Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kylo Ren is staring at the sea. The water is cool. The sea is calm. The world is sleeping. There is no death here.

Kylo Ren is staring at the sea.

("If you're watching this, I'm dead.")

In the final week of the war, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren sabotaged his own fleet and fed crucial information to the Resistance. The Order fell, with its many members either dead or in hiding. Seemingly overnight, Kylo Ren became the only person left from the infamous First Order.

After the war, it was expected that Kylo Ren would be welcomed back to the New Republic as a high-ranking defector. The former Supreme Leader said nothing about his motives or desires, meekly following Rey of Jakku to the victory celebrations held by the Resistance. An official admittance of defeat was to be expected. The First Order would soon officially cease to exist.

By all accounts, Kylo Ren was not a born leader, and he had made no effort to rectify that. Resistance intel indicated that the man was volatile, brash, and much more inclined to fight than talk. However, when Kylo Ren finally addressed the Resistance, maskless, suitless and bloodied, he projected his voice with quiet authority:

“I am Kylo Ren of the First Order. I do not surrender.”

“In the event of my death, I ask for all my personal possessions to be incinerated, including my bed and my wine collection, excluding my cat. Do not harm my cat. Do not harm my cat. Millicent is to be rehomed.”

The New Republic’s main base was technically a Star Destroyer, redesigned and repurposed as a machine of peace. It was the second home to most members of the Council, equipped with leisure rooms and libraries and a frankly ridiculous array of escape pods. There were panic buttons in every room. The emergency lockdown protocol was reviewed yearly. Fire drills occurred twice every week. Blaster training was mandatory for those above the age of seven.

While all activities had to be officially conducted planetside, witnesses of the Hosnian tragedy preferred living somewhere they could evacuate immediately.

They named the ship The Hopeful. They denied all speculations that The Hopeful had originally been The Finalizer, but the rumors persisted.

(“Lord Ren. Welcome back…”)

Education was a priority in the New Republic. All lectures on The Hopeful lasted one standard hour. It was rare for the single lecture hall to be fully occupied; with courses like The Peacekeeper’s Toolkit and Introduction to the History of the New Republic, it was no wonder that every interesting topic became drier than Jakku.

Yet on one day every month, there was a special lecture series so popular that the doors were kept open for people to listen in.

Insanity 101.

It was a misnomer. Not every political figure discussed could be considered mad. Thrawn, for example, had shown no indication of being crazy. This lecture series was merely the New Republic’s version of rewriting history and spreading propaganda. It could be more accurately titled Evil 101, or We Really Hate Our Dead Enemies And You Should Too, but alas, nobody in the New Republic had the guts to be honest.

(“I HATE YOU!”)

Kylo Ren was waiting for next month.

He wanted to see it before he died. It was all that was left.

(“…possessions to be incinerated…”)

There were stairs in the lecture hall, leading to seemingly nowhere. There was a one-way mirror in the wall next to it. Rumors told of abandoned construction projects, or modern art, or a creative way to seat more students in the hall.

In reality, those stairs led to a luxury prison built into the very walls of The Hopeful, allowing the captive to stargaze or listen to lectures, in hopes of rehabilitation.

Inside the prison, there were holofilms for entertainment, mostly documentaries that featured the horrors of war. There was a pantry for food, though food rations were supplied through a hatch twice daily. There was a simplistic training room that contained a few heavy weights and not much else. The bookshelf consisted of Jedi scrolls and mundane works of fiction, which were all left untouched by its current occupant. Every inch of the reasonably comfortable prison was lined with Force-repelling material. The durasteel door was rigged to blow up the whole prison if forced open by any unauthorised beings.

For Leia Organa, this luxury prison was her twice-yearly ticket to visit her son. She could visit more often if she wanted to. But as long as Kylo Ren lived, Ben Solo was dead.

Organa’s next visit was planned for next month, right after the most anticipated lecture of all time.

Today’s lecture, however, was only slightly less popular: Darth Vader.

(“We found our spy.”)

Kylo discovered, in his first year as prisoner, that he did not care much about Darth Vader anymore.

In fact, he did not have the energy to care about much at all.

(“You have a beautiful voice.”)

“I didn’t feel it when he died,” was the first thing Kylo said to his mother, five years after the war ended.

“Ben,” Organa said, like a sigh and like a prayer. He had stayed mute for so long that she thought he was never going to speak again. Her hope was now renewed for, at the very least, a civil relationship. In her elation, it took her a few extra moments to process the first part of his sentence.

“Ben – Kylo – who died?”

Kylo was already turning his back to her, gazing vacantly at nothing. “He isn’t dead. I never saw the body. I didn’t feel it in the Force. I would have felt it, if he died. He isn’t dead.”

(“For at least one minute…”)

Each Insanity 101 lecture was given by someone different, and the gist was always the same. This lecturer blamed Vader for the annihilation of Alderaan.

No mention of his time as Anakin Skywalker, or his star-crossed romance with Senator Amidala. No mention of his slavery on Tatooine. No mention of his complicated relationship with Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, or of the difficulties Anakin Skywalker faced against the strict, outdated doctrines of the Jedi Council.

Even his last-minute rebellion to save his son’s life was portrayed as further proof of his madness, to have turned against his own master for an estranged son.

Kylo Ren listened to most lectures, despite his disdain. Every year was the same. The only improvement this year was the inclusion of Anakin Skywalker’s role in the Clone Wars, but it only served to depict Vader as a warmonger from the very start.

(“Glory to the First Order.”)

“We found our spy,” Allegiant General Pryde’s message had said.

No mention of fear, of shock, of burning pain, of hot blood seeping through a greatcoat. No mention of a corpse.

Kylo had never intended to kill the spy, regardless of who they were. He would have interrogated them, perhaps arranged for a public execution… And it was different when it was someone you knew.

Kylo wanted him alive.

What was the point of being Supreme Leader if he was dead?

Kylo Ren spent twenty years gazing into the vacuum of space. Days and nights blended together.

Sometimes he imagined glowing blue Jedi Masters appearing to him. One time, he even hallucinated Luke Skywalker telling him to let go of the past.

How strange, that his own mind could come up with such fantastically useless pep talks. How strange, that he could recall Luke Skywalker's appearance with such great detail, from his wrinkled robes to individual gray hairs.

Even stranger was when his mind invented a glowing blue man who looked like an overgrown angsty teenager — the imaginary man claimed that he was Kylo’s grandfather, which was blatantly false, because Kylo knew his grandfather had been disfigured after Mustafar. Surely, Kylo’s brain was malfunctioning.

He hummed the song and ignored them. They weren’t real. Nothing was real.

Kylo was biding his time. He was waiting. He had been waiting for twenty years.

“If you’re watching this, I’m dead.

“…FUCK PRYDE…

“…Resistance scum…

“…final message is dedicated to Kylo Ren. For Kylo Ren, I will have prepared a holovid, in a datachip, to be given to him in person. In the event of his death, or if it had not been watched within ten days, the self-destruct protocol will be triggered. I repeat, the holovid labelled FOR KYLO REN is to be given to Kylo Ren himself and to no other. That is all. Glory to the First Order… And the High Command can shove the stick so far up their asses that it comes out of their mouths. May Pryde be struck by apoplexy and die.”

Once, someone tried to poison Kylo’s food rations. 

