It was happening again, the invasive, consuming reminders of a life that didn't belong to her – the dreams that left her shook for days afterwards, and Rey's mind instantly tried to fight back as if acting on survival instincts – trying in vain to push back the images that it knew were coming.
A wave of dark, angry emotion, a tide carrying the past – a past she didn't want to see again threaded through with pain and hurt that wasn't hers. An interloper in the years and events that culminated in the man she knew today; the hot-blooded but surprisingly gentle person she was coming to know – whose presence she'd actually begun to enjoy.
But this, this felt wrong – she didn't want to just know these things about Kylo. Private is what these memories and recollections should be, but for some reason they kept coming – relentless, with no regard for opinion, they surfaced at random throughout the years, although this was the second time in days – something that had never happened before.
Any attempt her subconscious made to shut them out was futile, an effort that always resulted in a slightly delayed but still potent nightmare, and soon his mane of dark hair, that pale, stark and lonely face - filled her vision once more. Young Ben Solo as he was the last time she'd seen him; boyish and awkward with too big ears and a frown that spoke of loneliness beyond his years, downcast eyes still searching for someone – anyone – and thoughts still dominated by the one truth he'd kept with him all his life – that he was completely and utterly alone in the seas of people that came and went but never stayed.
She struggled in her sleep, fighting the secondary pain of watching him go through this again. The visions, memories – whatever they were – had never happened so close to each other, they'd never come in the space of days and her unconscious mind was overwhelmed by the emotional tidal wave. Having barely put the last set out of her mind this was like a double dose of sadness – his return had been the only thing that had washed it away before, relief at seeing him safe and unharmed wiping the slate clean – but now it all came rushing in, stronger than before and her mind screamed in resonance with the emotional young boy in her dreams.
Darkness clouded, and the vision shifted, momentarily obscured but it quickly came into focus, revealing a scene she hadn't expected. It was always the same set, the same stream of memories, but instead of seeing what she knew came next, her own image appeared, the same trio of buns confirming the identity of the young and very much afraid child.
Once again in the grasp of Unkar Plutt, the Crolute's fleshy hands roughly tightened around her skinny arms in a gesture she'd relived through nightmares for most of her life. But this time was different, this time she saw the people leaving her – if only briefly - before they boarded the unremarkable shuttle that would take them away forever. Harsh, worn faces looked back at her with no remorse – no concern for the sobbing child before them. Clothed in ragged pieces faded from wear, they turned from her, never once looking back as they left. She watched her younger self kick and scream as she begged them to come back – as she begged them not to leave her.
NO!
Don't go!
Come back!
The broken, fragile screams of her younger self rattled around her head, tearing at the ragged seams that barely held her emotions intact, beating at the walls that were her only salvation as she waited – and she had waited for so long. She'd never seen this much before, never remembered so much – and it was heartbreaking to relive, even if in her waking mind she couldn't remember these events so clearly.
Quiet girl!
The harsh, guttural words seemed final in that moment, quieting the young Rey, and finalizing the memory – the hot sand and empty horizon that dominated her life quickly fading from view.
Again, the world shifted before her, threatening with the premonition of what was coming – another reminder of Jakku? This time she didn't know what to expect, the rules had changed, and something was different. So, when Ben Solo's slightly older frame appeared before her once more, her restless sleep actually calmed a bit, her unconscious mind finding a slight moment of peace in the familiar, yet alien setting.
It was what she'd expected to see before, the young boy watching the three people he loved most boarding different crafts; Han and Chewbacca leaving in the Millennium Falcon – Leia in some unknown shuttle. None of them looked back as they climbed the durasteel ramps, none of them slowed with the slightest bit of hesitation as they left him alone – again. Mother and father both with somewhere more important to be; there was always something, she knew instinctively, that kept them away, at a distance from their needy and impressionable child.
And impressionable he was, for now he fought against the family that could never give him enough, that could never show him how much they cared – if they cared at all. Suddenly Han Solo's death made a little more sense, it was a little easier for Rey to understand how Kylo had been capable of murdering his own father and, while she knew that he felt remorse and part of him regretted his actions, she found herself reluctant to judge them any longer. His actions might not have warranted his death, but she could see how Han Solo's failure as a father could cause the rift between he and his son that would make Kylo capable of such an act.
