You thanked the saints that you didn't have training the next morning. By the amount your head was throbbing, you could accurately say that you were hungover as hell. If you thought you were bad, you didn't even want to think about how Poe would be.
When you woke up, you found yourself staring at the ceiling. You tilted your head to the left, looking at your bunk above you, and then to the right—where Dameron was sound asleep on the floor next to you. He was curled towards you, one of his hands resting on your belly accidently.
You'd watched Dameron sleep a lot; not intentionally, it'd just happened whenever you woke up before him; and he looked the same as he always did in the light of the morning. Hair tussled, jaw slack, eyes closed and showcasing his annoyingly long eyelashes. His stubble had basically grown back overnight; you had to kick away the urge to swipe your knuckle across his chin to feel the spikiness of it.
After your dance together the night before, you'd stayed up talking. The sun was coming up by the time both of you had picked a place on the floor and closed your eyes. You hadn't expected it to be that easy—to talk with someone for hours on end about random, bullshit things. To joke and laugh and enjoy someone's company as much as you enjoyed that of Poe's.
And everything else—Poe. You'd asked to call him by his first name. Maker, why had you done that? Why? You inwardly cringed at yourself as you traversed your gaze over the pilot's face. He must have thought you to be crazy, or overdramatic, or anything but strong.
Please do, he'd said. Was that what he truly meant? Or did he just not know what to say?
He stirred then, pulling you out of your thoughts. Your body buzzed when you realised you'd been gawking. You looked away before he opened his eyes to see you staring.
"Mfhm... Morning," he said. You looked at him then, as his eyes adjusted to the daylight.
"Morning," you replied. Poe winced as he raised himself onto his elbow, bringing a hand to his forehead.
"Fuck— I feel like shit," he complained. You allowed yourself a small scoff, but even doing that made your head pound in response. "Did we... sleep on the floor?" he asked, and all of a sudden your heart dropped.
Did he remember last night at all?
"Don't you remember last night?" you asked him, sliding up to a sitting position. You peered down at him with knitted brows, hoping to saints that he'd say he remembered.
Poe looked up at you with a similar expression, but his eyes looked huge like this. Like a puppy dog, or a kitten, something you could hold in your palm as it shook from fear. He looked at you like he didn't want to let you down.
"I remember everything, Ten. Promise," he reassured you, sending you a soft smile after. You sent one back, as your heart rate slowly began to dip into normal territory once more.
"Coffee?" you questioned. Poe was nodding already.
"Coffee," he agreed.
While pretty boy stayed in the dorm, you headed to the mess hall. The walk was welcomed, but your entire body was aching to oblivion. The mood on base was particularly low today; no doubt because of the many hangovers that others were also suffering.
You got two coffees to go, strolling back through the mess hall and trying not to draw so much attention to yourself after the game of truth or dare the night prior. Of course, that all fell through—
As soon as Heidi saw you.
"Black-Ten!" she yelled, jumping up onto a table with no remorse. You stopped abruptly, almost dropping your coffees on the floor. All eyes landed on you or her, flicking between your two opposing forces. You were scowling; she was beaming.
"Get off the fucking table, Jones. You'll break your leg," you replied sternly, but there was something you adored about Heidi; something that grew with every interaction and chat and flight together.
"What happened last night, hm?" she asked, way too casually for the amount of smiles that had started to wind round the hall. Ever since Ale'sha's reign of terror stopped, you didn't care what anything thought of you and Poe anymore. They could think what they wanted to; only he and you would know the truth.
"Besides you and McKinnon sharing salvia?" you said in response, prompting a mass oooo to descend upon Jones suddenly. Heidi only smiled, as if this kind of confrontation only fuelled her further.
"Is that second coffee for a certain pilot?" she changed the subject quickly, jumping from the tabletop and strolling towards you. You rolled your eyes at her, keeping hold of both hot drinks.
"Who else would it be for?" you replied. Heidi shrugged.
"Fair enough, I was just playing anyway," she shot you a playful grin.
"Uhuh," you said, disapprovingly. Heidi approached you then and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, leading the both of you out of the mess hall. "You seem in a good mood this morning. How are you alive after the amount of alcohol you consumed?"
"It's fun being me. I don't get hangovers," she boasted.
"That's bullshit. What are you on? Spice?" you said, astounded. You were still nursing a killer headache. Dameron was almost dead. Heidi only laughed at your pain.
"I wish," she admitted. "How's Dameron this morning?" she asked, as the two of you turned the corner and out of the hall.
