Chapter Text
The reception hall was warm, bright, and crowded. Glasses clinked, voices overlapped, and a string quartet played somewhere near the back of the room while staff moved between clusters of guests with trays of drinks.
Ben stood beside one of the tall cocktail tables while a donor finished telling him about some manufacturing initiative using artificial intelligence that is about to save him on hunderds of thousands of dollars. He nodded at the right moments, offered a few brief replies, and kept his expression steady. His jaw ached from holding it. He was suffocating. This was the third event of the genre in a month. His days were planned to the very last minute and so were his evenings now.
When the donor moved on, Poe Dameron stepped in beside him almost immediately.
“There’s a journalist from the Tribune waiting for a quote,” Poe whispered quietly handing him a drink. Sparkling water, of course. No excessive drinking. “After that, the regional chair wants a word, and we still need a group photo, I’m thinking maybe with the transport committee, it will look even more grounding.”
Ben exhaled slowly, looking around for an exit. “I’m leaving.”
Poe frowned. “Leaving the room, or leaving the event?”
“The event.” He had made up his mind. He needed air. He needed a break.
“We still have press outside.”
“I know.” He grabbed a drink from a passing staffer, Poe frowned at him as he downed it in one shot.
“If you go now, they’ll follow the car.”
Ben handed him the empty glass and replied evenly: “I’m not taking the car.”
“Security will insist on escorting you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s not standard procedure.”
“I’m aware.”
For a second, Poe looked like he might argue more but then he gave a tight nod. He had to pick his battles and he wasn’t about to start an argument at 10pm on a wednesday evening when he still needed him ready for more events before the end of the full week, including Sunday.
“Fine. But you better be early to the headquarters tomorrow morning. We’re getting more headshots for the campaign rollouts.”
Ben didn’t answer. He just turned and headed toward the side corridor before anyone else could stop him. The noise of the reception faded as he moved away from the main hall. By the time he reached the service exit, the music and voices were reduced to a muffled hum. A staffer opened the door for him. Cold air rushed in, along with the sound of rain. Outside, the street was nearly empty with water running along the curb. Ben stepped out and let the door close behind him. Within seconds, his hair and coat were damp. He didn’t try to shield himself from it. He just started walking, hands in his pockets, away from the building and its noise.
He turned down a side street lined with small shops and apartment entrances. Most of the storefronts were dark with a few windows above still lit. He had just reached the middle of the block when he heard the quick rattle of a chain and the whir of tires cutting through the water puddles. A voice called out, “Hey-!”
He turned too late.
The bicycle hit him from the side and knocked him off balance. He fell hard onto the wet pavement, shoulder first, then his hip, the impact jolting up his ribs, and his head, his cheek brushing along the wet asphalt. For a moment he just lay there, staring at the rain falling on the street while his lungs tried to catch up.
“Are you serious?” the cyclist said, already scrambling off the bike. “You just stepped out of nowhere.”
He pushed himself up on one elbow, wincing.
“I was on the sidewalk,” he said, still trying to assess his situation to get angry with her.
“You were standing in the dark,” she replied. “I couldn’t see you.” She crouched in front of him, brushing wet hair away from her face. Her eyes moved quickly over him, checking for injuries “You’re bleeding.”
He touched his temple and saw the red on his fingers.
“It’s not bad,” he said.
“You don’t know that.”
He tried to stand. Pain pulled sharply along his side, and he paused halfway up.
She noticed. “Okay, maybe take a second.” She said, her hands hovering over him without touching him, both worried she might hurt him and maybe he wouldn’t want to be touched.
“I’m fine.” He winced, still trying to sit up.
“You’re not fine,” she said. “You should go to the hospital.”
“No. No hospital.”
She blinked at him. “No?”
“No hospital,” he repeated, sitting up straighter now and looking at her properly for the first time. His vision wavered a little, but he could make out her rain-soaked hair and the way she kept blinking at him, trying to assess how bad it was.
“You hit your head.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not comforting.”
He wiped rain from his eyebrow, only managing to smear the blood further down the side of his face. She noticed immediately and reached forward before she seemed to realize she was doing it.
