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.
His arm wraps tightly around Owain and he just holds him there, firm and steady, head tilting to lean against Owain. He doesn't say anything. Even though he still wants to argue. A larger portion, now, just wants to silently slip back to where they were before.
He starts acting long before his brain starts thinking about it or rationalizing it. He raises his other hand to his lips, tugging off the bandage with his teeth. The cut finally had scabbed over compeletly, but with a curled finger he picked at the edge of it, until fresh blood slowly began to ooze from the wound again. Then he shifted his position, turning a little in Owain's arms, his still holding him tight. The bleeding hand carefully slipped up under the hem of Owain's night shirt, before pressing down against his chest. The blood wasn't flowing anywhere near as easily as the first time he had cut it, but it still slowly pulsed, seeping, as it marked Owain's skin.
He didn't quite have it in him to repeat his vows, again.
Owain stands there, passive, through the entire gesture. He watches the blood drip down his skin, marking his night things, staining them with Poe like everything else in his life has been. He watches with a distance in his eyes, and a few things stand out - the darkness of the red, the warmth of Poe's blood on his own cold skin. The thought that if Poe is still willing to do this, it shouldn't be hard, to act independent and stay by his side, regardless of how falsified that might be. Poe still wants him, after all.
It's not until Poe is done, almost drawing away, that he breaks.
"He said I could still do good by you."
It's not everything, but it's-- a start, and he owes Poe that. His heart beats faster, against Poe's palm, faster than it has since they left for the ball this evening. The scab scratches at his skin but he doesn't care - he steps forward, wanting more, more blood, more Poe.
"He said - it's my duty to be perfect for you. And that - people are happy, fulfilling their roles, and that you don't understand that. He said - that - your attitude - makes enemies. Enemies. And if-- if anyone can protect you from those enemies, it's me."
He takes a deep breath. Looks at Poe. There are no tears, honestly. Just-- fear. The quaking, all-consuming fear of a boy who is betraying the only father figure he still has, and he knows it, and it hurts.
"I didn't--"
His voice breaks, and his hands find Poe's neck. He holds onto him, meeting his eyes, because he's scared words aren't enough, Poe needs to see him, see how scared he is, how hard this is--
"I didn't-- protect my dad, or my mom-- and they died, and I know I was only little, but I should have done more, I could have-- I could have found a way to die instead, so they'd still be-- I should have died, and they should have been the ones to still be here, but I just hid and I watched because I'm a coward and I shouldn't-- I shouldn't be here, they should be, they were perfect and I'm-- I'm nothing, I can't do anything-- but I can protect you, I can protect you, I was trained to protect you, that's all that matters, I need to just-- protect you, I can't--"
His palm stings, but it's a distant pain- a low thob as his pulse ensures that he continues to mark Owain's chest. He goes to draw his hand away and Owain pressed into it, causing Poe's breath to come back even though he didn't realise he was holding it.
"... Owain--" he starts, but the words are still a jumble in his head. His fingers curl against Owain's chest.
"I should have been here," he finally says, quietly. "I could have protected them. I could have done something. You were a kid, there's -- there's nothing you could have done, other than gotten yourself killed. And your parents... How much worse would it have been, for them, to have you fall at their side, too?"
His hand drops, a few inches, though his knuckles still lay softly against Owain's tummy.
"I don't... It's not your job to protect me, Owain. It's not the sum of your worth. But I'm not... Going to stop you. Because I'm going to protect you, too. I made a vow that I would. We'll take care of each other, okay? That's not-- that's not something I'm going to let be decreed to me through a- through a system. But through a choice. Because my life would be lesser, without you in it."
Owain gets what Poe's trying to say, but the thought of him being there-- of dying too-- where would that leave him? Would Kes have bothered taking him in, if Poe hadn't been in the picture? He was only eight, maybe even seven years old when it happened, he would have been alone, he would have--
"They would've been proud of me if I'd died with them."
Is that how he feels? The words come out of him before he can think them through and they gave him a splitting headache. He's never afforded himself these kinds of thoughts, these kinds of memories, but everything going on has just been so much and he just--
He lowers his head and pulls himself closer to Poe, nudging into him, a hug without arms. He wants to protect Poe. He wants to be protected by Poe. But he's fucking tired, and he can't think straight, and every time he's secure in something someone makes him second guess it, and he just-- wants to be ordered. Told how to feel so things are okay.
