"I was hoping that maybe you'd end up being a good influence on him," Kes admits, with a sad smile and a sigh, glancing over to where his son had joined a group of women across the room.
"I know I should have... warned you. But I couldn't quite bring myself to make his arguments for him. I thought... should things go for the worse, I would ask you to be my Pledge, in your father's place." He looked back at Owain, still smiling, though the grief was never far from his eyes, when he spoke of Lon'qu. He rarely said his name, to Owain. It was always 'your father'.
"I suppose I was naive, when I heard that that he'd taken you on, that he had finally come around to see the sense of it. I hope he isn't - confusing you. You can still do good by him, Owain. You can still be the Pledge he needs, even if he doesn't know he needs it."
Owain looks back to Poe, and there's a pang of-- something in his chest. An instinct, smothered by childish jealousy at seeing him with those women and loud, aimless fear that he's been doing something wrong all week. An instinct telling him that Kes doesn't get it, he hasn't been here, he doesn't know. An instinct he barely skirts beside before he buries it.
He looks to Kes and sees the grief, and he's never been good at handling this. Any mention of his parents from Kes always ruins him, and his expression twists, incapable as ever of hiding how much it effects him. The thought that he could have been this man's Pledge fills him with so much sadness and anger that he doesn't know where to start with expressing it, so he lets it go, down into an ocean of self-loathing.
"I would have loved that," he confesses, quietly. "Being by your side. K-- Kes. I still would. But I don't..."
He runs his hand through his hair. Finally notices the mess he's made of it. Smooths it down, before he puts his arms behind his back, holding one wrist with the other hand so he won't be tempted to move or fuss or fidget with the freedom of a human being.
"I don't... want to be away... from him." Again, he looks to Poe, and again, he looks away. "I don't want to let him down, or-- or do the wrong thing. He makes me feel-- perfect? As a man. And I thought that was okay. But it's not, right? Because it's-- I should know better. Than this. It's not my place. To be like this. With him. This isn't-- protecting him. I was raised to protect him. I should see his attitude as a threat to his safety and treat it as such."
Kes wasn't physically affectionate, like Poe was. Not with Owain. But in the rare circumstances that he was - it was always to make a point. Always to reassure, reaffirm, and ground him. So when he reached out, he put fingers gently around Owain's elbow, a gentle but firm pressure.
Grounding.
"... You should feel perfect, with him, Owain. Because that's what you are supposed to be. I taught you as best I can, but every - every pledge is different. It's your duty, to be perfect for him. Specifically. Regardless of everyone else. If you already feel that way - then it's alright. It's good. You'll work it out, I have faith in you."
His hand dropped back down to his side, and he sighed.
"But Poe does make enemies, with his attitude. He doesn't understand, or maybe doesn't want to, how fulfilling it can be, to fill the role meant for you. To do it justice. He doesn't understand the honour that comes from it. So he makes enemies, because they believe he has no right to judge them, when they are happy. Poe doesn't see how he - attacks them. Personally. He pretends the system is separate from the people - and it isn't."
He paused, thoughtfully, before turning his eyes back to Owain and smiling apologetically. "But if anyone can protect him, it's you."
When Poe first touched him, Owain leant into it like he'd never been touched before. Starving and hungry and lonely and sad and just desperate for any kind of affection someone might show him. It's so much worse, with Kes. With that hand on his elbow, tears prick at the back of his eyes that he hastily blinks away - he has to start manually managing his breathing, so it doesn't come too fast or too ragged, and he has to ball his hands into fists so he doesn't just step forward for a hug he knows he's not allowed to have.
It ruins him, when Kes acknowledges him. Resets him. The past four days may as well have never even happened.
"I want to be perfect for him. I want that. It's all I've ever wanted. But I don't-- know-- how to do that, when he said that I have to be--"
His eyes flick up to Kes's, and then away. It would be a betrayal, he thinks, to tell him what, exactly, it is that Poe has done. The vow, the demands of equality. It would be a betrayal not to tell Kes, his father figure, about the things he's done. He's tearing himself in two either way, but in the end, he was raised to have loyalty to Poe, and he keeps his mouth shut. Like a good Pledge should.
"I'll-- protect him. Not just for his own sake, but for yours. I won't let anything happen to your son. I won't let this-- continue."
"Thank you, Owain." He gives his son's Pledge a warm, honest smile. Just a hint of relief.
"I know it will be hard for a little while. Don't be impatient with yourself. It's took a while for L- for your father and I to figure each other out. The learning curve is part of the job. And you have... quite a learning curve, to conquer, when it comes to Poe."
He shot a fond look back at his son, before turning back to Owain.
"I can't imagine he will disallow you correspondence. You can write me, if you need assistance."
The smile, the relief, is all he needs to keep going. To lock these past four days away, keep them in him as a mistake he made once, in the distant past, before doing as Poe needs. The near-mention of Lon'qu's name makes his eyebrows peak, and he feels those tears coming back, but he pushes them down, focusing on Poe.
