Finn presses the Start button on the washer for the billionth time, with no luck.

"Dammit," he mutters. He kicks the side of it to jolt it awake.

That's a nonstarter, too.

"That one doesn't work, now?" Jannah says.

He turns his head and finds her in the doorway. She rests a basket of laundry on her hip.

"I'll just use another one..." Finn sighs, opening the washer.

"No, the other ones don't work, either."

He raises his eyebrows. "Well - the ad said Laundry Room, not Working Laundry Room."

"This place is a slowly crumbling compost bin."

He looks around. "I find it charming."

"It's definitely something." She shifts the basket to her other side. "There's a laundromat a few blocks down. The owner's a creep, but I'd rather not show up to Civil Procedure in my pajamas."

"I can come with," he says.

"Oh, I can handle myself."

"I don't doubt that. But I really need to do my laundry."

They walk down the block, both holding their baskets of laundry.

The further down Yavin Street you go, Jannah's realized, the shittier it gets. Not the people, but the brick and mortar that happens to surround them. The sidewalk becomes more riddled with cracks, the windows get bars on them, and the trees that are sparsely planted farther up the block are non-existent here. That's the thing about big cities - they're never consistent. The vibe is dependent on what block you're on.

They pass by a homeless man named Henry - she had asked him his name once. He's crouched by the front steps of a building, holding up his usual cardboard sign that reads, Any Amount Helps.

Jannah stops in her tracks. "Hold this for a second." She stacks her basket on top of his.

He leans back slightly, trying to keep the laundry from toppling over in the street.

She opens her wallet, pulls out a twenty-dollar bill, crouches down, and hands it to him.

"Thanks, Jan." He takes the money with a shaking hand.

"Take care of yourself." She stands back up, putting her wallet back into her purse. She takes back her basket.

They start walking again.

"That was nice of you," he says.

"All that will do is get him a meal or two. It won't get him off the street." She thinks for a moment. "What's that quote? 'True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar...'"

"'...it comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.'"

"Right."

Finn seems to be absorbed in thought.

It, for some reason, makes her feel as if he's judging her. Does he think that she's a part of that edifice?

"I didn't tell you the full truth the other night," Jannah says.

He frowns. "About what?"

"I'm not really living on Yavin Street by choice. I don't want you to think that I'm...I don't know, the rich girl pretending to be poor for the culture, or something."

"I didn't think that..."

"But that's what I made it sound like." She straightens her laundry basket a bit. "My father cut me off."

"Oh. Why?" He cringes at himself. "That's not an appropriate question to ask…"

"It's money. Anyone who gets too torn up about money needs to concern themselves with other things." Her eyes wander off into the distance. "I didn't grow up with my father - not fully, at least. I was in Britain for most of my childhood, with my mother."

"Hence the accent?"

"Hence the accent. I stayed with him for two or three summers, but most of the time he was too busy. But then I came to the states to go to university, and he insisted that I stay in the Bespin district. I thought that he wanted to spend time with me, but instead he treated me like a protégé. He wanted me to take over the business for him. That's all he ever has been - always a businessman, never a father."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I suppose he didn't cut me off - I made him cut me off. I cut myself off." She shakes her head. "Now that I say it out loud, it sounds snobbish. There are people living on the street, meanwhile I hit the socioeconomic jackpot and wasted it."

They reach the storefront of the laundromat.

"Are you happier?" Finn says.

"Hm?" She turns her head to face him.

"Are you happier than when you were in that world?"

It doesn't take long for her to answer. "Yes."

"Then screw it, right?" He smiles crookedly.

For the love of god, stop being cute, she thinks. "I tend to not say 'screw it' about many things in my life."

"Me neither," he says. "But maybe we should start."

Rey presses her phone to her ear as she waits for Jannah to pick up. Her eyes scan the papers strewn across the bookstore counter. She bites her fingernails. Why did she take this bet, again?

The ringing in her ear stops. "What's up?" Jannah answers.

"I need help." Rey paces around the shop.

"With?"

"Okay - so, I have this bet with Poe that I can write a better speech than the one Organa gave at that women's conference."

"Rey, the last time you had a bet with Poe you had to put Just Married To Jesus on the back of your car for a month."