"I don't want your dad to be disappointed in me. I don't know-- how to have worth-- without him being disappointed in me. If you try to take care of me beyond just-- pledge stuff-- he's going to be disappointed in me."
He shuts his eyes.
"My life would be lesser without you. Much lesser than yours would be without me. You're all I have."
"Your parents would have been heartbroken, Owain." I would have been heartbroken. "But my dad is-- he'll get it. One day. He's a good man, he's just... He just doesn't see the- the harm, that he's perpetuating. But he'll come around, and we'll prove it to him, and he'll be proud of both of us."
He sighs, pressing his face into Owain's hair.
"... I'll give you more than that. Somehow. More than just me."
He peels back, if only for a moment, and-- the way Owain looks at Poe--
He doesn't believe him. He doesn't think Poe's lying, or even wrong. Owain's just-- uncertain. With everything that happened tonight, with the way Kes so easily made his foundations shake and crumble, it's hard for him to imagine any kind of scenario where Kes will be proud of him after he deviates to live his own life. He's not allowed to live his life. He's not allowed to have more than Poe.
But he leans back in. Even this is a good sign. Owain's doing more than just genuflecting and acting in servitude. He has the freedom, however small, to have his own thoughts and express them. Better than it was at the ball, at least.
He closes his eyes and tries to think everything through, but words are hard, and even he has a limit. Except-- wait, something important. He mumbles this as quietly as he can into Poe's shoulder.
Owain wants to say I'm here now, but the thought doesn't really leave him. His insides twists with guilt, and he pulls back from Poe. He raises his hand to rest it against the blood on his chest, and he just-- locks everything out, for a moment. Thinking.
Every time he tries to move forward from this, either by apologizing or vowing to put Kes aside or to choose Poe over everything else in his life, he feels that shame of Kes's disappointment crawling down his spine again and loses his voice.
"Just..."
He drops his hand away. Sits on the edge of the bed, bloodied fingers in fresh sheets.
"Tell me what to do." He looks down. "Not-- as a Pledge. Just-- as a-- whatever it is you became to me over these past few days. I don't know what to do anymore."
"... Not sure anyone could tell you that, Owain." He didn't move from where he was, though he looked back down at his hand, the blood already starting to congeal over where the old scab had been.
"Gods knows I certainly can't. I don't know what we are." He frowned, still staring into his palm as if it would provide answers.
And then he stilled, frowning.
"This isn't... an order, Owain, it's a suggestion, but... maybe it would help if you just -- wrote for a little while. In your journal."
Again, the uncertainty is - hard, but it's better. He's always been drawn to labelling things, categorizing them, putting everything in boxes, but how much of that is him and how much of it is his training? Has his need for a purpose been bred into him like so many other traits? A part of him by design, so he'll be the perfect Pledge?
Owain takes a breath and nods. He doesn't know what they are. That's fine. That's fine, for now.
"Maybe there isn't-- a word for what we are? Not yet." He eyes Poe a little nervously. "Just - I don't know. You're a lot. To me. And I'm fucking up, all the time, especially today, but it's-- a lot. What we are. I don't know."
He lingers over Poe for a second, and then finds his journal. He doesn't know what he wants to write, but he writes-- a lot. It turns into a letter, nebulously written to Lon'qu, and it's long and it's winding and he's silent the whole time, but it helps, getting everything down. His feelings for Poe, and how he doesn't know what they are, only that they feel more real than anything else he's felt. His fear that he's not good enough, in every aspect of his life - for Poe, for Kes, for his parents memory.
He ends it with a quiet note that he just wants to be - happy. And that Poe makes him happy. And that that's what he has to remember, despite all the guilt and the shame, because if Poe allows him that, allows him his freedom and his agency and helps him find the person he is under the societal shackles he's been put into, it must mean more than his duty, or more than his station, or more than-- most things. Most things. All things, maybe.
Poe had watched him for a moment, and then left him to it - fetched another clean basin of water, cleaned the wound in his hand so that it wouldn't get infected, then carefully re-bandaged it. He'd paused for a few minutes - out of sight behind Owain - to look at the other journal that they'd gotten at the same time, running his fingers over the cover. But he didn't pick it up. Instead he pulled out his sword and started running through his routine for cleaning it - which he hadn't done in a few days.
That was what he was doing when Owain came back and held out the journal.
He took it, slowly, but his eyes were on Owain rather than the book, an eyebrow raised.
"... I don't have to read it, Owain. I wasn't - I meant it as something for you. But I will, if you want me to."
