Cherchant (Kylo Ren x Reader)

Thirty-Three

"Show me," Kylo Ren demands.

He had been obsessing over the subject of pyrokinesis all week. His questioning had become incessant to the point that you were relieved when you were pulled away to the Cherchant or to the station. It was frustrating to be scrutinized for something that felt very much out of your control.

In spite of your annoyance, you understand why he's being this way. You had woken up almost every night from intense and violent nightmares. Scared and seeking guidance, you had let him explore the frustratingly limited memories that persisted after sleep dissolved.

He seemed fixated on the disembodied voices that were haunting you each night. For the first few days he disappeared into books, researching the subject. Plucking up volume after volume and flipping through them, searching for passages that he had vague memories of reading previously. Each time he found something relevant he'd rush to your side, interrupting whatever you were doing around the house to read out loud. Then he'd sink into the overstuffed armchair by the fireplace and reread, lost deep in thought, sometimes closing his eyes to meditate on the subject.

What he was trying to accomplish, you weren't sure. His response to the entire thing seemed like an overreaction to you. When you had pressed him on why your dreams were so upsetting to him he reacted by snapping the text he held shut with a frustrated thunk. Responding only by asking you how you could be so dismissive while the dark bags under your eyes expanded with each passing day.

— — —

Against your protests, he had insisted on a sparring session today in the clearing. The weather is shifting, days shortening, brisk cool mountain air lingering, no longer burnt away by the heat of Edoterra's star.

You're on your back, catching your breath after a long exhausting bout of saber play. Fighting him was almost as much about keeping your mind blank so that he couldn't intuit your moves as it was about honing your physical skills.

You are accustomed to his fighting style now. Having adapted your own to utilize speed, you stay competitive by constantly switching up your attack. Because of this you had become pretty effective against his brute strength. To the untrained eye you may even appear evenly matched but your instinct tells you he's holding back. Always holding back.

When he first trained you, so much of his power seemed to stem from his deep well of anger and sorrow. Passing time, paired with his healing journey, has shifted his fighting style. Since the temple island incident, you both feel such easy access to the Force at all times. The need to overthink or draw on emotions to conjure power is gone. All the power in the universe seems to be at your fingertips allowing you to concentrate on experimentation.

"Show Me."

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him. Maybe it's the lack of restful sleep but your emotions are running high and your patience thin.

"What do you want to see?"

He says your name slowly with a disapproving tone.

"Fine," you sigh, gathering up a handful of dry dead grass, balling it in your fist.

The place deep within you that you draw on to start fires is vastly different than what you've grown accustomed to when wielding the Force for any other purpose. It's unique and singular, as if it exists completely independently.

If only you could make out the words being whispered in your dreams, maybe they held the answers to this riddle.

You locate the source of your pyrokinesis and concentrate. It seems pretty clear to you that all you're doing is manipulating the molecules of the combustible source before you. If it were really that straightforward though, Kylo should be able to do it too. You levitate the balled up grass and watch it burst into flames. Kylo watches intently with dark eyes and a knit brow.