It was an exotic dish from the Outer Rim, a delicacy that was poisonous to humans if prepared improperly. Once injested, there was no antidote.

He identified it instantly. His training with Snoke had its uses — and it was incredibly suspicious for a prisoner to be served seafood.

Kylo ate half of it, then forced himself to throw it all up. His fever lasted for weeks.

(“Careful, Ren.”)

Organa broke her personal rule of twice a year by storming back in the next day.

“You were talking about General Starkiller.” Her question was phrased like a sentence. There was a hint of a plea there, for Kylo to say otherwise. She was shaking, from fury and grief and disbelief. Kylo thought she looked old and weak.

He replied, “He isn’t dead, you know. I would have felt it." His own voice sounded different. Was it really him speaking? Did he always have this accent? Whose accent did he have now: Organa’s, Solo’s, Skywalker’s, Snoke’s, or…?

She was trembling less now. She had found his weakness at last, and she excelled at stabbing people where it hurt. She sensed his own plea there, for his mother to reassure him that everything was alright.

“So you do know how it feels,” she said simply.

The name Han Solo hung in the air between them, like a frayed thread. “Good,” she added viciously, vengefully. Almost immediately her expression twisted, as if regretting her own spitefulness, yet she did not apologize, nor did Kylo expect her to.

Even as Snoke’s apprentice, in the deepest edges of Kylo’s mind he knew he loved his mother. Hated her, too. It used to feel like poison in his veins. His hatred used to be a roaring, raging thing he could barely control, fueled by blurred memories and a boyhood grudge he never quite got rid of. Organa used to occupy so much of his thoughts and feelings. Now he felt a flicker of something, then nothing at all. 

Kylo closed his eyes.

He hummed a few notes experimentally, barely in tune. Music was forbidden on The Finalizer apart from instrumental pieces, but the high-ranking officers were not typically reprimanded for enjoying songs in private.

On The Finalizer, Kylo had only stumbled upon music once. Kylo had heard him singing in the shower, an old farewell song from his home planet Arkanis.

(“…we may or might never all meet here again.”)

Organa appeared stricken. She knew what he meant. Kylo knew she was scandalized: You fell in love with a genocidal maniac, Ben? How could you? He was a monster!

Kylo found some satisfaction in that.

“Stop laughing, Ren!” The General was stark naked and still dripping wet, which made it difficult for Kylo to treat him seriously.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Kylo gasped. “You’re still the best. Fearless and smart. Youngest and most accomplished general of all time. Brilliant strategist and inventor, and all that.”

Kylo made a show of ogling, then feigning disappointment as the man wrapped himself in a towel.

“Ren, we will never speak of this again.” His voice was ice-cold. His face was flaming red.

“Why not?” Kylo asked, half teasing and half sincere. “Your voice is beautiful.”

“Don’t patronize me, Ren. Go. Do whatever it is you need to do. I’m busy. The construction of Starkiller Base commences in—“

Kylo pushed his luck. “No goodbye kiss?”

(“Hey… Matt, darling?”)

What Snoke never knew was that Kylo kept a journal of his life. It wasn’t a physical journal; it was more like a locked chest in the darkest corner of his mind, buried deeply and covered in cobwebs. It was where he put Han Solo’s smiles and Leia Organa’s disastrous home-cooked meals and Chewbacca’s warm hugs.

Inside the locked chest, hidden even deeper within, was a small music box. It was wrapped in metal chains and welded shut in such a way that Kylo would be dead before any Force user could pry it open.

(“…we may or might never all meet here again.”)

The music box in Kylo’s mind played the voice of a tone-deaf man singing part of a song, with a shower running in the background.

(“For at least one minute…”)

The only time the pep talks worked was when a glowing blue imaginary man – who introduced himself as Ben Kenobi, but was clearly not the real person because the real person was dead – simply sat by Kylo's side, sighing but silent. No judgment, or at least nothing out loud. Merely offering quiet companionship in exile. Kylo liked this hallucination. It felt like Kenobi understood, somewhat.

“Did you miss me, General?”

“Ren, don’t be stupid. Of course not.”

“Lie,” Kylo pointed out smugly.

(“I HATE YOU!”)

The problem with Force-inhibiting collars and other Force-resistant materials, such as the ones used for Kylo Ren’s prison, was that the Force was ever-present. The Force flows through all living beings.

Seeing as Kylo Ren was not dead, the Force flowed through him, even when he was confined in a Force-blocking room. It blocked his connection to the Force, rendered him Force-null, but the Force was still there. The Force was everywhere.

Twenty years was a long time. Kylo taught himself to harness the Living Force. He tried commanding it, using the Dark Side to twist it into something tangible, then he tried gently guiding it with the Light Side. To no avail.

It was only when he begged the Force to listen – recalling the neatly folded greatcoat and the smoke of a cigarra and the cold sneer – that the Force showed him mercy.

Kylo held out a hand and concentrated. No passion, yet no peace. He could not quite feel the Force. He had to simply trust it was there. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do in prison. He held his hand out toward a window for what seemed like hours, shaking fingers clenching into a fist, feeling a growing pressure, as though his knucklebones would burst through skin, until—

     Crack!

One tiny crack, but it was enough. He was free. He could be free. Yet he found himself strangely reluctant to go outside, because he was waiting. He wanted to see it before he died.

So he covered up the crack whenever Organa visited, and waited, and waited.

Kylo waited for twenty years. Nobody knew he was waiting, but he had been waiting for twenty years to see it. It was all he had left.

(“In the event of my death…”)

Nothing was left of the disgraced former general. No badge or medal or uniform. Everything had been meticulously packed up and incinerated by one lonely stormtrooper, loyal till the end, obeying the fallen general’s last wish.

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren had Force-choked the stormtrooper for acting independently. He wanted to kill him for destroying everything.

Perhaps Kylo Ren was capable of sympathy, when he sensed the subdued grief in him — the stormtrooper lived.

(“Matt, darling?”)

There is no peace, there is only the Force.

Through the Force, I find order.

No order without — (ginger hair, greatcoat, sharp eyes) — passion.

Through passion, I find strength…?

Emotion, yet peace…?

Peace is a lie. There is only life, death and nothing.

(“…excluding my cat. Do not harm my cat.”)

It was a simple undercover mission.

Kylo became Matt, who was supposedly a radar technician, if that job even existed in the first place. Nobody knew Kylo’s face or true voice, so he got away with temporarily changing his name.

His co-commander changed into Bill Huxley. Huxley, just in case Matt slipped up with his last name. Unlike Kylo, he was highly recognizable. He had to slip back into his native accent, lilting and rhythmic, which occasionally made it difficult for Matt to understand what he was saying. ‘Bill’ wore a long-haired wig, the darkest red he could tolerate; he changed out of his greatcoat into something similarly long-sleeved; he left behind his personal blaster, but brought along his monomolecular blade; he resigned himself to wearing colored contacts that made his eyes itch. By the time ‘Bill’ was appropriately dressed, he was scowling.

In silent solidarity, Matt put on an obnoxious blond wig. He hoped it would make ‘Bill’ feel better. Judging by the smirk, it did.

The mission itself should have been beneath their notice. They could have delegated it to spies, and Matt suspected that even a clumsy stormtrooper could have done it, but ‘Bill’ had insisted they do it themselves.

