Chapter Text
The sun was setting when Hux and his family returned home, dyeing the sky a bright red, not unlike the blood of the buck Hux had shot. After helping his father carry the carcass into their basement, Hux excused himself for the rest of the evening and locked himself in his room.
With his back against the door, Hux took a few shallow, shaky breaths before sliding down to the floor and pulling his knees to his chest, an attempt at becoming as small as he could. His head was still spinning from his dissociative episode in the woods and he balled his fists tightly against his eyes. He tried to banish the hollowed-out feeling in his chest, filled with the infertile soil where nothing beautiful could grow no matter how hard he tried.
Hux moved his hands from his eyes to glance around his room - empty and lonely without the rainbow of Kylo’s presence - and noted the can of cat food sitting on top of the small fridge. He stood up to examine the can, bumping into Millicent in the process. Scooping her up, he asked, “Kylo fed you, didn’t he? Before he left?” Millicent purred in response, kneading his jacket with her little paws. Hux held Millicent tightly to his chest, overcome with guilt for forgetting to feed her before leaving in the morning. He hadn’t even told Kylo to feed her for him; he just forgot. Completely.
“You must absolutely despise me now, Millie. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t blame you if you would rather be with someone like Kylo.” Someone sweet and warm, his mind added. Hux flushed at the memory of the night before, of how strange the other boy made him feel. He had told Kylo not to cuddle him, but a part of him deep inside wished to be encircled by Kylo’s strong arms, protected from the world in his head; the world that made him want to reach inside a person and touch what kept them alive.
Removing his dirty clothes, Hux tried to make sense of his feelings. They were like worms wriggling in the infertile soil, alive and thriving, but ugly and strange. He could never love someone the right way. If he tried, he knew he would fail, be abandoned for a supposed lack of affection. Or perhaps it would go the other way, them leaving him because the only way he knew how to show love disgusted and frightened them.
He wasn’t cruel - he wasn’t - but how could anyone believe that?
Hux let Millie plop herself onto the floor as he curled up on his bed, desperately trying not to scratch at his arms or dig his nails into his palms. He briefly contemplated what it would be like to have Kylo’s body with him - unconscious, dead, or a doll. Someone he couldn’t disappoint or hurt. He immediately regretted that train of thought. He ought to be the one who was dead, not Kylo. Kylo was so colorful and alive, Hux couldn’t bear to take those gifts away from him.
But would Kylo even want him anymore if he was dead? He’d be cold - colder than he already was - and the rot inside of him would then be outside too. Ugly and grotesque, just a festering pile of maggots.
Hux rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillows, screaming with muffled frustration. He wanted to be drunk again, to be drunk always, so he could feel sure of himself. He wanted to be drunk so that he would stop worrying about how broken and perverse he was, afraid of his intentions getting out of hand. He wanted to be drunk so he could kiss Kylo for hours without needing to trust himself or rein in his compulsions. He just wanted to fucking be himself, but he could barely tell who he even was anymore.
The screaming afforded Hux a few moments of blissful mental silence, which he spent still face-down on his bed. It smelled like weed and Four Loko and there were glittery smears of makeup on the pillow that Kylo had used; Hux would put the pillowcase in a ziploc bag later, to preserve it, along with the strands of red and black hair Kylo left behind.
Hux finally forced himself out of bed and into the bathroom to take a shower. He bathed slowly until the water ran cold and the piercing droplets numbed his skin. Following a halfhearted attempt at drying off, Hux changed into his pajamas - his usual t-shirt and shorts - and paused after tucking the shirt in, staring at himself in the mirror. His skin was blotchy as if he’d been crying. Had he cried? He couldn’t remember.
Hux stared at himself, looking for something, but not knowing what. He tried to smile. Tried again. Tried a third time and became upset at all of his facial tics - the spasms of the muscles in his cheeks, the twitches of his nose, and the incessant blinking of his pale eyes. All he could see was a writhing, convulsing mass of insects, buzzing and laying eggs and consuming each other.
Kylo’s stupid for wanting to be with me. A complete and utter imbecile.
Rage flared through Hux’s veins and he slammed his head into the mirror. He went to bed bleeding.
The next morning he took a photo of the cracked glass, finding a sick sense of humor in how melodramatic it would be once he posted it to MySpace. The caption read, “I always want more than I deserve.”
Hux laughed quietly to himself as he hit the upload button. He knew Kylo would love it.