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"Soon we will be strangers. No, we can never be that. Hurting someone is an act of reluctant intimacy. We will be dangerous acquaintances with a history."
—Hanif Kureishi, Intimacy: das Buch zum Film von Patrice Chérea
--
iheartthedarkside: where r u
GenerallyGinger: I’m out.
iheartthedarkside: obvs
iheartthedarkside: no but like
iheartthedarkside: where is out?
GenerallyGinger: I’m at a party. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s rude to be seen on my phone at a social gathering.
Hux pockets his phone, trying to dodge drunken shoulders and red solo cups wielded by inebriated freshman. He tries not to find it annoying, but he does anyway. All that can be done, however, is that he grits his teeth and finds a safer place to stand.
Sure, it’s rude to be on your phone at some parties, but not this kind of party. At this kind of party, phones are practically as ubiquitous as solo cups themselves. For the last half hour, Hux has been bombarded with the flash of many a cell phone camera for selfies and snapchats, even if he hasn’t actually been in any pictures. Phasma tried to grab him for one earlier, but he’d wormed out of her grasp quickly -- he doesn’t want evidence of him here, up on Facebook or anywhere on the internet, for the whole world to see, days, weeks, months later.
No, he’d prefer to slide in once the party is already at a dull roar and duck out stealthily before the night gets early-morning-weird. If no one even remembers he attended, that would be just fine with him. He’s not even sure why he’s here anyway, why he always lets Phasma drag him to these things. He hates them, hates the press of people around him, the oppressive smells and the general cloying air of humanity.
The phone buzzes twice in his pocket and he ignores it. Instead, he finally gives in, trading an empty beer bottle for a solo cup of his own. He fishes some jungle juice out of a bowl, grimacing in disgust at both the bowl of undefined liquid and at himself for deciding to drink it anyway. There’s still a slowly melting block of sorbet in the middle of the bowl, upended none-too-gracefully in an unappealing lump. He’s not too concerned about anything illegal being in the contents -- he knows, at least in one way or another, the people at the party. The bowl of juice is probably fine. Even still, he will watch his cup itself like a hawk. It’s more the unknown alcoholic contents of the bowl that are probably worth a look of disdain -- but it doesn’t stop him.
He tries a sip as he wanders away from the bowl and wrinkles his nose. So sweet. Way too saccharine. But he can barely taste the alcohol, so he drinks it anyway.
“Too sweet?” says a voice from over his shoulder. It’s muffled by the noise of the party -- the shouting and the too-loud music, but the words are clearly meant for Hux.
Hux turns, eyes narrowed and already on the defensive. Phasma says it’s his worst personal quirk, but it keeps most people at a distance and Hux is just fine with that. “Obviously,” he says.
The man talking to him is shorter than Hux, with sun-kissed skin and a mop of curly brown hair. His dark eyes sparkle kindly as he talks, apparently undeterred by Hux’s clear disinterest. “I’ve got some pretty decent IPA’s outside in a cooler, if you want.”
Hux’s phone buzzes again in his pocket.
“Huh?” Hux says, as a random person bumps drunkenly against his shoulder before he can really think about it. He scowls and steps away from the bumbling idiot, inadvertently stepping closer to the stranger, who only looks amused.
“It’s also quieter outside,” the stranger says, voice raised above the din so that Hux can hear him. “Also, there’s less of --” he raises his hand to gesture at the drunken dancing, the people jostling into each other, “--that.” He looks hopeful, affable.
Hux narrows his eyes. The man is pretty and friendly, and he’s smiling at Hux, for Hux. It’s enough to make his heart jump in his chest, even though he already knows this guy isn’t his type. First off, he’s too nice. Too kind. He’s also definitely way too pretty. “I’m looking for my friend,” Hux says.
“Do you want help finding them?”
“I think I can manage just fine.” Hux takes another sip of his punch, if only to punctuate his statement that he’s fine, he doesn’t need help, doesn’t need another drink. He steadfastly swallows it without a grimace, even though he feels his stomach roll at the sweetness.