Owain makes no motion to take the journal back from Poe. The only time he looks away from him, in fact, is to take a quick glance at his sword - he loves weapon maintenance, it keeps him calm and steady, and he thinks of his father's sword tucked away with the rest of his things. Maybe he should do something with that, later tonight.
"Just - the last part. If nothing else. I don't know how to put my feelings-- sometimes-- when I don't write them down. But it makes sense, I think? Of-- things."
There's a part of him that just wants Poe's approval, to think the way that he does. To find happiness in Poe and in himself through Poe and take hold of that. There's a bigger part of him that just wants to share those feelings. His feelings.
"Kes--" He bites down, gets through it. "Kes was unhappy-- when I first said-- I wanted to be his friend. Instead of his son's pledge. And then by the end of things-- I asked him if I could write to him as a friend, after I said I would do better by you? And he said it would be appropriate. Like that. After that."
He looks at Poe, uncertain. He's not sure what he's asking for, or why he's sharing this, he just-- doesn't know how he feels.
"Alright," He says, pulling the book into his lap and setting the sword on the table. He flickers over the page for half a second before Owain speaks again, and he looked back up.
Sighed.
"You can tell him whatever you want, in your letters," Poe said, with almost a shrug, but not quite. "Maybe he figures that would make at least one of us, keeping in touch." It was almost muttered. "But you can write whoever you want, Owain. Even my dad. Though uh - maybe - keep some of the things between us... between us."
He ducks his head to the page and starts to read - from where Owain mentioned - his brow furrowing in concentration and his lips slightly moving as he mouthed the words as he read. When he finished he kept looking at the page for a while, considering, though he reached out blindly just to gently take the tips of Owain's fingers into his hand.
"We'll figure it out," he said, finally, closing the book and looking back up. He didn't want to be the be-all and end-all of Owain's world, but at the same time... This was a million times better than the way Owain had looked at him, after talking to Kes. He gave Owain's fingers a squeeze.
"I know. I'm not asking for permission to write to him. And I won't tell him about, like, the-- yeah." He digs his hands into his side, feeling stiff and nervous and unaware of where to look. "Just-- it feels weird? That I can only be his friend if I'm obedient to you. He raised me, I love him, it's--"
He hasn't quite fully formed the idea that all he is to Kes is, primarily, a tool, something designed for Poe's protection. He's a treasured tool, taken care of and protected, a weapon lovingly polished for his entire life, and he's aware of that on some level, but it's - hard, to relate those feelings to wanting to be more than that to Kes. Wanting to be more than that to everyone.
Fuck.
He'll find his own feet, when everything is said and done. For now, letting Poe help him find his individuality - relying on that - it's the only way he's going to change. He lets Poe take his fingertips and he kneels down, crouching beside where Poe is sitting and closing their hands together. He kisses his ring finger, for the second time that night, but it means more, maybe. Not a goodbye, this time. Hello again, my Captain.
"I really, ah--"
He runs his thumb over Poe's fingers, looking up at him from slightly below.
"I know things are getting complicated-- but being with you means the world to me. If you can be patient with me-- especially if something like this happens again-- I'd-- love you. For that."
"He has an idea in his head of what you are, and won't divert from it. He likes things to have a use, and a purpose, and doesn't deal well when they don't. Hell, you should have seen it when he was trying to marry me off. Wouldn't talk to me for days, if I got lippy." He paused, sighed. "It doesn't mean he doesn't love you. Or me. He's just... Like that."
He squeezed Owain's fingers gently, but frown slightly at the... Offer? Thought?
"I'm not gonna abandon you now. But you don't need to -- offer it to me, like that. As if it's a trade."
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no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
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..."
no subject
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?"
no 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."
no subject
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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He starts acting long before his brain starts thinking about it or rationalizing it. He raises his other hand to his lips, tugging off the bandage with his teeth. The cut finally had scabbed over compeletly, but with a curled finger he picked at the edge of it, until fresh blood slowly began to ooze from the wound again. Then he shifted his position, turning a little in Owain's arms, his still holding him tight. The bleeding hand carefully slipped up under the hem of Owain's night shirt, before pressing down against his chest. The blood wasn't flowing anywhere near as easily as the first time he had cut it, but it still slowly pulsed, seeping, as it marked Owain's skin.
He didn't quite have it in him to repeat his vows, again.
He just hoped the reminder was enough.
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It's not until Poe is done, almost drawing away, that he breaks.
