Chapter Text
Hux, he shouldn’t be surprised to find out, is as knowledgeable about this as he is about most things.
They stand side by side, fingers loosley caught together, and walk down the quiet main street of the little town Han and Leia moved to when Kylo was born, pausing to look old brick buildings while Hux prattles off words like ‘mid-century’ and ‘colonial’ that make no sense to Kylo but he finds himself nodding along anyway, content just to listen even if the words sound like no more than gibberish to him. They pause in front of a stone building with heavy wood front doors that has been a school house and a police station and who knows what else in its history since it was built in the tiny town.
“This is probably the oldest building here,” Kylo says while Hux takes a long draw from his travel mug. “Sorry there’s not much more I can show you. I wish we had something worthwhile,” he apologizes, disappointed that even in this, in simple sightseeing, he comes up lacking.
“Hey, don’t” Hux scolds gently, tugging on their joined hands at Kylo’s self-deprecating tone. “Just because some people may not see any value doesn’t mean something isn’t worth taking a second glance at, that it isn’t interesting. Isn’t important. Isn’t beautiful,” Hux continues, voice dipping low and his attention isn’t on the building, it’s on Kylo.
He swallows. “You may be the only one who thinks there’s anything worth taking a second look at.” Hux crouches to set his cup on the ground and when he rises his fingers are warm from being wrapped around his mug when they brush an errant curl away from Kylo’s face.
“Do you know why I wanted to be an architect? Because they have to be able to look at something and see potential. Maybe my father was right and I would’ve been terrible at it, but I like to think I’m smart enough to know when I’m looking at something worthwhile.”
Hatred for Hux’s father fills Kylo for a moment, a burning desire to tell the man that he was wrong, because if Hux can look at Kylo and see something worthwhile it’s a crime to deny the world whatever Hux would’ve built. Whatever it was, Kylo knows it would’ve been a triumph. But the hatred burns hot and fast because, selfishly, he can’t regret that Hux didn’t take that path for long. It brought him here, with Kylo, standing on a cold, deserted street. The kiss Hux pulls him into is soft and sweet, cold lips barely brushing, but it leaves them both trembling anyway.
The chilly wind stings his lips when they part and he stares at Hux for a long moment, debating. Coming home has always felt like he’s being stripped bare, all his walls and compartments torn down so that he’s left as nothing but a glorified mess, a pile of insecurities and failures that he can’t hide, and if Hux weren’t here the idea of baring any more of himself would feel torturous, but Hux is here, he wouldn’t be standing here considering this if Hux weren’t.
“Maybe,” he begins, and has to wet his chapped lips when the words don’t seem to want to come out. “Maybe there is one building around here worth seeing.” His hands flutter uselessly, almost resting on Hux’s shoulders, then his hips, before just waving in the air in an attempt to keep from twisting them together. “It’s not, like you said, not anything most people would consider important. But, I like it, it’s important to me," he trails of lamely, tries to shrug.
Hux catches Kylo’s hands, sandwiches them between his own slimmer ones, and the sight should be ridiculous, Hux’s elegant hands cupped around Kylo’s larger ones, but it’s not. Hux’s fingers are long and gentle as they stroke along the back of Kylo’s hands. He’s always felt oversized, as if he was taking up more than his share of space and has spent much of his life trying to shrink himself, to fit into roles that weren’t shaped for him, sloping his shoulders and stuffing his hands into his pockets whenever possible, but while the contrast of Hux’s hands should by all rights only make him feel too big it feels nothing but perfect, like Kylo is exactly who he’s supposed to be.
“I’d like that,” Hux tells him, and squeezes tight before raising one of Kylo’s hands to kiss the back, lips trailing over his knuckles, breath damp and humid, the sight of pink lips over tanned skin making his heart pound.
When Hux finally lowers their hands he doesn’t let go, just fits his hand into Kylo’s and lets himself be led back to the warmth of the car.
