A smile lingered on Freya’s lips as she approached the counter, eyes no longer on Kyle but feeling his bewilderment behind her. It wasn’t much of a shock to realize she liked surprising him – not to keep the upper hand, which had seemed so paramount not that long ago, but for another reason that was harder to pin down. Bafflement wasn’t exactly a tacit endorsement of her behavior, but so far there had been no flare of his temper, no cold retreat behind his mask. Hadn’t been for a while, actually. Even friends got annoyed with each other, but his conspicuous lack of irritation with her was relatively new. And interesting. Whenever she did something unexpected, something he didn’t quite understand, she almost got the sense that he enjoyed it. Enough, at least, that glimpses through the cracks encouraged her not to stop.
Half lost in thought, Freya automatically responded to the cashier’s greeting using Rey’s accent and not her own. Most of her Bostonian hallmarks had fallen away since she’d left the US, but around Kyle she’d never been anything but clearly American. He was far enough away that she thought he missed the switch, but even if he did hear it, it probably didn’t matter. Easy enough to explain, if she had to.
The slip was a comfortable one for her after living in England for over five years. London was a multicultural city, teeming with tourists and ex-pats alike, but Rey’s way of speaking was useful camouflage, telling strangers and neighbors and anyone else she encountered that there was nothing remarkable about her at all. No reason to suspect that the pretty blonde Brit was anything more than what she appeared to be. The jump to American (let alone Jedi or spy) would be next to impossible for this unsuspecting bookseller to make during their short exchange of pleasantries and goods for cash. And that was by design. Freya had been hiding herself from everyone for so long that rarely thought twice about it. It was just second nature. The way things had to be.
Tucking all but one of the now-paid for books into her bag, she headed over to the door and had to suppress another grin at the look on Kyle’s face, less bewildered now and more.... grumpy. Her assumption that he probably wouldn’t want to draw any unwanted attention to himself in public had proved to be correct, but clearly his patience was being tested. At the sight of her, though, he raised an eyebrow, curious in spite of himself. And in spite of herself, Freya couldn’t help but let her grin return.
What are you up to?
Freya closed her mouth before her initial response crossed her lips. What, you didn’t guess? Of course he didn’t. No friends, no family. His birthday would’ve passed by unremarked, if she hadn’t brought up her own. He had no reason to expect anything for tomorrow than just another empty day.
She knew what that was like, and she didn't want that for him.
“You can wipe that look off your face,” she answered instead, a laugh in her voice paired with a reassuring look in her eyes. She wasn’t laughing at him, not really. She never did. “It’s nothing treacherous, I promise. Maybe a little dour, but... here.”
She held the book – the gift – out to him, revealing it fully for the first time since she’d stuffed it in her bag. Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley. Perhaps the subject of monsters and who makes them was a little on the nose, but the nineteen-year-old girl who called this book her 'hideous progeny' two hundred years ago knew that loneliness was universal. Freya had found solace in Frankenstein once. Maybe he would, too. "Happy birthday.”