Chapter Text
(Asthenia -Weakness; Lack of strength)
You dreamt of Kylo that night.
You usually did.
You were used to him visiting your mind while you slept. Most of the time, these dreams were nightmares. Visions of him chasing you, catching you, hurting you. Sometimes they were passionate; kissing and touching, things that made you moan out loud into your room.
But last night’s dream was the most unsettling yet. Because it wasn’t about horror or romance. If it was a film, it wouldn’t fit into a category.
You dreamt that you and Kylo were sitting outside, on vacation somewhere that felt new and familiar all at once. You didn’t say much to each other, only a few comments on how the coffee tasted or how nice the weather was. He held your hand for a while, you leaned against him. That was it.
It felt normal and comforting. Two adjectives that you didn’t want to describe anything that involved the man who kidnapped you. It made you feel more disgusted in yourself than when you dreamt of him inside of you.
When you woke up, your bedroom door was open. Slightly ajar, daylight filtering in from upstairs.
You scrambled to your feet, blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you peered into the empty hallway, assuming that you were either dreaming or hallucinating. But there was no catch. The door was open, the house was available for you to roam around.
Could you escape?
You rushed upstairs before you could overthink it, abandoning the urge to change out of your pajamas or get ready for the day, as you usually would before Kylo came down to let you out of the cage he put you in.
The steps up were cold. Your hands trembled as you gripped the bannister, the blanket trailing behind you. You reached the top, heart jackhammering, and saw the main level illuminated with morning light coming from the floor to ceiling windows surrounding you.
No vigilance, no ambush, no Dr. Ren lurking in his predatory silence.
You padded in sock feet to the kitchen, stopping only when you heard a noise coming from the adjacent hallway. It took only a few moments for you to place it. It was the sound of a machine in Kylo’s gym, signaling that he was working out.
You exhaled, sick with relief and disappointment at once. He must’ve unlocked the room for you, knowing that he would be busy when you woke up. With that in mind, you were sure that finding a way out would be difficult, he must’ve planned for you to attempt to leave and put up measures to prevent you from doing so.
Curious to see what exactly he was up to, you hovered at the entryway of his gym, hidden from view but close enough to observe.
He had his back to you, hunched over the padded seat of a rowing machine. Sweat darkened the gray cotton of his shirt around his broad shoulders and the dip of his spine. Even now, in a moment you’d been trained to see as an opportunity, you felt compelled to just… watch him.
Each move looked violently efficient, a symphony of muscle and purpose. The upkeep of his health was vital to him running a hospital as well as a side gig as a serial killer. You couldn’t help but think back to the night before to the moment when he looked anything but healthy, when he stumbled to the bathroom to vomit because of his panic attack.
His hands gripped the handles of the machine, veins and muscles flexing with each pull to his chest. You remembered how his hands shook, how that was out of character for the same man who meticulously dug around in his patient’s brains.
For a split second, you felt bad for him.
But then when your eyes caught the television screen in front of him, your pity turned into a nauseating feeling of dread.
Most people watched something interesting while they worked out, maybe catching up on whatever show they were binge watching or checking in on the daily news. Kylo, far from ordinary in any sense, was watching what looked like security camera footage.
When you squinted, you realized that specifically, it was live footage from every exit of his house. He wasn’t watching it because he enjoyed it, nothing was happening. He was doing it to monitor where you were, to track you, to be sure that you were still inside with him.
He yanked the handle to his chest in a hypnotic steady motion in time with how your brain processed what you were seeing.
On the screen, in the bottom corner, you could see yourself: a small figure standing in the hallway, a blanket around your shoulders, inadvertently caught by the camera posed on the front door.
Kylo caught your surprised expression in the pixelated margin; rowed twice, then paused.
He turned with the measured calm every predator brings to the moment the prey is spotted, letting the handle swing forward as he wiped his brow. You heard the clack of the weights reuniting at the end of the machine’s track, the hesitant lift of his breathing as he regarded you in the space between entryway and escape route.
You gave him a slightly sheepish smile, wondering what look had been on your face while you admired how his body looked a moment ago.
He stared at you for longer than was probably appropriate, then motioned you closer with the movement of his fingers.
You hesitated then pushed open the door, stepping inside just enough to hear him if he spoke to you.
Kylo caught his breath, sat forward with his elbows propped on his knees. That animal focus never left you. You were still the experiment, even when he wasn't poking at you. He didn't speak until you inched further in, shuffling to keep the blanket from dragging.
"You watched me work out for a full minute," He said. There was amusement in his voice but also some sort of clinical detachment. A reminder that he knew exactly when you arrived. “A minute and twenty-four seconds, actually.”
You didn't respond to that, what could you say?
Kylo reached for the towel draped over the machine, swiped it across the back of his neck, and then stood. Even at his most casual, his presence was still intimidating. His height towered over you, his whole frame commanding. "You slept in later than usual. You must’ve been comfortable." He said, the whisper of a smile tugging at his mouth.
It was always strange to hear such gentle observations from him. You adjusted the blanket, hugging it tighter, and shrugged. "I had weird dreams," You offered, voice small.
His eyes softened, but he didn’t push. He just nodded, then turned his attention back to the screen. He was sure that he would’ve had strange dreams too, if he had slept long enough that night to have them.
You followed his line of sight, taking in the views from the cameras. Every entrance, every window that could be opened. Kylo glanced back at you and saw your overwhelmed expression.
“You didn’t think I’d let you just wander around on your own this morning without keeping an eye on you, did you?”
There were camera feeds you hadn't even suspected; one on the door that led to the garage, another focused tightly on the utility panel in the basement, several outside; even a blurry fish-eye lens aimed at what you assumed was the roof access. The blanket suddenly felt like a joke, a comfort object against the reality of surveillance: that even now, barefoot and harmless, you were someone to be managed, monitored, contained.
You took it off of your shoulders and held it bunched up against your chest instead, straightening up. You should have known that Kylo had these cameras set up, of course he did.
“You don’t have any…In my room, right?” You asked, feeling a sinking sensation at the idea that Kylo had watched you when you thought you were alone. A flash of a memory ran through your mind, all of the places he touched you. “Or your room? You don’t sit and watch me, do you?”
Kylo’s eyes slid down to meet yours, half lidded and impenetrable. “Of course not,” He said, crisp and immediate. He picked up his water bottle and drained it, throat bobbing with each swallow.
He chose not to acknowledge how he’d done so before, when he gave you the gift of a music box with a secret camera inside.
"But if I did," He added, "You wouldn't know." He smiled and you realized he was only half joking.
