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To the villagers, Hux and Ben were the eccentric hermits who lived on the snowy hill just beyond the outskirts of town—a pair so peculiar they had become the source of countless whispered speculations. No one could quite agree on their story. Some believed they were disgraced warlords from a distant system, others insisted they were former smugglers hiding from bounty hunters, and one particularly imaginative elder swore they were exiled nobles fleeing a scandalous affair. All three theories were true to some extend.
Hux, with his sharp tongue and stiff posture, was regarded as the more unapproachable of the two, often seen striding through the market with the air of someone who thought he was far too important to be there.
The villagers had mixed feelings about the man who presided over the library like it was his personal fortress. Hux was efficient, undeniably intelligent, and ran the place with military precision—books were always shelved properly, overdue returns were mercilessly chased down, and his disdain for “improper handling of library materials” was legendary. But there was also a lingering wariness about him, stemming from the time he’d briefly attempted to “curate” the library’s selection. A trial had been called when someone discovered he’d removed several harmless folk storybooks and replaced them with dense political manifestos, which he claimed were “essential readings for fostering discipline and order.” The trial ended in a compromise—he was allowed to keep his position but was required to let the villagers decide which books to include in the library. These days, he was begrudgingly well-behaved, though everyone knew better than to argue with him over fines or overdue returns.
Still, there were rumours of a softer side: some youths swore he had quietly slipped them recommendations for queer novels before they themselves had known, and an elderly villager once claimed he’d stayed late to help her research her forgotten family ancestry. The most scandalous rumour of all? He’d been caught reading books for children in the quiet hours with a faint, wistful expression on his face that no one dared to question.
Ben, on the other hand, had a strange mix of intimidating presence and odd charm—his brooding silences occasionally broken by moments of unexpected kindness, like repairing a broken cart with barely a touch or helping a child retrieve a toy stuck somewhere high.
Ben Solo was something of an enigma. His towering figure made him intimidating at first glance, but those who hired him for carpentry work spoke of his surprising patience and skill. He could carve intricate designs with an almost supernatural precision, and his furniture—rugged yet elegant—was prized across the village. He rarely spoke unless necessary, often preferring to communicate in quiet nods or grunts, but there was an odd magnetism to his presence. Children, in particular, were fascinated by him, though they often had to be shooed away from his workshop for fear of them “disturbing the intricate balance inside him.”
The villagers quickly learned that Ben’s temper was best avoided. There was an infamous incident where a local tried to haggle over a chair, and though Ben hadn’t raised his voice, the chair split in two with a single strike of his hand. No one brought up haggling again. Despite this, he was oddly approachable in his own way—he had been known to repair broken tools for free or carve small, intricate toys for the children who braved his presence. People speculated that his woodworking wasn’t just a trade but a kind of meditation, a way for him to channel the restless energy that seemed to simmer beneath the surface.
Together, they were viewed as an odd but harmless pair, with the villagers quietly agreeing that their strange, secretive pasts were probably best left undisturbed. When people spoke of Hux and Kylo as a couple, it was usually with a mixture of amusement and confusion. “Like fire and ice,” one villager had said once, shaking their head.
They had been part of the community for the past twenty years. Ben Solo had proven that all the atrocities he’d been accused of had been committed by Kylo Ren under Palpatine’s influence. He was acquitted, which had set a precedence for every other member of the First Order, who’d nearly all been found innocent.
The former General Hux had hopped onto the train, too.
"So, General Armitage Hux, you’re accused of murdering more than 155 billion civilians, but that wasn’t you?“
"That is correct, your Honour.“
"Prove it.“
"You’re the one accusing me. It’s up to you to prove that I wasn’t.“
They’d both been exiled on a far away planet neither Ben, who’d piloted across half the galaxy for the search of Skywalker nor Hux with all his knowledge about economical and diplomatic relations had ever heard about. They were made to share a cottage, which was probably intended as a punishment, but had turned out very profitable for them after the first night already.
