Chapter 3 Space Shuttle

Rey sat cross-legged on the cold wooden floor, staring at the blank matte-black wall of Kylo Ren's studio apartment. Evening light from the wide window behind her barely illuminated the space, casting her silhouette against the darkness.

She bit the tip of her pencil, her gaze unfocused.

Why did I agree to this?

Doubt gnawed at her. It was madness to sit alone in the apartment of a man she had only met the night before - a man tied to a dangerous biker gang.

The apartment itself was cavernous, almost ten times larger than her tiny Oakwood place. Everything was black - walls, couches, shelves, even the cold steel desk. A monochrome world, designed to keep everything and everyone at a distance.

Rey shivered slightly.

Why choose darkness, she wondered, when the view outside sparkled with life?

Her pencil hovered over the sketchpad. Kylo had told her to submit any ideas later - no instructions, no restrictions. Strange. Most clients demanded specifics. Why didn't he seem to care?

Her hand moved before her mind caught up. Lines and shapes flowed onto the paper: a space shuttle hurtling through a neon-lit tunnel toward a distant, burning flame. She frowned, staring at it.

Where had that come from?

---

Her stomach growled loudly, cutting through the silence. She hadn't eaten since morning.

Rey stood and wandered to the kitchen, tucked neatly into the corner of the vast space. It was as sterile as the rest of the apartment - black cabinets, spotless stainless steel appliances.

She opened the refrigerator, hoping for something, anything. Inside were only a few bottles of mineral water, a handful of crisp green vegetables, and some sad-looking apples. No leftovers. No snacks. Nothing human.

Closing the door with a sigh, Rey's mind spun with questions. Why had Kylo trusted her, a stranger, alone with all this expensive emptiness?

Was this a test?

Or was he simply... indifferent?

---

Curiosity won out. Rey drifted around the apartment.

The bookshelves held only a few heavy leather-bound volumes. A single silver-framed photograph lay facedown, as if its memory was too painful to see. The desk gleamed, spotless, a sleek laptop closed neatly atop it.

There was no clutter, no warmth. No trace of the man himself.

The bedroom area wasn't separated by walls, only space. A massive bed dominated the room, wrapped in a sleek black coverlet. Beside it, a nightstand and a minimalist lamp.

Rey moved to the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the glittering city. The view was breathtaking - and lonely.

She sat on the edge of the bed, the cold fabric prickling against her skin. Telling herself she would only rest for a moment, she leaned back against the headboard, watching the city flicker and hum.

The exhaustion she'd been fighting all day overtook her like a wave.

Her eyelids drifted shut.

---

A hand touched her shoulder gently.

"Rey."

The deep voice pulled her up from the depths of sleep. She blinked blearily, struggling to orient herself.

Kylo Ren stood by the bed, half-lit by the dim floor lamp. His shadow stretched long and lean across the wall.

"You fell asleep," he said, voice low but not unkind.

Embarrassed, Rey sat up quickly, rubbing her eyes.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"I didn't mean to..."

Kylo's gaze was unreadable, but something in his posture - a slight lowering of his shoulders, a brief exhale - hinted at understanding.

"You must be tired," he said simply.

---

At that exact moment, Rey's stomach gave a loud, plaintive growl.

A flicker of amusement crossed Kylo's face - the barest curve at the edge of his mouth.

"Looks like someone's hungry," he said, his voice lighter.

"I brought something. Spaghetti."

Rey blinked, surprised. "You... brought dinner?"

He gave a small nod, already moving toward the kitchen.

"Didn't know what you liked. Spaghetti's usually safe."

For a moment, Rey just stared after him, heart thudding strangely in her chest.

Who are you, really?

---

They ate quietly at the kitchen counter, the clink of forks filling the sterile space.

After a few bites, Kylo set down his fork and leaned back slightly.

"So," he said. "Tell me about your idea for the mural."

Rey hesitated, then pulled out her sketchpad. She explained the space shuttle and the burning flame, feeling her nerves settle as she spoke. There was something freeing about talking to him - perhaps because he simply listened, without judgment.

As she spoke, her story tumbled out.

"I... I don't have a family," she said softly, staring down at her plate.

"I grew up in an orphanage. Bounced through a few foster homes. I aged out eight years ago."

Kylo watched her, silent but intent.

"I've been getting by - painting murals, odd jobs. I'm saving up for college. Art major."

There was a fragile hope in her voice that surprised even her.

Kylo nodded once, encouraging. "You're good. You should keep going."

His voice was quiet, but the certainty in it made Rey's throat tighten.

After a moment, she gathered her courage.

"What about you, Kylo?" she asked carefully.

"Why art?"

He hesitated. His fingers drummed once, softly, against the counter.

"I... did work for Rider Snoke," he said, voice clipped.

"And I appreciate art. That's all."

Then he steered the conversation back to the mural, asking about colors, size, timeline. The invisible wall between them slid back into place.

Rey answered, but she couldn't help studying him as she spoke.

---

Kylo Ren was tall and solid, his movements precise but heavy, as if weighed down by something unseen. His skin was pale; his black hair curled in loose waves across his forehead, a little unruly. A faint scar sliced across one brow, almost invisible unless the light caught it just right.

His nose was sharp, his jaw angular. His lips were thin and often pressed flat - except for that rare, fleeting smile.

And his eyes - dark, burning - could pin her in place with a glance.

Tonight he wore a plain black shirt and dark jeans, simple but perfect against his lean, muscular frame. He radiated control... and danger.

But behind the control, Rey glimpsed something else. Something wounded.

A loneliness that mirrored her own.

---

Gathering her courage, Rey handed over her sketchbook.

Kylo took it carefully, studying the shuttle hurtling toward the flames.

He was silent for a long moment. Then he looked up at her.

"This is interesting," he said, voice low.

"There's... an intensity to it. I like it."

Relief surged through Rey's chest.

"You can start whenever you're ready," Kylo added. "Give me a supply list. Name your budget."

Rey nodded, a little stunned by his trust.

"I can start tomorrow. I'll check the art store in the morning."

Kylo reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. He held it out to her - an offering.

"This is a duplicate," he said.

"You can come and go. I might not always be here."

Their fingers brushed as she took the key. A spark ran through her, quick and startling.

"Thank you," she whispered, clutching it tightly.

Somehow, in that small moment, Rey felt the ground shift beneath her feet.

A door had opened between them. And she wasn't sure who had unlocked it first.