You didn’t laugh.
Kylo walked past you and turned off the lights, his way of telling you to leave with him without saying it out loud. “It’s getting close to lunch time, at this point.” He noted, “I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Walking behind him as he exited, you shrugged, you didn’t have much of an appetite after that conversation.
He slowed so that you could walk beside him and he put a gentle hand on the back of your neck, guiding you. “Let’s get you fed,” Kylo mumbled under his breath, protective and controlling all at once.
~~~
“What are those?” You asked as you wiped the side of your mouth with a napkin.
You pointed to the stack of what appeared to be books on the other end of the table, that you hadn’t seen before. The spines weren’t labelled and they were all various sizes, some resembling folders or binders.
Kylo chewed his food thoughtfully, setting down his fork. He seemed to think about your question, even though he knew the answer right away, trying to find the words he wanted to use.
“Photo albums, mostly.”
There were a few beats of silence while you waited for him to elaborate. He focused on cutting his next bite, considering what to say again.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about something you said last night.”
“I said a lot of things.” You told him, slightly teasing.
“You did,” Kylo said quickly, with no humor in his tone, eyes shooting up to meet yours in a pointed way. He didn’t need to say what he was thinking out loud, you heard the implication loud and clear: Last night, you said a lot of things that hurt him.
He took a long sip of his coffee, abandoning the food, hungrier for this interaction than for his meal. “You told me that I was basically a stranger.” He clarified. “I thought you might want to know more. So I dug those up.”
Your first reaction was to feel touched that he really considered what you said. And not only did he attempt to fix it, but he was also willing to share these parts of himself that he kept hidden away in these albums.
But then you felt hesitation. The more you knew about him, the more you saw him as a human and not the evil man you wanted to view him as.
“You’ll be bored.” He smirked, “I haven’t looked through them yet, just grabbed a few books off of my shelf that I thought might have photos in them, but I’m sure they’re all very standard.”
You couldn’t imagine Kylo being boring, even as a child. “I doubt that.”
A sliver of cautious curiosity sliced through your skepticism. "Can I see them?" You asked, motioning with your fork toward the stack.
Kylo shrugged in a way that implied "I don't care," but you recognized the self-satisfaction flickering in his eyes as he slid the albums down the table.
You pulled the first one closer. The black leather cover was worn at the corners. You lifted it, expecting family portraits, maybe some staged vacation shots. Instead, the album began with careful, chronological order: every year a catalog, every page precise. It was as if the photos themselves were evidence in an ongoing case. Perhaps, one day, they would be.
Your stomach twisted as you looked over the pages. Photos of Kylo as a baby, then a toddler. You felt a heartbreaking heat rush over your skin as you saw his defining features on someone so small and innocent. His nose, his ears, his freckles. What happened between then and now?
You slid your fingers down the plastic page, touching the blurry print of young Kylo, soft black hair falling in wisps over his brow. He was staring right at the camera, solemn and vulnerable, his mouth set in a childish approximation of the cold frown you knew so well.
It was just a face, you thought. Every monster started as someone's child.
Kylo watched you, expression unreadable. His fingers toyed with the rim of his mug. You sensed he was bracing for your reaction, waiting to see if you would laugh or recoil. Purposefully, he didn’t look at the pages, afraid that buried memories or thoughts would surface if he did. He stared at you instead.
There were glimpses of who you assumed were his parents. They were never smiling, never the subject of the photo, always in the background. You didn’t ask about them yet, worried that he’d regret letting you in at all if you pushed too hard.
The next page was a photo of him on what looked like Christmas morning. He held a present proudly, the tag on it was visible. It said: “To: Ben, From: Santa”.
“Who’s Ben?” You asked, eyes not leaving the photo.
For a moment, Kylo said nothing. He sat rigid, knuckles whitening around his mug. You looked up at him, questioning his silence. His jaw went tight and he let out a soft sound of irritation. Then: "That was my name," He said. "Back then.”
“Oh.” You replied, unsure of how you felt to learn that Kylo wasn’t his real name, that for some reason he changed it. You stared at him, trying to imagine how it would feel to know him as Ben, if it somehow changed the way you perceived him.
You began to ask, “Why-”
But Kylo cut you off, interrupting you. “Not right now.”
You could tell it was a sore spot and so you let him have it, letting the silence stretch and capsule over both of you.
Ben. It sounded slight, not a significant difference at all, yet you felt as if you'd glimpsed the secret machinery inside him: a person that used to be, a self with parents and presents and blurry Christmases.
Kylo pushed his chair back, excused himself to the kitchen with a brief, “I’ll get the dishes,” and you heard him run the faucet at full blast, the sound masking whatever else he needed to hide.
You looked back down at the album, flipping ahead. Ben as a child, Ben on his first day of school wearing a backpack, Ben at a science fair in an oversized lab coat. In every photo, his eyes found the camera; sometimes sheepish, sometimes afraid, sometimes completely vacant.
You scanned the next album quickly, curiosity tugging at the pages faster than you could process them. Middle school, then maybe the start of high school: year after year, Ben growing taller, leaner, his smile thinning out until it vanished completely.
Sports teams, debate club, a few scattered shots from a chess tournament. His parents were nowhere to be found, the background changing from home to schools to hotel conference centers as the years passed. One photo, buried in late adolescence, showed him standing in front of what might’ve been his first car. Ben's face was unsmiling, his eyes fixed on the photographer. The photo had been folded, then re-smoothed: a crack ran white through the middle of his face like a scar.
You thumbed through old press clippings, the font and pixelated headshots from local news. "High School Student Accepted to College at Fifteen". There he was, frowning in a suit and tie that hung big on his frame, hair combed down with unnatural neatness.
Another: “Prodigy Awarded Full Scholarship to Alderaan University: Meet Ben Solo.”
You flipped ahead. There were gaps. An entire year missing.
After closing that album, you grabbed for the next one in the stack. It was different from the others and when you opened it you realized it wasn’t a photo album at all. It was instead a binder with clear page protectors. The contents weren’t photos from parties or events, it was mostly newspaper articles about Kylo Ren: leading neurosurgeon or other official documents.
It was as if his life stopped then restarted. Ben then Kylo.
You read the paragraphs, careful to keep a blank face, but Kylo appeared behind you anyway, silent and sneaky in his usual habit. He placed his hands on the back of the chair you sat on, looking over your shoulder.
“Thrilling, isn’t it?” He asked in a sarcastic, though gentle tone.
You weren’t sure how to explain that it was, in fact, thrilling to you to be able to see these secret glimpses into who he was. So you flipped through the next few pages, scanning each without comment. There were blurry digital shots, conference programs, a couple of medical journal covers with his photo in the corner.
