"Come on, Beebee-Ate," Finn croons, tugging at the dog's leash as he prepares to head towards the apartment complex Poe's given him directions to. He grabs Poe's jacket with his other hand.

Finn can't help but admit to himself that he'll be sad to see the dog go. In the long hours of the afternoon, before Rey called, Beebee-Ate proved a welcome distraction from the whirlpool of anxiety constantly threatening to pull him down and drown him.

Fin unlocks his door and exits, Beebee-Ate trotting along. He waits for the elevator, and as it dings, he sees Nines.

Oh, shit.

"Finn!" Nines reaches for him, and Beebee-Ate growls. "What the hell's your problem, dog?" Nines snaps before turning his attention back to Finn. "You didn't really quit, did you? You're way better than that."

"I did," Finn manages. "And I have to go now."

"Why would you do that? Did another company offer you a better—"

"No, Nines," Finn snaps. "I can't work for a company that kills people is all."

"We don't kill people!"

"Bullshit. We create the—"

"Big difference, Finn."

"You saw the kind of carnage our weapons can cause on the news, Nines. How can you—" Fear scurries down Finn's spine, wraps around his midsection and squeezes into his lungs. It's taking him over, and he's powerless to stop it.

"You're acting like a whiny little bitch," Nines scoffs. "Grow a pair and—"

Beebee-Ate lunges forward and bites Nines in the calf. Finn's former friend howls and kicks the dog, which yelps and darts behind Finn.

"You sick—"

Finn doesn't want to listen to the rest of Nines' diatribe. He takes Beebee-Ate's leash and dives into the elevator, frantically pressing the close door button.

They're going to keep coming, Finn thinks as he rides down. It's like they're part of a goddamn cult.

He sprints out of the elevator and into the searing afternoon heat, Beebee-Ate panting alongside him. Finn flags a taxi, telling himself that while he's technically unemployed, he won't have to worry about money for a few months, and gives the driver Poe's address.

Poe seemed genuinely happy to hear from him when he answered the phone. Of course he's happy, to be getting this dog back, Finn thinks as he rubs Beebee-Ate's golden head. "Thanks, buddy," he murmurs to the animal. He'll miss the dog. He'll miss having someone comfort him when he's spiraling in this void of what the hell do I do now.

Poe buzzes Finn into an apartment complex that, while not nearly as fancy as Finn's own, has character to it in a way than Finn's definitely does not. While Finn's apartment building is all sleek designs, decorated with modern art and all its misshapen people and splatter paintings, Poe's has wooden floors and a rather comfy looking bench nailed to the floor.

Apartment 2187, Finn tells himself. Seems like a rather large number for a building Finn doubts has more than twenty apartments. He knocks on the door, and it swings open.

"Hey! Finn!" Poe throws his arms around him, startling Finn. "And Beebee!" He reaches down to pat his dog, leaning against a crutch and with one leg in a brace.

"Your leg doing okay?" Finn queries.

"Yeah, it's just—hey, you wanna come in?" Poe hobbles back and Beebee-Ate bounds into the apartment.

"Sure." Finn ducks inside, taking in the living room, comprised of amusingly mismatched furniture—poofy blue couch, a Victorian teal loveseat, and a leather armchair. I like it, he decides. "Here's your jacket?"

"My jacket?" Poe frowns. "Oh, right. Nah, you keep it. I already bought myself another one. You want tea or coffee or something?"

"No! I mean, shouldn't you be resting?" Finn gapes at Poe, who grins roguishly at him. Finn feels heat rising up the back of his neck.

"I'm fine. Not even on painkillers anymore." Poe collapses into the armchair. "Just taking today off work."

"Where do you work?" Finn asks.

"Ehh… I do some freelance stuff."

"So you're a journalist?"

"Not exactly. More like a... consultant. Of sorts. I'm currently working alongside a nonprofit. Run by Leia Organa. You heard of her?"

