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We're not gonna know it all now
We're not gonna get it all right
But we're gonna learn from it anyway
— “Underdog,” Invader Girl
He met Poe Dameron on the day he quit his job, which Rey said later had to be a sign.
(“A sign of what?” Finn had asked, sitting across from her at the kitchen table and picking at his microwave dinner.
“Fate,” she’d declared, through a mouthful of bread. “One door closes and another one opens, that sort of thing. You know.”
“There’s motor oil on your face,” Finn had answered, which Rey ignored.)
It’d seemed like a decent gig, in the beginning. Working the reception desk for First Order Pharmaceuticals – so answering phones, filling out paperwork, running stupid errands for various account executives. It was better, Finn reasoned, than working in the hospital sanitation department, or getting paid under the table at that health-code-violation of a diner. And the pay wasn’t awful. Wasn’t great, either, but it wasn’t the worst.
He hadn’t counted on the soul-crushing monotony. Or the growing sense that he was a cog in the machine of some sort of evil empire.
“Quit,” Rey told him. At least five times a week. “Just quit, Finn, they don’t deserve you.”
But Rey didn’t get it. Finn was responsible, Finn was working to put himself through school, Finn was –
Finn was going to lose his mind if he heard one more of his coworkers compare yacht purchases.
In the end there was no great defining moment, no grand and triumphant exit. It was a perfectly ordinary morning. He sat down at his desk, and the phone began to ring as usual, and something in Finn that he had been holding together for a year and a half finally snapped.
He stared at the phone in silence for a long, long moment, watching out of the corner of his eye as employees and ad agency reps walked in and out of the lobby in their shiny shoes and fancy suits. And then, with a serene sense of purpose, Finn muted the phone and began to type up his resignation.
He went very calmly to the printer to retrieve it, carrying it over to his manager’s office in a dreamlike haze.
“What is this?” Phasma said, looking up from her desk as Finn dropped the single sheet of paper unceremoniously before her. Her voice was cold and clipped as per usual. He’d seen her smile exactly once, when she’d fired someone right in the middle of the lobby during the afternoon lunch rush.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” Finn answered – shaking just a little, although he consoled himself that mostly this was with suppressed rage – and he turned and walked out the door before she could say another word.
You were never going to stay there anyway, he told himself, when the panic started to set in a few steps out of the building. You were never going to stay. Rey’s been telling you to leave for a year now, it’ll be fine, you’ll figure something out, you always figure it out somehow – you – you left your lunch in the fridge, damn it – but it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, oh god, it’s fine.
He’d been walking only about five minutes – aimless, just trying to stave off a complete and utter meltdown – before the dog barreled into his legs outside a bodega, connecting so solidly with Finn’s knees that he almost collapsed onto the sidewalk. The dog barked at him cheerfully, gamboling around his feet, orange and white and tail-wagging like mad.
(The appearance of the dog, Rey assured him later that evening, was also a sign. “A meant-to-be sort of thing,” she said.)
No owner called after him. No one looked particularly concerned. But Finn bent down and lifted the little guy up into his arms on sheer instinct – a dog shouldn’t be loose on a busy street, that was just common sense – and looked into soft greenish eyes and said, “Hi.”
At which point the busy street erupted into blaring horns and screeching tires.
Nothing could have actually prepared Finn for Poe Dameron, was the thing. No sign, no slamming door, no trumpeting of car horns. A lifetime of second-guessing and triple-checking and scrambling through crisis after crisis wasn’t enough to keep Finn’s heart from skipping one sharp beat at the sight of a single curly-haired, bright-eyed, beaming stranger.
Of course, said stranger had also just been hit by a car directly in front of him, so Finn’s heart could maybe be forgiven.
Things were sort of a blur after that. “You just got hit by a car,” Finn heard himself say, at least twice, the scene replaying itself in his head like his brain didn’t know how to process it.
Poe, on the other hand, was determinedly unconcerned with his own traffic incident. Even after (somehow, impossibly) Finn found himself riding the elevator up to Poe’s apartment, after the adrenaline had to have worn off, the guy was chatty, cheerful. He ushered Finn inside and apologized excessively for the mess of groceries left all over the kitchen floor, leaning down to gather everything up onto the counter.
“I was shopping, before, and then I came home, and – BeeBee, no, that’s not for dogs –”
“Here,” said Finn, kneeling to help him, getting a lick on the arm from BB-8 (and what kind of name was that?) for his trouble. His hand grazed Poe’s as together they hauled up the rest of the bags.
And Poe proceeded to topple over. Finn barely registered it happening until he was already on the floor.
“Wh—hey, you okay?”
“Uh,” Poe replied, leaning up on his elbows and blinking at Finn. He’d gone sort of grayish, and his dog trotted over to inspect him, pink nose snuffling all over. “Yeah, I’m good, it’s nothing. Sorry, I just –” He stopped, blinked a few times at the floor.
“Hey, listen to me,” Finn said, and was wholly unprepared for the way Poe looked at him then, all open and trusting, like Finn wasn’t some random stranger he’d met on the street but his best friend in the world.
Finn swallowed. “So I’m genuinely not sure if you’ve noticed,” he went on resolutely, “but you got hit by a car.”
“Yeah,” Poe said, lips quirking. “You did tell me that. A few times.”
“Yeah,” Finn echoed, and bent down to help him up. “Hate to break it to you, but that isn’t nothing. You might wanna lie down for a while.” He bit his lip, but couldn’t help himself from adding, “You should really go to a doctor, but...” But Poe had soundly rejected this suggestion about eight times on the way to his apartment building, and Finn had mostly lost hope there.
“I promised you pancakes,” Poe answered, clinging unselfconsciously to Finn’s arm. His gaze refocused on Finn, and he offered a crooked smile as he eased his weight back onto his own feet again, hands retreating to pockets. His chin lifted, shoulders straightening, and he added gravely, “I’m a man of my word.”
“You didn’t promise anything,” Finn said, a smile tugging at his lips despite the general strangeness of the day, despite the fact that there was no protocol he knew for this particular situation. (Dear Diary, today I quit my job and followed a stranger into his apartment because his face was bleeding and he offered me pancakes.)
“I didn’t?” Poe said. “I meant to.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I hereby promise you pancakes.”
“I can make us pancakes,” Finn offered. “I know how. I also don’t need pancakes, man, I just wanna make sure you’re good.”
Poe frowned like he didn’t quite understand the concept. “Yeah?” he said. “That’s...that’s really...” And he swayed, grabbing onto the countertop. He closed his eyes for a second, and then sighed. “This is pretty dumb, huh?” he said. “I was pretty dumb.”
“You were on a rescue mission,” Finn said, shrugging. He paused, and added, “And you were kind of dumb. But still.”
The smile returned, wider this time, less calculated. “Still,” Poe echoed, and then seemed to regather himself. “Okay, listen, if you wanna do a raincheck...or if you wanna just...” He trailed off.