Every credential, every newspaper snippet and web article, every certificate of award stapled to a program was here. As if, unable to share his real life with anyone, he had cocooned it in plastic, chronicling its every iota for no one but himself. Or for you, now, you supposed.
You could feel his loneliness in every page you flipped. From the solitary baby photos, where he laid on his stomach in a nearly empty room. To the images of him with his classmates, slightly away from anyone else, uncomfortable and worried. To your realization that he went to college as a child, unable to fit in with peers his age because he was too mature yet too immature for higher education. To the gaps of time where no one cared to archive his memories. To the adult years, where there didn’t seem to be any memories made at all. Just accomplishments, just work.
He’d been isolated throughout his life, before meeting you, but really nothing had changed. Kylo lived alone in the middle of the woods, several winding roads and miles away from the city that was filled with socialization. He had never mentioned a romantic partner before, never mentioned any friends besides the men who did his dirty work. He’d been so desperate to have you, not just you, but someone. Maybe for the first time in his life.
It made you sad. Very sad.
You didn’t realize that you were emotional, that you had been just starting to cry, until you sniffled when you took in a deep breath, then felt a tear slide down your cheek.
You rubbed it away with the back of your hand, trying to play it off as involuntary, just allergies. Still, from the edge of your vision, you saw Kylo react, flinching. Your insides twisted with embarrassment.
After all, what would be the purpose to mourn Ben Solo’s life, when it was Kylo Ren who stole you and kept you?
He cleared his throat, a short, sharp sound. “You don’t have to finish it,” He said under his breath. Without aggression, Kylo snatched the binder away from you, adding it to the stack of albums which he then scooted out of reach, down the table.
The suddenness of the gesture stung. He was the one who brought them out, offered them. But now, embarrassed or disgusted by the display of your tears, he was taking it back. You stared at the stack, feeling a deeper sadness pool in your chest.
Kylo studied your reaction, his posture stiff and wary. For the first time since meeting him, you wondered if he considered himself defective, if he was aware of his strangeness and how he never seemed to fit in anywhere. You wondered if he merely chose to ignore it. The man who spent his life picking through the disease of other people’s minds, unable to tolerate a single glimpse of his own.
He walked away and busied himself over by the window, his back turned to you. You heard the sound of the espresso machine prepping, the little punctures and hisses more aggressive than usual.
You watched him silently, unsure what to do with the ache in your chest. You wondered…had anyone ever cried for him before? Would it even make sense to him, that someone could feel sympathy for a version of himself he no longer recognized?
Kylo didn’t know what to think. Your reaction was something he could have never anticipated.
He stared ahead to his large backyard, the sun bouncing off of the snow and burning his eyes, giving him an excuse if they began to water from emotion instead. He placed the back of his hand against the window, comforted by the stinging sensation of the frozen glass on his skin.
“Why are you crying, Bunny?” He finally asked. Kylo’s tone had an element of worry in it, afraid to hear your answer.
You inhaled, lips tightening to swallow the next tears before they could escape. "I don't know," You lied. "It's just…" You trailed off, struggling to find any word that bridged the gap between empathy and the obligation to hate him.
Kylo pressed his cold knuckles up against his eyebrow, as if it would stem the headache blooming there.
“It’s hard for me,” You began to say. You felt like you were walking on eggshells, too careful and measured. “To relate to a serial killer.”
You could see Kylo’s shoulders twitch, hear the way that he attempted to hold back the quick, surprised but unamused laugh that escaped his chest.
“But…We have more in common than I thought.”
He slowly turned around now, eyebrows raised.
“You’re just as lonely as I am.” You said, “Aren’t you?”
Kylo’s mouth curved but not into a smile; it was something sharper, something that flickered and died before it could form. A moment of satisfaction, of relief. But also a hint of fear, that someone was making an observation about him that put him in a position of weakness.
He didn’t answer. The quiet felt like a silent agreement, and you sat with it, feeling your pulse in your throat.
You realized then how dangerous it was to speak to him like this, to lay out something so raw between you that he could easily take advantage of. But you didn’t take it back. You couldn’t.
Kylo took a few steps closer to you, arms folding over his chest as he stared down at you over the bridge of his nose. You attempted to back up in your chair but it was useless, putting an additional inch between you and him wouldn’t stop him.
He paused when he was close enough that his thigh brushed against the arm of the chair, looming over you. “That isn’t the only reason you’re crying.”
You shifted uncomfortably, feeling pathetically small to look up at him this way.
Kylo reached out, smoothing down your hair, letting his large hand linger on the back of your skull in a way that should scare you but only comforted you. He stared at you for a few moments, studying you, working up the courage to speak his mind.
“You wish you could’ve met him. Don’t you?” He hummed, eyes sad.
“Who?”
“Ben.”
He said the name without hiding his disdain, eyes narrowing and hand gripping just slightly harder on your hair without meaning to.
The question took your breath away and you felt a new rush of tears prick behind your eyes at the idea of a softer, undamaged version of Kylo touching you. They were the same person, but something died in Kylo the moment he left behind his old name, that you were sure of. The photos of him as a child compared to the photos of him in medical journals felt like two separate entities.
“You wish you could’ve seen him,” He said again, voice sharper this time, letting the statement hang like a blade. “The kind of man that you wish I still was.”
You could feel your heart shatter. You shut your eyes as you imagined what he was saying. How perfect it would be to have all of the positives of Kylo without the negatives. If you didn’t feel guilt every time he made you smile, every time you ached for his affection. If you didn’t have to worry about who he was going to kill next, if he would finally snap and hurt you.
You tried to imagine what it would be like if you could behave like a normal couple, going on dates and trips, not confined to his basement.
You wondered how good it would feel, to look into his dark eyes and see only love; not a monster.
Tears fell from your closed eyes, the painful reality that you would never get to experience loving Kylo without hating yourself over it, setting in.
“I do,” You admitted, voice breaking, apology heavy in your tone over your honesty.
Kylo didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, as he processed it.
You braced yourself, almost expecting him to get angry with you for being so honest, choosing to be blunt instead of telling him what he wanted to hear. But instead, you felt him ease his grip, his fingers rubbing gently against your scalp instead of holding you there.
When you cautiously opened your eyes, you were met with Kylo staring ahead at the living room. He wasn’t focused on a particular item or spot, just looking into the distance while his mind wandered some place else.
Of course you longed for Ben; for a version of himself that was easier to manage. Everyone did, himself included.
