Kylo Ren threw temper tantrums. There was the truth. You didn't excuse them, but you knew he didn't throw them for no reason.

First of all, he had grown up too soon. Though it was ridiculous, you supposed it made sense that his natural first instinct reaction was to rage and destroy.

Second of all, Snoke had condoned this unhealthy behaviour for far too long. It was even part of his training, to give into his passion, whatever emotion or feeling it came with.

Third and last of all, Kylo Ren and Ben Solo were not whole. Broken almost from the start, and painfully conflicted. You knew it tore him apart, almost literally; who else comforted him during his night terrors? So most, if not all, of his reactions were also broken.

It was something to be worked on, to be fixed over time. So many people expected him to be a certain way by a certain time; he hadn't had the time to fix his mistakes before he made more. And he certainly had not spent his childhood in an environment where he could nurture those things to health.

And so, you had dutifully stayed by his side. Your Force essence was weak and small, you only used it discreetly to heal, and to occasionally look inside Kylo's mind.

He didn't know, and he didn't need to know. He let down his walls around you anyway; slipping in was easy. It was deceitful, and you felt guilty about it, but it helped you understand him better, and he loved you even more for it.

Sometimes, like today, he hurt himself. Never intentionally, but never caring if it happened. It saddened you, and you let him know as much without making him feel like a disappointment. He had had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Swift and soft fingers tightened the bandages around his burnt arm. He didn't even flinch. He did, however, take your hand, so small compared to his, once you had pulled his sleeve down, raising it to his lips and giving it a soft kiss. One near your wrist, one on the top of your hand, and another delicate one on your knuckles, right near the ring he had gifted you with. You cupped his face, stroking his porcelain cheek with your thumb as he shifted to rest his head in your lap. This was your Kylo, beaten and bruised and cut and broken and perfect.

"I love you", he mumbled, dark eyes gazing up at you as if you were the stars themselves. To him, you were.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, those thick and wavy and soft black locks, and reassured him.

"I love you too, baby".