‘Bill’ was a perfectionist, so Matt supposed it made sense. If you wanted something done right, do it yourself. But it was also a waste of their time and energy. ‘Bill’ clearly had an ulterior motive, intentional or otherwise. It sparked hope in Matt.

The mission was set for one day. Matt believed they could get away with three.

They ended up spending five days on that planet.

(“I’m scared, Ren.”)

Usually, Kylo woke up after two standard hours of sleep. He would make his way to his chair, the only one in his prison, and sit there contemplating the galaxy. The scenery rarely changed.

He was still waiting to see it.

Sometimes, when Kylo was particularly nostalgic, or when he worried he had lost his voice permanently, he would speak to the stars.

“Do you miss Arkanis?” The stars did not reply. “No, of course not. You’d never admit it, anyhow. But I’d like to go there someday, with you.”

(“HEARTLESS BASTARD!”)

Today’s lecture was Literature and Censorship, which Kylo thought was pathetically ironic. He personally remembered most of the examples given, but the focus today was on the newly uncovered diary of Rae Sloane.

Kylo could not help but feel disappointed.

(“In the event of my death…”)

They completed the mission in record time: five minutes. Matt was astounded that this could be considered a mission at all. Somewhere in the galaxy, a First Order spy was surely sobbing over this missed opportunity to sneak in vacation time.

Bill’s cover story included horribly embarrassing social anxiety. The skin around his eyes were rubbed raw, creating the impression that he had been crying non-stop for his entire life. Even Matt, who knew it was all an act, was constantly on the verge of sympathetic tears.

Bill was mumbling to the hotel receptionist, “Hi. Um, hello, sorry. T-two rooms? I mean, one. Two. One? I’m so sorry… I don’t know… Maybe one room? If that’s okay with you? Y-yes, for Matt and Bill Huxley.”

Although Matt knew Bill was simply trying to circumvent the issue of Matt not having a family name, it warmed his heart to see them both listed as Huxley. It felt so right.

After the receptionist murmured something in Bill’s ear, the stuttering man vehemently shook his head, nervously twirling a messy strand of red hair. “N-n-no! He isn’t, I’m not being, that is to say, Matt is nice. He’s nice. He’s my boyfriend. He won’t hurt me. Yes, I’m sure, I’m sure. Thank you…”

Boyfriend. Bill called him his boyfriend.

Matt felt something squeeze in his heart.

Bill returned to him, beaming. He clutched at Matt’s arm like a lifeline, eyes twitching whenever tourists came too close. “Matt, c’mon, let’s go get dinner. I want to see the fireworks display later.”

“No problem, darling.”

Bill’s grip faltered. 

(“I HATE YOU!”)

“Ren, we hate each other. We aren’t… lovers.”

“No, wait!”

“…This was a mistake.”

“Please, just—”

“May I take my leave now, Lord Ren?”

(“I’m scared, Ren.”)

Sometimes Kylo lay awake wondering whether he had felt Han Solo die.

Solo was not Force-sensitive, but he was connected to Ben. In theory, he should have felt it when Solo died. However, Kylo had not been Ben Solo in a long time, and the old man had become too unimportant to create ripples in the Force. Besides, Kylo had been preoccupied at the time. He would not have felt anything in the heat of the moment.

“I didn’t feel you die,” Kylo told the stars. “You’re different from Solo. I would’ve felt it, if you died.”

Kylo Ren is staring at the sea. The Force is silent.

Kylo Ren is staring at the sea, alone.

The first time Kylo saw the General was in the mind of a child.

She had seen one of the First Order’s propaganda speeches, and had been instantly won over. She had told her parents earlier that day that she wanted to be part of the First Order when she grew up. Her parents were allies of the Republic, and were horrified to learn about it. Partially out of spite, the child entertained numerous fantasies of meeting with or becoming like the First Order General in the holorecording.

Kylo did not think much of the child. He did not know who the ginger-haired cannon fodder was either. He very much doubted a short propaganda speech, full of half-truths and lies, could be that good.

Children were easily swayed. It meant nothing. That ginger-haired man did not matter.

(“We found our spy.”)

Out of some sort of misguided compassion, Kylo was given a double bed in his prison. Every so often he would reach out to the space next to him and – nothing.

("Long live the Supreme Leader...")

Rey had visited him twice, over the years.

The first time was a week after he was officially arrested. She tried to reason with him. Fake it till he made it, was her solution. Did he really want to make General Organa feel sad? He did not have to apologize; they were way past that stage. All he had to do was surrender. Then he could do anything he liked, except kill people, though that could probably be arranged too. 

The second time was ten years later. She was still not quite serene enough to be the perfect Jedi, but the Light in her sang. She located the crack in Kylo’s window immediately. Many emotions flitted across her face.

“You chose this,” she stated, “but you’re not happy.”

Kylo responded, “Did you feel anything? When… If he…”

“You mean General Starkiller? No, I didn’t feel it.” She placed a comforting hand on Kylo’s shoulder, not unkindly. “But… Kylo. He wasn’t Force-sensitive. We wouldn’t have felt him from so far away. And… You promoted Pryde, near the end. When he died, maybe he wasn’t important enough to be felt in the Force anymore.”

Kylo shrugged her hand off. “I’m tired, Rey. Get out.”

“Kylo,” she said, full of concern like the compassionate Jedi she was, “this can’t be healthy—”

“I SAID GET OUT!!!”

The cup on his table wobbled dangerously but did not fall. Rey pursed her lips and left. The crack in the window remained unfixed.

(“For at least one minute…”)

“Don’t.”

“Okay.” Kylo obeyed, keeping his hands to himself. Had he been too eager? Too rough? Were his hands too big? The rejection stung.

The General sighed, adjusting the pillow under his head. “I don’t like sex.”

“At all, or…?”

“Never tried. I just know.”

“But how can you know if you never tried?” Kylo questioned, sounding like a whiney kid. He might have been pouting. Through the Force, he reached out to caress the man’s ass.

“Don’t.”

Kylo stopped. “Is it because of me? I can turn the lights off.” He knew he wasn’t particularly attractive. His ears and nose were too big. His face was asymmetrical. His hair couldn’t decide what to do with itself.

“What? No. There’s nothing wrong with you. I just don’t like sex, that’s all.” While speaking to Kylo, he opened up his drawer in a practiced motion, retrieving and lighting his cigarra. He took a drag, eyes closed in bliss. He huffed out smoke and clarified, “I don’t mind being nude, and I like seeing all of you, but no sex.”

“Not even kissing?”

The man pondered that and smiled lazily, fluttering his lashes. “Why don’t you find out, milord?”

And their night ended with Kylo still in the General’s bed, both of their lips rosy red. Kylo was painfully hard, lying under the blankets next to an attractive man, but he felt oddly reluctant to excuse himself to take care of his little problem.

They fell asleep like that, their legs entwined.

(“…all my personal possessions to be incinerated, including my bed…”)

It was impossible to miss the FOR KYLO REN file. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the midst of the General’s carefully encrypted gibberish. Kylo inserted it into his own datapad. He felt hesitant. For all he knew, the so-called holovid was a dead man’s switch that could somehow kill him.

A pop-up appeared: Please enter your password.

Password? What password? He didn’t know any password. How was he supposed to watch the holovid without a password?