"Come and see for yourself. He's a big baby at heart," you let out an affectionate scoff, not realising the side-eye that Heidi was giving you. You'd almost forgot about her drunk behaviour last night, as if she was in favour of you and Dameron hooking up.
You decided not to dwell on it, until you were ready to fully ask her what her deal was. Was she doing this off her own accord? Or was she helping Dameron?
And Maker... did he actually fucking like you? Or just want to sleep with you?
You were close to saying fuck it and just asking, but there was still that part of you that was holding back. The same part that made you check yourself around your new company, the same part that fired Ronan's face into your mind's eye as some kind of punishment for getting too close to someone else.
You didn't want that anymore.
You wanted to call him by his first name and hold his hand and know that it was okay to do so. You wanted to hug him after missions and accept his praise and enjoy your beers together.
Why was it so hard to say that out loud, though?
The two of you rounded the corner to the dorms, stopping outside your room. You punched the panel with your elbow and the door wooshed open. You immediately smiled at what met your eyes—
Dameron was still on the floor, curled up like a baby and partially covering himself with the blanket he'd managed to grab from your bed. He groaned to himself, clutching his painful head with his eyes clamped shut.
"Don't turn on the lights," he demanded. You and Heidi entered the room, shutting the door behind you both.
"Don't worry, pretty boy. Your coffee is here," you said, amused. He stirred on the floor, groaning as he rolled to look at you. He blinked up at you, sending you a small smile, before noticing Heidi on your right. "Oh, for fucks sake. Get her outta here,"
"I'm crushed, Poe. I thought I was one of your favourites," Heidi pouted melodramatically.
"Not when I'm hungover," he let out. You descended to the floor, crossing your legs and smiling at the pilot. He stuck his hand out to you slowly, to which you gently placed the coffee cup in his palm. "Thank you," he said gratefully.
"You're welcome," you replied.
Heidi, on the other hand, scoffed. "Since when were you guys nice to each other? Maybe you did fuck last night—,"
"Oh, get out of here!" Poe.
"Fuck off, Jones!" you.
Heidi raised her hands in defeat and left for the door immediately. "Enjoy your lazy day, kids. I have spare condoms if you need—,"
You threw the closest thing on the floor at her, which just happened to be a pair of Dameron's boxers. "Get the fuck out!" you yelled, but you were laughing at the same time. So was Heidi, as she dipped beneath the rising door and closed it from the panel on the other side.
When it was silent, Poe smirked at you. "Bold of her to think I don't have a stash of condoms in this room,"
"Oh Maker, shut the hell up," you replied, but once again it was littered with giggles that you couldn't seem to shake.
It was a blissful morning. One that sat well in your gut and made you feel warm, appreciated, perhaps even loved. Poe soon perked up, hoisting himself off the floor only to flop onto your bunk. You scolded him, but all he did was shoot you a look.
You moved yourself to his bunk in return, dropping onto his bed and raising your brows at him in conflict. He didn't care—maybe he even wanted you to sit on his bed.
"So," he began, but something about the way he said it made your heart catapult into your stomach. It sounded serious. You didn't like serious. "Are we going to talk about last night?"
Your heart dropped into your gut immediately. Maybe you were new to all this—opening up and talking and being friends with someone—but you didn't think this much talking was to be involved. Surly you'd both sorted everything out last night?
"Why would we need to do that?" you questioned, tapping your cup to try and expel your anxiety. Poe sat up on your bunk, dropping his bare feet to the floor and leaning forward. He only had eyes for you, right here, right now; but you couldn't look into his.
"We were both drunk last night, Ten," he replied.
"So?" you hit back with, the smallest bit of anger and discomfort laced within your voice. Maker, it was too hard to make the thoughts in your head into coherent words that you could speak. It was too hard to be soppy and emotional when you'd been so cut off from it for years.
"So," Poe began. "I want to make sure we're on the same page,"
That's when you furrowed your brows angrily, looking towards him sternly.
"On the same page about what, Dameron?" his last name slipped out from habit, but you saw the way his face dropped then.
"I thought you wanted to call me Poe in here," he said, the tiniest hint of sadness laced within his voice. "Why do I get the sense you're angry that I'm trying to communicate with you?"
"I'm not angry," you said, angrily. Poe scoffed.
"Yeah, you are,"
"No, I'm not," you replied instantly. It was a full blown back and forth. You were bickering. Poe's jaw dropped open in subtle shock, but it soon turned into a frustrated smile. His eyes glinted with red. He was annoyed at your behaviour.
"Have I done something, Ten? Have I pissed you off?"
