A/N: Sorry for the impromptu update lag. I'm in the third trimester of my first pregnancy, and I've been busy getting everything ready for Mr. Baby. From now until my due date, I'm going to diligently update every week, regardless of how few readers this little tale gets, before life goes topsy-turvy.
Onward!
Chapter Twenty-Five: Glimmer
The leader of the Knights of Ren, infamously fallen son of Han Solo, deft practitioner of the dark side, fled Rey's quarters.
She had caught something amidst his shock before he'd hastily withdrawn, nearly tripping over his brain-responding feet in his rush to leave – a glimpse of faltered distress that changed his entire face. It banished the angled cruelty until only the soft angst remained, making him look more like the boy he must've once been than the man he'd become.
Rey stood in front of the rehung panel in her now-empty room, stunned.
What was that? Her mind cried. Did I just make Kylo Ren run away?!
Kylo palmed his forehead, gloved fingers digging into flesh.
He knew he could be stupidly expressive; he'd been so since he was young and toddling. Rey had to have caught his reaction. Something about her uttering his name—the one Snoke had fashioned for him—made an acrid bile rise in his throat. A sour dread at the notion it was all she knew of him.
Where's my mask? Kylo tried to work through his embarrassment and shame, but their familiar censure swelled up, bombarding his temples. Idiot, he berated. You thought leaving it behind would turn her? Ha! You just openly displayed how emotive and sniveling you still are!
He wanted to break things – send ship parts flying, slice swathes of the hull off with his saber, shatter every overhead light until glass was everywhere.
He gripped his temples tighter, struggling to breathe.
First, he needed his mask.