(“…I repeat, the holovid labelled FOR KYLO REN is to be given to Kylo Ren himself and to no other. That is all. Glory to the First Order.”)

Enter Password: 595673647788743

ACCESS DENIED: TRY AGAIN

Enter Password: armitagehux

ACCESS DENIED: DON’T BE STUPID REN

Enter Password: GeneralHux

ACCESS DENIED: PLEASE TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY

Enter Password: forkyloren

ACCESS DENIED: HOLOVID WILL SELF-DESTRUCT AFTER TWO MORE TRIES

Enter Password: starkiller

ACCESS DENIED: HOLOVID WILL SELF-DESTRUCT AFTER ONE MORE FAILED ATTEMPT SO STOP MESSING AROUND

Today’s lecture was about princess-turned-general Leia Organa. Kylo tuned it out completely, but it was inevitable that he caught a glimpse of the lecture slides. There wasn’t much else to look at.

It was an old photo of Organa, together with Solo, Skywalker, and the Wookiee. They were all smiling.

Kylo clenched his fist. His nails bit into his palm so hard they drew blood.

(“Careful, Ren.”)

“Don’t tell your mother,” was something Han Solo told his son often. It was the sort of thing Solo would say after Ben stubbed his toe on smuggled crates, or when he let Ben drink Corellian whisky at the age of five, or before Solo tried some crazy flight manoeuvre that could get them all killed. Ben used to resent that phrase. His mother had taught him honesty, and now his father was contradicting her for no good reason.

Ben was a terrible actor. His mother got the truth out of him every single time, and there would be another argument after they thought Ben had fallen asleep.

But the next time father and son were on the Falcon, Solo would give him that familiar wink and that equally familiar “Don’t tell your mother, yeah?”

Ben had hated it, when he was younger. Now he was older, and prison gave him lots of time to think.

(“Don’t tell your mother, son.”)

Kylo wondered if this was Solo’s version of a father-son bonding moment. He would have appreciated it a lot more if it had been spelt out for him that way. He would have also appreciated it if Solo hugged him more often, or said that he was proud of him.

The first thing that popped to mind after Han Solo fell dead was that haunting voice, shushing him: “Don’t tell your mother. It’s between you and me, alright?”

Enter Password: Huxley

ACCESS DENIED: BUT YOU’RE ON THE RIGHT TRACK, KEEP TRYING, I WAS LYING ABOUT THE SELF-DESTRUCT

Kylo Ren is staring at the sea. Water and water and water. He doesn’t want to be alone.

He stares at the sea.

(“In the event of my death…”)

“Master was right. You are a rabid cur. You’re cold. You’re a manipulative, greedy, cruel bastard who can’t even understand your own feelings. You killed your father, and you even killed your mother in childbirth. A murderer from the very beginning. You’re a monster, General. The galaxy would be better off without you in it.”

(“No problem, darling.”)

Today’s lecture was titled Introduction to the Machines of Doom. The lecturer was going into detail about the destructive properties of the original Death Star when, suddenly, a student raised their hand.

“Sir, how does the destructive properties of the Death Star compare to Starkiller?”

Enter Password: BillHuxley

ACCESS DENIED: ACTUALLY I NEVER LIKED THAT NAME

“Rey doesn’t understand,” Kylo told the nearest star. “She’s wrong. She didn’t know you, not really. You’re important. You’re not expendable. The Force will tremble in agony when you die.”

The fireworks display could not compare to lightsabers and blaster fire. It was superficial, shallow, and cartoonish. Matt watched Bill instead.

Bill seemed entranced, not rubbing his eyes for once, staring at the shimmering lights with his mouth hung open. His eyes were watery from oversensitivity. One arm was circled around Matt’s waist.

For a fleeting moment, Bill tore his eyes away from the fireworks to glance at Matt. Their gazes met.

Bill rubbed at his eyes, blushing.

When they got back to their hotel room, Bill took off his contact lenses, but left his wig on, and put on a pair of fake glasses. Matt got the message, and left his wig on too, despite it trying its best to slip off.

Bill browsed through his datapad. Matt was expecting him to go through military reports all night. Instead, Bill called out, “Matt?”

“Yes?”

“Do you like romantic comedies?”

Matt blinked. He wanted to see where Bill was going with this. “Sure. I guess.”

“G-great! I have a few recommendations…”

Afterward, much later, Bill’s head slumped on Matt’s shoulder. He was drooling. Matt removed Bill’s glasses, careful not to wake him. Bill’s expression was so serene in slumber. Matt shifted to his side to admire Bill properly. Bill grumbled; he was a light sleeper.

Matt gently planted a Force suggestion for Bill to stay asleep. He stared at his sleeping ‘boyfriend’ for hours.

Enter Password: MattHuxley

ACCESS GRANTED: SEE THAT WASN’T SO HARD YOU IDIOTIC NERF HERDER

Kylo developed a nasty habit of playing with his food. There was not much else to do in a prison.

Once, on his birthday, his mother had gone out of her way to send him a cupcake with rainbow sprinkles alongside his breakfast. It might have been her idea of a joke; after all, nothing screamed Light Side more than bright colors and sugary sweetness.

He ate the cake. It was good. Then he sorted the sprinkles by color, and by length. He used the Force to join each individual sprinkle end to end in one long chain. He stood up and experimentally swung it around like a whip. He managed to knock over his chair.

He ate the sprinkles after that, and was immensely disappointed when the mushroom soup he got for dinner proved to be significantly less entertaining.

(“I HATE YOU!”)

Kylo thought about it often: his bedsheets could be turned into rope.

All he would have to do was hold it up with the Force, put his neck inside the loop and kick away the chair. 

(“Careful, Ren.”)

But he was waiting, he reminded himself. He had already waited for so long, and he thought he could sense it finally arriving, like a steady tidal wave.

Within the next month, Kylo thought to himself. He hummed the song, with the faint sound of a shower playing in the back of his mind.

“Get over it. You’re not the only one with daddy issues, Ren.”

Unlocking the holovid was such a nerve-wracking experience that Kylo was convinced he was developing a heart condition.

He was disappointed to find out that the holovid was barely over five minutes long. He felt he deserved more.

Five minutes was not much time at all. Nothing would change.

("Ren, don't be stupid.")

Bill stuttered as much as ever. He was, however, secretly bossy. He phrased every order like a suggestion, and rubbed his eyes to the point of crying when he didn’t get his way. Matt liked this about him. It meant that the General was in charge.

Bill dragged Matt to the museum twice, then to the art exhibition. In retaliation, Matt brought Bill to the amusement park, where they both towered over the screaming children and earned a lot of curious looks. At some point, Matt suggested that they go to the beach. Bill disagreed, his Force signature wistful.

Matt reached into his mind; it should have been difficult, but the General’s secure mental defenses did not seem to apply to Bill, whose mind was achingly open to Matt’s probing. Currently, Bill was thinking about how they would not be able to keep up their disguise in the water, and, underneath that cold pragmatism, he longed for a real beach, the one on Arkanis that the other children went to on Life Day. Bill had no good memories of Arkanis, but the thought of returning home someday had kept him going all his life.

They didn’t go to the beach.

They retired to their hotel room on the last night, popping open the best wine credits could buy, and they drank the night away. Bill could hold his liquor surprisingly well; Matt had to resort to using the Force to keep himself clear-headed.