It wasn’t a big cottage, nor was it of good quality. Hux drew up the design for an electricity and water supply system and strengthening the roof for winter. Ben had built everything, and although Hux had been fussy about the smallest things, they had made it work. Namely, Ben had banned Hux from his construction sites. It had been a fight to get Hux to give up control, and for Ben to put enough trust in himself that he wouldn’t fuck it up spectacularly.
That had been the start of a lifetime of good team work.
Now, 20 years later, on the evening before live day, Ben trudged through the thick snow of the woods, dragging a sled loaded with firewood behind him.
The sled groaned faintly, his boots crunching through the snow-packed path that wound from the forest to the heart of the village. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and wood smoke, mingled now with the sweeter notes of roasted nuts and cider wafting from Thomas McGregor’s market stall. Strings of glowing orbs were strung between rooftops, their soft golden light illuminating the flurry of activity in the streets below. Bright red ribbons, holly wreaths, and dangling crystals glittered in the light, mimicking the shimmer of freshly fallen snow. Children darted past him, laughing as they threw snowballs, while villagers bustled between stalls, their arms laden with brightly wrapped parcels and steaming cups. A few nodded in greeting as Ben passed, and he returned their gestures with brief nods of his own, though his focus remained on the sled dragging behind him. It was loaded high with meticulously cut and stacked firewood—dried to perfection, or so he hoped. Hux had little tolerance for wet logs and all the soot they caused, and the thought of his partner’s sharp critique spurred him to quicken his pace, the sled sliding obediently behind him.
As he reached the town square, his eyes lifted to the familiar silhouette of the library, its tall windows glowing warmly against the icy blue dusk. Through the largest window, he caught sight of Hux in one of his many knitted black turtleneck sweaters, moving with precision as he organized the final returns of the day. Even from this distance, Ben could make out the slight furrow in his brow as he adjusted the placement of a book on a display, ensuring its title faced outward at the perfect angle. The scene struck Ben with a strange, quiet warmth—Hux, absorbed in his work, surrounded by neat shelves and the faint flicker of Life Day lights strung along the library’s interior. For a moment, Ben stood still, the sled’s handles gripped tightly in his hands as he watched. The soft glow from the window made Hux look younger somehow, the years of tension smoothed away by the peaceful solitude of his domain. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at Ben’s lips as he turned and pulled the sled onward, eager to bring the firewood home and to see the flicker of approval in Hux’s eyes when the hearth blazed to life—clean, warm, and exactly as it should be.
He waited outside, keeping himself warm with the Force. Hux would be upset if he went into the library with his dirty boots. Besides, if he had to mop the floor under Hux’s supervision, they’d delay the library’s closing time for another hour.
He watched Hux put on his coat and wrap a scarf around his neck, and his face light up when he caught a glimpse of Ben outside.
Ben’s stomach felt very funny when Hux smiled at him. After all these years and Ben picking up Hux, forever a workaholic who had even wanted to build a second floor onto the library so Ben and Hux could live in it and the library be open 24 hours, Hux never took Ben’s arrival for granted. Not one day had gone by that Hux hadn’t looked at Ben as if he had gifted him the galaxy. (Aside from those few days where a child had brought back a book covered in chocolate stains and nothing had salvaged it. It had been close to closing time, and Ben had taken a day off, so his shoes had been clean enough to wait for Hux inside. Hux had assured the child that accidents happened and the important thing was that they had learned to be more careful next time, but when the child had left, he had broken down in tears and hid his face in Ben’s neck. That had been in their first year together, when Hux had been still very much affected by loosing the war and his title.)
When Hux hurried to him across the snowy street, Ben noticed his glasses had fogged up. Hux had switched from thick, sturdy black glasses to fragile, golden ones with round edges a few months into wearing them because the children were scared of the former one’s sharp angles.
Around the time Ben had realised that Hux was wearing contact lenses every day, he had become allergic to them. Ben encouraged him to use glasses. Hux had demanded Ben overcome his anger issues (which hadn’t vanished with his Kylo Ren identity, shocker) and go to therapy. They had been good for each other.
