#direnightshade

Kylo is starting to get aggravated, you can tell. What a turn of events the holiday had been, from that first night at the motel to now. Only a couple days ago you were arguing with him on the drive over where he didn’t fill up the tank enough to actually get you there in one go, but now there’s a sort of air of tolerance between you. You’re in your parents’ huge mansion in Connecticut, celebrating Hanukkah together with the Organa-Solos, everyone staying in their own room in the big three-story house.

Whoever decided that Kylo’s room would be directly across the hall from yours, clearly had a twisted sense of humor. But you could tell the friendly atmosphere was starting to wane, as Kylo yet again spun a shin, and had to give some raisins into the middle.

“Give it up. I have won all your raisins. You’ll be left with nothing but those nuts no-one likes.” You try to get him to stop while he’s already behind, before his blood begins to boil and he throws a fit like you’ve seen so many times before in your…well, whatever you want to call it together.

Kylo levels you a glare that would send a lesser person shaking with their tail between their legs, but you are not lesser, and certainly able to hold your own against him and his intense gazes.

“Listen sweetheart,” He says through a clenched jaw, hand flexing in and out of a fist as he tries to keep his cool. “I am no quitter -- especially when faced with a cheater.”

“You think I’m cheating?” Your brows fly up at the accusation, a terse edge to your voice.

“I know you’re fucking cheating. You’ve got a loaded dreidel, I know you do.” Kylo’s chair scrapes back against the hard wood floors and he stands up, making his way around the long long long dining table to crowd into your space.

“Stop being such a sore fucking loser, Kylo. I won fair and square and I’d testify to that.” You stand up too, not letting him tower over you. He still does, of course, but to a far lesser degree.

“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you try spinning with this one?” Kylo shoves a dreidel of his own into your palm and you scoff, as if that would prove anything – everyone knows that dreidel is left up to chance, there’s no rhyme of reason to it.

Which is why Kylo gets especially frustrated when your spin lands on gimel, and you smugly shuffle the whole pot of raisins to your corner.

“Fuck you.” Kylo spits, hands already reaching for you with a big scowl on his face.

“No fuck you --!” You start to snap back, before Kylo’s hands cup at your cheeks and hold you in a bruising kiss, your hands already winding in his hair.

Kylo’s tongue pushes its way into your mouth and you welcome it with passion, sighing and moaning around the taste of him, raspberry jelly from the sufganiyot lingering on his lips. You and Kylo both vie for control, hands all over, pulling at one another’s hair and pushing at shoulders to try and get the upper edge in this dance of dominance.

You manage to get Kylo backed up against the wall, but he only flips your positions quickly and pins your wrists above your head, moving to suck and bite at your neck where it’s exposed from your cheeky Hanukkah sweater. You slip one out of his grasp, using it to fumble with his belt, and Kylo groans when he feels your hand wrapping around his cock in his underwear, giving the hard length of it a good stroke.

“Upstairs, now, fucking brat.” He growls in your ear, and you manage to twist yourself out of his grip entirely, ducking underneath his armpit and slipping away from him altogether, practically racing up the grand staircase.

Ben and Mattie, who happened to see everything, duck as the two of you rush up to the second floor where your bedrooms were, certainly going unnoticed by everyone aside from the other triplets.

Ben gives Matt a smug grin of his own, reaching out a grabby hand for the money that his big brother owes him with a, “I’ll take that.”

It’s the most wonderful time of the year ...

For everyone else in the world but you.

You refresh Facebook for the millionth time since this morning, and yet another round of photos from friends and acquaintances appears.  Smiling faces, families all together, babies ...

It’s still early, but you can’t take any more of this.  You switch off your phone, turn off the light, and huddle under the blankets.  It isn’t until you notice how damp the pillow has become that you realize you are crying.

And then ... he’s there.  

A big pair of arms wrap around you, a leg hooks over the top of yours, and you find your back resting against a broad solid chest that can only belong to one person.

He kisses you three times.  Once against your shoulder.  Another on your jaw.  The third, just below your ear.  And then, he speaks.  “You didn’t really think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?”

You open your mouth to answer, but instead of words, a strangled sob comes out.  

It startles you, how loud it is.  How raw it sounds.  

And then the floodgates open.  

Everything you’ve been keeping in all day, all month, all year.  Every bit of stress, sadness, loneliness comes pouring out of you all at once.  And he holds you.

He holds you.

He holds you until your sobs turn to hiccups.  Until the tears stop falling.  Until you feel exhausted and a bit dehydrated, but a little better somehow, for having let it all out.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, into the silence of your room.

Big, strong arms tighten around you.  “What have I told you,” he rumbles, his deep voice vibrating through your entire body, “About apologizing for things you don’t need to.  Don’t be sorry.  Never be sorry for feeling the way you feel.”

“It’s just -” You pause, and try to swallow down the lump that has suddenly appeared in your throat.  You’re not going to cry again - you don’t think you have any tears left in you - but it hurts.  It’s agony.  “I feel so fucking alone sometimes.  All of the time.  I hate it.  I hate this.  It’s not fair.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder.  “I know it’s not fair.  But you’re not alone.  I’m here, aren’t I?”

You huff out a humourless laugh.  “You aren’t even real.”

“Mmm.  But I feel real, don’t I?"

You nod.

“And that’s because of you, and your wonderful imagination.  Your big heart.  Someday soon, someone’s going to see that.  Someone real.  And you won’t ever feel alone again.  But until then ... you’ve got me.”

Kylo might be a fiction, a fantasy, but what you feel isn’t.  He is a part of you.  The part of you that is learned to love yourself.  And to dare to believe that someday, someone might love you, too.

“Same time tomorrow?” you murmur, as you drift off to sleep in his arms.  Just like you do every night.

“Of course,” he replies, softly.  “I’ll be here.”