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“What’s the longest your hair has ever been?” Poe asks softly in the safe quiet of the room, leaned back against a wall. His hands are in Finn’s hair, who rests his head in his lap, and Poe can’t help but wonder what Finn would look like with big, dark curls.
Finn’s eyes don’t open, but his forehead creases a little. “Uh,” he pauses for a moment. “This, I think. The First Order doesn’t allow their troops to have long, flowing locks, but I guess you Resistance boys wouldn’t know about that.” There’s a tiny smirk on his lips, and Poe smiles back even though Finn can’t see.
“You’re one of those Resistance boys now.”
Finn’s forehead smooths and his smirk spreads to a toothy grin. He cracks one eye open to look at Poe. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
The silence that they fall back into is comfortable, and becomes warm when Poe starts humming a tune softly without thinking. He runs his fingers over Finn’s short hair, only an inch or so in length at most, and strokes his thumb through a patch. Finn would look magnificent with long hair, and Poe wants to know what it would look like. Would he have tight corkscrews that reach up to the stars? Maybe he’d have big, lazy curls that hang down past his shoulders, or long dreads going down his back. Through all of the imagined possibilities, Poe can’t help but picture himself putting flowers in Finn’s hair as they sit together, Finn’s head in his lap and Poe’s hands in his hair, relaxing beneath warm sunlight that feels soft against their skin, and a gentle breeze that will take them nowhere but further into the moment.
Poe stops humming as his song comes to an end. “I think you should let your hair grow.”
“Mm,” Finn responds more to Poe lightly scratching at his scalp than to his actual comment.
“I think you’d look really good.”
“Long hair isn’t practical,” he says, and it sounds so automatic and taught that Poe pulls a face.
“ Practicality aside, I’d like to see.”
Finn opens one eye again, forehead creasing with confusion. “Why?”
Poe offers him a tender smile, and shrugs. “More hair to play with.” He leaves out the part about wanting to decorate him with flora, but he thinks that white flowers would look amazing. “Plus you’d be cute.” Yellow flowers would look nice, too, Poe decides.
“I’m already cute,” Finn grins, and it makes Poe laugh, loud and happy.
“Yeah,” he leans down and meets Finn’s lips with his own, both of them smiling into the kiss. He feels his stomach flip when Finn’s tongue lightly traces at his bottom lip, and it feels like a wave of warmth is encompassing him, starting at his lips and spreading over him like a blanket. He’s hyperaware of every place their bodies hold contact, and when he pulls back it’s to press another kiss to the tip of Finn’s nose and whisper, “You really are.”
He scratches Finn’s head again, and Finn makes that soft, pleased sound that Poe enjoys. The quiet comes back, and Poe lifts it with his low-toned humming. Time passes around them as if it doesn’t exist, and Poe feels he could live in this moment forever. Finn looks content, relaxed, and Poe hopes he feels the same way. Safe. Loved. Endless.
At some point, he brings his other hand to Finn’s face and strokes his cheekbone with his thumb. Finn’s eyes remain closed, but the corners of his lips turn up and he looks like he’s dreaming. Poe feels like maybe he is, too.
“You really think I should let it grow?”
The question makes Poe smile, and a warmth grows in his chest. He doesn’t stop humming, just slips a in quick ‘mhm’ laced with affirmation and keeps on with the tune.
Finn takes a breath through his nose and opens his eyes on the exhale. “Alright,” he says simply. “I’ll grow it out.”
Poe’s humming fades into nothing as his smile grows wide. “How long?” He asks, excited. A mix of bright blue flowers and the small indigo flowers with velvety petals that sometimes grow with the grass would look especially good on Finn.
“Until it stops looking nice, I guess,” Finn tells him, voice gentle and sweet like honey.
Poe feels almost giddy. From looking at how Finn’s hair grows now, Poe can guess that it will reach up towards the sky as it grows longer, but it could also end up falling off of his shoulders in a gorgeous, frizzy mess of curls. Either way, he can’t wait to run his fingers through the length.
He lets his thumb caress Finn’s cheekbone again as they look at each other. “If that’s when you’re stopping, then you’ll never have to.” He feels a light blush spread across his face when Finn moves his hand to rest over Poe’s own, calloused thumb mimicking his movements against the back of his hand.
“Guess we’ll see,” he says, the smile on his lips making his eyes sparkle, deep and brown and happy.
Poe doesn’t think he’s ever been so fond of anyone. He allows his fingers to be laced with Finn’s and pulled against his chest. Finn continues the rhythmic, lazy stroking of his thumb against Poe’s skin, and Poe tries to count his eyelashes when they fall to rest against melanin rich cheeks. Eventually Poe feels his own eyes closing, and he lets himself relax against the wall, one hand encased in Finn’s, and the other in his hair. He thinks of timeless afternoons and long, curly hair adorned with bright flowers that look too delicate for touch, and the man with his head in his lap, looking so pleased just to be in his company.