Ben was pulled out of his memories when they kissed, Hux’s lips a comfortable warmth against his own cold ones.
Hux’s cheeks, flushed from the cold, glowed like embers, a stark contrast to the icy blue of dusk. Snowflakes clung to the sharp lines of his hair—hair that no longer gleamed with the rigidity of product but still maintained the strict, deliberate precision Hux demanded of himself. A few strands had loosened, softening the sharp angles of his face, and Ben found himself momentarily captivated by the sight. The few snowflakes fallen on his hair shimmered faintly. Ben said nothing, letting the moment stretch, until Hux’s sharp voice broke through.
“Do you still have a delivery to make?”
Hux nodded to the firewood on Ben’s sled.
“No, that one’s for us.”
Hux frowned.
“We have a perfectly fine heating system at home.”
“We also have a perfectly fine fireplace.”
“Because it was there when we moved in, and we agreed that heating with the heating system is more efficient because it warms our entire home.”
“It’s not for heating,” Ben said, taking Hux’s hand and kissing his knuckles, skin cracked open by the freezing cold. “I thought we could spend a nice evening watching the fire.”
Hux stared at Ben’s lips moving over his knuckles.
“You killed a tree for aesthetics.”
“I’ve killed for less. Besides, you know I plant new ones for every one I chop down. Otherwise our income would dwindle down to yours in a few years when there are no more trees, and everyone knows librarians are underpaid.”
Our income. In a few years.
Hux blushed then like every other time Ben made a reference to his future containing Hux.
“I still need to bake the cookies for the children at tomorrow afternoon’s life day reading,” Hux said somewhat hesitant.
Hux, having taken a liking to listening to the town’s gossip with his occupation as librarian giving him front seats to the drama, had listened to parents complaining about the difficulty of setting up life day decorations and wrapping gifts without their children noticing. Hux had offered to occupy the children during the afternoon, and it had become a popular tradition. Popular enough that people from adjacent towns had begun to bring their children.
They loved him. No matter what he was doing, Hux put all his effort into it, and so the children loved him, too, because he changed his reading voice for every character.
It was amusing for Ben, too, since those voices weren’t just random. He had to keep himself from laughing last year when he’d read about a grumpy green monster in his own clipped Imperial accent, the dog character had an unmistakable purr in his voice and Ben’s accent had been applied to a young girl showing the grumpy green monster what life day was all about.
“Take all the time you need. I’ll be waiting to light the fire,” Ben said.
Hux smiled and intertwined his fingers with Ben, squeezing once. Ben squeezed back.
They walked back to their cottage, only a few minutes away from the library.
When Ben noticed Hux’s limp being more prominent than usual, he offered him to sit on the sled and be pulled. Hux declined, but let Ben help him put on his leg braces once they had arrived at home, and untangle a furious Millie from the cord of the electric candles of their life day tree while Hux vanished to the kitchen.
Ben looked at the tree and smiled. Cookies Hux had baked the day before hung from its branches. When Ben had asked why he hadn’t hung up ornaments Hux had looked at him in bewilderment, astonished as to why someone would do something this useless. Cookies looked pretty (if Hux baked them) and could be eaten. Ornaments only accomplished one of these things.
Ben had rolled his eyes at him, but he was glad. When he was little, he used to dislike undressing the life day tree. It meant that his father would be off somewhere in the galaxy soon. Now, Hux and Ben munched the cookies together and then burned the tree in their fireplace. It was one of Ben’s favourite days of the year, although every day with Hux was a blessing.
As so often, Ben couldn’t resist the alluring radiance of Hux’s thoughts.