“Whatever you want, man.” The stranger says with a smile, still looking completely unfazed, undeterred. Hux gets the feeling that not much shakes him. “You can find me outside if you want me.” Friendly, without being pushy.
With that, he fades into the crowds.
Hux curses.
He ducks into a hallway, heart beating faster than it probably should, and pulls out his phone. He means to check Twitter or Facebook, just as a means to distract himself, but instead is waylaid by the bright notification for new, unread messages.
iheartthedarkside: always so polite
iheartthedarkside: hux
iheartthedarkside: huxxxxx
iheartthedarkside: i was going to see if you wanted to marathon star wars
iheartthedarkside: but i GUESS ur busy
iheartthedarkside: :((((((((((((
Hux ignores the way his heart rattles in his chest, feeling too much like it’s skipping staccato over beats. It’s unpleasant -- but it’s a familiar feeling when dealing with Kylo. He’s gotten used to it -- kind of. At least he expects it, now, instead of being blindsided by it.
Instead of replying, which would be the courteous thing to do, Hux messages Phasma instead. Maybe it’s rude, but it’s also simpler. He’s too tipsy for courtesy.
GenerallyGinger: I can’t find you.
GenerallyGinger: I think someone might have just attempted to pick me up.
ShinyAndChrome: and?
ShinyAndChrome: why are you still talking to me instead of hooking up with them?
ShinyAndChrome: live a little, hux.
GenerallyGinger: Where are you?
ShinyAndChrome: roof.
Hux rolls his eyes and pockets the phone again.
He’s been to this house before, once during freshman year. It’s enough to remember watching people climb out onto a low-hanging roof from a window in someone’s bedroom. He pushes his way past drunken couples canoodling in public spaces, squeezes himself past something that looks like it’s seconds away from turning into a fist-fight, and makes it to the bedroom.
The window at the side of the room is open, curtain blowing in the easy breeze. Taped hastily to the side of the window is a flimsy piece of computer paper that reads: PLS DONT FALL OFF ROOF: WE DONT HAVE LIABILITY INSURANCE. He can’t help but smile -- he appreciates the thought and isn’t surprised in the least. He doubts any of the people here have an umbrella policy that would cover those sorts of drunken shenanigans.
It’s dumb, climbing onto the roof while tipsy with a solo cup in hand. It is, by far, the most stupid college thing to do that Hux can think of.
Hux does it anyway. He’s feeling that brand of reckless tonight.
He crawls along the low-pitched roof toward the sound of familiar voices. Phasma laughs, and the sound warms his stomach. She is always so carefree, so sure of herself. She is built of steel and confidence and grace -- she has it all, including beauty for days. Hux would be jealous, honestly, if he wasn’t so in awe. So in love with the person Phasma is. Sometimes he is surprised by the fondness for her that he finds inside himself.
One day, maybe, he can have that sort of charisma. For now, he’ll settle for basking in her glow and feeling brighter and warmer because of it.
“Hey,” he says, sliding into a spot next to her. Hux lets himself fall slightly against her in a way that he wouldn’t while sober, brushing their shoulders together. She leans back, smiling in his direction.
“Hey,” she says, and takes a sip of his drink. “Everyone, this is Hux. Hux, this is everyone.” Phasma gestures to the few people she’s sitting with who all greet him, but it’s too dark for him to really recognize anyone or commit faces to memory. He nods anyway, doesn’t need to know their names. He’ll be introduced three times over if it’s important.
Hux sits and listens while everyone talks, occasionally chiming in. Mostly, he tries to enjoy his terrible drink, the atmosphere, and the chilled night air.
His phone buzzes again. This time, he checks it more readily.
iheartthedarkside: i mean i’ll be up 4 a while if u wanna do the marathon thing
iheartthedarkside: so u kno
iheartthedarkside: lemme kno if ur interested
It’s hard to describe the twisting in his gut that occurs whenever he talks to Kylo Ren. All he knows is that Kylo is annoying. Hux should be paying attention to the party, to the people around him. Instead, he just answers ‘it’s Kylo,’ when Phasma leans over and asks who he’s texting. She gives him a look that says something -- he’s not sure what -- and then goes back to saying whatever it was that she was saying.
