Surprise, it's fluff! Pizza delivery AU from one of those glorious long trope lists. It started as a simple scene and then just kept turning into a longer story that I could not stop writing and thinking about for a whole week. It's three chapters in all, and rating will remain a high T for occasional swears and suggestive hints.
Had to make them closer in age for my plot to work; further liberties have been taken with regards to the details of pizza delivery and also intramural college ice hockey. Hope y'all don't mind.
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When Rey pulls into a parking spot, her headlights illuminate the number beside the door up ahead: 7. Oh good. That was easy. She throws the car into park and reaches into the passenger seat for the warm Velcro carrying case that contains two pizzas and an order of cheese sticks, relieved that at least one thing is going well. Until she got this job Rey didn't have the slightest idea just how many apartment complexes were in her college town or how random their systems of numbering the units could be. It was nice to pull into a new parking lot and find her destination immediately.
There's a thin dusting of snow on the ground, though it's actually warmer than the last couple of Octobers in this town. Everything's a tradeoff, Rey thinks as she closes her car door with her hip. The work she did the past two years at Plutt's Auto Repair was more interesting than this, and something she was good at; but the shop wasn't heated unless Plutt himself was in, which was not often. At least delivering pizza guarantees that several times on the hour she'll get to spend a few minutes thawing out in the warm kitchen—plus she gets paid, on schedule, a fair wage that matches exactly with the hours she's worked.
She ascends the low staircase to the elevated sidewalk outside the first floor of apartments and knocks on the door of apartment 7. It's dark inside; but it's not unusual for people to watch Netflix or whatever with the lights off, so she's not concerned. She shifts from one foot to another, trying to keep warm. It's not that cold, she reminds herself—but she hasn't had a chance to work on her car's heater since it gave out last weekend, so all week it's just been her pizza keeping her warm.
Rey knocks again, impatient. Where is this guy? She's pulling her cell phone out, about to call, when she hears someone unlock the door. She glances up—and up—and up. Wow, he's tall—and then her heart skips a beat.
It's that guy. The one from her polisci seminar, the one who looks perpetually grumpy and knows all the material already. It's a small class, only seventeen people registered and about fourteen present on a good day. Rey hasn't spoken to him before, but she's noticed the way the desks are too small for him—how he angles his massive body at sometimes comical diagonals, trying to lounge or find some marginally comfortable position in the chair. The professor likes to call on him at random, whenever she suspects he's not paying attention—but he always jumps right in with an answer good enough for her to move on.
When Rey comes back to earth she realizes she's full-on staring him in the face, and more than that, he looks half-asleep. "Ah, pizza's here," she says quickly, hoisting the case up in a useless shrugging gesture.
He rubs one hand across his face, pushing back the curtain of dark hair that frames it, and briefly closes his eyes, grimacing. "Didn't order a pizza," he grumbles, blinking several times and then looking down at her with a frown.
"But… are you sure?" Rey asks weakly, deflating entirely.
"Yes," he answers, his voice a little clearer. He starts to say something else, but Rey accidentally cuts him off as she frantically checks her phone.
"But isn't this—corner of First Street and Order Boulevard—where the hell am I?"
"That's right."
"And you're number seven."
"Two."
"Two?" Rey points at the number next to his door—clearly a 7. Well, a kind of lumpy, fancy 7, but a—
The guy peers around his doorway, spotting the number in question. "Stupid nail," he mumbles, placing a finger on the number and rotating it, at which point Rey sees the empty hole where the nail should be and the weird 7 becomes a clear 2.
"Well shit," Rey says automatically, blushing when the guy looks at her again with mirth in his eyes. "Sorry."
"Seven's there," he points down the walkway.
