flightforfreedom | MoM IC Inbox

i am never going to have what you and peter have
this is a burden i will just learn to live with

my teeth will probably thank me, though

hahaha alright
i promise not to murder everyone
most of the time it's just my fridge complaining about how no one cleans it out, so

it's not particularly incredible chatter

[There's a pause, before he continues. He writes: you're a good man, owain, but catches it before he sends it.

he isn't sure why he feels that way, but he's pretty sure he's not allowed to use that name, anymore]

you're a good man, odin

but i am barely home for more than twenty minutes, these days
it would be cold and probably soggy before i even got to eat it

[There's another pause, and then:]

even just talking to you does a lot
so don't worry.

That's probably for the best, yeah. I'd get super jealous if you and Peter ended up slapping each other and playing gay chicken like we do.

[ He has other things to reply to - he wants to yell at Poe about how he used to eat charred bear meat and he never complain, so the dumb stupid pilot with his dumb stupid hair could deal with some slightly cold curry or something - but fuck. You're a good man, Odin.

He knows why this is happening. He knows this is how things have to be. "Owain" has always been a name he only shares with those he's closest to, and Poe calling him Odin here, privately, when up until now it's been-- just, he gets it. He gets what Poe's doing. He helped throw the dirt in that grave, when he himself tried so hard to bury Owain after that first mixtape.

He gets that he should let this happen. He gets that asking to be called Owain again is a dangerous step - like he's closing something between them that shouldn't be closed, opening himself up to that same hopeful vulnerability he had when he thought maybe they could be together one day. He's said, over and over and over again, that Poe's the one to determine the distance between them, and that he has to respect that. He gets that this is Poe's attempt at establishing some kind of boundary.

He gets it, but-- ]

Not Owain?

[The stupid smile he'd been harbouring by himself, sitting with his communicator in the dark, slid off of his face, a pit opening up in his chest.

He can't reply right away, unsure how to, just staring at the communicator until the screen shuts off from being out of use. He swipes the screen again to bring it back. Dammit.

Give him space, Poe Dameron. Don't lead him on, Poe Dameron. Don't go near him, don't look at him, don't talk to him, just let him rest and recover, Poe Dameron.

He'd never been very good at following orders he didn't fully believe in.]

i thought i'd lost that priviledge

[ the next message comes so, so much faster than any of the others odin's sent. he types it out without thinking, hammering it into his communicator without giving himself to think about why he shouldn't. ]

I want to be someone to you.

Edited (WAIT I MADE IT WORSE) 2017-12-11 00:27 (UTC)

[He doesn't know how to reply to that. The hole in his chest just widens, clawing at the inside of his rib cage and dragging anything that it caught down into it's gaping maw. Swallowing him up from the inside out.

He writes four things, and deletes them. Writes another. Deletes that. He literally doesn't know how to respond to this, and the minutes are dragging on.

Finally he just gives up.

He is almost definitely 100% making this worse but everything else he could think of saying was either a lie or completely deflecting and ignoring the question]

you are, owain.

just trying to figure this out

[ another line from Poe he can read into a thousand different ways, all of which hurt harder than the last. he looks out the window of fauxhalla, watching the birds fly over the trees and thinks of little inconsequential things like what magnus is going to cook for dinner that night or what peter's doing with his girlfriend right now.

he's getting better at not obsessing over every little word poe says, if only slightly. maybe he really is capable of letting go, some day.

probably not, though. ]

I'll stop saying things like that. I promise. Still gonna make you something to eat, though.

i will eat it dutifully

[He doesn't say anything about the rest. He can't. He doesn't trust himself to do it.]

[ takes that as a silent "yeah, that'd be good" and feels sand in his stomach for pushing things. he types "you can call me odin if you really want", but can't bring himself to send it. just dwells in his regret with his thumb hovering over send for about fifteen minutes. ]

I should probably let you go check on your friend. I'll be here - if you need to talk.

yeah. not really something I'm relishing but

thanks

I'll see you soon

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