Poe's eyebrows raise as Owain stumbles over his own words, watching the man flush.
... Shit.
Shit, he was cute.
Poe carefully slid a hand over his own mouth, masking the smile behind it, and looking away. Alright, not really what he'd been expecting. But he didn't... mind that. It made it easier to think of Owain as a real person rather than the personification of an institution that he hated. He gave himself a few seconds to get his face back in order.
There were a few things he could say, or maybe should, but one was most important.
"Poe. Just-- just Poe." A pause, then a smirk. "Or dude. That one is fine."
He looks for a second like he's considering calling Poe by his name, but then he's smirking and Owain's not equipped to deal with it. He covers his face with his hands again and waits for his heart to calm down so as not to say something stupid. People don't smirk at Pledges. Not like they're friends. He'd expected a lot of things, but not for Poe to treat him like a friend.
He pulls his hands away, staring cautiously at Poe. This is... difficult. Somehow, the not-treating-a-Pledge-like-a-Pledge thing was easier to deal with when Poe was angry.
"I'm not supposed to do that. You shouldn't even see me acting like-- this isn't-- I'm doing a bad job. I should be like my dad. Quiet. You're not my friend, you're-- my owner. Essentially."
He nods, as if affirming it as much to himself as to Poe. They can be friends, in time, but only after their dynamic is firmly established, and never all the way. He already feels like he wants to be total, total friends with this guy. He can't do that.
The smirk, and any trace of good humour, vanished from Poe's face. Instead, annoyance flickered there, twitching in his eyebrow.
"Yeah, no. I'm not owning anyone." He turned his back, unwilling to watch Owain make that argument - unwilling to watch how he believed it. He unclipped the Orange sash and put it beside his cravat, but undoing all the buttons of his coat, his back sill turned.
"If you stay with me, you're going to have to figure out a different way to do that."
Owain panics, again, head down, mood shattered. He shifts a little further off the bed, hesitates, then slumps down off of it entirely to sit on the floor. He curls his knees up to his chest with his back against one of the bed's legs, pointedly not looking at Poe.
"That's not what... what Lord Dameron-- said. He told me-- everyone told me-- just, I was taught to know my place. One of my tutors always said you would be proud of me for that."
He glances up, seeing Poe undress, and he realizes he doesn't have a change of clothes. He untucks his dress shirt from his belt, at least, allowing himself a modicum of comfort, taking a gamble on assuming Poe won't find that exceptionally out of turn. Maybe.
"Whoever that tutor was has definitely never fucking met me." Once unbottoned, he slid the jacket over his shoulders, smoothing it out carefully and putting it on the back of the chair as well. His shirt, underneath it all, was basically the same as Owain's - crisp and white and formal, though he undid the top few buttons at his throat as he turned around.
He stopped as soon as he saw Owain on the floor, and swore to himself under his breath. Great. Fucking great. Good job, Dad.
He stepped over, after a few seconds, before squatting down in front of Owain.
"This- Owain, look at me. This has almost nothing to do with you, alright? Well it-- no that's not true it's also pretty specifically about you-/ but not like that. We should have been-- something else. I don't know. Not this. It's not your fault you happened to get paired with the most stubborn abolishinist on the continent. Maybe this planet. That's not on you, alright? And the fact that you feel like you've failed me because I won't treat you like property--"
There's a kneejerk urge to apologize, but he doesn't, because he still doesn't understand why Poe fucking hates this so much. He's supposed to act with pride and be strong and be reliable, so tripping over his anxiety to try and make things better absolutely isn't the right thing to do - he just rests his chin on his knees and listens and tries to make sense of things.
All he takes from this is we should have been something else. Cuts through him as easily as a knife through water. Nine years, he'd spent waiting to find the validation he was promised. The purpose. The way to make his parents proud. Nine years of being told he would be loved, and he would love back, because that's what happens, when you're branded with someone's crest on your arm. He swallows and nods, even though he's not sure what he's agreeing to, if anything.
When he interrupts Poe, it's to change topics. He doesn't know how to confront this yet - Poe throwing so much of Owain's life away with a few clumsy words carrying so much more weight than he realizes.
"Can you show me the smile you use to get stuff from the kitchen?"
