Chapter Text
There’s some reason why I can’t sit still
Every waking moment I feel so unfulfilled
I try to lie down, but I don’t know how
Baby, when I’m sleeping, it feels less like I am dreaming .
Oh, my god
I got a bad disease.
~~~~
( Terminal: (of a disease) predicted to lead to death, especially slowly; incurable.)
Your apartment was usually silent.
It was almost eerie, the way that the air conditioner would hum, doors would creak, and conversations from your neighbors could be heard from the walls. All causing more noise than you did daily.
Mostly it was because you could be found wearing headphones with loud music blasting directly into your ear, needing the most overwhelming sensory experience possible to get you through a moment of panic. Or because you were gone, usually not physically, but mentally in your own world.
And right now, it was almost tranquil.
Except for the sounds of groans and the headboard of your bed pounding against the wall in an unorganized, violent rhythm.
“ Yeah ,” His voice said through a grunt, “You like that?”
It should’ve been easy to reply with: ‘Yes’. It would’ve been simple, even if you didn’t mean it. But you couldn’t help but take a moment to consider it. Did you like this?
You looked past him, ignoring the small bead of sweat threatening to fall from his nose and onto your skin. Staring at the ceiling, you wondered what part of this interaction you genuinely enjoyed.
Was it the sex itself? You weren’t so sure. It wasn’t like you’d ever reached an orgasm with him before. Was it how you felt about him, the hope of love there? The company? The validation?
All this passed through your mind while he continued to fuck you; the only thing breaking you from your spiraling thoughts was the drop of sweat that finally fell onto your collarbone.
“Yeah,” You answered him, exhaling the word, attempting to put some ecstasy behind it.
Either oblivious or apathetic to your lack of enthusiasm, he went on without faltering.
“I’m gonna…” He trailed off, oblivious to how you were more focused on your thought process and how your neurons fired the way they did than you were on the sex itself. “I’m gonna cum. Fuck . I’m cumming.”
You didn’t make a noise until he was finished and he rolled over on the bed beside you, pulling out as he did so. You only let out a small sigh, halfway between disappointment and relief.
Looking over at him, instead of basking in the afterglow of making love like you knew you should be, you thought back to your previous contemplations. Why did you do this? Why did you insist on having the same man sneak over every other night to fuck you and leave?
He was sort of handsome; that was true. Sometimes, he was charming, but only when he wanted to be. But he was your boss. And he was married. And then it dawned on you; that perhaps the rush of unavailability is precisely what kept you hanging on.
“Want one?” He asked, taking a cigarette out of the pack on the nightstand and reaching for the lighter.
Armitage Hux was the first person to ever give you a chance in journalism. You’d barely graduated from college when your interview took place with the news outlet he was in charge of, and it was barely an hour later that he offered you the job.
Hux was influential and confident and had a way of making you feel like you could accomplish something with him. A combination that made it almost impossible for you to resist him the first time he hit on you when everyone else in the office went home, and he brought out the bottle of whisky he kept under his desk.
How could you say no to him when he had just offered you a job of a lifetime?
That one night in the office, pressed against his desk, soon turned into multiple nights a week in his office. Which then turned into trips to a hotel room, secret weekend getaways, and eventually giving him a key to your apartment.
The lines blurred very quickly, and at this point, nearly a year later, you weren’t sure what the more prestigious title was; his employee or his mistress.
But, unfortunately, it didn’t matter how often you spent time on top of Hux; you would always be below him.
And when it came to writing articles about important topics, no amount of blow jobs or shallow compliments could get your boss to see your way of thinking. You felt like you were doomed to write about the things that no one else wanted to; the scraps of the news rotation.
“No,” You answered, eyebrows knitting together in the middle. “I thought I told you…” You trailed off, hoping that he would understand what you wanted to say and that you wouldn’t have to do it yourself.
“Told me what?” Hux asked, the cigarette hanging from his lips as he held the flame up to the end, his eyes focused downward there.
You pulled the blankets tighter to your chest, “I hate when you smoke here. I can never get the smell out.”
Hux laughed out loud, a short amused noise. He inhaled deeply, shook his head as he glanced over at you, and blew out a breath of smoke. “I thought it turned you on. Isn’t that what you said before?”
You tried to think back. Did you ever say that? You couldn’t remember. And you weren’t sure now if you couldn’t remember because of the endless loop that your mind got lost in daily or if it even happened.
Suddenly, you were embarrassed by your lack of confidence in your memories or ideas.
“Yeah,” You lied, staring up at the ceiling with a frown. “Forget it. I was just giving you a hard time.”
Once again, it wasn’t clear whether Hux was ignorant of your worries or if he just didn’t care. He reached over to gently put a hand in your hair, ruffling it. “I know you were, peach.”
You let out a humorless chuckle. You also hated that nickname that he insisted on calling you. ‘Peach .’ It made you feel like a sparkling water flavor or a video game character, neither of which felt sexy.
Besides, you were fucking allergic to peaches. And you knew for a fact that you’d told him that before.
Attempting to soothe yourself from self-pity, you scooted closer to him. “Do you want me to open that wine you brought? I have some snacks.” You offered him. Pay attention to me, please; I’m begging, you thought.
As you spoke, Hux reached for the remote on the bedside table and turned the tv on, focusing more on the act of doing so instead of what you were asking him. He put a lazy arm around your shoulders, a half-assed attempt to show you affection.
“You’re warm.” You told him with a smile, appreciating it.
He said nothing in response, and you couldn’t help how your eyes instinctively went to the mirror in the corner of the room, the one you could see yourself in. Did you look okay? Was your make-up messed up? If you looked a little prettier, would he be sweeter with you?
As the television turned on, the sound of the news drowned out any response he might’ve given you.
Hux processed what was currently on TV, and it was as if you weren’t beside him at all. He only cared about what he was watching; it was what he’d been hoping to see.
“Shhh!” He said in a rushed tone, quickly turning the volume up as he straightened up, pushing you away in the process.
You were offended to the point where you felt nauseous, wanting the closeness after sex and hurt by the fact that he didn’t consider the desire himself. But then, when you glanced at the screen and saw the news report’s current topic, you understood his enthusiasm for something bigger.
The reporter stood in front of lines of caution tape accompanied by flashing police lights and the quiet chaos of dedicated workers passing by to finish their vital duties.
“I’m standing here in front of an active crime scene of yet another tragic murder that has taken place downtown.” The newscaster had to yell into her microphone to be audible over the sound of sirens and general commotion. “And although we don’t have much information yet, it has been confirmed that the victim was a single male in his late twenties.”
Crime scene. Tragic. Murder. Victim.
All words that should be concerning enough to stir some sort of response in you. But as you settled against the headboard of your bed with the blanket pulled tightly around you, all you could manage was a brief sigh of pity.
