Chapter 11

Strangers

Author's note: After much thought and contemplation I decided to write part of this chapter from a mother's pov. I hope I have done her justice.

And a special note to a guest who left the most lovely review in the previous chapter by letting me know they have kept an eye on this story from the very first chapter! Only a couple of more left so thank you all for your patience and for sticking with me.

Music choice for this chapter "Every breaking wave" (from Accoustic Sessions) by U2.

"Would you like some coffee or tea?"

A stewardess chimes pleasantly at Leia, jostling the young woman sleeping next to her from slumber. Leia glances out of the corner of her eye as the girl grasps the arms of her seat, squinting through puffy, stinging eyes at her surroundings, obviously very startled at the sudden awakening.

"Some tea would be wonderful, thank you," Leia answers calmly. "No sugar."

There's a low thrum of engines vibrating in the air, and a soft murmur of voices blending with the clinking of spoons against ceramic. The flight still has a while to reach its destination, but judging from the light snore of exhaustion that has been coming from the girl for the past two hours, Leia fears she might not be able to talk to her the way she had hoped if she falls back asleep.

The stewardess proceeds to prepare the beverage in quick, practiced gestures, and then turns her attention to the young woman expectantly.

"Um...tea would be great for me, as well. Green, please, with honey," she rasps, trying to pull her slumped body into a dignified seating position.

She runs her hands down her black cocktail dress that's creased enough to imply she has been in it for several hours, most probably overnight. Her smudged makeup, bloodshot eyes and messy hair are enough to let Leia know she hasn't caught much sleep either. Amilyn was right when she said the girl was a walking tragedy.

The argument she must have had with Ben is worse than she thought.

Leia takes the offered beverage from the stewardess, smiling at the girl who tries to mimic the smile as politely as possible. Her eyes and face are so swollen from the silent tears that have been streaming down, it comes out as more of a grimace.

"Would you mind passing by for a second cup soon?" Leia asks the stewardess, hoping the girl doesn't think she's overstepping. "I believe the young lady next to me will need it."

"Oh, no. I'll be fine," she protests, mortified. "There's really no reason to—"

"Nonsense, it's only a cup of tea. I doubt it will be all that much of a hassle." Leia's smile widens, but she can't help feeling a pang of sorrow for her. She's clearly not used to any kind of expensive catering.

The stewardess nods an 'of course ma'am' before offering the young woman her tea and walking away.

The girl stares at Leia's eyes for a moment too long, as if something has caught her attention. She prays it's not sympathy. Younger generations are so proud and easy to aggravate, it would be disappointing to have her clamp up after she has gone through such lengths to finally meet her.

Leia continues to smile as she settles back in her seat, tea in hand. The cup rattles lightly on its saucer but thankfully nothing spills over. She struggles for her nervousness not to show as the girl continues to study her with bright intelligent eyes, despite the exhaustion and sadness rimming them with dark circles.

"You seem to have had a hard day," Leia comments casually, taking a sip of tea.

The girl clears her throat and wipes at the skin under her eyes in an attempt to clear any smudges of last night that might still be lurking. It does little to take away the inevitable sadness that's wrapped around her as tightly as her dress.

"More than one hard day, actually. I've had close to two months, I think?" the girl responds, to her surprise. "Seven weeks and four days to be exact—" she mumbles.

She's wary of strangers, that Leia already knows, but she must be doing something right in order for the girl to be willing to respond so sincerely. She's a very pretty young woman, with a survivor's fire built in her delicate bones. But there's a haunting halo around her, like a broken shield, that doesn't allow many people to come too close.

Leia begins to understand what has attracted Ben to her. She calls to him on a level that only he could feel and understand.

"Anything you'd like to talk about?"

"I would prefer not to, if it's alright with you," the girl mutters, in a thick voice.

Shutting out people from her life is an ability that's almost uncanny— but well-founded, judging from what Leia has discovered. She did not hesitate to search into the young woman's traumatic past the few weeks she had been aware of her son's interest in her. Leia has made it a point to be informed of the women who surround her son after the way the golden girl of Hollywood, Jessica Pava, catastrophically swept into his life in one of his most vulnerable moments and filled his head with passionate promises of fame and glory and everlasting love.

