Longing

In the void of space, somewhere in the Outer Rim, the Dominion was cruising at a comfortable speed. The new general base of the First Order, a resurgent-class Star Dreadnought, was undeniably smaller and less remarkable compared to the late Supremacy. Still, it served its purpose as a flagship and allowed them to save appearances after the loss of a large part of their force, and the humiliation on Crait. Lights on the ship had already dimmed long ago, and the thousands of rooms and corridors were silent apart from the small clicks and noises of machinery and droids. In the middle of this night cycle, stormtrooper troops were patrolling at a slow pace, a few engineers were struggling to stay awake in front of their computer workstations, and the Supreme Leader couldn't fall asleep.

There Kylo was, sitting in front of his desk with a candle as his only source of light. It was rudimentary, old-fashioned perhaps, especially in such a technically advanced environment. But the flicker of the flame and the soft light it was casting would soothe his nerves and fuel his inspiration. Since Kylo had taken the title of Supreme Leader for himself, it was only natural that he'd move into Snoke's old quarters in the Dominion. He had the crew completely refurbish them for him, ordering that all the remnants of the past occupant be discarded and erased. Gone were the imprint of his persecutor, and the riches and opulence he used to indulge into. Kylo had made this place the nerve center of all strategic decisions, and a refuge where he could retire when he felt his will and resolution falter.

The main control panel in the meeting room biped several times, but Kylo ignored it. What captured his attention at this moment were the small, precise strokes of his paint brush. Resting his head on the palm of his left hand, the tip of his tongue showing betrayed his intense focusing. Today had been a particularly difficult day, where he had to endure, for instance, a new level of defiance from Hux and the venom of some of his higher ranked officers. Occasions to rest his exhausted body and mind were rare, and this one tonight was definitely needed.

Out of the few ways to achieve said rest, calligraphy and sketching had always been his favorite ones. They would allow him to cope with pressure and the ever-lurking presence of Snoke in his mind. With the latter gone for good, his thoughts should have been his again. Sleep should have come to him every night. Everything should have been easier, but it was not the case. She came crashing into his world, and was all he could think about at this late hour.

Rey.

The outline of a feminine face appeared on the parchment paper, framed with delicate locks of hair reaching freshly traced shoulders. It was all too familiar. The face of a nobody, a scavenger from the desolated Jakku desert. Through his skilled hands she had crept on the paper's surface, ready to torment him even more. When the brush ran dry, Kylo froze. He clenched his jaw, heat spreading on his twisted features.

This face belonged to the one who had betrayed and humiliated him, who had run away. This girl, not even a mere beginner in the ways of the Force, had put him to shame with such incredible ease. Memories of her forcing him to the ground of Starkiller Base and savouring victory, towering over his badly wounded form made his blood boil. Then he made the mistake of giving her a chance. Fought alongside her and had her back against the Praetorian guards, only to see her go back to being his enemy. That wench had wrecked him once again, and for what? They could have ruled the galaxy together and bring a new order in their own way. They would have never been alone again. But she had to ruin it all by choosing to stay with the Resistance, this desperate cause that she knew nothing about, and her so-called friends. This was unbelievable. He was the master of the Knights of Ren, gifted with the Force and the most powerful bloodline, yet here he was. The laughing-stock of the First Order. Ridiculed and lonely, and it was all her fault.

With his anger reaching an umbearable high, Kylo grunted and his left hand came crashing onto the desk. The wave of the impact made his supplies fly away, and a sharp pain radiated in his fingers and arm. Holding his aching fist he cursed profusely, mostly at himself for being so thoughtless. It took a few minutes for the throb in his hand to die down. Once he collected himself, Kylo evaluated his fit of rage's aftermath. Luckily, it didn't cause a lot of damage to his art station. The mess on the floor he could deal with later, while the indent in the wood didn't bother him the slightest. But his work in progress had been stained by ink.

His eyes locked on the piece, and the last remnants of his anger vanished. Instead, a deep feeling of regret took hold of him. Rey was still there, untouched by the black splashes. Now cooled down, Kylo reached for the illustration and slowly slid it back on the center of the desk. Studying his work, his thumb softly brushed the surface of the parchment, following the contours of Rey's silhouette with care. Doing so, a heavy pressure gradually built in his chest and his lip started trembling.

It was all her fault. Somehow this sounded so wrong.

Ah, Rey. The girl he had heard so much about. Not so long ago she was strapped to the interrogation device and his eyes were searching every corner of her mind. She was so naive, so lonely, knowing nothing but the endless sand oceans of Jakku and its ruthless thieves and scavengers. This craving for belonging, for affection was so raw. Her whole existence built around this hope that her parents would be back. It drove her through all those hardships, it allowed her to carry on.