Poe sighs, immediately feeling bad, and reaches out to push his fingers into Owain's hair like he did the last time he saw him. Even that feels different, though, as Poe's finger nails graze the man's scalp, and something hitches in his chest. Ignore it, Dameron.
"Yeah. Being a dick again," he murmured, as a half apology. He couldn't find it in himself to apologize for wanting Owain to be a person, but he's not callous enough to be able to ignore how this is affecting him.
He offers a small smile, slightly sad. "Can only manage that one with the distant promise of brownies, I'm afraid."
Edited (Pushing a single finger into Owain's hair would be really really weird) 2018-01-21 14:09 (UTC)
Owain's eyes fill with stars the second Poe touches him.
He's nine years old again, terrified of a life he's not equipped to deal with, looking up at someone tall and strong and determined and put-together and perfect. He's slack jawed and weak kneed and he's idolizing Poe, looking at him like he's his own, personal savior, divinity gracing him with something unknowably wonderful. It might be sweet, if it wasn't so sad. Desperate for touch, desperate to be noticed, he leans into that hand like a neglected puppy finally getting adopted. Blind to Poe as a man, after nine years of learning to put himself so, so far beneath him.
"I like your smile. I'll make you brownies. If you keep smiling for me." He grins, but it dies, because he remembers himself, and he remembers what he's doing, and-- while he doesn't pull away from Poe's hand, he stops showing that he wants it, and just stays there, passive. "If-- that's okay for me to ask. Being--"
A pledge. It's funny, how fast he's forgetting the rules, when he's so scared of Poe breaking them and he spent so long learning them.
It breaks his heart, the expression on Owain's face, the way the man leans into his hand. He doesn't pull back, though. Instead his thumb brushes a few loose strands from Owain's forehead as he continues to gently rub his head.
The smile twitches a little wider, but the sorrow in it only intensifies rather than dissipates.
"Yeah, it's alright."
There's a brief pause, as Poe makes a decision he didn't really expect himself to make. But he's already speaking before he has time to double think it. "If we're going to do this-- to be able to do this-- I need this to be a two way street. I need you to be able to ask me, for anything, and I'll do everything in my power to give it to you."
There are two things he wants to ask for, and despite being assured otherwise, he's afraid he'll only be allowed one of them. There's a split second of indecision clouding his expression, but he's not surprised with what he asks for.
"Okay. Then - please don't call yourself a dick. Or - anything else like that. Anything disparaging. Please."
He shifts his weight, leaning into Poe's hand again. Not even realizing he's doing it. If he did, he'd stop.
"I know you-- hate this," he says, quickly speeding over the word like he just wants it done with. "But-- I've spent half my life waiting for you. You've been the better part of days you didn't even know were passing. I thought about you so much-- I asked so many people so many things about you. Little things. Your favorite color, your favorite food. I asked for stories - things you did when you were younger, before you went away."
He tucks his knees in a little tighter, makes his voice a little softer.
Poe gives a sigh, his shoulders sinking slightly. The hand in Owain's hair slips down to gently rest on his cheek.
"... Alright, no self name calling. But I..."
He paused, brows knitting, trying to find the right words even though he was never very good at them.
"... I'm not - the person I was, before I left. It's been nearly ten years, Owain. The- things you know, the stories - they aren't me. And if I'd known that leaving would have just- done this to you anyway--" He cut off, letting out another hard breath. "... Look, it doesn't matter. Just - we'll figure it out. Okay?"
Owain's young and incredibly inexperienced, especially when it comes to matters of personal growth - he hasn't ever undergone any huge, regret-riddled personality shifts, because he was young enough when it all happened that his parents deaths and his training formed him like this - so the idea that the Poe he knows could just change doesn't make much sense to him. People don't just... become different people.
"Okay," he says, slowly, and he trips over almost making another apology, wanting to just acknowledge he's a burden even if he doesn't know why. He doesn't - just looks at Poe a little too deeply for a moment before moving on.
Big question time. He takes a breath.
"Can I--" He reddens, feeling like a fucking idiot. "Can I have my own clothes?"
Poe scrubbed Owain's cheek with the pad of his thumb after he said 'Okay', preparing to let go and stand back up when--
He blinked. And then immediately looked incredibly sheepish.