“I probably should’ve warned you that it’s a bit of a drive,” Kylo says twenty minutes in, his leg bouncing up and down in anticipation and nerves. “We can, if you want, we could turn back,” he offers, twisting his fingers in the stretched out hem of his once black now grey sweatshirt.
“I have nothing more important to do today,” Hux says with a shrug, a perfectly genuine nonchalance in his voice that makes Kylo’s shoulders relax as he draws in a deep breath. He should’ve warned Hux about the near hour drive it would take, out past the city and on a winding state route that’s almost deserted because of the holiday. There’s not much to look at, just expanses of leafless trees and the occasional small house set back from the road.
They don’t say much, just let the silence stretch out between them as the miles stretch on before them, and when Kylo finally has to point out the sudden turn creeping up on them his voice cracks, heavy with disuse and the emotions settling deep in his chest, when he says, “Turn right here.”
Hux does as directed, the car bouncing over the dirt driveway, until the crumbling, small house comes into view and they park. Kylo winces when he climbs out and his shoes sink into mud. He glances at Hux’s once pristine car and sees the mud splattered along it, marring the gleaming black, but Hux doesn’t seem bothered, even as his shiny dress shoes squelch in the cold November mud, walking toward the porch of the clearly abandoned building. He tests his weight on a squeaky stair, deems it stable enough, and climbs the three stairs with a slow curiosity, taking in the peeling paint and the weathered wood, the windows broken by weather or local youth.
Hux glances back at him when he reaches the top of the steps and the questions in Hux’s expression propel him forward. Each step brings with it a flood of memories, of warm summer days spent in the only place he could feel like he really belonged, of being led back to Han’s car despite crying to stay, of the last time, ten years ago, when he set foot on this very same porch, when the flower pots had been whole and filled with blooming, living things, instead of the withered, twisted remnants of dead flowers they now contain.
“Grandma’s parents didn’t want her to marry Anakin,” he begins as they walk the length of the decaying porch. “Didn’t matter that he was a war hero. She was young, and beautiful, and rich, and he was a disabled vet with PTSD.” He swallows and leans against the railing, looking over the acres of land. “But she loved him, so she married him anyway.”
Hux doesn’t say anything but he does lean against the railing beside Kylo, his arms crossed on the old wood and their shoulders touching. It gives him the strength to say words he’s never quite know how to put together. “They weren’t always happy, but they were always in love. They got through the hard times, somehow. Padme was strong enough to see the good in him even when he was consumed with hatred for everything. It always, it always gave me hope. That maybe someday I could have that, too.” That someone could find something in him worth loving, just as Padme had seen in Anakin, even though no one had ever been able to.
Hux whispers his name and brings a hand up to brush moisture off of his face. He realizes he’s crying and tries to turn away, to hide, because Hux has already seen too much of the mess he is, but Hux catches an arm around his shoulder and pulls him tight, lets Kylo shudder against him and brushes fingers through his hair, his lean body sturdy enough to absorb the shaking of Kylo’s frame and hold him steady.
When he’s finally exhausted himself his face is crusted with snot and he feels a gross mess, keeps trying to duck his head and hide beneath the fall of his hair as he pulls away. “Sorry,” he chokes out, and scrubs a hand over his face. “It’s been a long couple of days,” he says lamely, as if that’s any excuse for his embarrassing outburst. He glances up from the curtain of his hair, unable to face whatever look of mocking he knows Hux will be wearing full on, but Hux’s eyes are nothing but kind, a glimmer in the corner of them as if he may cry for Kylo himself, although it’s an absurd notion, and as soon as Hux blinks that shimmer is gone, obviously nothing more than a figment of Kylo’s endlessly hopeful imagination.
“Let’s go home,” Hux offers softly, a hand squeezing Kylo’s arm. Part of him wants to protest, to tell Hux that he has felt more at home in these last few minutes, held tight in Hux’s arms while he sobbed the sorrow of a life misspent into Hux’s neck, than he ever has in the house he was raised in, but his pride can’t take anymore embarrassing outbursts. So he nods, and they walk side by side back to the car, shoulders jostling the entire way, and by the time he pulls open the door and slides into the waiting warmth the burning behind his eyes has subsided to nothing but a vague ache. He waits until Hux settles, his seatbelt sliding home with a sharp click before reaching over and laying a grounding hand on Hux’s leg.