“You’re crying over a ghost, sweetheart.” He whispered, still not looking at you.
Kylo was afraid that if he looked into your eyes and saw the pain, that he’d crumble into it too. He couldn’t say out loud what he was thinking, the connections that he was making. You were crying over a ghost and he almost wanted to tell you that he did too, alone at night, when his head hurt and the thoughts travelled too quickly.
His eyebrow furrowed in thought as he considered how it would feel to share this moment with you, to explain how much he missed the innocence he once had too, how he wished he could turn back time and stop himself from sinking into the darkness.
The next thought he had felt poisonous, dangerous: what if you would have loved Ben? What if you would have said so yourself by now? What if he didn’t have to kidnap you and beg you to stay?
He forgot to breathe as he considered it. What if you had been there to save him before he lost himself?
He was close to asking these questions out loud, needing your reassurance. But his more powerful inner voice reminded him that he’d be a fool to give in so easily, to admit weakness to the one person he needed to convince he was strong for. Kylo removed his hand from your hair and straightened up, looking down at you.
For a long moment he just stood there, his shadow cast over you, the silence filled with words the two of you refused to say out loud. He forced his hands to his sides, curling his fingers into fists to keep from reaching for you again. The warmth of your scalp still lingered against his palm.
He wanted to tell you everything. How Ben hadn’t just died: he’d been killed, slowly, by every betrayal, every humiliation, all of the pain that built the man standing over you now. He wanted to tell you how badly he had needed someone to see him back then, to drag him out of it before it swallowed him whole.
Kylo wanted to ask you the questions burning in his throat: Would you have loved me then? Do you still love me now? Do you even love me at all?
But he couldn’t. He knew that would make him look weak, desperate, human. He’d worked too hard to bury Ben, to become Kylo. You were supposed to be proof that it was worth it. You were supposed to want him as he was now, despite it all.
“It would’ve never worked.” He said simply, cold. “If you would’ve met me back then.”
You could see how he was holding back. You chose your words carefully, unwilling to scare him away.
“Why not?”
“You’re perfect for me now, Bunny.” He said it in a way that made it clear he wasn’t willing to hear an argument. “Not for who I was when I was younger.”
“I would have told you nice things, made you feel safe, but you would’ve forgotten about me. And the second you would have hesitated, I would’ve let you go.” Kylo began to bend down toward you as he spoke, one hand on the table, one on the arm of the chair.
You shifted, squirming at how he caged you in and from the growing aggression in his tone.
“You’re too special to experience something so fleeting.” He spoke in an intense way, moving his face into your line of sight every time you attempted to look at something other than his unflinching gaze.
“You don’t want gentle. You don’t want safe. You want this.” Kylo’s hand on the chair now moved to your chin, holding you in place as you attempted to avoid him. He softened the moment your eyes locked on his, his grip secure but tender.
He spoke to you like he was pleading with you, begging to agree to validate his biting self hatred and regret.
"This," He whispered, brushing his lips over the corner of your mouth, "Is something we’ll never find in someone else. Don’t pretend you’ve ever felt this connection before me and don’t lie to yourself, you know you won’t feel it again.”
His words made you dizzy. You could see Ben flash across his face for a moment, gone before you could reach for it. But the truth churned inside of you painfully.
You didn’t want gentle. You didn’t want safe. Safe had left you lonely. Safe had left you sad and apathetic. Kylo’s intensity terrified you, but it also made you feel alive in a way you hated to admit. The thought of walking back into something small, something ordinary, felt suffocating.
"Tell me you want me," Kylo murmured, half command, half plea. He was shaking; not his hands, this time, but something deeper, a tremor through his voice, a vulnerability leaking out. “How I am now, not who I was.”
You hated this one-sided game he always played with you. The way he constantly broke you down, forced you to admit to him and yourself that you felt something you know you shouldn’t.
“That’s not fair,” You said, hating how small the words sounded. You tried to twist out of his grip but he held you gently, immovably. “You know I do.”
Kylo made a mournful sound, almost a groan, and let go of your jaw only to pull you closer. You thought he would kiss you hard, devour you, but instead he pressed his forehead to yours and just breathed you in, eyes shut, hands shaking as he cradled the back of your neck.
Would Ben have touched you this way, loved you the way that Kylo did? Or was this sick, deep obsession something that only a killer could experience?
How much of this was built from what he’d read, deduced, and reverse-engineered about “normal” people? The pressure of his palm, the way his breath feathered over your skin, how he forced himself to hold it for three full counts before he exhaled from what felt like the inside of your shared chest cavity.
“I was always meant to find you,” He murmured, “But until now, I never considered whether or not I found you too late.”
You caught him staring into the distance, lips pressed tight, eyes filled with what you interpreted as fear. Then came the sound: a low, humorless laugh, brittle and frustrated that made you flinch. It was a laugh that said of course, of course it’s too late.
He straightened, lifting his head with a slow, deliberate motion, and stepped back. The contact was gone, the closeness dissolved, and the laugh had vanished with it. His face was once again a mask of calm authority, though the faintest tremor lingered at the edge of his lips.
“You might think you want who I was before,” Kylo said, “But you belong to me now.”
A shock of heat filled your stomach, not just fear but also desire.
He motioned to the stack of photo albums that started this entire exchange, a tilt of his eyebrow that made it seem like he was irritated about them even existing. “So none of that really makes a difference, does it?”
No, you thought sadly, it didn’t.
~~~
A few hours later, Kylo told you that he wanted to go on a walk.
This, of course, felt like a win for you. The outside world, so many chances of escaping, places to run away. A taste of freedom.
But a walk with Kylo wasn’t like the walks through your neighborhood that you did every time the weather was nice.
He didn’t take you to a sidewalk along any street, no cars or people. He merely took you to his backyard, where his land extended into a thick landscape of trees and peaks, the trail unreachable to anyone but him. If you screamed, the sound would be swallowed up by the forest.
Not only did he eliminate any possible escape routes via location but he also made sure to secure you via restraints:
You were handcuffed.
To him.
“Your legs are a lot longer than mine,” You mumbled, annoyed, as he stepped a little too quickly over a tree stump.
The cuffs, a heavy chain maybe half a meter long, dug at your wrist and left a cold squeeze of metal against your skin when you lost your footing and faltered to keep up with him. You hadn't realized, until you started up the slope, how much of the surrounding property Kylo owned, or how little of it you'd ever seen.
Everything was quiet except the crunch of your boots and the distant rumble of airplanes leaving the metro airport.
