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The unused corridor behind the med bay is exactly thirteen paces long. Two paces per tile, and the last tile cut in half, like an unfinished sentence. Like a story that will never end with ‘and they lived happily ever after,’ but only with a single cut-off word and silence.
One, two, three, Finn counts, the soft sound of his feet hitting the floor echoing in the late-night stillness. Almost everyone else is asleep, except the few unlucky or nocturnal people keeping essential services running through the night. There’s no one to see him pacing back and forth in this dimly-lit corridor, counting and counting and counting. Counting paces. Counting regrets.
Counting the hours since Poe was scheduled to return.
Four, five, six, and if Finn had said something, had gotten his head out of his ass and spoken the words that have been lodged in his throat for weeks, would Poe be back by now? Would he have been that extra smidge more careful, if he had known there was someone for him to come back to? Or would it only have distracted him? Is there anything Finn could have done which would have kept Poe safe?
Seven, eight, nine, and Finn can talk to Poe about everything and anything else, can trust him not to laugh at Finn no matter what new and obvious thing Finn needs advice about, so why can’t Finn get the damn words out of his mouth that really matter? ‘Poe, I think I love you’ - how hard is that? Six syllables. And hell, Finn could probably cut that down to four if he really tried. Of course, even if he could get those words out of his mouth, there’s no point now. There’s no Poe now to say them to.
Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, turn. He could practice, maybe. Say the words out loud a few times, so that if - when, when, when - Poe gets back, they’ll slide out of his mouth as easily as breathing, without Finn even having to think about it. But if Poe doesn’t get back - no. He’s Poe Dameron, best pilot in the Resistance. He’s made it back from every mission so far, without more than a few scrapes and some good stories to tell. Finn won’t think about him not making it back. As long as he doesn’t give up, Poe can’t actually be harmed.
One, two, three, and Finn knows perfectly well that’s not how the universe works, that just wanting something badly enough to taste it isn’t enough to keep the galaxy from grinding your dreams to dust, but - ‘Nobody’s dead till you see the body,’ Snap said weeks ago, laughing about Poe’s return from Jakku, and there’s no body, no scrap of black X-Wing, no mourning droid, so Poe’s not gone, just...late. Late back, that’s all.
Four, five, six, so he’s going to get back eventually, with a good story and maybe a few superficial injuries and that cocky smile that says he knows he’s all that, and when he does Finn will be waiting on the tarmac for him, and when Poe hugs him Finn - Finn should say those words he’s been unable to say. So he should practice. That’s only sensible. And no one comes here even during the day, when the med bay is busy, so it’s not as though anyone will overhear him being sad and desperate and hopeful, here in the dark hours that seem to stretch on forever.
Seven, eight, nine. Finn takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, takes another. “Poe,” he says, very quietly, the word rasping a little in his throat. “I think I love you.” The world does not end. The hallway echoes quietly to the slap of his shoes. That wasn’t so very hard. Finn takes another breath, tries again a little louder. “Poe, I think I love you.” Yeah. That almost sounds smooth, almost sounds like he’s not absolutely terrified by his own words. One more try.
Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, turn. “Poe,” says Finn as he reaches the wall, slaps a hand against it as he spins, “I think I love you.” And stops dead.
Poe gives him a crooked, astonishingly sweet smile from the doorway at the other end of the corridor. He’s still in his flight suit, and he’s clearly exhausted and a little battered around the edges, but he’s alive and standing there and dear Force he just heard that, didn’t he. Finn might have to die of mortification now.
“Good,” says Poe quietly. “I’d hate to be the only one in love.”
Finn stares, not quite sure he’s heard that right, but Poe is smiling so sweetly, looks so hopeful, and Finn lunges forward, feet slapping loudly on the tile, onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineteneleventwelvethirteen into Poe’s arms, and Poe pulls him close and kisses him, and there’s the proper ending to the story.