A/N: The title comes from a track of one of my favorite albums by Ludovico Einaudi. It means "The Two Rivers."

This whole fic was inspired by an interview Adam Driver did where he talked about listening to a Rachmaninoff Concerto over and over when he was younger. I couldn't get the image of Kylo Ren as a pianist out of my head after that.

He hates her.

No, that's not quite right. Hate implies that he actually cares enough to have some sort of strong emotion. He's indifferent to her. He barely remembers her name. It's one word, Bizarre or Bazine or something along that line. Just the latest model in a group of models that Snoke has forced on him for these functions.

Kylo Ren should be eating it up. He should be happy when her hand strokes down the muscles of his chest, exclaims over the strength of his pianist's hands. He should be taking her back to a hotel room after she shows her appreciation for him by reaching down to not-so-accidently brush against his still-soft cock. But he doesn't want to.

There's no attraction there.

Not on his side at least. He can see her practically salivating, licking her lips as she whispers something lewd in his ear.

And all Ben Solo wants to do is escape.

How has his life come to this? Born into a musical family, his mother one of the former stars of the Metropolitan Opera, his uncle a retired concert pianist. Even his father was the lead guitarist of a still-popular rock band. He had everything going for him…money, his family's fame. He certainly had the talent. As a 14-year-old kid he'd been touted as the next great thing.

And he was. No, he is. Snoke has made sure of it. He's given him a career, a new life, fame like he had never imagined.

The new Liszt, they had all touted in the papers after his first performance as Kylo Ren. He graces the stage in all black, carefully removing cloak and gloves before sitting at the piano. His hands are long-fingered and large, his body powerful. He cuts a dramatic figure with his thick black hair that's just a touch too long to be considered "professional."

He picks powerful pieces.

Well, Snoke does. Rachmaninoff, Liszt, modern composers no one has ever heard of. He's had a work or two commissioned for him in his time. They're works others can't play. They don't have the reach of his large hands or his flair for the dramatic.

And he loves performing, lives for it.

It's these fucking after-parties that he hates. He's dragged to them each and every Goddamn time. Snoke won't have it any other way. You have to put on a show for the sponsors, boy. You can't just hide out. Are you Kylo Ren or still that sniveling Ben Solo I first took on?

He doesn't even know who he really is anymore.

"My hotel room or yours?" Bazine is whispering in his ear. Fuck, he doesn't even know her last name. Does she have a last name? Does it even matter?

"I need to get some air," he murmurs.

She smiles at those words, the cat that ate the canary and all that. But that's not what he means. It isn't some cue for her to meet him outside so he can take her to his hotel room and fuck her senseless. No, he quite literally needs air. He needs to get away from the crush of people in the room, from her and her wandering hands. The whole thing disgusts him, the thought of taking this woman to bed simply for what? Because she's aesthetically pleasing? Because others expect it of him?

Snoke does, certainly.

Snoke will never know the truth. No one will.

And so he smiles tightly. "Thank you, my dear," he says, leaning down to her. His lips graze the side of her face, just slightly, and he cringes at the contact. She, of course, eats it up. "I'm just stepping out for a moment," he adds as he steps away from her.

He hears her words of protest as he makes his hasty retreat. He can see Snoke across the room, talking to some of his more important sponsors. And even from that distance, he can feel his disappointment, his anger. I got her for you, boy. Do you not like my presents?

No.

No he most certainly does not.

With a shudder, he pushes open the door and steps out onto the balcony, breathing in the cool night air.

"That was amazing," Rey says, glancing over to where Finn stands near her. She's known him forever. Or at least, it feels like forever.

Brother from a different mother, as Finn always tells her. She'd met him when she was at her favorite foster home. Old Ben Kenobi. He'd been the one to introduce her to the violin, presenting it to her when she showed an interest in the various instruments around his house.

I used to play, was all he'd tell her. And she could see the way his hands were twisted with age, could see the wistfulness in his faded blue eyes. When she took the violin to her chin, when he showed her how to place her hands and hold the bow, it had just felt right.

