problems into words, the better you understand them, the more in-control you feel over them. Me, I just work my shit out in the training gym. If I can push myself to run faster or punch harder or spar quicker... then I feel like I can handle anything outside that room. I'm okay sitting on a couch and listening to you vent. In fact, sometimes I look forward to it. Not that I like seeing you upset, I just... I want to be there for you."
"Why?"
You hadn't actually answered that question yet, had you? You'd been rambling, trying to reassure him without having to actually come out and confess why you cared. You were intensely aware of how his arms felt in your hands, the stiffness of his coat sleeves, the shape of his muscles and tendons. Why were you still holding him? You should let go. But you couldn't. You were afraid you might fall if you did.
"I... I..." you mumbled, unable to look him in the eyes any longer. Your throat suddenly felt dry. You forced down a swallow. "I don't know why. I know I care, but I don't know why. I just do."
Your hands were sliding down his arms, trying to break free but unable to pull completely away. Or maybe he was the one moving his arms, bringing his hands up to yours to clasp gently as he tried to ground himself.
"I don't know, either," he said, causing you to finally look back up at him. "Why I care, that is. But I know I do, too."
He offered a smile, easing your discomfort into a smile of your own.
"I still don't wish to impose," he continued. "Perhaps... Well, perhaps we should spend other times with each other, not just on the bad days?"
There was an uncharacteristic warmth in his eyes, one you suspected you were the only one fortunate enough to have ever seen. If you played your cards right, perhaps you'd always be the only one.
"I think that's a good idea."