Kylo was drowning in his own rage. His pain and suffering, he had kept it buried beneath the surface for so long it was beginning to suffocate him. He was losing it. He wanted to be different and he wanted to feel affection again. He wanted his father back. He wanted to see his mother again. But how could he admit that now after all that's happened? What was he to do now? Kylo began to assume that he truly could never be himself again—he could never be Ben again. It was over. It was all over for him.
Until he felt something, something so pure and warm, something so beautiful it filled him with a relief he hadn't felt in years. He could breath again. What was that beautiful feeling, that warm touch that seemed to be so effortlessly pulling him away from this dreadful, unbearable pain? He finally gathered his wits enough to look towards it, to reach out to it. And then he looked down and realized it was a hand. Her hand. Rey held his wrist, seeing his face twisted in anguish, and she pulled him towards her, willing the darkness that was swelling up inside him to flee. And Ben Solo had never felt more free.
And that, ladies and gents, is why I ship Reylo. I'll be here until December, be sure to tip your waitress. 😉
Credit to: ilafox
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