And watching old Ben tear up when she first drew the bow across the strings, hearing his whispered I never thought I'd hear her again, meant the world to her. She'd vowed then and there to do that instrument justice.

She has, she thinks. Old Ben would be proud of her. He'd passed on some years ago, and she'd been tossed to another terrible foster home. But she'd kept that violin, studied in school and through tutorials she'd dug up on YouTube in the middle of the night. She'd spent many a chilly evening sitting outside, far from the house where the horrible Unkar Plutt and his equally odious wife could hear her, practicing.

And she'd gotten into the famed Ahch-to Conservatory with a full scholarship. She'd moved all her stuff out the day she left for college and she hasn't gone back. She won't go back. She's her own person. It will be a cold day in hell before she ever sees the Plutts again.

"You just think it's amazing because you have the hots for the pianist," Finn says, and Rey feels her cheeks heat a bit.

It's not that he isn't right. He is in some ways. Kylo Ren is beautiful and watching him play with such intensity, the way he moves his body, the raven locks that sway as he hits a particularly powerful chord, was as exciting as the music he played.

Rey usually prefers something a bit softer, a bit less dramatic. The sheer technical brilliance of a Bach Sonata, the clarity of Beethoven's earlier works, the beauty and classical bent to the works of Johannes Brahms. But she can't deny that there's something about watching Kylo Ren play such powerful works that makes her feel a little light-headed.

"That's not true," Rey mutters. "He's an amazing performer."

"I'll give you that much," Rose says. She's standing next to Finn, hand firmly clasped in his. They've been together since their sophomore year and the two are hoping to find some place to land together. They're a wonderful pair, both professionally and personally. She dearly loves Rose, dear, sweet, self-deprecating Rose. One doesn't play the viola and not learn to poke fun at themselves. She hopes for the best for them both.

"But God," Finn says. "Look at him."

They all are. They can't help it. She's pretty sure everyone in the room is drawn to Kylo Ren. He's still all in black and he towers above everyone else at the party. He's magnetic, even slouching against the wall with that model girlfriend of his clinging to him and hanging on his every word.

He looks so self-satisfied as he leans down to say something to her.

"Look at him?" Rey asks. "Look at her." She watches as the woman with him trails her hand down his chest and she hears Finn choke when she actually has the audacity to grab his crotch.

"Wow."

"Right?"

Kylo Ren leans down close to her and whispers something in her ear, and then he's striding away. She can just imagine how that conversation went. Meet me in my hotel room? Of course. And another night of passion for the infamous Kylo Ren. She knows, from reading the tabloids that she very much pretends to never ever read, that Kylo Ren goes through these model girlfriends of his like candy. A different one every week, every concert.

KYLO REN SEEN WITH ACTRESS JESSIKA PAVA

KYLO REN HEARTBROKEN OVER BREAKUP WITH KAYDEL?

Read the latest on page 27. She does. She admits it. He's taken the classical music world by storm these past few years and as someone with dreams of being a performer, she's probably watched his career a little closer than most.

"So gross," Rey murmurs. "I can't imagine how many women he's dipped his dick into."

Finn laughs at that and Rose just makes a face.

"Sorry," Rey murmurs. "I know, I know. 'You're so crass, Rey'." The latter is said in imitation of Finn. She has his manner of speaking down pretty well at this time.

"You are," he says and elbows her lightly in the ribs.

Rey just shakes her head, watching as Bazine turns and heads in the same direction Kylo Ren did a moment before. She looks strangely annoyed, not what one would expect from someone about to fuck the famous pianist. "I need some air after watching that display," Rey finally says.

Finn nods sympathetically, and Rose touches her arm lightly. "We'll meet you back at the bar?" Rose asks.

Rey nods and heads toward the nearest exit.

She hates these things. She really does. It's not that she doesn't love her friends or seeing all the glitzy rich people milling about, it's just that she feels so out of place. She grew up with nothing, still has so little. She only got into Ahch-to Conservatory by the grace of a scholarship and because Luke Skywalker, the head of the academy, seemed to have taken an interest in her from the beginning. Kenobi? I knew old Ben some years before. He'd left it at that, and she'd never felt comfortable asking about it.

