I wrote this on my phone and forgot about it for four and a half months?

(Continued apologies if you're waiting for more from "Further Research"—much like Rey in that story, I've been trying to finish graduate school.)

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Rey doesn't expect to notice the changes in his expression.

She's trying not to notice him at all, trying to give the impression that she's given up. She doesn't think she's likely to fool him—she's been told she walks around with all her emotions on her face, too honest and too earnest to conceal anything. Still she tries: he shows up in training, or the middle of a meeting, and Rey says nothing, not a word. Once in a strategy forum she's asked a question and pretends a coughing fit, excusing herself with an apology until she can put her full energy into blocking him out.

He is, after all, the enemy.

Still, when he appears to her alone in her quarters, she gets a better chance to look at him. She doesn't speak to him, but he tries to speak with her—and she comes to know by the set of his jaw, the lines of his eyebrows what kind of approach he'll take. Sometimes it's demanding. Sometimes it's soft and pleading in a way she knows better than to fall for. Always it's unsuccessful: she knows this is the right path, the one she's chosen.

...Maybe.

She prides herself secretly on her self-awareness, her patience, her restraint: she doesn't fight with him, doesn't raise her voice. She denies his presence except for a quick glance when he shows up. And then comes the night he appears to her when they are both half-dressed.

The Resistance thinks they know Kylo Ren: a man who will stop at nothing to destroy them and everything they love. Rey thinks she knows Ben Solo: a lonely boy who's been lied to by his mentor, who still has time to come back to the light. It is some combination of both and neither that Rey sees when her elbow collides suddenly with a warm body, when she whirls around suddenly at the surprise contact to face him.

They take each other in: Kylo, shirtless and sweaty and radiating heat as if he's just been training; Rey also shirtless but a tad chilly, her breast band and low-slung pants the only cover still remaining. When Rey's eyes make it up to Kylo's face she takes in his dark, wide pupils and realizes for the first time that this expression on his face means something more significant than she'd supposed.

Rey is strong: he wants her power, wants to train her, wants to use her. She's never realized until now that he also wants her—as a woman.

Her mind kicks into overdrive and it's all she can do to stop projecting her thoughts to him—the illicit, unwelcomed feelings of desire she's felt around him, the wanting she'd carefully suppressed because a war was no place for it.

She's not the only one, it seems, losing this battle.

Kylo's chest heaves and she sees him as neither Kylo nor Ben, neither the monster nor the boy—instead he is simply a man, looking at a woman like she's his only hope. His gaze flickers away and she watches as he drags it up and down her body. She doesn't try to cover herself: it's too late for that. And also.

Maybe she wants him to look.

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and Rey takes an unconscious step forward, moving into such close proximity that either of them need move only the slightest bit to make contact again. Her fingers reach out and brush the smooth, sweat-sticky skin of his forearm—gentle, experimental. He snakes one arm behind her back and suddenly it is around her waist, his other hand cupping the back of her head as he tilts it up at a more accessible angle.

He freezes with their faces a hair's breadth apart, his breathing shallow. One of Rey's palms is flat against the muscles of his chest and she absently traces a thin line of scar tissue with her first finger, her eyes wide as she waits for him to act. He's looking for something in her face but she's losing her patience and so it is finally Rey who closes the gap, who leans up and presses her lips against his.

Almost immediately he's opening his mouth just so, catching her bottom lip between both of his and gently tracing it with his tongue, sucking and letting go and kissing her again—the rhythm, the actions are foreign to her but nice, imbued with meaning and care. She mimics him, nipping at his lip, opening her mouth into his and tasting the salt of his sweat—

And then she is alone.

She opens her eyes to an empty room, taking a long, shaky breath. Rey licks her lips, wondering if this is what betrayal tastes like. She didn't even think—after weeks and weeks of pretending he wasn't there—

Still. Rey is electric, her lips and fingers practically tingling where they'd touched his warm skin. She stares into her empty hands and admits to herself a truth: her path was never clear.

Ever since the throne room, she's been living a double life. It means something that she has put so much energy toward ignoring him—that she's taken the care to snub him rather than destroy him. It means somewhere deep down she still believes she can save Ben Solo—that maybe, with the right help, Ben Solo can save himself.

Another truth: from here there's no going back.

All she wants now is to touch him again.