If you wanna just go, Finn thought, and found he couldn’t imagine it. Even beyond the fact that there was nowhere to go, that stepping out the door meant having to stare down his own dubious career path. Even besides that, he couldn’t imagine walking away, never finding out...
Finding out what?
Who he is. Why he cares. Why he likes me.
“I can make us pancakes,” he repeated, which earned him another frown.
“You don’t have to –”
“Seriously, man,” Finn said. “You can lie down, and I can – hang on, there’s still blood all over your face, you need some kinda...” He looked around, found a paper towel, and ran it under the sink.
Poe watched him as though rooted to the spot. Which maybe he was; his color hadn’t really returned. He stood very still with his back against the wall as Finn wiped the dried blood away, revealing shallow scrapes scattered across his nose, cheek, forehead. For a second his eyes met Finn’s, wide and dark and slightly dazed, and then they flicked away.
“I coulda done that,” Poe said, in an oddly quiet voice.
Finn found himself flushing. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“No, it’s – you’re a good guy.” And there was that smile back, thinned out but still brighter than anything else in the room. “I, uh, I think I do need to lie down though,” Poe added, and began to slide down the wall.
Finn caught him, hauling him back up carefully and walking them over to the faded orange couch in the living room.
“This is embarrassing,” Poe commented as he settled himself back against a mismatched trio of pillows. (Finn was almost certain that one of them had googly eyes, which he made a mental note to ask about later, because – why.) “This is probably the second most embarrassing day of my life.”
Finn raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Do I wanna know about the first?”
Poe flashed him a grin, like he was delighted that Finn had gone along with the joke. “Third grade,” he said promptly. “Pudding-related. Might’ve cried in front of the entire cafeteria? Don’t wanna talk about it. Look, you really don’t have to stay.”
“I was promised pancakes,” Finn said, folding his arms. “I was told you were a man of your word.”
“Ah, who told you that,” Poe sighed.
And then he smiled up at Finn, sunny and guileless and spilling over with hope, and that was about when Finn knew he was a goner.
*
“There’s an opening at the garage,” Rey told him, the day after what she was already referring to as the Great Resignation/Fateful Traffic Incident. She was getting ready for work while Finn sat on the couch in his pajamas, nursing a coffee and trying not to think about the vast, blank expanse of the day.
He’d already submitted six job applications in a kind of feverish panic, and then he’d run out of jobs to apply to, and then he’d just...stared blankly at the wall for a while.
He could take up windowbox gardening, maybe. He could...rent a bicycle, or...no, that cost money...
“Finn,” said Rey, suddenly very close to him.
Finn jumped, spilling coffee down his shirt. “Why do you always do that?”
Rey just gazed down at him, unimpressed. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Nope,” Finn answered, mopping halfheartedly at the coffee stain with a napkin.
Rey sighed. “I said there’s an opening at the garage. Part-time, flexible hours. Entry level. Simple stuff. I think mostly paperwork.”
Finn stopped fighting the stain; it was probably a useless effort anyway. “Did you talk to Rose?” he asked, eyes narrowed. Not that he didn’t like Rose. Rose was bright and sharp and sort of compulsively likeable, even if she did enjoy going at length about how Finn was supporting the evil pharma industry by taking their phone calls. She and Rey had been friends for a few years now, and she’d quickly joined Finn in the very exclusive club of People Rey Trusts.
Rose was also, however, the newly minted manager of her family’s auto repair shop.
“Of course I didn’t talk to Rose,” Rey said. “Since I was specifically asked not to.”
“Right,” Finn said slowly. “You were.”
“Although if I had –”
“Rey, come on, I told you, I don’t want any handouts or pity jobs or –”
“If I had,” Rey repeated, staring him down, “it would be a very kind and helpful thing for a very good friend to do for her best friend in the world, who would surely do the same for her if she were ever in his position, so really it would all even out.”
Finn looked down into his prematurely emptied mug for a moment. “Thank you,” he said, looking up again. “Sorry.”
Rey leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. “You start at the end of the week,” she answered, heading back to the kitchen. “So you should probably call that car crash guy today.”
“Car crash guy?”
“Your Fateful Encounter,” Rey clarified, shoving a few granola bars in her pocket on her way to the door. “Your dog guy.”
“His name is Poe,” Finn called after her. “Poe Dameron.”
Rey stopped dead, whirling around in mock surprise. “Really? Is that his name? You’ve only told me seven times now.”
She stepped out the door, leaving Finn alone with his mug and his questionable life choices.
“It’s a good name,” Finn muttered at the mug.
And then he sighed, squared his shoulders, and reached for his phone.
*
Poe later claimed to have loved Finn from the start. (Head over heels, buddy, from the moment I saw you. Kinda literally.) But Finn – he just knew that he wanted to know more.
“It was my good looks and charm,” Poe told him, when Finn confessed this one unhurried morning, around four months after the Fateful Traffic Incident. The two of them were still curled around each other in Poe’s bed, BB-8 snoring at their feet. Poe had tucked his face into the curve of Finn’s shoulder, but he lifted his head now, stretching over to kiss Finn lazily.
Finn hummed against his lips. “Charm,” he repeated, shifting backward so he could reach out and run his hand through Poe’s disastrously frizzy curls. “So like, getting hit by a car and then swooning at me. Was that the charming part? Or were you just banking on the good looks thing at that point?”
Poe huffed, rolling away from Finn and onto his back, but his lips twitched. “I didn’t swoon at you.”
Finn kept his hand in Poe’s hair, just idly working through the usual tangles until Poe’s eyes went half-closed, a relaxed sigh drifting out of him.
“Man,” Finn said, “you keeled right over.”
Now Poe’s eyes flicked open again. “Yeah, okay, but I walked the whole way back.”
“And it took forever. We stopped every three steps to rest.”
“That was BeeBee, he was sniffing stuff.”
Finn checked a smile at Poe’s disgruntled expression. “If you say so, pal.”
“I do say so, buddy.”
“Uh huh.” He gave Poe’s hair a gentle tug, grinning at the contented sound this elicited, the loose-limbed way Poe allowed himself to be reeled in for another leisurely kiss.
He never really got tired of it, learning what Poe liked. What soothed him to quietness, what brought a certain glint to his eyes. He was endlessly expressive, relentlessly talkative, his emotions plain in every gesture, every blink.
He knew it, too. If he didn’t want you to know how he was feeling he just wouldn’t look at you at all, which wasn’t much of a strategy. It had taken Finn the better part of the past few months to realize there was nothing performative about it, no shield in Poe’s smile. No double meaning, no need for second-guessing.
“So what was it, then?” Poe asked after a while, back to burrowing his face into Finn’s shoulder.
Finn blinked. “Hm?”
“If it wasn’t my charm. Just the stunning good looks?”
Finn tilted his head to consider Poe, the sleepy mischief in his eyes, the worry prickling behind it. He worried a lot, Poe Dameron. You wouldn’t think so from the way he laughed and danced away from any show of concern, the easy way he brushed everything off. But Finn had learned pretty early on that Poe craved reassurance, sought it out in fleeting, subtle ways.
