Work Text:
I know you see me standing still
But when our fingers touch,
I feel my way back home
Pardon my delay—I’m navigating,
I’m navigating my head
-twenty one pilots, “Navigating”
It starts as a roar in his ears, followed by the sound of a heartbeat that is not his own. Then—silence. Just the echo of their shared, uneven breath.
Tonight, she lies with her back to him, her shoulders visibly hunched. Surely she is on that ship, that piece of junk that his fa—Han Solo loved so much. More than his own son, it seemed.
Kylo huffs quietly. Some wounds never heal. He clings to old hurts like some people hang onto personal mementos, storing them in his soul where they fester and rot. He tells himself—tells her—that they provide a well of endless darkness he can draw power from. But these days, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren doesn’t feel strong. He just feels tired, empty, and hurt.
Rey’s shoulders shift with her next inhale. Is she awake, Kylo wonders? Is she listening to his ever-circling thoughts, as disappointed in him as ever? Though half of him still burns with rage in the face of her judgement, the other half of him is pleased she hasn’t shut the bond yet tonight. He’ll take any attention she gives him, whether good or bad.
Kylo’s eyes trace her form in the dark, hungry for any glimpse of her that he is allowed. She is gravity, a black hole, a supernova—alive, burning brightly, inescapable. His fate. His destiny. Either Rey will stand with him at last, or he will die by her hand. He’s had visions of both outcomes; he still doesn’t know which he prefers.
With a sudden burst of movement, she rolls to face him, hazel eyes burning in the dark. “I won’t kill you,” she growls.
“You were listening.”
As if he hasn’t spoken, she continues, “But I won’t join you either, Ben.”
There it is. Her secret weapon. Even now, months after their moment in the turbolift on the Supremacy, he still flinches when she says that name. Why does she look for a dead boy inside a broken man? “Ben Solo is—”
“Alive,” she interrupts. “And he’ll come back. He’ll turn. You will turn, Ben. I know, because I saw it. Your visions aren’t visions—they’re nightmares. Can’t you see that?”
Tonight, his anger sparks to life in the face of her certainty. Her self-righteousness. Her naivety. “You think I want anything to do with your precious Resistance?” he snarls. “You think they want more than my corpse at their door?” He narrows his eyes. “And you. You left me for dead. All you’ve done since is look for new ways to destroy me.”
“Destroy you?” Rey scrambles up, dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she looms over him. “You put a bounty on my head! What am I doing to destroy you, Supreme Leader?”
Of course she doesn’t know. Of course she doesn’t realize. He isn’t surprised. He sits up slowly, forces his voice to be even, controlled. “Do you know what a war of attrition is?”
Rey’s brow furrows. It’s clear that she was expecting him to stay angry, not ask her this. Maybe that’s what compels her to answer truthfully. “No.”
“In a war of attrition, one side wears down the other through small, continuous attacks. Eventually, you defeat the enemy because they are exhausted, weary, and cannot continue.” Kylo tilts his head. “I’m surprised you didn’t know what it is, since that’s how you fight me.”
“I don’t—”
“Ah, but you do. You just don’t realize it, because you often hide your true intentions from yourself. But you are destroying me, Rey. And not through your misplaced hope,” he sneers, “but from the way you shut me out.”
Guilt flashes in her eyes. Now she understands. Now she knows just how she chips away at him.
“You told me I wasn’t alone,” he says quietly—and though he tries to keep the pain out of his voice, he can’t. “But you left me here. You lied.”
Rey’s breath hitches, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “So did you.”
Not on purpose. But she already knows that, so he stays silent.
For several moments, neither says a word. Then: “Ben.”
Wounded and broken, he meets her eyes. She’s holding out her hand like that first time, when they defied the laws of logic and touched across the stars. Kylo looks down at his own hand.
He shouldn’t.
But he does.
There’s no vision this time—just the shock of her touch, her calloused fingers solid and warm against his. Something strange blooms in Kylo’s chest in response, a feeling so foreign that he has no name for it.
Rey shifts forward, coming even closer, and lays her other hand on his cheek. Kylo lets out a shuddering sigh, shoulders slumping, and closes his eyes.
“Home,” Rey whispers. “That thing you can’t name—it’s what home feels like, Ben.”
He knows it’s cruel before he says it, but he can’t help himself. “How would you know?”
Rey laughs humorlessly. “Because I don’t recognize it, either.”
If he still had a heart, he thinks it would’ve broken at those words.
“Come home, Ben,” Rey pleads. And he must still have a heart, because for the first time, the sound of his old name doesn’t make flinch. Instead, it reignites the dying ember of hope—of light—left in his chest.
Still, he says, “I can’t.”
“You can.”
Their bond flickers, the threads of the Force tugging her back to her rightful place in the galaxy. Ben shakes his head. “I don’t know how, Rey.”
“You will, one day. And until then, I’ll be here.” She gives him a small smile, one that takes his breath away. “I’m very good at waiting, you know.”
He blinks, and she is gone. But the hope in his heart—the light—remains even after she fades from view.