"Yeah. Yeah, of course, that's not - That shouldn't even be a question--" He was an idiot? He was an idiot. He had seen how little Owain had brought with him. Why hadn't it already occurred to him...?
"Okay. Clothes. And a few other things, yeah. Alright. We've got a few hours until sunset, we can get you sorted out now. Did you - the uniform, if you want it, will have to wait. They tailor those to the house. But we can get you some civilian dress tonight." He stood up, giving Owain's jaw a quick squeeze before turning his heel and going straight for his bag, pulling it open. He was travelling light, too, but at least he had a thin jacket that wasn't his ceremonial uniform. He held it out to Owain. "Here, for now."
Owain mnnphs, bashful, when Poe squeezes him before heading out, and he relaxes, the tight coil of his body starting to loosen. He lets his legs stretch out on the floor and watches Poe's back, and he considers just staying quiet, but the tutors were always mad at him for not being able to do that very well.
"I don't need anything else." He's not self aware enough to know he's using that tone of voice to remind Poe that despite everything, they have an image to uphold, but that's what he's doing. "I'll wear whatever uniform you give me - it doesn't, uh, have to be tailored, unless that, like - like, helps, because you shouldn't be seen with a Pledge who isn't - like, wearing -"
But then Owain's eyes settle on the jacket, and again, it's like he's made of stars. His slender fingers hesitate before curling into the fabric, almost as if Owain's afraid of hurting it, and any protests he was trying to make about second-hand uniforms being alright have totally swept from him. He treats this jacket as if were made of finest silk, the fine vestments of a king, and he just keeps staring at it with something close to awe.
"You didn't--" His hands are trembling, a little. "You didn't have to give me something of yours. This belongs to you. Even if it's just-- just a for now thing, that's kind of-- impermissible? We can just-- buy something tomorrow."
"Owain." The word was half an admonishment and half a helpless sigh, as Poe stood, watching him fiddle with the jacket like it was spun from gold.
"I'm the best swordsman we have. No one is going to give me shit for what we're wearing. But you'll need the house uniform, or I won't be able to keep them from separating us, if they want to. So we'll get one tailored." It didn't even register, how possessive that might have sounded. In his mind, it was just for Owain's sake. If Owain wanted to be by him, then he would make sure no one could tell him otherwise.
"And it's yours, now. There's no judge who's going to suddenly appear and tell me that I can't give you my clothes. Pretty sure my family owes you a hell of a lot more than that. Put it on, we can still catch the daylight."
The thought of being separated from Poe fills Owain with dread, and he clings to the jacket just a fraction tighter as he nods. He doesn't hear it as possessive, exactly - he just hears someone looking out for their Pledge. Okay, then. Okay. House uniform it is.
He wants to argue about how Lord Dameron gave him everything, but he knows it's an uncomfortable conversation and that's not what he wants. He carefully slips his arms through the jacket as if they're dirty and he doesn't want to stain it by wearing it, but it fits him well, if not slightly loose and slightly short. He stands to his feet and he keeps looking down at himself like he's just-- an entirely different person, or something-- and then he's grinning at Poe, ear to ear, even as he tries to pretend like he isn't so fucking god damn happy.
"Now? You had a really, really big day - are you sure you don't want to relax and catch an early night? I really don't mind waiting until tomorrow, you didn't have to do this at all-- though," Okay, the grin falls. "We should talk about the bed thing, too."
The grin catches him off guard, a smile pulling at his lips almost instantly in return - a completely unconscious response. But then he catches himself and smothers it down, wetting his lips as he steps over to Owain and pulls a bit on the jacket to make sure it's sitting properly. The sleeves were far too short, but otherwise...
Yeah. It suited him.
"Yeah, now. Honestly, if it was up to me? I would be heading straight for a pub and probably a fight, so let me take care of you instead and maybe I'll come out of tonight without a black eye."
At the last, he gave a firm, unwavering smile. "And we're not talking about the bed thing."
Owain holds his arms out a little so Poe can adjust his clothes, and it feels nice, on one level, if not a horrible role reversal on every other. The already faltering grin slips away into something sad, when he realizes Lon'qu would absolutely never, ever have allowed himself to wear Kes's clothes, let alone be adjusted in them, like he's the one whose presentation really mattered between the pair of them. Owain's teeth clench shut so tight that his jaw hurts, and it only gets worse when Poe says he'd let himself get hurt.
