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Perfect to Me

Chapter Text

Rey couldn’t believe it. Today was finally the day of the big school pep rally, where the most popular student band, The First Order, would play. 

All through last period she was nervous. Her hands were sweating on her lap, and when the teacher called on her all she could say was, “Um... ‘Starkiller Base’?” That was the name of the First Order’s most popular song 

Finally, class was done, and Rey headed to the gym with the rest of the students. She hung back in the crowd, feeling like she was all alone. They couldn’t understand how she felt, how something so important was waiting to happen. They couldn’t understand how she felt about... Kylo Ren.

The teachers wouldn’t use that name. They all insisted on calling him the name that his terrible parents had given him: Ben Solo. But Rey knew that Kylo was more than the abuse that Han and Leia Solo had piled on him over the years, so much that anyone weaker would have broken under all of the strain.

No. Kylo Ren was stronger than that, and Rey was the only one who could see it.

She took a seat toward the back of the bleachers. The popular kids crowded the front row, of course: Finn and Poe and all of their friends. They didn’t even like the First Order. But Rey knew that Kylo would see her, wherever she was. It was like some kind of psychic connection between them. She had felt it at the last pep rally, and at their show at the local coffee shop. He had looked straight into her eyes, and what she saw there made her tremble, as if he had touched something within her that she never knew existed before. 

The principal introduced the band, but no one was really listening. They were just focused on the opening notes of the thrumming, passionate intro. Then Kylo and Armitage Hux and the rest of their bandmates stomped onto the stage with a sound of furious anger that resonated deep within the sentiment that Rey felt in her soul.

The crowd around her cried out, but Rey was silent. She knew that Kylo could feel her, that he would find her warm brown eyes in the crowd even if he didn’t call her name. 

As always, he wore a hoodie on stage, covering up the scar that he felt so self-conscious about, but which Rey knew made him only more human and beautiful. It was his voice that the crowd ached for, and she could feel them straining forward in their seats, almost as if they longed for him the way she did.

His eyes found only hers, though, and as she drowned in the deep brown of his years of pain and sorrow, she sensed a promise in the air. Yes, of course! her heart sang to his. Of course she would meet him after the show.

When the pep rally was over, Rey ran to the door of the boys’ locker room, just waiting for Kylo to come out. She waited there for a long time, until Hux and all of the other guys in their band had gone home.

“Kylo?” she called.

“What do you want?” 

“It’s me. It’s Rey. We have algebra together. I heard you sing, and...”

Before she could finish the sentence, he was there, his eyes burning holes in the depths of her soul. 

“Rey,” he said. “You... heard me? You liked my song?”

Rey’s heart trembled and seemed to melt under the radiant warmth of his voice.

“Of course I did,” she said. “Everyone loves you.”

She touched the hood, and he flinched as though it burned. 

“Please,” she whispered. “Let me see your face.”

He said nothing, but let her hand slip under the hood and push it away 

Rey knew he was self-conscious about the scar that snaked from the middle of his forehead, between his eye and nose and onto his cheek. But to her, it only made him more beautiful. She trailed her fingers along the scar in a passionate caress 

“Kylo,” she whispered, and he visibly flinched. “You were perfect out there.”

“I wasn’t,” he whispered. “My foster dad would kill me if he heard how flat I was on those high notes.”

“Shhh.” She brushed a tendril of hair from his face. “Don’t think about him. Your imperfections are perfect to me.” Inside, she bristled against his foster father, Luke Skywalker, who had only replaced his parents’ abuse with overwhelming demands 


On his lips, her name was a prayer.

And she raised her own lips to meet them, without thinking , driven only by the passionate connection between them.

Before she knew it, her hand was unfastening his zipper, and she was pushing him back into the deserted locker room.

He throbbed in her grip, thick and pulsing and alive, and she relished the feel of his lips on her neck and she pushed him back against the row of lockers.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, almost as if it were a question, and she rocked against him.

“Yes, Kylo. I’m yours.”

His deft fingers unzipped her jeans, and then his fingers were there, playing against the heat of her womanhood.

“I’m yours,” she said again, and then he was in her, filling her and making her whole.

She screamed his name as he finished, and she with him. It was just as she had known. It was just as the song spoke to her. They were—she and Kylo were—meant to be.

“I love you,” she gasped. “I don’t know how or why, but I love you.”

His breath was hot and warm on her neck as he promised, “I love you too.”

“Save me?” he asked, but then the moment was broken by the heavy, angry steps of his foster father.

“Ben!” Luke exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”