The idea of how surreal her fiancé's untimely death didn't really sink in until gradually, one by one, gifts from friends that had been unable to attend the wedding started rolling in through the mail.

This also included the enormous three-tiered cake decorated in rich, vanilla frosting and embellished with tiny pine trees to represent their woodland themed wedding. In most cases it was traditionally cut by the bride and groom during the reception that was to follow the main ceremony, but it only now lie hidden away in the fridge. Well, as best as one could hide such a largely prominent decadent inside a rather small Frigidaire that was dated back to the mid 1990s.

For that reason entirely, Rey avoided the fridge like it was covered in plague, purposely despite the angry protest that her stomach was putting up from the lack of nutrition.

Thankfully, Finn had been more than accommodating when it came to bringing her sustenance as she shut herself away to allow the reality of what was happening to settle over her – that was before her good friend disguised as 'denial' found it appropriate to take up residence in the recesses of her thoughts.

The sun had risen three times since Hux's words made their way to Rey's ears, unwarrantedly. All of which she continued to reject it from ever happening even though with each passing hour it became undeniably, more difficult to prolong her ignorance of the truth.

Poe never made it to Los Angeles. There's been an accident.

The words rolled off her tongue like vinegar without having to verbally speak them: a poignantly, disagreeable bitterness, lying behind the meaning that made the jagged little pill harder to swallow.

She was measuring up to the likes of a putrefied sponge; too fragilely emaciated with holes to properly absorb anything what the surrounding voices were trying to tell her. Everything was a faint dull roar.

An accident was spilling coffee down the front of your favorite shirt. An accident was tripping over the same crack in the sidewalk a million times over before you finally remembered to pick your feet up instead of shuffling. An accident was used to describe a minor fender bender whilst backing out of one of the narrow parking spaces at Wal-Mart, which had happened, coincidentally, on more than one occasion given the larger-than-life 2017 Chevy Suburban she now drove.

Still, before the NHTSA authoritatively declared the reason behind Poe's crash was, indeed, a freak accident due to a failure in the engine Rey tightened her grip on the last sliver of hope that he was alive.

Perhaps there was the slightest of chances that his plane had been wrongly identified? But the genuine possibility was indeed remote. And it was just about as accurate as saying that they were still getting married tomorrow instead of planning a funeral.

This could've been nothing more than simply being a bad dream – a vivid nightmare – that was stuck incessantly looping through a series of realistic affairs while she stared at the front door with eyes wide shut, longing for him to come waltzing through the threshold like it was nothing more than him being held up in the city from one of the many extended layovers.

Even though the sweet, prominent scent of his Ralph Lauren Polo cologne that had gradually begun to fade from the sheets further proved otherwise: it had been nearly a week since he'd last slept beside her and, given time, that familiar aroma would be gone as well.

It was hardly a given that the essence of grief and loss weren't necessarily foreign concepts to Rey, having lost her parents at a young age made the manner of dealing with such sorrow significantly easier as time passed by.

Unfortunately, with technology having been underdeveloped at that particular period in time to possess a phone of her own like the cell phone she owned nowadays Rey had no further means to engrave their voices into her memory. Even if given the opportunity it wasn't as if Plutt would've simply allowed her to own such a grandeur piece of technology.

He had always been a greedy bastard in keeping the best things for himself; so much that it had been quite the shock when he agreed to let her own a paint set.

Gradually, as per how time generally passes it made the memory of their voices that much harder to recollect and, eventually, came down to what she thought they sounded like. Now, within the last few days Rey made it a habitual point to call his phone, poignantly listening to the sound of the absent user's voice behind the voicemail.

In spite of the ongoing circumstances Rey couldn't help but feel her breath hitch at the sudden notion of hearing that 'click' at the other end of the line. Momentarily, she hoped during that fleeting lapse in time that it would've turned out differently from the rest, thinking it to be Poe physically answering the phone rather than the same automatic line she'd heard whenever he failed to answer.

Despite every odd being against her fruitless aspirations Rey gave in to that final nagging temptation to seek a source of comfort, opening her phone's inbox to reveal the dozens of unread text messages she'd sent him the night of the accident.

She sat apprehensively, legs crossed on top of the ornate quilt on their bed still adorning the same grey and blue pajama shorts with an oversized sweatshirt she'd been wearing for the last three days whilst staring at the device, laying haphazardly in her hand.

Her thumb hovered over the home screen button, knowing that she was only making herself rub the salt further into the gaping wound of lies she'd been willfully allowing herself to believe.