There was more to the story, even more than what she was seeing now and what she'd seen before. Something pivotal happened in Ben Solo's life to turn him into Kylo Ren, to drive him to the dark and to Snoke. Seeing these memories confirmed it and made her question if this side was really the wrong one. She hadn't experienced the Resistance first hand, but Finn had convinced her of the horrors of the First Order, but was that really all there was to it? The righteous Resistance, lead by General Leia Organa, had it right, they were good and just, and the order was evil? How could she be sure when it was so clear that the emotional rift in Kylo's mind that drove him to Snoke was caused by these same people?
Everything was quickly becoming muddled, the rumours she'd heard back on Jakku of the First Order's exploits and Finn's haunted stories in direct contrast with the care she'd seen from Kylo. Yes, he'd kidnapped her and tortured her in a sense while attempting to retrieve the map, but he'd also kept her alive, safe and fed. It started out bad but had quickly evolved into something more and while her indignant self may be loathe to trust him after what he'd done, there was a part of her, quickly growing dominant, that wanted to believe in his small acts of kindness. They were more than she'd ever received before – the promise of safety and food that didn't come in vacuum sealed plastic. For the first time she could remember, she didn't have to worry about when she would eat next.
Being ever the survivor, refusing to give up and die rather than live the hard life, she appreciated these things – probably more than Kylo would ever realize or understand. So much so that the reason she'd ended up here didn't matter as much anymore; the important thing, in her mind at least, was that she was alive, comfortable, and living in a place that was nothing short of luxurious compared to how she'd grown up. She'd almost died here yes, but Kylo had saved her, kept her alive and that was monumental. It was the most anyone had ever done for her and it all but eclipsed everything else.
And then there was the Force. This power or ability she supposedly had that apparently could pose a great threat and yet, here he was, trying to teach her how to control it, how to use it. He was trusting her with knowledge of something she'd thought was a myth, something she hadn't even seen until she met him. The First Order had killed many trying to locate Luke Skywalker because of the threat he posed to them and yet Kylo was willingly showing her the same things. Even back on Starkiller he'd tried to convince her that she needed help, a teacher – what would have happened if she'd listened, if she had believed him then as she did now?
There was so much she didn't understand, but wanted to know. She'd lived isolated and alone for years and yet, he'd always been there in fleeting moments while she slept – why? What did it mean? Maybe it meant that Kylo Ren was more than the First Order's judge, jury, and executioner, maybe there was more to the First Order itself beyond the scope of hate and fear that she'd heard preached throughout the years. She'd never been one for grand dreams, besides the return of her family, but she wondered now if maybe there was a reason she'd ended up here.
The visions seemed to be patterned – back and forth, Ben then Rey, the clouds clearing to reveal herself again – this time crouched against the shuddering wall of her makeshift home, scratches which marked the days filling her periphery as she waited out the howling winds and scathing sands. The sounds of metal bending and twisting filled her head as her younger self desperately tried to cover her ears – to block out the terrifying sounds. This was the first desert maelstrom she'd witnessed on her own, but it certainly wouldn't be the last. She remembered now as she watched how sure she'd been that she wouldn't make it till morning, how many times she'd called out for someone, anyone to come and save her. No one ever came and every time the storms blew, threatening to tear the world apart, she hoped a little less. With each passing year, the faith she held in her families return dwindled a little more. She put on a brave face but deep down she knew – she always knew.
The wind died down, and her sad little home disappeared – replaced by much nicer, more civilized surroundings. The dwelling she found herself in was familiar, everything neat and in its place; she'd seen this vision of quiet wealth and comfort enough times to know what was coming next. Turning around in the dream she was met with the haunting stares of Han Solo and Leia Organa as they looked upon their son with a mix of fear and awe. His mother did a better job of hiding her apprehension, but it was clear on Han's face – clear in the expression of the man that she'd once, briefly, thought of as a father figure. Even more obvious, was the pain written so plainly across Ben's face, the pain that he hid so well now – how much he just wanted them to accept him, to love him. It was at odds with his seemingly peaceful surroundings; the clean, well furnished house that even in all its regularity wasn't really a home. She'd seen this look many times before and even though she hadn't known who it belonged to then, she knew, without a doubt, that everything she saw had really happened. That somehow, she'd been experiencing his past in her dreams for the better part of her life.
