I told you, it wasn't intentional. I was sleeping. I'm not always thinking of you. [ She scoffs inwardly and hopes he catches it, only minutely annoyed by his sarcasm, a brand of dry humor she appreciates despite herself; maybe more, were it resulting from anyone but him ( or perhaps not— he's still an enigma she cannot bring herself to hate, despite the long list of crimes against him, number one being Han Solo. ) Those thoughts, she shakes out and conceals in her mind, instead following his slow assessment of her current location, only the most basic, her bed and the quiet, dim light of the room she's in, illuminated by an alien moon and the dull light of BB-8.
—and she catches the most briefest of inquiries in his direction, defaulted, questions not actually posed and Rey is grateful for it, Luke Skywalker's location meticulously tucked away in the untraceable corners of her mind, out of reach. The Resistence gratefully hadn't fully grasped the dangerous weapon she could become, Kylo Ren swimming around her head, all the information he could ever need at her fingertips.
Luke Skywalker knows and he trusts her and that's all she requires. For now.
She lays back in bed, an elbow pillowed beneath her head as she stares at the ceiling and sees so much more: she thinks she can smell him, something unplaceable and spicy, brow creased not with tension but thought. Rey knows she might be smarter to find herself more afraid of this unyielding connection between herself and Kylo Ren and yet she only finds herself more intrigued, drawn in further. This is between them and no one else. ]
no subject
—and she catches the most briefest of inquiries in his direction, defaulted, questions not actually posed and Rey is grateful for it, Luke Skywalker's location meticulously tucked away in the untraceable corners of her mind, out of reach. The Resistence gratefully hadn't fully grasped the dangerous weapon she could become, Kylo Ren swimming around her head, all the information he could ever need at her fingertips.
Luke Skywalker knows and he trusts her and that's all she requires. For now.
She lays back in bed, an elbow pillowed beneath her head as she stares at the ceiling and sees so much more: she thinks she can smell him, something unplaceable and spicy, brow creased not with tension but thought. Rey knows she might be smarter to find herself more afraid of this unyielding connection between herself and Kylo Ren and yet she only finds herself more intrigued, drawn in further. This is between them and no one else. ]
It sounds like you weren't sleeping, anyways.