“You were just – good,” Finn told him. You told me I was.
Poe stirred at this. He leaned up on his elbow, eyebrows raised, watching Finn. Waiting.
Finn felt a rush of heat to his face and resolutely ignored it. “What, you want more compliments?”
“Yes,” Poe answered promptly, and Finn rolled his eyes.
“You just...seemed like you cared a lot,” he said. “About BB-8. About Jess, about me, and you’d just met me. And you trusted a random stranger to walk you home. Like, you just trusted me. For no real reason. I guess part of me wanted to figure out why.”
“’Cause I’m a no-good bleeding heart idealist,” Poe said, and Finn punched him in the shoulder. “Ow.”
“’Cause you’re too good for your own good. I could’ve been a murderer.”
Poe’s expression shifted to keen interest. “Are you?”
“Poe. What.”
Poe half-shrugged. “Look, I don’t know, maybe this is a long con. Maybe you’re just trying to get me off my guard –”
“You don’t have a guard.”
“—and then one day, bam!” Poe slammed his fist into his palm. “Turns out stranger danger was real.”
“You’re so dumb,” Finn sighed, leaning forward to kiss Poe’s cheek.
“That’s not nice, buddy,” Poe murmured, turning his head so he was centimeters away from Finn’s mouth. “That’s very hurtful.”
From the foot of the bed, BB-8 let out a sudden rooooooo that startled both of them, Poe knocking his forehead into Finn’s with a soft curse.
“BeeBee agrees with me,” Poe added as the dog came bounding over to land squarely between them, one paw planted on Finn’s shoulder, nails digging in painfully.
“BeeBee’s biased,” Finn grunted, shoving gently at the paw, which did not move. BB-8 was busy nosing at Poe’s face, doing that weird extra yodel-y roo-ooOOOooo-ooo thing he sometimes pulled out for special occasions or recalcitrant humans.
“BeeBee’s going for a walk is what he is,” Poe said brightly to his dog, sitting up and stretching as BB began to prance and whine louder at this acknowledgement of his heart’s greatest desire. “And Uncle Finn’s coming too!” Poe added, prodding Finn gently in the stomach.
“I’m not his – why am I his uncle?”
“Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t make any sense?”
“Rise and shine, Uncle Finn,” Poe answered, standing up. “Got places to see, people to be, let’s go.”
“That’s backwards.”
“What?”
“The words,” Finn sighed, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. “You got the words backwards.”
Poe shoved at his shoulder. “Words are what you make of them,” he said loftily, and turned away to shimmy into the jeans he’d left lying on the floor.
“That isn’t a saying,” Finn protested, stretching reluctantly and watching Poe dig through a pile of clothes beside his dresser – why they were not in the dresser, well, who could say – until he triumphantly held up his favorite t-shirt.
“Anything can be a saying,” Poe answered, muffled as he pulled the (very wrinkled, very orange) shirt over his head. “You just have to say it.”
He resurfaced from a sea of regrettably fluorescent orange – beaming, hair tousled, eyes bright. Like the day they’d met. Like the whole world was wide and waiting for him and he knew it.
And Finn could never really bring himself to argue with that.
*
There were bad days. Poe fell into these funks sometimes, just drifted along like he was sleepwalking, like there was some sort of fog shrouding all his natural exuberance and brightness and Poe-ness. You could still see all of that, it was still there – just sort of muted, far away. Nothing seemed to reach through, everything seemed to drive him further away, and what should have been simple conversations instead became demonstrations of Poe’s maddening talent for deflection.
They’d clear up on their own, these fog-drenched days, but Finn always felt like there was something he should be doing, some key he couldn’t find. Poe wouldn’t elaborate on anything when asked, just say he was tired, he wasn’t feeling well, he was fine really, there was nothing he needed.
What Poe would do was occasionally issue out-of-the-blue confessions. So calm, so steady and matter-of-fact that Finn wouldn’t realize he’d just been handed some vital piece of trust until a few seconds afterward.
“So I was a POW,” Poe said over breakfast one day, in a tone that would be perfectly pleasant for anyone else but rated as massively subdued for Poe Dameron. He was pouring himself a bowl of Cheerios, BB-8 ambling around at their feet, sniffing as per usual for dropped bits of cereal.
BB was in luck this time; Finn’s spoon wavered halfway to his mouth, spilling bits of Lucky Charms to the kitchen tile. “You – wait,” Finn said, jolted from his contented morning stupor and into something a lot sharper, a lot more uncertain. “What?”
Poe gave him a considering look, like he was evaluating Finn’s reaction, filing away each detail of his expression. “A POW?” he repeated. “Prisoner of war, sorry.”
“I know what it means,” Finn said, watching Poe right back until he fidgeted in response. “But – so you were...captured?”
“Yeah, not for too long,” Poe said. As though that mattered. As though he was trying to retroactively reassure the both of them. “Only about three months.” He shrugged. “Pass the milk?”
Finn just looked at him for a second. Then he passed the milk. “You were captured for three months,” he recapped.
“Yep,” Poe replied, pouring said milk over his Cheerios and nearly flooding his bowl. There was a furrow in his brow now, and he was biting at his lip, not looking at Finn. “Few years ago. I still have dreams about it sometimes.”
His voice trailed off in that way that meant he was testing the waters, waiting for the reaction before he went on.
“Yeah?” Finn said, trying to match him for casual, not sure he was really succeeding.
“Yeah. Had one last night.” Poe’s eyes lifted to Finn’s again, and there was an unfamiliar caution there. “I thought I should...” he said, and shrugged. “Tell you? In case I talk in my sleep, or. Wake up weird.” Another, smaller shrug. “I wanted you to know.”
“I,” Finn started, and then swallowed. “Thank you, for telling me,” he said, slightly awkward, almost solemn. He didn’t know if that was right, if that was what Poe wanted. But Rey kept telling him he should say what he felt, and that was what he felt. Grateful to be trusted.
In any case Poe just gave him an amused look, so Finn figured he’d done okay.
“You’re welcome, for telling you,” Poe said, too fond to be teasing. He tapped his spoon on the bowl, clink-clink-clink-ing away for a few seconds before looking up at Finn again. “It’s not like it’s all of the time. It’s just...something that happened to me. You know?”
“Yeah,” said Finn. “I do. I get these dreams like...” He shook his head. “Not like that, I mean, nothing like that. But I’ve...” He trailed off, helpless, something lodging in his throat at the idea of comparing his own life to Poe’s, of weighing their hurts against each other. Or maybe just the idea of acknowledging the damage at all. He couldn’t tell.
He felt Poe waiting him out, giving him room to talk, but Finn’s voice stayed locked up somewhere tight in his chest.
“Everybody has something,” Poe said finally, and when Finn looked up it was like Poe was easing back to himself again, soft-eyed and earnest. He reached across the table to rest his hand lightly on Finn’s wrist. Not holding, really, just resting there, an unobtrusive sort of offer. “Everybody’s got something that happened to them.”