The pain gnawing at her insides had lessened to a dull ache by now, her mind not truly resisting anymore as she let the waves of their memories carry her through the dream. There she was again, older still – another sandstorm threatening to take her life. But this one was different; it had caught her unaware, stranded with no food and on the last dregs of water in her canteen on the outer edges of the desert graveyard. She'd managed to wedge herself into a blasted hole in some unrecognizable ship – unreconcilable damage and drifting sand masking it's identity – before the wind really picked up and the sand began to swirl through the air like lethal shards of glass. The memory itself was blurred, just like her recollection of that time – she didn't know how long she'd spent in that crevice, cold despite the angry desert just inches away and starving, her stomach an empty pit, as she waited for the storm to pass. She remembered thinking how apt the name was for that barren place, how she too would soon be buried beneath the sands with no one to come looking for her – no one to miss her.
She couldn't recall how many days she'd spent trapped there, all she remembered was the haze of dragging her tired body back out of the jagged opening and across the hot sand. Someone had towered over her then, but she'd been so exhausted, so weak, that she couldn't make out their features. Her vision had blurred, her eyes closed, and she fell unconscious - only to wake up back in her makeshift bed in the downed AT-AT. To this day she still had no idea who'd brought her back, but she knew that if it wasn't for them, her bones would now lie among the shifting sands of Jakku.
It was haunting, having that near-death experience thrust upon her once more, reliving just how desperate she'd been at that point. The hunger she'd known then had been unavoidable and she couldn't help but be disappointed in herself for turning away food while she was anxiously anticipating Kylo's return. She should've tried harder, should've forced herself to eat despite the overwhelming nausea. For what if she ever ended back up on Jakku? Just how foolish and immature would she feel then for turning away hot meals, when she was back to living hand to mouth, scavenging to afford portions that barely passed as edible?
Almost as soon as her mind made that realization, the starkness of Jakku was replaced by yet another vision she'd seen countless times. It no longer surprised her to see his parents leaving him behind or that his features now showed less of the emotion that was buried just beneath the skin – the emotion she was sure was still hidden there today. The apprehensive faces and whispered comments almost seemed to be directed at her as she walked the cavernous halls beside his younger self once more, experiencing again, the total sense of isolation and abandonment he felt despite being surrounded by people – children, youth, adults – that shared his affinities.
Where she'd been lost in a sea of sand for so long, he'd endured a sweltering mass of bodies – yet both had no one. His parents had at least been there was what her mind tried to tell her – tried to convince her that Ben Solo hadn't been alone, he hadn't been abandoned like her. But what was worse – to have your family leave and never return, or to have your family ignore you, fear you and distrust you until it finally got so bad that they gave you away – pawned you off on someone else who might be better equipped to deal with you. Her heart didn't care for the logistics of the situation; the reason why they'd sent him away, if they thought it would somehow help. She only felt hurt; angry that they couldn't see how much he needed them to love him, that they couldn't see the need that she witnessed so plainly in every emotion that crossed the face of young Ben Solo – the emotion that he hid a little more with each passing year until he mastered his look of calm indifference that she was so accustomed to.
She was so consumed with thoughts of him and his life that the next shift in her dream hit her like a slap in the face. Her blood ran cold and her mind immediately resumed its frantic fight – trying to pull back from the memory, trying to wake from the deep, all consuming sleep. It was as though something else was controlling everything though, holding tight to her consciousness, as she plunged into her past to witness one of the more painful, degrading parts of her life.
It was just how she didn't want to remember it being; she was fourteen, by her own count at least – in all actuality the number was an educated guess – not that her age really mattered at that point in time. Her past self was still pinned to the cold, durasteel wall of a downed star destroyer, three men all tall, burly and with their faces covered, surrounding her. She could smell them, even now, like the rancid stink of spoiled meat – their hot, invasive breath pushing in on her mirror image, the fear spread painfully across her features.
She remembered her quarterstaff, how it had rested against her back – the strap slung over her shoulder – so that, in this position, she couldn't reach it. It was trapped up against the wall behind her and she had nothing to defend herself with and no where to move as they closed in.
She could feel their sweaty hands as the first grew bold enough to touch her, as the second began tugging at the scavenged and dirty clothes she wore. Her hands were flailing, trying to push them off, and the halls of the ship, dimly lit by the midday sun filtering in, echoed loud the sound of her screams as she indignantly pleaded with the men. Disgusting is how she felt then and now, violated as they ripped at the clothes covering her chest, their beady eyes trained even lower.
Her eyes closed as she watched, and for a second it looked as though she wasn't going to resist – how could she, it was one girl against three men – all at least half a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. If she'd been awake she would've known that her entire body shuddered with the thought, she would know that her skin was covered in a sheen of cold sweat.