It’s not even evening, the sun still bright and high in the sky, but at some point his eyes slip closed, lulled to sleep by the road under the wheels and the feeling on Hux’s fingers laced with his.
____
Hux shakes him awake with a nudge to his shoulder and a whispered “We’re here.”
Kylo blinks groggily, shakes his still foggy feeling head and steps out into the biting cold wind, lets the nip of wind wake him fully. It starting snowing at some point, and the pinpricks of coldness when snowflakes land on him drag any lingering sleep away. They can smell cooking food before they’re at the door, the labor of Leia’s time in the kitchen, probably spent chasing Han and Luke and Rey off as much as actually cooking, wafting to them.
He offers Hux a tight smile, hopeful that Hux will know his reluctance has nothing to do with him and everything to do with his family, and tries the door, finding it unlocked and pushing it open.
It feels like stepping back into his childhood, not because of the hallway which still resembles what he grew up with in it’s generic, upper class, refined taste, but because of the raised voices coming from the kitchen.
“-drop it!”
“What are we supposed to do, Han? Say nothing?” Leia retorts in her calm, authoritative voice, the one that has won her elections and left Han seething in his garage more times that Kylo can count.
“Yes. I miss my kid, Leia. If this-”
Whatever else Han was going to say is cut off by the slamming of the door behind Kylo announcing their presence as Hux closes it intentionally with too much force and a mouthed “Sorry,” to him. A stillness overtakes the house for a moment as the slamming of the door echoes, and then Rey slides into the hallway from the kitchen, socked feet skidding on the polished hardwood, her eyes wide.
“Ben!” She exclaims, too loud to be innocent, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them, Kylo stalled with his coat half off and Hux with his hand still of the doorknob. “We weren’t sure when to expect you back.”
“We weren’t sure when we’d be back,” Hux says, warmth in his voice without a glance back at the door he just slammed shut to disrupt a conversation. “Any chance there’s still coffee?”
“Oh, uhh, yeah. Yeah, there is,” she stumbles out, clearly trying to work out how much they just heard and if she should beg forgiveness or pretend they heard nothing. Her shoulders straighten as she obviously settles on the second, a tentative and unconvincing smile on her face as she turns to lead the way back into the kitchen.
Kylo wonders if he’ll ever be able to walk into a room of this house without all eyes turning to him while everyone shifts uncomfortably in their seats. He doesn’t miss that Poe is sitting at the favored spot of Leia’s right hand, the cramped kitchen table scattered in drying cookies. Hux is unbothered by the tenseness in the room, pouring coffee into his mug and pressing it into Kylo’s hand. He reflexibly takes it and his fingers tingle with the sudden heat.
Hux stands beside him, not touching but almost close enough to, and he’s pathetically grateful for the show of support. There are times it seems his whole life has been spent fighting- with his parents, his teachers, against the weight of expectations placed on him without his input- and it makes him feel small in the best way to have someone standing with him, as if for once he doesn’t have to stand as tall and strong as he can to face the fact of his disappointment.
“It smells wonderful in here,” Hux comments, breaking the building wall of silence, and everyone takes a sigh at the obvious olive branch. It would be comical if he weren’t so obviously the previous topic of discussion, more on display than the centerpiece of Leia’s decorated dining room table even when he’s not in the room.
“Thank you,” Leia accepts graciously. “It’ll be served a six, but the guests should start arriving soon. I’m sure you two want to clean up,” she suggests with an exaggerated glance at their mud caked shoes. “It appears my son is a bad influence on you, Mr. Hux, dragging you behind him into the mud.”
“On the contrary,” Hux says, a cold smile on his lips. “I’m lucky Kylo thinks I’m worth the trouble of dragging along,” and for the first time Kylo can remember Leia has no comeback, no clever little dig. Clearly Hux missed his true calling in politics.