"He said I could still do good by you."
It's not everything, but it's-- a start, and he owes Poe that. His heart beats faster, against Poe's palm, faster than it has since they left for the ball this evening. The scab scratches at his skin but he doesn't care - he steps forward, wanting more, more blood, more Poe.
"He said - it's my duty to be perfect for you. And that - people are happy, fulfilling their roles, and that you don't understand that. He said - that - your attitude - makes enemies. Enemies. And if-- if anyone can protect you from those enemies, it's me."
He takes a deep breath. Looks at Poe. There are no tears, honestly. Just-- fear. The quaking, all-consuming fear of a boy who is betraying the only father figure he still has, and he knows it, and it hurts.
"I didn't--"
His voice breaks, and his hands find Poe's neck. He holds onto him, meeting his eyes, because he's scared words aren't enough, Poe needs to see him, see how scared he is, how hard this is--
"I didn't-- protect my dad, or my mom-- and they died, and I know I was only little, but I should have done more, I could have-- I could have found a way to die instead, so they'd still be-- I should have died, and they should have been the ones to still be here, but I just hid and I watched because I'm a coward and I shouldn't-- I shouldn't be here, they should be, they were perfect and I'm-- I'm nothing, I can't do anything-- but I can protect you, I can protect you, I was trained to protect you, that's all that matters, I need to just-- protect you, I can't--"
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"... Owain--" he starts, but the words are still a jumble in his head. His fingers curl against Owain's chest.
"I should have been here," he finally says, quietly. "I could have protected them. I could have done something. You were a kid, there's -- there's nothing you could have done, other than gotten yourself killed. And your parents... How much worse would it have been, for them, to have you fall at their side, too?"
His hand drops, a few inches, though his knuckles still lay softly against Owain's tummy.
"I don't... It's not your job to protect me, Owain. It's not the sum of your worth. But I'm not... Going to stop you. Because I'm going to protect you, too. I made a vow that I would. We'll take care of each other, okay? That's not-- that's not something I'm going to let be decreed to me through a- through a system. But through a choice. Because my life would be lesser, without you in it."
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"They would've been proud of me if I'd died with them."
Is that how he feels? The words come out of him before he can think them through and they gave him a splitting headache. He's never afforded himself these kinds of thoughts, these kinds of memories, but everything going on has just been so much and he just--
He lowers his head and pulls himself closer to Poe, nudging into him, a hug without arms. He wants to protect Poe. He wants to be protected by Poe. But he's fucking tired, and he can't think straight, and every time he's secure in something someone makes him second guess it, and he just-- wants to be ordered. Told how to feel so things are okay.
"I don't want your dad to be disappointed in me. I don't know-- how to have worth-- without him being disappointed in me. If you try to take care of me beyond just-- pledge stuff-- he's going to be disappointed in me."
He shuts his eyes.
"My life would be lesser without you. Much lesser than yours would be without me. You're all I have."
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He doesn't know how to explain better than that.
"Your parents would have been heartbroken, Owain." I would have been heartbroken. "But my dad is-- he'll get it. One day. He's a good man, he's just... He just doesn't see the- the harm, that he's perpetuating. But he'll come around, and we'll prove it to him, and he'll be proud of both of us."
He sighs, pressing his face into Owain's hair.
"... I'll give you more than that. Somehow. More than just me."
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He doesn't believe him. He doesn't think Poe's lying, or even wrong. Owain's just-- uncertain. With everything that happened tonight, with the way Kes so easily made his foundations shake and crumble, it's hard for him to imagine any kind of scenario where Kes will be proud of him after he deviates to live his own life. He's not allowed to live his life. He's not allowed to have more than Poe.
But he leans back in. Even this is a good sign. Owain's doing more than just genuflecting and acting in servitude. He has the freedom, however small, to have his own thoughts and express them. Better than it was at the ball, at least.
He closes his eyes and tries to think everything through, but words are hard, and even he has a limit. Except-- wait, something important. He mumbles this as quietly as he can into Poe's shoulder.
"You didn't want to dance with me."
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The reply is a murmur, sighed into Owain's hair.
"You just... weren't actually there."
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Every time he tries to move forward from this, either by apologizing or vowing to put Kes aside or to choose Poe over everything else in his life, he feels that shame of Kes's disappointment crawling down his spine again and loses his voice.
"Just..."
He drops his hand away. Sits on the edge of the bed, bloodied fingers in fresh sheets.