Something changed as she looked on though; she didn't remember the slight shift in the wind that seemed so obvious now, in her memory, or how her breathing had slowed to the point where one might think she'd fallen asleep. The deadly calm that pierced the air before her eyes snapped open was something altogether foreign, but she remembered the ferocious anger that had flowed through her then, as she'd shoved back against them all at once – somehow causing each to stagger away from her. She threw her whole weight into it, but at fourteen she was even shorter than she was now and extremely skinny – there'd really been no weight to throw. Yet the men fell back all the same as if they'd been slammed into with a speeder – each loosing their footing, their faces twisted in a sort of confused rage as they glared back at her spindly form.
There'd been no hesitation from then on, as she'd quickly drawn her quarterstaff and laid into her attackers. It hadn't been enough to stop them, or to knock them unconscious – she'd beaten them until their faces were unrecognizable, until fresh blood made tracks down their grime caked and unshaven faces – until they stopped moving and her body was shaking with unshed tears. She'd left them there, unsure, and unconcerned whether they were alive or dead – all she knew was that, when she returned the next day, they were gone. Whether they'd dragged themselves away or the sand had swept their bodies into its depths, she didn't care, as long as they never came back.
There had been more attempts like this, to victimize her, as she got older, but this had been the first and last time that any man had managed to lay a hand on her. It was also the most violent of them all, for Rey restrained herself from then on – resorting only to incapacitate, holding herself back from actually killing anyone. Each time was a struggle, to say the least, the anger she felt at their attempts to use her was consuming and powerful – a hate that she had to work to fight off. Eventually they learned, eventually she'd earned a sort of reputation but there would still be the occasional offhand comment or suggestion and while Rey of Jakku may have kept a calm, indifferent façade – her blood boiled with the need to defend herself, to make them see she wasn't some weak, defenceless young girl.
Rey might've hoped for the briefest of seconds that that memory would be the last, that whatever cosmic force was causing this had enough of torturing her, but it would have been in vain because, at that moment, the world rocked before her and the hot sun of Jakku disappeared into darkness as her midday encounter was suddenly replaced with one taking place in the dead of night. She knew this memory was Ben's, even though she'd never seen it before – something about the way the air curled around her like soft waves spoke of him as she watched from the darkness.
His sleeping form came into view, just as innocent and peaceful looking as it had that day, not too long ago, when he'd rested beside her after exhausting himself healing her fatal wounds. His breath stayed even, his chest rising and falling slowly as some unknown man, clothed in Jedi robes made his way into the small hut. He stood above Ben's sleeping form like a sentry, and while Rey didn't know him, she knew that Ben did – she could feel it. A look she couldn't discern passed over the unknown figures weathered face as his stark blue eyes gazed on the boy before him. A moment passed in silence and then he was reaching into his robes and pulling forth a lightsaber which he ignited above the small bed, its brilliant green lighting the cramped space, the familiar thrum of energy reverberating off the walls. It took a matter of seconds and she couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips as the man held the blade in dangerous anticipation over Ben's sleeping form, his thumb still hovering at the switch.
In front of her, Ben's eyes opened – dark and immediately full of terror as he recognized not only the power of the weapon above him, but the energy of the force wielder behind him.
Uncle.
Luke.
Skywalker.
The words whispered into her mind, telling her the identity of the man that managed to instill such fear in Ben within the space of seconds. Telling her that this man was the same Luke Skywalker she'd thought was a legend for most of her life, that she had once thought of as a hero made for the storybooks. Now, she looked upon him with a seething hatred, for this – considering taking the life of his own nephew – was despicable. She didn't care what he might have thought or believed that Ben might become, what he might have seen as he peered into the boy's unconscious mind – this was betrayal in its highest form, even worse than being left alone on Jakku.
She watched as he slowly swiveled his head to meet the gaze of his… teacher, his hand reaching for the lightsaber that rested beside the bed – it's silver hilt gleaming in direct contrast to the dull black of his current weapon. There was only a moment of hesitation before self preservation took hold and the boy that would become Kylo Ren ignited the saber in defense. Blue light crashed into green, his empty hand, raised before him, pulled at nothing and the building collapsed around them in a shower of wood and stone. Flame licked at the edges of her vision as the memory blurred, a black oblivion steadily replacing the dream as she struggled to calm her racing heart.