“Ren, Ren, Ren...” Or maybe the man wasn’t as sober as he looked after all. “I wish this could’ve lasted forever. Forever and ever and…”

“It can,” Kylo promised. He wasn’t sure how they could make it work, but he was sure they could do it.

“Oh, but we can’t,” his ‘boyfriend’ moaned, clutching his head.

“We can,” Kylo repeated softer, his heart squeezing painfully.

“Hey… Matt, darling?”

“…Yes?”

“I think I’m going to throw up now.”

Today’s lecture was about work-life balance. The lecturer had to utilize a few technicalities to present Organa as mentally healthy. He also illustrated several counter-examples, most notably Grand Moff Tarkin of the Galactic Empire, and also General… of the First Order.

“I never loved you, Ren. It was fun, and now it’s over. We have work to do.”

The words struck Kylo harder because those lips were still kiss-bitten, and the bed was still warm.

(“Supreme Leader, we found our spy.”)

Fifteen years after Starkiller, Kylo told Organa, “It was me. I knew he hated me. I told them to find the spy. It was me. I got him killed. I was the one who killed him.”

Organa sighed, making no move to comfort him.

“I killed him,” Kylo said. “Oh Maker, I killed him. It was me.”

Organa seemed at a loss for how to proceed. “As I recall, it was Allegiant General Pryde who—”

“He isn’t dead,” Kylo said, infusing his words with all the confidence he had left. “I didn’t feel it. I would have felt it. He isn’t dead. No, he isn’t.”

(“No goodbye kiss?”)

The first minute of the holovid was completely silent as the General paced. He did not look into the camera when he finally spoke.

“Ren.”

He licked his lips and ran his fingers through his hair, then smoothed it back, standing in front of a table, slightly off-center.

“Starkiller is ruined. Snoke is dead. I am disgraced…”

He played with something in his hands. Metal wires, Kylo realized. The General was twisting them into the shape of a cat.

“...I still hate you.”

Kylo breathed out shakily. He wasn’t sure if he could endure four more minutes of this.

“But I hate everyone. That doesn’t mean much.”

Kylo paused the holovid. He continued it after meditating.

“You’re right. I am a bastard. That can’t be helped. I suppose I did kill my birth mother, and I certainly took great pleasure in killing Brendol Hux.

“My birthright has always been to fight and kill and die. To do whatever it takes. It is not the happiest life, but it’s necessary.

“You’re right, I am a monster. I killed billions of Hosnians to make a statement, and that statement was war for war’s sake. I did not try to negotiate.

“My reputation has died before me, but the legacy of Starkiller will live on. I am not worried about that. My legacy lives.

“All my life I have served the Order. Loyally, I daresay. Just a few months ago I was eager to die for the Order’s cause. Even earlier, in my youth, there were times when I stood in front of an airlock, or stared at the sea near the Academy, and I wished my death would come quicker. I thought I was ready.

“But now I’m scared, Ren.”

Kylo Ren is staring at the sea. Water and water and water. He tells it softly, “Arkanis is beautiful.”

(“Long live the Supreme Leader…”)

Ben Solo scowled at his parents. “But, Mom! I already said I’m sorry!”

Han Solo shrugged. “He has a point, Leia.”

Organa shot her husband a glare. “I’m trying to teach our son a very important lesson. You’re not helping.”

Han Solo raised his hands, surrendering to her parenting wisdom. He walked away, but not before clapping Ben on the back, murmuring, “Your mom doesn’t like saying sorry either.”

“Han Solo!”

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving...”

Organa crouched down by her son’s side. She looked disappointed. Ben hated it.

“Ben,” she said slowly, with all the condescending patience adults usually possessed. “I know you apologized. But you didn't mean it. You need to understand what you did was wrong.”

“But you keep saying things you don’t mean too,” Ben argued petulantly. “Dad says it’s part of growing up. He says that part of being an adult is lying to people all the time, and then regretting it later.”

Looking into her son’s innocent eyes, Organa frowned and called out, “HAN SOLO! You come back here this instant!”

“I’m not here!” Solo’s voice yelled back. “Please leave a message…”

(“You're a monster, General. The galaxy would be better off without you in it.”)

“You’re a good kisser,” Kylo gasped, pleasantly surprised. He felt warm all over.

“Of course, Ren, I have years of experience. I wasn’t born a general, and I’m not above fighting dirty to get what I want.”

“Well,” Kylo licked his lips. He smothered the green-eyed beast in his heart. The bed was soft beneath him. He felt like drowning. “But now you’re already a general. You’ll never have to do this with anyone else. You're mine.”

“Is that so,” the man on top of him murmured. Kylo could tell he was skeptical. The ginger declared, “I belong to nobody but myself. As for you… Tonight, you belong to me too.”

“If you’re watching this, I’m dead.

“…just dump them all in a fire, I’m dead, I obviously can’t fucking care anymore…”

“To Allegiant General Pryde, I would like to extend my heartfelt apologies for not ending your life myself. I have planned your murder in great detail.

“First, poison. The slow-acting kind that merely induces paralysis. I’d slice you, shallowly, everywhere. I’d cut off an inch of your stupid tongue every day, and I wouldn’t disinfect the blade first. I’d break half the bones in your body. I’d start at your dominant hand, slowly sawing off your flesh joint by joint, until you become an incoherent limbless mess.

“I’d donate your kidney to a sarlacc.

“After that, you’d be kept alive for a whole month. Sleep-deprived, of course. I’d be playing your favorite song for you on a loop. And if I decide to be merciful, I'd plunge your own femur bone straight through your heart.

“Killing you won’t curb my rage but it would certainly make me feel better.

“What a shame that I won’t be alive to see you rot. I had such plans for you. You should be honored that I was willing to waste so much time plotting your demise. Whoever kills you will not care as much as I do. They won’t do it properly. For that, I extend to you my sincerest apology.

“And stars forbid it be you who kills me, but if so, I hope you trip and choke on your own dick with the whole galaxy watching. Fuck you, Pryde.”

Kylo’s meditations for the past twenty years brought him no clarity. His mind wandered, always to the subject of mortality.

The Force sent him visions, not of the future but of the past.

He watched helplessly again and again as the General slid across the ground of The Steadfast. (Wake up, darling, wake up.) The body remained unnaturally still. And then came Pryde’s cold report: “We found our spy.”

Fatal wound. Point-blank range. No breathing. No heartbeat. But Kylo never felt him die. He was not dead.

(Wake up, darling, wake up.)

("He's my boyfriend. He won't hurt me.")

Today’s lecture was on the functionality of military attire. The traitor FN-2187 had been invited as a guest speaker. The former stormtrooper glanced at Kylo’s one-way mirror, grimaced, and looked away.

It was a decent lecture. The students laughed at the poor quality of stormtrooper gear. As an assignment, they were encouraged to design improvements.

After thanking the traitor, the lecturer continued talking about uniforms of every military rank: “…generals in the First Order were not expected to fight in person. They were arrogant. While there were rumors of generals hiding blades up their sleeve, they were typically equipped with only a high-quality blaster. They did not wear conventional armor. The only recorded instance of a general wearing a blasterproof vest underneath their greatcoat was during…”

“Matt, it’s already afternoon. We’ve got to go…”

Matt groaned, hugging his pillow harder. “Just one more minute,” he begged. The bed was too comfortable, and his hangover made his brain feel like Millicent’s hairballs.