There doesn’t seem to be much left to say and Leia excuses herself to check on her turkey, shooing everyone out of the room. They slip upstairs before anyone can corner them, Kylo at least desperate to get away from whatever oddness has seemed to dog their every move in this house.
He sits on the bed with a heavy sigh, hands in his hair, while Hux perches himself at the desk tucked in the corner and busies himself with cleaning the dirt from his shoes, a little vee of concentration etched between his eyes. “They’re only going to be worse at dinner. If you wanted to skip it-” he starts, words carefully measure to mask how much the thought of going back downstairs, greeting relatives and sitting in Leia’s grand, uncomfortable dining room chairs without Hux there makes him feel. But this is his problem, not Hux’s. He’s already asked too much, allowed Hux to offer him too much, he knows he shouldn’t be greedy.
“You think I can’t handle a few rude relatives?” Hux challenges, glancing up from his task. “My father was a military man, through and through. And his wife had very specific ideas about how children should behave. I spent my life sitting through uncomfortable dinners. Your family won’t be the ones to break me.”
“But you shouldn’t- I don’t want- it’s not fair to,” he starts and stops, frustrated. Words were never his strong suit, he always preferred to express himself in broken family heirlooms and holes in plaster, but he needs them now, needs to explain to Hux that Kylo never wants to put him back in his miserable childhood. “You deserve better,” he finally manages to say, the words weak and watery, not the forceful defense Hux deserves. He lays his hands in his lap, stares helplessly at them.
Hux says nothing.
He hears rustling as Hux stands from the chair, the thud of shoes on the ground and squeezes his eyes shut. So that’s that then. He finally got through, finally convinced Hux that he should have better. Better than a Thanksgiving spent with sweetly concealed vicious words, better than the curious stares he knows they’ll get, better than all of this. Better than Kylo.
He startles at the shift in the mattress as Hux sits beside him, blinks open his eyes and stares as Hux’s hand comes to cover his. “You deserve better, too.”
“No,” he argues with a shake of his head. “I deserve it all. Not like it isn’t all true.” He offers Hux a wilted smile. It is all true, a troubled youth and wasted opportunities and a listless life as an adult he’s just now starting to pull into some semblance of order. It’s all true, everything his family hints and tiptoes around but never outright accuse him of. If only it wouldn’t be too much to ask that they attempt to understand that he’s trying.
When he finds the courage to look at Hux his face is crumpled in sorrow. “Kylo,” he whispers, twisting their fingers together. “ It’s not. You don’t. Maybe it’s true, but that’s not the whole of it. If all they can see when they look at you is the bad then they’re the ones failing you. Not the other way around.” Hux’s hand tightens in his, slender fingers stronger than steel. “I wish, I just wish-” but whatever Hux is going to say is cut off by obnoxious banging on the door and a wailed “Bennnyyy!” Shouted in Poe’s voice at a level that makes them both cringe.
“C’mon Benny, open up. You can’t keep that boy hidden away forever.” The face Hux pulls at being called a boy makes Kylo laugh, a sad, choked sounding thing, but Hux smiles at it and bumps their shoulders as Kylo regretfully stands up and goes to open the door.
Poe Dameron is still infuriatingly handsome, leaning against the door frame with a looseness to his shoulders as if there’s no doubt he belongs here, as if he never had even a moment’s hesitation about intruding on something he has no right being a part of.
“Benny,” he greets, beaming, and ducks under the arm Kylo has braced on the door and into the room with a warm pat on Kylo’s shoulders. “You’re Hux then, Ben’s boy.”
Hux offers a tight smile and ignores the hand held out to him long enough it becomes uncomfortable and Poe drops it with a faltered movement. “Yes,” he finally answers, “I’m Kylo’s partner.” It’s silly, but the way Hux weights the word, partner , as if he and Kylo are equals, fills his chest with a soft, glowing warmth, a gentle reminder he’ll be able to think about when the words of his family try to crawl beneath his skin.
