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Maybe they should be used to it by now—the bond that connects them through the Force. But still, each time it opens across the Galaxy, it manages to take them by surprise.
This time is no different, only Kylo is so engrossed in the article displayed on his datapad that he doesn’t realize Rey is there until she sighs—loudly and pointedly—from underneath the thin blanket that covers the steel framed bed on her side of the bond.
Kylo jumps at the sound and fumbles with the buttons on the display, dropping the datapad to the ground in the process.
Rey turns to glare at him, fully prepared to lecture him—again—on the pattern of their planets’ shifting sleep cycles, but she stops short when she catches sight of his fumbling hands and burning cheeks.
It’s a lovely shade of red, really, not unlike the spitting crimson of his saber, and it’s slowly creeping from the apples of his cheeks to the tips of his ears, which just barely stick out from under his new Supreme Leader haircut.
Rey moves to a sitting position and narrows her eyes.
“What were you doing?”
She swears he goes a shade redder as he finally manages to snatch the datapad from the floor and power the screen off.
“Nothing,” he replies coolly, a failed attempt at nonchalance. “What—what are you doing?”
“Sleeping,” Rey answers dryly. “Or trying to at least. You see, different planets have different light cycles. Mine is approximately—”
“Four hours and thirty-six minutes ahead of mine,” he cuts in. “Yes, you’ve told me.”
“And yet here you are, clattering around like a luggabeast.”
“I wasn’t clattering, I was…” He trails off, eyes roaming to the ceiling and then to the floor.
“You were…” Rey prompts.
He pauses, mouth opening, then closing once before opening again.
“Reading,” he finally says, a bit faintly.
“Reading.”
“Yes, reading.”
And the flush is back in full force. Only this time, it spreads down his neck to the sliver of chest Rey can see just above the collar of his night shirt—black as space, as if he would dare wear any other color.
Rey’s gaze moves between that flush and the datapad clutched tight in his hands. He seems downright uncomfortable, fidgety even. Something she’s never seen him be before. Intense? Yes. Shirtless and unabashed? Also yes. But embarrassed? That one is new.
“Let’s hear it then,” she says, amused—and perhaps a little intrigued—by the idea of a flustered Kylo Ren. “It’s the least you could do, now that I’m awake.”
“No,” he blanches. “It’s, uh, it’s just damage reports. From Hux. Very dry, lots of numbers. Bore you to death.”
“Or to sleep?” Rey offers, an impish grin rising on her lips.
Ben’s grip tightens around the datapad and he runs a nervous hand through his hair, though his lips remain firmly shut.
“You’re hiding something,” she says, placing one bare foot on the floor. “What is it?”
“Nothing. It’s—just reports, like I said. Classified information.”
Her other foot comes to rest next to the other one, freeing her legs from the blanket.
“Liar.”
She stands.
“Really, Rey, I’d rather not do this,” he implores as he takes a step back from her.
“And I rather would,” she replies a second before she pounces, arms raised and hands outstretched.
She’s faster and lighter and she has the element of surprise, but still he manages to wrench the datapad from her grip half a breath after her fingers close around it.
He lifts it in the air, too far above her head for her to reach, so she ducks down instead, swiping one leg across the back of both his knees so that he falls to the ground in a heap. Rey snatches the datapad and darts to the other side of the room before he has a chance to move.
“Rey,” he warns with all the menace of a porg’s call as he slowly gets to his feet.
But she’s already powering up the screen, heart beating fast and a triumphant smile on her face.
She’s really quite pleased with herself if she’s being honest, but the smug satisfaction quickly dies as she reads the words written across the top of the page:
LOVE ON THE BATTLEFIELD: Are Kylo Ren and Rey of Jakku MORE than Enemies? A Star-Crossed Story For the Ages.
“What is this?” she manages to croak.
Ben sighs as he runs another hand through his hair.
“It’s an article.”
Rey’s eyes flit briefly to his.
“About you. And about me. About—about us?”
Now it’s her turn to flush. She can practically feel the splotchy redness rising on her face.
“It’s just gossip, silly rumors. You shouldn’t read it—”
“Oh, I’m reading it,” she exclaims. “If people are writing things about me, about us, then I should know what they’re saying.”
He sighs again, a dramatic thing that makes his shoulders sag.
“Fine,” he relents, crossing his arms. “I obviously can’t stop you. Be my guest.”
Rey resists the urge to roll her eyes before turning her gaze once more to the glowing datapad in her hands. And then she starts to read:
“The Galaxy’s citizens have watched with interest as the First Order has grown from a small political faction to an all-powerful war machine determined to unite the planets in our system under the rule of a singular leader, of the supreme variety—”
“Do you really need to read it out loud?” Ben interjects.
Rey fixes him with a stare. “I clearly interrupted you, I thought you might like to hear how it ends.”
Ben tips his head to the ceiling, shaking it slightly before gesturing for her to continue.
“While the regime has so far managed to secure control of most planets in the Mid Rim—only because we weren’t prepared for an attack of that size—"
“—It’s not my fault you’re using outdated tech and half-gutted speeders—”
“—Actually, it is! Or have you forgotten the fact that you destroyed our base?”
“That was Snoke’s call, not mi—"
“—As if you wouldn’t have done the same—"
“—and we’ve so far managed to avoid direct contact with your new base if you haven’t noticed--"
“—far be it from me to question the Supreme Leader’s military strategy—"
“—I don’t give a kriff about strategy, I’m trying to keep you alive!”
Rey’s next words die on her lips as Ben's seem to echo off the walls of his chambers and across the bond. She licks her lips, suddenly unsure what to say, but Ben takes a single solid breath, ribs expanding and constricting under his shirt as he gestures weakly to the datapad.