"N-no," you replied, but even you didn't know why you were getting so fucking worked up about a simple conversation. Poe was trying to reassure you with this, make sure everything was fine and working normally. But inside—
You were battling against the vulnerability that you'd shared with him las night. You were battling with how embarrassed and weak and childish you felt for what you'd said, even though you'd wanted to at that time. It wasn't that you didn't want to call him Poe—you did, Maker, you did.
But now that the booze had faded from your system and you'd woken up next to him and you'd remembered the closeness of the night before—
You felt sick.
"So, talk to me," Poe pleaded. "Last night was so... good. It was fucking great, actually. I thought something was..."
"Something was what, Dameron?" you spat.
"See! You just did it again—called me Dameron in here," he let out, whining slightly. He stood abruptly, steadying himself on the middle rung of the ladder up to the top of your bunk. "I don't know what you want, Ten. And you won't fucking tell me,"
"I told you—I told you—," you yelled in response, but Poe just shook his head.
"You don't even know what you want, huh?" he bit his bottom lip. "I know I come across as uncaring and unbothered and all of that, but that doesn't mean I don't have feelings, Ten,"
"I never said that—,"
"No, but you're slapping me around like a punching bag. Just when I think we're fine, something happens and we're in a fight again. I'm just trying to be there for you—," you stood abruptly, approaching him quickly.
"And I've told you fucking everything! I told you about Ronan, that took a lot for me to do. I told you last night that I wanted to— I wanted to—,"
"Call me Poe?" he butted in. You stopped, swallowing back bile. "You haven't called me Poe at all this morning, Ten. All you've done is get mad at me for wanting to understand what's going on in that fucking brain of yours,"
That shut you up. He was right. Maker, he was fucking right. When you looked into his eyes now, they weren't shining like they normally did. His cheeks were sunken, his lips a straight line. It was the lowest you'd ever seen him—no smile or gleam in his eye or the essence that made him Poe Dameron.
You could have stopped there. You could have softened up and apologised and told him how you truly felt. Told him you were scared and hated feeling weak. Told him that you valued him more than anyone else on this Maker forsaken base. But you didn't—
You didn't.
"Why is Jones trying to set us up?" the question sprouted from nowhere. Poe's face flinched.
"What?" he said, seething.
"Last night, she stirred the pot. She made it—more difficult—,"
"You're getting mad at me for talking to Heidi about my feelings now, huh?" Poe snapped. Your eyes widened.
"What? Of course, not!"
"You're really fucking insinuating it, Ten. What, you're mad that I tell Heidi things that I want to get off my chest? You're mad that, yeah, maybe I speak about you sometimes. You're a pain in my fucking ass, Ten. I can't work you out on my own, so I went to my friend for some help, some back up, Maker for-fucking-bid," he was angry, frustrated, upset. You could see it all as clear as day on his pretty boy face.
"So, you do talk about me," you muttered lowly. You scowled at the ground.
"Yeah, I do. Because whenever I try to talk about you with you, you shut me out. Heidi is the only person I can talk to about you, Ten," Poe downed his coffee in one then, throwing the cup into the small bin by the door.
He looked at you then, all scowls and frowns and sadness. You felt like you were about to vomit every time his eyes skimmed over your lips, even if it was unintentional.
"I'm getting some air," Poe announced bluntly, as he stormed past you and whacked the panel by the door.
When the door wooshed down again, you were alone. It was dark and quiet, and you could just about hear the smack of his boots turning the corner of the corridor.
Maker, why did you make me this way?
The last thing you ever wanted was to annoy him, upset him, frustrate him, but you'd done just that. You were a closed book, juggling through your emotions and feelings and stringing him along for the good and the bad; it wasn't fucking fair.
You shuffled back to his bunk, sitting down on his mattress just to stare at the wall in front of you. Fighting wasn't your style. You hated conflict, you hated confrontation. You hated that you'd made him feel like this.
Poe fucking Dameron had been nothing but good to you since you'd first arrived. He'd welcomed you, been nothing but himself around you, indulged in you—enjoyed being around you.
Why couldn't you return the favour?
You dipped your head into your hands, trying to calm yourself down. As well as the hangover making you feel like shit, you were on edge about tomorrow. Tomorrow, you were flying. The whole squadron was. A scheduled ambush to some First Order ships spotted a few planets away from D'Qar—
It was nerve-wracking, it was dangerous, and you didn't even want to think about the possibility of casualties.
The world was against you today, mentally and physically. Slowly, you rose from Poe's bunk, descending back to the floor and wrapping yourself in the blanket that Poe had taken from your bunk.