"Well, this time we're betting on a new washer and dryer."

"That's good." She lowers her voice and says, "I'm at the neighborhood pervert's laundromat, and I'd prefer it if I didn't have to come back."

"Alone?"

"No. Finn's here."

"Tell him I said hi."

"Finn or the neighborhood pervert?"

"Finn."

"He's in the bathroom."

"In that place? Brave soul."

"Why don't you call him?" Jannah suggests. "He's the writer."

"You're a to-be lawyer. You make speeches all the time, and I don't - "

"Alright, alright." There's a moment of silence, filled by the sound of tumbling laundry. "Any good argument makes an emotional connection first. Maybe start with a personal story and build policy around it. Or investigate Organa's personal history and put that in the speech to humanize her a bit more. Find a way to relate her story to the universal experiences of women in this country, blah blah blah…"

"Okay. That's good - you're smart, Jannah. Do I tell you that a lot?"

"No."

"Well, you're smart."

"Thanks."

She leans against the bookshelf ladder. "So you're with Finn…"

"Yes. And I need your help now."

"Did you forget how to do it? I have a book that I got in middle school…"

"I'm going to kill you."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She laughs at herself. "What do you need help with?"

"What's something that he does that's...unattractive?"

"Why?"

"Because, every time he does something that I find attractive, I'll think of that thing and then it'll cancel it out."

"Hm. Well - he eats crisps really weird."

"Okay…how?"

"He like - nibbles them. Takes little bites like he's a hamster, or something. The first time he did it, I nearly knocked the bowl out of his hand."

She sighs. "That's infuriatingly adorable."

"Oh my god, Jannah." Rey pinches the bridge of her nose. "Do you have some sort of vow of purity that I don't know about? Just go on a date with him."

"I'm going to hang up on you now."

"You know you love me."

"Depends on the day."

"It isn't too late to ask him out - "

She hears a small beep and looks at her phone. Call ended.

They sit down at two of the plastic green chairs that line the middle of the aisle. She makes sure that there's a space of one chair between the both of them.

It's not ridiculous to prevent herself from being attracted to him, or to make sure she doesn't end up in situations where she isn't attracted to him. No boys until after law school - that's the rule.

She zones out due to boredom, watching clothes tumble in a circle and listening to the music coming over the speakers. "Hey, Soul Sister".

The laundromat owner sits at the front of the store, reading a Playboy while cracking a walnut with a nut cracker and singing along in an unfortunate-sounding falsetto.

He must've caught her looking (in annoyance, but it doesn't matter to him) because he catches her eye and points to the magazine with the nut cracker, saying, "It's a shame they don't make 'em naked in here anymore."

She doesn't respond and digs into her bag, pulling out her textbook.

"Ah, well, a guy can imagine," he continues, straightening his magazine emphatically like a newspaper.

She cracks open her textbook and finds her page. In her peripheral vision, she sees Finn tense up as if he's about to say something.

"Don't," she tells him. "It's incredibly not worth it."

He relaxes reluctantly.

The creep goes back to singing, which makes it much harder to study Constitutional law.

"I hate this song," she mutters.

Finn, who has taken up mindlessly scrolling on his phone, looks up and listens. "It reminds me of high school."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Hell, no." He digs into his pocket and pulls out a pair of earbuds. "You like cheesy sixties music, right?"

"Yeah."

He hands her an earbud. She sticks it in her left ear, and he sticks his own in his left, the wire hanging between them.

After a moment, music fills her ear. It's a simple, acoustic guitar, strumming calmly. A scratchy, male voice comes in:

Let the river rock you like a cradle

Climb to the treetops, child, if you're able

Let your hands tie a knot across the table.

Come and touch the things you cannot feel.

"I haven't heard this one before…" she says.

"Do you like it?"

Jannah nods, not wanting to interrupt the lyrics with her words. The guitar is simple. The voice is earnest but steady.

If all the things you feel ain't what they seem.

And don't mind me 'cos I ain't nothin' but a dream.

She notices that his hand is resting on the chair between them. She sets her hand down on the chair, too. As the song goes on, the hands inch closer to each other until the sides of their palms align. Neither of them acknowledge this action, both of them staring ahead.

