#kylo: :eyes: is that how it's going to be?

[dani-onearth]

Merciful & Misnamed [3]

Kylo Ren x fem reader

[Part One] - [Part Two] - Part Three Summary: Each time he saves you, his mask cracks a little more. And now, you really saw him. And he let you. Maybe the memory of who he was wasn't dead like he had insisted, just buried, needing a gentle hand to help him come back up to the surface. Warnings: More angst! Strong language. Word Count: 6.11k Authors note: Thank's for all the love on the first two! Wookipedia is my best friend now.

Is everything changing?

First, he took you out of the firing squad lineup. Then, he brought you to his quarters for a meal and stripped himself of his mask. Then, he cracked open when you showed him a real memory, and it haunted him. Somewhere in between the rage and the restraint, he looked at you like you still meant something to him. Like maybe Ben wasn’t dead.

Now, you’re back in your cell and it’s like none of it ever happened. 

You’re back in your cell and no matter how hard you try, you can't stop seeing his eyes change when he looked at you. 

You’re back in your cell and you want to blame the slab beneath your body for why you can't seem to fall asleep. Your skin itches and it won't stop crawling.

You laugh at yourself bitterly when you begin to fantasize about the hospital sheets like they’re a luxury. Maybe it wasn’t because they were soft and clean, but they made you feel like a person again instead of a captured thing on a foreign ship. 

The hum of the ship had a rhythm to it. It wasn't soothing, but predictable. You could count it. One cycle of the vent, one whir of the hallway lights… Once an hour, on the hour.

But the sound didn’t loop right tonight. Something rattled, and you opened your eyes, head lifting away from the crumpled jacket. It was a small noise—metallic and distant. Could've been pipes. Could've been nothing. You swallowed and laid back down, but something inside you screamed that you should show more concern. 

The air felt warm, unusually so. Maybe it was just you, finally getting used to the uncomfortable thing you have to call a bed. But there was another sound. Heavier this time, and you sit up. There was shouting down the corridor that made you slide to your feet, moving toward the slot in the door, breath fogging the panel. 

And then you heard, clear as day, “The detention wing’s been bombed!” And your mouth went dry. 

The hum of the vents was gone. The air was stale. The room was getting warmer by the second, a bead of sweat clung to your temple and the metal beneath your bare feet was radiating heat. 

Troopers ran to the exit, right past you, and you weren't a thought in their minds. Something glowed in their helmets as you watched.

Fire.

Smoke.

It rose up from the vents and the air inside of your cell was sealed like a coffin. You began beating against the door with your palms. “Hey! Someone! Please!” You could hear others screaming now, chanting the same sentiment, echoing all at once, cell after cell. 

You covered your mouth with your shirt and lifted a hand toward the door, willing it to move, begging the Force to listen to you like it used to.

All those years of training to be steady and focused and balanced were not living in you now. You were just full of desperation and fear, and the edges of your mind were splintering in the growing heat. 

The door groaned, cracking, just barely. You shoved an arm through it, groping at… nothing. There was nothing. 

Stars, your lungs were burning. 

You slid all the way down to the floor, coughing and trembling. You pressed your head to the ground where the air was thinner, tears streaming from the thick smoke that now clouded your vision. They were more than just a sting in your eyes, you were crying. You weren't going to make it out of this one.

You closed your eyes, inhaled ash, felt it fill your lungs and burn your throat. You called onto the Jedi before you, reaching out for help like a final prayer. 

And then, the door caved in violently. The steel clashed open with a shriek and the light poured in like the sun was in the hall. You coughed so hard you choked, hands clawing at the floor before arms wrapped around you.

Opening your eyes through the haze you saw Ben. No helmet. Face slick with sweat and brow pinched with worry. He didn’t say a word, just pulled you up with an arm around your back and ran. 

Your own feet couldn’t keep up and your head was lulling in any direction he pulled. The fire was everywhere and the doors were melting at their hinges, pained screams passing like shadows.

In the cells you saw faces. Hands reaching. Eyes wide.

“Stop—” you jerked his arm with a heavy cough, “Stop… we have to—” Your lungs were giving out, trying to expel everything that had found its way inside of them. 

He kept going.

You couldn’t help them.

He stopped where the smoke cleared, snapped off by a bay door. Ben stumbled through it and dropped to one knee, slowly letting you down, cradling your head so it wouldn't hit the floor. Delicately. His arm stayed wrapped around your shoulders, hand hovering at your waist like he was afraid to let go of you.

