#binaryjedi

abby! thank you, @binaryjedi! <3 46: share a scene from an unpublished fic

(i know you were probably hoping for reylo and i’m sorry but i’m sharing some of my young ben & young poe fic instead! i hope you like it though)

The older boy is huddled beneath it, arms wrapped tightly around his folded legs. Poe, his dad had called him. He’d peered down at Ben the way a priprak studies an earthworm from his perch on the branch of a tree, head cocked and assessing him for danger, or perhaps, for weaknesses.

He’d seemed… unimpressed. Not with Leia, though. Poe had stared at her like she held the sun and the moon and all the stars in the palm of her hand. Jealousy had curled in his stomach, scathing, just at the sight of his adoring gaze; his mother is his, and he barely gets any time with her, he can’t afford to let this interloper take one second of it. But now, from this distance Poe looks small, too. Pathetic. Sad. A little boy, hiding from the cruelties of the world.

Ben falters as he reaches the wing of the starfighter, waiting for Poe to notice him. He doesn’t at first; his head is tucked into the nest of his arms and only his dark curls can be seen. Finally, though, he does glance up, sending a scowl Ben’s way.

“Oh…” he says, taking a step back, “s—sorry…”

Poe rubs his nose along the length of his black jacket sleeve. His eyes are watery, and red-rimmed — Ben catches only a glimpse of them before Poe looks away. “S’okay. You can stay. If you want.”

So he does, sinking down onto the ground besides Poe. For what feels like an eternity, he watches Poe from the corner of his eyes; but the boy takes no notice, his gaze remains riveted on the thin plume of smoke that rises above the jungle’s canopy.

Poe sniffles, and Ben sniffles too, although he doesn’t know why. He’s not crying, although Poe is — two silent wet trails shining their way down his cheeks — but he feels as if he could, at any moment.

“What’s wrong with you?” Poe asks at last, his voice like a raw croak.

“Nothing, what’s wrong with you?” Ben rejoins, too quickly. He blushes at the idiocy of the question as soon as it’s out, and begins digging a hole into the dirt with the toe of his tightly-buckled dress shoes.

Poe doesn’t deride him, though, for which he’s thankful. All he says is: “The funeral. It’s my mom.”

“Oh.”

“Your mom—she’s a princess, isn’t she?” Ben sneaks a peek at Poe, but he’s still watching the smoke drift up into the ether.

“Well—not exactly,” he says, “she was.”

“So what are you? A prince?”

Is he? In all of Ben’s five years, he’s never thought to ask. “Dunno,” is all he can muster.

Poe nods. “My mom isn’t a—she—she wasn’t a princess. She was a pilot.”

“My dad’s a pilot!” says Ben, desperate for something that they can share.