Violence was becoming a common occurrence in the city you lived in. And besides that, your career and the free time that accompanied it were centered around similar topics. There wasn’t much that could shock you these days.
The newscaster on tv pressed her earpiece further into her ear, doing her best to hear what information was being relayed to her while also standing in the middle of a passing crowd of workers and onlookers.
“ Oh-Okay. Alright,” She muttered hurriedly to herself and whoever was speaking to her before she turned her attention back to the audience through the camera. “ I have just been told by the reporters back at the station that the evidence left behind on the scene indicates that we might know who committed such a heinous crime .”
You frowned deeply, shaking your head. You should’ve seen it coming. It was like clockwork. This was… what ? The fourth time this month, this same person did the same sort of act and had it reported the same way.
“ Starkiller . ” You and the reporter said in unison.
Her tone of voice was one of morbid excitement, as if she were dropping a shocking bomb on those watching at home while you had said the name in boredom. If a bomb was dropped, the constant media coverage of the killer had detonated it before it could make any sort of explosion, that was for sure.
“Oh, shit ,” Hux muttered, removing his cigarette to blow smoke from the side of his mouth. Instead of a look of horror or sympathy, he had a large grin, thrilled. “Fuck yeah, it’s our guy.”
The satisfaction he received from someone else’s tragedy made your stomach turn.
The Starkiller had been terrorizing the Colorado city you lived in for a few months. None of the victims seemed to have a connection with each other, and the murders themselves were always a little different. But their signature left behind was always the same: a star.
Whether it was carved into the wall, cut out of skin, or jotted down on a piece of paper, the star was always there.
There weren’t any leads on who the Starkiller was. None that seemed plausible, anyways. Whoever was doing it: was doing well.
Starkiller was the only topic that your town seemed to care about. He was a local celebrity. People on the busy street sold Starkiller merchandise, there were fan accounts on social media, and people from nearby states visited to catch a glimpse of the killer.
And, of course, the enthusiasm fueled Hux. People were looking towards journalists to share information for the first time in a long time. It was a high for him to be the first to report on the latest finding or speculation. Armitage was just as obsessed with this killer as everyone else was.
“I really gotta get on this story, peach. We have to be the first ones who find out who he is.” Armitage mumbled, reaching over to your nightstand and using one of your empty diet soda cans as a makeshift ashtray.
You said nothing, watching him with a frown. Why did he assume Starkiller was a man?
When you first met Hux, his hunger to be the best was something you admired. You wanted to ride his wave of ambition to the top. But after a year of working for him, you began to realize there was no room for you to work with him.
It was difficult for you to be giddy about something you didn’t have much say in.
“You’ll get it,” You assured him, watching his movements. “You always do.” The bitterness in your tone was evident, though Hux pretended not to hear it.
He squinted as he stared at the tv, reading the sprawling captions that were a few seconds delayed from the audio, making sure that he wasn’t missing a second of information.
You continued to stare at him instead of the screen as you listened to the reporter:
“It is advised that citizens stay vigilant as the unidentified killer remains active. Lock your doors, limit traveling alone, and most importantly, report suspicious information.” She said into her microphone.
“The Starkiller is still out there. Don’t allow yourself to be the next victim.”
It was Kylo Ren’s favorite time of night.
It was before bedtime, before the lengthy routine that he performed, before he settled between his sheets. It was after his work was complete, when the day’s duties were over.
It was his time to indulge in his sick addiction.
It was time to consume himself with you .
As he sank into the office chair that cost more than what you spend on rent in a month, Kylo let out a low groan, punctuated by the hum of music playing beside him on his record player. The type of grunt that left his chest could only be created from a long night’s hard work. The settling of aching muscles and aging bones as they came in contact with relief.
With one trembling hand, Kylo wiped the rust-colored sweat from his brow, blood mixed with perspiration. And with the other hand, he reached for the honey-colored liquid in the cup in front of him, hissing when the bitter flavor came in contact with his taste buds.
He hummed to the music playing, some song from a decade before the 1970s, as he breathed heavily and reached for his computer mouse.
“Where are you?” Kylo murmured as his eyes scanned over his screen.
No recent activity. No posts. Nothing. Silence.
Fuck the silence. Why weren’t you on time? What could you possibly be doing?
He needed you.
A nervous breath escaped from his nostrils, jaw tensing as he hit refresh at the top of the page.
“Don’t do this to me,” Kylo whispered desperately.
Peering out of your window, you watched as Hux got into the backseat of the car he called for. Snow was just starting to fall, a sight that usually made you happy. Right now, the weather just made you feel lonely. You were used to this by now, spending your nights alone. But somehow, you had tried to convince yourself that maybe he would stay if you asked him nicely enough.
You shut your curtains and immediately began shuffling in your pink fuzzy socks towards your kitchen, right for the fridge. You knew exactly where the wine was. And you also knew exactly how much you needed something to distract you, even if it was destructive.
It was sad enough that you let a man like Hux into your apartment multiple times a week in the first place. He didn’t respect you, and he wasn’t kind to you. But more so: you hardly even liked him.
So when you suggested ordering dinner and laying in bed until you fell asleep together, only to be turned down because “ his wife was making steak tonight ,” the guilt only stung you more intensely.
You brought a shaking hand up to your lips to take a drink from your glass and swallowed the wine in a hard, almost painful way.
The worst part about fucking your boss was the escape plan was a bit more tricky than a usual one-night stand. You couldn’t ‘ghost’ the man responsible for your monthly direct deposit.
Work was always tough in the morning. When you passed Hux’s desk or saw him chatting with a co-worker by the elevator, you had to hold back from running towards him and knocking the stupid coffee out of his hands. Tomorrow would be no different.
Tomorrow. Hmm, you thought to yourself, what am I forgetting to do for tomorrow?
You glanced at the time on your phone, then unlocked it to check the date. Wednesday. 8:25 pm.
Wednesday. 8:25 pm.
“Fuck.” You mumbled to yourself, holding the glass of wine steady as you rushed (sliding slightly on the floor) towards the corner of your studio apartment that your desk sat in. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You continued to talk to yourself as you turned your computer on, jiggling the mouse and plopping down in your desk chair.
It was Wednesday at 8:25 pm. Wednesdays were the days that you updated the podcast you were the host of. And 8:25 meant that you were 25 minutes late in doing so. You hadn’t even recorded it yet.
Being forced to write pieces during the day that didn’t interest you, ones that made no difference whether they were created or not, you often came home and felt unfulfilled. Initially, the idea to start a podcast where you spoke about issues that bothered you seemed silly. You had no audience, no one to listen to you.