He barely made it out alive.

Leia swiftly brushes aside the memory of beeping monitors and stitches running down her son's pale face. The accident after one more drunken fight—

This is not the time.

The young woman next to her shifts in her seat. "I don't want to seem rude, but I don't really like talking about myself. I'd hate to burden you with my problems."

"Burden me?" Leia snorts. "Hardly. I don't know about you—but sometimes just listening to a random stranger ramble on about their problems distracts me from my own."

The girl lets out a peal of laughter. Good. It looks like she really needs one.

"I can't say that happens to me often," she says, glancing at Leia a bit cautiously. "If there's anything troubling you, though, I wouldn't mind listening."

"I don't think there's a flight long enough for that," Leia chuckles, earning another small laugh from the girl. "But maybe —one problem in particular, is what keeps me up at nights. It's enough to make me cross an ocean to make sure he's not making too much of a mess out of his life."

This is as good an opportunity as she will ever have to get to talk about Ben, although she senses it won't be easy tiptoeing around such a conversation. It will make debating armament bills in the Senate with Palpatine —this unfortunate girl's sleazy grandfather—seem like a walk in the park.

The young woman eyes her curiously, reaching for her own cup of tea. "He?" she asks. "Who would that be?"

"My son," Leia sighs, a bit dramatically. "He can be quite a challenge, I'm afraid."

"Oh— well, I hope it's nothing too serious, and you can eventually help him out with whatever problem it is he's having."

"Well, in all honesty, he's not really aware I'm trying to help him. He wouldn't be too keen on having me mingle in his affairs," she winks.

Leia knows how furious Ben would be if he found out that Amilyn had been secretly feeding her information behind his back about his current interest, as well as his past ones. Getting involved in her son's love life is generally not a very good idea. There are things she wishes she had never found out. But this case is turning out to be very different, unique almost, and she needs to tread very carefully in her approach towards the young woman. She might bring about the opposite effect and cause utter disaster in an already very shaky romance.

She sets her tea on the lowered tray of the seat in front of her and shifts to better face her son's girl. Wide, hazel eyes meet hers, searching for something that Leia is not very sure she has to offer. She licks her lips.

"You see, my son has found himself to be in a rare situation. At least for his standards—" she says.

How does she even begin to describe the impact this woman has already had on him in a matter of weeks?

Up until the accident, Leia thought her son had been lost —swallowed by the grinding machine that is Hollywood, his talent reduced to a series of canned blockbuster movies and million-dollar ads for cars and fashion. But most of all, she had wholeheartedly feared he would eventually have the same fate as his grandfather—her father— found dead in a puddle of blood, alcohol, and urine, after a notorious celebrity life of vanity, drugs, and loveless relationships, abandoned by all his friends and loved ones after pushing them all away.

When Ben was wheeled into the ER, his body crushed into an unrecognizable mess similar to his luxurious Porsche, that's when Leia knew something needed to change.

In desperation, she had sought out Amilyn Holdo.

Hollywood's toughest manager had proved her worth in shaping the shadow he had become into a breathing body. Leia couldn't be more thankful.

But was it enough?

For the last year she has watched Ben pull his pieces together, working hard to turn his wretched image around and prove his worth as an actor. He has been zealously punctual, professional and very conscientious in all his projects to the point of exhaustion. And his efforts have been paying off. According to the press, Hollywood's bad boy has been shaping up to be an unexpected talent.

At a cost.

Ben has become a different kind of shadow. A very cold, distant, solitary shadow. One Leia had no idea how to help—

Until this young woman came into his life.

These last few weeks, Leia has listened to her son's voice over the phone soften, its shade becoming lighter, brighter, more colorful. Their talks dragging on a bit longer. He has even tolerated her most prying motherly questions without hanging up the phone.

