[...is that what it feels like from the other side. Your son is dead, indeed. Even in briefly glimpsed reflection, it's sharp enough that Kylo doesn't really think before he's reaching out to brush up against Ronan's thoughts. Just a whisper of a touch, light as a hand resting on his arm.]
They're getting worse. [The fans, he means. Absently, he reaches for a robe— though he's not going to bother walking over to the closet for it. Once he's drawn it into his hand with an inappropriately casual use of the Force, he wraps it round himself. Company.] Perhaps it's something to do with the weather.
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Even in briefly glimpsed reflection, it's sharp enough that Kylo doesn't really think before he's reaching out to brush up against Ronan's thoughts. Just a whisper of a touch, light as a hand resting on his arm.]
They're getting worse. [The fans, he means. Absently, he reaches for a robe— though he's not going to bother walking over to the closet for it. Once he's drawn it into his hand with an inappropriately casual use of the Force, he wraps it round himself. Company.] Perhaps it's something to do with the weather.