It started small. And really, you didn’t expect anyone but yourself to ever be interested in it. It was just a way for you to get your ideas out there. But then the Starkiller became active, and everything changed.
You were one of the first people to ever talk about it in a formal way. You presented the facts and the details in an editorial sense. But you also provided more objective thoughts. You shared the emotional angles. You featured the victim’s families and biographies of their lives before they were killed.
You cared, not about the person committing the crime or the spectacle surrounding it. But you cared about the people who were getting hurt in the process. And it showed.
Coverage for the Starkiller slowly became national. News stations and social media across the country were looking for the next piece of information they could find about the person anonymously taking people in your town out, one by one.
And because you were one of the first to report on the events, your podcast soon became synonymous with the infamous Starkiller.
You had cultivated a following and community of your own. A group of people who enjoyed listening to an unidentified woman rant about the injustices and problems plaguing the city around her. When the Starkiller made a move, you followed soon behind them, telling your listeners.
The title of the podcast was Run Rabbit ( “You can’t outrun the truth!” ), and since you didn’t want Hux or anyone else at work to know that you were technically running your own news source, you stayed completely anonymous. Your followers knew you by ‘Bunny,’ and you’d never gone by anything else.
As silly as it was, for someone like you who felt like her voice hadn’t been heard her entire life, to have a following of people who cared about your opinion meant the world. Even if no one knew it was even you.
You took a deep breath before putting your head in your hands, thinking. You’d never skipped a Wednesday before. You posted every week. Usually, if there was an appearance from Starkiller, you posted that night, regardless of the day of the week. But you’d been so caught up in convincing Hux to stay that it slipped your mind that you had responsibilities that didn’t involve humiliating yourself.
You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t know what to say. And really, you just wanted to chug this wine and go to sleep.
It wasn’t like anyone would care if you posted another time instead of today, right ?
“Come on,” Kylo groaned, knee bouncing as he tapped his foot nervously. “You can’t leave me hanging like this. You can’t do this to me, Bunny.”
His dark eyes flashed to the time displayed in the bottom corner of his screen. 8:37.
“Thirty-seven fucking minutes.” He said under his breath, speaking to you as if you could hear him, shaking his head. He refreshed the page again, for perhaps the twentieth time. “You’re always so responsible, always on time. What the fuck is going on?”
Nothing.
Blood that was splattered across the skin of his palms, belonging to someone who wasn’t himself, smeared against the mouse and keyboard in front of him. He didn’t have time to get clean like he usually did. He had been running late and didn’t want to miss a second of what you had to say.
The blood would piss him off tomorrow when the rush of adrenaline from the kill and the anticipation of hearing your voice wore off, and he was left with a headache and a touch of paranoia.
Scrubbing the viscera off of the keys would just remind him that it didn’t matter how much he took. He’d never get what he wanted: you.
It was fucking selfish of you, Kylo thought, that you would keep him waiting and delay what he wanted when he tried so hard to get back home to you in time. He did this for you. Everything that he did was for you . And you couldn’t even post when you said that you would?
Refresh again. And again. One more time, maybe this one would yield results…No. Okay, one more time. Refresh again-
A grunt of satisfaction and intrigue left Kylo’s chest as he leaned closer. There was something now.
You posted something now. Thank god. He felt like he could breathe again.
‘Hi, Run Rabbit friends! I know, I know. I saw the news. More Starkiller. Unfortunately, I have had an insanely long day, and I won’t be able to come out with a show tonight covering it. I’ll make up for it and come out with an extra long one on Sunday. I promise. I’ll see you then. Stay safe out there and remember: You can’t outrun the truth. - Bunny’.
As quickly as the breath came back, it was swiftly knocked away. A swing and a hit to Kylo’s chest as he read your message repeatedly.
To anyone else who listened to your podcast, even the more loyal fans, this wasn’t a big deal. No content today, but there will be content later. You’d cover what you needed to cover. It wasn’t the end of the world.
But Kylo wasn’t like your other listeners. And he also wasn’t like anyone else around him.
It wasn’t just a podcast for him. You weren’t just an anonymous voice that played through his speakers. You were so much more.
He had no idea who you were. All he knew was that you went by Bunny. But you had the voice of an angel and the mind of a genius in his eyes.
He had never met you or even spoken to you. You’d never acknowledged that he existed. He had no indication of what you might look like or who you might be. But Kylo Ren was convinced that he was in love with you.
It hurt him personally when you behaved in a way that made him believe you didn’t feel the same.
Kylo was silent as he leaned back in his chair. His hands ran over his face, the red staining his defined cheekbones and prominent nose, trailing over his jaw and chin. He processed what you shared as the record spun beside him, crackling slightly from the age of the vinyl.
And then the finality of the situation dawned on him. He wouldn’t hear from you tonight. That was that.
“God FUCKING dammit, bunny!” Kylo yelled at the exact moment as he picked up his glass of whisky and threw it across the room. It hit the wall opposite of him, and the glass broke into tiny shards, the liquid running down the colorless wall and pooling onto the floor.
The next sound that left his throat was a loud groan of frustration, breaking off into what could be described as a growl. He slammed a hand down on his desk, the items on its surface wobbling after the impact.
How could you hurt him this way?
Yawning, you scooted your chair away from your desk and stretched your arms above your head.
Oblivious and innocent. Minding your business, attempting to enjoy what was left of your pitiful night.
You finished your glass of wine as you stood up and hummed to yourself, making your way over to the fridge for one more refill before you got into the shower.
Now that you were all alone, your apartment was silent again.
Clicking on the website section that allowed listeners to leave a comment, Kylo began typing away in a rage. His long, capable fingers struck down on the keys, leaving messages of anger and betrayal.
His record was skipping now, stuck on a lyric that sang the word: ‘crazy.’ He could barely even hear it, too caught up in his feelings and attempting to express them.
‘No new content? What do you mean by no new content? Not even for me? But you know that it’s part of my Wednesday routine. Bunny, don’t you get that? I waited up for you. I should be fucking asleep, but here I am, waiting for you to post something. How will I be able to sleep now? Everything’s off. It’s wrong. I am deeply hurt, bunny girl. Really fucking hurt…’
As he typed, Kylo had a brief moment of clarity.
It was as if he were having an out-of-body experience, observing himself from a different angle, from different eyes.
Kylo exhaled a trembling breath, leaning back in his seat. He took in his surroundings: The unhinged rant he wrote to you on his screen. The broken whisky glass on his floor. The blood on his keyboard. The song played the same word: ‘crazy’ repeatedly as the needle skipped.
What the fuck was he doing?
He glanced at the mirror in the corner of the room, his reflection catching his eye. Kylo, for a short moment, saw himself from an outsider’s perspective.
If you didn’t look closely, his reflection was something to be proud of.