When she steps out on the balcony, she's blessedly alone. The sounds of the crowd behind her, the lilt of the string quartet providing some light entertainment, all fades away. She steps to the railing. This is her home now, this academy.

She knows her time there is almost up. Graduation is less than a week away and then after that? She's not even sure. She's been scouring her sources for orchestral gigs. She has dreams of being a soloist, maybe part of a small chamber ensemble. But for now she'll take last chair in an orchestra if it means she gets to continue performing.

"You too, huh?" comes a deep voice from somewhere in the shadows.

Rey jumps, probably way more dramatically than she would have hoped. She's sure she'll still be embarrassed by that moment years from now. It's just the sort of thing that she thinks about in the middle of the night.

"Me too, what?" she says. He steps into the light and it takes a moment for her to realize it's Kylo Ren. Kylo fucking Ren. "Aren't you supposed to be off fucking your model girlfriend or something?" The words fly out, and she clamps her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Did you really just say that, Rey? Really? Well, at least she won't have to worry about reliving that little nervous jump she made. This is so much worse.

He grimaces at that.

"Shit, sorry. Wow. I keep putting my foot in it, don't I?"

He offers up a shrug. "I guess." He shrugs again. "It doesn't matter though. She's no one."

"I thought she was some famous model." Rey is sure she'd seen her before. And they all know that Kylo Ren is never seen without some eye candy on his arm. His very strong arm, she realizes, as she studies him. He's so much bigger and more powerful in person. Rey is not tiny. She's above average in height and in her heels is taller than Finn's 5'9". But standing next to Kylo Ren, she feels very small indeed.

"Well, she is that I suppose. I don't know. I don't really…you know…follow that sort of thing." He waves one of those large, graceful hands in the air.

"Fashion, you mean?"

"Something like that."

She falls silent for a moment, turning to look out over the grounds. "I've always loved it here," she says.

He doesn't respond, and when she looks over at him, he's watching her. His eyes are dark, unreadable in the dim light that filters out to their location. But there's something playing about his mouth, frown lines that weren't there before, maybe a furrow between the dark brows. Up close, his face is strangely asymmetrical, the lips fuller than she noticed from a distance, the nose just a bit more crooked, and his pale skin dotted with several moles.

She catalogs those imperfections like she does the form of a piece of music, tucking them away to analyze later. She can't even really understand it, but she finds she likes the imperfections. Up close, Kylo Ren seems somehow softer and yet still larger than life. He carries himself with a sort of military precision, back ramrod straight, hands resting with a tight grip on the balcony when they're not used to punctuate something he says.

"You're a student here."

He doesn't ask it as a question, but she feels the need to answer anyway. "I am. Well, I am for now."

One of his eyebrows rises. "You're quitting?"

"Hardly," she says with a small huff of laughter. "I graduate next week."

"Congrats," he murmurs, and that one single word sends a small shiver down her spine.

"Thanks."

Silence again, but she finds it strangely companionable. Even if there's a small part of her that's screaming inside and can't wait to get back to tell Finn and Rose she'd talked to him. Kylo Ren. A celebrity. Or at least, a celebrity in their little corner of the world. He's not Joshua Bell or YoYo Ma famous. But she suspects given a bit of time, he'll be there. Everyone loves a pianist.

"So what's next for you?" Every word sounds a bit like it's being drawn out of him by force, as if he feels they need to converse if they're standing so close together.

She shrugs. "Orchestra auditions I guess."

"You guess? Not your thing?"

She glances over at him and finds that he's watching her. Almost too intently really. She can feel a slight blush on her cheeks. "To be honest? Not really."

"Soloist, then."

Another shrug. "That's what I hoped. I guess what I still hope. Being part of an orchestra is lovely…"

"But you want the chance to shine," he finishes for her. "You like being the center of attention."