"I know him pretty well, I think." Owain folds his arms over his chest, the suit moving with him like water on his body, perfectly tailored, perfectly designed, perfect for Poe. "I don't think-- I have to figure him out. He's smart and he's dedicated and he's strong and he's beautiful and he's honourable and he's just and he's impulsive and he's brave and-- just, I know him. I know him."
But that doesn't mean he knows how to act around him.
He eyes Kes, wary.
"Would you-- allow me-- to write to you-- without such cause?"
As a friend, he's asking. Write to you as a friend.
Kes just smiles, as Owain talks about Poe. For all their bickering, Kes is proud of his son, and loves him. So it pleases him, to hear him spoken of in that way.
Though he has at least something of an idea of what might have happened between them, in the last four days.
"Mmm..." He murmurs to the question, thinking for a minute, but there's something teasing to his tone.
"Yes, of course, Owain. You know - your father and I - we wrote letters, as children, for a few years. Well. I wrote him, and he sent very short notes back. I think, in this case, we may consider it appropriate."
He doesn't notice the teasing tone, at first, and he flinches. Once he picks it up, though, and once Kes allows him this - he laughs, warm and easy. Kes is kind. Kinder than he deserves. He needs to remember that.
"Okay. Then... I... will. Poe bought me a journal, so I have paper. Of my own."
He doesn't stay to ask Kes for his approval.
"I'm going to find him. He told me to catch up with him. I have to catch up with him. So-- I'll-- thank you. Again. I'm going to go find Poe."
"I'll look forward to them. Thank you, Owain. Take care of him." He paused, the smile on his lips turning wistful and sad, "And-- Good Luck."
When Owain finds Poe, again, he may as well be a different person to the man who had been talking with his father. He was bright, easy smiles and a warm laugh, telling a very daring story to a small gaggle of ladies who fluttered fans while they listened to him. When Owain approached, Poe turned his head as if drawn to him, and raised a hand to the women.
"Excuse me, Ladies. I should take my leave. But if any of you feel like a dance or two, after the banquet--" He trailed off with a wink, which caused three of them to giggle and one to roll her eyes, and turned back to Owain, stepping over.
The smile - a mask from the first - was gone.
"Sorry. I should have just - told him to step off, but." His brow furrowed. "You alright?"
There was a part of him, however small, that couldn't understand what, exactly, Kes was trying to encourage him to do. Perfect for Poe, the Pledge he needs. He gets it a little more, when he sees Poe fall from happy and easygoing to just--
Distant.
He needs to be like that. Fake winks, fake stories. Fake independence, fake independence, fake independence, fake. He smiles as reassuring as he can, distance in his eyes, and he's tired, suddenly. He doesn't want to dance, he doesn't want to serve, he just wants to sleep.
"No, it's okay." Poe. Poe. It was fine, a moment ago, using that name to Kes. Seems harder, now, so he leaves it out.
"We just-- talked." He looks at the women, and again, there's a pang of jealousy in his chest. "How did it go? All of... this. Them. Those. Women."
"I am about one hundred percent ready to just go to bed," Poe said with rueful look, with absolutely no knowledge of a similar thought floating in Owain's head.
"I'm a soldier, not an actor. It doesn't suit me." He stepped closer, reaching out to touch Owain's arm. Not in the same way Kes had. There was nothing thoughtful, or deliberate about it. Just a touch. Because he needed one. Because Owain looked like he needed one.
"Maybe we'll get lucky and there will be a sudden rancour attack and we'll have to deal with that instead." He smirked, but when he looked up into Owain's face, something was off, and the smirk fell. He couldn't place it. "... Look. Don't let my dad get to you, alright? We're fine. You're fine."
Owain offers a hesitant smile, and he tries to make it real, when Poe's smirk falls. He's not sure if it works, but he tries, at least.
"No-- yeah, I know," he says, rushing through this a little too quickly to be believably reassuring instead of just... the voice of a man who wants to get past this conversation as quickly as possible. It hurts too much to focus on, he needs to shut this down, he needs to be a Pledge. "He didn't-- he's a good man. He said I can write to him. So I'm going to write to him. If that's okay with you."
It's then that he notices the touch to his arm, which had gone completely unnoticed. He didn't lean into it, as he so often does. Even now, when he sees that hand there, he just - takes it, passive.
"What should we do now? I'm not sure when I have to get ready for the banquet, but-- we should have a little time. If you wanted us to go anywhere together."
He can tell. He doesn't know what's changed or why but something has and he can feel it worming down his spine. He lets go of Owain's arm.
"... Yeah. I want some air," He said, his voice a little oddly stiff as the gears began to grind away in his brain. He wasn't good, at figuring stuff out, all the time. Especially things like this - no clear cut problem, no line of action - it took him a while to process. So. Getting out of the crowd.