“Stop,” she said.
Her fingers caught his wrist lightly. He looked at her hand on him first, then at her face. Up close, her eyes were clearer than he expected. There was rain caught in her lashes and a crease between her brows.
“You could have a concussion.”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know I don’t need a hospital.”
“And how exactly do you know that?” she asked.
He held her gaze. He did not just fled a room full of people just to get to another one. “Because I’m not going,” he said.
She stared at him, rain running down the side of her face.
“You’re incredibly stubborn.”
“I’ve been told.”
“That’s not a compliment.”
“I didn’t take it as one.”
There was a beat of silence between them. The city felt distant, reduced to the sound of water hitting pavement. She shifted closer to inspect the cut.
“It’s not deep,” she said quietly, studying his forehead. “But head wounds bleed a lot.”
Her hand hovered near his temple, hesitating.
“Does it hurt when I press here?” she asked.
Before he could answer, her thumb brushed lightly against his skin. The touch was careful and warm, despite the rain. He inhaled sharply, more from the closeness than the pain, but he’d keep that to himself.
“Manageable,” he said.
Her eyes flicked to his, just for a second.
“You’re either very brave or very stupid.”
“Still undecided.”
That earned the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth.
She leaned back slightly, assessing him again. “You should still go to an emergency room.”
“No.”
She exhaled and shook her head, the irritation had softened. Rain continued to fall around them, slower now.
“Fine,” she said at last. “If you refuse the hospital, you at least need it cleaned properly.”
“I agree.”
“And I’m not doing it out here.”
He raised an eyebrow slightly, questioningly.
“That doesn’t mean I’m inviting you over,” she added quickly.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You were about to.”
“I was thinking about it.”
She stared at him.
“You are unbelievable.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Another pause. She looked at the cut again. Then at his ribs, the way he was holding himself carefully.
“You’re really not going to the hospital,” she said.
“No.”
She studied him for a long moment, weighing risk against responsibility.
“… I live two blocks away,” she said finally. “But this is not normal behavior for me.”
“I appreciate the exception.”
“If you make this weird,” she said, standing and offering him a hand, “I will regret it immediately. I’m Rey, by the way.”
He looked at her hand.
Then he took it.
“I’m Ben.”
Her grip was firm. Steady. She pulled him up, and for a second they were closer than either of them expected, barely inches apart, rain dripping from both of them, breath visible in the cool air.
He didn’t let go right away.
Neither did she.
“Two blocks,” she said quietly.
“Lead the way,” he replied.
She turned and picked up her bike and they walked side by side until they reached her building’s entrance.
———
Rey’s building was older than the others on the street, the kind with narrow stairs and a door that stuck before it opened. She shoved it with her shoulder, holding it long enough for Ben to slip inside behind her.
The stairwell smelled faintly of someone’s cooking from earlier in the evening. She started up without ceremony, pushing her bike along the wall to keep from scraping the paint.
“Second floor,” she said over her shoulder. He followed slowly, one hand trailing along the rail. The climb wasn’t long, but it felt longer than it should have. By the time she unlocked her door, his ribs were aching and he was maybe starting to regret not calling Poe.
She pushed it open with her foot and stepped aside to let him in first.
Her apartment was small but not cramped. A couch that had seen real use, a low table covered in scattered papers and a half-disassembled bike light, shelves full of books and memorabilia. A jacket hung over the back of a chair, and a mug sat abandoned near the sink.
“Sorry,” she said, nudging a stack of shoes aside with her foot so he could pass. “I wasn’t expecting guests.” By the time the door shut behind them, water was already dripping onto Rey’s floor in small dark spots. “Bathroom,” she said, already moving. “You’re leaving a trail.”
He followed her down the short hallway, one hand braced lightly against the wall. The bathroom light was harsh compared to the soft lamp in the living room. White tiles and a bathtub with a shower curtain pushed halfway aside.
“Sit,” she said, tapping the edge of the tub. He did, carefully, the porcelain cold even through his soaked trousers.
“You’re going to freeze,” she added, grabbing a towel from the rack and handing it to him. “Here. Dry your hair before you drip into your eyes again.”