Hux stared at the mound of flour. His mind, as it often did, wandered to the construction of Starkiller Base—a project of ambition, precision, and meticulous planning that had ultimately collapsed under the weight of its flaws. But this —t he cookies —would be different. He sifted the flour with the same methodical care he had once applied to calibrating Starkiller's weapon systems, convinced that if he measured every ingredient to perfection and followed the recipe like a battle plan, the result would stand tall and unyielding. Yet, as he kneaded the batter with a vigo ur born of quiet desperation, he couldn’t shake the creeping thought that perhaps he was overcomplicating things. No, he told himself, squaring his shoulders. If I can orchestrate the construction of a planet-destroying base, I can certainly manage one measly cake. And this time, there would be no meddling Supreme Leader to ruin it—just him, his ambition, and a dangerously uncooperative mixing bowl.
Ben leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching Hux meticulously frost the cookies with the intensity of someone defusing a thermal detonator. He could still picture the cold, calculating Hux who had betrayed him without a second thought—the man who, years ago, had plotted in shadows and spat venom with every word. And yet, here he was now, trembling slightly as he tried to perfect the edges of a frosting rosette. Ben felt a strange warmth rise in his chest, one he wasn’t used to, even after all these years. Hux wasn’t that same bitter man anymore, and Ben wasn’t the monster who had once ruled over him. Somehow, despite everything, they’d built a life together—a ridiculous, messy life where betrayals had been traded for baking disasters and galactic ambitions replaced by the simple hope that the cookies wouldn’t implode before they reached the table. It was absurd. It was... endearing. Ben snorted softly, earning a sharp glare from Hux.
“If you’re just going to stand there like a useless lump, make yourself helpful and hand me the sprinkles,” Hux snapped.
With a smirk tugging at his lips, Ben complied.
They were pretty cookies. They looked like plates of wood with a glittering snow frosting heaved on them.
“I got the idea from Arkanis,” Hux admitted.
“How come?” Ben asked, eyeing the cookies longingly.
“Back on Arkanis, New Republican pilots would throw off slivers of lead to disturb communication signals or something,” Hux explained. “We’d collect them and hang them over our life day trees. The silver stripes made them look snowed in.”
“Can I have one?”
“I’ll pick,” Hux said.
Hux picking out which cookie he was allowed to eat meant that he’d get the most burned one.
Hux handed him one suspiciously darker than all of the others that also crunched loudly when he bit on it, but it still tasted divine.
“Passable?” Hux asked.
Ben moaned in response.
“Do you have any more cookies for me?”
Hux let his scrutinising gaze wander over the cookies once more, but couldn’t find anything wrong with them.
“No, sorry, but you can lick the spoon.”
“I saw Thomas and Clyde taking a stroll through the woods today,” Ben said, laying his arm around Hux. He’d just made a fire – with actual matches after Hux had forbidden him from using the Force in fire-related instances after the last accident – and now they were cuddled up together on the couch, drinking cocoa and, in Hux’s instance, spiked cocoa.
“Thomas borrowed a book about parenthood today,” Hux commented. “I guess there’ll be more children at the life day reading next year.”
Millie, curled up closely to the crackling fireplace, purred in agreement.
“Do you remember Sam Fortner from the last life day reading? The one Flip had to throw out but somehow ended up throwing him into his bed?” Hux asked, grimacing. “He returned a book about garden gnome crafting today.”
“Oh,” Ben laughed, “now we know whose hideous garden that next to Opan’s diner is!”
“If I was Sam, I wouldn’t eat there.” Hux grimaced. “You shouldn’t eat there either. I’m not sure I ever told him to stop targeting you.”
“You didn’t. I read his mind. Don’t worry, though, he sees that I make you happy and he wants you to stay happy even if it goes against your orders.”
Hux took a sip from his cocoa, hiding his face behind the cup. A cup, never a mug. Tea, coffee, cocoa. Everything had to be in a cup. Hux called it civilised, Ben called it elitist.
Ben’s heart filled with love at the sight of that stupid dainty cup and he just wanted to squeeze Hux.
