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He gets up first in the morning. He has trouble sleeping, even after all this time, because even though the whispers in his head are gone, sometimes his memories still ring too loud in his ears.

He is patient and courteous with others. He understands the initial antagonism and bares the residual trepidation with unwavering stoicism, years after the peace accords have been signed and his reputation as the man who helped save the galaxy has spread to the farthest reaches of the Outer Rim.

He is reckless with his love for Rey. He is generous with his affection and overflowing with gentle adoration. He’s a friend, a lover, an equal. He’s always been too much, felt too much. But Rey deserves someone who is that much, that tall, that gentle. So he is all of it, gladly, proudly.

He tries. He tries really fucking hard. There are good days and bad days, but the fact that he gets to have them at all is a miracle and he doesn’t take it for granted. He never thought he’d get that much. He never thought he deserved it.

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