Rey swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath in preparation that there still lie fleeting glimmers of hope Poe was simply ignoring her calls. The initial thought seemingly appeared to be more bearable to comprehend than having to accept that the man she was to marry was gone.

Her heart sunk in realization as the dozens of messages she'd sent remained marked as having only been delivered.

-Rey 6:55pm-

Where are you?

I can't wait for you to come home. I love you.

She had only made it past the first two messages before, begrudgingly, that beautiful concept of feeling comfortably numb caved into the brewing desolation she'd been desperately trying to encumber and allowed the tears she'd been stifling to freely flow at their leisure.

For too long Rey tried to hold back her emotions and be strong. After all, it was a key trait that essentially became a defining element to her character: an iron-forged façade she'd developed to help mask the dejection within the earlier years of her life.

Momentarily, her thoughts withered back to an earlier moment that day when Finn lingered longer, having brought her a delectable breakfast in which consisted of poached eggs and toast that had been topped with his renowned homemade grape jam.

"It's okay to be sad, Rey." Finn stated as he drew a comforting arm around her shoulders.

Rey smiled reassuringly with what she considered to be a smile and glossy eyes from unshed tears. "I'm fine, Finn. Really."

Finn eyed her knowingly. His brows furrowed as the glare behind his eyes became more intense. "No, you're not. As strong as you've been during this it's okay sometimes to not be okay."

Realization suddenly dawned upon her of how long she'd been living in denial. No one had ever told her when her parents died that it was okay to cry – to mourn, even. Suddenly, Rey caved into the gaping hole that had been begging to be acknowledged in her heart, allowing herself to let loose. The moment the tears started flowing was when she realized how good it felt to allow the pent-up emotions to escape rather than prolonging the inevitable.

**

So much time had come and gone, yet so little had changed since the last time Ben willingly set foot inside the state of Colorado. With a population of 108,090 he could easily give each resident of Boulder a hundred reasons not to live there.

Too many unpleasant memories to consider were keenly pushed to the furthest alcove of his mind where he'd purposely left them to deteriorate within the abyss of the cerebral membrane. Ironically, only one reason had been enough to consider coming back to Boulder - and yet that reason irrevocably changed to the event at hand which mirrored all too well that which prompted his exodus so long ago.

Where Ben was supposed to serve as best man in Poe's wedding on this very day and now his initial purpose had changed undesirably when Poe's father, Kes Dameron, asked him considerably to be a pallbearer.

His answer should've been a no brainer. Poe had always been considered to be an adoptive brother to the other's parents. Yet, a fleeting moment of hesitation conceded between Kes' question and Ben's answer.

Within his 30 years of existence it already seemed apparent that he'd lost so much in his life – and in his mother's – after his estranged father had been buried. Where Han had wanted Ben to follow in Leia and his' footsteps of pursuing a life of public service Ben wanted nothing more than to dive into the art of photography. After those arguments of callused words exchanged between father and son in which Poe had always been there to help distract him from his troubles.

Nevertheless, it was under another unfortunate circumstance that had been responsible for taking another important person from his life, delivering him into the two very things he hated the most: funerals and crowds.

After he'd grown up with a mother who regally bestowed the title of Boulder's Prosecuting Attorney, and a father who willfully served two decades within the U.S. Army it should've been easier to handle such events in which all eyes settled upon him.

Begrudgingly, the notion always managed to send his anxiety through the roof on top of the onslaught of hugs and unwarranted touches from people who he had seen maybe once in his life whilst offering their sincerest condolences.

Thankfully, if there was one thing he'd taken into consideration about the Damerons it was that there was sure to be a bottle of Captain Morgan hidden in the lazy Susan at the far corner of their overtly modernized kitchen, specifically behind the juicer and next to the blender. Out of sheer habit it was one of the things Poe had reliably done in their earlier years to hide their alcoholic beverages, knowing that those were the two most underused appliances within the kitchen and the place that was most highly overlooked.

The funeral had lasted for a period in which Ben could've only considered to be at a snail's pace – in February. The essence of whose funeral it was only seemed to further heighten his abhorrence to the juncture in which he was attending, making the black tie settled underneath the collar of his white button-up shirt feel like his air way was being constricted.

That was – until a fleeting moment had passed where his eyes settled upon one person in particular, prominently standing apart from all the others in attendance when he realized it wasn't his anxiety that had caused him to hold his breath.

Ben had been standing inflexibly at the forefront of the assembly; his hands shoved into the pockets of his black pants with his broad frame sandwiched between Finn and Hux when his roaming eyes caught her seemingly inquisitive glare. Promptly, one name began flashing like a brightly lit LED sign at the front of his thoughts.