They bathed in the fire’s warm glow in silence. Occasionally, Ben would catch a stray thought of Hux’s. How barbaric categorizing books by colour was. If Ben had checked for ticks. That Poe’s new book with the main character being a drug lord was an embarrassing projection of his subconscious desires. If there were enough cookies to give Ben a second one. If he could build a spaceship and take his old crew with him and rebuild the First Order and become Emperor. How nice Ben’s comforting warmth pressed against his side felt. How he wanted this moment to freeze.
Then, Hux’s thoughts became more guarded.
"What’s on your mind, Hux?“ Ben asked, rubbing Hux’s shoulder gently.
Hux sighed.
"I can’t believe I’m 55.“
"And we’ve been together for 20 years without betraying each other.“
"What about that one time you pretended to be the spirits of past, present and future life day,“ Hux snorted.
"That was an honest mistake.“ Ben grinned. "I didn’t think you’d trauma dump, lecture me on consumerism and reveal suicidal ideation.“
Hux cackled.
"Well, it was the first year after the First Order had been destroyed.“
"And now you’re okay... right?“ Ben added after Hux remained silent. "You can tell me, you know. You don’t have to bear it alone.“
Hux muttered something about gray hairs and genetics being inevitable, but Ben could feel the storm of self-doubt brewing beneath the surface.
Usually, distracting Hux from his identity crisis was enough, but it didn’t seem to be enough today.
"Ben?“ Hux asked quietly, his usual controlled demeanour cracked by an edge of uncharacteristic vulnerability. "I’ll be as old as my father was when he died soon.“
"You’re not going to die, Hux.“
"I guess,“ Hux sighed. "But everyday, I’m more and more afraid of looking into the mirror and seeing my father’s face stare back at me.“
"You are nothing like him.“
Hux rolled his eyes and gestured at his hair.
“You’re not your father,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You never have been, and you never will be.” Hux turned to look at him, sceptical, but Ben held his gaze. “You could look in the mirror and see someone who looks like him, but that doesn’t change who you are. You’re not defined by his shadow, and you don’t have to fight to prove that to anyone—not to him, not to me, and definitely not to yourself.” He hesitated, then added with a softer tone, “When I look at you, I see someone who’s stronger than he ever was. Someone who’s survived everything. Someone who’s... you. And that’s not going to change because of a few gray hairs.”
“That’s… nice, but when I’m not wearing my glasses, and I look into the mirror, I get scared,” Hux blurted out. “Because my blurred reflection looks like he did through my tears when I was younger.”
Ah. That explained Hux’s meticulous hair styling routine and refusing to grow a beard although Ben had assured him it would look good on him.
Ben watched him, saw the tension in his jaw, the way Hux’s hands gripped his cup tightly as if steadying himself against an invisible enemy.
“When you look at yourself, try seeing the man you’ve become—not the man you were afraid of becoming.”
“Ben,you can’t solve this with esotericism. I’m visually impaired. I really don’t control what I see.”
“Should we get rid of our mirrors?”
“No.”
Hux was worried about seeing his father and he only looked into the mirror because he wanted to style himself so he wouldn’t look like his father, but he wouldn’t need to worry about looking like his father if there was no opportunity to look like his father. Ben thought this was flawless logic, but didn’t defy Hux.
“I can be with you every time you look into the mirror.”
“That’s impractical.”
“You could die your hair. Your father would have never done that. Especially not a colour such as pink.”
“Sure. General Hux with pink hair. The holonet would have a feast.”
“With this planet’s holonet accessibility, they’d only get wind of it after you died,” Ben said, wisely brushing over his first instinct to tell Hux he wasn’t general anymore.
Hux was silent for a few minutes.
“Alright,” he said after a while. “Let’s do it.”
“What?”
“Dyeing my hair. The red hair is the determining factor of why my appearance reminds me of him, so let’s change that. It is efficient and logical.”
Ben stared at Hux.
“Right now?”
“I don’t think we have any hair dye at home, but we have some in the library.” Hux grinned. “What do you think about poison green? Or deep sea blue? Or First Order banner red?”
When Ben opened his eyes the next morning, Hux loomed over him.
