I do not own Star Wars.
A short interconnected drabble series written to expand on the absolute best character Disney has created who would make Shakespeare applaud were the Bard still capable of clapping. [Series of massive explosions.] Oh sorry, that was my sarcasm meter. It just combusted several times. Feel free to ignore that and just read on.
The door opened with a soft hiss, its polished surface as black as his mask. Stepping in, the door closed behind him, leaving Kylo inside the dark chamber. Like a tear in the fabric of space, black covered everything within, making the room feel larger than it actually was.
He liked the feeling of being trapped in the void with nothing separating him but the mask.
A thin layer of dust covered his mirror. It hadn't been touched in days, but now Kylo's hands trail its edge. The sensation of his fingertips was dulled by the pads in the leather of his gloves. There was resistance, but only for a moment. The film is wiped away like smoke with an audible whish.
The moment the eyes of him and his reflection make contact, he fumbles at the release just under the back of the helmet. His hands reach back, looking for purchase to pull off the mask. He avoids looking into the mirror until he's done, when he can feel cold recycled air on his skin and his vision is pure and unaltered.
With a soft snap, he pulls the dome off, feeling lighter but greatly diminished. Kylo pulled off the gloves, tossing them onto his spartan bed along with the mask. The air is so clean is almost stings the astringents still drying on his face. Reaching up to gingerly wipe the naked flesh, he stared at the mask before turning to the mirror.
Kylo Ren and Ben Solo gazed upon one another for the first time in five days.