aid • kylo ren

VI

Luna didn't want to go back. She didn't want to go back ever. She was embarrassed. Embarrassed and humiliated. How unprofessional could she be? That intimacy is not tolerated. Especially not with someone of such high power and such high influence. She didn't want to go back, but she couldn't let him starve or see his stitches become infected. She psyched herself up. This was her job. He was just a patient . Nothing more than that. Never more than that. It couldn't ever be.

Luna entered the room. She couldn't look at him.

"Luna."

She didn't look at him.

"Kylo."

She walked to the other side of the room to get clean bandages. She didn't look to her left once. She got them and made her way to the bed. She could feel his eyes trained on her, but she couldn't look into those intense hazel ones. She'd crumble. She got work. Cleaning the wound methodically.

"Luna. Look at me."

She couldn't.

"I'm busy."

"Please."

She mustered up the courage. Telling herself he was just a patient. She lifted her head. "What."

"Can we talking about what happened?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because what, Luna?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Kylo."

"But I do."

"We don't always get what we want."

Kylo looked at her. She put her head back down and continued cleaning. She was so engrossed in it but then a warm, calloused hand closed over hers. She looked up and saw Kylo's pleading eyes.

"Luna."

She narrowed her eyes and shoved his hand off her. The warm feeling vanishing.

"No. You're just a patient I have to take care off. Nothing more and nothing less."

Kylo's face fell. She ignored it and she ignored her heart aching with every word she said. She hated that she hurt him.

"I'm sorry." she said.

"No. No, you're not." His face was hard. He wasn't looking at her anymore.

Her heart ached more. She was. She truly was.

She sighed and went back to cleaning.

Kylo tried to control himself. He tried to control the heat that was in the pit of his stomach from rising. He didn't want to get angry. Not in front of her. He focused on the wall in front of him, clenching his jaw. He was angry. Angry and upset. And he hated himself. He hated this and this feeling. He hated that he was letting himself feel so weak. He hated what she was doing to him.

"I'm all done, the wound looks good, and the wound on your face is healing well, you'll be able to leave soon."

He grunted. He didn't want to leave.

She put everything away and left the room.

But he doesn't hate her. He could never hate her. Despite everything. He thought to himself, she'd never go for him anyway.