This is some middle school-level bullshit, she thinks, but it's nice.

That's when Finn's ringtone pauses the music. He looks at the screen, his eyes widening.

"Is it them?"

He nods, seemingly frozen.

She nudges him with her elbow. "Answer it!"

Finn goes outside, preferring the city ambiance over the sound of laundry machines and a dude singing Train in a high-pitched voice.

He answers the call and presses the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Is this Finn?" It's Solo.

"Yes!" Tone it down. He clears his throat. "Yeah, it is. How are you?"

"I'm good, kid. Busy. So I'm gonna keep this short."

His insides are twisted and knotted. "Of course - "

"You got the job."

"What?"

"You got the job."

"I got the job…"

"You got the job. I don't know how many times you want me to say this. You got the job."

"Hold on - just one second." He removes the phone from his ear and jumps up and down, pumping his fist in the air and lip-syncing a victory yell. Once he's done, he calmly puts the phone back to his ear.

"Are you still there?"

"Mm hm." He exhales, letting the knots in his stomach untie themselves. "Thank you so much for this opportunity. You don't understand how much this means to - "

" - how much this means to you, how it's your childhood dream...yeah, yeah. The way you can thank me is by showing up on Monday and doing your job."

"Of course, sir." He cringes at calling him sir again. "I won't let you down."

"You've got gumption, kid," he says. "You remind me of myself when I was younger. You know why I let you sit down and didn't tell you to get the hell out?"

"I really don't."

"I pulled the same damn thing. I missed my appointment with Tobias Beckett, Editor-In-Chief of the Daily Coaxium. I waited for him to leave the office, followed him as he walked to a Woolworth's store, and had an interview with him right in the toilet paper aisle."

"Coruscant used to have a Woolworth's store?"

"Don't get smart with me, kid." Finn imagines that he's waving his finger at him on the other side of the call.

"Sorry."

"That's not to say that you can interrupt any of my lunch breaks. That was a one-time deal."

"Right. Thanks for the Mexican Coke."

"I expected you to pay for that Coke."

"Just take it out of my paycheck."

"I will." (Finn can't tell if he's joking.) "See you on Monday. Don't be late this time."

"I'm usually early to things, actually."

"Well, don't do that either. 'Makes you look like a brown-noser. If you get there early just walk around the block a few times."

"Got it."

"Good."

Finn hears a small beep. He looks down at his phone and sees that Solo has hung up.

He slides his phone into his pocket, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of him. He lets out a resounding "WOOH!" that echoes throughout the block.

People turn their heads to look at the source of the noise.

Someone opens their window above and shouts, "I've got a nightshift, asshole! Shut the hell up!"

"Uh - sorry, ma'am!" He hears the door open behind him and turns around.

"Did you get it?" Jannah's smiling, clearly knowing the answer already.

"I got it! I got the job!"

"You got the job!"

"I got the job!"

"No one cares!" the upstairs woman yells.

"I'm gonna work for the Coruscant Times!" he shouts up at the woman.

"Congrats!"

"Thanks!"

"Now shut it!" The woman slams her window closed.

Jannah gives him a congratulatory hug.

Finn notices that the laundromat owner is ogling at them through the window and pulls away.

She takes the hint and glares at the owner.

He goes back to his Playboy and walnuts.

Jannah turns back to look at Finn. "Do you wanna get a drink?"

He smiles. "I'd love to."

Rey opens the door for Finn.

He's holding a basket of folded laundry, and his lips look particularly shiny.

"Are you wearing lip gloss?" she asks.

He furrows his brow and touches his bottom lip. "I - uh." He rubs it off with the collar of his sweater. "I was trying something."

She squints at him. He's not a very good liar. "It looks nice. I have this one with a pink tint if you would like to borrow it…"

"I'm good. Thank you."

Rey moves out of the way. "Poe's here, by the way."

Finn walks in, setting his laundry basket on the table.

From his spot in one of the living room chairs, Poe lowers his reading glasses and looks up from a small stack of handwritten papers. "Hey."

"Hi. What are you doing here?" Finn throws his keys onto the table.

"Am I not allowed to hang out here?"

"'Course you are. I just thought you two kinda hated each other...for some reason."

