Chapter Text
Kylo presses his face to the transparisteel barrier. “I know that I hurt you.”
The way his voice echoes throughout the ship’s brig—empty save for them—should be impossible. It feels like there’s nothing between him and Finn at all. Finn would wonder if Kylo’s using the Force to fiddle with the acoustics—but no, the Force-dampening manacles on him are perfectly intact.
“Oh, really?” says Finn, keeping his voice perfectly even. “Were you not aware that getting your back sliced open was painful?”
“I’m sorry,” says Kylo.
Finn sighs, swallowing the anger that was bubbling up his throat. “Are you?” he asks.
Kylo’s only response is to smush his features even further into the transparisteel, his glittering black eyes like burning coals. His gaze is intense, and far too familiar for someone whom Finn has only seen a handful of times in his life. Most of those instances were marred with pain, and terror, and regret.
Finn just wants this whole trip to be over. When Leia asked him to do what needed to be done, he’d almost refused. But if not him, he’d realized, then whom? Rey would rather let Kylo run amok than soil her hands by ending him. No, someone who truly knew what was at stake would have to deal with the defeated Supreme Leader.
“You think I deserve to die,” whispers Kylo, like it’s some sort of secret. He looks—as he always does—on the verge of tears.
Finn meets his stare, reminding himself that the man before him can not possibly read his mind—at least, not at present. “You killed thousands of innocent people.” He doesn’t mention Han Solo. It’d be uncharacteristically petty. Although it’s hardly as if Kylo is deserving of courtesy. “You stood by and watched the deaths of billions more. You ruled over the fascist junta that kidnapped and brainwashed—” He cuts himself off. It’s not like Kylo isn’t already aware of the war crimes he’s committed against the galaxy.
“I love you,” says Kylo. He says it severely, in the voice of the base medic assessing a terminal injury.
Finn draws in a deep breath. “I know.” In many ways, the thing between them is a wound. One he wishes he hadn’t let fester.
“Tell me you feel what I do,” Kylo pleads. “Or tell me you felt the same, at one time. At any time. Please.”
“We held hands. Once,” says Finn, tired of this. Tired of everything.
It happened years ago, when Snoke was still alive and Kylo still flinched whenever people called him by his supposed name. It happened on a planet called Pavor, a tidally-locked body with only a thin, gray strip of habitable land. Once, it was a stronghold of the Sith. Now it is a ruin, a shadow of what it once was. Snoke ordered Kylo to survey the ruins. Finn and the rest of his squad were sent as reinforcement in case the planet turned out to be the abode of some alien horror.
They stepped foot on that barren, desolate world together. Kylo screamed. Finn swallowed the terror that crawled up his throat. They were both nearly crushed by the weight of all the lives that were lost where they stood. Somehow, through it all, Kylo’s hand found Finn’s and then everything...everything stopped.
“Your beloved Republic won’t execute me.” Kylo says it almost mournfully, his voice dragging Finn from his thoughts.
“You’re right.” Finn lifts his hand. He feels the Force flow between them like a current. He feels the yawning chasm in Kylo. He feels how easy it would be to crush his throat. How easy it will be. “They won’t.”
Finn draws in a deep breath, and curls his fingers.