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."
Owain should be brave enough to deal with Poe like this. He'd been taught to expect-- lashings, if only from tutors, in secret, rather than from Kes, who most likely didn't warn him of such possibilities. He'd been taught to expect many things, after giving up his rights in the vow. He's not sure why this is hitting him so hard.
"He didn't... ah."
He meets Poe's eyes, then looks away. He tugs the hem of his shirt down, stretching the fabric in his nerves. Poe values honesty... that's what Owain learned the first night they were together. But he-- he also doesn't know he needs this. Needs lies.
Owain doesn't think he has it in him to lie, so he stays quiet, longer than he should. Only speaking when he feels like if he won't, Poe will get tired and send him away. He's not sure he can say-- everything, but he can say something. Hard as it is.
"We talked... about... my dad. And-- about-- what I can do. For you. And... things like that." He scratches the back of his neck. "I might have made him proud of me... I think. I'm not sure."
Poe was patient. Or, rather, he was utterly impatient but still waiting, his arms crossed and watching Owain carefully.
He twitched, a little, at the mention that part of what they'd talked about is what Owain could do for Poe, and a sudden sick feeling filled him, and he had to look away.
Good boy. That vision - that dream - had been there from far before him. Had been instilled and bred somehow. And he'd taken advantage of it. Stolen Owain away from his home and then not given him even the chance to say goodbye, of course he had yearned for--
The queasiness hit his expression, too, and he tried to pull it under control before he spoke again.
"... I don't... I don't want you doing things for me, Owain. Let alone whatever my dad..."
Poe's expression twists something in his chest. The worry, of someone falling in love with someone else, seeing the person they care about in pain. It overrides.
He can't do this. He can't lie, and he can't tell the truth, either. He can't want, but he can't stifle the wants that have been building since Poe saved him from the house. He wishes he could switch things on and off as easily as Poe can, but it turns out that balancing a lifetime of grooming and a soul-crushing yearning for freedom comes harder than smiling at pretty girls or earning cheers at a pub.
"He was so disappointed in me."
It's a quiet confession, and he's not sure that it's enough. There are other things he could say - that Poe doesn't know what he needs, that Poe's blinded by his wants. The worries that have been growing in him, about the dangers Poe is bringing to himself. The fact that his father's title, the title he inherited, as Pledge, means less to him now than it once did. He could tell Poe what Kes said about-- protection, about how he can do that, he's the only one who can protect Poe, who can save Poe, but--
He's scared, and Kes was disappointed in him, and that's all that matters.
"I don't think I've ever-- disappointed him. Even when I did something wrong, he would just-- explain my mistake. And help me through it. I've never..."
Something twists in him, and he sees Kes's face, and he feels bile in his throat. Disappointed.
"Yeah, well, pretty sure I'm the one who disappointed him first." It's said quietly, almost in a sigh, and Poe watches Oeain's face, as he pleads to drop the subject.
He doesn't want to. He wants to demolish every unknown argument, but the look on Owain's face...
Poe looks miserable, but he holds an arm out, to invite Owain to his side, though he doesn't speak. Doesn't dark voice the invitation, lest it come off like a command.
"Yeah," he murmured quietly. "Yeah, we can stop talking about it."
He takes to Poe's side and he leans into it completely, justifying it all in his head along the way. He hadn't been justifying things before now, he'd just-- done things, guided and confident because of Poe-- and now it's all just--
He wraps his arms tight around his owner, and he wants to ask him to dance again now that they're alone enough for it to be-- better, but it's not his place, and he can't deal with another rejection. He buries his head into Poe's chest and he just breathes, for a while, telling himself that this is fine, because this is what Poe wants, and even if he can't give him everything, he can give him something. It gets worse, as time goes on, and his fingers curl against him and he has to clench his teeth tight enough to hurt to stop from making a noise, because he just keeps seeing Kes.
He doesn't speak, because like Poe, he's scared that whatever he says might come out wrong.
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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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"He didn't... ah."
He meets Poe's eyes, then looks away. He tugs the hem of his shirt down, stretching the fabric in his nerves. Poe values honesty... that's what Owain learned the first night they were together. But he-- he also doesn't know he needs this. Needs lies.
Owain doesn't think he has it in him to lie, so he stays quiet, longer than he should. Only speaking when he feels like if he won't, Poe will get tired and send him away. He's not sure he can say-- everything, but he can say something. Hard as it is.
"We talked... about... my dad. And-- about-- what I can do. For you. And... things like that." He scratches the back of his neck. "I might have made him proud of me... I think. I'm not sure."
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Poe was patient. Or, rather, he was utterly impatient but still waiting, his arms crossed and watching Owain carefully.
He twitched, a little, at the mention that part of what they'd talked about is what Owain could do for Poe, and a sudden sick feeling filled him, and he had to look away.
Good boy. That vision - that dream - had been there from far before him. Had been instilled and bred somehow. And he'd taken advantage of it. Stolen Owain away from his home and then not given him even the chance to say goodbye, of course he had yearned for--
The queasiness hit his expression, too, and he tried to pull it under control before he spoke again.
"... I don't... I don't want you doing things for me, Owain. Let alone whatever my dad..."
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He can't do this. He can't lie, and he can't tell the truth, either. He can't want, but he can't stifle the wants that have been building since Poe saved him from the house. He wishes he could switch things on and off as easily as Poe can, but it turns out that balancing a lifetime of grooming and a soul-crushing yearning for freedom comes harder than smiling at pretty girls or earning cheers at a pub.
"He was so disappointed in me."
It's a quiet confession, and he's not sure that it's enough. There are other things he could say - that Poe doesn't know what he needs, that Poe's blinded by his wants. The worries that have been growing in him, about the dangers Poe is bringing to himself. The fact that his father's title, the title he inherited, as Pledge, means less to him now than it once did. He could tell Poe what Kes said about-- protection, about how he can do that, he's the only one who can protect Poe, who can save Poe, but--
He's scared, and Kes was disappointed in him, and that's all that matters.
"I don't think I've ever-- disappointed him. Even when I did something wrong, he would just-- explain my mistake. And help me through it. I've never..."
Something twists in him, and he sees Kes's face, and he feels bile in his throat. Disappointed.
"Can we stop talking about this?"
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He doesn't want to. He wants to demolish every unknown argument, but the look on Owain's face...
Poe looks miserable, but he holds an arm out, to invite Owain to his side, though he doesn't speak. Doesn't dark voice the invitation, lest it come off like a command.
"Yeah," he murmured quietly. "Yeah, we can stop talking about it."
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Fuck.
He takes to Poe's side and he leans into it completely, justifying it all in his head along the way. He hadn't been justifying things before now, he'd just-- done things, guided and confident because of Poe-- and now it's all just--
He wraps his arms tight around his owner, and he wants to ask him to dance again now that they're alone enough for it to be-- better, but it's not his place, and he can't deal with another rejection. He buries his head into Poe's chest and he just breathes, for a while, telling himself that this is fine, because this is what Poe wants, and even if he can't give him everything, he can give him something. It gets worse, as time goes on, and his fingers curl against him and he has to clench his teeth tight enough to hurt to stop from making a noise, because he just keeps seeing Kes.
He doesn't speak, because like Poe, he's scared that whatever he says might come out wrong.
He's disappointed so many people already.
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