"That's--"
He doesn't think they should do this after all, and he slowly starts to pull his arm back through one of the sleeves, finding himself undeserving of this. They should stay where Poe's safe and where he can take care of him, and it's very sweet, for Poe to have allowed him this moment of equality, but it's not-- they're not--
Fuck.
"If you won't let me take the cot -" The jacket's half off, but he can't quite seem to bring himself to shrug off the rest of it yet, and if he knew how sloppy he looked with half a jacket swinging off the back of his body, he'd do more than this. "If you won't let me take the cot - then - can we make a deal, or something? I'll do something for you and in exchange you can at least share the bed with me... or something."
He'd only just got the jacket looking pretty alright, when suddenly Owain was taking it off again.
"Hey-" he put out a hand, touching Owain's arm at the elbow before he could tug out of that sleeve too. "What are you-- Are you seriously suggesting that you want to make me a deal where you do me a favour in order to - do me a favour?" He arches his eyebrow with the question. "We can share the bed, it's fine. I just didn't want you thinking that you should automatically take the cot."
He lets Poe stop him from undressing, but he also frowns, looking from the cot, back to Poe, back to the cot, back to Poe. He says nothing, but there's a raised eyebrow and the tiniest trace of sourness in his expression that kinda gives away his feelings. Of course he should automatically take the cot.
It softens, though, to worry and guilt.
"You really would've-- done that? If I wasn't here? Gone out and had drinks and ended up with a black eye, or-- or something." He tentatively, tentatively reaches out, and he doesn't quite make contact, because that still feels forbidden, but his hand hovers close to Poe's cheek. "I don't want that. I don't want to see you get hurt. I'm supposed to protect you, even outside of battle."
Poe's eyes slid away, his brows furrowing into a sharp vee. He'd been trying not to think about Lon'qu, or Lissa, or the fact that he would never see them again. Lissa he'd almost gotten used to the fact that she wasn't meant to be a part of his life anymore, after Shara died. He had not been able to accept it, very well. It was like losing what was left of his mother, twice over. But Lon'qu?
Lon'qu should have been at the house tonight. Probably with a nice handsome streak of grey in his hair, but he should have been there. I'm supposed to protect you--
He stepped back out of reach abruptly, still not looking at Owain, trying to give a casual shrug that was anything but casual. "I'm a soldier, Owain. It's just a way to blow off steam. That's it. Come on. Let's get you some clothes."
Owain's hand is still in the air when Poe steps back, and -
He isn't hurt. He's not. Why would he be? Poe's his owner, after all. He finally crossed a boundary and Poe finally must have noticed their dynamic, and that's all this is. It's such a non-thought to Owain that even after the dismissal settles in his stomach and fills him with lead, he can put aside the memory and slowly, cautiously put the jacket back on. He's had nine years to practice losing things he wants.
But he says nothing, and then they're gone, the last moments of daylight already dwindling as they make a beeline to the commerce quarter of the Palace. Owain sticks like glue to Poe's side, because if he was nervous about leaving the house before, it's so much worse now that it's heading into night.
There are a number of stores lined up in the fashion district that Owain could go to, but he is completely fucking overwhelmed just reading the names of them. He doesn't know what kind of clothes he likes, or what kind of clothes he would look good in - fishnet looks pretty badass, he's always thought, but he's in no way brave enough to try it just yet - and he'll nervously tug on the very end of Poe's sleeve to get his attention.
"You have to come in with me."
It's not a you're my master so I have to always be beside you kind of request. It's more of a jesus christ I am fucking overwhelmed and you're strong and you're here and I need you shade of things.
He's seen many people die - including people close to him. His mother may have been his first introduction to death, but she wasn't his last. So he shoves the grief down and presses it into a hard, heavy cube, in his chest, labels it, and then resigns to never touch it again. It won't work, it never does. At some point, a few months from now, alone in the dark, all those dark cubes will open and Poe will put his face in his hands or his fist through a wall and he will weep. But for tonight, it's all packed away.
In fact, by the time they reach the financial district, he's smiling again - even if it doesn't quite reach his eyes - so when Owain tugs on his sleeve, he turns to give a warm, reassuring smile.
