"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."
Owain eyes the outfits Poe's holding, tugging the sweater from the top of the pile and holding it in his lap, because it's his favourite and Poe's buying it for him and it's his. He fidgets with the thread of it until it comes undone, and then he just sort of stares. Whoops. Fuck. He'll fix that when they get home.
He doesn't answer for a moment, partially because he's trying to press the thread back down into the collar so nobody notices before they buy it, and partially because it's - rough. He spent a long, long time feeling like Poe was going to fix him and make him better and be perfect, and he last thing he ever expected to do was ask him for reassurance. He thought he'd just - be here, and Poe would be proud to have him, and things would be great.
He breathes out.
"Just - everyone said. Time and time again. You and I - aren't equals. We'd never be equals. Nothing would make us equal. I'm less than you."
Poe's gone over this with him, but it's still-- it's huge, and he's still processing it. He tears at the thread again, looking around to make sure nobody can hear him.
"But you don't think that? Yeah? That's what all of this is about? I don't-- know-- why you feel that way. Or why you're helping me so much."
Poe's expression darkens, at the words less than you, his mouth thinning, his grip on the clothes in his arms tightening. But he keeps his voice down.
"Because you deserve better. This whole - this whole thing, is what? An accident of birth? That I was born to my mother, and you to yours, and so suddenly you're less of a human being?" He let out a hard breath, turning his head to check if anyone was listening. Not necessarily because he was afraid of them hearing. But because he wanted to fucking glare them down if they were.
"My father raised you, Owain." He turned his eyes back, hard and sad. "You should have been my brother."
Owain suddenly feels very warm and very nervous, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt while simultaneously sinking further into Poe's jacket. If he were honest - completely, completely, and totally honest - he would be able to admit to himself that there has been a very small part of him, in the very darkest of nights, who has imagined what it would have been like to grow up alongside Poe and stumble through life as noblemen and soldiers together.
But even then, the fantasy had only ever gone so far as being his friend. A brother? It's a forbidden thought.
"My station goes beyond just my mother. It goes beyond my mother's mother, and my mother's mother's mother, and beyond so many mother's mothers that mother doesn't even sound like a word anymore because I've said it too many times. You know? It's just - this is how things have always been. I have to have respect for the people who came before me, and I wonder if maybe I'm doing them a disservice by--"
He hesitates, meets Poe's eyes. Nowhere near as hard or sad. Just scared.
"--by thinking you and I could maybe be more than what we are. Not that I'm--" Again, he looks around to make sure people aren't listening, and still lowers his head subserviently when he spies someone well out of hearing range over by the opposite wall.
"Not that you're--" But he follows Owain's gaze, and grits his teeth a little. Even out of earshot, it was enough to make the situation uncomfortable. His voice dropped a little lower.
"You aren't doing anyone a disservice. Or dishonouring their memory. I merely --" The person across the room aimlessly moved in their direction, and Poe sighed, giving Owain the clothes. "Go put these on - they'll make sure they fit properly. We can discuss this later."
He tucks the rest of the clothes under his arm with a kind of practiced steadiness, earned from spending hours alone in a room being taught how to fold and carry clothes from the laundry to the bedroom without being seen. He nods and gets to his feet, giving an awkward sort of half-dip of his head, not sure what level of respect he's supposed to be showing Poe right now.
"Sorry. Yes, sir. I'll be back soon."
He ducks into the changing room and it takes a little too long for him to decide what he wants to wear, but he's happy with what he picks out. The sweater from before and some dark grey pants that are a little too thin and hug far too close to his ass, but he loves them because he feels like he could run in them as far and as fast as he wanted to. He doesn't have any new shoes yet, but the ones he was wearing before now are a part of his uniform, and he doesn't want any part of that touching this. He's barefoot and it sucks because the floor is cold, so he keeps kinda stepping from one foot to the other, but--
But he's beaming, stupidity aside. He's sheepish, at first, when he pokes his head out of the curtain to find Poe, but there's an undeniable pride and joy written all over him. He's got clothes. His. He picked them. Poe helped.