Finn turned his hand over so that Poe’s palm slid down to meet his. He tapped his fingertips just beneath Poe’s knuckles, suddenly dizzy with the fragility of the moment: thin bones and soft skin, a pulse beating quiet alongside his own.
When he tightened his fingers to hold onto Poe’s hand, to keep him there, Poe gripped back like he was falling.
“I wanted you to know,” he repeated calmly, his eyes fixed on the table. “That’s all.”
*
It was later that night when Poe decided to expand on this particular confession, almost as though the morning had been some kind of test.
They’d been watching some superhero movie in the living room, BB-8 sitting on Finn’s lap and demanding ear rubs the whole time (one paw outstretched and ready to claw at Finn’s arm should he dare to stop). Poe had been conspicuously quiet, refraining from his usual habit of commenting on every single thing the characters did.
“Honorable discharge, I told you that, right?” he said at last, sitting beside Finn, his knees drawn up to his chest beneath the blanket. “That was why,” he added, as the music swelled and the credits played.
“What?” Finn asked, half-turning toward him, but Poe was busy looking at his hands, picking at the blanket.
“Um. The POW thing? That’s why I was...”
“Oh,” said Finn, turning all the way now. Poe’s expression was tight, his fingers now tapping at his knee. “Oh. You don’t have to...”
“No, I wanted to tell you all of it,” Poe said, shaking his head. “I was going to tell you all of it.”
“But if you can’t,” Finn said, “that’s okay.”
“I know,” Poe said, meeting his eyes. Then he looked away again, toward BB-8. “So anyway, my tragic backstory,” he said, picking up a breezy tone. “It all starts with –”
But then he stopped abruptly, the humor falling away from his face. He took a breath.
“Poe,” Finn said.
“I know,” Poe repeated, waving a hand. “Sorry. Let me just...” He took another deep breath, and went on. “So when I got back from prison camp vacation, everybody was acting like I was just...done. Out. Like, ‘Okay, we rescued you, thanks for your service, now go home.’ But I wanted to get back out there, I wanted to fly again–”
His voice went funny toward the end, and he stopped again for a few seconds, blinking down at his own feet poking out from under the blanket. “I wanted to fly again so bad, man,” he said quietly. “It was all I thought about when I...wasn’t. And I did. They let me, for a while.”
Finn didn’t say anything, just stayed still, keeping one hand petting BB-8 lest he make his disapproval known.
“But then,” Poe said, after a moment. “Things went sorta bad. And they wanted me to get a psych eval. And I really, really, really didn’t want to do that, you know? I really didn’t, but Leia...” He let out a laugh. “Leia gave me this big lecture, all like...”
Poe paused, drew his shoulders up, lifting his chin and hardening his voice in what he apparently believed was an appropriate imitation of the former-General Leia Organa, whom Finn had met exactly once.
“‘You have two choices, Dameron: you can either face what’s in front of you, or you can turn tail and run away.’”
His shoulders dropped again, a faint smile twitching to his lips. “So I couldn’t, after that, you know, I couldn’t run away. Obviously. But I couldn’t fly anymore either, was the thing. They wouldn’t let me.” He shrugged. “So that was pretty much that. Honorable discharge. I went home.”
And once again Finn had no idea what words Poe wanted, what he needed. What he still wasn’t telling Finn, what ‘sorta bad’ really meant. So he reached out and took Poe’s hand.
“But now you’re flying again,” he said.
It felt like such flimsy, pointless consolation, but Poe broke out in a wide smile. “Yeah,” he agreed, and lifted Finn’s hand to plant a kiss there, just below his knuckles. “Now I’m flying again.”
*
He brought Finn up in the air for the first time one clear spring morning, when the sun had hardly risen and the sky was still pale and pink-streaked over the airfield. They took what Poe called “the Skyhawk,” a friendly looking thing with just enough room in the cockpit for BB-8 to hop in behind Finn (“It’s fine, he has a special harness,” Poe had explained when Finn had questioned Poe’s habit of allowing his dog to jump into various small aircraft).
Poe pointed every flight instrument out to Finn with an almost visibly vibrating excitement, but his voice was steady as he explained everything he was doing and why. He went over the safety protocol in painstaking detail, and asked about four times if Finn was sure he’d be all right, until finally Finn outright snapped at him.
“Poe,” he said, “would you just fly,” and received a laugh and a sharp salute.
And it wasn’t until the sky was all around them, it wasn’t until the ground had fallen miles and miles below that Finn realized he must have never really known Poe Dameron at all until now. Because here Poe was utterly in control, utterly himself in a way Finn had never seen before. There was no nervous energy in the way he sent them gliding higher and higher, no worry in his eyes as he looped them far above the fields below.
I went home, he’d told Finn, but that couldn’t have been right. Anyone could see that this was where Poe belonged, calm and confident up in the sky with his dog in the backseat. With Finn there beside him, looking out the window into the clear, wide blue.
*
“I like him,” Rey announced, once Finn had finally gotten the three of them together for lunch at a cafe about halfway between Poe’s apartment and their own. Finn must have shown his relief, because she outright laughed at him. “What, did you think I wouldn’t?”
“That’s insulting,” Poe commented, sipping at his coffee. He was relaxed, leaning back in his seat, which may have had something to do with BB-8 loitering under the table. (Dogs were not strictly allowed inside the cafe, but Poe had charmed his way past that particular obstacle and now the manager kept giving him vaguely suggestive smiles, which Finn kept telling himself was fine.)
“Really,” Rey said, mock-indignant. “I’m insulted. You’re insulting me.”
“Us,” Poe said, raising a brow. “Both of us. You don’t think I’m good enough for your cool best friend? Is that it?”
Rey leaned forward on her elbows, eyes dancing. “Well, Finn? Is that it?”
Finn groaned. “I should never have introduced you two,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Yes, but you did,” Rey said somberly. “And now you’ll have to live with it.”
*
“I do like him,” Rey told Finn later, at the garage. She was working on some sort of fancy sportscar, her hands coated in grease, which meant she was about as cheerful as Rey could get. “He’s sweet, really. And a little strange. His dog is cute. Hand me that wrench?”
Finn handed it over. “Thanks for the blessing,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” Rey said, then looked at the tool in her hand. “Not this wrench. The other one.”
“This one?”
“No, the other other one.”
“Oh.” Finn dug around in the toolbox. “This one?”
Rey sighed, wiping her brow and leaving a streak of grease there. “Finn, that one isn’t even a wrench.”
Finn frowned. “It isn’t?”
“Does it look like one?”
“Yes?”
Rey reached past him to grab the stupid wrench herself. “Honestly, you should know this by now.”
“It’s cars,” Finn protested. “That’s not my thing, that’s your thing.”
“Anyway,” said Rey, turning back to the car at hand, “he’s clearly madly in love with you, which of course I appreciate.”
