DEFIANT • kylo ren (18+)

21 - You.

You listen to the clanging of metal on metal as Vicrul takes off his helmet, and sets his scythe down. Who chooses a scythe for a weapon?

"Alcoholism is a very serious addiction, Vicrul." You proclaim, looking over your shoulder at his hunched back and dark hair.

He pours himself a dark drink, three fingers worth, and the glass looks dainty in such battered hands. He doesn't drink it, though.

"I wouldn't know." He all but grunts at you, setting the glass down to crack his knuckles in his fist. The sound of his bones brings an acidic taste to your mouth. You try to ignore it.

"Sure." You keep your watchful gaze steady as moments go by without his hands touching the glass. He cracks his remaining knuckles, then rests a thumb on the rim of the glass thoughtfully.

"What are you doing in here?" He sounds distant, and suspicious. Your chest feels a little empty at how out of place you are. You hate to admit it, but it felt this way with the resistance too. Maybe you're the problem.

You were never fully in it. You just wanted a place to belong. Shame crowds your stomach, and you feel an abrupt urge to vomit.

When you don't answer his ridiculous question, Vicrul pours the alcohol down his throat in one fell swoop. The glass sounds on the bar afterwards, and you press your lips together as his head bows between his shoulders. What's wrong with him?

Something is stiff in the Force. Uncomfortable.

"Are you alright?" You can't help but ask.

He holds back what you can sense to be his rising temper, before taking his time to respond. He roughs a hand through his dark hair, messing it up completely.

"No."

Your heart jumps. Kylo would never in a million years admit such a thing. You can't recall a time a man had ever truly opened up to you.

You feel a smile tug on your lips, but it falls as his reply settles. Is he hurt? Emotionally?

"I'm sorry to hear that." You surprise yourself as the words feel sincere.

His shoulders rumble as he chuckles a humourless, breathy laugh.

"You are... somethin' else." He mumbles so quietly you only just catch it.

You look down, embarrassed. What does that mean?

Back to the point.

"Are you doing anything important today?" You ask carefully, inspecting your nails. You're inquisitive and honestly, dying to know, but you hold back any enthusiasm so as not to tick him off.

"Nothin' you need to know about, love." His accent is thick, and your eye twitches at the pet name. Where is he from?

Your mood deflates, and you close your sketchbook that sits on the table in front of you. He doesn't trust you yet. That's ok. Kylo does, and that will help.

"Ren told me what you do." A lie. You are observant enough to understand. They're warriors. Raiders. Hunters. Killers. They are whatever the hell Kylo Ren tells them to be.

Vicrul hums low. "Did he now?"

You stand, and make your way to the bar. You need to be one of them. You try your best to keep your eyes averted from Vicrul's burning stare as you approach the decanter of alcohol. You can feel his eyes on your side, running down your body and back up again. It's enough to make you wish you hadn't been so brave.

Pouring yourself a little, you bring it to your lips. The burning on your tongue is subsided by the taste of marzipan exploding over your taste buds. You down the rest.