This, at least, he expected. So he was prepared for the reaction.
"Yeah, don't worry. I'll be right here. You'll need something moderately formal, but the rest we can just see what suits you."
At some point, a few months from now, all those dark cubes will open - but Poe won't be alone. Not anymore.
The sounds of footsteps, of civilians and tired soldiers, all ring around in Owain's ears and give him a headache. Another thing he's not used to - there's so much noise outside of the house. It's what eventually pushes him inside the closest store, shuffling ahead of Poe a few feet and glancing back to make sure he's still there every so often.
He lingers over a sick jacket that he ends up not going for because it's slightly too badass for a Pledge, he thinks. He does ask Poe if he can get this, but gets nervous and puts it back on the rack before waiting for an answer. He finds these ensembles and thinks they would work - replace the belt with the Dameron family crest, find some leather gloves and a cape or something - but he ducks away again into another aisle without letting Poe share his opinion, actively covering his ears and pretending not to hear him if he tries to say anything.
He is bad at this.
Eventually, he just ends up sitting on one of the chairs against the wall and staring at every fucking piece of shit fucking clothing in this fucking store like this inventory was designed to personally wrong him. He glances up to Poe.
"I have no idea what I'm doing. I keep thinking I don't deserve to be here. Do I deserve to be here?"
The first time Poe goes to make a comment and Owain ducks away, he innocently assumes that Owain just didn't hear him. By the forth time, with Owain's hands literally over his ears, it's pretty obvious that he is being ignored entirely.
Which, while may be frustrating coming from literally anyone else, Poe can't help but smile at, secretly. Perfect pledge behaviour, huh?
Maybe this match would work out, after all.
By the time that Owain slumps into a chair, Poe has a few of the outfits that Owain had been looking at draped over his arm, and his smile is gone.
"What do you man, do you deserve to be here?" He asks, the frown deepening. "Owain - there is no where you don't deserve to be, alright? Of course you can be here."
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... Shit.
Shit, he was cute.
Poe carefully slid a hand over his own mouth, masking the smile behind it, and looking away. Alright, not really what he'd been expecting. But he didn't... mind that. It made it easier to think of Owain as a real person rather than the personification of an institution that he hated. He gave himself a few seconds to get his face back in order.
There were a few things he could say, or maybe should, but one was most important.
"Poe. Just-- just Poe." A pause, then a smirk. "Or dude. That one is fine."
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He looks for a second like he's considering calling Poe by his name, but then he's smirking and Owain's not equipped to deal with it. He covers his face with his hands again and waits for his heart to calm down so as not to say something stupid. People don't smirk at Pledges. Not like they're friends. He'd expected a lot of things, but not for Poe to treat him like a friend.
He pulls his hands away, staring cautiously at Poe. This is... difficult. Somehow, the not-treating-a-Pledge-like-a-Pledge thing was easier to deal with when Poe was angry.
"I'm not supposed to do that. You shouldn't even see me acting like-- this isn't-- I'm doing a bad job. I should be like my dad. Quiet. You're not my friend, you're-- my owner. Essentially."
He nods, as if affirming it as much to himself as to Poe. They can be friends, in time, but only after their dynamic is firmly established, and never all the way. He already feels like he wants to be total, total friends with this guy. He can't do that.
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"Yeah, no. I'm not owning anyone." He turned his back, unwilling to watch Owain make that argument - unwilling to watch how he believed it. He unclipped the Orange sash and put it beside his cravat, but undoing all the buttons of his coat, his back sill turned.
"If you stay with me, you're going to have to figure out a different way to do that."
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Owain panics, again, head down, mood shattered. He shifts a little further off the bed, hesitates, then slumps down off of it entirely to sit on the floor. He curls his knees up to his chest with his back against one of the bed's legs, pointedly not looking at Poe.
"That's not what... what Lord Dameron-- said. He told me-- everyone told me-- just, I was taught to know my place. One of my tutors always said you would be proud of me for that."
He glances up, seeing Poe undress, and he realizes he doesn't have a change of clothes. He untucks his dress shirt from his belt, at least, allowing himself a modicum of comfort, taking a gamble on assuming Poe won't find that exceptionally out of turn. Maybe.
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He stopped as soon as he saw Owain on the floor, and swore to himself under his breath. Great. Fucking great. Good job, Dad.
