Hurt Me Harder (Kylo Ren x Reader)

Exile

There was a noise that wasn't there before, you noticed, still half-asleep. You rubbed your eyes and sat up, noticing how unforgiving sleeping on his study floor really was as your muscles groaned, and as your spine dug into the dense carpet you could tell without a shadow of a doubt that there was hardwood floor underneath it. You propped yourself on your elbow, wincing. How in the hell your biceps in particular managed to get so sore, you weren't sure, but you couldn't put anything past Kylo anymore.

You stood on shaking legs, reminding yourself of a newborn deer, unsteady and trembling. For a split-second you searched around for your clothes but gave up the second you saw the state of the study. Articles of clothing were strewn everywhere; you weren't sure what belonged to who. Books and papers scattered lifelessly across the room, strewn on the floor, lost, from where Kylo had knocked them all down. That damned shattered frame. Lost, broken glass.

You felt your brow furrow as you stepped over the glass to exit the study. The noise, a low, muffled hissing, was coming from down the hall. You followed it, eyes still adjusting to the darkness, as you approached Kylo's bedroom.

The door was open a crack and the lights were off, you noticed, and slipped inside. Once there, the source of the noise was clear: running water. There was a dim light bathing the left side of the room. Slinking along the wall, you came to the master bath, the door opened a few inches, the sound of streaming shower droplets now completely unmistakable.

He was facing away from you, forearms pressed against the stone wall of his shower. Holding your breath, you watched streams of clear water roll down the muscular expanse of his back. He still looked tense, his head bowed forward, breath coming in uneven heaves. Your heart clenched in its cage for him, and you stepped forward. He hadn't bothered to shut the glass door, you noticed, and the water lightly misted the tops of your bare feet.

You weren't sure why he'd needed to exile himself to the shower, but he didn't look well. A part of you hoped you could fix this, believed you actually could. Your biggest fear wasn't that you'd fail. It was that you'd make it worse. Had you? And what had you expected—that you'd come over, you'd fuck, and everything would be as it was before, only better?

You stepped forward, outstretching your arm, gentle fingers, to touch the skin at the small of his back. He must have heard you coming. You couldn't imagine how that was possible; perhaps he had sensed you. It was eerie, the way you and him seemed to be connected. The way your lives seemed to be so impossibly interlaced.

"Don't," he growled over his shoulder.

You froze, only for a moment, but dropped your hand. The last thing you wanted to do was to touch him, not when you didn't know what he was thinking or feeling. Not when you didn't know how mangled he was on the inside. Not when you didn't know how bad it was.

"Kylo," you breathed. "I think we should talk."

"Talk?" he spat, nearly turning around. He stopped himself at the last minute, facing back towards the wall. You could see the way he trembled as he stood rigid and adamant and completely unyielding, as always. "There's nothing to talk about. I didn't ask to talk to you. I didn't ask you to come here."

That was enough to shatter you from the inside out.

Your lower lip trembled, but you lifted your chin nonetheless, trying to trick yourself into feeling strength that wasn't there. Had you completely misread this? You'd thought you were taking a leap. Taking your fate, your fate together, into your own hands. You knew it was a lot, how it could have come across, showing up at his house and expecting answers. But he'd done it to you, so wasn't it only fair? And wouldn't you only have come if you were positive beyond a shadow of a doubt that somewhere deep inside of him, he felt love for you? That he felt something?