Sleep took you as soon as you shut your eyes.
You woke to the familiar sound of the door wooshing up. You squinted into the light, seeing his silhouette against the light of day. Had he always been that tall? With those board shoulders?
"Hey," he said, strolling into the dorm. You stirred on the floor, propping yourself up on your elbows.
"What time is it?" you croaked out.
"Evening," he replied. "I didn't mean to wake you,"
"It's okay, I didn't mean to fall asleep," you reassured him.
There was tension between you. Thick and metallic, floating through the air between you both. Something was prodding you to just suck it up and apologise immediately, but your brain was still catching up with your heart.
Poe walked to his bed, tugging his jacket from the top bunk and slipping it on quietly. He went back a second time to grab his towel. You stayed on the floor, rubbing your palm over your sleepy eyes. You saw stars when you pulled your hand away, blinking a few times to make them dissolve.
"Fancy a beer?" Poe suggested. Your heart strings tugged uncomfortably.
"We're flying tomorrow," you replied coarsely. Poe shrugged.
"One won't hurt," he persisted. All you could do was look up at him, giving him the most apologetic stare you could muster.
"I'll pass this time," you landed on. The light drained from his eyes.
"Are you okay?" he swallowed. You looked to the floor painfully.
"Yeah, I'm fine," it was awkward. There was so much that he wanted to talk to you about, you could sense it. There was so much that he wanted you to say, to instigate, to bring up willingly. It was tearing him apart.
"So, we're still not going to talk about this, huh?" he said, but it was a rhetorical question. He already knew your answer. You clamped your eyes shut, feeling the icy knife that had just stabbed through your heart with his words.
"I... can't right now," you choked out. Poe swivelled on his heels, nodding to himself. He'd given up. You'd made him give up.
"Okay," he said finally, trudging back to the open door. He stopped himself by the outside panel, looking back at you sadly. "If you need me, I'll be in the mess hall with Heidi and Lynx," he added. You nodded, swallowing dryly.
"Thank you,"
He was gone in a flash, as if he'd never stepped foot in the room again. The door wooshed down, and you found yourself resenting the sound of it hitting the floor, if it meant that Poe was leaving you. You liked it when you both stepped out the door together, toe to toe, ready for another day of punching and kicking and flying your way to victory.
You sat on the floor for another hour, not realising how in your own head you were. Your thoughts were scrambling for the top seat, right in the middle of your brain where you could coherently decipher and listen to them; but they were all failing.
It was just... words. Words and yells and screams, mostly directed at yourself.
Were you destined to be shit at communication for the rest of your life? You honestly couldn't imagine this ever getting easier. All it did was eat you up every time your heart knew what to fucking say, but your head stopped you from letting it out.
Learning was easy—unlearning was hard.
That's when tomorrow arrived in your mind's eye again. You thought of the pressure that was on your shoulders, on Poe's, on Heidi's and Lynx's. You thought of the red blasts from TIE's and the explosions they caused. You thought of one of those beams hitting Dameron's cockpit—
Maker, if he gets killed before I apologise, I'll die.
You were on your feet before you could fucking think, punching the panel and ducking under the ascending door before it was fully up. Running after a day of sleeping was new; you felt heavy, as if your feet were weighted to the floor, but still you persisted. You rounded the corner, and then you were plain sailing toward the mess hall.
When you got there, you knew what you wanted to say. For him.
You spotted Heidi's afro immediately in the crowd of cadet heads. You kept running, maybe even faster now that you were only seconds away from being face to face with the pilot you wanted.
Lynx flinched when you smacked your hands down at their table, red faced and absolutely fucking deranged looking. "Where's Poe?" you said loudly. Heidi dropped her cup. Lynx looked at you like you'd just told him something horrific.
"Poe?" he said, swallowing nervously.
"He went to shower," Heidi cut in, wide eyed. You left immediately, prompting Heidi to get up and yell. "Ten!" she boomed, but you'd already left the building by the time she'd finished.
Legs pumping, lungs screeching, arms straining, you sprinted all the way back to the shower block. Before you could chicken out, you bombarded through the door to the men's room, not stopping to think about how this would fucking look.
"Poe Dameron!" you yelled, flicking your eyes over the bathroom and ignoring the way your heart was climbing up your windpipe.
To your fucking amazement, it was empty. Evidently, you'd picked the best time to spill your guts in a men's shower room. At least the Maker had spared you from accidently seeing anything you didn't particularly want to.