"Thanks. Sorry to bother you." Rey ducks her head and walks away, not waiting for him to close the door. She's made mistakes before, but none so mortifying as waking up the hot guy from polisci. Real cute, Rey, she thinks as a redheaded frat bro answers the door at number 7, accepting his pizza without so much as a thank you (and certainly not a tip). From your black nonskid shoes to your scratchy blue-plastic windbreaker, you sure know how to make an impression. Of course she's never even spoken to the guy before—so it's silly, to be so embarrassed. With a body like that, he probably has a girlfriend anyway.
.
Dr. Organa counts them off, one to eight. Rey is in the first half of the class, and she waits without much interest until Dr. Organa counts the other half of the class, one to eight, and that guy is also a seven."Alright, find your partner and then I'll give you further instructions," Dr. Organa calls, and Rey feels her cheeks heat up again as she turns to see him watching her. He indicates an empty desk on his side of the room, and she picks up her things and moves.
"Hi," Rey says weakly as she drops down into the new desk.
"Actually, seven's over there. I'm a two," he says, his mouth curving into a smirk. He's teasing, reminding her of the pizza mix-up.
"Oh shut up," Rey grumbles, turning to wait for Dr. Organa's instructions. Momentarily, she gives them—they're revving up to discuss a legal document, and she's written a set of preliminary questions for them to answer. The questions go up on the projector and Rey turns back to her partner.
"So, pizza girl—"
"Rey," she corrects quickly.
"Ben," he offers, briefly glancing at the stapled copy of the document in his hands. He's still reclined back in his desk in that way of his, which gives the impression that he's leaning away from her, bored. "Anyway, this is all pretty straightforward. Question one is a no, since it's defined in—"
"Are you repeating this class?" She doesn't mean to ask it like that—it comes out so rude—but she's frustrated with the ease he has with the material.
"In a manner of speaking," Ben answers, rolling his eyes.
"What?"
Ben leans up into a sitting position, though Rey can tell his legs are cramped this way. "I grew up on this stuff. I mean literally." He nods at Dr. Organa, who's approaching them now.
"Any questions yet, Miss Smith? Mr. Solo?"
"We're good for now, thanks," Ben answers politely, pulling a face as soon as she turns away to check on another pair.
Rey frowns. "But I had a—"
"I had to take this specific class to graduate," he continues, "but I've actually heard it all before. She used to read me case studies for bedtime stories."
Rey does a double-take, looking between Ben and Dr. Organa, searching for the resemblance.
"I favor my father," he explains.
"Dr. Organa is your mom? That's—"
"Awful. I know. Can't escape her. I thought you were her, the other night—sometimes she just shows up at my apartment, like she doesn't see me every Tuesday and Thursday." He says it with a tone of agonized complaint, as if having a mother who loves him is the worst thing in the world.
"That's so nice," Rey says softly, looking up at Dr. Organa again. She's smiling at another group of students, a network of fine lines appearing at the corners of her eyes. She used to be gorgeous, Rey can tell—now she's what Rey might call "dignified," not a dazzling youthful beauty but someone whose spark shines through in spite of her age. To have such a brilliant, beautiful woman as a mother.
Ben scoffs, reclining in his desk again. "Oh yeah," he answers sarcastically.
What an asshole. "Look, Ben," Rey grits her teeth, "before you dig yourself a deeper hole, let me tell you straight-up how fucking lucky you are. Now help me answer these stupid questions."
He seems a little surprised by her tone, but then he lifts the document up again, turning his attention to the questions on the screen. For the rest of class, they speak only about course material.
.
Number seven on First and Order orders pizza again. Rey groans when she sees the address, remembering how they didn't bother to tip; but that's nothing compared to how she feels when she's been standing outside the door for two solid minutes, knocking and calling the cell number she has. Nobody answers either.
"Hey, I think they just left," a voice calls out from a few apartments down. "They—oh, it's you," Ben adds as he gets closer, jogging down the sidewalk toward her. "I was out here getting stuff out of the car and they came out shouting about beer."
"They left?" Rey repeats. "They ordered a fucking pizza and left?"