You continued to gasp in staggered breaths, eyes fluttering as you rattled a cough. Your hands weakly grasped his arm without thinking, and he didn’t pull away.

He was breathing hard. Shaking as his eyes were locked on your face, watching every wince, every sharp inhale. Your hand trembled against his covered arm, his own reaching up and brushing the soot from your cheek with the back of his fingers, just once, like muscle memory. His fingers twitched like he didn’t mean to do it.

Your breaths were larger now, and watching the rise and fall of your chest, something in him… unclenched. He closed his eyes briefly, lowering his head in some sort of relief. Then, he blinked, jaw tightened, and he stood.

“Medic!” He barked at the trooper that had just rounded the corner, spooking the soldier. “Get her a medic and take her to my quarters.”

The trooper hesitated, “Sir—all medics have been rerouted to the east wing—uh, blast damage, sir—it’s—”

“Get her a medic.” His voice turned slow and venomous. 

The trooper straightened clumsily. “I—I’ll find someone, sir—”

“No, you get her to my quarters now, and you get her there alive.” He stepped closer, towering. “She breathes wrong, you fix it. You get her water, you sit her down, and then you bring her a medic.”

The trooper nodded, stammering, and reached down to get you.

Ben watched your body shift in the trooper's arms and something in his eyes twisted. He didn’t like it. He didn’t trust anyone else to touch you. But he stepped back anyway, slowly, and then he turned. 

“Tell no one of this.”

He pulled his saber from his belt and strode around the corner, into battle. 

The trooper's grip was rougher than Ben’s. Not cruel, but nowhere near as careful. Your ribs ached, your lungs felt as if you were hacking up flames, and your wrist throbbed where the wound had definitely reopened. 

The ship was chaotic. Sirens and orders barked over crackled comms. Troopers marched past with blasters drawn, some dragging others. Blood on the floor. Marks on the wall.

Mercenaries, you had heard someone say. Not the Resistance. Something barbaric.

A body hit the ground behind you, and you didn’t want to look. Your legs were limp, half dragged and half guided through hallways you’d never been through. The trooper grumbled to themselves under their breath. You couldn’t make out any of it.

You were thinking about Ben. About his eyes. Full of concern. Morphing into something you had seen in the past. And his face flickered like it hurt to walk away. Like he wanted to stay beside you instead of running back into battle. The mask hadn’t been there, and he ran straight into the fire without it. 

The trooper stopped in front of a large set of doors. You knew where you were.

They tapped the panel and the door slid open to air that didn't smell like burning wires and rust. The trooper helped you stumble in, and he set you down on a bench with a grunt, legs folding beneath you awkwardly. The trooper stood stiffly nearby, fidgeting, glancing around the room and clearly not knowing if they’re supposed to stick around. 

“I don’t think I need a medic,” you rasped, voice fried from the smoke and dehydration. “I’m fine.”

You couldn’t see their face, but you could feel the blank stare. 

“Uh… Yeah… I’m gonna call one anyway.”

You snorted, which made you cough. Kylo Ren probably put the fear of the Gods in him. 

“Fair.” 

They shuffled on their feet. “So, uh, just… stay put.”

“Not planning a jog.”

With an awkward nod he headed toward the door, but paused like he forgot something. He shuffled over to a wall panel and propped it open; a recessed compartment stocked with large ration packs. He pulled out a clear cup of water with a foil seal stretched over the top. He set it down on the bench next to you.

He stiffly nodded.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

He lingered for a second too long before he turned and stepped out, the door sealing behind him with a quiet hiss.

You stared at the water and peeled back the seal. But when you lifted the cup to your lips, you flinched. Confused, you pulled it back and touched your fingers to the spot. The faintest streak of red painted in your index finger. 

The skin was raw and you hadn’t noticed. Now, it’s like your entire body decided to wake up at once. Your forearm throbbed where your sleeve clung to it, heat rising under the fabric. The pain in your wrist had a dull distracting sting. Your lungs were tight, coated in ash. Your hand was trembling. You could have died.

And not in a dramatic, heroic, noble way. No final words, or rescue mission to save the galaxy. You would have vanished; locked away, choking on your own breath. Just smoke. Fire. Melting. You would have stopped breathing and that would've been it. No one would have known.

