"What a prick," Poe is muttering, standing next to Owain and glaring back at the store for a while. "Didn't even manage to get you a book, I was too angry."
He paused, turning to look down at Owain, the frustration melting into worry.
Guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty. It wasn't his place, he shouldn't have said shit, this is already getting carried away far too fast, he shouldn't have done that, he shouldn't have done half the things he's done, he should have just stayed quiet and kept to himself and been a good b--
He stands up straighter and scrubs his free hand through his hair, roughing it up and chasing thoughts from his head. He finds the journals and holds them both tight to his chest, looking down as he starts walking dead ahead, directionless. Doesn't know where to go next, just doesn't want to be here.
"I didn't need a book. You don't have to get me a book. Like I said-- means to an end. I'm a writer, I write, I want to write and I want you to write with me and I want-- to write."
"You know I don't even like writing my reports, right?" He asked, trying to joke, but he was too obviously concerned for it to come out with much humour.
"But you said you wanted to do something together, so - sure. For you, I'll try it. Gods know you are taking enough shit for my sake."
He trailed off, before reaching out and squeezing Owain's arm.
"Come on. The ball starts at midnight - we've got a little time, and I'm more than ready to say good-fucking-bye to the Capitol."
The lack of humor and the tension in his mind makes Owain take that as a rejection, and he flinches, up until Poe clears up his meaning.
"No, I-- it'll-- I'll teach you. Okay? It doesn't even have to be anything, it's just-- pen on paper, the feel of seeing something in your head come to life, it's-- you'll see. Okay? You'll see."
He's anchored, by the squeeze on his arm. Looks to Poe like it hurts, for a second, but the longer he looks at Owain, the more obvious it is that he's just really, really fucking hurting from whatever it is that's going through his head and he needs to look at Poe to be reminded that he's okay, he's safe, he's not doing anything wrong.
He takes a breath and nods. Ball. Midnight. Capitol. Okay.
"We'll--" He swallows. "We'll be okay. Through this. Yeah? The dance."
"Hey." He lets go of Owain's arm, reaching out with both hands to cup either side of his face, instead, tilting him down so that he has to meet Poe's eyes. They're still in the middle of the street, but Poe doesn't seem to give a shit - even as his left hand leaves a smudge of blood on Owain's cheek.
"We're alright. You're alright. We'll be just fine. Trust me."
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He paused, turning to look down at Owain, the frustration melting into worry.
"... You alright?"
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Guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty. It wasn't his place, he shouldn't have said shit, this is already getting carried away far too fast, he shouldn't have done that, he shouldn't have done half the things he's done, he should have just stayed quiet and kept to himself and been a good b--
He stands up straighter and scrubs his free hand through his hair, roughing it up and chasing thoughts from his head. He finds the journals and holds them both tight to his chest, looking down as he starts walking dead ahead, directionless. Doesn't know where to go next, just doesn't want to be here.
"I didn't need a book. You don't have to get me a book. Like I said-- means to an end. I'm a writer, I write, I want to write and I want you to write with me and I want-- to write."
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"But you said you wanted to do something together, so - sure. For you, I'll try it. Gods know you are taking enough shit for my sake."
He trailed off, before reaching out and squeezing Owain's arm.
"Come on. The ball starts at midnight - we've got a little time, and I'm more than ready to say good-fucking-bye to the Capitol."
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"No, I-- it'll-- I'll teach you. Okay? It doesn't even have to be anything, it's just-- pen on paper, the feel of seeing something in your head come to life, it's-- you'll see. Okay? You'll see."
He's anchored, by the squeeze on his arm. Looks to Poe like it hurts, for a second, but the longer he looks at Owain, the more obvious it is that he's just really, really fucking hurting from whatever it is that's going through his head and he needs to look at Poe to be reminded that he's okay, he's safe, he's not doing anything wrong.
He takes a breath and nods. Ball. Midnight. Capitol. Okay.
"We'll--" He swallows. "We'll be okay. Through this. Yeah? The dance."
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"We're alright. You're alright. We'll be just fine. Trust me."