Poe was never particularly good at sitting still, at the best of times. And without something to put his focus on, he spent the time going over their brief conversation in his head, trying to figure out how to approach it. Owain was starting to hear him, he thought, starting to get it -- But one night wasn't going to undo a life time's teachings. There was hope, though. There was hope.
There was something on his lips, ready to be spoken, as Owain stepped out - and it fluttered away on silent wings as soon as he actually saw the man.
Oh.
Oh, that was a problem.
He swallowed and forced a smile to his lips, warming quickly and hoping it didn't show on his face. "Not bad at all. Not bad at all. Fits alright?"
He turns in place so Poe can judge him, and yeah, son, he may as well be wearing fucking leggings, with so much of him being shown off without his notice. He tugs on the sweater again and catches himself in the mirror, frowning as he turns his head to the side an examines his chin, squeezing his jaw the same way Poe did back in the barracks. He thinks he cleans up okay. Maybe not as good as Poe, but enough.
He scratches at his scalp and porcupines his hair accidentally, taking out a long breath. There are - a thousand, a million words, right on the tip of his tongue, but he just walks over and, again, tugs on Poe's sleeve. Closest thing to a hug he's got in him, still.
"Thanks," he mumbles, then shakes his head. "I mean - thank you."
The heat was only growing, eyes drawn downwards quite of their own volition, before he snapped them back up to Owain's face.
Gods. He needed a break. But it would probably be a hard thing, to slip away to a brothel, if even a pub was considered scandalous. Just - put it aside, Poe, forget about it for now.
When Owain tugged on his sleeve, the smile that Poe gave him was broad and warm and honest, and he reached out to squeeze Owain's elbow in return.
"You're welcome."
Payment was not an issue - even just flashing his crest was enough. The tab would go to his personal accounts. They picked up two more outfits, for Owain, at another shop, and a decent pair of boots that looked well with the clothes but would also be good for hiking. As they left the last shop, however, the sun was well and truly gone, the night an inky blackness perforated by the dim and distant stars. The streets were lit by low oil lamps, and that was enough to find their way back to the palace, and ultimately, their rooms. The room itself had two lamps, as well, though Poe only lit one as they entered. He had been in the middle of giving Owain a very brief run down of the members of his squadron - none of whom where here, of course, but would inevitably be part of Owain's life.
"-- and L'ulo is from the third planet of the Maresh system - he has green skin. You won't miss him. He's a good man and served with my mother, at one time." He blew out the match as the lamp lit, filling the room with a low, golden glow.
"Don't worry about packing. Once I have my orders in the morning, we'll know what to expect."
Owain always found something poetic in darkness, but again, there's a paranoia about being away from the house that he hasn't yet managed to quell. He spends most of the walk back walking closer and closer to Poe, until their arms are touching and Owain can lean into him every time something makes him nervous.
But already, he's starting to feel as comfortable in this new room as he did in Lissa's house, way back when he was allowed to live there. He wonders, sometimes, whatever happened to it.
"L'ulo, okay. Got it." He's been listening to Poe with that same unwavering attention that's been trained into him since he was young, but there's - something there, under the surface of it, something that shows genuine interest even beyond Poe's role in his life. He's never been introduced to so many new faces at once before - even as a kid, the servants to the Dameron household trickled in and out over the years. There is a small, buried part of him that hopes they'll be as kind to him as Poe has been, but there is such a larger part that's certain they won't be.
He sits on the edge of the bed, but now that Poe's promised to share it with him, he's not trying to make himself as small as possible. He feels okay, now.
"What do you expect we'll expect? Think they'll be like, "yo, Dameron! It's time for war!" and ship us out?" He grins, at ease, the clothes he's still wearing having given him a fucking huge boost to his self esteem. "I might turn eighteen in the middle of a really badass fight. That'd be rad."
"I suspect they'll want me to stay for at least a few days - they tend to use the us for rectuitment, when we're in the Capitol. Or balls. Or both. But I'm hoping they would be willing to ship us out soon."
Owain's boosted ego and informal speech made it far easier for Poe to do the same, even though he has started stripping, again, as soon as they got in. But he started with his boots, this time.
