Rey squeezed her eyes shut in annoyance, feeling the foreign arm in the middle of her torso weighing her down and keeping her from moving. Still, she twisted on her side and tried to identify whoever was in her bed – was this her bed? - with a grumpy frown, freezing when her eyes finally came to fall onto the peaceful and known face who'd been in her life for years and years.
Ben?
Fuck. Wait. Ben?
Ben Solo?
Suddenly, the whole night of events came to her head. The drinking, the fact that some random experience in the morning at work had made her even needier than usual, and their stupid drinking contest in the living room. By the time she offered to 'help Ben go to bed', they were so fucking hammered that Rey didn't even know how they were standing – which didn't make sense, because Ben should have the drinking capacity of a horse with how big he was, but couldn't hold his alcohol at all – and they both just crashed right there, started undressing, and one thing led to the other.
And it was good. It wasn't the best sex she had ever had, but even drunk Ben was attentive and caring and sweet.
And, in Ben Solo fashion, he wouldn't remember a thing. So she should just collect herself before he woke up, and she died of embarrassment like a Sim in the hands of a sadistic gamer, and that's what she did, standing on wobbly legs and picking up any sign of her presence in his bed before tiptoeing to her own bedroom in their flat.
She had lived together with Ben since they were friends in medical school, having met as teens, and had even moved out of the shabby and tiny flat they lived before to where they were now, and she always had a crush on him. Not that he knew; Ben Solo was the most clueless man she had even met, and in cases like this, it was a blessing.
They had no shifts today, thank whatever deity had invented off days, but she was still up in the morning like usual because Rose had decided it was a good idea to drop by around breakfast time. On a day off. During the weekend.
Just great.
"Morning," Ben muttered as soon as she stepped into the kitchen, practically drowning in his cup of coffee.
"Morning," she covered her eyes, trying her best to act as innocently as possible. "Coffee?"
Ben didn't verbally answer but pointed to the counter, where a fresh pot was waiting, and she ruffled his hair as she walked by him, making him groan.
"What happened yesterday?" he asked, clearly confused. "Did we really drink as much as I think we did?"
"Yep," she moved her free hand to close the curtains from the small window in front of their sink. "I don't even know how I got to bed last night. Everything after the 5 th tequila is messed up."
Ben fell into a long silence, and she held her breath, waiting to see if he would say something about it. Hoping he would say something about it.
"Wait… We had tequila?" he finally asked.
Before she could answer, a knock on the door echoed through the flat, and she stood up straight.
"That must be Rose. I'll go get it."