And yesterday evening, when she spoke to him before the premiere—

She will never forget the tears of happiness she quietly wept when she sensed an inconspicuous smile forming on his face when she asked if there was anyone worth mentioning in his life. Nor the exaggerated scoff when she teased if she will ever get to see grandchildren. The hope she had felt radiating from him had the power of a thousand burning suns, and she couldn't have been more thankful to this young woman for finally, finally, gifting such a powerful emotion to her son.

Leia wants to reach and take this girl in her arms, kiss her soft hair, and thank her until there is no breath left in her.

It would scare the living daylights out of her.

Instead, she fiddles with her golden ring, the one Han had gifted her a week before his heart attack. It catches the scarlet rays of a dying sun.

"My son wants to open up a business, I guess you could say," Leia begins. "One he has dreamt of but never thought he would have an opportunity to do. Circumstances were never quite right for him to pursue such a project—messy working schedule, unsuitable collaborators, that sort of thing," she waves her hand dismissively, swallowing the tightness in her throat before the girl notices. "Until recently. He thinks he's found the perfect partner for it now— but there's one setback."

"What's that?"

"The partner is reluctant. They don't believe my son's heart will be in it."

"Maybe the partner has reasons not to trust your son."

"Oh, I'm sure they do—And I wouldn't have bothered if I didn't know my son was so invested in this partner."

The girl watches her silently for a long moment. The story is not all that uncommon. It's one every working man or woman experiences at some point in their career, so Leia's motherly distress shouldn't seem too overboard. She expects her to nod along and shrug it off as such, but the girl surprises her once more.

"So what are your plans exactly?" she says, softly. "How will you be able to help your son?"

"By asking the partner to give the business a chance. My son might be a difficult man, but in the end, he's just a man, looking for a place in this world— just like all of us." Leia glances down at her dress, pretending to pick at a piece of lint. She doesn't want the young woman to catch the pleading in her eyes.

"If the partner has made their decision, then it might be difficult to change their mind," the young woman says carefully.

"Yes, that's very probable. But it would still be worth trying if the partner is, deep down, interested in what my son has to offer."

The girl hesitates for a moment, as if recent events are turning like wheels inside her head, connecting pieces that shouldn't be fitting together so well. Her voice lowers. "Maybe that's true, but—what if your son gets tired of waiting for the partner to join him? What if he decides he's had enough and it's time to move on? What happens then?"

"Well, if both of them have given up, then there's not much that can be done." Leia sighs, reaching for another sip of her tea, seemingly casual, as if this conversation is as ordinary as one they'd be having over weather. "Wouldn't it be a shame, though, if they did? Good partners are hard to come across in life."

The girl swallows thickly, eyes unwavering from Leia. Fresh tears begin to well. She shakes her head, gulping down a sob that threatens to spill over.

Leia reaches for her arm instinctively, her touch light so she won't upset or scare her off anymore than she already has. Guilt starts weighing down her enthusiasm like a stack of bricks. She's starting to second guess coming clean with the girl, letting her know who she truly is and the reasons she's on this flight. Would it make matters better or worse? How would she react? The urge to get to know her, to figure out if she feels as strongly for Ben as he does for her, has been needling at her for a long time— but now Leia's not so certain anymore if it was a good idea.

She scrambles to come up with something comforting a stranger would say, someone who would have no idea what has been happening in the girl's life.

Only a stranger's comfort is not what this young woman needs…

She leans in. "Is there something I can do for you? You have been so silent and withdrawn from the moment you boarded the plane. Has something bad happened?"

"Yes," her lip trembles, "I have—lost someone."

"I am so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, it—No! I mean—It's not that exactly." She takes in a shuddering breath. "It's not in the classic sense, no. I haven't lost someone. But in a way, it feels like I have. It was—" she whispers, fiddling with a paper she's been holding in her hand ever since she boarded the plane. She sniffs, raising her head to try and contain the tears. "It was someone I could have loved. Or came close to loving, if I knew how to, I guess..."

"How to love?"

"Yes."

"If you know how to cry, you know how to love, child—"

She laughs, shaking her head bitterly. "I don't think he would see it that way."

"So it's a man you're crying over, then," Leia says, trying to ignore the new leaps of joy inside her chest. They'll do no good to her fibrillation. "I hope he's worth the tears."