Hux hesitates, then responds.
GenerallyGinger: Perhaps.
iheartthedarkside: really>??1! i’ll get popcorn. and candy.
iheartthedarkside: whats ur fav candy??
GenerallyGinger: I said perhaps, Kylo. That means I’ll think about it.
GenerallyGinger: The idea doesn’t sound...too atrocious, anyway.
Hux has to stifle a smile -- Ren is overeager, like an excitable puppy. He clearly doesn’t have many friends -- but neither does Hux, so he isn’t one to judge. But before he can type more, his concentration is pulled away by someone yelling. Hux blinks up at the group he’s sitting with, only to find that they’ve no longer talking and they’re all looking at the same point -- over the edge of the roof and down at the ground, where there is a man yelling and waving his arms about.
The man -- is looking and shouting directly at Hux.
It’s the same guy as before, shaggy hair with a smile that lights up like the sun when Hux finally looks at him.
“Hey!” He sounds pleased that Hux is finally looking at him, if not more than a little drunk. “When I said you should meet me outside, I didn’t mean like this!” He gestures from himself, up to the roof and at Hux, and back again.
Hux doesn’t know what to say, so he just doesn’t say anything. Phasma elbows him none too kindly in the ribs for his silence.
“Hey Dameron,” Phasma shouts, picking up Hux’s slack. He wishes she wouldn’t. “He’s up for trade. What do you want for him?” He really wishes she wouldn’t. She knows everyone, is willing to be friendly in her own way, especially when Hux isn’t willing at all.
“How much,” Dameron asks.
“I’m not up for trade.” Hux hisses, at the same time as Phasma says, “A six-pack and you’re sold.”
It’s how Hux ends up on the back lawn, curled close to a fire pit in a wobbly lawn chair, sitting with a group of people he doesn’t really know. Other than Phasma, anyway, who appears to be otherwise engaged, talking to a pretty brunette with her hair up in a messy network of buns. Phasma seems undeterred by the fact that said girl is sitting on someone’s lap -- a man with a brilliant smile and rich skin that glows warm in the light of the nearby firepit. But, given the way both of them are grinning at Phasma and leaning closer -- Hux figures it’s not too much of a stretch to think that she’s flirting with both of them -- and that they are flirting right back.
The whole thing -- it’s not bad, actually. Saying it could be worse is not necessarily giving credit where it’s due. The people he’s sitting with -- they all seem like nice people. Maybe too nice, by Hux’s standards, but nice nonetheless.
It’s not a bad way to pass the time.
For the last hour, Hux has been caught up in Dameron’s whirlwind. He’s a good guy. Handsome. Funny. Smart. He seems a little reckless, too, given the stories he’s been telling animatedly telling Hux. He forgets about the movie marathon -- or rather, lets it slide from his consciousness so that he can enjoy the moment.
The temperature has dropped, but the fire pit is close enough with its roaring flames that Hux isn’t too cold. Besides, the beer has been warming him significantly -- his gut is now pleasantly warm and tingly with the effects of the alcohol.
Turns out, Phasma’s known Dameron since junior high. He’s a good guy, she’d promised Hux on their way down from the roof. If he wasn’t, you would’ve gone for a really nice bottle of tequila, she’d said, even though Hux had known that that wasn’t true. Had Dameron been a creep, Phasma wouldn’t’ve even given him the time of day, much less been pressuring Hux to talk to him. In fact, she’d probably have already punched the guy.
There’s nothing to lose, she’d argued. Just talk to him. He's nice. It’s not like you have any other plans . And, well, that was right, wasn’t it?
Hux cannot help but get caught up in the whirlwind that is Poe Dameron. He gets a little lost in those rich brown eyes, a little caught up in the smooth angles of Poe’s face. When Poe touches him, a casual brush of warm fingers against Hux’s wrist, it feels good . It feels real, if even for a moment.
Poe coaxes him into an easy conversation about his current classes, projects, the little ice cream shop downtown. They’re putting in a donut place, Poe mentions, and Hux cannot help but grin. He’ll have to tell Kylo about that later -- he’s watched the guy buy a box of cheap gas-station donuts and plow through them like nothing.