Poe shuffle his feet and hesitates for long seconds, reeling from someone not being taken in by his charm for once. “People are arriving,” he says, running a hand through his hair, visibly unsteady from this conversation not going exactly how he had planned. “Your mom was asking where you were.”
“We were getting ready to come down before we were interrupted,” Hux says with a pointed glance at the door and a bland smile.
“Tell Leia we’ll be right down,” Kylo tells him, stepping away from the door with a clear invitation for Poe to use it. Poe takes the suggestion, glancing over his shoulder to where Hux is now bent gathering his shoes, and pauses beside Kylo.
“She’s your mom, Ben,” Poe tells him, a pleading note in the words.
“A disappointment we all have to live with,” he grits out and watches Poe’s expression fall as he realizes he won’t be able to be the hero who brings Leia’s son back to her. “I’ll be down in a minute,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. When he turns back into the room Hux is sitting on the bed, trying to look as if he’s tying shoes that are already tied. He glances up when he hears Poe walking down the hallway and drops the pretext of being absorbed.
“Ready?”
“No,” he answers truthfully, shoulders sagging, but when Hux walks over and reaches out for his hand he takes it and leads them both out the door and down the hallway. He hesitates at the top of the stairs, the sound of voices drifting up and the slamming of the front door announcing even more guests. There won’t be as many people as there were last night but in many ways that’s worse; everyone who will be here has known him since he was a child, watched him grow up and fade away from his parents lives, heard the tales of all his failures, and there’ll be no escape.
Hux waits patiently, not saying anything while Kylo takes time to collect himself, but when it becomes clear Kylo isn’t going to be able to take the first step Hux does it for him, foot falling on the top step with a soft creak, the second, their arms stretching out behind him as he keeps walking but refuses to let go. “Alright, I’m coming, he grouses, hurrying to cover the small distance separating them, and Hux doesn’t comment on the irritation in his voice, lets Kylo pretend he would’ve gotten there himself eventually and that Hux is just rushing him. Hux walks with a confident stride, each step carefully measured and landing surely on the stairs and Kylo finds it’s not so hard to let Hux lead him, to follow behind him, Hux’s stance that of a general heading into battle.
He’s surprised by how well it goes, his anxiety slipping away with every relative who seems genuinely happy to see him, who shake Hux’s hand and comment on how handsome the two of them look together. Poe strategically keeps his distance, always wrapped up in conversation with someone else when they pass by and he swears Rey is eavesdropping, seemingly always needing to talk to someone within ten feet of wherever they’re standing, but Hux presses a glass of wine into one hand and holds his other one, and by the time the glass is empty he’s spoken to nearly everyone in the room without incident and is finally starting to feel like coming home was the right decision.
Hux disappears from his side and he looks around the room, startled to see him tucked away with Han. Hux is wearing a tense look on his face and Han is wringing his hands, a startling sight since Kylo has never seen his father look nervous, even when dealing with some of his shadier business contacts Han has held himself tall and talked his way out of every bit of trouble he’s ever managed to get himself into. He’s making his way toward them when a small hand grabs his arm and tugs him around.
“Ben Solo!” Maz exclaims, peering up at him from her oversized glasses, her grip keeping him held to the spot with all the strength her four foot nothing frame has.
“Aunt Maz, it’s good to see you.”
“Come here, come here,” she orders, waving him down until he crouches at her eye level, a wrinkled old hand coming to rest on his face, her gaze unwavering as she meets his eyes. “I was wrong, you’re not Ben Solo.”
“No, Maz, it’s me,” he says gently, concerned for the old woman.
She shakes her head. “I am not going senile, young man,” she scolds him. “I know who you are. You were Ben Solo, but you’re not anymore. I can see it in your eyes. Those are not the eyes of a Solo. Or an Organa.” She tilts her head and studies him more closely and he resists the urge to squirm. “You’re finally becoming who you were meant to be.”
