Striking cold water stabbed his head. He cringed as the water began to flow along his shoulders and back, sending shivers down his spine. Kylo Ren's first instinct was to turn the knob to full heat, but he restrained himself. Turning it higher would only lead the water to boil his skin. After a minute, the water warmed to a pleasurable temperature, but he still felt cold.

The sith tried not to think as he poured a pool of shampoo into his hand. While thinking was calculated and precise, it eventually gave way to emotions. Uncalculated, ugly emotions. Lonely emotions. And emotions gave way to weakness. One very beautiful weakness. Instead, he tried to focus on the task at hand, which happened to be trying to keep the shampoo container from falling out of his shaking hands.

His soapy fingers combed through his thick, tangled hair. As his fingernails scraped his scalp, it felt as if a thousand tiny beads were sanding down his skull. He stopped for a moment and tentatively pulled a bead out with his pointer finger and thumb. He brought it to his lips. Salt, it was salt.

He tore at his head like a wild animal, his fingers clawing desperately at the unwanted reminder. All he could see was salt. Salt on a vast ocean of red sand, or was it blood? All he could see was salt and Skywalker standing over his bedside with a saber in his hand and then Skywalker laughing as Kylo's own saber flew uselessly through Luke's intangible body. Then, all he could see was the disappointment in her eyes as she closed the door on him and took off from that forsaken salt planet forever. It took ten minutes until he was certain every single grain had been sent down the metal drain, and still he scoured. He only stopped when he saw a trickle of light pink water flowing down the drain. He didn't know if it was blood from his head, his fingers, or both.

At that moment, Kylo wanted nothing more than to run out of the shower to a little stone hut on an island in the middle of nowhere. Or, at least run to his bed and use sleep as an excuse to forget, if only for a little while. But his desire to be clean was stronger, and she wasn't in the little stone hut any longer. Even if he knew where she was, she wouldn't want him there. He washed his body three times before he finally stepped out of the shower. He left the water running just in case any of the remains had not been washed away.

Weak. Illogical. A waste of valuable First Order resources. Yet, he let the water flow. Shivering under his warm blanket in his warm sleeping pants, he listened to the water running in his private washroom. He wondered amusingly if this was what little boys went through when they got turned down by the other cute little girls. Then, his amusement turned sour as he realized that no, this was much worse. Suddenly, the water became a reminder of the day's events, polluted by the cursed salt that, while now gone, still seemed to sting his hair. He wondered if the pain, the guilt, the loneliness, would ever wash away, or if he would just wash away with it.

"You're alone," he whispered to his own hollow shell.

The long showers became routine. Even though the salt was long, he still scrubbed his hair until he bled. Night after night, he fought to forget. Forget how he betrayed her. Forget the look in her eyes as she slammed the door in his face. Night after night he tried in vain to forget, and night after night he thought of her all the same. He longed to see her face just one more time, but try as he might, the force connection was broken.

Until one night, the salt came back.

It poured down his eyes and his cheeks and his lips. It came in bursts and streams and was mixed with a glob of gooey snot that snorted out his nose. He felt so weak. The Supreme Leader wasn't supposed to cry, not like this and definitely not about something so stupid as, as love.

The room became quiet, but he didn't notice. He only kept wiping at his eyes at his eyes, trying to force the salt away like always. It wasn't working.

"Ben," he heard a ghost. It was a gentle ghost. A sob caught in his throat and he realized suddenly who the ghost was.

"Rey," he croaked out. He thought about what to do. It was too late to hide his tears. The force had allowed Rey to catch him in this moment of vulnerability, and he knew there would be no way to hide his emotions from Rey because of this. Not now, not ever. He could wipe his eyes and order her to leave. He could call her a vile snake, tell her he would hunt down her pitiful excuse of an army and personally kill every member of the resistance. He could grab his saber right now, resting against the desk, and stab her just as Snoke had ordered him to do. But, she would know the truth.

They moved at the same time, Rey stepping towards him and Kylo jumping out of bed and lunging towards her. He collapsed into her arms, bringing them both to their knees. The salt kept flowing and flowing, and Kylo gripped her robe tightly. She didn't say anything. She just rubbed one hand on his bare back while the other combed through his damp hair. If his appearance, mainly lack of shirt, made her uncomfortable, she didn't show it. She had seen him before shirtless, but not like this. They had touched before, been close to each other before, but not like this. They had been open to one another before, but it had been nothing like this. This was something new.

After a few minutes, he finally stopped crying. His breathing slowed, but he remained in Rey's arms. He pulled apart from her, not because he wanted too, but in order to see her face. She too had tears in her eyes. They were gentler, quieter. When their eyes met, she turned away. She looked conflicted. She looked betrayed.

"I'm sorry." Kylo was certain he had never said those two words before in his life, but they came out with such certainty, such vigor, he wanted to say them over and over again. He wanted to scream them in her ear and in his own ear, because he knew that they were the most true words he had ever said in his life. He wanted them to take away the salt in her eyes, because she was too perfect to deserve such a heavy burden.

Rey nodded. She understood what he was feeling. She understood everything, and still forgave him. "Me too."

He reached out and took her hand in his own. With his other hand, he wiped a tear from her cheek. "Don't cry, I don't want you to cry."

Rey gave a light laugh, her lips twitching upwards. "You're really telling me not to cry? After all of that?"

He couldn't stop the slight grin that stole across his face as well. "It's a rather gross experience. I don't think you'd like it."

She shook her head. "It's okay to cry Ben. It's okay to feel guilt and sorrow, as long as you're willing to do something about it." She looked up hopefully.

He knew what she was saying, what she was asking him to do. He couldn't be mad about it, because he had done the same to her. He wanted so bad to agree, to hop into a ship and fly straight towards the rebel base to be with her. But, "I can't leave Rey. I don't belong with the light. The resistance would never accept me after what I did, and what I did to you."

She looked down. "I know."

They stayed crouched on the floor for another minute, holding hands, crying gently together.

"I'm glad the force connected us back together," Rey admitted. "I missed you, even though I tried not to. I don't know how we're ever going to make this work, but I need y..."

Ben cut her off, crashing his lips to hers. The loneliness completely washed away. The kiss was gentle and passionate all at once. Her lips tasted salty from her tears. He remembered, but this time it was okay.