In 1975, Finalizer played a gig at CBGB. The punk band gave their best, the crowd went wild, but a young girl named Rey wanted more.
“This has to be a record,” Rey yawned, climbing fingertips up Kylo’s chest. “We’ve only been up for an hour, and I need a nap.”
“Who knew that making macaroni was such exhausting work?” Kylo yawned through his agreement, pulling Rey closer to him and further away from the edge of the couch. “They should put that as a warning on the box.”
Peeking one eye open, Rey scoffed. “I think the problem was the wrestling afterward.”
“You mean the time when I defended myself from your foot pinching?”
“So nice to hear that proper English of yours.”
Despite his teasing tone, Rey continued to allow Kylo to snuggle her. Burying her face in the cozy part where tattooed shoulder met his thick neck, and she let him get away with one round of crappiness. Calling it a draw in their battle of drowsy wits since they were understandably tuckered out after allowing forty-eight hours together to spill into seventy-two. No sign yet from either one of them that they intended to return to pesky obligations when getting up feels so very yesterday, and work was made for calling in with the excuse of "lady problems."
Mmhmm, this was all that Rey needed in life outside of a new The Clash album.
Loud music, him...and occasional macaroni.