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Even through the ever-present helmet, Hux can feel Ren’s eyes on him. It’s like a physical pressure on his back, between his shoulder blades. He’s never been sure if it’s some side effect of the Force, but he suspects. Ren wields it the same way he does his saber, which is to say, with maximum brutality. But Hux doesn’t allow himself to notice it properly until they’re out of orbit and he reaches up to flick the autopilot on.

“What is it?” He snaps, looking over his shoulder. The pressure lifts from his shoulders as Ren suddenly straightens up in the jumpseat.

“You-” Ren starts, voice thick through the vocoder, but he stops to pull his mask off, revealing a sleepy face and mussed hair. He rubs his eyes with his gloved fingers, and Hux mildly hopes there’s something filthy enough on them to give him an eye infection.

“You fell asleep,” Hux says, pointing out the obvious. Which means Ren must have been thinking about him in his sleep, which is something Hux doesn’t want to think about too closely. “Do you always dream so loudly?”

“You have no melody.”

It has been years since one of Ren’s mystical non sequiturs has actually distracted him; Hux has learned it’s usually best to not get involved, when it comes to the Force. Ren lifts one of his hands to his temple, knitting his brows. “You—you’re quiet.”

“That’s the best time I’ve ever been accused of being quiet,” Hux says. The autopilot beeps gently in the background. All is well, it says. All is safe.

“In the Force,” Ren says.

Hux turns in his seat. Despite himself, his curiosity is piqued. “Am I not supposed to be?”

Ren exhales, face settling into an unsettlingly serene expression. It’s an expression he often wears when speaking of the Force. “Most sentients in the galaxy have a Force signature. Like a call sign. I hear them. Constantly.”

“These Force signatures… they sound like songs?”

Ren shakes his head minutely. “Not all of them. Supreme Leader sounds like a single, clear note. But most.”

“Then the Finalizer must be a cacophony for you.”

“Not when I’m with you,” Ren says, and glances away to stare out at the expanse of stars ahead of them.

Despite Ren’s shifting gaze, Hux still feels overly seen. “Because I don’t have a Force signature?”

Ren almost nods, but reconsiders, biting on his full lower lip. Hux glances away to the command console—paying attention to Ren’s mouth always makes him feel a little unseemly. All is well, it indicates. All is safe.

“I think your Force signature is silence. It’s… comforting. I sometimes seek it out.” Ren glances back at him, and Hux feels scalded by his dark eyes. He had no idea Ren thought of him as anything other a cocommander at best and an obstacle at worst. The idea that Ren finds any measure of comfort from his presence makes his face feel hot.

He’s staring.

Hux turns back to the console. “Well, if it helps you sleep,” he says, business-like and a little too loudly. He busies himself rechecking coordinates he’d already double-checked before they left and sending another reminder to the pilot meeting them at the rendezvous point.

He doesn’t dare turn around. At least, not until he feels the weight of Ren’s unconscious attention at his back again. He looks back to find Ren, asleep, mouth open and looking, for once, at peace.