ミ☆ - 𝙶𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚖𝚎
In which their loyalties lie with the first order, but they're both torn, undecided, broken. In each other, they find themselves.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡...
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fade: chapter ten
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
FLORENCE IS SICK and tired of her distressed state, constantly fumbling around, struggling to do even simple things just because she's unfocused. Her dreams have been all over the place, messy and hard to understand, but most of all it's apparent by just looking at her. She's constantly lost in thought, always looking as if she has other things to do or places to be. Yesterday, Kez called her out on it. Now, she can't focus during practice with Ben. For the first time in a while, he has her completely beaten.
Ben is quick to notice her lacking performance, cutting their third round short after winning the first two rounds with much ease. "You're off your game today." He says lowly, voice not mocking, but rather, questioning. He shouldn't be so surprised, he understands that she feels certain ways about what happened two days earlier, but he also expected her to hide it well like she hides everything else.
"Yeah, no shit!" She shouts, realizing her tone, she sighs, wiping her brow. "I know. Everyone keeps telling me and I am fully fucking aware." She glares at him. Ben smiles in amusement, to her, it's a mocking type of smile. "It's not funny."
"No, it is," he says, tilting his head to the side. "You spend so much time convincing yourself that we're not alike you and I, but we are."
"Yeah you keep telling yourself that." She scoffs, rubbing her temples.
Ben shakes his head. "No, I suggest you do. You'll see that my flaws aren't different from yours."
She narrows her eyes at him, trying to understand what he thinks he'll get from this conversation. "Are you so desperate for me to like you that you project your imperfections onto me? I may see myself in many of your flaws but we are not alike, Ben solo." She says, angrily, she pulls her stick to her and pushes herself onto her feet.
In the spur of a second, he also pulls his stick to him and holds it against hers. "I don't need you to like me."
She thrusts forwards, throwing him off balance. "Oh but you do." She challenges, almost wanting to piss him off. She quite likes this feeling, much to her dismay. Wanting to make him angry, wanting him to make her angry because in this state, she can't love him like she usually does. She doesn't even think about the kiss or how badly she just wants him to hold her — she's just wants to bash his brains in.
Ben leaps forward with great anger, landing a blow on her ribs. She yells out with anger, expression shifting to pure rage as she charges forward, her stick clashing with him again and again. Whenever she's actually focused, wether driven by ambition, joy or anger, they're almost matched in skill — almost. Ben is the one to continuously back away from her blows, trying to avoid getting hit.