Rey.

Out of the few instances that Poe had mentioned her not once had he been prepared to consider what she looked like in person. His initial thoughts when Poe had brought up her name heavily relied on Ben, regarding the previous women in Poe's life: those who had been wholly engrossed in couture and heavily agonized over the troublesome thoughts of their make-up smudging.

He had expected her to be adorning the most laborite of brand name dresses: the kind that would've cost the average white-collar worker their yearly salary like Dolce and Gabana complimented with a pair of Prada heals.

The kind of girl he'd seen at parties amongst the famed models he spent the entirety of his hours photographing. The kind he had been guilty of sharing shameless one night stands with, disregarding the fact that the gratification was entirely mutual and they'd always go about their separate ways without question or expectation.

But with Rey – Ben could only regard her on an entirely different class of woman in her own right. Where most women that he worked with were heavily made up under the bright lights of his studio for whatever shoot they were doing, Rey didn't, using only a subtle dab of blush across her prominent cheekbones. Her auburn locks hung freely, elegantly at her shoulders. Where he expected her black dress to be clingy to her toned figure it had been one more modestly chic with short sleeves and a wide neck that displayed the prominent jut of her collarbone. While the fabric was more form fitting at her waist it flared to a wider skirt that hung loosely just above her knees, foregoing the heels and wearing a simple pair of flats.

Momentarily, Ben could've sworn he saw the corner of her mouth purposely curl into what only could've been considered to be a smile before he blinked. Within that split second of losing eye contact her initial soft gaze hardened. Her brows furrowed as if she were contemplating something. What that was, exactly, he couldn't have been certain as her once permissive look fell into a frown as her eyes quickly darted away from his.

Ben disregarded the slight flinch in his muscles at her rejection before logic sought to regain any ounce of sensible reasoning within his mind.

Fucking hell – get a grip on yourself, Solo! He mentally chided, scowling at the thought he had intentionally eyed up his friend's would-have-been-wife at said friend's funeral. Even though within that fleeting moment of brief eye contact Ben couldn't help regarding the subtle flutter in his chest with an overwhelming need to be closer to her – to know her more than being just that of a simple acquaintance.

It suddenly became all the more apparent that the day, regrettably, would require that hidden bottle of rum; which he fretfully sought after the moment the precession moved to the Dameron's picturesque cape cod-style home.

Alas, the primary event in regards to what the day was supposed to have been about prior to Poe's death became all the more somber as vans belonging to caterers and florists started showing up, purposely ready to assist in decorating for the wedding's reception.

Leia quickly took it upon herself to initiate damage control, shooing and ushering away the unwarranted guests that their presence was no longer deemed necessary with the wedding turned impromptu funeral.

Meanwhile, it didn't take long for Ben, Hux, and Finn to purposely shift their lone trio towards the kitchen; away from the crowd of bodies flourishing within the main room to pay further awareness to their friend in a way Poe would've wanted them with each brandishing their own tumbler glass of rum.

"To Poe," Hux stated simply whilst offering up his glass to proclaim the toast as they each took a place around the center island in the kitchen.

Wordlessly, Ben and Finn offered a curt nod in acknowledgment before quickly gulping down the drink in a single swig, grimacing noticeably at the abundantly aged drink. A brief moment of silence rendered between them while each regarded their own thoughts.

Ben, particularly, couldn't help but find his thoughts drifting back to the woman residing in the next room. His brows furrowed in thought as he absentmindedly swirled the remaining amount of liquid at the bottom of his glass, considering the dispute of what he could possibly lose with him simply going up to her and introducing himself, formally – even if the imaginary neon "fuck you" sign hovering above her forehead hadn't been enough to further enhance the distaste within her glowering.

It's just as well, Ben declared mutely to himself. Girls like her were a rare occurrence in life and hardly ever stuck around long enough to consider having a relationship – not with guys like him anyways. Nice guys always finished last had become a literal motto when comparing himself to certain individuals.

Perhaps, the façade of playing the field had simply become his own way of guarding his heart from that potentially unwarranted heartache.

"You know what?" Finn inquired to no one in particular. "What if Rey were able to still go on that honeymoon?"

Hux and Ben offered him quizzical glances in response, quirking a brow in bewilderment as if Finn had spontaneously grown a second head between his shoulders.

"What in the hell makes you think that Rey would consider going to Tahiti by herself?" Hux countered.

"I didn't mean going by herself – as in being alone – but what if she were to go with a friend?" Finn added in defense. "Like, what if one of us took her to get her mind off things for a bit?"