It took a second for the words to sink in, and then Finn dropped the not-wrench directly on his foot, yelping out a curse.
Rey looked up with a grin.
“Really? It’s very obvious,” she said primly, and glanced down at his foot. “You should put ice on that.”
*
“It’s gonna be good,” Poe said, for the third time. “Are you nervous? Don’t be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Finn lied. He watched Poe taming his hair down in front of the bathroom mirror, throwing Finn the occasional worried glance. “You’re nervous. Which is weird, because they’re your friends.”
“Yeah, well, they can be...” Poe waved a hand unhelpfully. “They’re a lot.”
“They’re your friends,” Finn repeated, shrugging.
“Yeah. Yeah, exactly.” Another glance toward Finn, and this time Finn held his gaze.
“Come on, man,” he said. “I heard it’s gonna be good.”
Poe gave him a quick smile, tugging his jacket on and rummaging around for BB’s leash. “Well,” he said, “in that case.”
*
And it was good, mostly. He already knew Jess, at least, and she dragged him into a bone-crushing hug that eased his jumpy nerves. But Poe’s friends were loud, laughing and teasing and sniping at each other easily as breathing. Like they’d choreographed it all ahead of time, and Finn didn’t know the steps. They’d all been in the same squadron, Poe had explained before, and Finn –
Finn was someone else.
It wasn’t like they didn’t make an effort to include him. Especially when the conversation turned toward teasing Poe, who withstood this with long-suffering sighs and sideways grins at Finn. But Iolo kept giving him curious looks when he thought Finn wasn’t looking, and Kare didn’t even bother to attempt to hide her own glances. Snap was friendly enough, but Finn felt the way they all eyed him, like they were measuring him up somehow, searching for something.
It was almost a relief when Snap pulled him aside after dinner. Poe had gone on ahead with BB-8, everyone else following them out into the yard, and Finn was trailing after when there was gentle hand at his shoulder.
“Hey,” said Snap, “can we talk real quick?”
The house felt strangely quiet without the rise and fall of conversation and bright laughter, and for the first time Finn heard a radio crooning somewhere in the background. Out the window he could see Poe jostling shoulders with Kare and Jess, getting his hair ruffled by Iolo and making that faux-irritated face that meant he was about to throw some quip or challenge their way.
“So,” Snap said, drawing Finn’s attention back toward him. “You seem like a good guy.”
“Um,” said Finn. “Thank you.”
“Yeah,” Snap said, nodding at him. He glanced out the window toward Poe and then back again, clearing his throat. “Yeah, so.” He sighed, shoulders dropping. “So listen, this is gonna sound dumb. And it probably is dumb. But you, uh. You gotta be good to him, all right?”
Finn stared, wondering if that was the part where he was supposed to laugh. But Snap just looked down at him, waiting.
So Finn nodded slowly back at him. “That was the plan.”
Snap clapped him on the back, looking equal parts relieved and awkward. “Good. That’s good. It’s not like you don’t seem great and all, it’s just that Poe’s...”
“A delicate flower?” Poe interrupted, and Finn startled badly enough that he almost knocked his head against the cabinet. Poe was standing there in the kitchen archway, arms folded, head tilted to one side. He didn’t look at Finn, just zeroed in on Snap, frowning. “Come on, Snap. Threatening my boyfriend? What are you, a dad from the ’50s? I mean I knew you were old, but –”
Snap lifted his hands in surrender. “Hey, hey, no threats here. Just – checking.”
“For what? Secret evil intentions?” Poe said. “Because we’ve discussed it and he claims he’s not a murderer.”
“I’m really not,” Finn offered, but Poe still wasn’t looking at him. He leaned back against the counter, lifting his chin to regard Snap with an unfamiliar expression, and it took Finn a moment to realize – Poe was upset. Actually upset, not joking-upset, not fake-offended. He was trying to play it off, but the hurt in his eyes was too sharp.
Snap seemed to see it too, because he shifted his tone, slipping back into the teasing voice he’d used on Poe earlier. “Look, man, he’s dating you. I had to make sure he was all right in the head.”
Poe’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He pushed off the counter, striding over to take Finn’s hand. “C’mere, you gotta see this sunset.”
There was a groan from just beyond the kitchen, and Finn looked over to see Jess stepping inside from the porch, drink in hand, BB-8 trailing behind her. “Dameron,” she said. “For the love of god.”
“What?” Poe answered, bumping shoulders with her as they passed.
“You’re an embarrassment is what,” Jess answered, giving Finn a sympathetic glance. “You sound like a goddamn romance novel.”
“It’s a really good sunset,” Poe protested, and this time his smile looked real.
*
Poe was oddly quiet the whole way back to his place, letting Finn carry the conversation. He asked questions about Finn’s engineering classes, mostly, and listened with genuine interest, throwing in the occasional fact he knew from his own aeronautical engineering courses.
But there was something off about it all, like he was trying to preemptively deflect anything more personal than advanced physics. When they made it back to the apartment, he fumbled with the key until Finn took it from him and unlocked the door on the first try.
“Sorry,” Poe said, when they stepped inside.
“It’s okay,” Finn said automatically. Then, “Wait, no, for what?”
“Snap,” Poe said, unclipping BB-8’s leash so he was free to bound into the living room. “Interrogating you. I told them to be nice, but they were –”
“They were fine,” Finn said, stepping in front of Poe and catching his eye. “They just care about you.”
“No – I mean yes, but they think I can’t...handle stuff,” Poe answered. He turned away from Finn to hang BB-8’s leash on its hook. “But I can. I have.”
Finn didn't know a lot about the pre-BB-8 days, the couple of years after Poe had been discharged. Jess made comments sometimes that gave Finn near-glimpses, left him with the basic understanding that it had been a bad time all around. That Poe had worried Jess. That he sometimes still worried her.
Poe had told Finn once that he didn't remember much about those days himself. ("It's just...blurry. There was a lot of – there was just a lot. But I got better. And I found BeeBee.” He’d unleashed that sunny smile again, near-blinding. “And then he found you.")
"It was fine," Finn said. "I thought it was funny. Snap's a good guy."
This coaxed a tired smile out of Poe at last. "He is, yeah. He was always kind of Team Dad. I mean even when I was his C.O. – 'Poe Dameron, don’t you dare try and do that alone, I'm coming with you,' that sort of thing.” He hesitated, looking down toward the opposite corner of the kitchen. “They kind of...followed me here, actually. After the squadron was disbanded. They coulda gone anywhere, and they followed me here. I mean, Jess has family on the east coast anyway, you know. But Kare and Snap and Iolo...”
He shrugged as though this was something mystifying, as though he wasn’t exactly the sort of person who inspired loyalty like that.
How do you see yourself? Finn thought. He almost asked it out loud, but the words stuttered in his throat. “They care about you,” he repeated instead. “That isn’t a bad thing.”
