“Do you like—”
“Yes,” Rey gets accustomed to saying, early, heading them off before that moment when she has to genuinely say, orange or blue, north-facing or east, early shift or late, jedi or resistance, this sort of meat or that sort of meat or no meat at all. It’s one of the few time she and Finn do not have to discuss it with one another, hash out the nuances that separate them. They both agree that the process of choosing, the importance of it to the Resistance, is difficult.
(He likes alcohol because it is an unimaginable and terrifying luxury, knowing that your friends will find you endearing and not reportable as you lose control. She likes alcohol because it pleasantly eases her boundaries, until she’s curled into Finn’s side, feeling the Force lick at her edges like a creature made of electric sparks, curling in her gut and out into the people nearest her—tying her to them with light.
But she and Finn both stare at Poe when he first asks what they like to drink. They weren’t aware there were options.)
Jessika brings her back pickles from an Intel mission on a Core world, which Rey did not know existed before—”Cucumbers in saltwater,” is how Jess describes them, and Rey has to get used to the idea of saltwater as she chews. Jess laughs at Rey’s expression, and shows her how to slice them, fry them, and put the medallions on the uninspiring mess hall sandwiches.
“You are my favorite person,” Rey mumbles through a mouthful of delicious sandwich.
“Well, I’m pretty awesome, with or without the vegetables,” Jess laughs.
“I’m not about to be fucking outdone by Jessika Pava,” Poe says a week later, dropping a rough burlap bag on the table. Finn shrugs when Rey pulls out a weirdly-shaped biologic; Poe groans when Rey shoots him a confused and slightly worried look. (It’s yellow. Nothing in nature is yellow.) “That’s a squash, Rey.”
“Is it supposed to be that color?”
“Yes,” Poe sighs, the only person in the entire Resistance who grew up on an Outer Rim planet where they actually grow things, and not just import dehydrated packs. “Now, wait until I cook you some actual Yavinese food before you dismiss it, okay?”
“I love it,” Rey sobs through a mouthful of pepian. Poe is a little worried for her, mostly because she is crying and also reaching for the hot sauce. “It’s my favorite.”
“Huh. Okay,” Poe says, holding out a napkin so she can dab at her eyes.
Luke Skywalker is the first one to buy them both a couple of apples—nothing special about it, just water and sugar and red red skin. They munch on them, as they sit on a wall on Coruscant. He doesn’t seem bothered when Rey curves herself against his side, just switches his apple to the other hand, and drapes his arm over her shoulder.
“I like it,” she says.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”