Owain, at least, notices the stiffness in Poe's voice. He's been trained to notice things like that. To give his master things he needs, before they get worse. When they walk out onto the balcony, he's by Poe's side, nudging his shoulder with his arm, as if to say I'm here, I'm not behind you, even as Kes's voice rings in his head. Be perfect for him, be perfect for him, be perfect for him.
The stars are out and the courtyard below is filled with fireflies and hedges, and Owain doesn't relax once they shut the glass doors to the balcony behind them. He doesn't lean out over the side of the railing and breathe in the smell of fresh-cut grass or the dinner wafting upstairs from the kitchen down below them, as he might have, if they'd done this an hour ago. He sits on the railing, instead, facing Poe, quietly waiting for an order or for direction or something.
Doesn't even speak first. Just smiles a little, watching him, waiting. Trying to be a good boy. For Kes, for his dad, for all the things Kes brought to the forefront of his mind when he fucking shut him down, ruined all the hope Poe had built up in him, so swiftly and so easily.
Poe's a man of instinct - of intuition - rather than intellect, and the longer the moment stretches the worse it feels. It's not that Owain is doing something wrong in particular - he's standing there, smiling, watching him, but it's off. Even though the gentle shoulder bumps had - for a few seconds - done exactly as they had been intended to, it still feels off. There's no jittery nervous energy or excitement and it doesn't feel like him. Poe's getting more frustrated by the second - his original thought was asking Owain if he wanted a dance, with those stupid butterflies that had started taking up residence in his stomach. As if it was just- any other guy, that he was incredibly attracted to, in any other situation.
But his gut tells him not to. His gut tells him something is wrong and he watches Owain for a very long minute, as if he could pin it down.
Part of him wanted to start yelling - demand to know exactly what the hell his dad had said that had caused this shift - because it had to be that. It had to be Kes. Owain had been fine before.
He gave a 'tchh' sound under his breath, planting his hands on the railing of the balcony and glaring off over the courtyard. Fuck all of this.
"Yeah. Alright. Fine." It comes out hurt and petulant and he knows it's not fair - he bites down on his tongue to keep that train from continuing. He almost says three more different things, but aborts all of them, like a stupid-looking angry fish.
"Go on," he says finally. "Tell me what's on your mind."
The tch makes him flinch, the yeah, alright makes him cower. He tries to keep smiling, but it doesn't work, and he looks to the ground in a panic, trying to figure out what he's done wrong. Is this just-- how it's going to be? Do something right with Poe, do something wrong with Kes. Do something wrong with Kes, do something right with Poe. He can't live a life trying to make one person proud if all it's going to do is make the other hate him.
He's not an actor, either, but he's going to have to try to be better. Somehow. To someone. He takes a breath.
"You're... ah." He scratches his neck. "I think - you're handsome. In the moonlight. I think all those noblewomen were swarming you because they cared less about the military and more about your attention. I'm trying to plan what we'll do tomorrow - I'll have to catch up on some of the cleaning I haven't done, because we've been shopping... I have to find out what food you like, so that I can memorize the recipes. I'm wondering if you'll have to dance with Holdo... it'll be bizarre, watching that. I'm thinking about you and Lord-- you and Kes, and about your relationship? I'm thinking about your eyes, but. I always am."
He flashes a nervous smile, but it falters like his resolve. Even he can tell that all he's doing is just-- talking about Poe, and that's not right, that's not what he's supposed to be doing, if he's an independent person with his own thoughts and his own feelings. He's supposed to be talking about himself, about his feelings, but all he can think about is the pride and the affection Kes gave him when he talked about Lon'qu, when he said he could have let Owain stay with him.
He can't tell Poe about that, if he's supposed to be a good influence. He scrambles, frantically, for something to say that hits that balance of Owain the person and Owain the Pledge, and it works, to an extent, but it comes out so obviously forced and nervous that it's obvious beyond obvious he has to fight to make it happen.
"I'll have to meet the other Pledges when I'm in the kitchens... and I'm nervous about that," he says, slowly.
He deflates when Owain cowers. It hadn't been his intention, to scare him, or to panic him. It really didn't have anything to do with Owain at all - at least - that's not where Poe planted any of the blame. So he just - glared at his hands on the stone of the railing as he listened.
"... We." He said, after a while. "Not the cleaning you have to do, Owain, the cleaning we have to do."
Even the butterlies had gone still - hadn't stirred or lifted a wing even at the mention of his eyes because it wasn't - it wasn't what he had been asking for, or about, and he can feel the weight of whatever the hell Owain isn't saying far more clearly than anything he actually does.
"I won't have to dance with Holdo. She's way above my rank. And you can- look, Owain, you can always ask. About dad and I. If you really want to know, or you really want to see me rant for a half hour."
He almost says something very cruel and very bitter, to the last statement, but the thought itself is dark enough to shake Poe a little out of his self-centred fury. You'll be fine. Just keep acting like this, and you'll fit right in. It made a very quick gash of self hatred trace across his heart.