Poe pushes up his glasses and goes back to reading his speech. "One drunken night really brought us together."

"No it didn't," Rey says. "We have a bet that I could write a better speech than his speechwriter. Oh, and we need you to be the impartial judge."

"Did you watch Leia's speech, by chance?"

"Yeah."

"Really? Why?"

"I thought I'd get a one-up in the interview if I complimented the speech Solo's wife gave."

"Did you like it?"

He shrugs.

Poe looks distraught. "Did anyone like that speech?"

"It was alright." Finn goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. "I wasn't really the target demographic, so…"

"Are you sure he's going to be impartial?" Poe says to Rey. "He does live with you."

With a flat face, Finn says, "You don't have to worry. I don't think I could care less than I already do."

Poe finishes reading and passes it on to Finn.

Finn puts on his own reading glasses and sits down at the table.

Rey sits down at the kitchen table and eyes him intently, trying to see a change of expression, but his mouth is set in a studious frown.

After about ten minutes, he finishes reading and sets down the speech, taking off his reading glasses.

"Well?" Poe gets up from the chair and sits down next to Rey.

"Rey's was better," Finn says.

"Really?" Rey's voice comes out more high-pitched than she intended.

"Oh, c'mon…" Poe says.

She tousles his hair because she knows that he hates it. "Guess who's buying us a new washer and dryeeer!"

He swats her hand away. "I hate both of you."

"Ow." Rey rubs her hand.

"It's not that yours was bad…it's only if I had to pick one - "

"Yeah, yeah," Poe says. "You're dead to me now."

Rey clasps her hands together. "I'll make you dinner as a consolation prize."

Poe gets up. "I don't want a single bite of your pity dinner."

"Are you sure?" Finn asks. "She made me the best post-breakup pity dinner the other night."

"I think I'll be okay," Poe assures him. His gaze movies over to Rey - there's a recognizable look of mischief on his face. "How does Monday sound?"

"I don't make dinners on Mondays," Rey says, confused. "That's Finn's day."

"No - for your new job. How does Monday sound?"

Rey tilts her head at him.

He picks up the papers. "This was one hell of an entry letter."

"What're you talking about?" she says.

"One of our speechwriters quit." He fiddles with his reading glasses. "'Swooped up by some establishment guy in Connecticut with a bigger budget. I need a replacement."

"Are you offering me a job? Is this what this whole thing was about?"

There's a shit-eating grin on his face now. "I knew if I outright offered you a job, you'd either turn it down right away or say you'd consider it and...not consider it. So I had to make it a competition…"

"That's incredibly manipulative," Finn says.

"But it worked."

"No, it didn't work." She feels her face flush. "I'm not taking it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a bad idea. For one, I'm not even American - "

"Aren't you a citizen?"

"Well - yes. But I'm still from Britain."

"Palpatine's from Britain. I'm from Guatemala. Next objection."

"I didn't even finish high school."

"You're still an accomplished writer. And everyone knows that an English degree is useless, anyway."

"Hey," Finn says, offended.

"Sorry," Poe replies. "But it's a little true."

He sighs, looking forlorn. "Yeah…"

"...And what about the bookstore?" Rey holds up a finger. "I have a bookstore. I forgot about that part."

"The only reason why you're running that place is because Skywalker's too lazy to do it himself."

"That's not true - "

"Do you really wanna be selling books your entire life?"

She doesn't answer. That's not a question that she's asked herself before.

Poe gestures to Finn. "I was gonna ask Finn, but he's got the Times thing…"

"I'm hired, by the way," Finn interjects casually.

Rey and Poe both look at him in surprise.

"You are?" Poe says. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He points his finger between the both of them. "You two seemed a little occupied."

"Congratulations, Finn." She gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Thanks."