Until disillusion hit her hard.

That night when the bond had opened and he found her panting and chilled to the bone. The way she raised her head to face him, full of despair, without an ounce of animosity. He'd expected to be welcomed with sarcasm, hissing, a flow of hate at worst, but definitely not with tears. Normally sorrow wouldn't move him, but hers… it touched him. It drew emotions he didn't think he could still feel. So, he listened to the story of her shattered life-long hope. Silently, word after word, his compassion for her deepened. He recognized the distress in her, the same longing to be free of their demons. The inexplicable bond they shared never felt so strong as when she outstretched her trembling hand and he reached for it through a hundred light-years. It felt like hope, like a promise for better times.

Yet solitude ended up being their sole companion.

Kylo heaved a bitter sigh. Perhaps he was the one who had failed her, and she was right to leave him in his misery. It was still somewhat of a mystery as to what made her reconsider her opinions to the point of acting so carelessly. She had left everything behind to come to him, surrendered to the First Order despite the danger and all the consequences, and didn't even care about her own fate in front of Snoke. Rey's voice echoed in his ears. Back then it was filled with such determination, speaking without the slightest amount of fear, saying his birth name with pride to provoke Snoke even more. Even when going through torture she refused to abide or show any sign of weakness... But he wasn't worth helping. He deserved none of her sincere intentions, and their last Force encounter had made it clear. The disappointment and hurt in her eyes as she closed the door of the Millenium Falcon between them had made his heart genuinely ache for the first time in years.

His eyes went to his previous drawing. It was laying there on the floor, probably swiped off the desk earlier. The face on that one was of a nightmarish being, draped in black robes. A beast of darkness with impassive eyes half hidden behind a hood, and an unfolded pair of membranous wings. Kylo sighed once more. Yes, he was a monster, a creature of a world in which Rey had refused to follow. How could he blame her? Such a pure and innocent spirit. She had been right about him after all. He was a murderer with the blood of a multitude of people on his hands, including his own father, as well as a fool for having fallen for Snoke's empty promises, and a coward for blaming the latter's death on Rey and still fueling the lie to this day.

A lump grew in his throat as his piece neared completion, each outline rougher than the last. Several months had passed since their last interaction, but Kylo was convinced Rey still thought of him this way. The First Order army corps certainly did too, while stories spread with each passing day. Everywhere he would go on this ship, whispers reached his ears and harsh glances fixed him with disdain. The monster was the Supreme Leader, yet was ultimately incapable of inspiring fear. No wonder nobody took him seriously. Kylo Ren wasn't known to convey tremendous power or to be a charismatic leader.

A cold shiver ran along his spine when Snoke's words rang true in his mind for the second time. He was no Darth Vader. To all he was just a hot-headed man hiding behind his bloodline, using and abusing of the Force to impose respect. Now he was also hiding behind a title, a frail façade far from safe and fulfilling he just couldn't forsake, a position that brought nothing but suffering.

Kylo raised his head, his glassy eyes staring at the wall as if he was trying to see something beyond it. To his disappointment, there was nothing else than his own reflection in the silvery chrome. Scanning the rest of his bedroom didn't prove successful either. The bond was ruptured. Distress knotted his stomach and he pinched his lips together. The Force worked in cruel ways. He'd give anything to feel rain on his skin, hear her voice echo in his head and break into a hearty laugh, or see her form materialize for a second in the room. To know if she still held him in her thoughts.

Wishful thinking. Assuming she remembered him, in the end the man she had tried to turn to the light didn't exist. Nor did the heir or the chosen one others had seen in him. Who was he then? The only answer he could come up with was somebody who never accomplished anything worthwhile and never managed to make one single right choice. The sight of his reflection became unbearable, and as a result he buried his head into both his hands. He was an incapable.

He was the nobody.

The brush never returned to the ink bottle. Under the fading light of the candle, Rey's soft still eyes were staring back at him. Both her arms were outstretched towards him, as if they were ready to carry him away, or welcoming him home. If he hadn't been so stubborn, who knows what they could have already achieved together. But it was too late. He had tried in vain to banish her from his heart, and deep inside her flame was still burning, feeding this longing to be by her side.

One drop. Two drops. Her form vanishing in a pool of black. At this moment, he yearned for freedom like never before.

In the middle of this night cycle, within the walls of his loneliness, Ben Solo cried.

Author's Note:

Woohoo! My first Star Wars fic! Since The Last Jedi came out I wanted to write this, and the Reylo Week event motivated me to spit it out.

Overall, I'm happy with it! Let me know what you think! :D