The terminal was quiet. You were alone, your only company the pittance of items you'd brought with you. Since you'd lost all of your belongings in the explosion of Starkiller, it wasn't much--a few changes of clothes was all you'd need. You couldn't remember the name of the station you were heading to, and you didn't care. You just wanted off of the damn Finalizer.

Sam and Minks had been sad, but understanding. They'd seen your misery and stress and congratulated you on finding the strength to leave. There was a bittersweetness in your farewell--you'd been with Sam for the past few years of your schooling into your career. And Minks had become one of your closest friends. But people couldn't keep holding you back.

He couldn't keep holding you back.

You stared out of the massive panes of transparisteel, gaze lost in the swirl of stars. It still ached to think of him. Just the memory of his voice made your skin tingle and the hair rise on the nape of your neck. The biggest relief of leaving would be never having to see him again. Maybe, after a few months, you'd be able to snuff out that warm, persistent flicker in your chest. Maybe, finally, your heart could heal.

The chronometer on the wall read 10:54. Your departure wasn't for over an hour. But you had nowhere else to go.

Behind you, the blast door hissed open, and you frowned. You'd been looking forward to having this time alone, to process the past several months, to look forward to a new beginning. Making small talk with a stranger wasn't part of the agenda. You twisted your neck to catch a glimpse, and your heart stalled, legs scrambling upright while you retreated from the door. How did he--

"You're leaving." Kylo Ren's voice was soft, even with the resonance of the mask.

Brow furrowing, you swallowed, hating the sudden quivering of your chin and racing of your pulse. "I'm leaving."

The door shut behind him, and he stepped forward, his presence somehow consuming the entire terminal, his shoulders crowding the high ceilings, his feet blanketing the floor, his shadow reaching over yards of empty space to brush your toes. Another step vaporized the oxygen from the air, your lungs tight with hunger. A third step, and you'd already pedaled back into the transparisteel, icy from the vacuum of space--and he still seemed far too close.

He stopped. "Why?"

"Because I have to," you replied. "Because I want to."

His fists tightened. "Why?"

You frowned. "It's none of your business."

"You were made Chief Engineer."

An ache squeezed your heart. Other than Sam, he'd known how badly you'd wanted it, too, if only because he could hear it in your mind. You wished you hadn't hated it. You wished that the job would have met every expectation that you'd imagined. But it didn't. And Hux had only made it worse.

"It wasn't a good fit."

Kylo Ren's chest rose in a long, silent breath. "I could have fixed it."

"Ha!" You crossed your arms. "Why would I have wanted you to do that?"

"That job is what you wanted."

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head. "Can you stop assuming you know what I want, please? For someone who can hear my thoughts, you're really fucking bad at it."

His head tilted. "You're stubborn."

"And you're an asshole."

He didn't respond. The terminal was still with empty air and your jaw was aching from how hard you'd been clenching it--something you didn't even realize until you brought your hand up to massage your mandible. You wondered how long he'd stand there, saying nothing. You wondered what had brought him at all.

You sighed. "I told you that I didn't--"

"Stay."

The rest of your sentence lodged in your throat. "What?"

Another deep breath swelled in his ribcage. "Stay."

Your face was numb. He'd come here to ask you to stay. For what reason? The pounding of your heart was so loud you'd bet your savings that he could hear it. You hated this. Hated that he was making you reconsider every single scolding you'd given yourself, every resolution you'd made to accept nothing less than his love. You wanted to slap him.

"What," you sneered, "if I say no, are you going to make me?"

"No."

For some reason, you'd been expecting snark. But he was being earnest. Genuine. Somehow. Perhaps you ought to try, too. Sighing again, you averted your gaze, examining the floor at your feet.

"I can't stay, Kylo."

An audible intake of air from his mask. "Why?"

"You know why!" You glared at him, teeth chattering. "How many times do I have to fucking tell you, dude?" Against your will, stupid, dumb tears bit at the corners of your vision, and you stared at the ground again. "Anyway, without my job, there's nothing keeping me here. Especially not you."

"Stay," he repeated, as if he hadn't heard a word you said.