“Captain Phasma is waiting,” Bill said. He did not sound too happy about it either.

“Let her wait,” Matt said, drawing his ‘boyfriend’ in for a lingering kiss. It felt like a messy goodbye.

“Just one minute,” Bill agreed, uncharacteristically.

(“For at least one minute...”)

“Security is guaranteed. The design of Starkiller Base is flawless, Lord Ren. I did the calculations myself. Any starship capable of destruction at this magnitude would not have the opportunity to even breathe within a two-lightyear radius. And we have you, the Supreme Leader’s watchdog. Or are you saying that you can’t defeat a couple of Resistance scum?”

The please be careful on Kylo’s tongue was swallowed down. His throat was dry. Through his helmet, he gave the man a cold glare. “For your sake, General, I hope you’re right.”

Dear Hux,

How are you?

Dear General,

What are you doing now?

Dear Armitage,

I miss you.

Lord Ren,

The Supreme Leader has demanded a holo-meeting at 2100 hours. He has explicitly forbidden your presence. I will be using the usual conference room, and I do not expect the meeting to exceed two standard hours. Wait for me.

Regards,
General A. Hux

(“Hey… Matt, darling?”)

The General had shockingly sturdy mental barriers. Kylo could not often get a read on him. The General also had a talent for projecting certain thoughts, and Kylo could never tell whether it was intentional. That afternoon, the General was projecting at Kylo:

I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate—

("If you're watching this, I'm dead.")

“The waiting’s almost over,” Kylo muttered to the stars. “Twenty years. Twenty lightyears away. I’ve been waiting for this moment for such a long time…”

He sat there, unmoving, until he felt an itch in his eyes. He rubbed at it.

“…I wish you were here.”

(“Long live the Supreme Leader…”)

“But now I’m scared, Ren.”

Scared of what, Kylo wanted to scream. Don’t be scared. You aren’t supposed to be scared. You’re never scared.

The man in the holovid looked at Kylo with a piercing gaze. “I have not defected. I will never betray the Order. But…”

More animals made of wire appeared on the table behind him. Some of them toppled over. Those steady hands were now shaking.

“But the Order isn’t the Order, is it? It isn’t my Order anymore. I can’t believe you—” The General rubbed at his eyes. “Forgive me. It has been a long day.”

His smile was grim.

“I don’t know you, Ren. I thought I did, but I don’t. And now I have sealed my fate.”

Instead of making another cat, he was twisting one long wire on his table, using his body to hide it from Kylo.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about where it all went wrong, Ren. For the Order, for me, for us…” He rubbed at his eyes again, revealing crisscrossing scars scratched across his neck and wrist.

“Remember that fight we had, in my quarters? I told you that I’ve never loved anybody in my life, and you said I was lying.”

Kylo did remember. That night was the beginning of the end.

“I didn’t think I was lying. I have never loved before. I wouldn’t know what it feels like.

“But in retrospect, I owe you an apology, Ren. I think… I think you were right.”

“Just let it out, son.” Han Solo patted Ben’s back awkwardly as Ben gagged, one more drop of vomit soaking into the dirt road. “You’ll get used to it. Next time, we’ll try beer from Tatooine.”

Ben groaned. “Dad? I don’t feel so good…”

Even as a child, he could sense his father’s rising panic in the Force: “It’s fine, you’re fine, it’s okay. Just let it out. It’ll pass.”

Solo was right. It did pass.

Solo carried Ben back to the Falcon, never forgetting to remind his son: “It’s our secret, yeah? Don’t tell your mother.”

"General."

"Lord Ren. Welcome back to The Finalizer."

On the day of Organa’s scheduled visit, the lecture hall was crammed with students and reporters and council members. “Welcome back to Insanity 101. Wow. Students on this side, sit closer to make room…”

“Today’s lecture is about one of the most controversial political figures in recent memory: General Armitage Hux of the First Order, most widely known as General Starkiller.”

“Stay,” Kylo pleaded.

“I’m not leaving,” the topless man grumbled. Yet he was still walking away from Kylo. “I’m going to the fresher. It’s my bed. My quarters. I can do whatever I like. If anything, you should be the one leaving.”

“I’m staying,” Kylo declared.

For one horrible moment, Kylo thought he was going to get kicked out anyway.

All Kylo got was a careless shrug and a fading voice: “Suit yourself, Ren, but grab your own blanket. I’m not sharing.”

In the holovid, the man spun around in his chair, holding up the wire that was now twisted into elegant cursive letters: KYLO_REN

It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever done with Kylo's name.

“Sorry,” the man frowned, “I can usually do better than this. I’m out of practice.”

A holoimage was projected onto the wall. Even as an unmoving picture, the General’s fierce eyes pierced straight into each of the students’ souls.

“Toward the end of the war, General Hux acted as an anonymous spy for the Resistance.” The mutterings grew louder. “To this day, his motives for doing so remain unclear. The most likely reason was his well-known hatred for Kylo Ren, his rival who later became Supreme Leader. According to the First Order’s chain of command, that title should have gone to General Hux. We speculate that his resentment grew, which led to him leaking information about Emperor Palpatine, ultimately helping the Resistance win the war.”

The lecturer held up one hand to gain her audience’s attention. “For your assignment, each of you will have to analyze General Hux’s Starkiller speech, which some of you may remember was broadcast on all frequencies by the First Order.”

The crowd grew louder.

“Hush!” The lecturer slammed her palm on the table once, hard, for emphasis. “I realize that the holovid is not available to the public. We will be watching it here, right now, and you are to take notes. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, feel free to leave, and I will assign you two essays on Darth Vader instead.”

Kylo stood up from his chair, making his way to his one-way mirror. He rested his forehead on the cold glass, unblinking.

“Are there any questions? If not, we may begin. Remember to take notes! The recording will only be played once.”

The time had come. There was a new star in the sky.

Twenty lightyears away from the Hosnian system. Twenty years Kylo had waited. The explosion of five planets was visible at last. The power of Starkiller could finally be witnessed from here, as a tiny speck of light on Kylo’s window.

It twinkled.

Kylo rested a palm on the window, hot breaths fogging over the glass. “I can see it, Hux. Your legacy… It’s beautiful…”

The man in the holovid was straightening out the metal wires.

KYLO_REN

KYLO_R__

KY______

K_______

“As I was saying, you were right. Now don’t you dare be smug about it; you’re bound to get something right at some point. That’s just probability. It’s statistics.”

He was twisting those wires again, this time into an arm band that he fastened to his skin. Kylo wondered if the wires were still there, under that greatcoat, when—

“It is true that I have never experienced love. I wasn’t trying to lie, but in retrospect… I just want to tell you...” He rubbed at his eyes. His eyes were red. “I think I did love you, at some point…”

Kylo shook his head, subconsciously leaning closer to the holovid. “No, not like this. You can’t do this. That’s not fair—”

“…if only for one minute. At least for one minute.”

Kylo felt a burning itch in his eyes. “No, Hux, you’re lying. You don’t mean it. You’re being cruel. You just want me to feel sorry—”

Naturally, the man in the holovid could not hear Kylo’s pleas, repeating, “For at least one minute, I loved you, most ardently. I still hated you, of course, but I think we have long since established that love and hate are not mutually exclusive. It would have been easier if I didn't care, but I loved you. You must be laughing now. It's ironic that I would have willingly died for you at some point, and now, here we are...”