"I'm the one who isn't worth his—"

"What makes you say that?"

She tilts her head to better look at the girl, to better study those bright olive green eyes sparkling with tears in the sunlight. She cares for him.

This young woman truly cares for her son—

"Because I didn't trust him. I was prejudiced and narrow-minded and too afraid to take a chance on him, no matter how much he tried to reach me. No one has ever tried the way he did, but I kept pushing him away—and it's too late now." She wipes more tears rolling down her cheeks. "He is gone. I don't think he will ever take me back."

"No one is ever really gone, Rey. Not when it comes to love..." Leia cups her hand with her smaller one, grip strong and reassuring. She always wholeheartedly believed that. It's engraved down to her withering bones.

The girl meets her eyes—

There's a sudden light inside them, sparkling under the precious tears she's shedding for the man she loves. As if she's made some sort of interstellar connection, or taken a glimpse at a well-buried secret.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" She whispers with narrowed eyes.

Leia points at the wrinkled piece of paper Rey's holding in her hand. "It's on your ticket."

"Oh, right. God—" She scrunches it in her hand in embarrassment.

Leia chuckles. "Well, it's only fair that I introduce myself too," she says. "I'm Senator—"

And then hesitates.

She wants nothing more than to bridge the differences between her son and Rey, reconcile their disagreements and take all the troubles of the world away—only what good would that do?

As a little boy, Ben would constantly stumble and fall in his urgency to conquer the world. Leia was there to pick him up, dusting off his clothes and cleaning the blood from his knees. Wiping rolling tears away from chubby cheeks. Until one day he did it all on his own. Got up on his little feet, dusted his hands and kept running. That was the moment Leia knew with a painful twist inside her chest, there was a tiny bit of him she had to learn to let go—

It's why today, sitting across from Rey and looking into this broken woman's beautiful eyes—a woman her son has chosen to fight for all on his own— that Leia chooses not to disclose her full identity. She decides it would be best to step back, let things be, and not mingle anymore in either of their lives.

She squeezes Rey's hand, and tries to smile. "It doesn't matter who I am," she says. "How about you just call me Leia?"

Rey smiles back. "Nice to meet you—Leia."

"The pleasure's all mine, Rey. Believe me."

Leia releases her hand and reaches for her tea. She believes she's due for a long pause to gather herself, so she settles back in her seat and glances out the window, pretending to get lost in the view. Her eyes begin to mist over.

Rey does the same thing, sniffling and wiping at her last tears, somehow a little more put together than before. Calmer. More focused.

She feels her hazel eyes on her a couple of times, studying her, but Leia doesn't turn.

Outside the narrow window, the sky twinkles a deep violet, all sunrays having quickly disappeared behind an endless field of cotton clouds. Beneath them bulks of seawater and timezones run their steady path.

She takes a sip from her tea that is now growing cold and shuts her eyes, thoughts inevitably racing back to Ben.

She hopes with all that she is, all she has ever fought for, that he is still holding on—

That he does not give up on Rey.

.

.

.

He is a masochist of the lowest kind, there are no more doubts about it. He can practically feel the whip of his self-deprecation slashing at his heart.

Kylo stares at the small unexpected discovery sparkling directly at him from the Harry Winston showcase on 5th Avenue, gritting his jaw.

A blue diamond engagement ring is nestled discretely between a three-row necklace made of black seawater pearls, and a platinum tiara weighted by countless diamonds, as if it has been expecting him for ages. It calls to him with its simple but rare beauty in an all too painfully familiar way. Under different circumstances, his reflection at the window would be curling its lips, exultant at the unexpected discovery. But today has led him down another path.

He has no use for the ring. Not anymore, at least.

He shoves his cold hands in the pockets of his trousers, fingers too numb to feel and breath misting pitifully against the glass. He tries to repress a shudder running down his back. Roaming around the streets of New York at near-freezing temperatures, dressed only in a casual suit, is not one of the smartest ideas he's had in life.