Kylo walked with the irritating confidence of someone who’d mapped out and memorized each footfall, dragging you behind to remind you there was nowhere else to go and if you tried, he would have the upperhand.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmured, slowing his pace, looking back at you in a concerned but amused way.
The bright sun made it warmer than most days during the Winter but it was still cold when the wind blew or you stepped beneath a shady, leafless tree. There was a part of you that was grateful that there was no one else around, as ridiculous as that sounded, because of how you looked.
Not only was your wrist handcuffed to Kylo’s, but you were also wearing one of his heavy coats. He wouldn’t let you outside without it, worried you wouldn’t be warm enough. It wasn’t your size and it made you feel incredibly silly compared to the sophisticated jacket he wore with matching leather gloves. Before you stepped outside, he also insisted on putting one of his hats on you (after confirming that his gloves were much too big for you).
You felt like a child and it only made it harder for you to get the images of Ben Solo out of your mind.
Kylo noticed the way his coat swallowed you, how the hat continuously slipped down into your vision. He didn’t comment, didn’t offer the usual teasing, and it made you pause. There was a subtle shift in him, the kind that never quite reached his expression but traveled along his shoulders, a quiet tension that pulled at the air around you.
He adjusted his grip on the chain just enough to remind you who controlled the pace, but he didn’t pull. Not yet. He let the silence stretch, letting you feel the weight of being so small, so fragile next to him.
“I still feel like I don’t know you.” You admitted to him, grateful when he slowed his steps even further, walking directly beside you.
The chain that connected your wrists made it feel like you were holding hands in a distant, calculated way. At arm’s length in many ways.
He watched you from the periphery, his dark lashes low over his cheeks. His nose was slightly red from the chill, something that you noticed affectionately. "What don't you know?"
“Everything?”
Understandably, Kylo said nothing, overwhelmed by the prospect of filling in every blank possible. He walked along instead, focused on the footprints he left in the snow, his body turning inward, looking down.
“What were your parents like? Did you have any pets? Do you have siblings?” You began listing questions, all of the things that you wondered not just this morning, but since the day you met him. “What was your favorite movie growing up? Did you have a best friend? Do-”
“Okay, okay.” He interrupted you softly, eyes smiling even if his lips frowned. “Slow down, Bunny.”
He kept his head angled down to the path, but you could sense his full attention on you. He slowed his pace slightly, thinking.
“I had a dog once. I don’t remember its name but I didn’t like it very much, made me sneeze.” Kylo paused, thinking back to your list of questions, going down the line.
“No siblings, one was enough, I guess.” Slightly bitter.
“I didn’t watch movies, I listened to a lot of music. The rock music I thought would make me seem cool. But…it didn’t.”
“I had a few friends that came and went. No one important enough to make an impact. I didn’t connect much with people around me but I tried. I was too weird, too fascinated by things that only made sense in my head.”
You expected a lie, or maybe some manufactured tragedy he thought you wanted to hear. But his voice was clinically even, detached.
“Your parents.” You reminded him. He forgot to answer that one.
Kylo stopped abruptly now. Not angry, but distracted.
You stopped with him, you had no choice but to do so.
A frown passed over his face as he looked over the top of your head, staring off into the snow. He used his free hand to push hair away from his face, his cheeks turning a slightly pink color to match his cold nose.
“My father died when I was seven. He was sick, it wasn’t a surprise.” He spoke in an impassive way, not casual but not emotional. He was very comfortable with death because of his lines of work (both of them).
“My mother…” Kylo bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. “She was there sometimes and she was gone sometimes. Never physically gone but…” He cut himself off, dragging in a slow breath before finally looking down at you.
You were thoughtful, listening to him, satisfied that he was opening up.
It seemed like he didn’t know how to articulate what he meant and it led you to believe that you were the first person he’d ever attempted to explain his childhood to.
Another moment passed before Kylo tugged your cuffed wrist gently by moving his before he turned and began walking again. You kept up with him this time, right beside him. Your hand was closer to his, brushing against his glove.
“What do you mean?” You asked softly to prompt him to continue.
“Let me ask you something, sweetheart.” He responded, as if he were ignoring your question completely.
You audibly sighed, disappointed, but still: “Sure.”
Kylo glanced down at you over his shoulder, a hint of a smirk on his lips to see you annoyed with him, though still playing along, still pleasing him. His Bunny.
A squirrel darted across the snow, briefly breaking the tension, before Kylo’s question fell, heavy and inevitable.
“Why does it matter?”
Kylo’s question landed like a physical weight.
“Why does it matter?” You repeated softly, as if you saying it out loud might help you understand how he could be so smart but yet so clueless.
You tightened your jaw, pulling slightly against the chain just to feel something that was yours. Why does it matter? Because you’ve been studying me like a medical specimen while I’ve been stumbling around in the dark. Because you’ve memorized my habits, my fears, my favorite takeout order, and I don’t even know your middle name.
Out loud, you only managed, “Because you already know everything about me. You’ve been watching me… Following me. That’s not fair.”
Your voice cracked at the end, more frustration than fear, and you hated yourself for how small it sounded.
Kylo’s footsteps slowed and he looked around, avoiding your eyes. To his left there were a few overturned logs, snow melted on top and around them from how the sun beat against the surface. “Let’s sit.”
As the two of you sat down, Kylo felt like he was taking a step closer to the edge of a cliff, faced with a choice that symbolised finality. He was afraid to make the wrong move, to fall off without the protection of having you at the bottom.
If he told you more about his past and allowed himself to be vulnerable, there was a bigger possibility that you would put your guard down. Kylo knew that it would be easier for you to understand your love for him that way.
But if that backfired, it would ruin it all, he feared. You would no longer find him intimidating. You wouldn’t be afraid of him, he wouldn’t be able to control you or keep you there with him.
You wouldn’t see the Starkiller anymore, you would see Ben Solo.
Kylo could imagine you plotting behind his back without fear if you saw him as the broken boy in those photo albums instead of the man who had taken you. The risk felt enormous.
But then again, keeping you at arm's length wasn't working either. You were still planning to escape, still viewing him as a monster, still refusing to say you loved him back.
He had tried so hard to scare you into submission. He tried showing you the dark parts of yourself, hoping that you’d appreciate his. But it didn’t change anything, at least not in a measurable way.
Maybe honesty and vulnerability were the only weapons he had left.
The chain clinked softly as you settled beside him on the log, the metal cold even through your gloves. Kylo stared ahead at the treeline, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. You watched the way his jaw worked, the muscle twitching as he fought some internal battle.
