She hadn't meant to say it.

Rey likes to think she's alright at keeping secrets, is usually good at keeping things trapped inside her head and out of her mouth. She'd been alone so long on Jakku that she'd gotten used to not sharing anything, including thoughts. It was one of the many reasons she had survived.

But Rey has also never, ever been this sick.

Half the Resistance base had fallen ill, but most had bounced back, or only been down for the count for a couple of days. Rey has not been so lucky. They've had to isolate her; she's curled up on a bunk in her own tiny little hole of a room. Finn and Rose take turns checking on her, bringing her broth and ice cubes to dab along her face. She despises the ice cubes, however. Leans away from them with a whine whenever Rose tries to cool her utilizing them.

Rey is so tired of being cold.

They've been on Vandor for months now, and she's had to come to the begrudging conclusion that she'll never truly be suited for snow and ice. There will always be a part of her that desperately wants to be warm all the time. Every once in a while she'll find herself wistful for the sun, for a reason to sweat.

But her fever is too high, they tell her, so they still dab at Rey with that goddamn ice. They've given her only a thin blanket to curl up with at night, and she begs and begs and begs for an extra shirt, a towel, anything. Finn refuses her with wet eyes.

She really, really hadn't meant to say it.

But it's the dead of night and Rey, a desert rat, is freezing. She is half awake and half dreaming. Somehow her lone, pathetic blanket has twisted itself around her long legs and she sobs dryly, too weak to lift her arms and legs to untangle it.

A pale hand cups her knee, is unraveling the fabric that her trembling fingers can't quite grip. The blanket is draped over her and she gasps and the new warmth, blearily lifting her eyes.

This is not the first time she has seen Kylo Ren through their bond in the past several months. Since the throne room incident Rey has seen him a time or two, when the weight of who she is and what she can do makes her feel so dreadfully alone, so heavy that she practically suffocates with it. That's when she'll spot him, sometimes just a glimpse of his tall frame, but sometimes long enough to look him in the eye. In those moments he doesn't feel so far away. In those moments she feels seen. She is ashamed of how much comfort it brings her.

His large frame is practically a blur before her. The lights in her small room are dimmed so that she can be comfortable sleeping without being in the dark. And yet, his presence makes the room brighter, somehow.

There's the sound of tugging leather, then Kylo presses the back of his hand against her forehand. Rey shudders at the impossible feel of his bare skin against her own before blinking, her vision clearing just enough for her to see that he is scowling.

She laughs, delirious, because being able to see how unhappy he is to be there with her is another impossible thing that the Force has decided to flip on its head.

His hand is hot; his fingers move away from her, hovering over her forehead hesitantly before brushing sweaty hair out of her eyes. She hums, chasing his touch, the warmth coming from his naked skin.

"So cold," she slurs. "So cold, on Vandor. Always cold."

She doesn't mean to say it.

His hand stills immediately, and then his touch vanishes. Rey actually whines, shifting her body toward where the looming shape of him still is. The press of him had felt good and suddenly she's desperate for Kylo to return, to bring back his heat and solid safety.

Her vision clears long enough for her to see that Kylo's scowl has melted into something…else.

"Vandor?"

His voice makes her breath hitch. He whispers the name of the planet with awe; it barely carries to her. But she does hear it nonetheless, and despite how ill she is Rey feels her stomach cramp and sour at her mistake. She moans, hands curling into weak fists underneath the shoddy blanket. She has to get up, has to stop—

Kylo palms her bare shoulder, lets his fingers spread out across her freckled skin. She gasps, hunches toward him as heat directly seeps through his hand into her body. She moans again, this time not out of panic but out of pleasure. The sound begins lowly in her chest before blooming outward, and the hand on her shoulder briefly tightens.

Rey isn't certain how long she lies there with Kylo keeping her warm, but eventually she feels the familiar tug from the Force. He'll be gone soon and she wants to whine; she does whine, hazel eyes half lidded.

Kylo is fading and Rey doesn't have the strength to keep her eyes open anymore. She cannot watch him leave. Perhaps it is best this way.

"Get better, little Jedi. You're not allowed to die."

She misses his touch as soon as it's gone.

Rey spends the next two days dreaming about the Resistance being attacked, about men in masks and soft touches in the midst of snow and blood.

When she wakes up, is finally able to sit up and eat solid food and actually walk out of her room, it takes Rey about a day or two for her fever dreams to slot into place. She'd had many, and some of them had felt very…extremely…

Rey is eating in the mess hall with Finn and Poe when she remembers. She spits out her vegloaf, panic setting deep in her chest because what has she done? She's completely compromised the entire Resistance. She needs to tell Finn, to tell Poe, to tell Leia. She hasn't even worked up the nerve to tell the General about the incident with Kylo in the throne room and now she's going to have to—

Poe starts hysterically laughing at something on his datapad.

Finn looks back and forth between his amused comrade and Rey, who is still staring in horror at the food she'd just spat out of her mouth.

"Guys!" Poe is suddenly standing up on their table, causing Finn to hurriedly move plates and cups out of the way lest they get knocked over under the pilot's boots.

"GUYS!" Poe is waving his hands and soon everyone scattered across the mess hall quiets with keen interest. When he's certain he has everyone's attention Poe starts speaking, voice echoing across the large hall.

"The First Order led a planet wide raid on Hoth. Looks like they got a tip from the Supreme Leader himself that the Resistance was hiding out there. Well, wrong ice planet, buddy!" Laughter erupts around the room and Poe starts talking again, but there's a ringing in Rey's ears that's growing louder and louder and—

She abruptly stands and leaves the hall, the noise from the crowd gathering around Poe becoming too much. Finn calls after her, but she ignores him, quickly finding the nearest door and pushing her way into the first empty hallway she comes across.

She hadn't meant to say it.

But Rey had said it. She remembers the word escaping out of her; she'd been too vulnerable to keep it inside. And she knows Kylo, knows he would never pass up the opportunity to—

It suddenly occurs to Rey that perhaps, in this, she might be wrong about him.

There's a pulling in her chest, a longing, and Rey looks up and glances over to her right, knowing who she's going to see.

Kylo is there, already watching her. His eyes flick down over Rey, as if quickly taking stock of her standing form.

Then he's looking away, and he'll fade soon. Rey doesn't quite understand.

But before he is gone completely she hears a word being spoken, a soft murmur or perhaps just a shedding thought. But Rey knows that it is not coming from herself; his tone is instantly recognizable to her.

"Vandor."

Rey soon decides that the next time she sees Kylo, the next time she is comforted by their brief connection through the Force, that she will not feel shame.