Comfort isn't always cozy and plush. Protection doesn't always require armour. Safety isn't always relative to weaponry.

Kylo Ren recognizes these things even if he doesn't consciously realize them. When he rises after yet more fitful sleep he finds all of these things – comfort, protection, safety - with each layer of clothing he dons.

It starts off easily enough: pants and a lightweight long-sleeved shirt, black of course. The shirts' sleeves are thick and padded to guard skin of his arms, yet the weight of them still feels negligible; the material feels insubstantial against his bare skin. He still feels exposed.

He dons a neck seal afterwards. It always feels too tight, too constricting for a minute, but he breathes easier once that vulnerable part of his anatomy is covered. No need to give anyone any ideas about the best place to separate his head from his torso. No need to leave arteries, veins, or trachea unnecessarily exposed either, covered only by a flimsy layer of soft, defenseless skin.

Next comes an undertunic. Sleeveless, it snugs around his chest and back, flaring open from waist to knee so as not to restrict movement. The compression feels comforting. Sitting on the edge of his narrow bed, he draws on his boots, making sure they are securely fastened.

Standing up, his coat is next, and the last piece of clothing he dons unless he is planning to leave the ship. The high collar frames the ridges of his neck seal before sweeping down his full length to swirl around his boot heels. Like the tunic, it's sleeveless, leaving him full use of his arms. One can't underestimate the necessity of unrestricted movement.

Over the whole of it a wide belt cinches his waist. The added pressure feels good, relieves some of the anxiety that constantly simmers in his stomach. He is nearly done now. A specially built holster hangs from the belt for his lightsaber, and it slides in with a soft snick. Knowing that it is close at hand is reassuring.

He reaches for his gloves, tugs them on, clenches and unclenches his hands a few times to ease the tight pull of the material across his knuckles. Then, finally, he reaches reverently for the helmet he has painstaking designed and built. The sudden amplification of his breathing, the lack of air as the seals latch, makes him claustrophobic for a moment, but once the circulation system kicks in he relaxes. Even the way his voice sounds - artificial, monotone - through the vocal modifier is comforting to him, another step removing his true self from the outside world.

Only once he is fully dressed does he take a proper look at himself. It's always a reassurance. Reflected back at him is Kylo Ren. The Jedi Killer. Master of the Knights of Ren. First Order enforcer. Already tall and broad-shouldered, the padded tunic and stiff shoulder seams of the midcoat add even more bulk to his upper body. He is a hulking nightmare in a mask. People scatter from him; he inspires terror and hatred.

He is safe.