Hux can’t stop himself from smiling, from mirroring Poe’s easy demeanor. His grins are contagious and so is his laughter.
It feels good to forget his anxiety for a little while, to just lose himself in something as meaningless as a college party. For just a bit, Hux just feels like himself. He isn’t worried about the people around him judging him, or his schoolwork, or any of looming concerns of the days ahead. It’s just him, a roaring fire, and the pleasant laughter of someone who is a good host.
It's nice. It's lovely.
But it's also not quite right.
--
Hux rests his head against the cool metal of the door.
He thinks about knocking, he really does. That’s the polite thing, isn’t it? Showing up at someone’s door at two in the morning and knocking -- instead of just hovering outside. Like a creep.
But the door is cold against his forehead -- it’s nice. It’s stable.
The hallways are empty -- everyone is either sleeping or still out at parties. It feels a little like a horror movie. It also feels a lot like a trite and terrible metaphor -- enough so that he cannot help but laugh.
The door is undecorated, except for a small whiteboard that has been divided in half. One side is labeled ‘Rodney,’ in crisp, clean handwriting. Underneath, it says ‘Away for the weekend, please leave a message.’ There are a couple notes below it: the usual smiley-faces and stopped by -- call me!’s. The other side says ‘Kylo Ren’ in a loose scrawl. There are no messages underneath.
Hux has already picked up the pen and is in the midst of writing ‘you are the worst’ when the door opens.
He falls forward -- just a bit.
It’s easy to steady himself with a hand on Kylo’s broad shoulder. Kylo is very warm underneath his palm. He looks a little sleep rumpled, despite the fact that Hux can hear the muted noise from tinny speakers inside the room. Maybe he fell asleep watching a movie.
“How did you know I was here?” Hux asks, without really meaning to either ask, or sound so accusatory.
“I saw your feet underneath the door. Also, you weren’t exactly quiet.”
“Oh.” He thought he was.
“Are you here to watch Star Wars?” Kylo asks. “You never texted me back, so I assumed you weren’t coming.”
“Obviously, that’s why I’m here.” Hux asks, despite the fact that he doesn’t even particularly remember walking to Kylo’s door, nor deciding why he was going in the first place. Why else would he be here, anyway? It’s two in the morning -- the perfect time to watch Star Wars. He is a college student who was just at a party -- it isn’t like he has a schedule or anything.
Kylo looks at him, appraising him way too closely for Hux’s comfort, and then finally steps back, letting Hux into his room. Hux goes, heart racing inside his chest. It’s weird, his heartbeat -- it’s so loud, so fast -- maybe there’s something wrong with him. Once the door closes behind him, he feels a bit more relaxed, though he’s unsure why. Maybe it’s the way the room smells -- like Kylo, like sleep, like late autumn. Maybe it’s the way that Kylo has settled, leaning against what appears to be his roommate’s desk -- it is clean and a few steps away from Hux. Kylo normally hovers, getting all up in Hux’s space; now, he is keeping a safe distance.
Kylo squints at Hux, taking a deep breath before asking, “Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay.” Hux frowns. It’s obvious.
“You just seem -- off, is all.” Kylo looks frustrated, concerned, and soft -- all at once. He looks very touchable. Hux remembers the need to keep Kylo Ren as far away from him as possible, but he also remembers the pitiful desire to have him close, too. Both feelings are clashing inside him, like a storm boiling from a cold front sliding over a warm front. It destabilizes him about as much as that, too.
“I’m fine,” Hux says. Why wouldn’t he be fine? He had a nice night with nice drinks and nice company. He’s just a little tipsy, he thinks, when he sways on his feet and catches a glimpse of red fairy lights draped above a lofted bed. The desk is underneath the loft, where there are more red fairy lights and a couple tapestries that can be closed for privacy while studying. It looks cozy. Hux can only assume it is Kylo’s space -- he doesn’t even have to ask. “I mean, I’m drunk, maybe a little bit -- but I’m fine.” Maybe that will appease Kylo.