"Who hasn't?" Finn smiles, but his stomach hurts. Leia Organa's organization vocally condemned FO Tech Industries. On numerous occasions. She was right, Finn thinks.

"How 'bout you?" Poe questions.

"Um—" Oh, what the hell? He's already lied to Poe and to the cops about who hit Poe. He doesn't want to lie to him anymore. "I'm unemployed. I mean, as of yesterday. I quit my job."

"Why?" Poe leans forward. Beebee-Ate chews on a bone.

"I worked for FO Tech," Finn admits.

"Hoo boy." Poe grins. "Congratulations on quitting, then."

Finn smiles for the first time. "Thanks. I just—after the news about our—their—weapons being used by all those horrible organizations, I couldn't." Even though their CEO insists they didn't sell to them. Finn has his doubts. He's seen enough shadiness in that workplace. And then, there's Phasma's silent confirmation.

"So are you an engineer or something?" Poe asks.

"Yup. FO Tech paid for my education and all. I grew up as a foster kid and they visited high schools, recruiting kids like me—who wanted to do engineering anyways—and offered us the chance to apply for a full scholarship, provided we agreed to work for them when we graduated for five years. I broke my contract."

"Oh shit," Poe says, eyes widening. "So are they gonna sue you or—"

"I don't know. They're showing up at my apartment. Multiple times today. And yesterday. They probably won't stop until I agree to go back or they drive me literally insane." Finn laughs, but it's not a funny or a carefree sound. It's like glass shattering.

"Wow," Poe muses. "Well, I mean, it's not in engineering, but if you want a job—I'm sure Leia Organa will find a place for you in—"

"No," Finn says quickly. "But thank you. I need to find my own job. On my own." He's twenty-three. He can be his own person, dammit.

"Might be harder than you think," Poe warns. "Offer still stands."

Beebee-Ate leaps onto Finn's lap, almost crushing his legs. Finn gasps.

"Beebee, come on now," Poe coaxes the dog off of Finn.

"It's okay," Finn says. "Do you know he bit one of my colleagues—former coworkers? Dude came to harass me and called me a—well, it doesn't matter. Beebee-Ate bit him."

Poe cackles, slapping the thick arm of the chair. "Doesn't surprise me. That means Beebee definitely likes you, though. He's very protective, and I swear he understands English."

Finn doubts that's scientifically possible but decides not to bring up the point.

"Is it safe for you to go back?" Poe presses. "I mean, I don't want to seem rude, but I've heard sketchy, sketchy things about that company."

"They're not going to put a hit out on me or anything," Finn jokes. "But yeah. I am looking to move. Maybe I'll get a job somewhere other than D'Qar. Move there."

"That could be months," Poe points out.

Finn shrugs. His chest tightens at the thought.

"Look, I'll just straight up ask you," Poe says. "I need a roommate."

"What?"

"I need a roommate," Poe repeats, the early evening shadows falling across his face.

"You need a roommate," Finn repeats.

"Yup, I do. Actually, I need two, but one will help out enough for now." Poe hesitates. "My old roommate, actually the guy I met for coffee the night I got hit, moved out. Recently, and he was paying for two. We work together, kind of, and he's... moving on from our job. There are three bedrooms, although one of them's pretty small. I mean, I'm good for rent for several months, so it's not a pressing concern, but I don't want to be... I don't do well with the quiet." He grins, and Finn can't imagine this gregarious soul doing well at all with silence. Loneliness is the cruelest torture, and this Finn knows well.

"Would you consider it? I mean, it's not much, but it's a good price for the area and the size of the place." Poe gives Finn a price. "And if you find a job somewhere else in a month or so, that'd be fine."

"You hardly know me," Finn points out. "Why would you offer this?" The last time he was offered a deal too good to be true, it was FO Tech offering him a full ride to college. It was too good to be true.

"Uh," Poe laughs. "Because I can tell you're a trustworthy guy?"

