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For the first few months, touching is strictly-off limits. Finn being Finn, he naturally respects Rey’s reluctance to hug, or kiss, or even hold hands; after being stranded by herself for so long, so terribly, terribly long, touching is foreign to Rey – unless the touch is one borne of violence. Finn, on the other hand, loves the warmth and happiness it brings. For so long, so terribly, terribly long, Finn had never had the pleasure of touching another human being’s skin.
There are so many textures. Rough, soft, furry, leathery, prickling, silky…the list is seemingly endless, and Finn can’t get enough of it. His heart jumps in his chest when Poe twines their fingers together; the pilot’s hands are gentle, with palms so warm that Finn’s are sweating when they part. It’s undeniably strange and incredibly lovely. How wonderful, Finn thinks, to be able to reach out and bask in the comfort of being loved.
Rey is loved, too. She smiles more these days, more and more often, which also makes Finn’s heart jump. She laughs at all of his jokes, even the ridiculous ones – especially the ridiculous ones. One day, they are sitting comfortably underneath the cool cover of treetops, Rey babbling excitedly about a flower she’s discovered growing in the moist soil, when she grows inexplicably silent. Finn’s stretched out on his back, staring at the whispering, waving leaves. He can’t see her, can’t see what’s caused this abrupt quietness, so with his brow creasing in worry, he leans up on his elbows.
She’s scooted closer to him, and she wears a frown, plucking a weed, stripping it with her fingernails. “Is something wrong?” Finn asks, running through their conversation in his mind. He’s said very little, actually; he enjoys hearing her talk, the uninterrupted flow of her mind, and so he lays quietly – hardly daring to breathe – as she tells him about the spinebarrels that grow on Jakku. The flower that, like her, grows in spite of its hardships. That blossoms regardless.
Shaking her head, Rey leans forward, a conspiratorial look on her face. Their mouths are so close that Finn can feel her breath ghosting across his lips, and he swallows thickly, watching as her eyes dart curiously to his Adam’s apple. “Finn,” she says, so quietly he almost doesn’t hear her, “could I kiss you?”
“Yes. Please do. I mean—if you want to—“ he cuts himself off, smiling up at her awkwardly. She returns it, her dimples popping, and Finn feels like his heart is going to burst. Gently, with one of her calloused hands resting on the side of his face, she presses her lips to his. It’s a soft kiss, chaste, her lips closed against his. Finn doesn’t move, unsure of what to do, how to respond. To put it straightforwardly, Finn is overwhelmed, mesmerized.
“That was nice,” Rey says, leaning back on her heels.
“Nice,” Finn repeats, scratching the back of his neck. A moment passes, and then Rey kisses him again, this time parting her lips a little. Softly she melts into him, and softly he melts into her.
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Finn and Poe share a room now. The nightmares still come, but it’s easier now, with Poe kissing his forehead, telling him that everything is all right, everything is okay, they’re safe. The sleeping arrangement comes from the General’s advice; one night Poe had complained to Leia about how badly he felt for Finn, sleeping alone, with no one to comfort him when the dreams turned into visions of the past. “Well,” she had said, bluntly, “why don’t you let him sleep in your room?”
They’ve come a long way from Poe standing around nervously, wringing his hands, growing flustered every time the former Stormtrooper is in the room. Now he’s a little more at ease, although Finn still makes him blush as easy as anything.
Finn knows that Rey, too, suffers from nightmares. She’s confided in him: every night she relives her abandonment, the battle in the snow, and Finn’s near-death. It both crushes him and fills him with warmth, to know that she cares for him so much. Finn had squeezed her hands in his, kissed every one of her knuckles, and she had smiled despite the sadness he saw in her eyes.
It’s on a snowy night, in fact, when Poe and Finn wake hazily to hear a knock on their door. Poe sighs, sitting up and pushing a curl off his forehead, staring at Finn, who is pretending to still be asleep. Laughing a little, Poe opens the door, expecting to see the General, or someone telling him that there’s an emergency mission.
It’s neither.
“Oh,” Poe says, a little surprised. Not too surprised; he had actually sort of expected this. But when Finn lifts his head to see what’s going on, he’s surprised in earnest.
“Rey?”
Smiling a little, Rey shrugs one shoulder. “Would it be all right if I joined the two of you? I know it’s late, and you’re all tired, and—I probably shouldn’t have come—“ the line of her mouth grows a little harder. Finn knows instinctively that she’s shutting down.
“No, no,” Poe murmurs gently, placing his hand on her back. “We’ve been waiting for you, really.”
“You have?” Rey’s eyes glisten with faint emotion.
“We have,” Finn replies. He pats the mattress.
They sleep with Finn in the middle, Poe’s arms thrown around him, Rey’s nose nestled into the nape of his neck. All is warm, quiet, soft. Finn wonders if that’s what the Force is like, when the Light is filling you.
Rey is not desperate to sleep. She dreams of nothing but the endless ocean, stretching stars, and the feeling of Finn’s hand wrapped around hers, Poe’s soft laugh at her ear.