Disclaimer: Not mine. Summary is a line from Cleopatra: A Life that I liked the sound of so much I memorized it.

A/N: Forgive any inconsistencies in Star Wars lore, I'm very new to the SW fandom (like, Rogue One is what got me to watch all of them new to the fandom).

Dark eyes stared impassively out the window of a ship, the blackness space dotted with streaking stars, like comet tails, ribbons of light. The great distance meant nothing to him any longer. No time or space could separate him from her. No distance was too great, the vastness of the galaxy meant nothing. Not when it was as simple as breathing to reach inside himself, grasp the flickering light of his Force, and reach out, over planets and suns and stars, and touch.

A lightbulb shattered, a finite trembling began to rattle windowpane and door, and Kylo Ren stood aggressively, chair shoved backwards with enough force to tumble it backwards. He was irate, itching and shivering with energy, vibrating with the want, the need, to release it.

This was her fault. His life had been ordered, had meaning, had purpose. It had been structured before she had come into his life like a sandstorm, a force of nature you couldn't control. It wasn't enough that she looked like the things stardust contrived to be: porcelain skin and brilliant eyes. Strong and brave – biting and headstrong. But her mind…

… Her mind was a kyber cave. It was the Force, it was a supernova. It was bright and blinding, a sunny beach, warm and welcoming. It wanted to let him in, it wanted to welcome him into its folds, it wanted him there. It was hard, so hard, not to sink into that mind, that ease of touching his thoughts to hers that he had never had with anyone – not Snoke, not Luke, not his father or mother. It was like their minds were two halves of a whole.

And now that his mind knew where his missing piece was, it didn't want to be without it.

Their fight at Takodana Kylo had thought would be the end of their meeting – he would extract the information he needed, he would kill her, and he would never think of her again. But she had fought like a whirlwind, like an artist, all supple curves and grace. And he was the lumbering fool trying to keep up with her.

Then her welcoming mind trying to suck him in and ruined his life.

She'd escaped, he'd searching the universe for her. Stop and go, hurry up and wait, catch and release. An intergalactic game of tag. Always two steps behind, always five minutes too late. Never enough. Never close enough to reach out –

Then, a light. A light in the dark world of his life. Her voice, inside his head, whispering, angry, but so real and close and there. Then her face, all arched cheekbones and cat eyes and pouty lips, windswept hair and sluicing water, her clothes plastered to her, hugging her form and outlining curves. So close he could almost believe he was there with her, in the storm, rain on his lips, her smell in his nose…

Then, gone.

But soon, before he could begin to let the regret simmering underneath what was left of his heart start to fester and take over, there she was again. In the background nothing. There was blackness and the only bright spot was her – porcelain pale and glowing with inner light, eyes earnest and intense and heartfelt. When he reached out his hand it was like offering her a piece of his heart, like he'd ripped it out of his own chest as a bloody offering for her to do with what she willed. Take it or leave it. Redeem or destroy him.

For days he dwelled on her face there hovering in the blackness. What did she think of him? Did she regret the scar she gave him – did she know that he wore it like a badge of honor, that he ran his fingers over it to remind himself of her? Did she want to meet again?

Suddenly she was there. It was surreal – a juxtapose of his life. Snoke to one side, Rey to the other, and he in between. Wedge, wavering, torn. Her scream was the final cut, a lightsaber cutting through his mixed emotions like a knife through bread. No choice anymore, just action.

This fight was different. This fight they fought together. They moved like water, like wind, like fire – give and take, push and shove, forward and back. Where she led, he followed. When he spun, she twirled. They moved together like one unit. He was aware of her in a way he'd never been of another person, she was like a missing piece of him, like a limb, like his sword arm. They were one. They were dancing.

Once she leaned back and pressed her hand against his thigh as though it were the most natural thing in the world, he thought his heart would burst from the feeling. The slide of her hand against him exploding starbursts behind his eyes.

Indescribable joy.

Blinding hot pleasure raced through his nerve endings, like a static current, like electricity. It shot along his veins quick as thought, shooting off the synapses in his head with bliss, white hot and intense.

Then it was over. She was gone. He was alone. Chasing after her again. But this time he remembered what it felt like to have her touch him. He remembered her slight hands, their long fingers and firm grip. He remembered the way she'd glanced away from his unclothed chest, eyes embarrassed and cheeks red. He remembered how it felt to have someone to dance with.

He wanted it back.

He wanted closeness. He wanted… what his parents had had when he was very young, when he remembered them loving and tender and just so fucking perfect for each other it was enough to make you want to hate them. He wanted her near him, beside him, under him. He wanted soft hands on his scars, he wanted to run calloused hands down silken skin. He wanted to have her look at him like he was noble and brave and good. He wanted …

The wall of his room cracked and buckled under the force of his fist.

He wanted her.