But he knew.

He was the only one who knew you were still down there and he came for you.

He saved you.

Again. 

And it felt different this time. The first time was weakness. The second time was a claim. This one didn’t feel like either. 

He ran into fire with no helmet, no mask, just him. His own flesh. Hair curled with sweat, jaw clenched, eyes… worried. Scared. 

When he saw you on that floor with smoke swarming around your body, he went still for half a second. You felt the pull in his breath, the relief when you opened your eyes. He wasn’t a commander dragging a prisoner out because they needed intel, he looked like a man who had something to lose. He was frantic and disarmed. He rescued you like he couldn't help himself. 

You turn your head when the doors open. 

The medic that stepped in didn’t look like the others you’d seen before. A dark grey uniform with a slim utility belt and a medical bag. Their boots made clean and clipped steps as they approached you a little hesitantly, glancing around the room.

“You’re just a prisoner?”

You nodded once. It was true, but no one could really figure out what that meant in your case anymore. 

She crouched beside the bench, setting down a compact medical case that clicked open with one press, revealing rows of compartments with neatly arranged supplies, then quickly pulling out a scanner with one hand and typing notes with the other.

“Vitals unstable. Minor burns to the face, mild to the left forearm. Open laceration on the right wrist. Dehydration. Light smoke inhalation.” A neutral and practiced tone that felt uncomfortable. Their eyes flicked up towards the bedroom; to the sealed door. 

What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.

They didn’t say it, but they were thinking it.

They applied some sort of solution to the burn and it sealed the top layer. “It’ll help reduce nerve damage,” she said, “you’ll feel tightness and some heat.” The cool spray was jarring when it hit your arm and you winced. The area was covered with a dermapatch, warm and pulsing as it began regeneration. 

Next, your wrist. She peeled back the bloodied fabric to show that the cut was deeper than you remembered, enough to make the medic click their tongue. Without a word, they injected you with anesthetic, the sharp pinch made you turn away. Then, they applied a second skin. A transparent and flexible band that began to weave new tissue under it.

“This will scar. Try not to use that hand too much.” They packed up their things, leaving a few bandages and sprays with you before she stood. 

She tucked the datapad under her arm. Not leaving, just staring.

You looked up at her. “...Is that it?”

They didn’t answer, at least not right away. They watched you with a sort of calculation that made you shift in place. You felt like she was measuring you with professional unease. Evaluation. 

“Does he plan to keep you here?”

You blinked. “What?”

They didn’t repeat themselves as she slowly made her way towards the door. “I only ask because there are officers aboard who might not consider this kind of… exception rational for the Order.” One final glance and she was gone.

Her words clung to the air… you knew what she meant. You weren’t supposed to be there. Not in his room. Not alive. And the thought barely settled before the door hissed open again. 

It was Ben, no mask, breathless, ripped cloak, sweat-damp hair and a bloody, stark streak beneath his ribs. The adrenaline had worn off and he wasn’t walking cleanly. Slow steps, almost limping.

He stared at you, half curled on the bench. And you stared at the blood. 

“You’re hurt,” you almost stand.

He trudges closer now. 

“Are your burns bad?” His eyes rake over your bandaged body.

“Treated.” You’re focused on his giant wound. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He said, frowning.

You scoff. “And you obviously didn’t pass a mirror on your way here.” He said nothing. “Sit before you fall.”

He gave you a look and hesitated, but dropped down beside you like a bag of rocks, wincing with his whole face. You grabbed the medics leftover cloth and bactaspray from the corner.

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I said—”

“I heard you.”

You didn’t back away and he didn’t want to give in. There was a beat of silence before you spoke. 

“Lift it. Or I’ll tear it.” Your own commanding voice surprised you. 

He exhaled through his nose and reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up halfway. 

The wound was shallow, but it was angry, leaking onto his exposed skin and staining the black material of his shirt into a darker shade somehow. You dabbed some of it away as best you could, he flinched in a way that told you he wasn’t used to being treated so gently. You pressed the cloth more carefully the second time, cleaning the edges first. Your hand moved with delicate ease, but your chest didn’t. Something about how close you were made your breath feel shallow. He was letting you clean his open wound and you could hear the subtle shift of his breath at every touch. He was holding himself perfectly still. Bleeding, scorched, tired and all… he felt peaceful. 

You caught yourself gazing at the curve of his stomach, the freckles on his ribcage, the sharp line of his waist. 