The other side of the room, where Kylo is hovering, is similar in the design, if not the decor. The bed is lofted and made perfectly, and the desk underneath the loft is practically pristine. Clearly Kylo’s roommate -- Rodney, he figures -- appreciates the merits of fastidiousness in a living and working space.
The next thing Hux knows, Kylo is holding a bottle of water out to him. Freshly cooled, straight out of the fridge. He drinks without being asked to and it tastes like salvation.
“Were you sleeping,” Hux asks, feeling better for the water.
Kylo just nods, then yawns. “It’s late,” he says. It’s weird, looking at him in loungey clothes, sleep-rumpled and tired looking. It’s strange, Hux thinks, that he’s never imagined Kylo quite so human before, despite all of his emotional outbursts. Perhaps Kylo is the most human person Hux knows, with all of his feelings and the like -- but even so, Hux has never imagined him doing normal things, like sleeping, or waking up in the morning with lines on his cheek, or picking out clothes. To Hux, Kylo simply is -- like a force of nature, like the tide.
It’s a little dizzying, imagining him as anything else.
Dizzying, so Hux reaches out and steadies himself on the most solid thing in the room: Kylo Ren.
“Did you have a good night?” Kylo asks, moving so that he is a better anchor.
“Sure,” Hux says, because he thinks he did. He remembers the music, the roof, the punch. He remembers a warm hand on his cheek and the ghosting of breath over his ear. He remembers Poe inviting him back inside, upstairs, where it’s quieter. “It was fine.”
Hux has never been one for retreat. When he had gone home instead of agreeing to make the trek back upstairs into the unfamiliar house, it was simply because he had another engagement with Kylo -- not because he was running away. He wasn’t running to anything either, as much as his brain enjoyed throwing the possibility in his face.
“You sure?” Kylo asks, brushing one of those giant hands over Hux’s forehead. He’s suddenly so close . When did that even happen?
“Hux,” Kylo says. His voice sounds strange. Serious. But so different than when he had tucked that yellow ginkgo leaf into Hux’s hair, warm fingertips grazing against against the shell of Hux’s ear.
“Yeah, it was fine.” So easily, Hux finds himself tipping forward and folding into Kylo’s space. He’s just as tall as Hux, but he’s broad and radiating heat and steadiness. It’s so comforting when Hux rests his forehead against Kylo’s shoulder. Even more comforting when he turns and pushes his face against the warmth of Kylo’s neck. Lips against skin. Breath, hot against Kylo’s jugular.
He smells like sleep. Like the calm dead of night.
Kylo doesn’t move. He just stands there, stiff and solid. It’s so strange -- Hux is normally the one who is so rigid, so aloof. But it’s like they’ve swapped: Kylo feels like he’s trying to stay arms-length away, even though Hux is tucking himself against the other man.
It’s annoying. Hux feels the anger swell up in his chest like bubbling, molten lava -- the tight frustration from days of hard work and dutiful studying with no release, all begging to claw straight out from between his ribs. He just wants to move Kylo, to push that calm exterior out of the way. And the trouble is that he knows it’s there, too -- knows that Kylo’s own wrath is sitting right underneath his skin. Hux has seen it first hand. How dare Kylo try to repress it now.
He fists his fingers in Kylo’s soft shirt and yanks, pulling himself back so that he and Kylo are nose-to-nose.
Kylo’s eyes are so much brighter than Hux remembers. He doesn’t spend much time looking at the other man in the eye, perhaps.
He’s not sure where the swell of rage went, but it dissipated the moment he pulled back from that warm neck -- maybe it has something to do with the look of surprise on Kylo’s face. Hux searches for the biting heat of the feeling, but cannot find it. Instead, it’s replaced by a full warmth, like flames licking carefully at his gut.
“Hux,” Kylo says carefully.
Hux sways on his feet. Kylo is so close, so warm, so infinitely touchable -- why did he never notice this before? He’s so much more real than Dameron, who was too nice, too perfect, too much. Kylo is full of flaws and imperfections -- it’s what drew Hux to him in the first place and what had him sticking around.