Kylo struggled to breathe. This could not be happening.

A datapad pinged. It was not Kylo’s. The man in the holovid read whatever message it was and sighed. “Kijimi… Here? Seriously? This is my worst nightmare. Come on, I wouldn’t have chosen to come here at all, let alone die here...”

Kylo covered his face in his hands and screamed, “You can’t do this to me! It’s unfair. Why, Hux, why?”

The General, for the last time in the holovid, looked directly at Kylo. He was visibly afraid of something. “I have to go do — some stuff. I’ll — I’ll be right back… Kylo.”

Their five minutes were up. The holovid ended.

Kylo stared blankly ahead. “That’s it? That’s it?! You couldn’t have come up with a better lie than one minute? One minute?! You’re too cruel. It's unfair. You can’t do this to me. Do you hear me, General? You can’t do this to me!”

With a roar, the Force exploded around him. 

When Kylo came back to reality, his room looked like it had suffered the full force of a planetquake. The lights were shattered. The walls were falling apart. Beneath his feet, The Steadfast itself was cracking.

His datapad, along with the datachip, had broken into a million pieces.

Matt was staring at Bill’s sleeping form. He pressed kisses against the General’s skin.

“I love you I love you I love you I love you I love—”

The holorecording was enlarged for the viewing pleasure of over six hundred New Republicans in lecture hall. It was color-graded in such a way that the speaker seemed to be glowing, the pale specter of death, contrasting brightly with the blood red banner behind him. The speakers were on their loudest setting.

“—LAST DAY OF THE REPUBLIC!”

The lecture hall was deathly silent. Nobody was writing notes. Even the lecturer was transfixed.

Kylo Ren stared uncomprehendingly at what was left of his datapad. It was the final nail in the coffin.

He rubbed at his eyes. He wanted to claw at them, gouge them out. He wanted to burn The Steadfast to ashes. He wanted to kill everyone. He wanted to kill the cruel, cruel man who broke his heart all over again.

The room was dark and blurry. His vision swam.

He finally choked out, barely above a whisper: “…Armitage.”

("If you're watching this, I'm dead.")

Matt groaned, still hungover. “One more minute…”

"You already had your one minute," Bill replied, nestled against Matt’s chest. Despite his words, he made no move to get up.

Bill’s voice sounded odd, Matt thought to himself groggily, but soon he was drifting off again…

("He's my boyfriend. He won't hurt me.")

(“We found our spy.”)

“I’m leaving, mother.”

If Organa was surprised about the last word, she hid it well. She did not concern herself with asking how or why, instead questioning, “Are you sure, Kylo?”

(“Careful, Ren.”)

“I know you hate my name. Don’t pretend. You can call me Ben, or Matt, or whatever,” Kylo said tonelessly. “It doesn’t really matter. I’ll be leaving after dinner. Will you sit with me?”

Kylo sat on the floor, crossing his legs. His motioned toward the threadbare chair — the only chair in the room. Organa sat. She was taller than him, this way.

When it was clear that Kylo had nothing else to say, Organa spoke up. She did not ask the questions she should have: are you leading a new Order, what are your plans, will you kill anyone.

“Where will you go?” she asked instead.

Her voice was softer than Kylo remembered. He sensed that she was weary. A weary old woman waiting for death. Pitiful. She was dying — and so was everyone else. Everyone alive would be dead eventually.

Dead, dead, dead.

The power of Starkiller was great and terrible, but it all seemed so far away now. Kylo stared at the tiny twinkling star in his window.

(“Don’t tell your mother.”)

“I’ll find him,” Kylo decided. “I would have felt it, if he died. He isn’t dead. I’ll find him.”

They lapsed into silence as Kylo slurped some noodles into his mouth. His table manners were horrible now. Not that there was much of a table in here.

“Are you sure, Kylo?” Organa repeated. There was an undercurrent of sadness in her Force signature. 

“I’ll find him,” Kylo answered.

When they finally returned to The Finalizer, Captain Phasma was waiting, and impatient. “What took you so long, General? Lord Ren causing trouble?”

Kylo wanted to choke her for her insolence. Why did they always assume it was him making mistakes? But he was still in too good of a mood to complain. Let the General do his thing.

Kylo stared at the ginger hair, the calculating eyes, the cold gloves and the tidy greatcoat — and wondered if the past five days were a dream.

“We just needed a minute,” the General replied tersely, voice oddly quiet.

(“I'm not leaving.”)

The lecture hall was entirely silent.

Those blazing eyes shining with tears of pride… The dead general had been so much larger than life. The sheer magnitude of what happened – even now nobody had truly recovered. It would be centuries before the gaping hole in the galaxy began to mend, and even longer still for that one act of terrorism to be forgotten.

The lecture had technically ended, but no one left the hall.

It was a while before someone muttered jokingly, “Wow, he seems like a great guy.”

A few students chuckled awkwardly. The lecturer pinned the person with a gaze that could be described as absolute disappointment.

“People are complicated,” she said simply. “General Hux lived an eventful life. Yet he never published a memoir, as in the case of Peavey. He never even took part in a personal interview. Unlike most historical figures we analyze for our course, General Hux has never explained his personal opinions, nor had he defended his actions in public, despite his own obvious zealotry. He is known for Starkiller, but the project is too much to be pinned on one person alone. For all we know, he had no choice in the matter.”

The lecturer took a sip of water before concluding, “He was a genocidal extremist, but he helped the New Republic win the war. We don’t know whether he had ever felt guilt or remorse for what he did. Who knows, perhaps he really was a ‘great guy’. He was a real person. Maybe he liked kissing cats and drinking tea and playing dress-up. Who knows? What I do know, however, is that I know your father, Henry, and he won't be happy about you treating this topic with so much disrespect.”

The student, whose name was apparently Henry, stood up abruptly, blabbering excuses and incoherent apologies.

“Save it,” the lecturer said dismissively, “I know how the public feels about General Starkiller, and I don’t wish to discuss him any further. Lesson’s over. Fuck off.”

(“Do not harm my cat. Millicent is to be rehomed.”)

Organa was too tired to cry, yet too sad to act unconcerned. She drew him in for a hug. Kylo hugged back. They both knew this was the last time they would ever see each other.

“I’m sorry, son,” Organa whispered into his chest. “I love you.”

Kylo held back all the hurtful words on the tip of his tongue. Organa’s words were like hooked barbs in his skin. She hadn’t expressed this kind of affection when she sent Ben Solo to Jedi training. Perhaps nobody would have died, if she had.

“…I know,” was all Kylo could say in response. He felt her body shudder in his arms. “I’m sorry too, mom.”

(“I HATE YOU!”)

(“I love you I love you I love you I love—”)

After everyone handed in their Insanity 101 assignment, the lecturer opened the bottle of whiskey she had been saving for forty-one years. She sighed. She was too sober for this.

There were the usual: demeaning remarks about the General, analyses that gradually veered off-topic into surprisingly well-written albeit biased attacks on First Order ideology, subpar half-page essays that were clearly rushed at the last minute.