“I know it’s not,” Poe said quietly. “I know that.” He pushed both hands through his hair, leaning back up against the counter and staring at the floor, and for once he didn’t look cool or confident or posed at all. Just frustrated, small, closing the walls in around himself while Finn watched and tried to think of something to say, anything, to get through.
“I’m gonna make tea,” he said abruptly, because it was what Rey said, what Rey did, when she’d determined that there was nothing else to be done. (She’d told him it was an English thing, but Finn liked to think it was just a Rey thing.) “...Do you have tea?”
Poe lifted his head. “Yeah, somewhere.” He squinted at Finn. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I dunno,” Poe said, shrugging. “Tea?”
Finn waited, but Poe just looked back at him expectantly.
“Okay, so. Would you like to expand on that.”
Poe lifted his hands and spread them in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know, I just – normally you drink that when you’re sick, right?”
“What? No,” Finn said, brow wrinkling. “Do you not drink tea?”
Poe raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever seen me drink tea?”
“Man, I’m not here all the time, how should I know?” Finn said, opening a drawer at random and rummaging around.
“I think it’s in a cabinet,” Poe said, which narrowed Finn’s search down to four places. “I think Jess brought a box over like a year ago.”
“A year – okay, look, you need to come over and let Rey make you a real cup of tea.”
“Some tea is less real than other tea.”
“According to Rey.”
“Huh.”
Poe followed Finn over to the cabinets, searching through the one above the sink until he emerged victorious with a small box, tucked away behind the supersized bag of marshmallows Poe had bought three weeks ago on impulse and never touched. “Why are we doing this again?” he asked, holding the box out for Finn.
“Because,” Finn said. “It’s what you do when you don’t know what to do. That’s what Rey says.”
Poe frowned, watching Finn as he filled the tea kettle. “And...what’s the thing we don’t know what to do about?”
Water droplets hissed and crackled on the stovetop as Finn set the kettle down. Somewhere in the living room he could hear BB-8 tossing his latest squeaky toy, or maybe shredding it. His chest felt tight as he set out two mugs, and when he turned around Poe was looking at him with concern.
“Buddy?” he said, crossing the little space between them, close and worried and biting at his lip. “You sure today was okay? ’Cause I can talk to them, to Snap, I could –”
“You,” Finn interrupted.
Poe’s brow furrowed. “Me?”
“What I don’t know what to do about,” said Finn, talking faster. “It’s you. When you shut down like that, when you won’t say why and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to help, so I –”
Poe kissed him, one hand resting at the nape of Finn’s neck. “Buddy,” he said again, a whole lot softer. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
Finn let out a helpless laugh. “I kind of do, actually,” he said, his words tumbling out before he could stop them. “That’s pretty much the whole thing here.”
Poe frowned. “Finn –”
“I get that you need space sometimes,” he went on quickly, “and I’ll give you space, that’s okay. But I’m never going to not worry about the fact that my boyfriend is staring at a wall and not talking to me. I can’t...be like that. Like, as a person.”
“I don’t need space,” Poe murmured, hand drifting back to his side. “I don’t need space from you.”
“That’s not your best line,” Finn said, and Poe laughed.
“It’s pretty bad,” he agreed, and took a step back, regarding Finn seriously. “So we’re having a grown-up relationship talk here, right?”
“Seems like it.”
“Right. So, I’m sorry –”
“I don’t want you to be sorry.”
Poe nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “So I’m not sorry.” He gave Finn a sort of faraway smile, and then squinted up at the ceiling for a second as though looking for some sort of hidden message there. “Okay,” he repeated. “Grown-up talk.”
When he spoke again, it was almost businesslike, like he was running through the different flight instruments again, rattling off some safety protocol. “So, first off, if I get like that – if I ever ‘shut down’ or whatever, it’s not about you. It’s never gonna be about you. It’s just – stuff.” He gestured at his own head. “Old stuff, mostly. And sometimes I just get kinda quiet. But there’s nothing you need to do about that. It’s just me. It’s just a thing.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Which I probably should’ve said something about. At some point.”
“No,” Finn answered. “I mean, yeah. Probably. That would’ve been good. But I just – when you’re...quiet like that. I just feel like I should be doing something to help.”
“You’re already helping,” Poe said earnestly. “You’re always helping.” He paused, looking suddenly sheepish. “And anyway I go to therapy for that.”
“You – what? When?”
“Uh. Every week, pretty much. Last three years or so.”
Finn’s eyes narrowed. “You’re always busy Wednesday afternoons,” he said slowly.
“Yeah, sorry, I was gonna say, but...” Poe lifted his hands, waving them at nothing. “I didn’t. And then it felt weird, so...”
“Don’t be sorry,” Finn said, stepping toward him again. “Stop being sorry.”
“Sure, but I—”
Finn pressed him up against the wall and kissed him, again and again. Down from his lips to his jawline and then back up abruptly to his nose, so that Poe laughed and squirmed and dropped his forehead to Finn’s shoulder and said, “Buddy.”
“You think of the best pet names,” Finn said, deadpan, and Poe just snorted and stayed right where he was.
“Wait, are you napping on me?”
“No,” Poe said, into Finn’s shirt. And then, “M’tired.”
“Poe Dameron, I cannot believe –”
And then the kettle shrieked, and BB-8 barked, and they both jolted away from each other and somehow Finn tripped and fell on his ass.
Poe laughed, bright and clear, and helped him up again.
*
“Poe?” he asked later, once they’d more or less settled in for the night.
“Yeah.”
“Why the hell would you think tea is for when you’re sick?”
Poe huffed a laugh into Finn’s shoulder. “I dunno,” he murmured. “Somebody made it for me when I was sick.”
“Somebody.”
“The General,” he admitted. “After –”
“The POW thing.”
“Yeah.”
“Did it help?”
Poe lifted his head to give Finn a funny little smile, achingly fond and distant all at once. “Sure,” he said. “I was cured. It was a miracle.”
*
A week later, Poe actually did get sick, tragically struck down by a burgeoning headcold so bad that Leia Organa herself drove him home from work – a fact which seemed to make Poe equally embarrassed and proud. He kept blaming Finn’s tea for the whole thing, which Finn found supremely unfair and Rey found hilarious.
(“I haven’t gotten sick in years,” Poe said miserably from the couch, Rey and Finn safely in the kitchen away from his germs.
“So you think it’s the tea?” Finn said. “What do you think tea is?”
“It’s because you’re American,” Rey told him. “You can’t do tea. You could’ve killed him.”)
It took three days of miserable coughing, four phone calls from Jess, and one strongly worded text from Leia Organa before Poe agreed to go to a doctor.
(“She used an emoji,” Poe said, stricken, holding his phone out at arm’s length like it might bite him.
“And that’s...bad?”
“That’s bad.”)
The doctor, to no one’s surprise but Poe’s, gave him antibiotics and told him to rest up for “a day or so.”
“She doesn’t trust me,” he said mournfully, brandishing a small square of paper at Finn and Jess later that day. “She made me bring a note.”
