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Falafel
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Summer temperatures return unexpectedly, and Rey opens the door to her office wide. On the one hand, she's in danger of being accosted by every person who walks by; but the alternative in this poorly-ventilated office is sweating through her clothes. She puts earbuds in so as to appear busy, but that doesn't stop someone from hovering in the doorway, knocking on the doorframe.
She pretends not to notice, as if she's actually listening to music; but out of the corner of her vision she can tell that her visitor persists. She takes out the earbuds and turns to see who's here to bother her. It would be the one person she hoped most to avoid today.
"Rey," Solo says, glancing distractedly at his wrist for a moment to check the time. He isn't wearing a watch; his brow furrows in confusion and he looks back up at her.
"Yes?" she asks with as much dignity as she can muster.
"I've just returned from the Student Union with my lunch only to be reminded I'm supposed to attend a catered faculty meeting. I don't want this to go to waste—do you like falafel?" His expression is gentle, almost pleading, and he extends a clear plastic box to her. Inside there appears to be a falafel wrap and a bag of potato chips.
Rey hesitates for a moment, weighing her desire against her pride. Presently she turns back to the computer with a frown, saying to the screen, "Just put it in the fridge. It'll keep."
"I—" Solo starts to say something else, but she doesn't look at him again. "I don't have time right now. Here." His voice is brusque as he deposits the box on the filing cabinet that sits between her desk and the doorway, and then—mercifully—he leaves.
Rey glances over at the box of food, just out of the corner of her eye. All she'd been able to apportion for lunch today was another cup of ramen, and the ramen pales in comparison. Still, she feels no less humiliated that Solo came straight to her with his extra food. More charity.
She tries to open another file and the computer lags. She checks on the falafel out of the corner of her eye: still there.
Well, his office is next door, a tiny, salivating voice reminds her. You were probably the most convenient person to give it to.
The longer the falafel sits undisturbed across the room, the less power she has to resist it. Finally she snatches it, her stomach grumbling loudly to accentuate her shame. Fuck, Rey scolds herself as she opens the plastic box and the heavenly smell of the falafel hits her.
She tries eat slowly, but she inhales the meal, almost as if she's suddenly afraid Solo will show up in the doorway wanting to take it back. When she's finished, her hands are greasy from the potato chips, and she takes the empty container to the staff lounge to throw it away and wash her hands.
In the staff lounge, Dr. Skywalker is slipping something into the microwave that looks very much like a TV dinner.
"Dr. Skywalker!" Rey greets him. "Aren't you supposed to be at the meeting? Where they feed you lunch?"
Dr. Skywalker pauses his squinting at the microwave buttons and levels a weary glance at her. "If there was, in fact, a meeting with catered lunch, I would know about it; rest assured, no other meetings even cross my radar. They'll find me if they need me," he gives a dismissive wave of one hand.
Rey stifles a snort at his answer. It's not until she's back at her desk that she wonders—if Skywalker wasn't invited, what sort of meeting was it? And if there was no meeting at all—
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When Solo stops by half an hour later to inquire about the quality of the food, Rey gives him a long, cool look.
"It's that bad?" he worries, his face falling slightly. It's silly—he looks so eager, so insistent like this.
"You could just say you're sorry," Rey speaks in a low, angry voice, "instead of humiliating me further."
Solo looks stricken, but that expression is quickly replaced by one of frustration, his brows drawing together and his eyes burning. He opens and closes his mouth without ever speaking a word. Then he turns swiftly on his heel and retreats into the adjoining office, slamming the door as he goes.