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ask-rey-writes · 4 years

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- La Douleur Exquise -

It started with routine.

He persistently stuck to the routine. Walking through the office doors promptly at seven a.m. with briefcase collected in his left hand, fresh coffee curled in his right. Eyes directly forward followed with long strides to span the lobby with ease. The entire office remained quiet as their boss came through, no approach and no interruptions. For Ren that meant no useless chatting, no forceful faked smiles, just the occasional glance to the side if something seemed askew. Which it rarely was.

Once the door to his quarters closed, the office would quietly come back to life with their own whisperings of him. There was little deviance from the comfort of his routine and the man was notorious for declining invitations out. What did he do in his spare time? Was he a murderer planning his next attack? Did he work on miniatures in his free time? Not a single person in the office had an inkling. Never one to show face at a Christmas party or any company function- the man remained private. That was the mystery of Ren.

Clean shaven, always dressed to impress as it appeared to the outside world. A suit in the office with polished shoes, the rare occurrence of a sweater during the colder months. His cologne always lingered a trail directly to him; a rich leather scent drawn together with anise spice. A personal favorite of his. Typically the scent mixed with his morning coffee was pleasant enough to turn heads, and signal his arrival.

The office clean, aesthetically pleasing with its mixed colors of black, gold, and the occasional splash of red woven through the walls and sparse furniture. Open, as he preferred, with private offices hidden behind frosted walls. Sleek. An upholding of his character no doubt, and the way he wished the company to be viewed. The staff within the walls always matched, dressed much like the man himself, pompous and prideful.

The Knights of Ren.

One day, the routine changed.

It had started out as another typical day; wake up at five for his morning workout, followed by an abrasively cold shower and getting dressed according to the day’s agenda. Then it was time to head for the office. His coffee was particularly aromatic today, and the traffic had been light. A wonderful, silent, start to the day.

Everything was in order.

Until he arrived at his office.

The initial trek through the building was familiar, voices softening, eyes pulling to look him over. Routine. He expected the stares, but his eyes never left the destination of his personal quarters. The black marble door etched with a cursive R and golden handle beckoned him every morning. Seclusion, privacy, comfort. He pulled the heavy door open with ease before finding himself frozen in place. His attention was turned to the single piece of paper that rested in front of his feet, having carefully been shoved under the gap of the door. Everything had a place in that building and yet this...whatever this was.... was strategically misplaced.

A small scowl crossed his face as he turned his attention to the office behind him, who was peering on curiously at the new behavior. Who in their right mind would use paper when they have technology at their fingertips? A waste. A frustrating waste. The instant his eyes began scanning, searching for the culprit, the office began to quietly talk amongst themselves, finding anything to appear busy and away from his wandering eye.

That single piece of paper would come to haunt him, a disruption to the routine. His routine. An annoying common occurrence that no one would take ownership of. A single page each day, would appear like clockwork.

At first he dismissed the disturbance, simply crushing the paper under his polished shoe as if it didn’t exist, door closing behind him to return to his routine. It became increasingly hard to ignore as he worked. Crumpled, out of place, a nuisance. His temper flared, a strew of obscenities passing his lips as he pushed up from his chair to retrieve the paper, eyeing it over.

Oh, je voudrais tant que tu te souviennes,

Des jours heureux quand nous étions amis,

Dans ce temps là, la vie était plus belle,

Et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd'hui.

Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,

Tu vois je n'ai pas oublié.

Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,

Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi,

Et le vent du nord les emporte,

Dans la nuit froide de l'oubli.

Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié,

La chanson que tu me chantais.

C'est une chanson, qui nous ressemble,

Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais.

Nous vivions, tous les deux ensemble,

Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais.

Et la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment,

Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit.

Et la mer efface sur le sable,

Les pas des amants désunis.

Nous vivions, tous les deux ensemble,

Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais.

Et la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment,

Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit.

He recognized the work immediately, Jacques Prévert. A rather melancholy poem, with absolutely no inclination of who the sender was or could be.

Instead of tossing the page to the trash as it deserved to be, he flattened the piece out and set it on his desk. Occasionally his eyes would wander away from the computer screen to the paper, until finally the allure wore off.

As the weeks went on, the pages kept coming..

White paper with black type; carefully crafted with what one would assume an old typewriter. Passé. The utmost care was put into each page; the material a thicker, never wrinkled, different from traditional printer paper. There never seemed to be a grammatical errors, always clean and crisp. No blotches from the ink ribbon. The content would change periodically, but for the most part it seemed poetry was the senders preferred communicative style. Always in foreign language, having him sidetracked for hours if it was an unfamiliar language to him.

The ending was always the same though, no matter what the language or content:

La Douleur Exquise.

Whispers circulated throughout the entire office, the building riddled with who the culprit was and what the motivation was. Some assumed it was to drive Ren insane, rattle him out of his comfort zone; others assumed it was blackmail. It was only Ren himself who held the pages and clues within his very own hands.....

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ask-rey-writes · 4 years

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“Your mother was right! Your left eye does twitch up when you’re nervous!”

Rey’s lips twisted into a playful smirk, allowing her weight to shift on the stretcher to lean in closer and investigate his eyes.

No mind to the frustrated huffs spilling off his lips as she continued to move as if absolutely nothing was wrong. She needed at least ten sutures to the arm, there was possible second degree to her hand, and if he couldn’t stop the bleeding from the small gash above her eye surely she’d faint from blood loss.

That would be nice. She would at least be still.

A still body to work with, one that wasn’t scrutinizing whether or not his left eye twitched or not when he was nervous. A patient that would stop looking him over with that stupid half-crooked taunting smile on her face. He could sense her counting his moles too- maybe staring at his ears that were surely turning red at this point.

Rey wasn’t bothered with the fact that she had injured herself, that was just a given in her field, it was numb anyways. She was more occupied with the flustered man in front of her.

Ben Solo. Son of Senator Leia Organa, and more importantly the son of Chief Solo LAFD. Paramedic of the god graced city of angels, Los Angeles.

“Can you plea- REY...” The urgent voice snapped her back to reality just in time to feel a strong hand catch the back of her neck, eyes refocusing on the dark locks and frustrated look on Ben’s face in the form of furrowed eyebrows.

“Hold. Still. Please.”

The order rendered her silent, teeth biting down on the tip of her tongue. Working the muscle between her teeth as the paramedic loosened his grip on the back of her neck to let out a soft sigh.

“You’re such a firecracker, I need to suture-“

“That’s what you get when you deal with fire, Solo. I’m fine. I don’t need medical attention.”

Her voice had dropped an octave, ignoring the thumping heart trying to leap out of her chest. It was not her idea to be pulled from scene for some ‘minor’ boo-boo. Her better judgement had her clamoring to stand up before Ben could hook his first suture into her skin, the sound of defeat leaving him in the form of an exasperated sigh.

Three...Two...One

“Walker! Where in the hell do you think you’re going kid?”

The voice thundered around the corner of the ambulance, freezing Rey right in her tracks. Her eyes daggered back towards Ben knowingly with a tight smile. Ben responded with a haphazard shrug of his shoulders. There was no doubt that it was true; Chief Solo did have eyes in the back of his head.

#AU #ben solo #rey #LA #paramedic #firefighter #fanfic #oneshot #pls give me feedback

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