In that moment, Luke Skywalker hand managed to single-handedly disconnect Ben Solo from every member of his family – for after this he'd never be able to go back. After this, there would never be a place for him anywhere but with Snoke; the only place he could go was straight into the darkness that had been calling him for so long, the darkness that promised new beginnings, power – acceptance.
Her mind was still swimming with deadly flashes of green, crumbling walls, and the thick scent of smoke - as if from the burning of an entire structure and it's contents - when the sound of sliding steel brought her back to a semi conscious state. Her breath was still rapid as she floated in that in-between place, partially aware of the real world but still sedated by sleep.
A warm, gentle hand came down on her shoulder and her eyes opened lazily, darkness obscuring her vision even after the post sleep blur had cleared. Sight wasn't necessary though, to know that it was Kylo standing beside her bed, that it was his hand that seemed to flood warmth into her ice-cold body, even through the covers. He was breathing heavy and she could feel his heartbeat racing – just as fast as hers – in the otherwise dead silence that filled the room.
She gazed up at the slight outline of his face, into the warm, dark eyes that she knew were locked on her own.
"Did you -?" she began to ask of him, her voice shaken and unsteady to her own ears.
"Yes."
That one word, interrupting her question, sounded so broken and weak - as though it encompassed every terrible memory she had witnessed - that she knew immediately, and without doubt, that Kylo had seen it all too. He'd been there in every memory, witnessing her past and re-experiencing the pain of his own. She didn't know why – why they had to so fully experience each other's raw hurt like that – why she'd been seeing him in her dreams for years. But what she did know, was that she felt ragged – in both body and mind, as though every wound she'd ever received – be it mental or physical – had been reopened and cut just a little deeper. It felt like someone had just dragged a knife across a dozen newly healed scars – denying them the ability to stay closed, forcing them open for all to see – for him to see.
Kylo had seen some of her most painful memories, but she'd seen his too, and now he was standing before her, not visible enough for her to read the emotions on his face – if there were any. Does he feel like this too? Did he feel raw and haggard, exposed to the elements, just as she did? Was he frozen inside, with the stark realization that his past had been so clearly displayed for someone else to see? Did he feel as though he were being battered and beaten from the inside out, by every sad, miserable piece of his past? Because she did; having all that thrown at her at once, all those memories swarming her dreams together like a tidal wave – she felt broken, alone, and afraid.
Not wholly awake and less than sure if she was moving of her own volition, Rey found herself sliding away from the edge of the bed, gently flipping the covers back as she did so in a silent invitation, or was it a request?
He didn't move until she reached her hand out towards him, fingers gently probing the darkness in front of his rigid stature. Long fingers clasped her considerably smaller ones almost immediately, dwarfing them as he slid into the bed beside her with an ease and grace that contrasted his height. No words were needed as Kylo settled himself next to her, replacing the covers as he turned towards her.
She could finally see his eyes; their warm, dark depths swimming with emotion as they searched her own for the same. His features before her were raw and pale, his bottom lip quivering so slightly she might've missed it had she not been studying his expression so intently – it spoke of an innocence in him that she'd only witnessed before when he was asleep. Whatever had just happened between them to connect their minds, to share their dreams – it had affected him just as much as her, and he needed this closeness just as much as she did. They both needed to feel… not so alone for once – to deny the reality that every memory had served to enforce, to deny the truth that they had no one – because maybe, maybe that wasn't true anymore.
Her gaze was boring into him with an intensity of emotion that Kylo had never witnessed before, the few inches separating them only making it that much more powerful. She was shaking slightly beneath the covers, and the small hand he still clasped within his own was cold as ice. He was at a loss, for what to do, what to say – everything she'd seen about his past, what would she think? But then, she'd pulled back the covers for him, taken his hand – as if she didn't want to be alone, and he knew that was the truth because he felt the exact same. He'd gone straight to her, after he'd broken through the haze of their shared dream, not because he felt obligated or responsible, but because all he could think about was that he needed to be near her – needed to be with her.
It hadn't been like before, when the raw emotion of her nightmare, the fear and loneliness she'd felt had been carried to him through the force. He hadn't been woken up by her struggles, he hadn't seen her dreams as he loomed over her sleeping form. No, this time he'd been right there with her, locked in his mind or hers – he wasn't sure – he only knew that it was completely involuntary. This time their minds had shared every experience, witnessing each painful facet of their past together – there would be no hiding his past from Rey now.
There was nothing really to say at that moment, at least, nothing that could explain what just happened without scaring her further and nothing that would ease the hurt of reopening all those scars they both seemed to carry.