"They'll have to officially commission you, as well. So it'll be a few days. So enjoy the comfort while you can," he added ruefully, nodding at the bed before he sat down on it beside Owain, working on tugging his boot off."
If that was a joke, it's one that completely goes over Owain's head, because fuck, he would love to go to a ball. He doesn't say that, even though it's written all over his face, because it's not his position - in his head it's something out of a fairytale, with elegant clothes and people falling in love, a far cry from what a military ball might actually be.
He's smiling, when he thinks about officially registering as a part of this, a part of Poe's life. He's still smiling, still light, when he puts a hand on Poe's wrist, stilling his arm.
"Can I... uh."
He nods to Poe's shoes. It's his job, after all, to do everything for Poe, even if Poe might not agree with that. Undressing him is a part of it, and he didn't think to do so before, too wrapped up in nerves about everything going on. Unbecoming behaviour for a servant.
Poe stills, looking confused by the question, that same damn heat returning under his skin. It takes a few seconds for him to realise the question isn't a- a come on, but specifically a job requirement, and that just makes him feel stupider.
He's about to say no, point plank, but Owain's cheerful demeanour makes that hard. So he just frowns, their earlier conversation returning to his mind.
"That's-- I-- alright, yes, but-- this doesn't have to be... You don't have to wait on me, you know?"
"I've spent ten years being told to wait on you, Captain," he says, getting on his knees in front of the bed, looking up at Poe from between his legs, unreasonable in his innocence. "I just want to do what I know I'm best at. This doesn't have to mean anything more than that."
His hand finds Poe's shoe and he takes it off carefully, slowly, like Poe is a fragile, beautiful thing made of glass. He does the same with the second, carefully lining both boots together under the bed at a perfect distance. He unfastens Poe's cape and helps him remove his outer layers, folding everything neatly on the bed beside him, either in silence or while asking cheerful, pleasant questions about the rest of Poe's squadmates.
He's back on his knees when it's time for Poe's shirt to come off, and again, he treats the man like glass. He starts at the bottom, Poe sitting over the edge of the mattress, and he lingers as he untucks his shirt from his belt. He undoes the lowest button, and then the button above that, taking his time, getting this right.
He pauses, suddenly, looking up.
"How do you normally sleep?" Owain asks, fingertips on bare skin and belt buckle.
It was far from innocent. Or at least it felt far from innocent, despite the light conversation about squad mates. But by the time Owain's fingers are on his belt, alarm bells were going off in Poe's head. The last thing he needed was for Owain to get Poe's pants down, so squirms a bit and grabs for his own belt, pulling it off but leaving his pants on.
"This is fine," he reassured Owain, "I'm good, I sleep like this." It was an obvious lie, and he let out a hard breath before giving a sheepish look.
"You don't-- have to do-- its fine. I'm fine. Thank you, Owain."
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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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He doesn't answer for a moment, partially because he's trying to press the thread back down into the collar so nobody notices before they buy it, and partially because it's - rough. He spent a long, long time feeling like Poe was going to fix him and make him better and be perfect, and he last thing he ever expected to do was ask him for reassurance. He thought he'd just - be here, and Poe would be proud to have him, and things would be great.
He breathes out.
"Just - everyone said. Time and time again. You and I - aren't equals. We'd never be equals. Nothing would make us equal. I'm less than you."
Poe's gone over this with him, but it's still-- it's huge, and he's still processing it. He tears at the thread again, looking around to make sure nobody can hear him.
"But you don't think that? Yeah? That's what all of this is about? I don't-- know-- why you feel that way. Or why you're helping me so much."
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"Because you deserve better. This whole - this whole thing, is what? An accident of birth? That I was born to my mother, and you to yours, and so suddenly you're less of a human being?" He let out a hard breath, turning his head to check if anyone was listening. Not necessarily because he was afraid of them hearing. But because he wanted to fucking glare them down if they were.
"My father raised you, Owain." He turned his eyes back, hard and sad. "You should have been my brother."
