So maybe someone he knows, then -- or maybe it's just one of those things intel types get around to keeping their eyes on. Neither really strikes him as surprising, and he finds himself idly hoping that BB-8 isn't getting himself into anything that's going to have repercussions.
"Uh." Poe makes a face, not because Andor's rolled into him and the part of him that isn't entirely joking about the virtues of cuddling is pleased by that, but rather because he's unprepared for the question. People have their assumptions, and sometimes those shift from one division to the next, but no one's ever bothered to ask. "Honestly?"
(Honestly, Cassian Andor, under the right circumstances, is a little distracting.)
"Ain't me," Poe says at last. "BB models are a little ... quirky, and he thinks of himself as a helpful guy. Put those two things together, add a bunch of folks in a small space that are stressed and too busy to take care of themselves, and he's gonna find plenty to keep his circuits occupied, I suppose." For the most part, it seems to work out. "I don't send him out. But I suppose I look the other way, when I need to."
Poe's fingers flex against the fabric of Andor's shirt; he's relieved to notice that they no longer feel like icicles. He doesn't quite feel warm, but he's far closer to it than he was a few minutes ago. "Thanks, by the way."
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"Uh." Poe makes a face, not because Andor's rolled into him and the part of him that isn't entirely joking about the virtues of cuddling is pleased by that, but rather because he's unprepared for the question. People have their assumptions, and sometimes those shift from one division to the next, but no one's ever bothered to ask. "Honestly?"
(Honestly, Cassian Andor, under the right circumstances, is a little distracting.)
"Ain't me," Poe says at last. "BB models are a little ... quirky, and he thinks of himself as a helpful guy. Put those two things together, add a bunch of folks in a small space that are stressed and too busy to take care of themselves, and he's gonna find plenty to keep his circuits occupied, I suppose." For the most part, it seems to work out. "I don't send him out. But I suppose I look the other way, when I need to."
Poe's fingers flex against the fabric of Andor's shirt; he's relieved to notice that they no longer feel like icicles. He doesn't quite feel warm, but he's far closer to it than he was a few minutes ago. "Thanks, by the way."