You weren’t trying to look, but it was impossible not to see him.

“Should I remind you that I’m the enemy?” He asked slowly, like he was testing you.

You blinked hard and focused on the wound. “Yeah? Well, you’re doing a terrible job at it.”

And you caught it. Just barely. A small twitch at the corner of his mouth—the threat of a smile. 

He didn't laugh, but he almost did. 

You didn’t say anything about it, just continued cleaning him up like he was fragile. Of course he wasn’t, he was anything but. You hadn't meant to be so gentle until the silence made it obvious to you. 

“You’ve done this before.” 

You glanced up at his shuttered sentence.

“Yeah…” You shrugged. “Resistance members need to know the basics. We’re not exactly swimming in medics—” 

“No, no, I mean… to me.” He looked down into your eyes, pulling a memory from somewhere in his mind. “Temple courtyard, we were thirteen, maybe.” And he looked away. “I cut my hand open during a drill trying to catch a training saber. Probably trying to show off.” For you. He didn't say it, but a faint scoff escaped him and he got really quiet. You could tell his mind was somewhere else. “You were the only one that didn’t laugh at me.”

You remembered. Only bits and pieces, but you remembered. 

“But, later that night, you looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘If you were trying to impress me, you should have at least bowed.’” And he held back the chuckle a little less than he did the first time. 

And you smiled a little more than you meant to.

“Sounds like me.” You said quietly.

He huffed and looked at you again, just as softly as you pressed the bandage into place, lowering his shirt back over his torso. You didn’t move far, just slid onto the bench next to him, close enough that your knees nearly touched.

His gaze lingered on your profile longer than it should have. 

 “Everyone else saw what they wanted… the future Jedi, the legacy, the danger… but not you.” He said it like he wasn't sure if he meant it as a confession or not. “You always saw right through me. Even back then.” 

You didn’t look away. And you really looked. His voice was different now. More familiar. 

The moment stretched. 

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

And yet, somehow, you had gotten closer.

His leg brushed yours, arms touching now as they rested on the bench. No one was reaching, it was just a shift in gravity.

You weren't sure who leaned in first, but for a second you thought he might kiss you. And he thought you might let him. 

But then he blinked. Sharply. Suddenly. Like something yanked him away from the moment. 

“I have to,” his voice faltered, he cleared his throat, “I have to meet with Command. About the mercenaries. The attack.” Like he just remembered there had been an invasion at all.

He stood abruptly and looked down, stepping back without meeting your eyes when he grabbed his cloak. 

“Get comfortable.” He said, pulling his helmet on.

He just walked out. 

And you stayed where you were, your heart still pounding in your throat. You swallowed thickly and wondered how it managed to go as far as it did. 

What would have happened if he hadn’t remembered?

He should have stayed… Ben told himself that three times on his way to the meeting room, wondering what would happen if he just pivoted back and forgot his responsibilities entirely. 

The mask was back on; gloss black, voice filtered, impassive. No one could see the red in his eyes or how hard he was clenching his jaw. 

He was late, generals already seated around the long table with glowing datapads and reports flashing across projection screens.

Eyes flickered toward him as the door shut behind him. He just straightened his posture as he moved to his seat and stared at the blue light bleeding across the table. He tried to remember what they were discussing.

The Gaunt Division… coaxium theft… breached from the portside…

Every word they said strung together into a rumble in his ears because he wasn’t all there. He wasn’t there at all.

He was still back in that room… your knees touching… eyes wide… lashes dropping into a slow-lidded stare…

He felt like an idiot.

For needing to save you and running into a fire like a man possessed.

For wishing he had stayed for one more second. 

He should’ve just—said something. Anything. He should have touched you first. Let himself at least feel your lips before remembering who he’s supposed to be.

“Seems they bombed the detention wing because that's where most of our troopers are assigned. As you’ll see from the security footage—Commander Ren?”

A dozen heads turn. 

“Your evaluation of the breach?”

He paused.

“Yes.” He straightened. “I’ll review the surveillance and submit a revised assessment.” Not really an answer. He didn't care.

None of them mattered.

He was so distracted he didn’t see the gaze of General Hux, curious and calculating. Tracking every twitch of his hand, every moment he stared at nothing at all.

He noticed how Ben stood too fast when the meeting ended, the legs of the chair scraping angrily and impatiently. 