He ducks his head but doesn’t make her remove her hand. He’s felt lost ever since he answered Leia’s phone call weeks ago, wondering why the approval of his family means so much, why their disapproval hurts so much, if he’s determined to run away from them. He swallows, looks into Maz’s eyes, almost buglike behind her thick frames, and asks the question he’s been dodging for years. “And who am I supposed to be?”
She pats his cheek and looks at him with kindness. “I’m not sure,” she answers honestly, “But I think that young man you’re with, the one who can barely take his eyes off you, might know.” She nods over his shoulder and he turns his head to see Hux accepting an awkward embrace from Han, a startled look on his face as Han wraps arms around him. “Go,” Maz tells him, letting him go with a pat on the cheek and turning away, muttering about finding Chewie. He turns back to Hux, who has been released from Han’s hug and is trying to tug wrinkles out of his shirt.
The question he hasn’t been able to answer is why he agreed to come home, and why he dragged Hux along. He had reasoned with himself that it was natural to want to bring Hux since Leia knew, wanted to show off the good in his life to try to distract from the bad. But that's not it, not entirely. He’s always operated on the assumption that Hux will leave, will realize he can do so much better and Kylo will be left with nothing but cold sheets and memories.
But there’s always been this little glimmer of hope, closely held, something he doesn’t think about too much for fear that he’d extinguish it, that maybe Hux will stay. He can’t have a future if he’s still weighed down by the past. Maybe that’s what Maz meant, that he has to let go of the past to become who he’s meant to be.
And he’s more certain than ever that what he’s meant to be is Hux’s.
Han has left by the time Kylo has navigated the room to Hux, who is blinking slowly down at his wine glass. “Hey,” he greets. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Hux replies with a confused shrug. “Yes. You’re dad, he, he hugged me.”
“I saw,” he says with a laugh at Hux’s lost expression. “What was that all about anyway?”
“He thanked me for bringing you home. He’s missed you, Kylo. He’s glad your back. He’s just not sure how to say it.”
Kylo lets out a sigh and leans back against the wall beside Hux. “Han and I, we’ve never really known how to talk to each other. There were a lot of long, silent car rides in my teenage years.”
Hux doesn’t say anything, just tangles their fingers together, and they stand and watch the mix of people unti Leia steps into the room, tugs her apron off over her head and announces dinner is ready.
Kylo will never understand what secret power Leia has to be able to squeeze two dozen people around her dining room table, but amazingly they somehow all fit, Han at the head in a sweater Leia has no doubt force him to swap for his usual oil stained t-shirt, Leia beside him. He’s surprised when Han gestures him to the other chair beside him but he takes it, and when Hux sits he scoots his own chair just a little closer, their thighs touching every time they shift.
They’re end of the table is far from silent, Leia and Luke showing their affection for each other in the usual manner of bickering, Poe and Finn and Rey talking loudly over each other. Han and Hux and himself are silent by comparison, answering questions but contributing little else to the conversation than to ask for this dish or that. Han does seem glad to see him, keeps offering him smiles and opening his mouth as if to talk before closing it again, but he brightens every time Kylo says something to him, even if it’s usually just asking for the salt.
Kylo has just stuffed a bite of what is approximately half of the slice of pumpkin pie into his mouth when Poe speaks. “So tell me again how you to met?”
“It was at-”
“No,” he interrupts Hux, “I want to hear it from Ben.” There’s a mean look to his eye, something cruel and dark brought out by the third empty wine glass sitting beside him. Apparently he’s decided that if he can’t earn Leia’s approval by convincing her prodigal son to return he’s going to cut Kylo down to make him pay for his refusal to play his part in this family drama.
“Hux tells it better,” he mumbles out with the half chewed food tucked against his cheek as he shares a confused glance with Hux. He doesn’t know why it matters who tells it, it’s an embarrassing story either way.
“And I want to hear you tell it.”
“Drop it, Poe,” Finn says from next to him, but Poe ignores him.
“We’ve got this theory, see, Rey and I. Ben Solo manages to land this fantastic guy who’s way out of his league, but no one knows anything about him until Leia invites you home.”
