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Ben Solo was one of her absolute best friends, really he was, but this was getting ridiculous.
He was drunk, they all were, but slinging an arm around her shoulders and declaring Rey his wife was not how she imagined the first party of the semester going.
Rey was in equal parts embarrassed and amused. When she tried to extricate herself from Ben’s grip, he said, “Reeeey, where are you going?”
“I want a divorce,” she said amicably, and went to go refill her solo cup with Phasma’s jungle juice. It was in equal parts sweet and alcoholic, the best of both words as far as Rey was concerned, and much better than Jessika’s family’s Appalachian moonshine.
“Ayyy, here’s the wifey,” Finn said when she walked back outside on the deck. It was a balmy August night, and even in her shorts and tank top, Rey was a little too warm. She stuck her tongue out at Finn and took her seat next to Ben, careful to leave a respectable amount of space between them.
Ben didn’t even have the grace – or the sobriety – to look chastised. Instead he scooted closer, rested his forehead on her shoulder.
“I really should invest in one of those leather jackets with the spikes,” she mused aloud. “I need my personal space back.”
Ben head-butted her shoulder in response. He came from a very touchy-feely family, Rey knew, as did Finn. She and Poe and Jessika and Phasma were much different, more adamant about their personal space.
Or at least, Rey had been. Freshman year of college she, Poe, and Finn had all crashed in her twin bed the second night she was there. Finn always liked to say that he was “breaking them in.”
Ben blamed it on being Italian, which apparently meant something in Philadelphia.
“You wouldn’t,” he slurred, and Rey could feel his lips form a smile against the bare skin of her arm. “You’d miss me.”
“Still want that divorce,” Rey reminded him, and before he could respond, she jumped into the conversation Poe and Jessika were having concerning whether pygmy goats or capybaras made better exotic pets.
It was less of a party and more of a rager, and by midnight things were completely out of hand. Someone had brought moonshine – the nasty shit from Appalachia, according to Phasma – and several students were much more drunk than they should have been.
One of those students, unfortunately, was Ben.
And when an equally drunk Hux had come up behind Rey, a hand firm on her ass and another making to grab her breast, it was a perfect cocktail for disaster when Ben saw.
And Rey had had it handled – really, she had, was already squirming out of his grip and making to stomp on his foot – but Ben was on Hux in an instant, surprisingly fast for someone so drunk. He punched Hux square in the jaw, manhandled Rey out of Hux’s grip until she was safely out of his reach.
“Motherfucker,” Hux spat. His face was bleeding, and Rey wouldn’t be surprised if he was missing teeth. Hux was rail-thin, and Ben was six-foot-four and roughly two hundred pounds.
He slung an arm around Rey, tugged her close to his side. “Don’t you ever touch my wife again, got it?”
“Freak,” Hux growled, and Rey felt her face go hot with embarassment.
Phasma stepped in, scowl marring her elegant features. She was taller than Hux and almost as tall as Ben, and she played for the women’s rugby team – Rey knew that Phasma could deck anyone in the room and come out on top. “Enough,” she said. “Out of my house, both of you.” She turned to Rey, who was trying to slip away from the mess. “You all right?”
Rey exhaled. “Yeah,” she said. “Mortified, but fine.”
Phasma grinned. “Nothing a shot of whiskey can’t cure. C’mon.”
Rey picked up Phasma’s cheerful attitude, and by the end of the night she’d forgotten all about Ben and his declaration of marriage.
Rey and Ben became friends her freshman year when they were in the same Gen Ed US Society course. It was a massive lecture hall with students across all grades – it wasn’t unusual for some students to wait until they were upperclassmen to take General Education requirements.
One such student was Ben Solo, wearing far too much black and reeking of cigarette smoke. He’d sat right in front of Rey, and she’d had to move to be able to take notes – he was so freaking tall.
After a series of mishaps during the first week of class – one which involved her bumping into him, causing him to spill his coffee all over the two of them.
“Crucified Christ,” he said, “Watch where you’re going.”
