[Somewhere between before and now, Kylo Ren had squirmed over to the side of the bed, pinning the curtain to it with his back. Even he isn't entirely sure when he'd moved, only that once he had become aware of himself again, he was there beside her. Had he fallen asleep? It did not feel as if he had -- only that something had compelled him there, against his own desires. Against his judgement.
But he knows that he aches when he comes back to the presence of his own mind. All of his bones feel heavy, his chest and stomach twisted in knots of what he recognizes as loneliness -- much of which is owed to Rey, but amplified by his own miserable self.
It's a bittersweet feeling. He does not smile for it, but it does coax his head to languidly rest against the mattress. It's not real contact -- and he isn't really searching for the connection that comes with it. It's an idle sort of melancholy that he doesn't engage with so much as exist in a constant state of.
It is a blanket. He finds comfort and familiarity in it, where Rey finds distress. But it means he does not spend time fighting for his own space.]
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But he knows that he aches when he comes back to the presence of his own mind. All of his bones feel heavy, his chest and stomach twisted in knots of what he recognizes as loneliness -- much of which is owed to Rey, but amplified by his own miserable self.
It's a bittersweet feeling. He does not smile for it, but it does coax his head to languidly rest against the mattress. It's not real contact -- and he isn't really searching for the connection that comes with it. It's an idle sort of melancholy that he doesn't engage with so much as exist in a constant state of.
It is a blanket. He finds comfort and familiarity in it, where Rey finds distress. But it means he does not spend time fighting for his own space.]