Chapter Text
Kylo has it made for you.
It’s molded to perfection, smooth on every surface, and crisp around the edges. It’s a deep black mask with no garnish and curved sockets that manage a deeper perspective, one mimicking the ways of an abyss. Surprise chokes you, and dread knowing this day has come washes down at once.
All for you. You and him.
You say “I can’t accept,” hands stiffly setting it down. His fingers curl in and out of a fist, his lips twist from a bitter frown to an uncomfortable grin. His face finds neutral ground as he tries reviving his patience with a distraught huff. It’s a disquieting air. His gut still bubbles from the idea of inbound defeat. So he can’t, and won’t let this go either.
You blink at him, stoic and undeterred with a simple look.
There’s a pain in waiting — waiting for you to change your mind and waiting for him to do more. He doesn’t want that; he doesn’t want to make you.
Cause even then it wouldn’t be a victory in retrospect.
He clears his throat and saves his next words from losing their weight under a pitiful crack his weepy tone threatens.
“Please,” he says through pressed teeth.
Your eyes slow to the helmet. And gentle, you grasp it. Its simplicity makes you expect something lighter, but your hold threatens. It’s cold. Sitting in your darkened quarters, it’s particular in how the light catches. A sliver of reflected white caresses its edges, and in the eyes, the light catches like piercing slits for pupils. It shines but doesn’t reflect images. Contrast to its black, it deflects everything around it. It stands alone, even in darkness. It is its own, almost as an entity, certainly in mechanical feat.
“Okay,” you say, head bowed. Kylo hears it but can’t see your lips move. He fears it was a phantom taunt from beyond. He tilts his head unsure, and stricter, sensing him tense, you insist “Thank you.”
Tired, you barely pick your head up, barely try to smile. “Lovely,” you bawl. “It’s lovely.”
And jolted out of observing, “Isn’t it?”
Kylo chuckles under his breath. His face twitches from forced patience and you don’t so much as gulp to give away your anxiety. The crack in your facade mends itself as you imagine the mask will if it’s been struck. Maybe he felt it, the crack. But, recognizing Kylo’s whim and expectations of you sews your acceptance as good as new.
Oh, but how fun would it be for him to think you’re as meek as you used to be? As frightened by the Order’s hopes for you as you were? However, not anymore you’re not, and it is truly, truly —
“Lovely.”