“You seem distracted, Commander.” Hux said, keeping his eyes on the documents in front of him.

Kylo stopped just before the door, everyone else filing out past his statued stance. 

“No doubt the chaos in the detention wing took a toll.” Hux’s voice was dry, almost bored. “So many troopers lost. So many prisoners.” He looks up. “How… unfortunate.”

Ben turned his head just slightly.

“Curious, though, if one were to survive. Well, That’d be a rather unique situation. Wouldn’t it, Commander Ren?”

Ben said nothing, face stiffening under the mask.

Hux gathered his things and stood. “It’s only a hypothetical.” Hux stops before passing him, only glancing at him as he says, “you seem awfully tense.”

The doors to his quarters opened and you looked up quickly. 

Helmet on and shoulders rigid, Ben streaked in. You straightened on the bench, smoothing a blanket over on your lap. You were still dirty, but washing up felt like an invasion somehow. As if you weren’t alone in his quarters. By his request. You’d taken one of his pillows, and that had felt sneaky enough when you slipped it from his bed. It had felt like you were snooping—which you totally could've—but didn’t for some reason. 

“Hey,” you said in a fragile voice. He didn’t answer. Just walked in, stood there, like he didn't know why he came back. “I didn’t take the bed… figured that might be…” You made a face to suggest a word you couldn’t place. An attempt at humor.

Still, nothing. And the silence pressed.

His back was turned, facing somewhere across the room. 

“I shouldn’t have brought you here.” He muttered, more to himself than anything, but you heard it scrape your ears like a blade. 

“What?”

“This was a mistake.”

You let out a bitter and incredulous laugh. “Uh, okay.” You stood, letting the blanket fall off your legs. “You spare me, and fight for me, and literally run into a fire to save me, and you look at me—like, like I'm not just some disposable memory from your past—like I matter to you, and now you come in here? Saying that shit?” He didn’t move. “What is wrong with you?”

He still didn't look at you. His mask made him worse. Made him a wall.

“You won’t even say what happened.” He mumbled.

“Fine. Alright.” You crossed your arms, staring at the back of his stupid helmet. “We almost kissed.”

His shoulder ticked, but he still gave you nothing. 

You continued, breath tight. “I wanted to. And you wanted it too, I know you did, so don’t act like I imagined that.”

He finally reached up and removed the helmet, setting it down on a surface next to him. He turned slowly, face pale, ash smeared across his skin, dried blood at his hairline. His eyes, tired and red. 

“I don't know what I’m doing.” He admitted, voice raw and trembling. 

Your expression softened. “You think I do?”

He exhaled, eyes falling shut. “You scare me.”

“Why?” The statement shocked you.

There was a pause. He looked at his shoes and shrugged, a small movement. “I don't know, I… I don't want you to look away.” He said it so sadly.

You stared into his eyes. Into Ben Solo’s eyes. Not the commander or the weapon. He’s just a man. And he looked wrecked and vulnerable and exhausted.

There was a terrible hope in his voice. 

Tears pricked your eyes, emotion got caught in your throat. 

You stepped forward. Close. Feet just a few inches from each other. 

Your fingers reached for his hands—gloved and clenched in a tight, tense fist. You brought your hands to his wrist but he was stiff.

“Let me see you,” you said softly, a slight wobble in your voice. 

He didn’t pull away, just watched your face as you unfastened the edge of the glove. Slowly, and carefully, your thumb brushed along the bone of his wrist, tracing a path all the way down to the end of his fingers as you pulled the leather down.

His hands were scarred and rough with callouses. 

You took the second glove off, and he let you. You pulled it free, discarding both garments on the floor without care or caution. 

You looked down at his bare hands, running your fingertips down the back of his knuckles to his fingernails, flipping them over and tracing something on his palm. 

“Do you even remember what you look like under all this armour?” You whispered.

His eyes were soft, brows knit like he couldn’t believe it. 

You were so close you felt his breath fan your face, to see the flecks of color in his eyes, how they were glossed over and affectionate. 

“You’re not gone.”

His lips parted like he might say something, but he didn’t.

And you leaned in. Centimeters away from him… and stopped… and waited.

Waited to see if he would run. If he’d flinch. If the impenetrable wall would come back up. 

But it didn’t. Because he leaned in too, so carefully. 