Several students wrote their essay by hand. It was a waste of paper, a careless flaunting of wealth, and only served to put the lecturer on edge.

In the margins of one student’s essay, there were scribbles made by two people. The lecturer frowned. She had hoped her students were past the passing-notes-in-class phase.

Out of curiosity, she squinted to read the only comment that the student had bothered trying to erase, barely visible:

actually i think hux looks damn hot

("If you're watching this, I'm dead.")

Some nights, when Kylo could not even manage two standard hours of sleep, he would lay awake, staring at the plain ceiling of his prison cell.

“I was just so angry, after Crait… Pryde was just a puppet. It was always going to be you. I would’ve made you Grand Marshal, I swear. I would’ve made you Emperor. I would’ve placed the galaxy in your hands…”

“General Organa?”

But Leia isn’t listening. She thought she had already made peace with her life and her family. She didn’t realize he still holds so much power over her.

Through her comm, Rey is growing worried. “General? Leia!”

Leia blinks, grounding herself in the present. “Sorry, Rey. You were saying?”

“Should I go after Kylo Ren?”

Leia remembers her son’s first birthday — Han’s nervousness and laughter. Her breathless joy. Luke’s silent wonder, that the war was over, that a new hope was alive and well, that a new age of peace had arrived.

“Leia?” Rey calls out through the comm. “It’s not too late yet. I can get him back. Should I go after him?”

“He already knows the truth,” Leia eventually says. “He feels it in his bones, like I did when Han... He knows the truth, but he doesn’t want to believe it. It’s his choice.”

“So,” Rey trails off, “I shouldn’t go after him?”

Yes. No. “That's not what I said.”

Redesigned and repurposed; yes, but strolling through the corridors of The Hopeful gave Kylo the worst case of deja vu. The layouts of Star Destroyers were extremely similar. 

("Lord Ren. Welcome back to The Finalizer.")

“You can’t see me,” Kylo told any New Republican that grew suspicious of his presence. The Force suggestion took root in their minds, and Kylo roamed free.

He was in no hurry. He had no plan.

His feet brought him to a painfully familiar doorstep, to quarters that were not his own.

Unthinkingly, he entered an equally familiar keypad combination. Funny how he still remembered it: 595673647788743. Nobody had been allowed to even breathe near the General’s quarters, not that Kylo would have allowed it, but that paranoid fool had set up numerous security measures anyway…

ACCESS DENIED

Kylo sighed. He could not feel any Force signatures in the room. Nobody was home. It belonged to someone else, anyway. And Kylo had never stayed outside these quarters for long; he was more intimately familiar with its interior…

These quarters are not his, Kylo reminded himself. He walked away, rubbing his eyes angrily.

“I HATE YOU!”

“OH YEAH? I HATE YOU TOO!”

“CHILDISH, IGNORANT, RECKLESS FOOL!”

“HEARTLESS BASTARD!”

Organa was leaving first. Plausible deniability, or maybe she didn’t really care anymore. “Goodbye, Kylo.”

It was clear that she wanted to say more. But she said nothing, in the end. Bloody typical.

Kylo was sitting on his chair again, staring at the new star in his sky. “Is it worth it, mother? Twenty years?”

Organa began, “I don’t—”

“Twenty years,” Kylo ranted, his voice growing as his infamous rage roared back to life. “Twenty fucking years doing nothing. Waiting to see echoes of his life’s work. Ripples of his existence, but it’s not enough! It's so tiny from here. Five years before that fighting and fighting and fighting. We argued every time we met. We never talked. Nobody talks to me. Why do people expect me to understand what they aren’t saying?”

He sounded like a lost little boy.

Organa looked at him sadly.

“Twenty years,” Kylo said, “and five before that. And another year before that. It was the best one, but it was only one year. So altogether that’s twenty-six. Twenty-six miserable years. Is it worth it?”

“Worth what?” Organa indulged him, something anguished blooming in her heart.

(“For at least one minute, I loved you, most ardently.”)

“Twenty-six years for one minute. Is it worth it?” Kylo laughed. It sounded like a sob. “Might not even be one minute. He’s a liar. So, do you think it’s worth it, mother?”

Organa’s gaze shifted from Kylo to the stars outside. He knew she was thinking about Han Solo. “Only you can decide that, Kylo.”

And much later, after Organa left, after Kylo shattered the one-way mirror and walked down the steps to the lecture hall… Kylo thought he must be the most pathetic man alive, murmuring to thin air:

“Worth it. Twenty-six years for one minute. Do you hear me, General? You’re worth it.”

(“…excluding my cat. Do not harm my cat. Do not harm my cat.”)

Bill was suspiciously happy today. Matt sent him a questioning look.

“It’s a surprise,” Bill said, kissing Matt chastely and disappearing into the refresher. Matt was intrigued.

After lunch — technically their breakfast — Bill and Matt headed to the great open plains. Bill drove a rusty old speeder. Matt clung to Bill’s waist for dear life.

When they arrived, Bill scratched the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s a flight school. This planet used to be the biggest manufacturer for all kinds of ships, dating to before the Empire. Its glory days are long past, but there's still a huge selection for us to try out. I got you an unlimited day pass.”

Matt was speechless.

“Or we c-could do s-something else,” Bill stuttered. “We could go to the beach, like you wanted, or—”

Matt kissed him.

When they broke apart, Bill grinned. “So I guess you like my surprise?”

“I love it, darling.” And he couldn’t help but add on, “I don’t actually like the beach. I can’t even swim.”

(“In the event of my death...”)

Some nights, after Kylo woke up with wet eyes and a sore throat, he would keep repeating his mantra of “I’m sorry I’m sorry please come back I’m sorry I’m so sorry forgive me I’m sorry—”

(“In the event of his death…”)

The meddroid beeped in answer. “Separation anxiety, Supreme Leader. She is malnourished.”

“So I have to force her to eat more?” Kylo asked, stroking Millicent’s fur. The cat in question was on the verge of dozing off again. She was lethargic all the time now.

The droid made a noise. “Unfortunately, Supreme Leader, Millicent is already stretching the limits for the life expectancy of her species. It is unlikely that she will recover. Euthanasia is recommended."

Millicent yowled, wide awake now after Kylo gripped her too hard.

“I’m sorry,” Kylo apologized, stroking her fur gently, “I’m sorry.”

(“No goodbye kiss?”)

Kylo Ren is staring at the sea.

“Arkanis is beautiful,” he tells it. “But I think... I don’t like sand.”

Low tide. Nighttime. Two moons. Nobody is watching.

Kylo feels like he can finally breathe. (Peace is a lie.) He wades into the water, still wearing his robes. It’s cold and wet. Kylo isn’t sure what else he expected. A playful fish is tickling his ankles. It feels nice. Kylo simply stands there, absorbing it all. He does not move from his spot.

(“Careful, Ren.”)

It’s raining when yells at the high tide, “I’ll find you! Do you hear me, General? You can’t do this to me! I’ll find you!”

(“…at least one minute, I loved you, most ardently…”)

Arkanis really is beautiful. Waves crash. Kylo stumbles, but keeps his balance. The tide is still rising, past his knees, his shoulders, his neck…

Kylo Ren is staring at the sea, alone…

“Hux, I’ll find you,” Kylo Ren vows.

….and he finally allows the tears to fall.

(“Dad? I don’t feel so good…”)