"Let’s go to war,“ he said.
Ben blinked.
"What?“
"I miss fighting,“ Hux said plainly, rolling off Ben.
“Galactic reign before breakfast?” Ben grumbled.
“After. You can have another cookie.”
Ben pulled the sheets over his head.
“I’ll even let you have one of the perfect ones.”
Ben considered it for a moment, but it wasn’t worth getting out of a warm bed.
Hux shook his shoulder.
“Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben. Come on! Ben. Ben. Ben.”
Hux sighed. The creaking of the mattress that followed told him that Hux had gotten up. Ben thought he’d get some more sleep now, but he returned a minute later with enforcement.
Hux shoved him a little. Then Millicent tapped his shoulder. Shove. Tap. Shove. Tap.
When had Millicent become so obedient?
Ben pulled the sheets that covered his eyes down to glare at Hux, but saw Hux and Millicent, the former holding cat treats in his hand and giving her one for each pat.
“If you give her that many, she’ll throw up.”
Hux shrugged. “Cat vomit would get you out of bed.”
Ben lurched forward, wrapping his arms around Hux’s waist, and pulled him down.
He held the cat treats that had scattered during the fall up with the force, a conscious act that deprived him of the last hopes he had had of sleep.
Hux shrieked and tried to wriggle out of his grip in vain.
If he couldn’t have sleep, then he’d settle for an even better consolation price.
He strengthened his hold on Hux and buried his nose in his hair that didn’t even have any product in them yet.
Wait. No product?
Hux would never become Emperor with tousled hair.
Ben looked outside the window and saw snow falling.
Ben grinned.
“You want to have a snowball fight?”
“No, I want to have a training session to strengthen our tactical skills, coordination and reflexes,” Hux said, crossing his arms as much as was possible within Ben’s tight hold.
He squeezed Hux one last time and then released him.
“Let’s have a snowball fight.”
Hux clapped his hands excitedly, but immediately clasped them together behind his back, his ears reddening.
It was a fierce battle, no one allowing oneself the slightest missteps. Hux built a fort under constant attack of Ben who took great joy in throwing himself at Hux, grasping him tightly and burrowing them both in the soft snow, yet taking great care that Hux wouldn’t land on his injured leg. Hux was patient. He endured the occasional interruption because in the end, it was worth it. His fort was magnificent. Mountains of perfectly formed snowballs laid in heaps at the wall. Ben used the Force to curve the snowballs mid-air, but there were too many. Hux aimed the softer ones at his face, but was humane enough to aim the heavier ones filled with ice at his torso.
Ben cursed and Hux cackled.
When the sun had reached its highest point, the two went inside again to get ready for the library reading.
Ben looked at Hux’s carefree smile and couldn’t help but smile himself.
Ben nearly tripped on a sleeping Millicent, still full from her treats, on his way in. He stepped carefully over her, but she jumped into Hux’s arms anyway when Hux came in shortly after. Hux went to the kitchen, Millicent in one hand, arranging napkins and packing cookies into boxes with the other.
“I’m going to take a shower. Care to join me?” Ben asked.
Hux shook his head.
“I’ll go after you. And before you say anything about saving water, you know as well as I do that showering together is one of our highest contributing factors for the high water bill.”
Ben sighed, but did as he was told.
While Hux was in the shower after him, he opened one of the drawers at his night table and pulled out a small wrapped box. He fidgeted with it in anticipation.
When Hux came out, dressed in one of his usual black high-neck sweaters and dressing pants, Ben hurried over.
“I have something for you,” he said.
“Ben, we really need to leave and open the library up. Some parents tend to arrive early and leave as soon as their children have set foot onto the street,” Hux scoffed.
“I know,” Ben said, having heard Hux rants about those parents being unfit to guide the next generation and that being why Hux needed to instal order within their minds often enough. “I already loaded the sled with the cookies. We can leave any second now, but please, open it before.”
Hux regarded him with a curious look and took the box out of his hand. Hux weighed it in his hands.