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Owain suddenly feels very warm and very nervous, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt while simultaneously sinking further into Poe's jacket. If he were honest - completely, completely, and totally honest - he would be able to admit to himself that there has been a very small part of him, in the very darkest of nights, who has imagined what it would have been like to grow up alongside Poe and stumble through life as noblemen and soldiers together.
But even then, the fantasy had only ever gone so far as being his friend. A brother? It's a forbidden thought.
"My station goes beyond just my mother. It goes beyond my mother's mother, and my mother's mother's mother, and beyond so many mother's mothers that mother doesn't even sound like a word anymore because I've said it too many times. You know? It's just - this is how things have always been. I have to have respect for the people who came before me, and I wonder if maybe I'm doing them a disservice by--"
He hesitates, meets Poe's eyes. Nowhere near as hard or sad. Just scared.
"--by thinking you and I could maybe be more than what we are. Not that I'm--" Again, he looks around to make sure people aren't listening, and still lowers his head subserviently when he spies someone well out of hearing range over by the opposite wall.
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"You aren't doing anyone a disservice. Or dishonouring their memory. I merely --" The person across the room aimlessly moved in their direction, and Poe sighed, giving Owain the clothes. "Go put these on - they'll make sure they fit properly. We can discuss this later."
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"Sorry. Yes, sir. I'll be back soon."
He ducks into the changing room and it takes a little too long for him to decide what he wants to wear, but he's happy with what he picks out. The sweater from before and some dark grey pants that are a little too thin and hug far too close to his ass, but he loves them because he feels like he could run in them as far and as fast as he wanted to. He doesn't have any new shoes yet, but the ones he was wearing before now are a part of his uniform, and he doesn't want any part of that touching this. He's barefoot and it sucks because the floor is cold, so he keeps kinda stepping from one foot to the other, but--
But he's beaming, stupidity aside. He's sheepish, at first, when he pokes his head out of the curtain to find Poe, but there's an undeniable pride and joy written all over him. He's got clothes. His. He picked them. Poe helped.
He's like a person, almost.
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There was something on his lips, ready to be spoken, as Owain stepped out - and it fluttered away on silent wings as soon as he actually saw the man.
Oh.
Oh, that was a problem.
He swallowed and forced a smile to his lips, warming quickly and hoping it didn't show on his face. "Not bad at all. Not bad at all. Fits alright?"
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He turns in place so Poe can judge him, and yeah, son, he may as well be wearing fucking leggings, with so much of him being shown off without his notice. He tugs on the sweater again and catches himself in the mirror, frowning as he turns his head to the side an examines his chin, squeezing his jaw the same way Poe did back in the barracks. He thinks he cleans up okay. Maybe not as good as Poe, but enough.
He scratches at his scalp and porcupines his hair accidentally, taking out a long breath. There are - a thousand, a million words, right on the tip of his tongue, but he just walks over and, again, tugs on Poe's sleeve. Closest thing to a hug he's got in him, still.
"Thanks," he mumbles, then shakes his head. "I mean - thank you."
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Gods. He needed a break. But it would probably be a hard thing, to slip away to a brothel, if even a pub was considered scandalous. Just - put it aside, Poe, forget about it for now.
When Owain tugged on his sleeve, the smile that Poe gave him was broad and warm and honest, and he reached out to squeeze Owain's elbow in return.
"You're welcome."
Payment was not an issue - even just flashing his crest was enough. The tab would go to his personal accounts. They picked up two more outfits, for Owain, at another shop, and a decent pair of boots that looked well with the clothes but would also be good for hiking. As they left the last shop, however, the sun was well and truly gone, the night an inky blackness perforated by the dim and distant stars. The streets were lit by low oil lamps, and that was enough to find their way back to the palace, and ultimately, their rooms. The room itself had two lamps, as well, though Poe only lit one as they entered. He had been in the middle of giving Owain a very brief run down of the members of his squadron - none of whom where here, of course, but would inevitably be part of Owain's life.
"-- and L'ulo is from the third planet of the Maresh system - he has green skin. You won't miss him. He's a good man and served with my mother, at one time." He blew out the match as the lamp lit, filling the room with a low, golden glow.
