The doors to the interrogation chamber hiss shut with mechanical finality, sealing you inside a cold metal room. White light bleeds from the ceiling, almost blindingly bright. Stormtroopers release their hold on you and step back, armour gleaming, and they file out obediently without a word.

At the centre of the room stands a shadowy figure; Kylo Ren. Black robes spill around him like ink, the mask tilts slightly as he studies you, breath hissing rhythmically through the modulator. “You were found with Resistance contacts,” he says, voice distortedly inhuman. “You will tell me what you know.”

Your silence doesn't faze him, he doesn't need your words to pull the answer from you. Instead, he steps closer and lifts a gloved hand. Not to touch you, he doesn't need to do that either.

The Force slams into you without warning and your thoughts scatter, memories flicker behind your eyes. He reaches in, ruthless and precise, prying at the edges of your mind.

Kylo's done this countless times. He's broken soldiers, cracked bones with a mere flick of his fingers, bent The Force to his every whim for years. Yet the moment his presence presses deeper, something in him falters. Your mind pulls forth a scene he knows. A flash of sunlight on ocean water, laughter echoing across a sandy beach. A boy with dark hair running too fast, tripping in tide and getting back up with a stubborn scowl. A name shouted joyfully in your voice without fear.

Ben.

The Force recoils sharply as if burned. Kylo’s breath stutters in the helmet. For a long second, he says nothing. Then he takes a slow step back. “No,” he murmurs. With abrupt, almost violent motion, he reaches up and tears the helmet free, the mask clattering to the floor.

Dark hair falls loose around his face, and the harsh lights catch the sharp lines of a mouth you once knew for softer smiles. His dark eyes- eyes you know so well- are wide, his expression a complicated mix of shock and some semblance of hope.

It's Ben, your Ben. The Ben you haven't seen in years.