He sat in a luxurious room, personally curated furniture with every detail designed just for him surrounding him. Dark walls and matching accents. Modern, sleek, clean. Most of the lighting was red, another choice he made for himself. Red lights help cells produce more adenosine triphosphate, meaning faster recovery and regeneration for the body; Kylo made sure his house was covered in them.
Kylo was a handsome man, to some: a very handsome man. He was nearing what most considered middle-aged, but he took excellent care of himself. Dark hair with prominent strands of gray, making him look distinguished and wise, which he was. Full lips, high cheekbones, and a nose that rivaled those of ancient statues. He ate for a purpose, not for enjoyment. And he worked out every morning at the same time. He was fit.
But as Kylo continued to stare at himself, the details became more apparent:
The haphazard way that his clothes were laying on his body, askew from how he rushed inside and sat at the computer to hear your voice. The worry lines and wrinkles scattered across his skin that no amount of red light therapy or antioxidants could keep away. The way that his chest was rising and falling at a pace that would concern him if he were anyone else. The blood that was stained on his skin, smeared and splattered.
It was a brief, rare moment of clarity. He saw himself for who he really was.
Doctor Kylo Ren: The Starkiller.
Crazy.Crazy.Crazy.
He couldn’t take it anymore. Kylo quickly looked away, shaking his head, as he focused on his screen instead of the mirror.
Where did all of this control go?
Kylo abruptly deleted the words he wrote to you, wanting to erase them from existence. He was too embarrassed to read them over himself, let alone accidentally post them, even if they came from an account his name wasn’t attached to.
Kylo knew that he was having a moment of weakness. He needed to get it together, clean up, and go to bed so that he could wake up in the morning with a clearer head.
His grip on his sanity was beginning to dissolve; hints of rationality washing away and the wave coming back, taking over with delusions of you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day at work, you struggled to function with the wine headache pounding under the overhead lighting. Or perhaps it was the busy work you were currently attempting to complete, organizing files.
“I’ve got something for you, peach.” Hux’s voice said in a hushed tone as he placed a hand on your desk, leaning closer to you so that he could speak in a way that no one else would hear him.
The close proximity and the casual use of the nickname you hated so much made you flinch and jump slightly in your seat. Instinctively, you glanced around to see if anyone noticed, but there wasn’t anyone around; the desks were empty.
You looked briefly at his hand resting on the surface of your desk, the one he was using to bring himself down closer to you.
You were momentarily distracted by the wedding band on his finger. You knew that it was there, but you chose not to notice it when he first approached your desk. You tried your best to never notice it when he wore it around you. But there it was, practically blinding you.
Everything in your life seemed to live by that same mindset. If you didn’t notice it, it didn’t exist. If you could disassociate from the pain, then it wasn’t real. Until it was.
Your stomach turned and it had nothing to do with the anticipation of him having a task for you to do.
“I don’t think you should call me that here.” You mumbled, shaking your head.
You didn’t think that he should call you that name anywhere . You hated it. But you really didn’t want anyone to overhear it.
Hux gave you a look, assuming that you were joking with him. No one ever questioned him when he was in the office. His privilege made him careless. He was the boss; why would it matter what he called his employees?
He let out a short chuckle, almost one of pity, as if he were sympathetic to your nerves about the situation he created. Hux stood straighter, noticing a few people enter the room and start walking to their desks.
“What did you have for me?” You asked him, wanting to distract him from saying anything else that might be dangerous for the two of you.
He cleared his throat, remembering why he wandered over to your desk in the first place. “Something for you to write.”
You perked up, setting down the folder in your hands as a slow smile crept onto your face. “Really?”
It was your job to write, but sometimes you wondered if it was why Hux hired you. Mostly, you helped him with what he was working on and quietly suggested your own ideas that were usually shut down or stolen in some sort of way.
And if you were anyone else, you’d shake yourself and tell yourself to snap out of it and grow a pair of balls. You deserved better, and you knew it. But usually, you use all your energy just to get through the day. Doing anything extra, especially something as risky as quitting your job and taking a chance on finding another, seemed impossible for you.
You wondered if Hux realized that.
“What is it?” You asked in excitement. He hardly ever brought up projects for you. Typically, it was you asking him for permission.
Hux saw how thrilled you were, and his pity turned into smugness. He presented his idea to you as if it were the answer to your prayers. “This month’s spotlight.”
Your smile slowly faded. Shit. That sucks. “Oh,” You said in a crestfallen way.
The monthly spotlight was busy work. Hux’s news outlet chose a local citizen every month to write an article on, showcasing them in a positive light for whatever recent accomplishment they were proud of. It was a way to kiss ass, either to the person the article was about or whoever was reading it, inspired and moved to support the creator.
It was the type of story a middle schooler could write for their journalism class. It was fine. It was something. But it wasn’t the kind of piece you wanted to write.
He watched your reaction, raising his eyebrows as if he were waiting for you to thank him or show your enthusiasm.
You were too tired to admit how disappointed you were. You were always too tired. You gave him a small smile. “I can do that. Who’s the spotlight this month?”
“I sent you an email with his contact information. I set the interview up already. You’re meeting him tomorrow.” Hux explained, starting to take a few steps backward, eager to return to his office, the only one that was separate from everyone else.
“He’s a big deal. Head neurosurgeon at Empire Hospital. He’s retiring early, and I think he would appreciate having a platform to speak about his career before it’s over.” Hux explained as he walked away.
“Besides, he has no wife, no kids, no family. He might want a few places to donate all his extra cash now that he isn’t working. If someone writes a nice article about him, I’m sure he’d be very grateful.” He smirked.
You tried not to let the disgust that you felt show. All Hux cared about was the money, the power, and the glory. He didn’t feel the need to hide it either.
In the back of your mind, you wondered if your conscience was your downfall. You were too empathetic. You cared too much about everything . You could never run a business the way Hux does, clawing his way to the top and screwing people over to get what he needed.
You sighed. You’d be stuck writing ‘spotlight’s forever, you thought glumly to yourself.
“What’s his name?” You asked curiously, snapping out of it.
Hux had to think about it for a second, trying to remember the information he sent you a few minutes before he approached you. His fingers tapped at his office’s door frame, thinking.
“Ren?” Hux guessed out loud, then nodded when it sounded correct.
He clarified: “Dr. Kylo Ren.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You’d done plenty of interviews before. They were usually over the phone, but sometimes you would meet them in person. Depending on who it was and their schedule, you’d meet them for lunch, maybe at a coffee shop.
This was the first time you’d ever visited a hospital for business.
The extent of your involvement in the email exchange with Dr.Ren had been brief. Hux had CC’ed you into their original thread, where he asked Kylo if he would be interested in an interview. There were a few more insignificant messages back and forth before they decided on a time and date.