"That's great news," Poe says, his expression turning considerate. "That place is lucky to have you. Just like our campaign would be lucky to have Rey…"

"Horrible segway," she says. "And would you please let it go. You know what? Everyone needs to let it go. I'm not a writer anymore, and I wish everyone would stop expecting me to be - "

"Rey," he sits back down and faces her, "I don't like you that much. But I mean this with the most sincere concern when I say that you need to pull your shit together. You're a damn good writer, and you need to speed up your quarter-life crisis so that the world can actually enjoy your talents. Now I'm offering you a job - a good-paying one that'll get you any gig in Coruscant after the campaign's over, even if we lose miserably and everything goes up in flames like everyone says it will. But no, no, no...you'd rather be stuck in your twenty-something-year-old feelings. You know what? Those twenty-something-year-old feelings can kiss my ass." He finishes his speech and huffs out a breath. The vein in the middle of his forehead is popped out.

Rey decides to be the calm one, although she feels quite annoyed. "I'm not a writer anymore," she repeats.

He picks up the speech. "Then what's this?"

She doesn't answer.

He sets it back down and gets up again. "I gotta go buy a washer and dryer." He leaves the apartment briskly, the door shutting with a resounding thud behind him.

Finn and Rey sit in silence for a few moments.

Rey breaks it by saying, "You're snogging my best friend, aren't you?"

Rey crawls out of the window onto the fire escape, trying to keep her cup steady as she sits at the top of the metal steps. She looks at the flower that Finn gave her in the yellow pot, patting the soil to see if it needs water. It seems alright for now.

She takes a sip of her tea and surveys the city. The "pretty" fall days are slipping into grayness. After the gray comes an icy winter.

She smells cigarettes and looks down.

Poe's on his own fire escape, exhaling a puff of smoke into the cold air.

"I thought you didn't smoke," she calls.

He startles and looks up. "Yeah, that was a nice forty-eight hours." He lets the cigarette rest between his fingers.

"Can I have one?" she asks.

"You smoke?"

"No. I've never tried one."

"Good. Don't start." He takes another puff.

Rey takes a sip of her tea.

"Sorry about earlier," he says. "I can get kind of…"

"...Abrasive?"

He nods in reason.

She cascades carefully down the steps and sits down closer to his platform. "Why'd you offer me that job?"

"What d'you mean? 'Cause I think you're good."

"My play sucked."

"The first one didn't. The second one…" He sucks his teeth.

"It sucked," she says. "You don't have to spare my feelings."

He chuckles. "You wanna know how many things I've done that completely and utterly suck? You wanna know how many of those things happened yesterday? You don't see me giving up, though. Although maybe I should…"

"I didn't give up once I got those reviews," she says. "I 'gave up' when I realized how unfair it all was. I wrote my arse off after those reviews - after the show closed down. But it didn't matter how much I've improved - no one wanted my stuff because I wasn't 'marketable' anymore. Meanwhile Ben got his next gig in a few months, after directing the same shitty play."

"It's because you're a woman."

"Oh, really?" she says sarcastically, then sighs. "A woman makes one mistake, and she's a failure. A man makes a hundred, and he's only human."

"Can't relate," he says in an equally sarcastic tone. "It's smooth sailin' for queer Latino immigrants in politics. No public scrutiny at all."

Rey runs her finger along the rim of her teacup. "How do you not…?"

"...How do I not give up?"

She presses her lips together as an answer.

"Well - I'm just much more resilient and brave than everyone else...ever. I'm still waiting for my biopic."

"Turn down the sarcasm."

He takes a long drag. "I put up with it because I want to change it. You can't fix a system from the outside. No one's gonna fix it for you, either."

"The whole thing's unfair, isn't it?"

"The whole damn thing."

"Are you sure I can't have a cigarette?"

"Drink your tea."

She does.

He puts out his cigarette in an ashtray.

"I can start in one or two weeks," she blurts.

He turns and looks at her, blinking in surprise.

"Only if I can get Luke to take over the bookstore again. I can't close it down - have it go to someone who'll make it into a coffee shop with twenty-dollar lattés."

"Eugh."

Rey looks out at the city. It's almost completely dark now, although not any quieter. "If she wins, I expect change. Real change."

"It'd help if she had some better speeches."

She finishes her tea. "Will we kill each other if we work together every day?"

"We're bound to eventually. Might as well speed it up."

The Secret pops into her brain like an unwelcome visitor. It's so well-buried, and most of the time irrelevant, that she forgets that it's there. The good, honest thing would be to tell Poe, but he doubts that he would hire her after she tells him. So she doesn't do the good, honest thing. The Secret stays a secret.