Ben snorted whilst taking the initiative to pour himself another glass. "So, you want to take her to the place she was going for her honeymoon to get her mind off the fact her honeymoon won't be a honeymoon anymore? Sure, it makes perfect logical sense."

Finn scoffed, considering the notion did seem to be more reasonable before the thought had been expressed outwardly. "Well, do you have anything better to suggest?" he quipped shortly. "Given that this is coming from a guy who botched a proposal to ask a girl out on a date - if I remember correctly."

Hux chuckled humorously at the thought, reaching for the bottle of liquor to pour himself another glass as well. "Kira. That was her name, wasn't it? Such a shame, too she was pretty hot."

"That was in high school," Ben added for clarification, remaining less than enthused of the unwarranted reminder. "And it wasn't my fault she never saw Galaxy Wars."

"Thank God you learned your lesson, Ben." Hux goaded with a cynical sigh as he took a quick sip of his drink in hand. "Had it not been for the current word of your reputation amongst the gallant crowd I would personally take it upon myself to drive to LA and kick your ass if I ever heard you taking inspiration from Galaxy Wars villains again."

Ben smirked, allowing his attention to settle upon a blonde waitress the Damerons had hired to offer sustenance to visitors throughout the afternoon. He cleared his throat shortly, purposely gaining her attention as she acknowledged him with a knowing wink.

"Keep telling yourself that, Hugs." Ben added humorously before taking his leave; drink still in hand. "You'll have to fill me in on how things are going with Persephone from the underworld."

Hux narrowed his eyes, nearly boring holes into Ben's back if it were physically possible whilst ignoring Finn's snort in amusement. "How in the hell does he know about Phasma? And why in the hell did he just call her Persephone?"

Finn perked his brows, pursing his lips as he acknowledged the query with a shrug. "I may have mentioned her once or twice. Persephone sounds better than 'Phasma at least.' The latter sounds too much like a hooker name."

Hux rolled his eyes, purposely raising his glass to gulp down the remaining ounce of liquor and slamming it to the table before proceeding towards the crowd that began to significantly thrive in size. "Fuck off."

**

Rey gazed absentmindedly out of the front window of the Dameron's home. Her arms tightly hugged her torso while she desperately clenched the Kleenex in her right hand into a wadded up ball. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember how it even got in her hand: whether it had been from someone she didn't know or if she reached for it out of emotional instincts.

But how was one's mental state suppose to function properly when you had to helplessly watch every bouquet of carefully selected lilies, baby's breath, and various assortments of carnations be ushered away? Not to mention it had been during a rare moment in which Shara offered her assistance where it surprisingly, felt good to connect with her future mother-in-law on a familial basis – in a weird and desperate sort of way. Regardless, the outing made her feel like she actually belonged in the family for once rather than feeling secluded.

Isolation. Seclusion. It was a feeling that seemed to always welcome her back like an old friend. Even whilst standing amongst the heavy mass of strangers she had never felt so alone – now and at the funeral. Well, not through the entire funeral...

Everything felt like a garbled-up blur during that brief moment at the funeral in which Rey had let down her frontal barriers and found herself consciously studying the man across the way from her.

Ben Solo: if she had to be more precise.

Now that she was wordlessly, breaching the subject again she could only confirm it to be a moment in which she hadn't realized she was staring at him. It was like some mystical force had taken over her eye sight and dubbed him worthy of her attention in that fleeting moment of weakness.

During that weakness, however, she not only discovered that he seemed to be the only person in the audience that looked to show the same amount of discomfort as she did, but there was also a compassionate vulnerability in his eyes. A softness that she never expected to see from a man whom been upheld on the highest pedestal of – what was the term that Hux and Finn had commonly used?

The term manwhore was all she could think of at the moment even though his unrestricted posture could've begged to differ. She noticed how his slouched shoulders allowed his arms to hang loosely at his sides with hands shoved carelessly into his pockets.

Chewing her cheek in thought, Rey subconsciously regarded how pouty his lips looked and how his layers of obsidian locks hung in carefully constructed mess around his face like his fingers had been ran one too many times through his hair that day.

Within that moment there was undoubtedly, one thing that they had in common in which she could admit truthfully: they were both sharing the heart ache of losing a loved one. As abruptly as the moment of weakness came on Rey realized she almost offered him a smile.

Who in the hell smiles when you're burying your fiancée?

Rey recovered her composure at the sudden discovery of the notion. It was unlikely that he cared anyways, considering he was already sharing drinks with Hux and Finn in the kitchen, and hadn't made any further attempt to approach her. Her thought was later confirmed as she saw him noticeably dart after a waitress that may have been dressed a little too provocative for the occasion.