"I know. Fucking morons," Ben shrugs. "If it's any consolation, I'm pretty sure they mean to come back."
Rey just groans.
"So what happens now? Do you go back, or—?"
"I think I just wait," Rey says, moving to sit on the low steps that lead up from the parking lot to the sidewalk, resting the pizzas on her lap. She texts her supervisor, just to check.
She doesn't hear Ben walk away; when she looks up, he is still standing there awkwardly, sock-footed and in short sleeves.
"What?"
"I'm sorry. If I offended you in class last week." He scratches idly at his forearm, his eyes on the ground.
Rey bites her lip. After a moment, she answers, "It's fine. It's, like—a normal thing, that you'd feel smothered by your mother. And most people relate to that. I just don't."
"May I?" He indicates the spot on the stairs next to her.
She shrugs.
"Tell me," he says when he sits down. He radiates heat, and she feels small next to his huge body. It's dark, but the complex has decent porch lights, so she can see the intensity of his expression when he leans in to speak to her. He looks sincere—more than he's ever looked in class.
Rey is briefly dazzled by his attention. His face isn't conventionally handsome—his ears are big, his nose is huge, his lips are plump and full—but the combination of his features is nothing less than striking. Her first impression still stands: he's a very attractive man.
"My last name 'Smith' is a placeholder," she explains. "A last name because everyone else has one."
Understanding begins to bloom on his face. "So you're…"
"I don't have parents—they gave me up. Never got adopted. There's a religion professor in town—I worked on his car in high school—he helps me out sometimes; but he's not cut out to be a father. So it's just me." She shrugs.
"I'm—really sorry," Ben looks away, taking in this information as he stares at the parking lot ahead of them.
"And I'm sorry I dropped that on you. I'm just a regular ray of sunshine, ha ha." There's a part of her that hates apologizing for this story, a part of her that feels ashamed to be using her circumstances to embarrass him. But there's also a part of her that thinks he deserves it, just a little.
"No, I asked. Thank you for telling me."
She looks over at him again, taking in his tight athletic shirt and bare feet. "Aren't you cold?"
"Just finished a workout. This feels good." He rolls his shoulders a little; Rey sees the movement of his muscles through the fabric. "Why, are you?"
Rey rubs her hands together on top of the pizza case, which isn't radiating warmth anymore. "I think it's gonna snow again tonight."
"Here," Ben reaches for her hands, cupping them between his. "Shit! How are your hands this cold?"
"My heater's dead, in the car," Rey says wryly, trying to focus on the conversation instead of how nice his hands feel around hers, warm and strong and gentle in a way that's unexpectedly touching. She should probably pull away, but she doesn't. "I haven't gotten around to fixing it."
"I know a good mechanic—"
"I am a good mechanic," Rey cuts him off, "just short on time."
"But you'll get to rest soon?"
Rey snorts. "My evening at work just started."
They get quiet for a moment, and Rey begins to feel self-conscious. It's almost possessive, the way Ben has his hands wrapped around hers, showing no sign of letting go. It's also kind of sweet. "Um," she starts to say, but then a car turns into the lot.
"Here are your good-for-nothing customers," Ben says, nudging her with his elbow. "Absolute fucking morons." They stand, Rey accepting Ben's hand again when he goes to help her up.
"Pizza!" one of the guys in number 7 shouts as he alights from the car.
"Um, yeah," Rey says to her customer. As she maneuvers to open the Velcro of the case she looks back towards Ben, but he's already retreating to his apartment, closing the door behind him.
Over her next few deliveries, she gets cold again. Once on the way back to the store she even passes the street she lives on, but she knows better than to stop at home. For the first time in her life, an honest boss pays her for an honest day's work, and she is absolutely committed to holding up her end of the bargain.