He raised his bandaged hand, looking down at it, before flexing it slowly, curling his fingers into it and making it sting.
"Why are you nervous about it?" He asks, his voice careful and low.
"Ah - yeah. We. That's what I..." He can't say meant. "That's what I should have said."
His hands on the balustrading tighten, knuckles going pink, then white. He watches Poe with a very careful eye, every thought he has piling on top of each other while he just tries to fucking figure out how to handle this. If he were honest, he'd open up about the part of him scrambling to cling to these last few days under a tidal wave of black ink, pouring over the pages and staining them as wrong. He would talk about Kes, and about his father, and about how he doesn't know what to live up to. He would talk-- more succinctly-- about how he doesn't have any logical reason why he's acting this way, he just--
Fuck, Kes was so sad. Kes was so, so, sad. Hurt. Looking at him like he'd fucked up. Like he never should have taken him in. Like he was letting Poe down. He can't let Poe down, he can't.
He sees Poe raise his bandaged hand and offers his own to be held.
Poe wants to be equals. Poe wants that. If nothing else, Owain has to act like that's something he can provide. So - these cuts, these symbols of their vows, however invalid Poe's may have been - they anchor him to that. Equality.
"I'm nervous... because I'm not a good Pledge. They might say something about me to someone. Or they might talk to me about things I don't understand." His hand is still out, and he's focused on that, on waiting for Poe to lace their fingers together, rather than the words that tumble out of him. "The servants back home didn't like me... other than some of the older ones. So they might not like me there, either. And I'm nervous I'll embarrass you if I serve everyone's food the wrong way... or I'll embarrass you by not being handsome enough or smart enough or good enough to be yours. And everyone will know. That Captain Dameron deserves better than a Pledge like me."
He turns his head, eyes falling on the offered hand. Even this angry, he just wants to take it. Use it like a magic spell to make everything better. He just watches for half a moment, but then he sighs. Reaches out.
Gently threads their fingers together and lets their hands fall limp back between them, entangled.
"Owain-- what they think? It really doesn't matter. If they give you grief, you let me know, and I'll give them some very pointed looks. But you can't- - you could never embarrass me, alright? I'm not going to be embarrassed by you. I just-- fuck, but I wish everyone else would mind their own damn business."
It hurts, when Owain squeezes. Not enough to reopen his cut, but enough to sting and scratch and remind him on a level that Kes never could, what Poe did for him. He smiles, and it's sad, because-- how the fuck could it not be? He has to say goodbye to Poe's vows. He has to treat them as false, rid himself of the past few days, shed them like dead skin. They meant more to him than anything else has, but it-- isn't fair, not to Poe. He can't ruin him by being selfish and blind.
He raises Poe's hand to his lips and he kisses his ring finger, shutting his eyes. Goodbye, my Captain. The silence that goes on between them lasts far too long, with Owain passive and instinctively waiting for Poe to change topics or give him an order or something, but--
Feigning conversation is a part of this. So he smiles, acts assuaged by Poe's attempts to reassure him, then looks out over the garden, taking his hand away from Poe.
"We could dance... if you wanted to. Before the meal starts."
The rage seeps out of him, and he just feels empty, instead. The affection assuages him, a little, but not a hell of a lot. There's stil something there - something he can't put his finger on and it's just making him sad. An undercurrent he can't see or understand but can still feel, somehow.
He wants to ignore it.
But the butterflies don't come back, when Owain asks him to dance. The nervous excitement he'd slowly been allowing himself to feel in Owain's presence was quickly disappearing. He didn't know why. It had been something his dad had done - something he'd said - and suddenly it didn't feel okay, to flutter over Owain.
"... No," he says finally. He can't bring himself to want to. He looked out over the courtyard. "... Sorry."
He's not allowed to hurt, but fuck, Poe actually said no.
His stomach twists and his heart clenches and his ribs feel like they're going to break, and a very real, very unrestrained sadness flutters over his expression. Maybe Poe doesn't see it, if he's looking at the courtyard, but it's rough. Rejected both by the person he dedicated his life to serving and the person who made him feel real and alive. Both sides of Owain, struggling to combat each other, united in being turned down.
He swallows, fixes his expression, and smiles.
"Okay. Yeah, anything you want."
He slides his ass off the railing and moves to stand beside Poe, watching the fireflies and listening to the distant clatter of cutlery a storey below them. It's time to leave, if this is all they have.
But he can't bring himself to do anything but wait for an order.
He should have known better. Should not have been so fucking naive. It would take a long time, get Owain to let go of Pledgehood, and even then it would only work if he wanted it. But it still stings. Okay. Yeah, anything you want. When all he wants is for Owain to want anything at all. He doesn't move for a minute or more, and when he does turn around, it's wordlessly. No command. He just turns back inside and forces the mask to his face and tries not to spend the entire time flicking his eyes to Owain.