You chimed in, sending a professional and friendly email that said, “ Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to meet with me. I’m looking forward to it .”
To which Dr.Ren replied: “ It will be my pleasure .”
You would be lying if you said that you didn’t spend the next hour scouring the internet for any sign of who this mysterious surgeon was. You weren’t embarrassed to say that you initially googled his name for general research purposes, as you did with most of the other individuals you wrote articles on.
You needed to know if previous pieces had been written about him to ensure you weren’t covering the same topics. You also wanted to see if his name was in any headlines or events that might be useful to ask about.
But the part you were more ashamed about occurred after any semblance of professionalism disappeared from your thoughts.
You were a giggly, excited mess the second you saw a photo of Dr.Ren.
Writing cheesy ‘spotlight’ articles every month might not be as bleak if you knew that you had opportunities to interview men that looked like that.
You were convinced that he was almost perfect looking. And as Hux had previously mentioned, you learned he was a big deal.
Not only was he the leading neurosurgeon in the area, but Empire Hospital, his workplace, was originally owned by his grandfather. This was a man who came from old money and created new money for himself, giving him a deadly combination of arrogance and ambition.
You scrolled through reviews of his practice, an ability that you found somewhat humorous. You were used to giving ratings for hotels or restaurants, not for life-saving surgery.
But either way, everyone who spoke about him publicly, from what you could tell, sang his praises. Dr.Ren had an almost spotless reputation because he earned it. He was good at his job. He had the rare ability to be skilled with science and charming his patients into trusting him.
Doctor Kylo Ren: Five Stars.
You knew nothing about him besides what was available online, but it struck you as odd that he would choose to retire. He couldn’t be more than forty-five, you assumed, probably younger than that. Being a surgeon was a grueling job, but from what he projected, he seemed passionate about it, the type of man who would need someone to pry the scalpel out of his aging, senile hand before he chose to retire.
You didn’t know much about him but based on his looks and accomplishments, you were already intimidated by him. And very interested.
The fluorescent lights, sterile smell, and overall atmosphere of urgency in the hospital were enough to put you on edge as you walked through the hallways. Every time you passed a slightly open doorway, your heart sped up.
What was in there?
Tragedy? Blood? Death? Dr.Ren?
His office was in a wing inside of the neurology department. When you stopped by the receptionist’s desk at the front of the waiting room, you told her your name and she told you where you could hang up your coat and sit in one of the leather seats until he was ready for you.
You were the only person waiting.
Across from you, on the wall, there was a photo of Dr.Ren. It was a professional headshot with his name and credentials beneath it. You’d seen the same photo online when you searched his name the night before.
In the photo, he wore a lab coat with his name and title embroidered onto the white material. A stethoscope hung around his neck, and you could see the dark burgundy tie he wore over his dress shirt. His salt and pepper colored hair was perfectly tousled, on the longer side but trimmed neatly. And the way that he was smiling made you feel like he was looking directly at you. Watching you.
Even from far away, you could easily get lost in his eyes. Dark with hints of something lighter, flecks of greenish gold. You found yourself unable to pull your gaze away, the honey-like color just as sweet and sticky as the substance of the same name.
The door opening beside you snapped you out of your moment with the photographed man in your direct eyesight. One of the secretaries, the one you hadn’t spoken to before, was standing in the doorway.
When she was sure she had your attention, she gave you a polite smile and said your first name out loud, confirming that it was you.
You nodded, gathering your purse onto your arm and ensuring that you had all your belongings together. Just being in the presence of Kylo’s photo was enough to make you flustered. You were having a tough time imagining what sitting alone with him would be like.
Stepping away from the entrance so that you could easily walk through, the woman said: “Doctor Ren will see you now.”
Kylo’s office was slightly different from the rest of the hospital, which was done on purpose. There was a lot of bad news told to patients in this room; he preferred that the surroundings be pleasant. He opted for lamps instead of overhead lighting. There were accents of purposeful decor, decorative anatomical models, and well-cared-for plants. It was comfortable, but it still had a level of sterility.
Thoughtful but also devoid of personality. Deep down, no one who knew him professionally needed to know who he was.
Although you were a bundle of nerves in his waiting room, Kylo had little to no anxiety about the upcoming interview. He had difficult conversations all day with people who didn’t make it easy for him. Answering a few questions about his life with someone whose job it was to be personable seemed like an easy afternoon.
A slight prickling sensation of worry was resting in the back of his mind, though. Not because he was afraid to answer questions about his job or retirement. But he had to remember not to let his after work hobby affect his words.
No signs could point to Starkiller, not even slightly.
Taking note of the clock, Kylo saw that he had a few minutes until the scheduled meeting. He had some notes to finish, a few weeks on his calendar that he could organize better, and phone calls and emails to make.
But all he could think about was Bunny. Every time he attempted to get work done, his mind would go to Bunny and how he still hadn’t heard from her this week. And by ‘heard from her, it was implied that it meant listening to her podcast, not having a literal conversation with her.
The two of you had never had any form of communication, despite his interest in you. If he attempted to reach out and you weren’t how he thought you might be, or if you didn’t reply, it would shatter the illusion.
He’d never spoken out loud about it or even acknowledged it internally. But the only thing that got him out of bed some days was the idea that she was out there somewhere. Close to his heart but far away physically, just how he preferred it.
Ignoring his crucial responsibilities, Kylo instead pulled up a bookmarked tab on his computer. It was the only one that wasn’t named, the only one that he felt the need to hide even from himself.
It was your website where your recent social media and podcast posts went after you made them public.
You’d been silent since Wednesday night when you promised you’d cover the latest Starkiller murder when you had time that weekend. In the past, you’d post photos of your coffee mug, notebook, or anything else that could be related to your podcast in between episodes.
But so far, there was nothing.
Kylo frowned as he scrolled through older posts. He missed you. It had only been a few days, but he missed you.
He tapped his long fingers against the surface of his desk in thought. Did he do a disappointing job that night? Did he not pick a victim that would move you enough to record an episode immediately? He thought that you’d be thrilled about speaking on the fact that the Starkiller had murdered an innocent man in his home while he’d been sleeping.
But maybe it had been too cliche. Perhaps you liked it better when his job was sloppy, less polished, and thought out. Kylo remembered to take note of that. Maybe next week, or whenever the next time he’d kill would be, he would try it that way and see if you reacted with more enthusiasm.
He didn’t have much time to dwell on any of his plans because as he scrolled through your posts one more time, the phone sitting on his desk began to ring, and the ID showed that it was coming from his front desk.
Kylo let out a short sigh. He’d have to focus on Bunny in a moment once this interview was over.
He pressed down on the speaker option. “Yes?” His tone was pleasant but straightforward.
