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Finn's sitting on the window ledge, watching the pilots training in the yard. The sun burns hot against the back of their necks, flushing them. Every so often, he can make out a bark of laughter.
Technically, Finn knows, Poe's room is his own. It's his space - about the size of a storage hold locker, true, but it's his. If he found out Finn had crept up here, it wouldn't exactly be a pleasant conversation.
That's a lie - it probably would be pleasant. That's the thing about Poe: he disarms people with his laughter. They'd joke around about it, and then Finn would be sent on his way, with a strong clap on the back and some joke.
Finn likes Poe's room. It's smaller than the one he had back at the Base, but Poe doesn't have to share with anyone else - and besides, everywhere, there are hints of him. Finn's looked inside every drawer. He knows where the clothes lie in the cupboard; he's found the books beneath the bed, spines close to snapping. They have Poe's name written on the inside pages in black ink and jagged writing.
Outside in the paddock, a couple of off-duty shooters are leaning up against the fence. A couple of them are smoking - a girl, and another one, a guy.
Moving away from the glass, Finn straightens out the bed covers. The orange and black pilot's uniform is laid out on it, ready for whenever Poe feels like taking off. Finn tells himself to go.
There's a movement in the corridor, and the sound of footfalls. Finn waits for them to pass - first with slight unease, and then with mounting horror. The back of his neck is cold. His palms sweat. Every instinct is telling him to run, but there's nowhere to go - the space underneath the bed's too crowded, and he can hardly climb out of the window, can he?
Poe's muttering to himself. He sounds angry.
Yanking open the closet, Finn presses himself against the back. The barest chink of light shines through - but they're not shut all the way. He's too big for that, but it's too late to change, because the door to the room's flying open.
"Kriffin' me," Poe says, "kriffin' me and my kriffin', kriffin' feelings. 'Course I messed it up. How are you even a fighter pilot, Dameron? You wouldn't know a firm friend from the backside of a jet!"
There's the sound of pacing. Poe's shoulders come into view again; this time, he's carrying a bag, and is stuffing his training gear into it. "Great job," Poe's yelling, slamming boots in on top of his gun, "you really aced it. ”Wanna go out for a ride with me, Finn? Wanna watch the sunrise with me, Finn? Wanna hold my hand, Finn?” Do you?"
The bag is zipped aggressively shut. Poe slings it over his side, grunting a little beneath the weight. Finn can't stop looking at him - at the glide of his footsteps, at the slight shaking in his left hand.
"Don't know a good thing when you've got it, do you, Poe? You've gotta add complications. It's not as though the guy's head over heels for a Jedi, or anything." Poe stops swaying for a moment, so that he can pick up his kit from where it's dropped to the ground. He's cursing. "Not as though he's got somebody better, right?"
The last few words are said quietly. Poe sighs. Slumping sideways, he lands in a chair. His boots are spread wide apart. "I should've known better," he says, and this time, he just seems sad.
Shoving open the doors, Finn bursts out. He only has time to take in Poe's expression for a moment before he's saying, "If you're talking about me, I'm really sorry I turned you down. I had to go for a debriefing with General Organa, and after that I came here, and you - you must've been wandering around on the quad, trying to figure it out, and I'm sorry I put you through that, but I only did it 'cause I didn't know."
"Slow down," Poe says. He's on his feet, now. His hands are raised; Finn can make out the little cuts on his palms. "Easy. What're you doing here?"
Finn swallows. "Debriefing - it - it's difficult, a little. It drags up my memories. I don't want to think about any of them. Coming here - it's - calmer. Quiet. I'd have gone up in the jet with you, I swear."
"You would?" Poe seems to be struggling to hold onto something. His brows are furrowed. Slowly, he lowers his uniform bag to the floor. "Why didn't you say so?"
"'Cause I didn't think you needed me like that." Finn doesn't meet Poe's eyes, because he can't. There's a hush. Finn can hear his heartbeat in his ears, rattling through his chest.
"Five minutes," Poe says, "out on the launch pad. Be there, and bring a helmet."
Finn can't stop his ears from ringing.
.
Poe's leaning against the side of his plane, wearing his uniform and smiling. There's a faint dusting of stubble along his cheeks - he must've forgotten to shave this morning.
"So, what do you say?" he's asking. The light comes out in his eyes when he grins. He looks beautiful. "Want to come flying with me?"
"That'd better not be some kinda quip," Finn mutters.
Poe's hand lands on his shoulder. "Hey," he softly says.
One of the pilots jogs past, and whoops, "Go out and spare us all the pain!"
Poe hollers some obscenity back. Finn laughs. He puts his hand into Poe's, and squeezes it tight.
Poe glances back towards him. "You know, I had this grand plan. We were gonna go out into the System, and I'd show you all of my favourite haunts. There are some pretty neat dive bars."
"And I'd gaze at you starry-eyed?"
Poe flushes. It heads from his cheeks to his collar. "Shaddup," he grits out, "it's just an idea."
"You can't stop there." Finn jostles his shoulder. Poe's breath scrapes against his cheek. "Come on. Spill."
"Well," Poe says, the metal of the plane glinting dully behind him, "I thought we'd sit on top of a mountain. And you'd look across at me - it'd be dark, and evening - and say, "Thanks for today, Poe." And then we'd go home."
"That's it?"
Poe grins, bashful. "After that we make out really passionately and intensely, but I, uh, I'm not sure you want to hear about that."
Finn shrugs, and says, "Guess you've got that wrong."
Poe's lashes fan out across his cheek. He looks strangely vulnerable, clasping at his helmet; he's halfway been laughing and crying, it seems.
Finn clasps his face in both hands. They're holding onto one another, swaying from side to side - the helmet's sitting at Poe's feet, and Finn tries to hold both of them upright, tries to stop himself from falling down.
"I didn't think that you and I would - " Poe stops suddenly.
Finn runs a hand through Poe's hair. The strands are tangled up in-between his fingers. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you," he says.
"Ain't you a charmer," Poe snorts, voice thick. "Don't go anywhere."
"Why'd I do that?" Finn asks.