After leaving what felt pieces of himself behind at JFK, and being driven halfway across New York City during rush hour traffic in a near-catatonic state, Kylo had finally mustered the will to ask the cab driver to drop him off at the corner of 8th Avenue and 47th Street, a little less than a block away from the Marquis, for no other particular reason other than the fact that he didn't want to return to the empty hotel room quite yet. But the moment he stepped onto the wet, sloshy pavement and felt the icy wind slide down his neck, he knew he was going to regret the impulsive decision, especially if he ended up being hospitalized for pneumonia.

He has walked around aimlessly since then, a restless stranger in his own body, not paying attention to the glances of recognition cast by passersby or the handful of fans that have been discreetly following him for the past twenty minutes or so, despite him turning down autographs in a not so gracious way. He is feeding himself to the press in a series of tight-lipped phone shots and dismissive gestures, but he is too exhausted and cold to consider the consequences of his escapade.

Rey has left him. For good.

She has made her decision, and he has made his. There's no going back now. It's time he finally realized they were not meant to be and that—as melodramatic as it may sound— he needs to let the past die in order to move on. Because even he, a jaded narcissist that has wasted too many years crawling in the grime of Hollywood, deserves more in life than chasing after a pair of haunted, broken eyes that will never let him in. He deserves more than being off-handedly reminded once again of how short he sells himself for—because God fucking knows he's paid enough therapists to be able to say that.

He sells himself.

From his smirk on expensive aftershave adverts lining airport corridors and city buses, down to his half-hard dick getting buried between the thighs of his co-stars. This is what his line of work is all about these days—and he has become damn good at it. But he has spent too many counseling hours on worn-out couches coming to terms with who he is and what he does, for all of it to be blown up in his face one drunken night with the woman he's recklessly lost his heart over.

He should be furious, livid at Rey for abandoning him the way she did with half-ass excuses.

Then again, maybe she wasn't interested in what he had to sell…

Kylo curls his hands into fists deep in his pockets. His blunt, perfectly manicured nails fail to break the skin.

Or maybe—now here's a thought—Rey was too reluctant to get involved with him because she simply didn't care about being cornered into ultimatums by an impatient celebrity who demands everything to be brought to his feet. Maybe she deserved time and patience and even a little honesty.

Maybe she deserves more than a blue diamond trying to buy her love.

Kylo bites his lip. The distinct metallic taste of his blood warms the tip of his tongue this time around.

He knew she wasn't the kind of girl that comes with a price. He had felt that about her from the fateful moment she met his eyes at the Oscars. He's still not sure what exactly he did wrong, or where he pushed too far, he'd be lying if he said he could read Rey at all sometimes— but one thing is for certain. He did not make it easy for her to read him either. Too many locks and keys, and twisted mirrors guarding himself against the world were in the way. Some of them he wasn't even aware he was using anymore. But he tried—fuck did he try—to reach her in the end.

A shame he'll never have reason to buy this ring.

Kylo slides a white fingertip down the cold glass. The blue diamond sparkles back.

Only—

It's such a beautiful diamond. And he would have loved to see her wear it on her finger once upon a time. To let her know she doesn't need to run from the world anymore or hide in its ashes...

A cold gust of wind makes him shiver, reminding him that cold winter lands are not as enchanting in New York as they are in fairytales. The pale sun is setting behind brick buildings and wall-to-wall adverts, so he has little time left until the temperature drops low enough to turn him into ice.

He buttons his jacket and pushes the security button at the store's automated doors. The warmth that greets him when he walks through stings his face and makes his eyes water. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows how pointless this is. He needs to turn around and head back out the way he came, before he caves into his dumb impulses.

But why should a few grand matter at this point?

"May I have your ID, sir?"

Kylo can feel the store's security camera trained on him as the guard waits with this hand outstretched.

"Sure—" He reluctantly pulls out his driver's license from an inside pocket. There's no hiding in this city.

The man flips the plastic card in his large hand and gives it back with a smirk. "Looking forward to seeing the latest Space Wars, Mr. Ren. Have a good one."

A few glances turn towards him. Kylo scowls. So much for hoping to remain anonymous. "Thank you," he mutters before stepping into the opulent store.