“I know what your brain is doing right now,” He commented. When he looked at you, beside him, he had a soft smirk on his face that felt affectionate.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re probably so excited, aren’t you?” His tone was hard to place. “Getting to live out a journalist’s dream; interviewing a serial killer.”
You blinked, startled by his sudden shift. The accusation stung, but there was a hint of playfulness in his tone that confused you.
"That's not what I'm doing," You said, though the denial sounded hollow even to your ears. Wasn't that exactly what you'd been doing? Probing for information, filing it away?
Kylo's eyes softened as he watched you struggle with the realization. "It's okay," He murmured. "I don't mind. I love that about you."
You offered a small, almost sheepish smile. You noticed how he scooted closer to you, the chain between the two of you had more give. The leather of his glove pressed against your palm, his fingers running against your skin.
“You know, you’re right, Bunny.” He mumbled. “I know so much about you.”
You said nothing, hating the way your stomach flipped in an excited way. You tried to tell yourself that you were only thrilled that he was acknowledging the power dynamic.
“And that’s why I love you so much.” Kylo’s eyes met yours, smiling in an almost sad way.
You could read his mind, ‘what his brain was doing’ as he put it: He was hoping that if you knew more about him, you’d love him too.
You felt your chest tighten at his words, at the raw hope bleeding through his careful composure. The wind picked up, rustling through the bare branches above you, and you found yourself leaning slightly into his warmth despite yourself.
"Tell me about your mom," You said quietly, returning to his earlier deflection.
Kylo's fingers stilled against your palm. For a moment you thought he might retreat again, throw up those familiar walls. But then his shoulders sagged, just slightly, and you realized he was surrendering something precious.
“I told you my father was sick. He had a degenerative disease, diagnosed before I was born, so the only memories I have of him were him trying to fight it.” He said, “It was all physical, you know? His body was against him.”
You nodded to indicate you were listening. You let him trace idle patterns onto your hand, despite how silly it felt to have his large, leather covered fingers attempt to do something so delicate.
“My mother…Well, she was sick too.” Kylo looked ahead, then up slightly, as if he were trying to find the right words between the branches. “But it was mental. And she tried her best to fight it too…But that’s tough, thinking about the things she must’ve been…”
You had been suspicious before that he had never told anyone about his upbringing but you were almost certain now. You’d never seen him so inarticulate. He always knew just what to say, to a terrifying degree. As he spoke now, it was far from it.
You could see him struggling to find the language for something that had been locked away for so long. The vulnerability in his voice was almost unbearable to witness.
"She would disappear into herself," He finally managed, his thumb now still against your knuckles. "For days, sometimes weeks. I'd come home from school and she'd be sitting in the same chair, staring at nothing…”
“When she’d get like that, she hated me.”
You frowned, let out a small sound of disbelief at the thought of a mother hating her child for no reason.
“She did.” He argued gently, looking at you, then away again.
“I reminded her of all the bad things about herself, about her life. She hated herself on those days and so; she hated me too.”
Your skepticism faded, replaced with something close to pity.
“She loved me too, though. Those days were harder because I knew it wouldn’t last. But she was a very good mother when she could be.”
Your throat constricted at the raw honesty in his voice. You could picture him as that little boy, never knowing which version of his mother he'd come home to; the one who loved him or the one who couldn't bear to look at him.
Looking at him now, your stomach sunk, mouth dry as you put the pieces together.
That was why Kylo became a doctor. He went his entire life wishing he could fix his father’s body and his mother’s mind. So he pursued a career where he could do that for others.
It was heartbreaking, knowing that Kylo was so smart and so ambitious but there were still two things that he’d never be able to repair.
He said nothing for a few minutes and you let him sit in the silence. Birds passed overhead, snow fell from branches quietly.
“I came back from college for Christmas Break, junior year. I had just turned eighteen and I had just gotten an internship that I’d been so excited to tell her about…” His brow furrowed. You could almost see the scene playing behind his eyes as he told it.
“She was dead. In that fucking chair.” Kylo shook his head, “Did it herself. It wasn’t…pretty or painless, I’ll just say that.”
Your breath caught, a sharp intake that seemed to echo in the winter air. The image of teenage Ben, barely eighteen, excited about his future, coming home to find his mother's body hit you like a physical blow.
"Kylo..." You whispered, his name falling from your lips without thought.
He didn't seem to hear you. His eyes were fixed on some distant point beyond the trees, lost in a memory that had clearly never left him. He was living through it again: the shock, not reacting, just sliding down the side of the recliner so he couldn’t see her, calling 911, waiting alone with her for hours before they arrived.
“They thought I did it.”
You blinked. “What?”
He nodded, looking at you. “Wouldn’t you?”
You tried not to react. But you understood. Kylo was strange and intense. He was always alone, always putting distance. You were sure he had a reputation where he lived (‘that tall, creepy genius boy with the sad mom’) and it was so easy to point fingers when it came to that sort of thing.
"I know I must have looked guilty," Kylo continued, his voice steady but hollow. "Standing there, not crying, just... observing. They kept me in for questioning for three days. I missed her funeral."
You stared at him, trying to imagine what that must have felt like, to lose his mother so violently and then be immediately suspected of killing her. You imagined the photos of him you saw, when he was around that age. You could picture him sitting under harsh fluorescent lights, his face impassive while investigators tried to break through his clinical detachment. The same detachment he showed now, telling this story as if it had happened to someone else. The same detachment he had to feel when patients died under his care or when the Starkiller claimed another victim.
"They couldn't prove anything, obviously," Kylo continued. "But the damage was done. Everyone looked at me differently after that."
He took a deep breath, exhaling the memory. Kylo straightened up, moved his hand away from yours and rolled his shoulders. He was attempting to get back to how it had been before, to not allow himself to sink too far into the depths of guilt and self loathing.
“So, anyway,” He shrugged, too casual. “My mentor at the time suggested I transfer to a different school, go by a different name then change it legally once I graduated. Once I did that…I just left Ben behind, killed him.”
A chill ran through you that had nothing to do with the winter air. The casual way he spoke of "killing" Ben struck you as both metaphorical and eerily literal, as if he'd performed an internal surgery, cutting away parts of himself with the same precision he'd later use on his patients.
“Then there was Kylo Ren.” You murmured.
“Mm,” He made a soft sound of agreement, a more pleasant expression flashing over his features.
Ben was weak, ashamed, he made himself smaller in an attempt to fit in. Kylo took command of every space, left no room for arguments, and took what he wanted.
“Is that why you…” You started asking, then faltered. It felt inappropriate to talk about the Starkiller now, somehow.
Kylo watched you struggle, a hint of a bitten back laugh evident on his lips. “Kill people?”