The banquet would have been delicious, if Poe had cared. They seared him near his father and all he could do was sit in resentment and worry until it was over. He danced with many women, always smiling, and every time he felt emptier. The ball was still going when he gestured to Owain and finally left. He didn't fall back into place beside Owain - letting the other man judge the distance he wanted to keep for himself. Whether or not Owain kept close, Poe didn't speak much. Tired and empty and done, the cavity in his chest where the butterflies had been held was turning bitter and hollow.
It did give him time to think, though. Time to actually process what had happened. But the more he thought about it, the more it hitched on a particular point. By the time they got back to the room, it was unavoidable.
"... What did he say to you?" His voice was a little tight, and he wasn't exactly looking at Owain as Poe started undoing the buttons of his own jacket.
He kept close, right by Poe's side, the whole walk home. Nudging his arm occasionally, smiling down at him even when he got nothing in return. Being normal. What Poe wants. The fact that he didn't flinch or curl in on himself or pull away like he always used to whenever a stranger would look at him goes much too far towards showing how forced all of this is. It's hard, for Owain, when he can sense with every passing step and every meter closer to home, that he's doing the wrong thing.
Even though being by Poe is just-- what he wants. Under it all.
He'd offered to take off Poe's jacket for him once they got home, but Poe turned away, either because Owain had offered too quietly to be heard or else because of an active decision. Owain slowly unbuttons his own suit jacket, instead, folding it neatly and focusing on keeping it completely safe and unwrinkled, because despite his motivation, despite the fact that he exists as a clotheshorse, this suit is his and he's allowed to love it within the confines of his training.
He changes into actual pyjamas this time - loose cotton shirt and pants - and he doesn't answer Poe until he's done.
"... He said that I could write to him. I told you that, I think."
"Yeah, you said. But you know full well that's not what I mean." He had let the question hang until Owain was done changing, but was not particularly satisfied with the answer when it finally came. He didn't completely undress. Just down to his breeches and a cotton undershirt, and then he had sat next to the wash basin and crossed his arms, waiting.
"I don't know what he said but he obviously said something."
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"I know I should have... warned you. But I couldn't quite bring myself to make his arguments for him. I thought... should things go for the worse, I would ask you to be my Pledge, in your father's place." He looked back at Owain, still smiling, though the grief was never far from his eyes, when he spoke of Lon'qu. He rarely said his name, to Owain. It was always 'your father'.
"I suppose I was naive, when I heard that that he'd taken you on, that he had finally come around to see the sense of it. I hope he isn't - confusing you. You can still do good by him, Owain. You can still be the Pledge he needs, even if he doesn't know he needs it."
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Owain looks back to Poe, and there's a pang of-- something in his chest. An instinct, smothered by childish jealousy at seeing him with those women and loud, aimless fear that he's been doing something wrong all week. An instinct telling him that Kes doesn't get it, he hasn't been here, he doesn't know. An instinct he barely skirts beside before he buries it.
He looks to Kes and sees the grief, and he's never been good at handling this. Any mention of his parents from Kes always ruins him, and his expression twists, incapable as ever of hiding how much it effects him. The thought that he could have been this man's Pledge fills him with so much sadness and anger that he doesn't know where to start with expressing it, so he lets it go, down into an ocean of self-loathing.
"I would have loved that," he confesses, quietly. "Being by your side. K-- Kes. I still would. But I don't..."
He runs his hand through his hair. Finally notices the mess he's made of it. Smooths it down, before he puts his arms behind his back, holding one wrist with the other hand so he won't be tempted to move or fuss or fidget with the freedom of a human being.
"I don't... want to be away... from him." Again, he looks to Poe, and again, he looks away. "I don't want to let him down, or-- or do the wrong thing. He makes me feel-- perfect? As a man. And I thought that was okay. But it's not, right? Because it's-- I should know better. Than this. It's not my place. To be like this. With him. This isn't-- protecting him. I was raised to protect him. I should see his attitude as a threat to his safety and treat it as such."
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Grounding.
"... You should feel perfect, with him, Owain. Because that's what you are supposed to be. I taught you as best I can, but every - every pledge is different. It's your duty, to be perfect for him. Specifically. Regardless of everyone else. If you already feel that way - then it's alright. It's good. You'll work it out, I have faith in you."
His hand dropped back down to his side, and he sighed.
"But Poe does make enemies, with his attitude. He doesn't understand, or maybe doesn't want to, how fulfilling it can be, to fill the role meant for you. To do it justice. He doesn't understand the honour that comes from it. So he makes enemies, because they believe he has no right to judge them, when they are happy. Poe doesn't see how he - attacks them. Personally. He pretends the system is separate from the people - and it isn't."
He paused, thoughtfully, before turning his eyes back to Owain and smiling apologetically. "But if anyone can protect him, it's you."
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It ruins him, when Kes acknowledges him. Resets him. The past four days may as well have never even happened.