The squeak of a faucet turning off hit your eyes, directing your eyeline to one of the stalls. Poe pulled the curtain back, fiddling with the towel around his waist.
"What's wrong?" he said frantically, approaching you immediately. His hair was sopping wet, his chest on full display and still glistening with soap suds. "Ten, what the fuck is wrong? Are you okay?" he repeated, but you were too focused on how you'd never looked at him for this long. You were soaking him up without shame, eyes flickering across his drenched body, all the way down to his calves and back up again.
"I—," you began, forcing yourself to meet his eye. You clamped your eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling shaky breaths, before opening them again. "I'm sorry. I'm fucking terrible at talking about anything that isn't deflection or projection or—whatever," you let out. There was a bubbling in your gut that you'd never experienced; all it did was make you want to speak more.
"Ten—,"
"No," you cut him off. "It's my turn to talk, because that's what you deserve," Poe shut up immediately, regarding you in shock.
Maker, here we fucking go.
"You're a great dancer," you started. And the asshole—he fucking burst out with a surprised chuckle. He slammed a hand over his mouth quickly. You pressed on.
"And your hair—it always smells good—all of you smells good, which really pisses me off because I know how much you can fucking sweat. I like it when you talk because... it's comforting, in some weird and annoying way that scratches my brain," it was full blown word vomit now. He couldn't have stopped you even if he'd tried.
"And you're a good pilot—a great fucking pilot, Poe. The best. Flying next to you is both an honour and fucking terrifying, because you're just so good, and you make us all laugh down the comms, and you—you— you make me happy," you didn't even want to picture how you looked, spilling your guts on the tiled floor. It was too late to take it back now.
"And honestly, I don't even care that people think we're sleeping together because that's one hell of a compliment. I'd be lucky to ever be a part of your rumours—I'm lucky to simply be a part of your fucking life, Poe," you looked to the floor then, swallowing back nerves, before looking him dead in the eye.
"You're right about me not knowing what I want. I've never had anything like this, someone I know I can rely on and someone who cares for me just as much as I care for them, even if I try and force it away. It's there, Poe. I give a shit about you, and I think that's why I can't talk to you about myself, because—," the breath hitches in your throat then.
"Because what if I mess up and say something that'll make you leave, or spill something too personal that ruins all of this? What happens then?"
"Ten," Poe says. He's smiling. He's smiling so fucking wide. "That's not gonna happen,"
"You don't know that for certain. I'm a fucking nightmare, Poe," you point at him suddenly. "I'm a pain in your ass!"
The chuckle he releases hits you in the heart. "Yeah, you are a pain in my ass," he agrees. "But I wouldn't have you any other way, Ten,"
Maker, is it dusty in here?
Your eyes well up before you can force them away. "Oh, Maker—" you curse, dropping your head in your hands before Poe can see the tears fall.
His arms wrap around you before you even take your hands away. It's a proper hug, one where his arms slide under your own and his head slots into the section between your neck and shoulder. You pull your hands away quickly, wrapping your arms around his neck and squeezing back— hard. He's almost picking you up off the ground.
You clamp your eyes shut and just feel him. He's here, he's with you, and he's basically fucking naked; but you don't care. Poe doesn't care either. Your fingers find the back of his neck and just sit there, fiddling with a few of his wet curls. You take in his smell—musty like a new book, or a just cleaned cockpit.
"Please don't die tomorrow," you croak. Poe chuckles in your embrace—you feel the soft bobs of his chest in your grasp.
"No chance," he replies.
He hug's you for a while, in the steamy seclusion of the men's shower room. It's like he doesn't want to let go of you, now that he finally has you.
You don't want to let him go, either. Never.
The moment immediately fades away when the door abruptly opens. Three pilots walk in, talking amongst themselves, before stumbling across the scene before them. You tug yourself away from Dameron, looking him in the eye awkwardly. "I should have thought this through," you whisper.
"Too late now," he whispered in response.
"Great," you say, mustering up the courage to turn around and face the guys. When you do, you shoot them all an awkward smile. "Blue squad," you nod at them, totally embarrassed. "Remember to clean your fucking asses," you say, your face reddening immediately, before you nod again—just for emphasis.
You leave quickly, quietly, shuffling past the men and out the door.
"I'll be in the dorm soon!" Poe yells suddenly, and you know he's fucking enjoying this. The door closes, and you take in a huge breath of fresh air.
Maker, you did it. You told him everything, finally.
"I swear to Maker, if we both die tomorrow, I'll fucking kill myself," you mutter to yourself, straightening yourself out, before heading back to your dorm.
Our room.
You and Poe.