“Gotta love Kalonia,” Jess said, snatching it away to study it. “This says three days, Poe.”
“Does it?” Poe said, flashing Finn an innocent grin. “Huh. Couldn’t read her handwriting.”
Finn quickly learned that in Poe Dameron Standard Time, three days were about equal to an eternity. Every minute of imposed rest seemed to just agitate him further. Jess and Finn took turns walking BB-8 for him and generally making sure he wasn’t making any escape attempts.
“We could go to the movies,” he told Finn on Day 3. Finn had come by after work to find Poe rummaging around in the kitchen, rearranging his small and mismatched collection of pots and pans. (“I was going to cook,” he’d explained, “but I got dizzy.” Like that was a normal and acceptable thing to say.)
“Or you could rest,” Finn said. “Like the doctor told you to.”
“The movies is resting. It’s sitting.”
“No, it’s walking three blocks and then sitting.”
“We could take a cab,” Poe said. “That would just be sitting and then sitting...more.”
“Or you could just watch a movie here, on your couch, where you’re supposed to be resting.”
Which was how Finn found himself watching Mamma Mia! with Poe half-collapsed over his lap and BB-8 squished into the remaining space on his other side.
“Why do you like this?” Finn said, wincing as the music signaled another impending dance number.
Poe tilted his head up toward Finn, giving him a pitiful look. He was still sniffly, but the Terrible Tea Disease had ebbed into a dry cough and more of a sore throat than anything. “What, you don’t like ABBA?” he said.
“Sure,” said Finn, whose taste in music could best be described as confused. “Maybe? I don’t know, whatever, but why this? It’s cheesy as hell.”
Poe grinned. “That’s why,” he said, pointing up at Finn. “Me an’ Jess used to watch this all the time when I was getting better. Sometimes you need cheesy.” He paused. “Plus it was stuck in the DVD player and that was the only one we had.”
“When you were getting better,” Finn repeated.
“Oh, yeah,” Poe said, suddenly getting that evasive look, fidgeting with the remote control in his hands. “Yeah, I was – the POW thing? It took me a while to get back on my feet. They roughed me up a little.”
Of course they had. Finn had known that, somewhere in the back of his mind; he just hadn’t particularly wanted to know it. Poe was looking guarded now, so Finn just nodded and brushed his fingers through his hair.
“‘The POW thing,’” he said. “You gonna keep calling it that?”
Poe blinked up at him slowly, and for a moment Finn thought he’d overstepped. But then Poe let out an amused huff. “I dunno, sounds better than ‘My Traumatic Torture Experience?’” He shrugged, his shoulder digging into Finn’s thigh. “Shorter, too. You know me. I’m all about –” He paused to cough into his elbow. “— efficiency.”
“Uh-huh,” Finn said, trying very hard to move on from the way his stomach had dropped at the word ‘torture.’ “That’s you. Mr. Efficient.”
“You can’t make fun of me,” Poe said. “I’m sick.”
“Your favorite movie is Mamma Mia,” Finn said. “I can make fun of you all I want.”
“It’s not my favorite,” Poe said. “It’s just a good movie. Everybody knows that – oh hey, it’s the song!” Poe lifted himself up on his elbows to peer determinedly at the TV.
“They’ve been singing the whole time, what are you –”
“No, the song,” Poe said. “The big one.”
Finn frowned. “Did you take cold medicine on an empty stomach again?”
“No-o-o,” said Poe.
“Yes,” said Finn. “Man, I told you not to –”
“Mamma mia,” Poe began croakily, ignoring him, and Finn covered his face in his hands. Unfortunately this only seemed to encourage Poe, because he shifted upward and raised his voice. “Here I go aga –”
And then Finn leaned in to kiss him quiet, swallowing his muffled noise of surprise. He drew back again only when Poe was properly shut up and slightly dazed.
“You’re gonna get sick,” Poe said finally.
“You’re not contagious anymore. Doctor said.”
“Yeah, but I’m gross,” Poe argued, gesturing at his own pale face and matted hair. “I’m like, cold-medicine-flavored. And...gross.”
Finn pretended to consider. “Only a little bit,” he decided.
Poe grinned. “My, my,” he sang, hoarse and slow, “how can I resist ya?”
*
“That’s not real,” said Rey pointedly, when Finn told her about it the next day. The whole singing thing.
They were in his bedroom, working on their respective homework: Finn’s reading for his Engineering: Building With Nature class, and Rey’s weird meditation-type assignments from her weird meditation-type martial arts instructor, Luke Skywalker. Neither of them had been getting much done anyway. Rey was in an impatient mood, and Finn, well. Finn was feeling distracted.
“I know,” he agreed, setting his textbook aside on the bed. Rey looked up at him from the floor, where she had been attempting to meditate on the meaning of life or something for the past twenty minutes.
“No, I mean that’s not real,” she insisted. “No real person would do that. Does he think he’s in a romcom?”
Finn shrugged helplessly, thinking of Jess’s romance novel comment. “Maybe? It’s possible. Did you know he plays guitar?”
“He what?” Rey said, looking appalled. “No.”
“I know.”
“I mean, what are you supposed to do about something like that?”
“I don’t know,” Finn sighed.
“Well,” said Rey, studying him, “what did you do?”
“...I told him he was a dumbass.”
“Mm. Probably the only option, under the circumstances.” She paused, looking him over again, and then suddenly she lit up. “Oh, Finn.”
“Oh-Finn what?” he said cautiously.
Rey beamed. “You’re in love with him, too. Aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer her for a beat, resisting the impulse to hide his face in his hands, trying to slow his speeding heart. Because she’d named it, hadn’t she? The thing that had had him off balance since yesterday. Since his dumb, cold medicine-drunk boyfriend had sung ABBA at him like a moron.
“I...think...so,” Finn said at last.
“Finn,” Rey repeated. “That’s wonderful.” She searched his face. “Isn’t it?”
“I – yeah. Yes. No? Yes,” Finn said. He stared at her helplessly for a second, not sure what to say or how to say it. But this was Rey, and he could tell her anything, and so he said, “I think I’m – I’m worried.”
Rey climbed up to sit on Finn’s bed, crosslegged and facing him. “How come?” she asked, looking at him intently.
“I don’t know. I don’t know, I shouldn’t be, right?”
Rey shook her head. “There is no should or shouldn’t,” she recited. “There’s just –”
“Just what is.” Finn sighed. “I know. You told me that one.”
“Right,” Rey said, with a sharp nod. “And all you can do is work with what is. Not what you think should be.”
“You’re getting really good at the Skywalker voice, you know that?”
Rey preened. “I’ve been practicing. You know, you should –”
“I’m not going to talk to your martial arts guy about my boyfriend,” Finn said flatly.
Rey rolled her eyes. “I was going to say you should talk to your boyfriend about your boyfriend. That’s standard procedure with these things. Everyone knows that.”
“Who knows that?” Finn demanded.
“Everyone who watches romcoms knows that,” Rey amended. “Anyway I’m pretty sure Luke would just tell you to search your feelings.”