He is greeted by a polite, refined employee standing behind a spotless glass counter. The kind who blend in and are forgotten the moment one takes their eyes off them. Kylo feels like he will remember the way the man smiles at him for the rest of his life.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ren. May I be of service to you?"

Kylo sniffs. Everyone is so willing to be of service to him, even when their salary is made up of crumbs. He glances at the man's calm, expressionless features, completely aware of his own red nose and drawn face and overall dreadful state. He must look like a coke addict.

"Yes," he clears his throat, gesturing awkwardly towards the shop's showcase. "There's a ring I'm interested in purchasing that I saw on display. An engagement ring with a blue diamond that would be perfect for—" he trails off, working his mouth as new tears sting his eyes. Rey is halfway over the Atlantic right now. That's how far she had to go in order to escape him. What is he trying to prove to himself? "It's for—"

He looks away with a casual toss of his head, trying to contain the devastation wreaking havoc on his features again. Academy Award nominee for best actor, his ass.

"Are you interested in the Blue Kyber, sir?"

"It has a name?"

"All rare gems do. And if I may say, they deserve to have one, given how hard it is to come across them."

"They are just stones," he scoffs, "their value is overestimated."

The man continues to smile politely, not at all miffed by the condescending remark of a Hollywood star. After all, the client is always right. "Of course, sir. So many things are overestimated these days. But perhaps the person they are meant to be gifted to is not?"

Kylo works his jaw for a handful of seconds, trying to decide if he should feel offended or not. Well played, he has to admit. Who knows how many similar snotty celebrity comments Rey had to endure while working at First Order salons? He decides to brush this off, hoping his foul mood doesn't get the better of him in the end. He really doesn't feel like watching Amilyn clean up one more of his messes.

He tries to smile. "Listen—" he glances at the man's tag on the lapel of his creaseless jacket "—Mr. Mitaka. This conversation about rare gems must be very fascinating, but I don't have much time on my hands. I would appreciate it if we went ahead with the purchase."

"Yes, of course. Right away, sir." The man nods and gestures at a helper to fetch the ring from the showcase. "Would you like it specially wrapped for the occasion?"

"What occasion?"

"Well, the proposal, of course," he hesitates. "I presume that's what the ring is for."

Kylo presses his lips in a tight line. The occasion has slipped through his fingers and boarded a plane. That has been his whole fucking predicament, to begin with. "You presume too much, has anyone ever told you that? Why does there have to be an engagement for someone to buy a goddamn ring around here?"

The murmuring he wasn't even aware of in the background, instantly stops. A woman across from him in a Burberry coat turns her perfectly coiffed head at his outburst. She gives him a disdainful run-over before turning back to studying a series of golden bracelets that are being laid out for her.

Kylo pinches the bridge of his nose. "This has not been a very good day— Could we please, just get this over with?" The immaculate white surfaces reflecting the bright lights and sparkling jewels are dragging back his headache.

The man doesn't say another word. Soon enough the blue diamond ring is neatly set in its velvet box, and wrapped into a gift that will never be opened. Kylo is pulling out his Amex Platinum to pay when he pauses over the register. He looks at the plain, colorless man before him, who has been nothing but genuinely polite during their whole exchange. Something eats at him.

"I apologize for my behavior," he murmurs, feeling heat spread to his cheeks. "The ring is for a woman I've fallen in love with, but I don't believe I'll ever have the chance to give it to her. She's gone—left me today. Probably for the better…"

The man's eyes meet his. But they are not washed out and distant like he expected them to be. Sympathy sparkles somewhere deep inside them, almost as if a perfect stranger can still see and understand the man he is behind the mask.

"Perhaps the lady will reconsider," Mr. Mitaka simply says, with a small curl of his lips. "And you will in turn be able to give her the ring she deserves."

Kylo looks away and nods silently. He swipes the card at the register.

When he is back out on the streets, the bitter cold reminds him of the dire situation he's in. Opaque clouds are set heavily over the skyline of Manhattan, and fresh snow is powdering the air. Nightfall is approaching rapidly. The last warm sun rays are being replaced by streetlights and neon adverts, and Fifth Avenue is already streaked in red and white headlights and sloshing tires. City night is coming to life.

