Chapter Text
“Don’t talk about Mr. Brightside around him.”
The camera is focused on Luke Skywalker, weathered and grey-haired. He’s rough around the edges, beard coating his jaw and part of his neck. The suit he’s wearing is ill-fitting, nothing like what he had been to the Grammys in. Of course, that was ten years ago, a relic of the 2000s that died with the new decade.
“Ben Solo wrote Mr. Brightside. Kylo Ren is not Ben Solo,” he says then.
The camera cuts, and it focuses on Leia Organa, flanked by Han Solo. She’s tear-streaked but strong, Han holding her shoulder to keep them together.
“He always had too much Anakin in him. We should’ve known.” Han says. Leia Organa is incredulous.
“You can’t say that about Ben. He’s our son. Yes, we should’ve known that Anakin’s career and music would influence him. We didn’t know how much, or what he was willing to do to get it.” she interrupts.
The screen cuts to pictures then. Ben Solo, age six at his piano recital. Ben Solo as an awkward and gangly teen, sixteen in a tux before prom. His graduation pictures. His college pictures, a picture of him surrounded by frat guys, looking clean cut. Ben Solo getting his first guitar for Christmas, age 19.
The pictures then shift. The backgrounds settings become bars, in garages around guitars and band equipment. Pictures of band practice, of the battle of the bands. Long hair, growing amounts of tattoos.
“The Knights of Ren started as a simple college band. Ben didn’t start pushing for me to sign him until 21.” Luke says, over a picture of Ben throwing a guitar off a stage. More tattoos, shirtless on stage.
“He wasn't ready. The life would’ve chewed him up and spit him out back then.” he then says.
More pictures. Kylo shaking hands with Snoke, white-haired and looking straight out of a Disney employee handbook. Kylo holding a platinum record, Mr. Brightside enameled on the front. There are more tattoos on his skin, septum ring in his nose and eyeliner smeared under his eyes.
Shirtless on stage, whipping his hair. Album signings and smashed guitars and love-bites on groupies. Fansites, tweets.
“Well...it did chew him up and spit him out. It did the same to Anakin so it would do the same.” Luke then says, looking pensive.
A narration over grainy concert footage that show a slip and fall that would rock the music world: “Kylo Ren rushed to the hospital for a broken spine, incurred after three back to back tours.” the news anchor reads, her voice too monotone for the tragedy. TMZ up on the screen with a headline of Kylo Ren looking pale and sickly after a back injury. Summer tour still reportedly on schedule. Pictures of Kylo, back brace clinging to his back while he stands backstage.
“He toured only 3 months after back surgery. No wonder he got addicted.” Leia says then.
A Twitter video of him leaned over a table, rolled up dollar bill in his grip and crushed pills on the surface. A girl is in his lap, blonde and perky. There are more photos of girls, in varying poses of naked and on his lap. One is pushing the plunger on a needle in his skin, looking just as tweaked as he was.
“He was always awkward as a kid, so I think he likes the attention. All the girls, all waifish fucking primadonnas. Groupies, you know?” Poe Dameron says, leaning against the sofa. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, and his face reads like he doesn’t want to be here.
“So of course he had to have his fall from grace. We all do.” Poe then says.
Headlines flash across the screen. Kylo Ren found near-death in Belarus hotel room, police suspect overdose.
Kylo Ren has done it again! Hotel room trashed and evidence of an overdose.
“It took 3 of them that we know about for them to put him in rehab. 3.” Han says. Leia is gone now, obviously not here to talk about her son’s addiction.
“I tried calling him. Of course, I didn’t get an answer.” Han says.
Video footage of Kylo Ren leaving a rehab facility, backpack on his back and looking healthier. Back on stage, playing electric guitar like it never happened.
“I don’t buy the sobriety thing,” Luke admits then.
Luke shrugs, “I think I don’t buy it because I know him-”
The laptop screen slams shut, and the brown eyes stare at the sticker-covered surface. “Kylo, Phas needs to see you,” Caedus says, and he’s pulling the headphones from his ears.
“Yeah. I’m sure she does,” Kylo answers.
If the documentary he just watched had anything to do with it, they had a lot of work on their hands.