“We have someone waiting for you.” She replied, then said your name, reminding him of who he was about to meet with.
“Of course,” Kylo said, running a hand over his face. He could do this. He could go an hour or so without thinking of his sick obsession. Right?
“I’m ready when they are,” Kylo added, almost hesitant.
Kylo stood outside his office door to greet the person interviewing him. He knew all of the tricks to orchestrate people into trusting him. He knew they ate it up when the very busy, the successful doctor treated his peers respectfully.
Usually, all it took was a firm but gentle handshake, a casual smile, and looking into the other person’s eyes to make them enamored with him.
It was easy, he supposed. Cutting into a brain wasn’t much different from controlling one.
Hearing conversation from around the corner, Kylo ran a hand through his well-kept hair and adjusted the white coat he was wearing, ensuring there weren’t any apparent folds or wrinkles.
His receptionist turned the corner first, speaking to his guest over her shoulder as she led them down the hallway. She was talking about something that Kylo didn’t care much about, new construction or perhaps road work nearby.
Kylo was caught off guard when he saw you.
You rounded the corner, looking around at the posters and certificates that were hung up on the wall as you did so. Your eyes were calculating, not out of suspicion but out of curiosity. You were observant, taking everything in, desperately wanting to jot details down in your notebook.
He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. But he didn’t plan for or anticipate your being extremely beautiful.
The two of you paused momentarily as you became intrigued by a photo on the wall. It showcased a large group photo of all of the neurology unit's staff. It was enough time for Kylo to observe you.
You looked put together. A professional top, sweater, and pants. Kylo briefly noted your legs, the perfect curve of your body, as you shifted towards him and rewarded him with a different angle of your frame. Your lips pouted slightly as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, and your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked.
As professional as your all-black attire was, there were small details that he noticed that alerted him that perhaps it was all an act. He could see the lip gloss you were wearing from his spot, light pink; he wondered if it tasted as sweet as it looked. The bag slung over your shoulder had strawberries printed on it, along with a few fuzzy keychains. Chipped dark nail polish and scuffs on the back of your dress shoes.
You stood with hesitation. He could tell that you might have been capable, but you weren’t sure if you should be here right now. There was nothing wrong with the small things, but it showed your unsophisticated nature and the newness of this world to you.
Kylo cleared his throat softly, pleased. It was easy to manipulate people like you. This would be a piece of cake. He could essentially decide how he wanted the article to be written. He’d just have to include the right information.
And besides, just the sight of you made his heart race. You were so beautiful.
The noise of Kylo letting out a polite cough made you turn your head in his direction.
Fuck. He was hot. Really hot. Even hotter in real life. Not only that, but he was tall and wide, somehow looking as large as the doorway, even if it wasn’t accurate. His size had somewhat to do with his physicality but more with his attitude and confidence. He was wearing his white coat, though there wasn’t a stethoscope or any medical equipment visible.
You felt a flash of warmness throughout your blood as you stared at him, almost dumbfounded.
“And there he is,” The secretary smiled. “I’ll leave the two of you to it. Let me know if you need anything.” She said, addressing mainly Kylo as she did so.
You and Kylo didn’t move for a moment, both of you just taking a moment to stare at the other. It was brief, and if anyone else had been in the hallway, it most likely would have gone unnoticed. But there was something in both of your gazes that meant something more.
Kylo’s eyes narrowed slightly as he briefly looked you up and down. He had never seen you before, he would’ve remembered if he had. But, you felt familiar somehow. He couldn’t place it.
You were practically frozen in your spot, taken aback by how he stared at you. Was he mad at you? It was impossible to tell what he might be thinking. His expression was void of emotion.
“I’m glad that you made it,” Kylo broke the silence, attempting to release the initial tension of acknowledging how attractive the other was.
His voice almost made you flinch in surprise. Fuck, of course , his voice was attractive. Deep and commanding. Exactly the tone that you would have imagined someone as successful and powerful as him would have.
You were at a loss for words. Not because you were that enamored with him, but suddenly, you felt inadequate. Everything you wanted to say to his statement seemed immature or out of place.
Kylo eased your worry, speaking again to fill the silence. “Come in.” He offered, stepping inside, so you could step into the doorway.
Not wanting to keep him waiting, you followed and walked inside. As you did so, you passed him as he stood next to the door, wanting to shut it behind you. You hadn’t been close enough to touch him, but you’d been close enough to smell what you assumed was his cologne.
Crisp, clean, almost spicy.
Dr.Ren had also smelled your perfume, though his thoughts about what it smelled like were much more in-depth and specific than yours. Vanilla, amber, bergamot, cotton candy-like sweetness.
He couldn’t help but let his eyes trail over your body as you walked by him. His jaw tensed, muscles flexing as he let the sensation of your perfume, mixed with how gorgeous you were, process in his mind.
He quickly glanced between you and his desk. It would be so easy to bend you over the top of it. Use your pretty body while he answered whatever question you wanted to ask him, and then send you back on your way to write your little article about him.
Kylo shook his head slightly as he shut his office door, reminding himself that it wouldn’t be appropriate to lock it. He was a very needy , hungry man. But he was also a man who rarely acted on his feelings.
He was always afraid that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And perhaps if he did fuck you on his desk, that maybe he would take it too far. What if Dr.Ren wrapped his hand around your throat in passion and squeezed j ust a little too hard ? He didn’t trust himself once he let himself begin to lose control.
Kylo took a step towards you, extending his hand. “It’s nice to formally meet you.”
You hoped that your eyes didn’t give you away. His hand was just as impressive as the rest of him, with long fingers and a few visible veins. A laughably expensive watch on his wrist.
Your touch fell into his, palm against palm, as he shook your hand. His skin was warm and soft.
“Thanks for taking the time to do this. I know you probably have such a busy schedule.” You replied to him, unsure if you should look up at him or keep your focus on the handshake, in awe of the size difference of your hands.
Kylo froze in an instant.
That voice. He knew that voice. It almost sounded like…
He didn’t realize how his grip on your hand was getting tighter as he stared into your eyes, attempting to figure you out until you let out a hushed, nervous noise and attempted to move your hand from his hold.
As if he snapped out of it entirely, Kylo let go of your hand, giving you a strained but polite smile. That was a close one. That control slipped again, validating his earlier worries about what would happen if he chose to have sex with a stranger.
“Please, take a seat.” He offered, motioning towards the chair that was across from his desk. It was for your own good to sit down before he could change his mind and grab your hips from behind.
You did as he said, sitting down carefully. You set your bag on the ground beside you, reaching into it so that you could grab your notebook. You recorded the interviews on your phone, but you also liked to jot down notes and things you observed that would add to the final piece.