“For what?”
Rey raised her eyebrows. “You will know when you find it, young grasshopper,” she said mysteriously, and Finn sighed and collapsed back against his pillow.
“Oh, come on,” added Rey, who had never dated anyone, and who had especially never had to be responsible for Poe Dameron’s stupidly beautiful smile. “It can’t be that hard.”
*
It was, in fact, that hard. First there was the issue of figuring out what exactly it was he even wanted to say – I’m in love with you, and this makes me extremely nervous just didn’t seem quite right. I want to tell you everything there is about my entire life and you’re the first person I’ve ever felt that way about and I don’t want you to leave ever so don’t do that please okay thanks wasn’t really a lot better.
And then there was figuring out when. While Poe was cooking them dinner and chattering away about some sort of WWII plane he was doing repairs on? When they were walking BB-8 in the early morning, the streets quiet, Finn clinging to his coffee? During one of their hurried lunches in between their respective work hours?
Maybe this was why Poe chose to just announce things at random. A week went by and Finn still couldn’t figure it out, how in the hell he was supposed to bring a thing like this up.
In the end Poe brought it up for him, because of course he did. They were at the dog park, watching BB-8 run circles around the rest of the dogs (Poe’s eyes shone with pride whenever his little dog outpaced the others). And Poe turned to Finn abruptly and said, “What’s going on?”
“What?” Finn said, heart pounding.
“What’s going on,” Poe repeated, offering one of his patented useless hand gestures. “With you.” He was giving Finn an openly concerned look now, foot tapping nervously at the ground. “You seem kind of – you seem stressed. Is work okay?”
“Work’s fine,” Finn said, bewildered. He didn’t think he’d been projecting anything in particular, but then he was forever underestimating exactly how observant Poe could be.
“School’s okay?” Poe pressed, glancing briefly up as BB-8 roooo’ed to the world. He was rolling in an enormous mud puddle with apparent glee, and Finn and Poe both winced. “Oh, that’ll be fun,” Poe muttered, and then he shook his head and looked expectantly back at Finn.
“School’s fine,” Finn said. “I’m okay, man.” He squeezed Poe’s hand. “I just...” He trailed off. Again there was that stupid lump in his throat, again his words just up and died before they could make it from his lips.
“If I did something...” Poe began, after a moment. He fixed his gaze on the ground. “If I shut you out again, or something, you can –”
“What? No,” Finn said, alarmed. He turned to face Poe fully. “No, man, you didn’t do anything. I just – I want to tell you...things.” He sighed, resisting the urge to facepalm. “This isn’t what I meant to say.”
“I do like things,” Poe offered, watching him with a bemused expression.
“I want to tell you,” Finn repeated, heart thudding hard in his chest. “I mean, really I just want to tell you – everything, like how you told me –”
“I didn’t,” Poe interrupted, guilt flitting across his face. “Not everything.”
“No, I know,” Finn said. “That’s okay. I just mean – I want you to know stuff too. I want you to know about...all of it.”
He didn’t realize it until he spoke the words, but it was true. It had been true for a long time. He wanted to tell Poe about the long list of foster homes. About his own blurry years after he’d aged out of the system, drifting around until he found Maz’s place, until he found Rey. About how together he and Rey had built their way out of Jakku’s burning nothing of a city. How they’d fought their way to get here, to find work, to rent their very own apartment. Their own home, small and rundown and theirs.
He wanted Poe to know what it meant. He wanted Poe to know.
Finn took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I’m not good at this,” he said, frustrated.
“Nobody’s good at this, buddy,” Poe said quietly. “This is the hard stuff.”
“Yeah, well, I want to try. At some point,” Finn muttered. “Because I’m in love with you and it’s freaking me the hell out.”
Poe went very still beside him, and it took a second for Finn’s brain register what had come out of his mouth.
“Oh,” he said, staring wide-eyed at Poe. “Yeah. So. That was what I meant to say.”
Poe, for his part, said nothing at all for a very long moment, and for once, Finn couldn’t read his expression. “You,” he said at last. And then, “What?”
“I’m in love with you,” Finn repeated, and it was somehow easy as anything to say the words, now that they’d already slipped loose without his permission. Now that he was here, now that there was no turning back. The relief was so heady that he grinned. “It’s kind of scaring the shit out of me.”
Poe laughed breathlessly. “Me, too,” he said. “Um, to both those things. Shit, Finn, I –”
And then, with glorious grace and impeccable timing, BB-8 leapt into Poe’s lap and shook out his coat before either of them could so much as yelp.
Cold, pungent mud spattered all over both of them, all over the bench, and probably the entire city. It dripped into Finn’s hair and down his forehead and the back of his neck, and it covered the entire right side of Poe’s face.
“BeeBee Ate Dameron,” Poe scolded, but he was laughing, reaching over to try and wipe some of the mud from Finn’s face with his sleeve as BB-8 bounded down to run happy circles around their bench.
And then Poe fell into Finn’s lap, still shaking with laughter, smearing mud onto Finn’s shirt and pants and everywhere.
“Shit,” he said again, his breath warm on Finn’s neck, slipping in the muck all around them as he tried and failed to scramble off of Finn. “I’m sorry – I was trying to say –”
“It’s okay,” said Finn, choking on a laugh, “it’s no big deal, you don’t have to –”
“Finn,” Poe said, sounding pained. “I’ve been in love with you since you wiped the goddamn blood off my face, you always scared the shit out of me, I –”
Finn kissed him soundly. Mud and all.
*
*
*
“I’m gonna be cleaning this place for days,” Poe said, looking around at the havoc all three of them had wreaked just by virtue of stepping into the apartment.
“Yep,” Finn said brightly. They watched BB-8 snuffle past looking for crumbs under the kitchen table, Poe’s eyes following the trail of muddy pawprints in his wake.
“I could use some help,” Poe said. “From my extremely responsible and kind boyfriend. Who is in love with me.”
“You could,” Finn said, heading over to the sink to wash the muck from his face. “That’s true.” He grabbed for the nearest dishtowel, feeling slightly less disgusting now that there wasn’t dried mud in his eyebrows.
“Or I could just move,” Poe added, with a hopeless glance around them.
“No,” Finn sighed. “No, you can’t do that.”
“I think it’s the only way. Would you come with me? Since we’re in love.”
“Poe,” said Finn, stepping over to him with the dishtowel in hand.
“What? It’s a reasonable question.”
“There’s mud all over your face.”
“Yeah,” said Poe, “good point. So I’ll take a shower, and then I’ll –”
Finn reached out to steady Poe’s chin, wiping the mud away carefully with the damp towel, and Poe stopped talking. Instead he just smiled, big and goofy, and Finn said, “You’re dumb,” and, “I love you.”
“You’re mean,” Poe replied, still smiling, “and you told me that already.” He leaned in to plant a quick kiss on Finn’s cheek, and added, “But you should tell me again.”
So Finn did.