The word hung in the air like frost, sharp and dangerous. He tilted his head, studying you with the kind of interest you hated, like he was waiting to see if you’d flinch.
“No,” He answered, voice low. He shook his head. “Not exactly.”
You bit your lip, then held your breath. You were trying so hard not to ask.
“Don’t worry, smarty, I’ll tell you.” Kylo teased, voice like honey.
You smirked and tried not to think about how you were grinning at the prospect of knowing more about murder.
Then, his smile faded. His eyes flattened out, the warmth gone.
“My father, my mother, myself in a sense…All of my patients who I can’t save…” Kylo placed his uncuffed hand on your cheek, leather thumb running against your skin. “You, my Bunny.”
You shuddered slightly, blinking up at him.
“Good people who have terrible things happen to them.” He whispered.
“And do you know how many bad people get away with the terrible things they’ve done?”
You didn’t respond, knowing it was rhetorical.
“It isn’t fair. I had all of this frustration with nowhere to put it. And I had nothing to lose.” His eyes narrowed for a quick moment, a touch of pessimism. “The first time I killed someone, a man who I caught taking money from his step-mother’s purse before she woke up from surgery…I felt so much better.”
His hand still lingered on your face, holding your chin up, forcing you to look at him as he admitted all of this to you.
“People like you and me…The system failed us. People failed us. The world watches it all happen too. And they just move on.”
“So you try to even the score…Get rid of the bad people, get revenge for the good people.” You murmured, attempting to make sense of it all.
There was a logic to it, cold and fatalistic. It fit into his life the same way a scalpel fits a surgeon’s hand. You could hear the way his words were meant to stitch a moral thread through the monstrous thing he’d become. It was persuasive in a way you hadn’t been expecting. A part of you could see how it made sense to him: pain in equals pain out.
He shrugged. This was the first time he was ever conceptualizing what he did. Saying it out loud made him feel somewhat silly, like an edgy teen writing a manifesto. “I guess.” He downplayed it.
You let out a deep exhale as you considered it. You thought back to all of the theories that you had, all of the connections you attempted to make. You tried to remember back if you had ever said anything close to it on the podcast.
“Damn.” You mumbled, irritated.
“Hm?”
“I was wrong.” You were practically pouting.
Kylo’s heart thumped with affection, watching you. How easily you accepted the thoughts that were closest to his heart, how you were afraid of him but not in the way anyone else would be. His Bunny, it was always supposed to be you.
“I told my listeners you were just a sick freak who got lucky with the attention you were getting… I didn’t think you had a plan or a reason. I thought you just did it for fun.” You said, kicking a rock away.
He hummed, pretending to think it over. “Sometimes I do.”
Your eyes snapped up to his, scandalized, shamefully hopeful. “Really?”
Kylo smirked, then took your hand. He winked, not replying yes or no. “You look cold, sweetheart. Let’s get back inside.”
~~~~~
“Really?”
You asked it again, the same as you did earlier that day on the log in the snow. Except now you were in Kylo’s living room, sitting on the couch, in front of the fireplace.
“Yep.” Kylo grinned, proud and amused.
He was playing a heavy metal song, one that he listened to in college, when he was trying to fit in and ‘be cool’ with the students around him. It was nothing like the classical music or the music from a time before he was born, that he normally played.
You laughed, drawing your knees close to your chest. You had the blanket around you, the same one that you took from the couch the night before and brought back up this morning.
“Yeah, I bet you got a lot of cool points for this,” You said sarcastically.
Kylo pulled a small bottle of pills from his pocket. He didn’t explain, just popped two into his mouth, chasing them with a swallow of dark whiskey from the crystal glass beside him. The amber liquid caught the firelight as he tilted the glass back, eyes glinting with mischief and something softer, deeper.
“What are those?” You couldn't help but ask. Still interviewing. “I always see you take them.”
The music faded into something slower, a quiet hum of strings that Kylo had thrown on after the metal track.
Kylo let the question hang in the air. His jaw flexed slightly, a subtle tension in his face, and he made a sound without answering. His gaze drifted to the fire, then back to you, warm and mischievous, but guarded.
“Helps with the panic attacks.” He said simply.
You wondered if he got the pills ethically, or if he had access to them because of his surgeon status. You flinched as you recalled how he injected something that made you pass out in his arms before. Did he get that the same way?
Kylo looked sad now. You weren’t sure why, perhaps it was the realization that he wasn’t as strong as he wanted to be. With his panic attacks and pills, and all of the ways he was human that he revealed to you today.
Sliding your palm along the surface of the couch, you stopped when your fingertips brushed against his thigh.
Kylo jumped at the contact, not afraid but thrilled. He shifted his leg so that it was closer, pressing against your fingers. His gaze met yours, eyebrows raised.
His eagerness stirred something in you. He was just as lonely as you were, just as starved for attention.
“Thank you,” You said to him, “For being honest with me.”
Kylo’s lips pressed together briefly, a twitch of unease flashing across his face before he let his usual mask of control return. Inside, though, there was a flicker of doubt. He had opened himself up, let you see the cracks and now part of him worried that you wouldn't fear him anymore.
He shifted slightly, just enough to hide the inward pull of tension. The whiskey warmed his chest, the pills smoothed the tremor in his hands, but they didn’t smooth the worry that lingered behind his eyes. He wanted you close, wanted your trust, wanted your softness but not too much. Not if it meant you’d stop needing him in the way he wanted, not if he didn’t have the option to control you if he needed to.
You felt it too, that subtle hesitation, and it tugged at your chest. His usual intensity had softened, just a touch, and it was almost imperceptible if you weren’t paying attention; but you were. Your fingers lingered on his thigh, drawn to the warmth, to the closeness, to him.
He considered pushing you away. Maybe he could reveal something disgusting and unforgivable he did as the Starkiller, something to remind you that he was still the monster you had thought of him as before.
Kylo wondered how you would feel if he grabbed you the way he wanted to, so hard that he’d leave behind bruises. Would you still thank him if he fucked you as hard as he imagined it in his mind, when he didn’t hold himself back in order to not break you?
Your hand trailed further on his thigh and you allowed yourself to scoot closer, moving your body right next to his. Kylo lifted his arm, wanting you to settle in against him and when you did, he pulled you close in a gentle way.
The worry faded from his mind as did the desire to remind you of his strength when he could smell the familiar scent of you and feel the sensation of your body heat against him that he memorized long ago.
Perhaps tomorrow he’d worry about whether or not he still had the ability to intimidate you. But right now Kylo wanted to enjoy having you close to him, knowing him better, closer to loving him, he hoped.