At least he had been one of the few that refrained from touching her arms whilst telling her the various ways one could possibly say I'm sorry for your loss. There was only so much that one person could take before anxiety would kick in at full force.

After the umpteenth person approached her to issue the umpteenth version of 'I'm sorry' Rey hadn't allowed them the chance to finish expressing their condolence before she held her hands up in a polite surrender to excuse herself to the bathroom.

Never did she think she'd find the coldness of porcelain against the back of her neck as she climbed into the tub more comforting than that of a person's gentle touch. It was the first time that day where she had something else to redirect her thoughts from the constant flow of bodies around her that had been like a conveyor belt.

How could you do this to me? Rey wordlessly expressed within her thoughts as if there was a small chance that Poe could hear her from where he was. How could you leave me with all of these people, talking about you in past tense as if you had never been here? You know how much I hate crowds. Or did I forget to mention that as well...?

Her implicit thoughts trailed off in realization that there had been many things she'd never had the chance to express. She never had a reason to consider that their time together would be so shortly lived. In the end it was what she had said and didn't do that warped her stomach into knots.

Do you know what I keep thinking about? She paused, instinctively waiting as if he could answer her. I keep thinking about that little fight we had right before you left. I made a big deal over a stupid seating chart when I should've taken the time to enjoy your company. And I pushed you away when you tried to kiss me instead of telling you that I loved you. How could I have been so selfish?

Rey sighed heavily, regarding those last moments of their time together before the shrieking sound of laughter outside the closed bathroom door interrupted her thoughts. The fumbling of the doorknob prompted her to pull the shower curtain shut in time before had abruptly opened and closed.

Rey sat cemented in place, hugging her knees to her chest as she perceived the silhouettes through the curtain of a man and woman at the general vicinity of the fresher's vanity. The obnoxious laughing of the unforeseen woman continued followed by the purposely, demanding phrase, "Sock it to me."

A look of horror crossed over Rey's face at the realization of what they were doing. Who in the hell, and what kind of person in their rightly given mind would consider having sex at a funeral?

Her eyes only grew wider as the embarrassing event continued, helplessly listening to the urged 'shushes' the man kept issuing as the slapping of skin grew louder. Rey managed to tune out everything else as she ended up focusing on their panted breaths to steady her own.

When it all became clear that the episode was finally over Rey sighed heavily, exasperated. Shortly after she could hear the sound of water running at the sink, "All employees are required to wash their hands before returning to work."

Rey felt her lip curl in disgust and her eyes rolled as the woman stated with an overly enthusiastic high-pitched voice. "Call me, Mr. Yummy."

It wasn't until the sound of the door opening and closing made her sigh in relief. She waited, thinking that she was the only one left in the room until the sound of water running at the sink made her pause – again.

Call me, Mr. Yummy. Where the words should've been satisfying to hear Ben could only regard himself in the mirror with disgust. He briefly acknowledged the phone number written on the palm of his hand before the need to wash it off came without a moment's hesitation.

After scrubbing his hands to the point where he could've considered the skin being raw he dried them with the towel hanging draped over the sink's edge. Ben sighed heavily, tightly gripping the sink's edges as he sought to regain his composure.

It was supposed to have been a distraction. For a brief moment it had been a welcoming diversion from the war raging within his thoughts, regarding the fact that he had to witness the burial of his best friend earlier in the day.

He should've felt relieved, but all that remained after the salacious encounter with the waitress was guilt. Against his own wishes he unwillingly found his thoughts drifting back to -.

The abrupt movement within his peripheral vision and the sound of clanking metal rolling against the shower curtain rod made him jump.

"Jesus Chri-." His momentary alarm was promptly cut off as he found himself staring wide-eyed and face-to-face with unforeseen guest that had been occupying the shower. "Oh, shit." Ben acknowledged with a short breath. "Rey."

Rey glowered at the man standing before her as his eyes turned into the shape of saucers. She snorted with bemusement over the fact that he was desperately attempting to search for an explanation as his mouth opened and closed.

Wordlessly, she stepped over the tub's edge and made her way to the door.

Ben swallowed heavily. He could hear the unmistakable sound of his heart pounding in his ears as she passed him by. He cursed himself at the fact that he couldn't even come up with a coherent explanation for what had just happened, and what she inadvertently just witnessed.

"Rey please let me -."

Rey turned on her heel in acknowledgment to her name. Her hand gripped the doorknob tightly as she all spat out her retort before leaving.

"Next time check the shower, Mr. Yummy."