“Just—keep reading.”
Rey clears her throat and begins a bit shakily:
“It hasn’t been the smoothest of flying for newly minted Supreme Leader Kylo Ren. His opposition comes in the form of a small, but mighty group of individuals known as the Resistance—headed up by none other than the Supreme Leader’s mother herself, General Leia Organa. She’s joined by fresh faced Rey of Jakku, otherwise known as the Last Jedi.
Kylo and Rey have come to blows no less than three times, with the former scavenger directly contributing to the First Order’s defeat on Starkiller Base. There’s no denying that sparks seem to be flying between the rivals—and not only from their lightsabers.” Rey looks up from the datapad. “What does that mean? ‘Sparks seem to be flying’?”
Ben only shakes his head. “Just read.”
“Though there have been rumors of a familial connection between the two—” Rey scoffs. “What, like we’re sisters?”
Ben’s lips spread into a smile—an actual smile with dimples and crinkles around the eyes that Rey tries very hard not to notice.
“Brother and sister,” he corrects. “But yes, something like that. Just keep going.”
“—But those closest to the Supreme Leader say otherwise. ‘He’s totally gaga for the sand rat,’ says one unnamed source. ‘It’s embarrassing, really, not to mention traitorous given her allegiance to the very group of terrorists the First Order is working to eradicate.’”
“Terrorists?” Rey scoffs, choosing to ignore the ‘gaga’ comment. “The Resistance is trying to restore order, not dismantle it.”
“As is the First Order,” Ben shoots back.
“Yes, by brute force and with no regard for personal liberties or the sovereignty of already established nations.”
Ben only sighs. They’ve had this conversation before after all. More times than Rey can count.
“Okay, okay. Less talking, more reading. Got it.”
She scrolls further down on the page before continuing, “Another source from the Jedi’s camp disclosed, on the condition of anonymity, that Rey refuses to discuss the series of events which led to her presence on board the Supremacy (a Mega-class Star Dreadnought) where former Supreme Leader Snoke met his untimely end. ‘She comes back to the Resistance—new outfit, hair down, wearing mascara and tries to tell us nothing happened between her and emo space boy. Don’t let the good looks fool you, pal, this brain’s firing on all cylinders and I’m telling you something is up.’”
“I was not wearing mascara,” Rey retorts weakly, making a mental note to murder Poe in the morning.
And is she imagining it or has Ben somehow gotten closer? She could have sworn he was standing on the other side of the room when she started reading. Now he’s close enough for her to count the beauty marks on his face—not that she would. But the point is she could, if for some reason that was something she decided to do.
Ben just stares down at her and his eyes are bright even though the room is dark and his tongue slips out to wet his bottom lip before he speaks.
“Your hair was different,” he says, causing Rey to flush again at the memory.
“It came down when I fell in that creepy darkside hole,” she counters, back straight and hands clenched into fists by her side.
He steps a little closer and Rey catches his scent. Is it possible for someone to smell like the sun when they’re stuck in the endless expanse of space? Rey isn’t sure, but she breathes it in again anyway.
“It looked nice that way.”
Rey swallows. “It—it did?”
“Yes,” he breathes and Rey swears she feels it ghost along her face. “I like it this way too, though,” he continues, raising a hand to tuck a stray lock back behind her ear.
It’s the first time they’ve touched in months. Since the Supremacy, since her hand gripped around his thigh in the midst of battle. It’s barely anything, just a stroke of fingers against her temple, but it lights her nerves on fire and she shivers even though she isn’t cold.
“Are you going to keep reading?”
“What?” Rey asks, then remembering the datapad still gripped in her hand. The article—what did it say? Something about a spark?
“Right,” she clears her throat. “Yes, it seems something is up indeed. The only question is, will the maybe-star crossed lovers find some middle ground to stand (nay, lay) on? Or will this galactic will they/won’t they end in tragedy? It appears the Galaxy will just have to wait and see.”
Silence falls between them as Rey reaches the end of the article. Loud silence in which she’s sure she can hear her own heart beating much too fast. Or is it Ben’s?
“Well,” she says after a moment. “That was ridiculous, wasn’t it?”
Ben doesn’t answer. He just keeps staring down at her with an impossible look on his face and Rey has to try very hard not to step back. Or maybe she has to try not to step forward, she isn’t quite sure.
“Just gossip,” she continues, a bit hysterically. “Like you said. Silly rumors.”
Ben steps closer, closing what little space was left between them. She has to crane her neck to see into his eyes and is his skin always so warm? His hand was—that night on Ahch-To—but she can feel it emanating from his chest now. A delicious heat that jumps from his skin to hers and before she can stop herself, she shivers again.
Rey’s breath feels stuck in her throat as Ben tilts his head to the side, the way he once did when he still wore a mask.
“And what if it isn’t?” he asks. “Just rumors, that is.”
“It--,” she tries, stopping to force air into her lungs. “It would be a very bad idea.”
Ben’s lips quirk around the edges.
“The worst.”
“We’d probably end up killing each other, blowing up the other’s ship or something.”
“It does seem likely.”
“But—”
“—But?”
And he is very close now. Too close. Closer maybe than she’s ever been to another person. She waits for her instincts to kick in—the ones that tell her to fight or run or both, but they lay dormant, perfectly at ease in whatever part of her brain they live in.
So when he dips his head to brush his lips against hers, she doesn’t move away. She leans in to bring him that much closer.
His lips are warm against hers and even if they don’t quite know what they’re doing, they manage to find a rhythm anyway. A push and pull—sweet and frantic, wet and warm. Perfect.
The bond pulses, the Force hums around them, and somewhere on the floor, beneath a growing pile of clothes, the light from a datapad flickers and goes out.