"Don't worry about packing. Once I have my orders in the morning, we'll know what to expect."
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But already, he's starting to feel as comfortable in this new room as he did in Lissa's house, way back when he was allowed to live there. He wonders, sometimes, whatever happened to it.
"L'ulo, okay. Got it." He's been listening to Poe with that same unwavering attention that's been trained into him since he was young, but there's - something there, under the surface of it, something that shows genuine interest even beyond Poe's role in his life. He's never been introduced to so many new faces at once before - even as a kid, the servants to the Dameron household trickled in and out over the years. There is a small, buried part of him that hopes they'll be as kind to him as Poe has been, but there is such a larger part that's certain they won't be.
He sits on the edge of the bed, but now that Poe's promised to share it with him, he's not trying to make himself as small as possible. He feels okay, now.
"What do you expect we'll expect? Think they'll be like, "yo, Dameron! It's time for war!" and ship us out?" He grins, at ease, the clothes he's still wearing having given him a fucking huge boost to his self esteem. "I might turn eighteen in the middle of a really badass fight. That'd be rad."
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"I suspect they'll want me to stay for at least a few days - they tend to use the us for rectuitment, when we're in the Capitol. Or balls. Or both. But I'm hoping they would be willing to ship us out soon."
Owain's boosted ego and informal speech made it far easier for Poe to do the same, even though he has started stripping, again, as soon as they got in. But he started with his boots, this time.
"They'll have to officially commission you, as well. So it'll be a few days. So enjoy the comfort while you can," he added ruefully, nodding at the bed before he sat down on it beside Owain, working on tugging his boot off."
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If that was a joke, it's one that completely goes over Owain's head, because fuck, he would love to go to a ball. He doesn't say that, even though it's written all over his face, because it's not his position - in his head it's something out of a fairytale, with elegant clothes and people falling in love, a far cry from what a military ball might actually be.
He's smiling, when he thinks about officially registering as a part of this, a part of Poe's life. He's still smiling, still light, when he puts a hand on Poe's wrist, stilling his arm.
"Can I... uh."
He nods to Poe's shoes. It's his job, after all, to do everything for Poe, even if Poe might not agree with that. Undressing him is a part of it, and he didn't think to do so before, too wrapped up in nerves about everything going on. Unbecoming behaviour for a servant.
"Can I undress you?
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Poe stills, looking confused by the question, that same damn heat returning under his skin. It takes a few seconds for him to realise the question isn't a- a come on, but specifically a job requirement, and that just makes him feel stupider.
He's about to say no, point plank, but Owain's cheerful demeanour makes that hard. So he just frowns, their earlier conversation returning to his mind.
"That's-- I-- alright, yes, but-- this doesn't have to be... You don't have to wait on me, you know?"
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His hand finds Poe's shoe and he takes it off carefully, slowly, like Poe is a fragile, beautiful thing made of glass. He does the same with the second, carefully lining both boots together under the bed at a perfect distance. He unfastens Poe's cape and helps him remove his outer layers, folding everything neatly on the bed beside him, either in silence or while asking cheerful, pleasant questions about the rest of Poe's squadmates.
He's back on his knees when it's time for Poe's shirt to come off, and again, he treats the man like glass. He starts at the bottom, Poe sitting over the edge of the mattress, and he lingers as he untucks his shirt from his belt. He undoes the lowest button, and then the button above that, taking his time, getting this right.
He pauses, suddenly, looking up.
"How do you normally sleep?" Owain asks, fingertips on bare skin and belt buckle.
"Another set of clothes, or just...?"
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It was far from innocent. Or at least it felt far from innocent, despite the light conversation about squad mates. But by the time Owain's fingers are on his belt, alarm bells were going off in Poe's head. The last thing he needed was for Owain to get Poe's pants down, so squirms a bit and grabs for his own belt, pulling it off but leaving his pants on.
"This is fine," he reassured Owain, "I'm good, I sleep like this." It was an obvious lie, and he let out a hard breath before giving a sheepish look.
"You don't-- have to do-- its fine. I'm fine. Thank you, Owain."
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