Ben smiled. Hux was like a cat in these regards. Hux had had struggled to eat the lunch Ben had packed him when he’d just taken over the library and the days had been still incredibly stressful and not only because of self-imposed stress, but because the disordered parent organisations thought they could dictate Hux what to do. Ben had figured out that if Hux didn’t know what Ben had cooked and packed it into an opaque lunch box, then Hux ate it. It was the same with everything. Hux hated secrets, but greatly enjoyed uncovering them.
When Hux opened the box, he froze.
“That’s a Grand Marshall insignia.”
“I thought it fitting to give it to you now after the victorious battle you just led.”
“I’ve always wanted this,” Hux mumbled, taking it out. He turned it over, marvelling at it from all sides.
“I know.” Ben tugged at the rolled collar of Hux’s sweater. “The law forbids you from wearing it openly, but… Let me fasten it here,” Ben said, curling his finger into the folds of Hux’s collar. It was high enough that he had to roll it down thrice.
Hux watched Ben’s hands pin it to the fabric, but then turned away sheepishly.
“I don’t have anything for you.”
“I know. We agreed not to gift each other anything this year, but when I visited my mother and it was lying around in the evidence room…”
Ben had initially wondered why there even was an insignia for that position since no one in the First Order had held it, but when he’d asked Hux, Hux had explained to him that Snoke had had it made to taunt him with it. Hux had been quiet for a moment then before admitting it was why he had initially built Starkiller Base.
“Still,” Hux said. “You always go out of the way for me and I…”
“You keep the promises we make. We said no gifts and you followed it perfectly. If anyone’s to blame that you feel guilty, it is me.”
Hux frowned. “Do you want me to get angry with you?”
“If that’s the cost to ease your guilt, then yes.”
“Let’s just go to the library,” Hux said sternly, but Ben caught his hand wandering to his throat the entire way and the way he held his chin high.
Hux had turned the library into a tool for enforcing his world view, sneaking political manifestos and books on authoritarian order into the children's section, cleverly disguised with cheery covers and whimsical titles. He was infamous for his ruthless enforcement of overdue book policies—including taking delinquent patrons to court. Ben had watched extra fees be charged for bent book corners and Hux reprimand his part-time assistant Techie for non-alphabetical shelf returns. Ben had suggested to order them in colour to diffuse the tension, and Hux had actually cried at his suggestion. That had been years ago, and Hux had gotten better with his control issues and every other issue the man had. Well, he had redirected his energy to politicians instead of the local library visitors.
Leia was the main donor of the library, and it made Hux more angry than anything.
"She should change the laws and refund taxes, not donate her own money! Libraries shouldn’t depend on anyone, especially not people whose job it is to push forward a particular world view!“ Hux had argued many times. Ben hadn’t bothered to point out the irony in it.
It had been during one of those arguments that they had their first kiss. Hux had packed the romance books away he thought to be inappropriate, which left remarkably little, and had moved on to the children’s section when Ben had flipped open a random book, Wuthering Heights : “‘ Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. ’” He paused , glaring at Hux like he was daring him to disagree, which, of course, he did.
“Charming, but inaccurate.”
“Okay, well, maybe your soul is made of cataloguing systems and overdue notices, but I don’t get why you throw these books out,“ Kylo huffed in frustration.
"I’m not throwing them out. I’m putting them away until the people around here have some comprehensive reading abilities and have been unindoctrinated enough to reflect on what they’re reading.“ Hux sighed. "Now please continue to file the reports on those novels being inappropriate.“
"What’s next?“ Ben asked with a scowl, nodding at the children books Hux was packing away. "Revoluting against same rights for all species?“
"I’m protecting these rights. All of these old children’s books represent outdated, speciest views of life, often prioritising the individual exploration of one’s own self over the good for the community. And even the reprints don’t have any social commentary. At least none that a child would read. I’m not just handing out books, I’m giving out parts of someone’s soul that they can integrate into their own. I don’t take this obligation lightly.“
"You don’t have to be so illusive about it all!“ Ben complained. As far as the villagers knew, those books had been befallen by worms.
