#phaslo

Kylo recalled legends of the Mandalorians—that race for whom removing one’s helmet was a great dishonor. Neither he nor Phasma were Mandalorian…but they had never seen one another unmasked.

…As long as it wasn’t Hux, Ren thought to himself. True, Hux had seen Ren’s face before—he recalled that night on Arkanis, how it had felt to be twenty-four and trembling with his bare feet on the cold durasteel floors—and he remembered that cold stare of judgment, that sneer that seemed to say, Ah. So the Supreme Leader has placed his faith in a child.

“…I sense the reason for your hesitation,” Phasma said, breaking Ren from his thoughts. “Unfortunately, I doubt we have a choice.”

Ren nodded. And then he put his hands to his helmet, and pressed the button to remove it.

Phasma watched, and removed hers at the same time. Perhaps she thought it polite.

The first thought that Kylo had, upon seeing her, was that he was surprised that she was human. He didn’t know what else she could have been—but from her demeanor, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had been part-droid. But, no—she was human, and looked hardly older than he was, with fair skin and blue eyes and hair like the yellow floss of kerncobs.

He wondered if she had a former name, like he had. But he was not willing to ask.

Phasma seemed to look at him, too. But if she had any thoughts about his face, his appearance, his humanity—she kept those to herself.

Ren liked that about the Captain. General Hux had a tendency to air far too many of his thoughts.

Phasma handed him one of the boxes, and took one as well. Kylo wondered if General Organa had eaten rations like these, back in her Rebel days—but that was another thought he shoved away.

It had been many years since Ren had taken a meal with another being. In his former life, meals had been social affairs, meant for conversation and enjoyment and relaxation. In the life he knew now, eating was an inconvenient necessity, and nearly embarrassing—almost as undignified as the bodily functions that resulted from it.

Kylo and Phasma did not speak as they ate. But strangely, he sensed something like camaraderie in the silence. A shared acceptance of the burden of being mortal. They could hear one another breathe, in the silence, with their helmets off—hear one another chew, and swallow. Phasma even sneezed, and Kylo muttered a blessing on reflex, as strange as that felt.