He stepped over, after a few seconds, before squatting down in front of Owain.
"This- Owain, look at me. This has almost nothing to do with you, alright? Well it-- no that's not true it's also pretty specifically about you-/ but not like that. We should have been-- something else. I don't know. Not this. It's not your fault you happened to get paired with the most stubborn abolishinist on the continent. Maybe this planet. That's not on you, alright? And the fact that you feel like you've failed me because I won't treat you like property--"
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All he takes from this is we should have been something else. Cuts through him as easily as a knife through water. Nine years, he'd spent waiting to find the validation he was promised. The purpose. The way to make his parents proud. Nine years of being told he would be loved, and he would love back, because that's what happens, when you're branded with someone's crest on your arm. He swallows and nods, even though he's not sure what he's agreeing to, if anything.
When he interrupts Poe, it's to change topics. He doesn't know how to confront this yet - Poe throwing so much of Owain's life away with a few clumsy words carrying so much more weight than he realizes.
"Can you show me the smile you use to get stuff from the kitchen?"
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Poe sighs, immediately feeling bad, and reaches out to push his fingers into Owain's hair like he did the last time he saw him. Even that feels different, though, as Poe's finger nails graze the man's scalp, and something hitches in his chest. Ignore it, Dameron.
"Yeah. Being a dick again," he murmured, as a half apology. He couldn't find it in himself to apologize for wanting Owain to be a person, but he's not callous enough to be able to ignore how this is affecting him.
He offers a small smile, slightly sad. "Can only manage that one with the distant promise of brownies, I'm afraid."
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He's nine years old again, terrified of a life he's not equipped to deal with, looking up at someone tall and strong and determined and put-together and perfect. He's slack jawed and weak kneed and he's idolizing Poe, looking at him like he's his own, personal savior, divinity gracing him with something unknowably wonderful. It might be sweet, if it wasn't so sad. Desperate for touch, desperate to be noticed, he leans into that hand like a neglected puppy finally getting adopted. Blind to Poe as a man, after nine years of learning to put himself so, so far beneath him.
"I like your smile. I'll make you brownies. If you keep smiling for me." He grins, but it dies, because he remembers himself, and he remembers what he's doing, and-- while he doesn't pull away from Poe's hand, he stops showing that he wants it, and just stays there, passive. "If-- that's okay for me to ask. Being--"
A pledge. It's funny, how fast he's forgetting the rules, when he's so scared of Poe breaking them and he spent so long learning them.
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The smile twitches a little wider, but the sorrow in it only intensifies rather than dissipates.
"Yeah, it's alright."
There's a brief pause, as Poe makes a decision he didn't really expect himself to make. But he's already speaking before he has time to double think it. "If we're going to do this-- to be able to do this-- I need this to be a two way street. I need you to be able to ask me, for anything, and I'll do everything in my power to give it to you."
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"Okay. Then - please don't call yourself a dick. Or - anything else like that. Anything disparaging. Please."
He shifts his weight, leaning into Poe's hand again. Not even realizing he's doing it. If he did, he'd stop.
"I know you-- hate this," he says, quickly speeding over the word like he just wants it done with. "But-- I've spent half my life waiting for you. You've been the better part of days you didn't even know were passing. I thought about you so much-- I asked so many people so many things about you. Little things. Your favorite color, your favorite food. I asked for stories - things you did when you were younger, before you went away."
He tucks his knees in a little tighter, makes his voice a little softer.
"You're not a dick. Is all."
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"... Alright, no self name calling. But I..."
He paused, brows knitting, trying to find the right words even though he was never very good at them.
"... I'm not - the person I was, before I left. It's been nearly ten years, Owain. The- things you know, the stories - they aren't me. And if I'd known that leaving would have just- done this to you anyway--" He cut off, letting out another hard breath. "... Look, it doesn't matter. Just - we'll figure it out. Okay?"
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"Okay," he says, slowly, and he trips over almost making another apology, wanting to just acknowledge he's a burden even if he doesn't know why. He doesn't - just looks at Poe a little too deeply for a moment before moving on.
Big question time. He takes a breath.
"Can I--" He reddens, feeling like a fucking idiot. "Can I have my own clothes?"