"Tell me what to do." He looks down. "Not-- as a Pledge. Just-- as a-- whatever it is you became to me over these past few days. I don't know what to do anymore."
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"Gods knows I certainly can't. I don't know what we are." He frowned, still staring into his palm as if it would provide answers.
And then he stilled, frowning.
"This isn't... an order, Owain, it's a suggestion, but... maybe it would help if you just -- wrote for a little while. In your journal."
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Owain takes a breath and nods. He doesn't know what they are. That's fine. That's fine, for now.
"Maybe there isn't-- a word for what we are? Not yet." He eyes Poe a little nervously. "Just - I don't know. You're a lot. To me. And I'm fucking up, all the time, especially today, but it's-- a lot. What we are. I don't know."
He lingers over Poe for a second, and then finds his journal. He doesn't know what he wants to write, but he writes-- a lot. It turns into a letter, nebulously written to Lon'qu, and it's long and it's winding and he's silent the whole time, but it helps, getting everything down. His feelings for Poe, and how he doesn't know what they are, only that they feel more real than anything else he's felt. His fear that he's not good enough, in every aspect of his life - for Poe, for Kes, for his parents memory.
He ends it with a quiet note that he just wants to be - happy. And that Poe makes him happy. And that that's what he has to remember, despite all the guilt and the shame, because if Poe allows him that, allows him his freedom and his agency and helps him find the person he is under the societal shackles he's been put into, it must mean more than his duty, or more than his station, or more than-- most things. Most things. All things, maybe.
He hands it to Poe to read.
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That was what he was doing when Owain came back and held out the journal.
He took it, slowly, but his eyes were on Owain rather than the book, an eyebrow raised.
"... I don't have to read it, Owain. I wasn't - I meant it as something for you. But I will, if you want me to."
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"Just - the last part. If nothing else. I don't know how to put my feelings-- sometimes-- when I don't write them down. But it makes sense, I think? Of-- things."
There's a part of him that just wants Poe's approval, to think the way that he does. To find happiness in Poe and in himself through Poe and take hold of that. There's a bigger part of him that just wants to share those feelings. His feelings.
"Kes--" He bites down, gets through it. "Kes was unhappy-- when I first said-- I wanted to be his friend. Instead of his son's pledge. And then by the end of things-- I asked him if I could write to him as a friend, after I said I would do better by you? And he said it would be appropriate. Like that. After that."
He looks at Poe, uncertain. He's not sure what he's asking for, or why he's sharing this, he just-- doesn't know how he feels.
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Sighed.
"You can tell him whatever you want, in your letters," Poe said, with almost a shrug, but not quite. "Maybe he figures that would make at least one of us, keeping in touch." It was almost muttered. "But you can write whoever you want, Owain. Even my dad. Though uh - maybe - keep some of the things between us... between us."
He ducks his head to the page and starts to read - from where Owain mentioned - his brow furrowing in concentration and his lips slightly moving as he mouthed the words as he read. When he finished he kept looking at the page for a while, considering, though he reached out blindly just to gently take the tips of Owain's fingers into his hand.
"We'll figure it out," he said, finally, closing the book and looking back up. He didn't want to be the be-all and end-all of Owain's world, but at the same time... This was a million times better than the way Owain had looked at him, after talking to Kes. He gave Owain's fingers a squeeze.
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He hasn't quite fully formed the idea that all he is to Kes is, primarily, a tool, something designed for Poe's protection. He's a treasured tool, taken care of and protected, a weapon lovingly polished for his entire life, and he's aware of that on some level, but it's - hard, to relate those feelings to wanting to be more than that to Kes. Wanting to be more than that to everyone.
Fuck.
He'll find his own feet, when everything is said and done. For now, letting Poe help him find his individuality - relying on that - it's the only way he's going to change. He lets Poe take his fingertips and he kneels down, crouching beside where Poe is sitting and closing their hands together. He kisses his ring finger, for the second time that night, but it means more, maybe. Not a goodbye, this time. Hello again, my Captain.
"I really, ah--"
He runs his thumb over Poe's fingers, looking up at him from slightly below.
"I know things are getting complicated-- but being with you means the world to me. If you can be patient with me-- especially if something like this happens again-- I'd-- love you. For that."
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He squeezed Owain's fingers gently, but frown slightly at the... Offer? Thought?
"I'm not gonna abandon you now. But you don't need to -- offer it to me, like that. As if it's a trade."
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