Your parted lips breathed into each other’s mouths, testing intentions. It was like your bodies were weighing the options. Just dancing around the moment, dancing around the question of if you should even close the gap. 

But then he kissed you. 

Gentle and searching. He was stiff and soft and weary.

But, his eyes closed, and he let the breath that was sitting on his chest out through his nose. 

And he kissed you. 

Like he needed you.

His hands left yours to touch your face. His bare fingertips grazed your cheek and he didn’t know something so soft could ever come onto a ship so brutal and cold. He didn’t know he could still want this. 

His thumb pressed against your jaw. It wasn’t rushed, it was deep, and personal. It was like he could breathe again.

You pulled away, but not all at once. Just an inch. And his forehead leaned against yours, fingers grasping at the back of your neck, needing the closeness to stay for only a little longer. 

He opened his eyes slowly and he saw yours. Looking into him, like you forgot you were ever apart. 

The memory of the mask flickered through his mind like broken static. The moment couldn’t hold forever.

“We shouldn’t have—”

“We did.” You breathed.

He exhaled shakily, hands roaming down to your waist just to hold you there. He didn’t want to let you go. You grab them and entangle your fingers loosely. You both lingered in the quiet, breath mingling.

The moment had frayed but not broken. You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes scanning the smudges of soot along his jaw. You smear it away with your own dirty thumb. “You should go get cleaned up. You look like you were dragged through a furnace.” A crooked smile found your lips. “You smell like it too.”

He huffed through his nose and then—blink and you’d miss it—a smile. Small and reluctant, but still there. He didn’t even try to hide it. 

You lifted your head slightly, delighted. 

“Go,” you urged, “I’ll still be here.”

He didn’t move. Just stood there like he wanted to remember this. The look on your face, the sound of your voice, the absence of fear. 

“You first.” He said. Quiet, but certain.

You peel away slowly, shyly looking down at your feet before you turn away toward the sealed door. Barefoot, bruised, swallowed in clothes that were ripped and seared.

His mouth twitched, and it stayed that way for a second before his throat worked a swallow. He watched every step. The swivel of your waist. The way your hand opened the door of the refresher. 

You looked back. “Hate to ask, but… do you have anything I could change into?”

He nodded once. “I’ll leave something by the door.”

“Thanks,” and you couldn’t help but tease him, “try not to give me something with a cape.”

Another one. Another glitch in his stoic face. Not quite a smile, but almost one.

You almost close the door, but you’re pulled to ask him for one more favor. “Don’t disappear again.” No wit or humor. Just a request.

“I won’t.”

And you believe him. 

You turn to close the door, but the buzz from the entrance makes you jump. Ben’s head lifts immediately and he notices your worried expression. 

“Stay in there, and don’t come out until I tell you to.” His voice was low and urgent.

You nodded silently and slipped out of view. 

He looked back to make sure you were really hidden before opening the door. 

“General Hux.”

Hux stepped in with hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable beside the faint amusement in his cheeks. 

“Ren.” He said evenly. “I trust you weren’t resting. Not after an attack of this caliber.” His eyes swept the room, lingering on the pillow and the blanket, but didn’t point it out. He didn’t need to. 

Ben straightened. “I was just about to use the fresher.”

“Hm.” His eyes ticked toward the open door quickly. “Well. A name has come up from the temple records. There has been chatter from intelligence command… said she was one of the padawans there when it fell. Would have been in your same year. Maybe a year behind.” His eyes wandered lazily around the room. “She was one of our prisoners. The same one that you questionably spared before the firing line?”

Ben didn’t move. “I thought she might still be useful. The force is unpredictable.”

“Useful…” Hux turned back toward the door. “Well, in other news, the Resistance outpost at Nakorr has been confirmed. Command has authorized a full eradication. No survivors.” A beat. “They won’t stand a chance.” His eyes flicked once more toward the blanket and pillow behind Ben. “Thought you’d like to know.” Then, a slight smirk. “Unless, of course, your priorities have shifted… Have they, Commander?”

Ben clenched his jaw but he couldn’t help the way his glare cut straight through the General. It burned with something dangerously close to guilt. He couldn’t respond. So he didn’t.

Hux’s smirk persisted. He wasn’t done. “Remind me again, how did we deal with the Resistance outpost in Mardona?”

Ben shifted his gaze downward and gulped, dry and subtly. “It was underground.”

“Civilians mixed in.” Hux interrupts. “Not unlike Nakorr, now.”

