Chapter Text
Ben Solo paced his kitchen, swearing foully at his sink as he waited for his landlady to pick up the phone. The garbage disposal had broken and the sink wasn’t draining, which meant he was left with a gross basin of slimy, food-filled water.
It was the first thing that had broken in his apartment in the six months he’d lived here, but it was extremely annoying, since he’d just made two batches of almond flour cranberry-spinach muffins sprinkled with nutritional yeast and chia seeds, and he had a lot of dishes to clean.
His ancient landlady, Maz Kanata, answered the phone at last, and Ben explained what the problem was. She promised her maintenance person, Ray, would be there within a few hours.
A few hours was way too long to go with messy dishes on his counter, but Ben would do his best to manage. It was a Saturday, after all—perhaps this Ray person had weekend obligations, although, in Ben’s humble opinion, both maintenance people and doctors ought to work seven days a week.
He occupied himself by meditating—the one good thing that had come out of eight summers at his uncle’s camp for “Emotionally Excessive Children.” With scented candles lit and a soothing soundtrack playing in the background, he breathed deeply and evenly, mentally repeating everything his therapist had told him.
You can’t control any actions or reactions but your own.
It’s okay to be less than perfect.
Your need to dictate everything that happens around you probably stems from a childhood of dealing with constant chaos and never feeling heard.
Okay, he didn’t repeat the last one to himself on purpose, but it had stuck in his head, anyway. Ben’s need to control everything in his life had only gotten worse after his parents had treated him like there was something wrong with him. Yes, he wanted things in their proper places. Yes, he liked his environs to be neat and functional. Yes, he sometimes lost it when life spun out of his control. But could he be blamed for craving anything besides the disorder and screaming that entailed life with Leia Organa and Han Solo?
He didn’t think it was OCD—he’d done plenty of research on that—but it still stank of some kind of undiagnosed neurosis. Or was that just Ben’s tendency to find fault with himself? The problem with therapy was that it made a person aware of all the ways in which they were engaging with the world unhealthily (which was the only way Ben knew how to engage with the world, really), which meant he now had even more things to worry about.
Someone pounded on the door. Ben blinked rapidly, surfacing from his admittedly terrible attempt at meditation. It had only been twenty minutes, but maybe Ray was extremely prompt? If so, it would be a novel experience… but wait, that was Ben being overly pessimistic again. Shit, why was self-improvement so hard?
He opened the door, and—
Holy.
Shit.
A woman stood in front of him. She was beautiful. Hazel eyes, pink cheeks, kissable lips...
She was slim but tall for a woman, with a dazzling smile and brown hair caught up in an adorable three-bun hairstyle. She was wearing overalls, which were objectively the least sexy outfit any human being could wear, but they could have been lingerie for the effect they had on Ben. He gaped at her, unable to believe such an angel would be at his doorstep.
Shit, she wasn’t a Jehovah’s Witness, was she?
“I’m not interested,” he said, then winced. That was a complete fucking lie. He would probably convert in a second if it meant she kept smiling at him like that.
Her smile faded, and she cocked her head, looking confused. “I thought you had a problem with your sink?”
Oh.
Oh.
“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Sorry. I thought you were a missionary or something.” Now that he thought about it, baggy overalls weren’t exactly standard missionary attire, and she was carrying a toolbox, rather than a Bible. “Where’s Ray?”
She laughed, and the sound was the auditory equivalent of a burst of confetti, bright and sparkling. “I’m Rey. With an ‘e’. And I’m only a missionary if the cause is proper apartment maintenance.”
Rey with an e. His new goddess. He stared at her, hardly able to believe he was standing this close to someone that pretty.
“So,” she said after a long, awkward silence. “Can I come in and fix your sink?”
Ben jumped. “Oh! Of course!” He stepped aside and ushered her in. Thank God he’d vacuumed last night and this morning. He cast a critical eye over his apartment, looking for anything out of place. Rey with an e was in his space, and he wanted her to be comfortable.
Oh no. His shoes were in the middle of the living room, rather than sitting on the rack by the door. “I’m so sorry,” he said, rushing forward to retrieve them. “It’s normally not this messy.”
She gave him an odd look. “Mr. Solo—”
“Ben,” he hastily interrupted her. “Er. My name is Ben. You can call me that, since it’s my name.” Fuck, why was he so bad at this?
Don’t be so critical of yourself, his inner therapist chided him. Your methods of communication are just as valid and appreciated as anyone else’s.
“Ben.” Rey’s lips curved up after she spoke his name, as if she liked the sound of it. “I was going to say, your apartment is the cleanest I’ve ever seen. Way cleaner than mine.”
His heart rate accelerated. Oh, no. If she wasn’t an organized person, she might be uncomfortable here. “I can make it messier, if you like.”
Rey laughed. “You are too funny.” She shook her head, then turned to his sink. “All right, what’s the problem?”
It hadn’t been a joke, but even Ben knew better than to keep digging himself into that hole. “The sink won’t drain, and the fu-I mean, the freaking garbage disposal won’t work.” He flicked the switch to show her. “Stupid fu-stupid thing,” he grumbled.
She grinned at him. God, why was she smiling so much when he was a certified disaster? “You can swear around me,” she said. “In fact, I fucking encourage it.”
He could? It went against everything his mother had ever taught him but lined up with what his father had taught him, which normally meant he should go with his mother’s advice. But if Rey wanted him to swear... “Okay,” he said. “Good to fucking know.”
That earned him another laugh. Ben felt faint. How was he managing to make this goddess laugh? Did she have a terrible sense of humor, or was he actually succeeding at social interaction?
“All right, let me get in there and see what the problem is,” Rey said, opening her toolbox.
Two minutes later, his sink was fully operational. Ben watched the dirty water swirl down the drain, feeling oddly disappointed. Sure, his sink was back to normal, but that meant Rey would be leaving soon.
“Is there anything else you need help with?” she asked as she packed up her toolbox.
Ben looked wildly around, searching for any excuse to make her stay. Unfortunately, he kept his living space in good condition. “Can you taste my muffins?” he blurted out.
Rey blinked at him. “Uh, what?”
Just then, the timer dinged. Thank goodness. Ben grabbed an oven mitt. “I’m baking,” he said over his shoulder as he pulled the muffins out of the oven. “It’s a new recipe, so I’m not sure if it’s any good.”
“Oh!” Rey beamed at him, which nearly caused him to have a heart attack. “I love food. What kind of muffins are they?”
“Almond flour cranberry-spinach muffins with nutritional yeast and chia seeds,” he announced proudly.
“Wow.” Rey stared at them. “That’s… an interesting combination.”
“Thanks.” He waved the mitt over the muffins, willing them to cool faster. “I got the idea during my weekly baking meditation.”
“Weekly…” Rey shook her head. “You’re an unusual man, Ben Solo.” She was smiling while she said it, though, so she thankfully didn’t seem to mind.
Finally, the muffins were cool enough to try. Rey took a big bite, then hummed appreciatively. “You know, I was worried they’d taste weird, but that’s actually really fucking good.”
“Yeah?” Elated at the praise, Ben took a bite of his own muffin. It was good—mostly savory, with a hint of sweetness from the cranberry. “I can make more for next time.”
“Next time, huh? Are you planning on breaking more appliances?” she teased.
If it meant seeing Rey again? Yes. Yes, he absolutely was.