"I want to be perfect for him. I want that. It's all I've ever wanted. But I don't-- know-- how to do that, when he said that I have to be--"
His eyes flick up to Kes's, and then away. It would be a betrayal, he thinks, to tell him what, exactly, it is that Poe has done. The vow, the demands of equality. It would be a betrayal not to tell Kes, his father figure, about the things he's done. He's tearing himself in two either way, but in the end, he was raised to have loyalty to Poe, and he keeps his mouth shut. Like a good Pledge should.
"I'll-- protect him. Not just for his own sake, but for yours. I won't let anything happen to your son. I won't let this-- continue."
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"I know it will be hard for a little while. Don't be impatient with yourself. It's took a while for L- for your father and I to figure each other out. The learning curve is part of the job. And you have... quite a learning curve, to conquer, when it comes to Poe."
He shot a fond look back at his son, before turning back to Owain.
"I can't imagine he will disallow you correspondence. You can write me, if you need assistance."
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"I know him pretty well, I think." Owain folds his arms over his chest, the suit moving with him like water on his body, perfectly tailored, perfectly designed, perfect for Poe. "I don't think-- I have to figure him out. He's smart and he's dedicated and he's strong and he's beautiful and he's honourable and he's just and he's impulsive and he's brave and-- just, I know him. I know him."
But that doesn't mean he knows how to act around him.
He eyes Kes, wary.
"Would you-- allow me-- to write to you-- without such cause?"
As a friend, he's asking. Write to you as a friend.
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Though he has at least something of an idea of what might have happened between them, in the last four days.
"Mmm..." He murmurs to the question, thinking for a minute, but there's something teasing to his tone.
"Yes, of course, Owain. You know - your father and I - we wrote letters, as children, for a few years. Well. I wrote him, and he sent very short notes back. I think, in this case, we may consider it appropriate."
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"Okay. Then... I... will. Poe bought me a journal, so I have paper. Of my own."
He doesn't stay to ask Kes for his approval.
"I'm going to find him. He told me to catch up with him. I have to catch up with him. So-- I'll-- thank you. Again. I'm going to go find Poe."
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When Owain finds Poe, again, he may as well be a different person to the man who had been talking with his father. He was bright, easy smiles and a warm laugh, telling a very daring story to a small gaggle of ladies who fluttered fans while they listened to him. When Owain approached, Poe turned his head as if drawn to him, and raised a hand to the women.
"Excuse me, Ladies. I should take my leave. But if any of you feel like a dance or two, after the banquet--" He trailed off with a wink, which caused three of them to giggle and one to roll her eyes, and turned back to Owain, stepping over.
The smile - a mask from the first - was gone.
"Sorry. I should have just - told him to step off, but." His brow furrowed. "You alright?"
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Distant.
He needs to be like that. Fake winks, fake stories. Fake independence, fake independence, fake independence, fake. He smiles as reassuring as he can, distance in his eyes, and he's tired, suddenly. He doesn't want to dance, he doesn't want to serve, he just wants to sleep.
"No, it's okay." Poe. Poe. It was fine, a moment ago, using that name to Kes. Seems harder, now, so he leaves it out.
"We just-- talked." He looks at the women, and again, there's a pang of jealousy in his chest. "How did it go? All of... this. Them. Those. Women."
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"I'm a soldier, not an actor. It doesn't suit me." He stepped closer, reaching out to touch Owain's arm. Not in the same way Kes had. There was nothing thoughtful, or deliberate about it. Just a touch. Because he needed one. Because Owain looked like he needed one.
"Maybe we'll get lucky and there will be a sudden rancour attack and we'll have to deal with that instead." He smirked, but when he looked up into Owain's face, something was off, and the smirk fell. He couldn't place it. "... Look. Don't let my dad get to you, alright? We're fine. You're fine."
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"No-- yeah, I know," he says, rushing through this a little too quickly to be believably reassuring instead of just... the voice of a man who wants to get past this conversation as quickly as possible. It hurts too much to focus on, he needs to shut this down, he needs to be a Pledge. "He didn't-- he's a good man. He said I can write to him. So I'm going to write to him. If that's okay with you."
It's then that he notices the touch to his arm, which had gone completely unnoticed. He didn't lean into it, as he so often does. Even now, when he sees that hand there, he just - takes it, passive.
"What should we do now? I'm not sure when I have to get ready for the banquet, but-- we should have a little time. If you wanted us to go anywhere together."
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"... Yeah. I want some air," He said, his voice a little oddly stiff as the gears began to grind away in his brain. He wasn't good, at figuring stuff out, all the time. Especially things like this - no clear cut problem, no line of action - it took him a while to process. So. Getting out of the crowd.
"Balcony?"
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The stars are out and the courtyard below is filled with fireflies and hedges, and Owain doesn't relax once they shut the glass doors to the balcony behind them. He doesn't lean out over the side of the railing and breathe in the smell of fresh-cut grass or the dinner wafting upstairs from the kitchen down below them, as he might have, if they'd done this an hour ago. He sits on the railing, instead, facing Poe, quietly waiting for an order or for direction or something.
