( Kylo's expression does not mirror hers in levity or relief. He's managed so far to keep some amount of composure in the interest of self-preservation around the general and the Jedi, but here in the desolate space of where her mind and his intersect and bleed into one another there is no need for the facade. Rey has seen inside his head more than anyone other than Snoke, and her presence here leaves him feeling exposed in a way he had not anticipated, shred open and laid bare. It bothers him less than it should, and he supposes that's the inherent gift in meditation, peace and focus, the steady pulse of her own personal constant. He knows he'd never achieve it were she not anchoring him to the bottom, and now that she has, he doesn't waste energy or effort in trying to disguise himself with a mask. There's no point, there's no hiding from each other, here.
Footsteps in the sand track her progress across it, even as he watches that same sand that separated to allow her passage closer to where he stands sink in to hide her tracks from prying eyes. She's a ghost in her head, despite her unquestionable tether to this reality she has carved out for her own purposes. Kylo casts a look over his own shoulder to find that any trace of his movement has disappeared as well. He turns back once the red moon shifts and bathes the world in cerise shadows, chased away only by the crystalline brightness of the white moon lurching in to overpower its sister and the warmth in Rey's tone, strange in this equally strange place yet a buoy in its own right. )
As I said, I don't excel at meditation. I've never found it particularly useful. ( Being open to her presence in himself doesn't mean that he has to take admonishments lying down, and he chases the shifting sands of her tone with his own heavy timbre running after her. Boots heavy with cloying sand bring him closer to her, until they are no further than they had been when separated by the glass on the command shuttle. His palm thrums with the phantom memory of that cool surface, and he curls them both into their default state, loose fists at his sides. ) There's no place I retreat to in order to clear my mind the way that you do. There never has been.
( Even his earliest, most earnest attempts at clearing his mind and silencing the world around him just acted as a conduit for Snoke and the dark to slip in, uninhibited by the locked doors and trip wires of his thoughts when he was so focused on emptying himself completely, and it wasn't long before he was leaving the door unlocked for them. He has no Jakku, no island in an ocean. It's never been a problem before, not for a dark sider so reliant upon thoughts and feelings to begin with. To shut them out would have been counterproductive.
The breeze rustles again, a little, at the back of his neck, and cool sweat beads underneath the fall of his hair. )
no subject
Footsteps in the sand track her progress across it, even as he watches that same sand that separated to allow her passage closer to where he stands sink in to hide her tracks from prying eyes. She's a ghost in her head, despite her unquestionable tether to this reality she has carved out for her own purposes. Kylo casts a look over his own shoulder to find that any trace of his movement has disappeared as well. He turns back once the red moon shifts and bathes the world in cerise shadows, chased away only by the crystalline brightness of the white moon lurching in to overpower its sister and the warmth in Rey's tone, strange in this equally strange place yet a buoy in its own right. )
As I said, I don't excel at meditation. I've never found it particularly useful. ( Being open to her presence in himself doesn't mean that he has to take admonishments lying down, and he chases the shifting sands of her tone with his own heavy timbre running after her. Boots heavy with cloying sand bring him closer to her, until they are no further than they had been when separated by the glass on the command shuttle. His palm thrums with the phantom memory of that cool surface, and he curls them both into their default state, loose fists at his sides. ) There's no place I retreat to in order to clear my mind the way that you do. There never has been.
( Even his earliest, most earnest attempts at clearing his mind and silencing the world around him just acted as a conduit for Snoke and the dark to slip in, uninhibited by the locked doors and trip wires of his thoughts when he was so focused on emptying himself completely, and it wasn't long before he was leaving the door unlocked for them. He has no Jakku, no island in an ocean. It's never been a problem before, not for a dark sider so reliant upon thoughts and feelings to begin with. To shut them out would have been counterproductive.
The breeze rustles again, a little, at the back of his neck, and cool sweat beads underneath the fall of his hair. )
I thought you were supposed to guide me.