Rey rolled her eyes. “Crucify yourself. At least the coffee makes you smell better.”
Ben scowled, and Rey glared, and it was the start of a beautiful friendship.
It’s another party – well, less of a party and more of a “ten people at Poe’s house” – and Rey was blissfully high. She was out on the front porch swing, a joint passed between her and Finn. Normally, Rey prefers alcohol to pot, but today’s a special occasion: its Poe’s birthday.
Finn gets up, says something about the bathroom, and Rey nods. Her body feels light and heavy and blissfully, blissfully relaxed at the same time. The porch swing is comfy, and she has no intention of moving.
“Hey,” and there’s Ben, big old Ben, taking Finn’s seat next to her. He passes her a water bottle in exchange for the joint, and Rey is grateful.
“Thanks,” she says, and finds herself scooting closer against him. It’s late September now, and there’s a bite of chill in the night air, and Ben is so warm.
“Go out with me,” he says, and it’s not a question.
Rey frowns. “That was not a question,” she repeats, almost stupidly.
Ben shrugs, takes a hit of the joint, exhales slowly. Rey had convinced him to stop smoking cigarettes last semester, and she wonders, idly, if he’s ever tempted to go back.
“Nope,” he agrees, and maybe he’s drunk and maybe the weed is kicking in ridiculously fast or maybe Rey’s perception of time is skewed, but he doesn’t seem entirely sober. He looks at her, eyes dark and full of mirth. “I mean, half the department thinks we’re married anyway.”
“That’s because of you, jerk,” Rey mutters. She has half a mind to scoot away, to put space between them, but he’s so warm and comfy, his heavily muscled arm making a wonderful pillow. “You started it.”
“So? I’d totally wife you.”
For whatever reason – intoxication, most likely – Rey finds this hysterical. “What does that even mean?”
“Means I like you,” he says, and he presses his lips to her temple. “Means I think you’re lovely.”
But Rey was drowsy, and high, and comfy, and she was already half asleep.
It is the first time she’s seen Ben Solo sober, and Rey has a bone to pick with him.
“You,” Rey said, pointing an accusing finger at Ben’s chest, “Have a lot of explaining to do.”
Ben looked up from his textbook. He was outside on the quad, sitting at one of the small wooden tables, with a half-finished iced coffee in hand. “Why hello to you too, Rey.”
Rey crossed her arms and pulled out the adjoining chair. “Why does half of our friend group think we’re dating? And why did the other half ask when we were going to date? And why am I just finding out about this now?”
Ben blinked at her, and in a slow, steady, tone said, “I’m going to kill Phasma.”
Rey was having none of it. “Explain. Now.”
He ran a massive hand through his long, dark hair. “I might have drunk-texted Phasma…and Poe.”
Rey groaned. The thing about Ben was that he was a surprisingly coherent drunk-texter, inasmuch as spelling errors went. As far as outrageous shit he said, well…
“She’s still on me for that wife thing,” Rey said with a pointed look at him. “Keeps asking me when I’ll get my ring.”
“When I get a job, that’s when,” Ben muttered. Rey tried to mask her surprise – she tried, she really did, in not looking into that response, but…
There were too many drunk come-ons to ignore. Too goddamn many. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots, to sense the tension underlying their friendship, to examine half-forgotten intoxicated conversations.
“Ben,” she said, slowly, “Have you been trying to…ask me out? Drunk?”
His ears burned red, and he had the grace to look sheepish. “We don’t see each other sober that often.”
“And you thought,” Rey said, unable to hide her amusement, “That the best way to do that was by…bypassing all milestones and publicly declaring me your wife.”
“Drunk Ben is stupid,” said sober Ben.
Rey snorted. “Honestly, though. What the hell, Ben? If you like me, that’s great, just –“ and the ridiculousness of the entire situation hit her, and she couldn’t help but laugh.
Ben looked at her worriedly. “What? I – Rey, yes, I do like you, I just…what’s so funny?”
Rey grins wickedly. “Oh, honey,” she said as she leans across the table, fully intending to kiss him, “I’m never letting you live this down.”