Rey nods a little as he speaks, distracted slightly by the sudden warmth that envelopes her, and more so by Ben's hands on her shoulders. It's the most he's ever touched her when they weren't fighting each other and she stares up at his face as his giant hands slide away from her.
"But--" She died. She knows that she died. Or-- at least she thought she did. None of this makes any sense, but she finds herself too tired to argue it. She wants to be alive. Of course she does.
"Darrow," she repeats, swallowing hard as she hooks the saber onto her belt and slides her arms into the sleeves of his coat. In any other moment she might find it comical, how much she swims in it, but she can't seem to stop staring at his face.
His scars are gone. During all the chaos on Exegol, she isn't sure if she noticed. She did that. She was also the one to give him the scar in the first place, and her chest tightens as she's nearly overwhelmed by confusion.
She should hate him, shouldn't she? But she doesn't. She can't. She doesn't want to.
Before she even realizes what she's doing, she lifts her arm and tugs the sleeve of the jacket down until she can touch her cold fingertips to his cheek, where the scar once was. At the moment of contact, she feels that same spark from when their fingers touched in the hut, and it makes her breath hitch.
"Yes," she says, blinking as she pulls her hand back and swallows hard, blinking the sting from her eyes as she finally tears her gaze away from his face. "Someplace warm."
no subject
"But--" She died. She knows that she died. Or-- at least she thought she did. None of this makes any sense, but she finds herself too tired to argue it. She wants to be alive. Of course she does.
"Darrow," she repeats, swallowing hard as she hooks the saber onto her belt and slides her arms into the sleeves of his coat. In any other moment she might find it comical, how much she swims in it, but she can't seem to stop staring at his face.
His scars are gone. During all the chaos on Exegol, she isn't sure if she noticed. She did that. She was also the one to give him the scar in the first place, and her chest tightens as she's nearly overwhelmed by confusion.
She should hate him, shouldn't she? But she doesn't. She can't. She doesn't want to.
Before she even realizes what she's doing, she lifts her arm and tugs the sleeve of the jacket down until she can touch her cold fingertips to his cheek, where the scar once was. At the moment of contact, she feels that same spark from when their fingers touched in the hut, and it makes her breath hitch.
"Yes," she says, blinking as she pulls her hand back and swallows hard, blinking the sting from her eyes as she finally tears her gaze away from his face. "Someplace warm."