You rolled your eyes. "No."

Kylo growled, throwing his arm out to the side, sending a row of chairs flying into the adjacent wall, clattering against the durasteel and crashing in a heap onto the tile. You exhaled, unwilling to flinch, regarding him with a facade of boredom.

"Stay!" he snapped.

"No."

His vocoder erupted in a snarl, and he spun, robes whipping at his legs as he ripped two more rows of chairs from their bolts and flung them into the far wall, leaving wide dents where they collided. He suspended them before they hit the ground, choosing instead to slam them across the room, the sound of metal on metal scraping at your eardrums. But you didn't wince, or move--not an inch, even as he picked them up a final time and hurled them high into the ceiling, knocking sparks from one of the lamps and striking the ground as a mangled mess.

When he was done, his shoulders were crowded like they'd been drawn together with wire, his fists were rocks hanging at his sides. He was hunched, drooped like a wilted flower. A final, heavy breath, and he reached up, unlatching his helmet and prying it from his head. He tossed it off to the side, straightening his back and meeting your gaze. His brow was furrowed, his eyes empty and tired.

"Stay," he murmured. "Stay."

A knot stuck in your throat, and you turned, staring out into the black void, hand resting on the cold panel of transparisteel. You wanted to phase through it, escape the anvil on your chest. Why was he doing this to you? Now?

"Look, man." Your nails scraped the window. "I thought I made myself really clear. Please just go away."

"No."

A vein in your temple thumped, and you swiveled to face him. "What do you mean, no?"

Even from yards away, you saw the twitch under his nose. "Not until you understand."

"Until I understand? Understand what?" Furor foamed inside of you like a sea of lava. "You have some fucking nerve coming here and telling me what I do and don't understand, Kylo Ren."

Kylo frowned, tilting his head as he considered you. His feet shifted. "You need to stay."

"What?" The word left as half of a laugh. "No. I don't. I don't have to do anything. Not for you."

"You're being difficult."

"Aren't I always?"

"You don't--" He shook his head in frustration, lip furling. "I..." His gaze fell to the floor. "I need you."

You rolled your eyes. How stupid did he think you were? "I'm not staying to be your power-charging fucktoy, okay? Go fuck off somewhere, man. I'm tired of your bullshit."

Without a word, Kylo advanced, his long strides clearing the gap between your bodies in seconds, and your heart dove into your stomach, every muscle going rigid at once. Before you could think to dart away, he was on you, palms slamming next your face, his body towering over yours like a black threat. You growling, pushing on his shoulders, knowing it'd do nothing.

"Back off, dude!"

Kylo's jaw was tight. "Look at me."

"No!"

He snatched your face in his hands, jerking you toward him, but you looked to the side. Your name rumbled in his chest. "Look at me."

"Fuck off!" You latched onto his wrists in vain.

"Look at me!" he hissed.

If only to get him to shut up, you did--but when your gaze met his, you weren't able to look away. You were trapped, entranced, his irises like crackling pools of light, rings of golden fire burning through you, embers licking away the rest of your sight, leaving you with the image of him, only him, the rest of the world melting into puddles at your feet.

A shrieking in your ears deafened you, an inky miasma leaking into your vision, obscuring him--you wanted to shout, wrench away, yank his fingers from your face. But you were frozen, your body failing to respond, your mind suspended in darkness while he faded entirely, abandoning you in a silent purgatory, gasping, chest begging for air. The shrieking dulled, dwindling to a low, resonant thunder, growing louder, louder, until it was devouring your brain, and inside of yourself, you screamed, lids squeezing shut, blackness enveloping blackness--

Then nothing. No noise, no pain, no invisible chains. Breath filled your lungs once again. Trembling, you opened your eyes--and saw yourself through a mind that wasn't your own.

Your vision was milky, sound trickling in with echoing artifacts. When you tried to move, tried to speak, you were paralyzed and mute--but like waking from a dream, you remembered where you'd come from. And you realized that this mind belonged to Kylo Ren.