Doesn't even speak first. Just smiles a little, watching him, waiting. Trying to be a good boy. For Kes, for his dad, for all the things Kes brought to the forefront of his mind when he fucking shut him down, ruined all the hope Poe had built up in him, so swiftly and so easily.
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Poe's a man of instinct - of intuition - rather than intellect, and the longer the moment stretches the worse it feels. It's not that Owain is doing something wrong in particular - he's standing there, smiling, watching him, but it's off. Even though the gentle shoulder bumps had - for a few seconds - done exactly as they had been intended to, it still feels off. There's no jittery nervous energy or excitement and it doesn't feel like him. Poe's getting more frustrated by the second - his original thought was asking Owain if he wanted a dance, with those stupid butterflies that had started taking up residence in his stomach. As if it was just- any other guy, that he was incredibly attracted to, in any other situation.
But his gut tells him not to. His gut tells him something is wrong and he watches Owain for a very long minute, as if he could pin it down.
Part of him wanted to start yelling - demand to know exactly what the hell his dad had said that had caused this shift - because it had to be that. It had to be Kes. Owain had been fine before.
He gave a 'tchh' sound under his breath, planting his hands on the railing of the balcony and glaring off over the courtyard. Fuck all of this.
"Yeah. Alright. Fine." It comes out hurt and petulant and he knows it's not fair - he bites down on his tongue to keep that train from continuing. He almost says three more different things, but aborts all of them, like a stupid-looking angry fish.
"Go on," he says finally. "Tell me what's on your mind."
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The tch makes him flinch, the yeah, alright makes him cower. He tries to keep smiling, but it doesn't work, and he looks to the ground in a panic, trying to figure out what he's done wrong. Is this just-- how it's going to be? Do something right with Poe, do something wrong with Kes. Do something wrong with Kes, do something right with Poe. He can't live a life trying to make one person proud if all it's going to do is make the other hate him.
He's not an actor, either, but he's going to have to try to be better. Somehow. To someone. He takes a breath.
"You're... ah." He scratches his neck. "I think - you're handsome. In the moonlight. I think all those noblewomen were swarming you because they cared less about the military and more about your attention. I'm trying to plan what we'll do tomorrow - I'll have to catch up on some of the cleaning I haven't done, because we've been shopping... I have to find out what food you like, so that I can memorize the recipes. I'm wondering if you'll have to dance with Holdo... it'll be bizarre, watching that. I'm thinking about you and Lord-- you and Kes, and about your relationship? I'm thinking about your eyes, but. I always am."
He flashes a nervous smile, but it falters like his resolve. Even he can tell that all he's doing is just-- talking about Poe, and that's not right, that's not what he's supposed to be doing, if he's an independent person with his own thoughts and his own feelings. He's supposed to be talking about himself, about his feelings, but all he can think about is the pride and the affection Kes gave him when he talked about Lon'qu, when he said he could have let Owain stay with him.
He can't tell Poe about that, if he's supposed to be a good influence. He scrambles, frantically, for something to say that hits that balance of Owain the person and Owain the Pledge, and it works, to an extent, but it comes out so obviously forced and nervous that it's obvious beyond obvious he has to fight to make it happen.
"I'll have to meet the other Pledges when I'm in the kitchens... and I'm nervous about that," he says, slowly.
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"... We." He said, after a while. "Not the cleaning you have to do, Owain, the cleaning we have to do."
Even the butterlies had gone still - hadn't stirred or lifted a wing even at the mention of his eyes because it wasn't - it wasn't what he had been asking for, or about, and he can feel the weight of whatever the hell Owain isn't saying far more clearly than anything he actually does.
"I won't have to dance with Holdo. She's way above my rank. And you can- look, Owain, you can always ask. About dad and I. If you really want to know, or you really want to see me rant for a half hour."
He almost says something very cruel and very bitter, to the last statement, but the thought itself is dark enough to shake Poe a little out of his self-centred fury. You'll be fine. Just keep acting like this, and you'll fit right in. It made a very quick gash of self hatred trace across his heart.
He raised his bandaged hand, looking down at it, before flexing it slowly, curling his fingers into it and making it sting.
"Why are you nervous about it?" He asks, his voice careful and low.
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His hands on the balustrading tighten, knuckles going pink, then white. He watches Poe with a very careful eye, every thought he has piling on top of each other while he just tries to fucking figure out how to handle this. If he were honest, he'd open up about the part of him scrambling to cling to these last few days under a tidal wave of black ink, pouring over the pages and staining them as wrong. He would talk about Kes, and about his father, and about how he doesn't know what to live up to. He would talk-- more succinctly-- about how he doesn't have any logical reason why he's acting this way, he just--
Fuck, Kes was so sad. Kes was so, so, sad. Hurt. Looking at him like he'd fucked up. Like he never should have taken him in. Like he was letting Poe down. He can't let Poe down, he can't.