The interaction threw you off. Dr.Ren was so intense. You had no idea if you’d be able to conduct an interview without crumbling under pressure.
As Kylo moved behind his desk and took his seat, he had to let out a small chuckle as he grew amused by his thoughts.
You sounded like Bunny. How cute.
It was hilarious, he mused internally. He became so obsessed with her that he transferred the infatuation into all his interactions. This was a new one, though. It was the first time he had heard her voice when he wasn’t listening to her podcast.
“I’m flattered,” Kylo began to say, jiggling the mouse in front of him to wake up his dark screen, wanting to ensure that he wasn’t missing any important messages while interacting with you. “I didn’t realize I would be worthy of a… spotlight , your boss called it?”
You prickled at the reminder of Hux. He would be coming over tonight to fuck you and ask you how the interview went. It had to go well. You wanted to prove to him that you could move on to bigger pieces.
“Well, you’re very influential.” You replied, “And appreciated.” You added, giving him a nervous smile.
Kylo’s lighthearted expression slowly faded as he heard you speak again. You really sounded like Bunny. It made his stomach twist because he knew there was no way that you were her, so hearing what sounded like her voice hurt him. It was the closest he’d ever get to interact with her.
He suddenly didn’t know what to do or what to say. He almost wanted to use this opportunity to share his feelings, to tell Bunny exactly how important she was to him. If he told you, someone with an almost identical voice, maybe it would feel like he was actually telling her.
Kylo then noted how absolutely insane that idea was. He could never do that for many reasons. Why would he even want to? His palms began to sweat, and his mouth ran dry. He hadn’t anticipated this. He hadn’t planned for it.
You saw the fall in his lips, the smile turning into a hard line of concentration. Did you say something wrong? Attempting to fix whatever mistake you’d accidentally made, you continued to speak, trying to fill the silence.
“Hearing that you’re choosing to retire early was a shock to a lot of people.” You explained. You fidgeted with your pen as you spoke. “I think if this article comes out with your reasoning behind it, maybe you won’t get so many questions. It might be a relief for you.”
Kylo wasn’t listening to the content of your statements at all. You could have been speaking complete gibberish. He only heard the voice. Her voice. Bunny’s voice.
He felt like he could cry. Is this what it would feel like to talk to her?
Although you kept talking, Kylo’s expression didn’t budge. In fact, he seemed more concerned than before. You watched as lines deepened between his brows, a few more apparent on his forehead as he stared at you. You had no idea what you were saying that could be offending him.
It started coming out like word vomit now, just wanting to keep talking until you could sway him and make things right.
“So the purpose of the spotlight every month is just to highlight an individual. We thought your retirement could be the grab, but the article should be about your life and the legacy you want to leave behind. You have helped so many…” You continued to talk, but your words trailed off in Kylo’s head, turning into nonsense.
All he could hear was Bunny.
Kylo watched your mouth, pretending that you were sitting in front of your computer, sharing the latest crimes that Starkiller committed to your audience. When your lips formed the words, the glossiness reflected in his dimmed lights, he could picture it clearly. It would make sense if those were Bunny’s lips.
You spoke with your hands, gesturing. Kylo always wondered if Bunny did that. Your nail polish was far from perfect, chipped. You wore multiple rings on your fingers. He thought back to any information Bunny might’ve shared in the past. Had she ever mentioned nail polish or jewelry?
He was grasping at straws, trying to focus on any small piece of information that he could to confirm or deny his racing ideas.
Whatever you were saying caused you to let out a laugh, short and melodic. Kylo felt his heart skip a beat, perhaps stop entirely for a moment before it sprung back to life, beating quicker than before to make up for the lost time.
That was Bunny’s laugh. Her exact laugh.
Kylo thought back to all of the times that she made a quick joke during introductions of the podcast and how she often made herself laugh. He thought it was adorable how she would always apologize for doing so, embarrassed that she could humor herself that way.
But he still wasn’t convinced. You couldn’t be Bunny. It would be too easy, too coincidental. The odds weren’t in his favor.
Kylo then began to worry less about your identity and more about his current mental state. He was terrified that he might have gone so crazy that he was hearing things. Imagining the anonymous entity he was fascinated with was sitting right in front of him.
You were still talking, explaining the article's process and when it might be finished. You felt he wasn’t listening and that you were digging yourself into a deeper grave, but you couldn’t stop. You were worried that he’d tell you something you wouldn’t want to hear if you let him get the chance to speak.
Kylo opened his mouth to interrupt you. Maybe if it was quiet for a moment, he could gather his thoughts and remind himself that you were just a journalist. You weren’t Bunny. He could do this if he assured himself you were a stranger.
But then you shifted in your seat, and in doing so, you brought your notebook to your chest for a moment. It was just enough time for Kylo to see the back of it, the part covered in little pictures you must have doodled.
Right in the middle, blatant and clear, was a bunny.
It wasn’t just any generic bunny. He recognized it immediately. It was a cartoon image of a white rabbit. Minimal in style. Where the animal’s eyes would be, there were stars instead.
Kylo tore his eyes away from you so that he could click on the tab at the bottom of his computer screen, the one he minimized before you walked in, which led to Bunny’s website. He had to be sure.
On the website, the logo for the podcast was at the very top:
A white rabbit. Stars for eyes. With the title ‘ Run Rabbit’ and the tagline ‘ You can’t outrun the truth .
The exact logo that you had, at some point, drawn on your notebook.
He was frantic as he scrolled through the website, staring at previously posted photos. Everything checked out. The notebook in your hands was the same one as in the photo. Your purse, the one with strawberries printed on it, was seen in a picture she took of her coffee. Your pen. Your chipped nail polish.
You were Bunny.
Kylo felt as if his entire world was crashing down around him. He felt like this was some sick joke, that he’d wake up in a second or realize he wasn’t alive at all, just floating somewhere like purgatory to live out his biggest fear and fantasy.
Perhaps none of this was real at all.
That thought made Kylo feel sick, deep nausea that made him instinctively take a deep breath as if he were running out of air.
As you finished your sentence, you looked at him dumbfoundedly. It would have been one thing if he’d been disinterested or irritated with you being there, asking him questions. But it wasn’t that. He seemed ill, like something was deeply wrong that had nothing to do with you.
In Kylo’s panicked state, he attempted to rely on information that he knew was real and correct. He could trust the facts. What was he experiencing right now? How could he explain it to himself in a scientific way?
Psychosis?
Psychosis: a severe mental disturbance in which thought and emotions are so impaired that contact is lost with external reality.
Reality. Reality. This is real. This is reality, Kylo thought to himself as he attempted to return his breathing to a standard pattern, holding it for a few seconds before slowly letting it out. All of the things that he often told his patients to do.