The revelation opened a dam. Feral, wanton lust knocked you sideways, swallowing you like a tidal wave, drowning you in an uncontrollable and all-encompassing need. You struggled to wade through the sea of desire--Kylo's desire--as he stared at you. Though you'd always known he'd wanted you, you'd never imagined this, never imagined that the weight of his longing was collapsing his veins, stealing his air, making his mind malfunction.

And yet, underneath it, you could sense something--a bubbling hidden by the surface of his yearning, a deep, dark something--

The room spun, walls and floors blending into a murky muddle before spinning out, edges of objects defining themselves--a control panel, red transparisteel, a co-pilot's chair. The Command Shuttle. And you heard yourself sniffling in his memory--a loud, nauseating sound. Yes, that was it--hearing you cry made him sick. He couldn't understand why. And the longer it went on, the greater the urge to blow a hole through the cockpit became. Kylo's anger was festering, only growing stronger as the deluge of your self-pity poured into his head. Then a flicker, a twinge, an ache in his chest. He'd made you upset. And he didn't like it.

"Tomorrow night." Even in his memory, his own voice rumbled in his throat.

Before you heard yourself respond, the cockpit swirled in front of you, blending to a whirlpool of color, the frayed perimeter of a new recollection prickling to life. You were staring up at him from between his legs, your eyes round and gleaming, lips glistening with just-swallowed semen. Warmth rippled through his body, resonating in you as you watched yourself through his mind. He wanted you closer. Wanted more of that warmth, that feeling, so addictive, so comforting. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that way. Couldn't remember if he'd ever felt it at all.

"Come here," came his voice, gentle and steady.

You remembered how you'd felt when he'd wrapped his arms around you for the first time--a cozy radiance settling into your abdomen--but if your feelings had been a radiance, then his were a sunburst, exploding from his chest and lighting his blood like rubies to the tips of his fingers. It was an intensity you could have basked in until your skin was scorched.

"I don't forget you." His heart was slamming into his sternum. "I never forget you."

Even though it had happened months ago, joy sparkled in your belly like he had said the words for the first time. But the sparkles were snuffed out when you were ripped from the moment through a curtain of velvet black wrath, ingesting you before you'd glimpsed a wink. The first thing that crossed into your vision was the crimson crackle of his saber, slashing in wide red wings into the wall in front of him. He was lightning, hot and furious and raw, pouring his hatred through his hands.

But there it was, again--something under that blue-white rage, swollen with a pain so sharp that it punctured your breath and tore through your stomach. There was so much feeling, too much, too strong, you were choking on it, strangled by the ferocity of it all. Rejection, sadness,anguish--all knife-sharp, all lodging themselves into his--and your--chest. His mind was a whirlwind of why and of course and how andinevitable. But he didn't want to feel these things, you realized, didn't want to let his mind be controlled by someone so inferior. Your intestines twisted. He didn't even want to think Sam's name.

"Take off your clothes," you heard him say--and then you were out again, flying through empty space before your brain was eclipsed with agony.

The mental torment had been acute enough--but now you wanted to writhe and screech as the reverberation of his physical injuries sliced through you. Your face burned as if it'd been swathed with glowing coals, your shoulder and arms and leg hissed and throbbed with an open ache. But worst of all was your abdomen--it'd been shredded to your core, leaving you breathless, speechless, thoughtless.

You knew where you were. You knew when this had been. And then you saw yourself hovering over Kylo's face, your eyes wet with sincerity and fear--and you guarded your heart, terrified of what you knew came next.

It wasn't just terror--it was dread, panic, like flashing alarms in your brain, too potent--and you realized your feelings were being compounded and swallowed by his own. He didn't want you there, didn't want you anywhere near him, his mind barraged with images of your head rolling at your feet, your body lifeless and limp and your pupils empty, mouth forever silent--

"Get. Away. From me."

You watched your own face crumble, pull away--and then your vision crumbled, too, the memory falling like a landslide into the ocean. Heat filled the resulting cavity, a new scene constructing itself in his mind. It wasn't just heat, though. It was peace--a clear, bright light, emanating from the center of his body.