“I wonder why,” he grumbles under his breath. Hux is tense beside him and when he looks across the table Leia refuses to meet his eyes, too busy pretending to straighten the napkin in her lap.
“What are you trying to say?” Hux asks pointedly, knuckles so tense around the fork he’s holding they turn white until he forces himself to unfurl them and drop his hand into his lap.
“Where’d you meet him Benny, really?”
“That’s enough,” Han says, voice gruff and just loud enough it attracts attention from farther on down the table.
“I already told-”
“You think we’re making it up,” Hux breaks in, ice in his voice as he catches on. “You think we’re lying.”
Poe grins, and it makes him look like a cat who’s just seen the biggest mouse and is getting ready to strike. “I knew he was too smart for you, Benny.”
Kylo looks at Han, takes in the scathing look he’s directing at Poe, and turns to Leia. “Leia?” His voice shakes when he calls her name and slowly she looks at him. He’s seen her go head to head with powerful men who think they’re better than her because she’s small and a woman and never back down, so the fact that she won’t look directly at him tell him all he needs to know. “You think I’m making this up? That I’m so pathetic I had to, what, pay him? Blackmail him? This is what you think of me?”
He had been nineteen and a Political Science major, up to then a good student who had made the Dean’s List the semester before, hopeful that following in Leia’s footsteps would make her like him, make her proud of him, when one of the other students in an elective chemistry class, a tall, skinny boy with sandy blonde hair who he had made out with at a frat party the weekend before had given him a sneering look when Kylo sat down at the desk beside him and muttered ‘fag’ under his breath and turned to face away from him, laughing with his friends and shooting Kylo mocking looks. It wasn’t the first time he had had the word slung at him, but it hurt worse this time, coming from someone he had spent the past three days fantasizing about going out with, maybe falling in love with, especially when the first year of college had given him hope that the trials of high school, of being the weird kid with no friends were finally behind him.
He had mumbled something even though no one was paying him any attention and left, managing to keep the tears back until he was alone in his dorm. He had called Leia, hands shaking as he dialed, because Padme had passed away the summer before and he had no one else to talk to. Leia had answered, and after his fourth shaky sob, unable to get any words out, she had sighed heavily and said “I’m busy, Ben. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad,” and hung up.
He had thought she could never hurt him so much again.
He was wrong.
“What am I supposed to think, Ben?” She asks, defensive. “Poe and Rey are right. You never even mentioned this man, and then suddenly you’re bringing him over for Thanksgiving dinner. And I’m supposed to believe a successful engineer sees something in an almost thirty failure who waits tables for a living? Tell me Ben, what am I supposed to think?”
“You’re supposed to think he’s amazing.” Hux’s voice isn’t loud, but it’s strong and steady. “You’re supposed to think he's incredible. That he’s beautiful and kind and the strongest person you ever met and your breath is supposed to catch every time he walks into the room because you still can’t believe you got this lucky. You’re chest is supposed to hurt when you look at him sometimes because you never thought you could love someone this much.”
“Hux,” his voice almost breaks on the word and Hux turns to look at him, lays a hand on his thigh. “You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do. I spent my entire life biting my tongue and going along with what my father wanted because I thought it would make him love me. Instead all I got was a degree I never wanted and a life that never felt like my own, not until you. I refuse to let anyone make you feel like you aren’t good enough when you are. You’re everything.” Kylo swallows, throat tight and eyes stinging, unable to find the words to tell Hux that he’s wrong, that Kylo isn’t everything, Hux is. “If there’s a failure here it isn’t your son, Mrs. Organa. It’s your inability to see him.”
“Hux.” His voice does break now, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because Hux is still looking at him with fierce adoration shining in his eyes and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. “Let’s go home.”
There’s silence as they stand, no one saying anything as they walk around the table. Hux pauses before they leave room. “Thank you, for the worst Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever had. I didn’t think it was possible for someone to take that title from my own family, but you’ve managed. Don’t expect to be invited to the wedding.”
