( Kylo waits, and then waits again for a beat following, meeting her eyes in the yellow-white wash of the desk lamp without hesitation or expectation. Whether he privately believes that he could teach her more, teach her better, or not, is neither here nor there. It has less to do with what he had offered her - shouted at her - on Starkiller or at any of the other points in the past at which their paths have crossed and more to do with recognizing Rey for what and who she is in the midst of all this turmoil. Skywalker might not think that she's ready, but the reality of their predicament - of the galaxy's predicament, regardless of what side one stands on - does not have the luxury of time. He can spar with her, out in the woods, and he can entertain the idea of meditating with her, and he can offer what knowledge he has in the interest of not seeing her fall further down the line because she was not prepared, because she wasn't ready. It's all that he can do, even when he still wants to do so much more.

In the grand scheme of things, he thinks, as Rey turns back around and plants her hands on the desk and over the appropriate parts, this is easily the least offensive thing that he could ever show her. )

Acting like a brat will get you nowhere. ( Pinching her thigh or smacking her ass seem like too vindictive - and difficult, given the way that she's sitting - an option for something he is not actually offended by, so he plants both hands firmly on her waist and squeezes in retaliation, leaning back so that the long line of his nose is clear of any haphazardly thrown elbows. ) My lightsaber hasn't been sitting in storage for half of its life. Someone also nearly destroyed it a year ago. ( Not that these are facts that really matter. Kylo leans his chin on her shoulder, almost sullenly; although, it is primarily an act. )