And then, there you were, in his bed, in his arms, curled around him, and you remembered how this had gone. You brimmed with elation and infatuation, a shimmering aura at the edge of your flesh--except, while you revelled, you realized the emotions didn't belong to you. They belonged to Kylo, who was holding you close, in awe and shock at the tranquility that was soothing his nerves, releasing his tension. He was confused, certain he was--he was undeserving. After what he'd done. After everything.

That something breached through the current, now, ebbing through him like antidote. He needed you. He--he--

"And I don't understand you."

Your vision fluttered and fuzzied, and you clawed at the memory, fighting the pull, unwilling to leave this moment for a second time. No, you wanted to stay there, make it your sanctuary, halt the cruelty of time and exist with him in harmony forever. You wanted to eliminate all of your mistakes and regrets, to return to a reality where love wasn't spoken, but felt, in muscles and blood and breath. A reality where you felt--no, knew--he cared.

Just as you'd thought that, your grip on the vision wavered, and it was snatched away like a sheet, exposing you to the cold, bitter darkness of his brain. You hung there, forgotten, until a curdling scream pierced your chest, cleaving your head in two with its power and desperation. It ricocheted off the inside of your skull, so loud and urgent and painful, vibrating into your bones and liquefying your marrow. You needed something, anything to make it stop--and then, in a blink, you were looking through Kylo's eyes, his mind hitting yours like a punch to the gut.

Fear, but not fear--horror. Hysteria. You were in danger. It was your scream. You were hurting, afraid, helpless, fading. He charged up the ramp, flung his arm forward, a tempest brewing in the wake of his vulnerability. There was no time for hesitation or worry. Kylo stepped into the shuttle, cornering his prey, and you saw the wriggling, craven figure of Dash Damarcus dangling in the air. The tempest had seized Kylo in its clutches--he was a storm, blinded by thunderous fury, his only mission to raze whoever had harmed you into dust.

This man--this delinquent--had taken it upon himself to try and end your life. Kylo wanted to punish him, torment him, exorcise the furor that pounded in his temples. And taking Dash's life in turn was the only solution.

You wanted to shut it out--you didn't want to see this part, not up close, not through the mind of the murderer himself. But no sooner had you thought that when Dash's face--still alive, strangely--fizzled out from view.

Serenity settled over your mind, flowing in like a lazy river, assuaging all fear, all anger, all vengeance. Only the static of grey noise, the injection of heat into your veins, the incontestable buoyancy of bliss. The next memory wove itself together--though it was hard to tell. This one was dark. But as pieces locked, you saw yourself, lying next to him--and your heart sank.

Kylo's body and brain were drunk on you, intoxicated, buzzing with affection and ecstasy and a feeling he identified as relief--and they were congealing into something familiar. Not just any kind of something. That something. You wanted to sear it into your flesh so it could never escape, so you could never forget it, so it could never, ever be refused. Because you knew what was about to leave your mouth, in this memory. And you knew that feeling would slip away, like smoke in the wind.

You seethed, then--why was he showing you this? Showing you the moment you'd already rehashed on endless repeat for over a month? You knew what happened. You knew what he felt. You didn't want to dig a dagger into your heart and rend it open once again. But it was too late. Your eyes were gleaming as they stared into his. And your mouth finally moved.

"I love you."

His reaction was immediate, like a whip cracking back on its tail. You tensed, expecting to find disgust, hatred, disappointment--but the only feeling that filtered through your connection was icy, paralyzing fear. You loved him. You loved him. He'd forgotten the definition. His mind was a flurry, racing to distinguish its meaning--but dredged up pain, pain, only more pain.

Then there was that something, so foreign, just beyond the horizon of his terror, creeping closer. But he stalled. He'd been through this before. Weak. Exposed. He didn't want to be found out. He didn't want to disappoint--to be determined deficient. This was all he had. All he'd ever have. Love had rejected him years ago, and the resulting crater was filled with a waterfall of rage.

Of course he didn't love you. He didn't have room. And he couldn't go back. He'd spent the better part of a decade severing those threads. He couldn't be weak. Not again.