"God, that sounds so conceited when you put it that way." She shakes her head. "But I guess so. I mean, I like the solo literature better. And I like stretching the instrument to its greatest heights, seeing everything I can pull out of it…"

"Violin?"

She nods. "I guess that's obvious. Do viola players dream of being soloists?"

"Cellists do," he responds with.

"True."

"You don't look like a cellist," he says and when she looks over at him, head cocked to the side a little, he looks away. She's almost sure she can see the color high up on his cheeks.

"What does a cellist look like?"

"Nevermind."

"No, I want to know." Now she's laughing and he has the good graces to look at least a little embarrassed.

"I don't know," he admits. "I'm not even sure why I said that. Christ, I don't even know what I'm doing here." He runs his hands through his hair and Rey suddenly feels very much like she wishes she were the one doing that.

"Alright, I'll let you off the hook. This time."

He stares at her for a moment. "Who are you?"

"No one."

"You're not no one." There's a strange earnestness, almost vulnerability to the words, and Rey can't help the soft gasp that escapes her.

"I'm…"

"There you are!" comes Finn's voice from the entrance to the balcony.

Rey jumps back and away from Kylo Ren and turns around. Finn is standing silhouetted in the doorway, Rose at his side. "Finn!" Her voice is oddly strained, and she cringes at the sound.

"We've been looking for you."

"I told you I needed some air," she points out. She turns back toward Kylo, only to find that he's somehow managed to meld back into the shadows at the corner of the balcony. She can see him there, black on black, head turned away so all she can see is the waves of his dark hair.

"Right, well, Rose and I were going to leave." She can see Finn trying to see past her to the person in the corner. She steps in his way but not before she watches his eyes widen. "That's…" he starts to say.

"Come on Finn, let's go." She turns back toward Kylo Ren, but he's still looking out over the campus, head turned away from her. She supposes this is the last time she'll get a chance to talk to him. It's not every day he performs at their university, not every day she gets to go to the after party for one of these events. Usually she's gone with the rest of the audience.

But this one was special, with graduating seniors at the top of their class invited to come to the party. Just a little bit of the glamorous lifestyle so many of them crave.

"Alright," Finn says. As they head back into the crush of bodies in the main room, Rey turns around one last time. Kylo Ren stands there, watching, and she wishes she had some sort of chance to tell him who she was. With a sigh, she follows Finn further into the room, losing sight of the dark pianist.

Fuck.

He wishes he'd found out her name.

Wishes he could have asked her to come home with him. Not that he'd have any idea what to do with her, really. Show her your Star Wars action figures? Maybe the fucking Lego Millennium Falcon he'd built. Or perhaps she'd be interested in his first edition copies of Tolkein's The Lord of the Rings.

Fuck.

He can just imagine how that one would go down.

Kylo Ren is a lie.

The biggest one he's ever told, without ever telling it. Snoke has told it, time and time again. Sold the public a bill of goods that doesn't exist. He has the talent, certainly, has the charisma when sitting at the piano. But the truth is that Ben Solo is a big fucking mess of a human being, a dumpster fire of fandom obsessions with the inability to so much as woo a woman who he might actually find a connection with.

He heads back into the room. He has to make one last appearance, find Bazine and make a show of leaving with her. He'll ditch her at her hotel room, leave her disappointed and wanting. There's no love for the vapid models Snoke insists he be seen with. No love, no connection. He feels nothing for them and while half of them want him to take them to bed, he can't even stomach the thought.

He's always thankful for the ones who tell him it's a publicity thing for them too, that they're just there to be seen and don't you try anything fancy with me. That's a fucking relief, but he doesn't have that here. Bazine expects things.

And as he leaves the room with her, he can see Snoke watching him with that knowing look playing about his face. Make a good show of it, boy. The world loves an unrepentant playboy.

So he plays his role, disappearing with Bazine while her hands touch his shoulders, grab his ass, and generally make him feel like the piece of meat Snoke wants him to be seen as.

And all he can think, as he leaves Bazine angry at her hotel room, is that he wishes he were back talking to the woman on the balcony.