Kylo realizes he's still not ready to return to his hotel.

A young smiling couple approaches, asking to take selfies with him, but he shakes his head and brushes past them.

He buys a black wool coat, scarf and leather gloves from a store down the block in order to survive the remainder of his quest —for what exactly he has no clue, he could be climbing slopes in the Himalayas for all it matters— and heads back out.

He devours the city.

He walks its web of streets and blinding lights until he no longer feels his feet and snow has seeped through his new coat. Until his thoughts of Rey begin to fade from mere exhaustion. He knows it's a temporary reprieve, and that the guarded smile and bright eyes will return to haunt him first thing tomorrow morning, but at least for now, for tonight, his mind has, at last, gone quiet.

He hasn't felt it that way in years.

Wet strands are clinging to his face and his breath comes out in shaky puffs by the time he decides to finally signal at a cab to take him back to the hotel. But he has forgotten how impossible it is to catch one out in the wild. There's no Amilyn now to arrange for his transportation, or hotel clerk to bring his car around. Hell, there's no cell phone on him to dial for an uber.

But somehow he doesn't mind. He could stand here, in the middle of a city populated by millions of souls, alone, freezing himself to literal death for the rest of the night, if it meant he could keep his mind still for a little longer.

The void inside him from growing too big—

A cab screeches to a stop in front of him. Kylo startles out of his thoughts. He numbly steps down the curb, reaching for the door with fingers that have gone rigid from the cold. He's about to climb inside when his eyes fall on a familiar sign across the street.

It's a simple sign.

With pale, distinctive lights that mark the district he's in without a shadow of a doubt. It's a sign that had once filled his young mind with dreams and ambitions. A sign he had struggled so hard to live up to its expectation in the beginning steps of his acting career. A sign that had branded him with cruel reviews and harsh criticism and had breathed fire down his neck on what turned out to be his last night on the plank. And behind that sign the man who ran it all.

Luke Skywalker. His uncle.

Was it a premiere? The play he had allowed stage fright to cripple him in the middle of Act II? Of course his mind would choose to disregard and bury one traumatic event, and remember every detail of another with terrifying clarity. The screeching of tires still jostles him awake at nights—

He wonders if he will ever forget the feel of Rey's lips under his thumbs as he pleaded for her not to lie. Not to leave him…

"I don't know how to do it."

"Do what?"

"Us…"

Kylo Ren stares at the Broadway Theater sign. There is an insignificant adaptation of a contemporary musical currently playing for a few more weeks into the season. It happens on occasion. Not all plays are legendary hits.

"Hey, mister. Are you planning on getting in? I ain't got all night."

He blinks, confused for a second at the driver glowering at him over his shoulder.

"What? No, no... I'll grab another cab. Thanks for stopping," he says absentmindedly. He shuts the door and the cab pulls away immediately, splashing the hem of his new coat with mud. But he doesn't give it any thought.

He waits for a city bus to pass before he crosses the street in long strides, weaving between traffic, and comes to stand before posters of the upcoming productions.

"Why haven't you done any plays? You clearly come from that world. Why have you been away from it for so long?"

His throat tightens at the title he sees.

"I don't know…"

"Are you afraid of failing?"

Kylo clutches at the wrapped-up diamond ring to the point of crushing it. No. This is not a good idea. He will not return to the plank. Especially to perform in the one play that drove him away from theater for the past decade. He's not good enough. He was never good enough. No matter how much his uncle believed in his abilities.

Suddenly the echo of Rey's fears don't seem so distant and unconvincing anymore. They begin to resonate inside him, familiar, gaining flesh and bones as his insecurities scratch at the scab of old wounds. Could he blame her for fearing so much to get involved with him? Could her own past be filled with scars and scabs she doesn't want to reopen and see them bleed?

Is there any hope he could ever find out?

"I've never been to the theater before…"

"Would you come to see me?"

Kylo stares at the poster. At the hollow, unfathomable sockets of the skull staring back at him.

At the bottom, the bold lettering begins to swim.

HAMLET