AN: Take it, take another piece of my heart now, baby. Post-TRoS.
Tall, Gentle, and Understanding
Tall
She never thought how useful it would be to be around someone so consistently...tall. Certainly, Chewie ticked the box, but she didn't live with the Wookie. Ben positively loomed. And for someone who took up so much mass, he was all but silent.
There were the obvious benefits, of course, to reach things, to shelter her with his larger body, to provide warmth on cold mornings with his…tallness. But there were other unexpected moments. She watched as he reached up. To grab a Scally wrench, as they worked on the Falcon. The small amount of toned abdominal muscle she witnessed was enough to nearly cause her to accidentally weld two pieces that had no business being attached.
If he knew she was looking, he didn't let on.
She loved their differences. Loved how he made her feel small and delicate. How he absolutely dominated her. How his shirts and sweaters positively draped over her. Although he swore he never would, she was able to convince him to don his cape one night and marveled at how his presence commanded their room.
Gentle
When she had known him as Kylo Ren, he was all bravado. Swagger and swinging. Anger and frustration. Dark elegance. Yes, they had shared quiet moments - and she'd had her first glimpse that he could be gentle when they had reached out to each other on Ahch To.
Now, Ben was consistently tender. He allowed himself peace, and his actions spoke volumes to those they interacted with. There was no mistaking Ben Solo for Kylo Ren. While no one could quite believe the Supreme Leader was now a simple man, a man who lived for absolution and Rey, they witnessed saw his actions. Time, and again. And again.
Of course, he was still a force when they sparred, but how he restrained his strength was a thing of beauty. His movements had changed entirely. He was fluidity and grace. Charming and caring.
Understanding
She cried. In her sleep. She reached out when she thought he wasn't there, desperate to make contact. She recalled how he had died in front of her. Of how she had been forced to escape Exegol on her own. Of the months she had spent by herself before discovering how to retrieve him from the Worlds Between Worlds. He rubbed her back, dried her tears, and said nothing.
He was simply there.
And without so many words, she knew he always would be. There was no question of his presence in her life. Given she had grown up in nearly complete isolation, it was the smallest things that showed her he understood the situation.
With his own demons to wrestle, he would often awake early. To train. To meditate. To escape his own nightmares. But when he departed the warmth of their bed, he would always leave something behind - some piece of him that said, 'I'll be back. I'm here.' It's how she's tucked in, or how his shirt might be cuddled in her arms.
She's not alone.
And neither is he.