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He blinked. And then immediately looked incredibly sheepish.
"Yeah. Yeah, of course, that's not - That shouldn't even be a question--" He was an idiot? He was an idiot. He had seen how little Owain had brought with him. Why hadn't it already occurred to him...?
"Okay. Clothes. And a few other things, yeah. Alright. We've got a few hours until sunset, we can get you sorted out now. Did you - the uniform, if you want it, will have to wait. They tailor those to the house. But we can get you some civilian dress tonight." He stood up, giving Owain's jaw a quick squeeze before turning his heel and going straight for his bag, pulling it open. He was travelling light, too, but at least he had a thin jacket that wasn't his ceremonial uniform. He held it out to Owain. "Here, for now."
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"I don't need anything else." He's not self aware enough to know he's using that tone of voice to remind Poe that despite everything, they have an image to uphold, but that's what he's doing. "I'll wear whatever uniform you give me - it doesn't, uh, have to be tailored, unless that, like - like, helps, because you shouldn't be seen with a Pledge who isn't - like, wearing -"
But then Owain's eyes settle on the jacket, and again, it's like he's made of stars. His slender fingers hesitate before curling into the fabric, almost as if Owain's afraid of hurting it, and any protests he was trying to make about second-hand uniforms being alright have totally swept from him. He treats this jacket as if were made of finest silk, the fine vestments of a king, and he just keeps staring at it with something close to awe.
"You didn't--" His hands are trembling, a little. "You didn't have to give me something of yours. This belongs to you. Even if it's just-- just a for now thing, that's kind of-- impermissible? We can just-- buy something tomorrow."
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"I'm the best swordsman we have. No one is going to give me shit for what we're wearing. But you'll need the house uniform, or I won't be able to keep them from separating us, if they want to. So we'll get one tailored." It didn't even register, how possessive that might have sounded. In his mind, it was just for Owain's sake. If Owain wanted to be by him, then he would make sure no one could tell him otherwise.
"And it's yours, now. There's no judge who's going to suddenly appear and tell me that I can't give you my clothes. Pretty sure my family owes you a hell of a lot more than that. Put it on, we can still catch the daylight."
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He wants to argue about how Lord Dameron gave him everything, but he knows it's an uncomfortable conversation and that's not what he wants. He carefully slips his arms through the jacket as if they're dirty and he doesn't want to stain it by wearing it, but it fits him well, if not slightly loose and slightly short. He stands to his feet and he keeps looking down at himself like he's just-- an entirely different person, or something-- and then he's grinning at Poe, ear to ear, even as he tries to pretend like he isn't so fucking god damn happy.
"Now? You had a really, really big day - are you sure you don't want to relax and catch an early night? I really don't mind waiting until tomorrow, you didn't have to do this at all-- though," Okay, the grin falls. "We should talk about the bed thing, too."
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Yeah. It suited him.
"Yeah, now. Honestly, if it was up to me? I would be heading straight for a pub and probably a fight, so let me take care of you instead and maybe I'll come out of tonight without a black eye."
At the last, he gave a firm, unwavering smile. "And we're not talking about the bed thing."
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"That's--"
He doesn't think they should do this after all, and he slowly starts to pull his arm back through one of the sleeves, finding himself undeserving of this. They should stay where Poe's safe and where he can take care of him, and it's very sweet, for Poe to have allowed him this moment of equality, but it's not-- they're not--
Fuck.
"If you won't let me take the cot -" The jacket's half off, but he can't quite seem to bring himself to shrug off the rest of it yet, and if he knew how sloppy he looked with half a jacket swinging off the back of his body, he'd do more than this. "If you won't let me take the cot - then - can we make a deal, or something? I'll do something for you and in exchange you can at least share the bed with me... or something."
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"Hey-" he put out a hand, touching Owain's arm at the elbow before he could tug out of that sleeve too. "What are you-- Are you seriously suggesting that you want to make me a deal where you do me a favour in order to - do me a favour?" He arches his eyebrow with the question. "We can share the bed, it's fine. I just didn't want you thinking that you should automatically take the cot."
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It softens, though, to worry and guilt.