“Sorry that I don’t care about fighting fairly, and I certainly don’t care how I look in history books or about my honour or any of these other individual concepts!“ Hux argued with the voice he’d often used in propaganda holos.
"You could organise a peaceful demonstration first.“
"Name me one time peaceful rebellion accomplished something.“
"The Peace Brigade.“
"The hunger strikes they went on and pressured the leaders to take action, undermined the Skakoans’ autonomy for symbolic unity instead and made the opposition afraid that history would paint them as villains? That’s emotional extortion and manipulative, not a democratic negotiation tactic. And, besides,“ Hux said, “peaceful rebellion only works when people listen. I don’t have that privilege. Not anymore.“
In hindsight, Ben didn’t know why he’d dragged Hux into a secluded area of the library and made out with him then – probably because Hux’s next step would have been accusing Ben of putting him in this position of lost privilege -, but that’s what he did, and it had proven fruitful.
Now, they entered the library. Flip and Techie were already there. Techie was Hux’s frazzled assistant librarian who lived in constant fear of disappointing him. Techie tried to enforce Hux’s strict rules but was often too timid to confront unruly patrons, which lead him to having call Flip, a man with as much muscle as Ben with none the inclination towards drama, for backup multiple times a day. Flip was the library’s no-nonsense head of security, responsible for enforcing Hux’s draconian rules. He patrolled the library with military precision, issuing fines, confiscating banned snacks, and personally tracking down overdue books like a bounty hunter.
“Inconsequent to let cookies disturb your no-snacks policy of the library, no?“ Flip grunted.
Techie shot a fearful look between Flip and Hux, who glared at Flip.
“I am the library.“
“So much for condemning individualism,“ Ben coughed.
Flip grinned at him.
“You’re both getting no cookies, then.”
“No! Come on! It’s all just fun!” both both exclaimed in unison.
A successful evening of indoctrinating the village’s children with one of the few books Hux approved of went by. Ben had suggested a book about a very hungry caterpillar, which had resulted in a lecture lasting an entire evening. Apparently, the caterpillar promoted individualism by eating food that wasn’t typical for caterpillars and glorified personal achievements by describing the butterfly but not the caterpillar as beautiful. There was something more about consumerism, but Ben had already dozed off at that time.
As Techie tended to the children whose parents were a little late with picking them up, Flip was busy throwing out Sam, who’d brought a snack of his own. Ben was picking at the last cookie crumbs on the tray upon the return counter when Hux came up and pressed himself against him.
They were silent for some time, the only sound Techie waving the last children goodbye and Flip arguing outside about snack policies.
Hux caught the gaze of an angry Sam, and, to Ben’s surprise and delight, pulled out a container filled with cookies from beneath the counter. He held direct eye contact as he bit into the cookie and chewed with a devious smile. Sam’s gaze darkened.
Ben tried to break off a piece of Hux’s cookie, but Hux swatted at his hand.
“It’s still my library.”
Ben pressed a kiss to Hux’s cheek, who stopped chewing for a second, and then broke off a chunk of the cookie, handing it to Ben.
Snow started falling outside. Soft flakes coated the pavement like fine sugar dusting.
Techie bid his goodbye. The door fell shut.
Sam and Flip got in Flip’s car and drove off.
Hux and Ben watched the snow fall, saying nothing, just enjoying each other’s body heat. Ben brushed his hand against Hux’s after a few minutes and Hux flipped his own open to intertwine their fingers.
“Do you want to dye-?”
Hux shushed him.
“But what colour-?”
“It’s alright. I’ll just smile. He never did that.”
“You wanted-”
“Let’s just… this-” Hux gesticulated around, “-for a moment.”
Ben squeezed his hand.
Hux laid his head on his shoulder. Ben laid his head on Hux’s head in response. They stayed this way until Hux complained about his neck growing stiff.