The door opens. Ren turns, black cloak broad behind him, takes a stride up the steps that lead out of her cell. She's surprised when he half-turns back, and gestures, inviting her to follow - not to take his hand, simply to leave her prison.
"I thought you'd never ask."
She means the remark as flirtation, as much a defensive parry as agreement, and she's annoyed that he turns away without replying, but she hurries after him, like an animal chasing down a quarry - like something in one of those stupid fake races that Finn told her about, on Canto Bight. But this is no time to feel foolish. A part of her is afraid she'll miss an opportunity, fearful that he'll leave her there and shut the armoured door. A part of her hopes that if she follows him, he'll respond to the challenge of her remark.
Instead? A silence, footsteps, long strides. The passage leading out of the detention block is narrow. When they reach the lobby, she quirks out from behind, takes quicker steps to move up alongside him.
Ren smiles at her, and she flashes a grin back. The fact they did that in full view of the guards snapping at the security desk... well, what does that mean?
She's not sure what the glance he gives her means. She's not sure what the look she offers in reply means, either.
They're out of the cells now, away from the uniformed idiots snapping to attention to salute him. She's still wearing her stupid First Order stun-cuffs. She supposes she could take them off, if she wanted to. She's a Jedi, after all.
"Ren."
That stops him. She's never acknowledged that part of him. At least, not in a word. Not...
Kylo Ren, Ben Solo, Kylo Ren... whatever, he turns and looks at her - surprised, amazed, impressed. And, with one of those mercurial shifts of poise, he looks like he's about to answer back, and take control of the discussion from her.
"Oh, kriff you," she says, and loops her arms around his neck, pushing him back against the wall before he can react. She's still in handcuffs, and a good eight inches shorter, but that doesn't matter.
She's got one leg raised, braced against the wall, like she's on a mounting step for some big riding animal.
She's got the Supreme Leader of the First Order backed against the wall - or at least the bulkhead, in a public corridor, on his Star Destroyer.
Making out.
She can feel his gloved hands supporting her, low in counterbalance to her raised arms, and the two lightsabers, angular on her right hip. She can feel his surprise, and his enthusiasm, and her own. She can distantly feel the surprise of soldiers walking past, a ripple of reaction, which she's pretty sure will be all around the ship before she's let him take a breath - but the thing that matters is the way her lips and his are holding wordless conversation.
The thing that matters is the kiss, bright like a star between them.