He pressed it to his head, wincing slightly as it brushed the cut.
“Sorry,” she said automatically, already pulling open the cabinet above the sink. “I’ve got antiseptic somewhere.”
She found what she needed and turned back to him. Up close, under the unforgiving light, the cut looked worse than before, a narrow line just outside his hairline. She stepped between his knees without thinking about it and tilted his chin with two fingers so she could see properly. Her hand was warm against his skin. He was cold, aching everywhere, all he could do was let her handle him, while watching her.
“This is going to sting,” she warned.
“I assumed.” He mumbled, trying to not let his gaze wander to her wet top, now that shed taken off her jacket.
The cotton pad touched the cut and he hissed under his breath. That cleared his thoughts quickly.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “Sorry.”
She cleaned it slowly, focused, the bathroom quiet except for the soft scrape of cotton and the faint drip of water from his coat onto the tile.
“Try not to move.”
“I’m not.”
“You are a little.”
“I’ll try to do better.”
That earned the smallest exhale that might have been a laugh.
She leaned closer to see what she was doing. Her hair fell forward, brushing his cheek. He didn’t move away. For a moment neither of them spoke.
“You were at that event down the street,” she said after a beat, more observation than question.
“Yes.”
“Work?”
“Yes.”
She nodded, concentrating on the wound. Then her gaze dropped briefly to his wrist as she reached for more gauze. The watch there was expensive, unmistakably well-made. Her eyes flicked back to his face. Something shifted in her expression, like a piece sliding into place.
“What’s your name?” she asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away. She studied him for another second, then exhaled softly.
“Right,” she said. “I know who you are.”
His eyes shifted toward hers, the bathroom felt smaller suddenly.
“You’re running for president,” she said, just stating it.
“Yes.”
“And you were just going to let me… what, patch you up like this and send you home?”
“I didn’t see a reason not to.”
She held his gaze for a moment, searching for something.. arrogance, maybe, or embarrassment. Instead he just looked tired.
“You should have security,” she said.
“I do.”
“They’re not here.”
“No.”
For a second it felt like she might press further, but she didn’t. She just reached for another strip of tape and finished securing the gauze with careful fingers, smoothing the edge so it would hold.
“You might still have a concussion,” she said. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s not how head injuries work.”
He didn’t argue this time. He just watched her, quiet, like he was considering something. His head was clearly not focused enough and he wasn’t able to make any sensible decision regarding his wellbeing. Starting with going home with a random woman, a woman who hit him nonetheless. Poe would have a fit. His mother would have an even bigger fit.
She stepped back, folding her arms, thinking it through.
“… If you go back out there,” she said slowly, “you’ll be alone. And if something’s wrong, you won’t notice until it’s worse.”
He didn’t interrupt.
She exhaled. “I can set alarms. Every couple hours. Check your pupils, make sure you’re awake.”
He hesitated, the pause long enough that she could almost see the calculation happening : risk, optics, trust, all of it.
“You can take the couch,” she added. “I’ll take the bed.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It’s not optional,” she said, meeting his eyes. “You hit your head. I am not about to let a potential future president die on my watch.”
That got the faintest flicker of something at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but close.
After a second, he nodded. “All right.”
“Good.”
She handed him another towel and nudged it into his hands.
“Dry off as much as you can,” she said. “I’ll find you something to wear.”
He nodded, then paused.
“And maybe an ice pack,” he added. “For my ribs.”
She stared at him blankly for a beat. Was he fucking serious..
He lifted one shoulder, slightly sheepish. “Please.”
That did it. She rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance in it.
“Sit still,” she said, already turning toward the freezer. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight.”
———
The first alarm came two hours later, a soft chime from her phone on the nightstand.
Rey blinked awake, disoriented for a second before she remembered why the small light above her kitchen sink was on.
She padded into the living room in socks, hair loose around her shoulders.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “Wake up.”
Ben opened his eyes almost immediately, like he hadn’t been fully asleep.
“Still here, still alive” he murmured after a moment.
“Good sign.” She crouched beside the couch, holding up two fingers. “How many?”
“Two.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“Your apartment.”