Did I take new medication lately? When was the last time I had an MRI? Did I die and go to heaven? Is this reality ? His trembling hand went to his wrist, then his neck, checking his pulse, checking his heart and his blood, and everything else that reminded him this was reality.
“Are you feeling alright?” You couldn’t help but ask.
The buzzing, the hum of illusion, came to a deafening halt as you asked the question. There was that voice again. Bunny’s voice. Your voice.
He’d been so enraptured with the possibilities that he’d almost forgotten that you were right there.
“What?” Kylo asked, words caught in his throat. He almost couldn’t even get them out.
You were embarrassed and perplexed. “You…” You trailed off, not knowing how to communicate what you were worried about without potentially offending him. “You look sick. Are you okay?”
‘I am sick. I’m fucking sick. You have no idea how fucking unwell I am, Bunny’ is how Kylo wanted to respond. He caught himself and the fact that he was already starting to call you Bunny. He accepted it.
You were Bunny. You had to be.
“I don’t know,” Kylo answered. It was true. He didn’t know if he was okay.
How could he be okay in a time like this?
Suddenly, you felt guilty. This was a man who needed help. He was probably really sick. And you had just been talking his ear off like he gave a single fuck about what you had to say when he was most likely hurting or attempting to not throw up, whatever was going on.
Kylo stared at you. This is what Bunny looked like. Absolutely perfect.
He had no expectations of Bunny’s appearance. When he imagined her, somehow, she was never a person. Just an abstract entity. It was enough for him. Bunny was an idea, a goal. But that wasn’t true at all. You were a person.
A gorgeous, breathing, autonomous person. Underneath your skin, blood circulates through your veins, through ventricles and atriums. Neurons fired. Cells regenerated. You were real.
Kylo didn’t realize what he was doing, how he was leaning forward from his spot behind his desk and running his hand along the surface of it. Getting closer to you. He wanted to touch you. He needed to be sure that you were real.
You were surprised to see him do so, almost backing away from him initially because of how out of place it seemed for him to want to be closer to you after how stand-offish he’d been just a moment ago.
But then, as you locked eyes with him, your confusion was quickly replaced with empathy. Dr. Ren’s expression was desperate and painful. You weren’t sure if you were just hopeful, but you felt he needed you. You didn’t understand why but it didn’t matter; you wanted to help him.
Caught in the moment of urgency, you reached forward, an innocent gesture of concern. You touched the back of his hand. His skin was on fire. “Dr. Ren,” You addressed him softly, “What’s wrong?”
It was too much. The feeling of your skin on his, after knowing who you were, and the sound of his name coming from your voice. It felt like needles pricking his skin. Your hand making contact with his was like a hot coal, a flame.
Kylo pulled his hand back with a sharp, almost pained, intake of breath.
The shock of his reaction was evident on your face.
Your wide eyes only made his heart beat faster, the fear and confusion in them sending shockwaves that made him so hard it fucking hurt .
“Don’t touch me,” Kylo said to you, a tone filled with defensive fear. “I think…I think I’ll die if you touch me again.”
Your shock made way to shame and panic. You were ashamed that you did something as bold as touching him. And panicked that Dr.Ren needed serious medical attention and you weren’t reacting quickly enough.
Before you could offer to get one of his secretaries to call a nurse or someone to help, Kylo was standing up from his seat, almost knocking it over behind him in the rushed, violent process.
He pointed a shaking finger at the door. Kylo needed to be alone. He couldn’t take this. “You need to leave,” Kylo instructed you, his bottom lip quivering slightly with emotion.
“I think we should get someone to-” You began to suggest when Kylo’s fist came down onto his desk, loud and abrupt, startled you enough to silence you.
“ You need to leave ,” Kylo repeated, this time more severe and threatening.
He didn’t need to tell you again. You quickly gathered your belongings, shoving your notebook and phone into your bag in a haphazard way. Your vision was blurred, attempting to hold back embarrassed, surprised tears.
How sensitive you were was one of your least favorite traits about yourself. You hated how deep and hard you felt all of your feelings. Especially now, when your concern was enough to bring you to tears.
Kylo stared at you as his chest rose and fell. This didn’t make sense. He needed to be alone to comprehend it and to wrap his brain around what he was supposed to do now.
You stood from your seat, holding your bag close to your side as you rushed to the door. You paused only for a moment to give him one last look. He didn’t look okay. “I’m going to tell your secretary that she needs to-”
“No!” Kylo yelled, hands flexing into nervous fists before he relaxed them, fingers twitching from how tight he contracted his muscles. The fear that entered your shining eyes made him soften. His tone was quieter. “No. Please don’t. I just need to be alone.”
You weren’t convinced he was in the right mind to give you instructions. But you were so humiliated by the entire interaction, about what a failure it had been, that all you wanted to do was run out of the building and go to the comfort of your own bed.
You said nothing more. Instead, you turned and opened the door, swiftly leaving it. You shut it behind you, knowing that’s what he wanted as you then continued to pace rapidly down the hallway to the waiting room area.
“That was a quick interview!” The receptionist laughed in an obliviously friendly tone as you took your coat off the hook and moved to the exit.
You didn’t respond as you let the door shut behind you; a loud, piercing sound indicated the attempt was finished. There hadn’t been an interview at all. You hadn’t been able to get one.
Your interaction with Dr.Ren felt pointless. You had no idea how much it turned his entire world upside down.
Kylo’s office door was locked, and he sat at his desk, staring intently at his computer screen.
He could hear his heart thumping in his ears as his fingers quickly typed away. Usually, when he was this focused on the internet, he was trying to see what Bunny was up to.
But after learning what he just had, the search was slightly different now.
His hands shook as he typed it in. Not Run Rabbit, the name of your podcast, but instead, he typed in your full name. Your real name. The one attached to the email you sent him about the interview.
Photos of you appeared in the search engine’s ‘image’ tab. Some were from the outlet you worked for, professional headshots, and other images of you in a crowd of staff. Other pictures were from your social media. Selfies. Photos with friends, events like graduation and weddings.
There you were. There was his Bunny.
“You found me,” He mumbled, putting a hand on his chin in thought, his index finger brushing over his lips as he stared at the image of you.
In the photo, you were smiling. It looked like you might’ve been at dinner with a friend, a drink in your hand and a plate of food in front of you. You were dressed up, and you looked happy. You were stunning... He was so lucky.
“You fucking found me , bunny,” Kylo repeated, this time with more emotion, letting out a low laugh of disbelief and gratitude.
Without meaning to, you did find him.
But even worse ; he found you.
In an attempt to further your daytime career in journalism by interviewing Kylo, you managed to weave yourself into the web of your nighttime hobby.
You wandered right into the trap of the Starkiller.
You: the woman of his dreams.
And Dr.Ren: the man of your nightmares.