He sees Poe raise his bandaged hand and offers his own to be held.
Poe wants to be equals. Poe wants that. If nothing else, Owain has to act like that's something he can provide. So - these cuts, these symbols of their vows, however invalid Poe's may have been - they anchor him to that. Equality.
"I'm nervous... because I'm not a good Pledge. They might say something about me to someone. Or they might talk to me about things I don't understand." His hand is still out, and he's focused on that, on waiting for Poe to lace their fingers together, rather than the words that tumble out of him. "The servants back home didn't like me... other than some of the older ones. So they might not like me there, either. And I'm nervous I'll embarrass you if I serve everyone's food the wrong way... or I'll embarrass you by not being handsome enough or smart enough or good enough to be yours. And everyone will know. That Captain Dameron deserves better than a Pledge like me."
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Gently threads their fingers together and lets their hands fall limp back between them, entangled.
"Owain-- what they think? It really doesn't matter. If they give you grief, you let me know, and I'll give them some very pointed looks. But you can't- - you could never embarrass me, alright? I'm not going to be embarrassed by you. I just-- fuck, but I wish everyone else would mind their own damn business."
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He raises Poe's hand to his lips and he kisses his ring finger, shutting his eyes. Goodbye, my Captain. The silence that goes on between them lasts far too long, with Owain passive and instinctively waiting for Poe to change topics or give him an order or something, but--
Feigning conversation is a part of this. So he smiles, acts assuaged by Poe's attempts to reassure him, then looks out over the garden, taking his hand away from Poe.
"We could dance... if you wanted to. Before the meal starts."
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He wants to ignore it.
But the butterflies don't come back, when Owain asks him to dance. The nervous excitement he'd slowly been allowing himself to feel in Owain's presence was quickly disappearing. He didn't know why. It had been something his dad had done - something he'd said - and suddenly it didn't feel okay, to flutter over Owain.
"... No," he says finally. He can't bring himself to want to. He looked out over the courtyard. "... Sorry."
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He's not allowed to hurt, but fuck, Poe actually said no.
His stomach twists and his heart clenches and his ribs feel like they're going to break, and a very real, very unrestrained sadness flutters over his expression. Maybe Poe doesn't see it, if he's looking at the courtyard, but it's rough. Rejected both by the person he dedicated his life to serving and the person who made him feel real and alive. Both sides of Owain, struggling to combat each other, united in being turned down.
He swallows, fixes his expression, and smiles.
"Okay. Yeah, anything you want."
He slides his ass off the railing and moves to stand beside Poe, watching the fireflies and listening to the distant clatter of cutlery a storey below them. It's time to leave, if this is all they have.
But he can't bring himself to do anything but wait for an order.
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He should have known better. Should not have been so fucking naive. It would take a long time, get Owain to let go of Pledgehood, and even then it would only work if he wanted it. But it still stings. Okay. Yeah, anything you want. When all he wants is for Owain to want anything at all. He doesn't move for a minute or more, and when he does turn around, it's wordlessly. No command. He just turns back inside and forces the mask to his face and tries not to spend the entire time flicking his eyes to Owain.
The banquet would have been delicious, if Poe had cared. They seared him near his father and all he could do was sit in resentment and worry until it was over. He danced with many women, always smiling, and every time he felt emptier. The ball was still going when he gestured to Owain and finally left. He didn't fall back into place beside Owain - letting the other man judge the distance he wanted to keep for himself. Whether or not Owain kept close, Poe didn't speak much. Tired and empty and done, the cavity in his chest where the butterflies had been held was turning bitter and hollow.
It did give him time to think, though. Time to actually process what had happened. But the more he thought about it, the more it hitched on a particular point. By the time they got back to the room, it was unavoidable.
"... What did he say to you?" His voice was a little tight, and he wasn't exactly looking at Owain as Poe started undoing the buttons of his own jacket.
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Even though being by Poe is just-- what he wants. Under it all.
He'd offered to take off Poe's jacket for him once they got home, but Poe turned away, either because Owain had offered too quietly to be heard or else because of an active decision. Owain slowly unbuttons his own suit jacket, instead, folding it neatly and focusing on keeping it completely safe and unwrinkled, because despite his motivation, despite the fact that he exists as a clotheshorse, this suit is his and he's allowed to love it within the confines of his training.
He changes into actual pyjamas this time - loose cotton shirt and pants - and he doesn't answer Poe until he's done.
"... He said that I could write to him. I told you that, I think."
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"Yeah, you said. But you know full well that's not what I mean." He had let the question hang until Owain was done changing, but was not particularly satisfied with the answer when it finally came. He didn't completely undress. Just down to his breeches and a cotton undershirt, and then he had sat next to the wash basin and crossed his arms, waiting.
"I don't know what he said but he obviously said something."
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