Hux leans forward, brushing their noses together. He can feel Kylo’s breath, notices the moment it catches. Hux smirks, even though he’s dizzy. With that one catch, that one hesitation, he feels victory.
He watches Kylo’s lips for movement, for some sort of admission of defeat.
Then, there are firm hands circling his upper arms and --
he blinks and
-- suddenly Hux is horizontal, warm, and drowsy.
“Hey,” Kylo’s voice is sleep-rough and soft in his ear.
When Hux shifts to turn toward Kylo, he finds that his head is resting on Kylo’s shoulder. He is tucked in between the stifling heat of Kylo’s body and a railing of a bed. He turns away from the voice, suddenly more interested in his actual location. When Hux moves to take a closer, blurry look at the railing, he finds that they are actually about seven feet off the floor -- likely on Kylo’s loft.
What?
“How did I get up here?” Hux doesn’t remember. Did Kylo carry him ? “Did I fall asleep?”
“You were more drunk than I originally thought,” is all Kylo says. When Hux turns -- awkwardly and slowly in the small bed -- he levels Kylo with a look that expresses just how he feels about that half-assed answer.
Kylo smiles and the lopsided expression takes up his whole face. Hux’s heart thumps in his chest -- loud and hard -- and he feels like it echoes through the whole room. “You seemed really dizzy so I made you sit down. You kept sort of -- slumping over so I suggested you lie down.” Kylo chuckles. “You made a fuss about taking my bed and displacing me, so -- here I am.”
Hux frowns. “I don’t remember.”
“Yeah,” Kylo says. “You seemed a little out of it.”
Suddenly, there’s a bottle of water in front of Hux again. Not as cold as before -- it’s probably the same one as earlier. “Stay hydrated,” Kylo says.
Hux drinks and finds that it tastes good. Refreshing and light -- like water always does when you’re thirsty. When he downs enough, he lets the bottle fall into the sheets. He also lets his head fall back against Kylo’s shoulder. It all feels enough like a dream that he doesn’t feel the need to get up and push himself out of it quite yet. Right now, he just -- enjoys it. He lets himself. He doesn’t ever get this close to people -- and when he’s presented with the opportunity to, he typically runs away. Like last night. But even now he has to admit that this feels nice, being pressed up against another body like this.
It’s also helpful that he trusts Kylo, apparently. That too, comes with a rush of surprise. Kylo is a fixed point in Hux’s college life, but he’s never thought too much about it, never dwelled on the trust that apparently exists there.
With a sigh, Hux lets himself relax.
It could be a dream. It feels nice, so indulgent. If it were a dream, Hux supposes that wouldn’t be too disappointing. Maybe.
“Someone kissed me,” Hux says. He remembers the way Poe’s lips ghosted over his own in the firelight, the way he had suggested they find somewhere more private. Hux remembers pushing away, telling Poe that he was flattered, but he had other plans. And he could have, he easily could have gone with Poe -- but all Hux wanted to do in that moment, all he could even think of was retreating to the warmth of Kylo’s dorm and watching Star Wars.
“Oh?” Kylo says. His breath warms Hux’s hair, his nose pushing a bit against Hux’s scalp. It feels so intimate, like they’re so close . Like they’ve done this before and are comfortable in each other’s space.
Hux yawns, suddenly sleepy. “I wanted to watch movies with you.” As if it was obvious.
Kylo’s chest shakes under Hux. A silent laugh, maybe. He can practically feel Kylo’s smile as he feels an arm snake around him and pull him close, into some semblance of a horizontal hug.
“I wanted to watch movies with you too,” Kylo says.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Hux mumbles into Kylo’s shirt. The words slide from him so easily that he barely has time to think about them. “We could have a Star Trek marathon, instead. Since you already watched Star Wars tonight.” Hux thinks, judging by the number of Star Wars shirts he owns, Kylo could never get tired of them, but he doesn’t argue.
“Alright,” Kylo says. It feels a bit like meeting halfway. “The new ones?”
“Yeah,” Hux hums. “The new ones.”