And then there is the moment she pops into the kitchen to collect her next deliveries and the one on top is for a "Ben Solo"—sure enough, he's at apartment 2, corner of First and Order. It sends a little thrill through her, knowing she gets to see him again. She's more than halfway there when it occurs to her he might not be alone—that when he answers the door there'll be a pretty girl standing behind him, or waiting in the next room. Or a pretty guy, for all I know.
The "2" next to Ben's door is still upside-down, still a weird "7." Rey casts about for a joke about it, but he opens the door too soon.
"Hey," he greets her.
"Fancy seeing you here," she says, cringing at her own cheeseball joke before she's even finished saying it.
"Just a minute." He closes the door again.
Rey frowns.
In a moment the door opens. "Uh, I should've—come in. For a second? If you want?"
"I'm fine."
"Wait here then," he commands, closing the door.
He seems frazzled, and there's something kind of funny about it, except for the part where Rey is trying to give him the pizza he's already paid for and instead he's making her wait outside. The wind picks up, and she shivers—the air is damp. Definitely gonna snow soon. Maybe he's looking for cash for a tip?
The door opens suddenly. "Thanks." He grabs for the pizza, setting it down inside and bringing out something else. "Here."
It takes Rey a moment to comprehend, but there's a soft, heavy coat draped around her. It's huge on her—the sleeves hang down almost to her knees—and the collar carries a heavy smell of cologne.
"I had some gloves," he says quickly, "but they'll be way too big. Also I can't find them."
Rey nods, unsure of what to say, clutching the coat to her with her one free hand. It's unexpected, his gesture, but not unwelcome. Except—it's far too much. She opens her mouth to protest.
"You can give it back to me later. After you get your heater fixed."
"But won't you be—?"
"I have plenty of coats. And a working heater."
"It's gonna smell like pizza."
"Then I'll wash it." His face is grave.
"Alright," Rey agrees quietly.
"Here, I'll hold it—slip your arms in," he reaches out again, slipping his hands just under the collar. Rey obeys, swapping the pizza case from hand to hand. The sleeves are of course, on her, too long—but she bunches them up enough to stick them out the ends. The coat is thick and insulated with a logo on the chest; she glances down at it.
"Ice hockey. The club team, not varsity," he explains.
"Right." Rey's voice is barely a squeak. Ben's hands linger at the collar of the jacket, easily holding it closed around her to trap the warmth in. Rey has the impulse to incline her head just so, to kiss his knuckles—but that would be ridiculous, so she doesn't. Instead she takes a careful step back, out of his grasp, out of the thrilling uncertainty of it all. He's giant and warm and she barely knows him but she's wearing his jacket now, and with a stuttered "thank you" she's hurrying back to her car to deliver the other case of pizzas, the ones due to the next complex over.
It isn't until the end of her shift—when she arrives home to a blessedly empty apartment, her roommates who-knows-where—that she slips off the jacket and sees how his name and jersey number are emblazoned on the back of it. "SOLO" it reads, and she laughs at the number beneath—"7."
.
The next time Rey goes to Dr. Organa's class, Ben takes the seat next to her. They don't have assigned desks, but they've all become creatures of habit; so it's strange to see someone disrupt the usual flow of the classroom. Nobody says anything, including Ben, though a few people look twice at him. Dr. Organa gives him a curious smile; he keeps his face stoic, and soon her lecture begins.
At the end of class, just after Dr. Organa dismisses them, Ben reaches over and hands Rey something wrapped in tissue paper. "Until you fix your heater," he says in a low voice.
Rey pauses in gathering her things to unwind the tissue paper. It's a brand new pair of women's gloves, in a beautiful sable color; they look like they're made of leather.
"I—I have gloves," she stammers, embarrassed. "I just didn't bring them the other night."
"Now you have another pair," he says, standing to leave.
"Ben," she says, trying to get his attention, but he's already out of the classroom. Grabbing her bag, she darts into the hallway, searching for his huge form, but he's already disappeared down another corridor or staircase. She tucks the gloves into her backpack, something to examine for later, and heads to her next class.