( That's the difference between them, Kylo thinks, as he feels her anger recede, washing away in the wake of her calm center, as she wills it to come to heel. An eye in the storm. She has control in so many ways in which he never has. She feels that overwhelming surge of black power in her but doesn't let it consume her. Whether it will always be that way or not, he can't say for certain, wouldn't hazard a guess on the floor of this dark projection, but the way that it lifts now is telling in itself. He's strong, threatens to burst at the seams with power and ability, yet at her very core Rey is stronger. Where it comes from, whether it's part of her ancestry or some manifestation of the Force that he can have no knowledge of, if it's just her nature, Kylo can't say for certain.
He probably would have killed her. But then again maybe not.
Her hand descends on his shoulder and he doesn't flinch. It's incorporeal but still real, the weight and warmth of it drawing his head slightly from where it hangs so that he can re-memorize the pattern in the tiling. Blood has dried between cracked ceramic, creating new lines in the floor that blur. His face is hot all the way down to his neck, and for as angry and ashamed as he is, every ounce of control and willpower that he has left in him goes to making sure that he doesn't make himself look any weaker in front of her than he already has. Sitting on the floor at her feet, Kylo doubts there's much lower he could sink, and then proves that notion wrong when she relieves the pressure she places on his shoulder to squat down next to him.
Her voice is one of many in the echo of the fledgling Academy and the only one that he can pick out distinctly from the swirling mass of suggestion and support and reinforcement and coaxing. It has everything to do with proximity, he thinks, right there in his ear and the loudest and most resolute in its sheer existence than the rest of them. )
It's agony. ( Kylo doesn't open his mouth until he's completely positive that he's gotten some measure of control over what's going to come out of it, how it's going to sound. His voice is raw but it's solid. When he looks up, his eyes are red-lined and the wall opposite him wavers. He swallows again, thick, and collects himself enough to glance at her. It's a superficial and wasted action; Kylo knows she can feel all of it. ) Cast one away in exchange for the other. It's all the same. The pull is always there. ( Her face is still damp. He can see the overhead light catching the tears on her cheeks. His hands curl against his kneecaps. ) You feel it every time we meet - doesn't matter if it ends in a fight or not, you feel that pull, don't you? But you don't let it take root.
( There's a whisper at his ear, and for a moment he turns his head vaguely in its direction, glancing down an infinite hallway. It's a fleeting grab at his attention, doesn't last long enough to detract him from her, crouched beside him. )
Everything I've done - ( His molars grind. ) - it should have solidified allegiance to one side of things the way that I've always been told it would. Good and evil, the dark side and the light, they're always absolutes. No room for middle ground. But - ( He inhales - acute pain surges, sharp and bitter, rests where and how it always does - and exhales. ) Snoke knows when I feel that pull away from where he's taken me in his tutelage. He can feel it as much as you can when you're overwhelmed and thinking that maybe you should kill me. ( His tone holds no promises or affirmations. It and his presence in the Resistance camp, his willingness to see this done despite the outcome or the risk, has always guaranteed that much. ) I don't have to show you what pulled me to the darkness. You already know what it was. Now show me how to break it.
( It will never go away, not completely, but maybe there is an alternative to the absolutism of it all. Down the long hallway, the whispers swirl. )
no subject
He probably would have killed her. But then again maybe not.
Her hand descends on his shoulder and he doesn't flinch. It's incorporeal but still real, the weight and warmth of it drawing his head slightly from where it hangs so that he can re-memorize the pattern in the tiling. Blood has dried between cracked ceramic, creating new lines in the floor that blur. His face is hot all the way down to his neck, and for as angry and ashamed as he is, every ounce of control and willpower that he has left in him goes to making sure that he doesn't make himself look any weaker in front of her than he already has. Sitting on the floor at her feet, Kylo doubts there's much lower he could sink, and then proves that notion wrong when she relieves the pressure she places on his shoulder to squat down next to him.
Her voice is one of many in the echo of the fledgling Academy and the only one that he can pick out distinctly from the swirling mass of suggestion and support and reinforcement and coaxing. It has everything to do with proximity, he thinks, right there in his ear and the loudest and most resolute in its sheer existence than the rest of them. )
It's agony. ( Kylo doesn't open his mouth until he's completely positive that he's gotten some measure of control over what's going to come out of it, how it's going to sound. His voice is raw but it's solid. When he looks up, his eyes are red-lined and the wall opposite him wavers. He swallows again, thick, and collects himself enough to glance at her. It's a superficial and wasted action; Kylo knows she can feel all of it. ) Cast one away in exchange for the other. It's all the same. The pull is always there. ( Her face is still damp. He can see the overhead light catching the tears on her cheeks. His hands curl against his kneecaps. ) You feel it every time we meet - doesn't matter if it ends in a fight or not, you feel that pull, don't you? But you don't let it take root.
( There's a whisper at his ear, and for a moment he turns his head vaguely in its direction, glancing down an infinite hallway. It's a fleeting grab at his attention, doesn't last long enough to detract him from her, crouched beside him. )
Everything I've done - ( His molars grind. ) - it should have solidified allegiance to one side of things the way that I've always been told it would. Good and evil, the dark side and the light, they're always absolutes. No room for middle ground. But - ( He inhales - acute pain surges, sharp and bitter, rests where and how it always does - and exhales. ) Snoke knows when I feel that pull away from where he's taken me in his tutelage. He can feel it as much as you can when you're overwhelmed and thinking that maybe you should kill me. ( His tone holds no promises or affirmations. It and his presence in the Resistance camp, his willingness to see this done despite the outcome or the risk, has always guaranteed that much. ) I don't have to show you what pulled me to the darkness. You already know what it was. Now show me how to break it.
( It will never go away, not completely, but maybe there is an alternative to the absolutism of it all. Down the long hallway, the whispers swirl. )