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, eyes focused on the dancing fire. “I love you.” He mumbled against your skin.
You closed your eyes. For tonight you could pretend that this was okay, that this wasn’t something you needed to be ashamed of. You nodded at his statement but didn’t respond out loud. Instead, you put an arm around his waist, relaxing closer against him.
It was easier than you thought, to convince yourself that Kylo Ren wasn’t holding you. But Ben Solo was.
~~~~
Kylo removed the infuser from the tea he made you, setting it in the sink for him to take care of later. He wiped the sides of the mug with a towel, making sure that it was clean.
“Do you want a snack to take to your room?” He asked. You stood at the dining room table, holding your blanket, watching him prepare your night time treats before you retreated to your room in the basement.
He didn’t ask you to sleep in his bed with him tonight. Not because he didn’t want you to, but because Kylo felt close enough to you even if you were a floor below him. He didn’t feel the need to force you into affection like he usually did.
You were grateful for this because you were afraid that you wanted to sleep with him too much. It would be easy for you to say or do something you’d regret in the morning if you let your guard down tonight.
Considering his question, you opened your mouth to decline, that you weren’t hungry. But then your eyes landed on the stack of photo albums and something particular caught your eye.
You hadn’t gotten through all of them earlier because he pulled them away when you became emotional. There had been around four more that you could’ve gone through if you would’ve continued on.
On the bottom of the pile, there was a smaller book than the others. Black. Leather.
Why did that feel familiar?
When it dawned on you, you let out a quiet gasp.
“Bunny?” Kylo asked, glancing over at you from inside the kitchen.
You instinctively cleared your throat hoping it blended in with the noise of surprise you made.
“Huh?”
“Snack?” Kylo repeated.
Sure, whatever, just turn the fuck around again, you thought to yourself.
“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about what I wanted.” You scrambled to come up with an excuse. “Do you still have those cookies?”
Kylo smiled, pleased. “I do. I’ll get them for you.”
You waited until he turned around and opened the cabinet, stepping out of eyesight entirely.
Vicrul’s voice rang in your mind as you stared at the stack of books again: “There’s a notebook, black leather. Not sure if it’s the answer you need but there’s a lot of numbers in there.”
The notebook that Vicrul found that he said was filled with numbers. He suspected the passcode to the locks on the doors might be in there. And although neither of you had been certain, it was a bigger lead that you’d gotten so far.
Could that be it?
Your eyes darted to the kitchen to confirm that Kylo was still not looking. As silent and fast as possible, you reached forward and yanked the book from the pile, instantly hiding it in the folds of the fluffy blanket you cradled to your chest.
Just as you finished doing so, Kylo turned the corner, holding a steaming mug and a small plate with two cookies with a neatly folded napkin beside it.
You held the blanket tightly, hoping that it looked natural and that no peeks of black leather were sticking out between the material. To add to your innocence, you sent Kylo a smile, hoping it would at least distract him.
Kylo grinned right back, oblivious, which was rare for him.
“Okay, Bunny girl, it’s time for bed.” He told you, pausing beside you to kiss the top of your head. From his angle, it would’ve been very easy to peer into your blanket, to see that you were holding it unnaturally. But without the suspicion, Kylo didn’t even think to.
You nodded, pulse pounding in your ears. You pretended to yawn even though you were the farthest thing from drowsy now. “Yes, please. It’s been a long day.”
Kylo let out a soft noise that sounded like a coo, the thought of you being sleepy making him feel protective and affectionate. He kissed your head again, holding the mug and plate in his hands.
“You are so special to me.” He murmured against your hair. “I’d be lost without you, I’m so thankful that you’re here with me.”
Your throat tightened at his words. The warmth of his breath against your hair made your stomach twist with something that wasn’t entirely fear. Guilt crept in under your skin, sharp and immediate. He meant it, his voice was low, thick with real gratitude. You could hear it in the way his tone softened, in the small tremor that gave him away. For a split second, you almost wanted to tell him. Almost wanted to give the book back.
But then the memory of the basement door slammed against your thoughts. The way the lock clicked behind you at night, the taste of metal when you woke up from whatever he’d injected into you before. The panic you felt when you realized your phone was gone. The fear. The control. The games. The little ways he made you smaller so you’d fit into his palms.
You clutched the blanket tighter, the edges of the black leather digging into your ribs. Survival, you reminded yourself. This is about escape.
Kylo’s lips brushed your temple again, his voice a low mumble. “I love you. I’ll never stop telling you that.”
He pulled away and for a moment you thought he was onto you. But it was clear that he didn’t know. He didn’t see. His expression was soft enough to break your heart.
Kylo’s eyes were dark but almost shy, searching your face for some reflection of his own feelings. And you gave it to him, because you had to. You gave him softness and warmth, the kind of look you knew he craved. All the while, your fingers pressed the notebook tighter to your body, hiding your only possible way out.
Kylo smiled faintly, satisfied, then nodded to the basement steps with his head. “Alright, come with me so I can tuck you in.”
The nighttime ritual was the same as it usually was, only this time you were cradling the blanket in a way you hadn’t before. It was the first time that you had a stolen item of Kylo’s nestled between the sheets with you.
Kylo noticed, though he didn’t think much of it past tenderness. He watched how you held the crumpled blanket tight to your chest and he assumed it was an anchor of comfort.
“Do you want me to sleep in here with you tonight?” He asked you softly.
You looked up at him, hoping that you didn’t look startled. You instinctively held the covered book closer to your chest then shook your head. “That’s okay.”
He was visibly disappointed but he didn’t argue. He scanned the room like he was looking for something specific then walked to the corner, where a chair sat.
You watched him warily, fearful of every move he made.
When he turned back around, he had a stuffed animal rabbit in his hand.
It was the small, white one with pink on the ears, something he bought you weeks ago, back when he thought comfort could be given like gifts, soft things to replace freedom. He probably thought you’d like having it. He probably thought it would help.
He didn’t say a word as he crossed the room, just placed it gently beside you, against the blanket and the hidden notebook, and tucked it there with quiet care. His knuckles brushed your arm as he did, and you felt his belief that he was helping you.
“Goodnight, Bunny,” He murmured, and bent to press a kiss to your forehead.
The rabbit sat between you and the truth, and the tenderness of it made your throat ache. He was being so nice to you, so gentle and unguarded.
He left the light dimmed and walked toward the door. You blinked hard, swallowing the sting in your eyes.
Survival, you reminded yourself.
But for the first time, the word didn’t feel like strength: it felt like betrayal.