Cruel Destiny | Kylo Ren

The Supreme Leader

Shaking the fear from my shoulders, I look back to Kylo Ren who slept peacefully. His usual scowl replaced with something much more relaxed and though I try not to stare at the brutal cut that ran along his cheek, I keep finding my eyes diverting back to it.

Broad and rough. Whatever had caused this wound was either blunt or something much more sinister as the nurses couldn't even bandage it without the material sticking to the torn flesh. One moment that flesh was so pure, white and soft with the occasional freckle, now it was scarred with red—somehow so extraordinary that I slowly started to forget what he had looked like without it in the first place.

Suddenly, swollen eyes meet the dismal view of this hospital room, flickering to the lights above, to the door and then to me. I immediately knew it was confusion that flooded within his throbbing veins—so desperate for movement that I wondered what those blue cords looked like amongst his rough hands that sat beneath the bedsheets.

"Kylo." I gasp, whispering his name into the small hospital room as I made my way to his side. I hoped he found no fury at the lack of power my voice gave to his name.

With eyes on the polystyrene tiles above, they fluttered shut for a moment as he winces. I feel my chest tighten into a knot like a cramp and a quiet need to soothe him twitches in my fingers.

I'm nothing without him...

I want to tell him that it's okay—that he's okay—but my nerve has no mercy to my apprehension. I wince as he does, Kylo's eyes almost seeming as if they were trying to peer down at the flesh of his destroyed cheek.

"It's just a deep cut, try not to move your face too much," I mutter, but it is the traitor that is my touch, which sends my apprehension and nerves, spiralling.

It was like all the air in the room had become thin. I could tell Kylo Ren's mind was a surging perplexity as he wore a puzzled expression, not even looking at me as I spoke; but when I had placed a gentle hand at his shoulder that was covered in the thin material of a hospital blanket, his honey coated eyes met mine and almost softened in realisation.

"Six?"

"Yes," Eyelids fluttering shut, I allow a quick smile. A nice thought crosses my mind: that maybe the air began to feel less dense because he had calmed at the sight of me. "How do you feel?"

He peered from the bed to take a glance at his frame beneath the covers before letting his head fall heavily back onto the pillow, "Never any better."

His brows knitted together, and with his head still on the pillow—hair splayed around him—he turned and we locked eyes once more, but I was quick to tear mine away. He's so vulnerable in this moment—nothing like I had ever seen him to be.

"–What are you doing here?" He looked so pale that he almost blended in with the bleached walls and the furniture of the hospital, the only thing that stopped him from morphing into the bedsheets were his soft, dark hair and the scar on his cheek that I so desperately wanted to run a delicate finger over to adore its puncture.

A slight pang rings in my heart at his amnesia, though I never expected him to remember calling my name from the stretcher as he was almost blacked out completely by then.

"It's a long story," I swipe a hand in the air, brushing his question away from the tension. "How's your memory? Do you remember what happened?"

His eyes break contact with my own as he moves his head back to the ceiling, the brown flickering slightly at the harsh lights as if he was recollecting his memory as easily has he had forced his way into my own, many days ago.

"I remember... the Resistance attacking StarKiller, somehow taking over the planetary shields..." He dragged, and I could slowly feel the rage eating away at his insides but he never let it show on the surface as he continued, "—The whole place erupting in flames and sinking into itself as it crumbled. The snow–"