Beebee-Ate jumps off of Finn, and Finn hopes his legs are bruised. He deserves it.

"I mean," Poe says. "You saved my life. Or at least got me help. I appreciate that. And I might be hoping you have juicy details on FO Tech, okay, I admit it. Working for Leia Organa makes me curious about that place," he adds hastily.

Finn laughs. "Don't hold your breath. I was like the lowest ranked person there."

He should be able to find his own place to live, too. But the prospect of not having to deal with Nines and Phasma and the rest of them… it's too good to be true.

But Poe's looking at him so earnestly, and he's already admitted his ulterior motive, and God, this couch is comfortable.

"Maybe," Finn agrees, and Poe grins.

Rey stuffs her clothing and her phone in her backpack, because that's officially all she owns. She has to get out before her landlord orders the cops to drag her out.

I'm homeless.

She heads to a shelter, hoping and daring her phone to ring with some coffee shop, some retail store from the dozens she's submitted applications to over the past week to call her.

But her phone sits silent. The traitor. Not even the nonprofit that man had given her a card for will answer her pleas. When pressed with giving up her home or her cell phone, she chose to pay her cell phone bill for one more month, and it needs to pay off.

"I'm so sorry, dear," the lady who runs the nearby homeless shelter tells her. "But we're fresh out of beds for the night."

What? Rey shakes her head. "How is that possible?"

The lady looks at her with pity. Rey dashes away from her, shame burrowing inside of her. What am I going to do?

In her rage, Rey kicks at a pebble and sends it flying into some innocent kid's leg. The child wails, and her mother glares at Rey.

"I'm sorry!" Rey squeaks as she rushes past, wiping at her eyes. She makes her way to a sandwich shop, where she spends some of the precious money she has left on her dinner. A cold BLT. Rey sits outside on a public bench as she eats. Maybe she'll sleep on this bench.

A fancy hotel looms nearby. Rey doesn't suppose they give charity rooms. Fuck you, Unkar, she prays, wishing upon the stars starting to blink in the sky.

Rey walks around aimlessly, watching the streets crowd and then empty. She finds her way back to the same bench and curls up, but the metal bars dig into her legs and hips. Finally, she starts to doze, smoky thoughts and half-dreams clouding her mind, and then she realizes someone's putting their hands on her hip.

What the eff? Rey's eyes fly open and she jerks to her feet to find two men leering at her. "Oi!"

"We jest—" one man starts, but Rey doesn't care. She punches him in the nose and kicks at the other man in the balls as he lunges for her.

"Get off of me!" The first man grabs at her chest, and Rey bites him in his oily, soiled arm. He shrieks.

"Bitch is crazy!" They both take off like the blasted cowards they are, leaving Rey gasping and gagging on the sidewalk.

A black sports car pulls to the side of the road. Probably a pimp, Rey decides, coming to kidnap her, since everything seems to be going wrong this night.

Instead, the last person she expects emerges from the car. "Are you all right?" And then his face caves in with horror as he recognizes her, and her heart stops and her face flushes. She does not want him, of all people, to see her in such a low place. She straightens her spine, determined not to give him any more satisfaction.

"Decaf boy!" Rey crosses her arms. "I'm fine."

"Decaf—" He narrows his eyes. "Were they mugging you?"

"Maybe. I doubt their intentions were so kind," Rey retorts, a lump in her throat.

He frowns. "Are you drunk? Do you..." He hesitates. "Do you need a ride home?"

What? Rey hunches forward again, her throat clogged when she tries to speak. She swallows. "I'm not drunk, and this is my home." She waves her hand at the bench. Part of her wants to run away from this asshole, but he's a different sort of asshole than the ones that just tried to attack her.

He doesn't smirk. His mouth hovers open as if shocked, and Rey caves. "I lost my job."

"Can't imagine why," he quips.

And, there it is. "Don't flatter yourself," Rey retorts. "It had nothing to do with you."