A chair scrapes from the room and Han’s gruff voices echos to them. “You’ve done enough, Leia. Drop it for once,” and then they’re heading up the stairs.
Han is waiting by the front door when they come back down with nothing but a deathly silence coming from the dining room. He hands them their coats and waits in silence until they’re bundled up, Hux with keys in hand.
He clears his throat, and pulls Kylo in for a hug. He finds himself returning it, and it’s bittersweet when Han lets him go. “I’m sorry, Kid. There’s a lot I should’ve done different.” He knows Han doesn’t just mean now.
“It’s okay,” he says, and is surprised to find it is. Whatever else may have been he’s standing here now with Hux, and that counts for a lot.
“Be happy,” he says. “Take care of each other.” Han doesn’t try to make him promise to call, but he knows the number is still saved in his phone, thinks maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to call it once in a while.
“We will,” Hux answers for them both, and then they’re stepping out into the night, the door closing behind them with a final click.
“Did you mean it?” Kylo asks, snow crunching under his shoes. Hux stops and turns to him.
“Kylo-”
“It’s alright if you didn’t. I know it’s only been three months. I still, I’ve never had anyone stand up for me like that.”
“Kylo,” Hux breathes, and drops his bag to the ground, uncaring of the snow and reaches out to catch Kylo’s face in his hands. “How can you not know? I meant every single damn word of it.”
“Oh,” he says, and finds the words he wants to say sticking in his throat. “The wedding?” He finally croaks out. He was aiming for levity but knows he missed it entirely.
Hux drops his hands and bends down to pick up his bag, He’s brushing the snow off when he answers, face turned away. “Well I wasn’t quite serious about that. It’s too soon, of course.”
“Right.” The word is strangled when he says it, disappointment clawing at his chest, and he swallows, tries to beat the crushing feeling of despair back down, tells himself he's being ridiculous and that Hux is right. “Right, of course. Way too soon.”
Hux bounces the handle of his bag in his hand and the movement pulls his eye. He’s staring at that when Hux speaks again. “A year. I told myself I had to wait a year.”
“A year?” He asks faintly.
“Before I could ask you to marry me. Three months is too soon, but a year,” Hux trails off and finally looks at Kylo. The streetlights are lit, casting a warm glow and illuminating the nervous look on Hux’s face, his lip caught between his teeth.
“A year,” he repeats again, hating that his brain feels caught in a loop but unable to focus on anything else. “A year, a year sounds good.”
“Yeah?” Hux asks, a quiver to his voice even as he starts to smile.
“Yeah,” he agrees, and drops his own bag to reel Hux in for a kiss. It’s soft and lingering, their noses gone numb when they finally pull away. “I’m in love with you,” he confesses, and it feels like fireworks going off when Hux smiles and kisses him again.
“You haven’t said it back,” he whines when they finally make it inside the car, shivering because it hasn’t had time to heat up. “You can’t tell me you know when you’re going to ask me to marry you and not say it back when I do,” he reasons, catching Hux’s hand in his own.
“I said it in front of your entire family, doesn’t that count?” He grouses, but there’s no irritation in his voice.
“Nope. Doesn’t count. I want to hear you say it just for me.”
Hux sighs a long suffering sigh but leans over and noses along Kylo’s jaw, making him shiver from more than the cold. “I love you,” Hux whispers, low and soft, the words a gentle caress as he drags his lips over Kylo’s cheek. “I love you.” A kiss to his temple. “I love you, and I’ll never get tired of saying it.”
“Hux,” he keens, as Hux’s lips finally slide away.
“I was thinking,” Hux begins, a few miles down the road when the heater has finally kicked on. Kylo has been staring at their laced together fingers and thinking about how their hands will looks with rings on them. He makes a questioning noise to let Hux know he’s listening and he continues. “Three months is too soon to talk about marriage but I was thinking maybe, if you wanted, it isn’t too soon to move in together.” Hux clears his throat and glances over at him. “If you wanted.”
He brings Hux’s hand up to his mouth, presses the softest kiss to the back of it. “Hux, take us home.”
~End