Cleaning was exhausting and maybe that was why Rey never did it. More times than she could count, she ended up flopped over on her stomach on her bed—because she was cleaning her room, not Jack, never Jack because she’d be mortified if Jack found anything—and generally only peeled herself off of her pillows when she heard Jack helping her out with literally every other part of her apartment. She gave up when her room was decently okay, which was how she ended up sitting cross-legged on her tiny breakfast table while Jack finished wiping down her kitchen counter, shoveling yogurt into her mouth instead of insisting for the umpteenth time that the place was cleaner than it had ever been and Jack didn’t need to do that good a job. “I owe you dinner,” she pointed out when she was finished what was in her mouth, gesturing with her spoon and the considerable amount of menus stuck with magnets to her fridge. “D’you want something that isn’t pizza? Or is that too big a betrayal?” A brief, crooked but still shy smile crossed her face before she went back to her yogurt.