"You really would've-- done that? If I wasn't here? Gone out and had drinks and ended up with a black eye, or-- or something." He tentatively, tentatively reaches out, and he doesn't quite make contact, because that still feels forbidden, but his hand hovers close to Poe's cheek. "I don't want that. I don't want to see you get hurt. I'm supposed to protect you, even outside of battle."
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Poe's eyes slid away, his brows furrowing into a sharp vee. He'd been trying not to think about Lon'qu, or Lissa, or the fact that he would never see them again. Lissa he'd almost gotten used to the fact that she wasn't meant to be a part of his life anymore, after Shara died. He had not been able to accept it, very well. It was like losing what was left of his mother, twice over. But Lon'qu?
Lon'qu should have been at the house tonight. Probably with a nice handsome streak of grey in his hair, but he should have been there. I'm supposed to protect you--
He stepped back out of reach abruptly, still not looking at Owain, trying to give a casual shrug that was anything but casual. "I'm a soldier, Owain. It's just a way to blow off steam. That's it. Come on. Let's get you some clothes."
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He isn't hurt. He's not. Why would he be? Poe's his owner, after all. He finally crossed a boundary and Poe finally must have noticed their dynamic, and that's all this is. It's such a non-thought to Owain that even after the dismissal settles in his stomach and fills him with lead, he can put aside the memory and slowly, cautiously put the jacket back on. He's had nine years to practice losing things he wants.
But he says nothing, and then they're gone, the last moments of daylight already dwindling as they make a beeline to the commerce quarter of the Palace. Owain sticks like glue to Poe's side, because if he was nervous about leaving the house before, it's so much worse now that it's heading into night.
There are a number of stores lined up in the fashion district that Owain could go to, but he is completely fucking overwhelmed just reading the names of them. He doesn't know what kind of clothes he likes, or what kind of clothes he would look good in - fishnet looks pretty badass, he's always thought, but he's in no way brave enough to try it just yet - and he'll nervously tug on the very end of Poe's sleeve to get his attention.
"You have to come in with me."
It's not a you're my master so I have to always be beside you kind of request. It's more of a jesus christ I am fucking overwhelmed and you're strong and you're here and I need you shade of things.
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He's seen many people die - including people close to him. His mother may have been his first introduction to death, but she wasn't his last. So he shoves the grief down and presses it into a hard, heavy cube, in his chest, labels it, and then resigns to never touch it again. It won't work, it never does. At some point, a few months from now, alone in the dark, all those dark cubes will open and Poe will put his face in his hands or his fist through a wall and he will weep. But for tonight, it's all packed away.
In fact, by the time they reach the financial district, he's smiling again - even if it doesn't quite reach his eyes - so when Owain tugs on his sleeve, he turns to give a warm, reassuring smile.
This, at least, he expected. So he was prepared for the reaction.
"Yeah, don't worry. I'll be right here. You'll need something moderately formal, but the rest we can just see what suits you."
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The sounds of footsteps, of civilians and tired soldiers, all ring around in Owain's ears and give him a headache. Another thing he's not used to - there's so much noise outside of the house. It's what eventually pushes him inside the closest store, shuffling ahead of Poe a few feet and glancing back to make sure he's still there every so often.
He lingers over a sick jacket that he ends up not going for because it's slightly too badass for a Pledge, he thinks. He does ask Poe if he can get this, but gets nervous and puts it back on the rack before waiting for an answer. He finds these ensembles and thinks they would work - replace the belt with the Dameron family crest, find some leather gloves and a cape or something - but he ducks away again into another aisle without letting Poe share his opinion, actively covering his ears and pretending not to hear him if he tries to say anything.
He is bad at this.
Eventually, he just ends up sitting on one of the chairs against the wall and staring at every fucking piece of shit fucking clothing in this fucking store like this inventory was designed to personally wrong him. He glances up to Poe.
"I have no idea what I'm doing. I keep thinking I don't deserve to be here. Do I deserve to be here?"
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Which, while may be frustrating coming from literally anyone else, Poe can't help but smile at, secretly. Perfect pledge behaviour, huh?
Maybe this match would work out, after all.
By the time that Owain slumps into a chair, Poe has a few of the outfits that Owain had been looking at draped over his arm, and his smile is gone.
"What do you man, do you deserve to be here?" He asks, the frown deepening. "Owain - there is no where you don't deserve to be, alright? Of course you can be here."
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