Even in the absence of light he could see the slight glisten of tears on her lower eyelashes and he found himself biting back his own, as he gently brushed the pad of his free thumb across the top of her cheekbone as if he could caress her sadness away. She shuddered under his touch, eyes closing as she pressed her face closer, so that his palm rested against her cheek, and his fingertips ghosted into the tendrils of chestnut hair framing her face. He couldn't help the deep exhale of breath at the softness under his touch – everything about Rey was beautiful, he'd come to realize, but her hair – every time he saw her he found himself longing to run his fingers through its length – to get lost in it's silky depths. She was really here right in front of him and she accepted his touch, even welcomed it and it spoke volumes. Despite the uncertainties passing through his mind, her acceptance made him feel wanted and whole as he savoured the feel of her smooth skin against his palm
"Stay with me." Her voice came small, unsure, and pleading before him.
Kylo had never heard that tone in her voice before, so unguarded and open – not even when she'd broken into tears as she explained how bad it had got while he'd been gone. This was a side to her, a vulnerability, that she hadn't let him see before – a facet, he suspected, that no one had witnessed, until now – until him. Trust is what she was giving him – clear, unbridled faith as she let him see the parts of her that she kept hidden from the world; the need that was reflected so perfectly in himself. It made him feel – light; both as though a weight had been lifted off his chest and like the world itself was just a little brighter, a little less bleak than it had been before he met her. Rey was light, he realized – just having her near calmed him, strengthened him, balanced him – he needed her.
He chose actions over words as a reply, or rather, his body made the decision for him – pulling her small frame against his own so he could feel her heartbeat against his skin, the curve of her stomach where it now rested against his side. He closed his arms around her slight, yet muscular body and she didn't resist as he thought she might – instead placing her head in the crook of his arm so that her cheek rested gently on his chest, her hair tickling his skin as it fanned out around her. She hesitated only a moment before laying an arm across his chest, so she could hold him too. It was everything, more than he'd ever expected to receive from her and all that he needed in that moment.
Tonight, he would take only what she was willing to give him, and her closeness satisfied a need he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge in years. It was enough to know that she was willingly by his side, that this peaceful embrace which soothed his aching soul was received in welcome. He marvelled at the fact that this girl so full of light could cling so tightly to himself and his darkness. With her he felt a little less conflicted – a little more whole, so this; just being with her, was more than enough to satisfy the ache he'd felt since he'd found her on Takodana.
He could feel the slight wet of her tears against his chest as her breathing began to slow again, her heart steadying against his side. He allowed his fingers to run through her hair, finally exploring it's length, and she sighed contentedly under his ministrations. It wasn't long before her breath slowed once more, and she quickly fell back to sleep - having never left that state in-between dream and waking.
Nothing was going the way he'd originally planned – he'd always refused to believe that the visions, the dreams were anything more than just that – a figment of his imagination – despite the constant, underlying sense that they were so much more. It had been years since he'd had those dreams, in fact, he'd almost forgotten – until that conversation with Mitaka, until he'd mentioned a girl from Jakku. It had all come swarming back then, every lonely image of the girl he'd seen, every painful memory he'd witnessed instead of sleeping. It had filled him with, not rage exactly, but a ferocity to know more – he had to.
At that moment the only similarity between Rey and the girl in his dreams had been that they both came from a desert planet – it could have been anyone, but he knew, from the second he saw her on Takodana – that she was the same girl that had been haunting his rest for years. Even though he'd taken her with him then because she held the map to Luke Skywalker within her mind, it had always been so much more than that. He hadn't known then what he would do when she woke and right now, he still wasn't sure what he was going to do in the morning – but he hoped that she would remember asking him to stay; he really didn't want to wake up to an angry Rey – ready to kill him, or at least seriously injure him – for being in her bed. He might be a masked, ruthless, lightsaber wielding warrior to everyone else, but with Rey he wanted to be different; he found himself humbled in her presence, capable of patience and even a sort of kindness that had once been so foreign to him.
Morning on the Finalizer was hours away though and despite his slight trepidation, sleep called to him like an old friend. Rey still clung to his side as though she trusted him more than anyone or anything else, and he revelled in the sensation of being so close to her.
A single tear managed to escape from the corner of his eye as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. Inhaling deeply of her clean, light smell, he found his own mind drifting off again, hopefully to some blank world that would allow him some time to just forget, to ignore everything around him – everything and everyone, save for the girl curled up at his side.