“And who I am?”
“Rey.”
She nodded once, satisfied and went back to her room.
———
The second alarm went off with a soft vibration under Rey’s pillow. She turned it off before it could make any real noise and checked the time. Just past three. She sat up, pulled on a sweatshirt, and padded into the living room. The light was still on. Ben was awake, lying on his back, one arm folded under his head.
“You beat me to it,” she said quietly.
He turned his head toward her. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Is your head hurting?”
“No, it’s the ribs,” he admitted.
She nodded, crouching beside him.
“Still know where you are?” she asked.
“Your apartment.”
“And me?”
“Rey.”
“Good.”
She studied his pupils for a second with the flashlight on her phone, then nodded.
“You’re fine,” she said.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
She rolled her eyes and stood. “I’m getting water. Want some?”
“Yes, please.”
In the kitchen she filled two glasses and handed one to him when he joined her, moving carefully.
He leaned against the counter, the glass cool in his hand.
For a moment they just stood there in the quiet.
“You have lots of books on aerospace,” he said after a beat.
She nodded. “Yeah. I’m an aerospace engineering. Systems work mostly. Testing, failure analysis, that kind of thing.”
“That sounds complicated.”
“It’s mostly problem solving,” she said. “You figure out why something broke and how to stop it from happening again.”
He nodded slowly.
“How long have you been doing it?”
“Since grad school. Moved here for a project a couple years ago. Stayed when the contract extended.”
“You like it here?”
She shrugged. “It’s loud. Expensive. But the work’s good.”
He took a sip of water.
“You always wanted to do that?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “I liked taking things apart when I was a kid. This is basically the same thing, just with bigger consequences.”
He smiled faintly at that.
“And you?” she asked. “Did you always want to do… this?”
He exhaled through his nose.
“I’ve never known anything else.”
She nodded, understanding that it was a topic too deep for strangers to discuss in the middle of the night like this. They stood there another moment, not quite looking at each other, not quite looking away.
“You should try to sleep,” she said eventually. “We’ve got one more alarm to get through.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“Not a doctor,” she reminded him.
“Still in charge.”
She shook her head, but there was a hint of a smile there as she headed back toward her room.
Behind her, he turned off the kitchen light before settling back onto the couch.
———
Morning light crept through the curtains, pale and slow. When Rey’s alarm buzzed, she reached for her phone without opening her eyes. Then she remembered. And she immediately sat up, suddenly awake, and went straight to the living room. But the couch was empty and for a second, she thought he’d left without a word. And then she spotted the folded piece of paper on the table. She picked up the note and unfolded it.
Rey,
Thank you for last night. For the bandage, the alarms, and the couch.
I owe you dinner, at the very least. If you’re willing. And maybe even new break cables.
- Ben
His handwriting was a very neat cursive and he had left his phone number (or what she assumed is his phone number) at the bottom of the note. She read it twice before setting it down. Ben Solo.
She hadn’t recognized him in the street last night. It had only been under the unforgiving light of her bathroom that his face had finally clicked into place.
Of course she knew who he was. Everyone did. The son of a senator.. the son of Leia Organa. The nephew of Luke Skywalker. A political dynasty on his mother’s side, and on his father’s, a business empire built by Han Solo that stretched across half the trade sector.
And she wasn’t even from here.
She’d come for a contract, a two-year project that had stretched into three when the work got interesting and the funding didn’t dry up. Long enough to learn the transit lines by heart, long enough to stop exchanging numbers in her head before speaking (metric system and what not), but not long enough to forget she was still temporary.
Her visa was tied to her job. Her name didn’t mean anything in this country beyond the badge that got her through security at the lab. She paid rent, fixed her bike, showed up to work, and kept her head down.
People like him belonged here in a way she never would. He was part of the history. He didn’t have to think about where he fit. He was part of the structure of the place…
And last night he’d been sitting on the edge of her bathtub, dripping rainwater onto her tile, asking for an ice pack like he was just some guy she’d knocked over with her bike.
She looked down at the note again, running her thumb over the fold.
Dinner, he’d written.
Like it was simple.
No this would not work at all.