Ben glanced sideways. “We collapsed the tunnels. No way out. Buried them.” Voice flat and cold. A performance. 

Hux raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Efficient.” And he turned, satisfied as he took a step toward the door. “Do get some rest.” A final glance, like he knew. “You look like you’ve been through fire.”

And then he was gone behind the sealed door.

Ben hadn’t moved.

Hands clenched tightly.

He didn’t hear you round the corner and step back into the room like a shadow. 

“Buried them?” Your voice was cracked and trembling.

He flinched and his head snapped up. Tears left shining streaks down your cheeks, painted over the ash and soot.

He steps toward you instinctively.

“Don’t,” You bit, stepping back. “Don’t come near me.”

He froze, hands becoming stiff as they lowered back to his sides. 

“Nakorr… That’s the plan now? Another outpost full of communities—families—you’re going to wipe them out? Eradicate them?” 

He clenched his jaw, but he couldn’t lie. “You don’t understand what I’ve done.” 

“No, no I do.” And you snapped. “I knew people there, Ben, they were just people living simple lives. Hard working. Kind. Generous. They gave me food when I was hungry, gave me shelter and necklaces and… there were children. Mothers. Fathers.”

He looked stricken, like you had pierced him in the chest. 

“Did you hear them scream when you collapsed those tunnels?” You stepped closer. “Did you even think about it?”

Ben exhaled sharply. He was drowning. 

“This isn’t what you want to fight for, I know it’s not.”

“You think I get to choose?” He shouted, chest beginning to heave. “I lead armies, I build Weapons, I’ve slaughtered—”

“Then stop!” You begged, striding closer to him, so he’d look you in the eye. “Come with me. Right now. We’ll leave. There are ships on the lower dock, I can get us to the Outer Rim. No one would question you if you brought me down there. You and I—We can make it before anyone notices.” You stare at him, wide-eyed and wrecked. “You don’t want this war. Come with me.”

He pinched his face together and looked away. “They won’t want me.”

“What?” You blink.

He shook his head. “The Resistance. After everything I’ve done? They’d only see what I am—”

“—They’ll see what I see.”

You made him pause. And you reached for him again, slower this time. Your fingers brushed his chest, you rested your palm there, just over his heart. His breath caught and you both looked at each other. Glossy eyes. 

“I still see you.” You whispered. You stepped closer until the warmth from his body pressed against yours. Until he could feel your breath again. Your other hand curled lightly around the side of his neck, brushing his hair through your fingers. “You don’t have to keep pretending he’s gone.”

He exhaled a slow and aching sound, leaning into your touch, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“Yes. I do.”

Your fingers curled just slightly against his chest as you felt his heartbeat quicken. Your nose brushed his, a nervous but steady breath, his hand lifting to your waist—grasping at it a little rougher than he probably meant to. Your eyes flicker up to see his eyes hooded, focused on your lips. 

I know you’re still in there, Ben.

He looked up at the echo of your thought, hearing it in his own head. And he gave you a look, into you, one that said everything you had wanted to hear.

Yes, I am.

And you kissed him.

He pulled you closer, his other hand holding your cheek, fingers trembling like he was afraid you’d disappear. He needed to feel your skin. His thumb rubbed at the bone at your hip and he held you tightly. But you held him tighter. Wordless longing.

Your hand snaked all the way around the back of his neck, leaving no room between your bodies to question how much you believed him.

His lips were cracked and rough and unloved for years, but so real. And here you were, tasting them for the second time today, showing him how much more he deserved. 

All this power never gave him something that mattered. Nothing he wanted to hold close like this. Nothing he could get lost in this. It’s like this moment had lived inside of him for years without realizing it. You had been there, in the back of his head, at every decision, regret, every ache he felt and shoved down deeper. 

It was a kiss. Something he wasn’t meant to have, but he took it gladly. He was showing himself to you, letting his emotions take over his body, allowing himself to act in desperation for closeness. 

When he pulled back, it was gentle, his forehead resting against yours with closed eyes, memorizing the feeling once more. 

He opened them gently, and they were clear. It was just a whisper, like he was scared for anyone else to hear him. 

“I’ll go with you.” 

Said like it broke him.

But he said it anyway.

Note: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I appreciate any interaction, or even just you reading and enjoying it silently. Thanks to everyone who took the time to read my stuff, I'm excited to write the next part!

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co