His heart flutters, and he shuts his eyes into the kiss, only slowly drawing them open when Poe repeats his answer. He swallows, shakes his head almost imperceptibly.
"No." He finds Poe's hand and holds it in his own, and--
And it's not true. Not really. Nine years of training are hitting him like a freight train, thoughts are piling on top of each other, all of them calling him disgusting and shameful and a disappointment to his ancestry.
He can compartmentalize it. He squeezes Poe's hand, treating it like an anchor.
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"No." He finds Poe's hand and holds it in his own, and--
And it's not true. Not really. Nine years of training are hitting him like a freight train, thoughts are piling on top of each other, all of them calling him disgusting and shameful and a disappointment to his ancestry.
He can compartmentalize it. He squeezes Poe's hand, treating it like an anchor.
"No."