He shifts, crossing his arms. Who the hell wears a black turtleneck in the middle of summer in D'Qar? Rey decides that's adequate enough a reason for her to hate him. Forget the compassion she thought she saw in his face earlier.

"Do you need a place to stay?" he ventures.

"I'm not a prostitute, thanks for asking." Rey settles back down on the bench. There is no way she's sleeping tonight.

"I didn't mean to—that's not what I meant at all." He comes closer, and Rey's suddenly staring up into his face. "I just—I'm sorry for being a jerk that night in the coffee shop."

"Well, that's fair," Rey acknowledges. Does she hate him because he was a jerk? Or does she hate him because she feels bad for throwing the coffee in his face?

"I can get you a hotel room, if you want," he offers. "Or you can come to my place, but I—not like that. I have a guest room. Several guest rooms."

"This sounds like the beginning of a murder mystery," Rey mumbles. But exhaustion weighs every limb, and she would like to sleep without further worry about being raped. Nausea wells up inside her.

"A hotel room, then? Just for you," he clarifies.

"What's your name?" Rey asks, sitting upright.

"Kylo Ren," he answers, running his hands through his hair. "You are?"

"Rey Jakku." She leans against the armrest. If you want to call it that. The damn thing jabs into her, black paint peeling from the metal.

"Let me help you," he says, sounding uncertain.

"Why? How did you even find me?" she demands.

"I was—I have a conference to set up for. It starts in two days at the hotel over there," Kylo says. "I work late. I just—I saw those guys and—but you seem more than capable of taking care of yourself, even without scalding coffee," he finishes with a smirk.

"It was not scalding." His face wouldn't be intact if it was. But Rey can't help smirking. "Okay."

"Okay? What hotel do you—"

"I could just go to your place," Rey says quickly, because her mind's spinning ahead of her. If he truly isn't interested in her as any sort of hooker, then she might be able to extend his pity and play it for a few nights.

Kylo nods. "Okay." He motions to his car. "Climb in."

"I can't believe you, of all people, are helping me," Rey murmurs as he pulls away from the curb and speeds off. Her fingers trace the quality leather seats. Black. The AC hits her sticky skin and she relaxes. "I would have thought you'd be like: haha, karma. Are you just a regular knight in shining—er, dull, black—armor?"

"Not hardly." He almost laughs as he glances at her before returning his eyes to the road. "I live like a half an hour from here."

"'Kay." Rey closes her eyes and almost drifts off.

"Rey," he says at last. "We're here."

"'Kay." She grabs her backpack and climbs out of the car. "Good grief. You live here?" The house looks like an oversized bungalow with ivy climbing up the sides and a fence guarding the backyard.

"Yeah." He actively seems to work to avoid smiling as he leads her up the cobblestone driveway and into a side door. "I have three guest rooms… you can pick which one you want. Two are upstairs. One's on the first floor, but that one doesn't have its own bathroom attached."

"Holy fudge," Rey says, unable to conceal her awe. "Three guest rooms? Is it just you?"

He nods.

"Doesn't that get lonely, then?"

Kylo shrugs. His footsteps echo.

"I'll take one of the upstairs rooms," she decides, breathing in the obscenely clean air.

"Do you like green or white?" he questions as he leads her up a staircase.

"Green's my favorite color," she tells him, suddenly feeling like an ant that wandered into a fancy wedding feast.

Kylo opens the door to a room with green drapes, a green bedspread, and a walnut dresser. "Hold on a sec." He vanishes, and Rey's too afraid to move. She'll dirty this place up if she walks in any further.

"Here." Kylo reappears, offering her a black towel and a basket full of shampoos and conditioners and soaps. "I don't really keep this bathroom stocked."

A black towel? Rey bites down a snarky comment. "Thank you."

He nods. "My room's straight down the hall. The last door. If you need anything." He shuffles off, and Rey shuts the door. She locks it just to be safe, but strangely, she doubts she needs to.