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Luke grips Rey tightly by the shoulder and pulls himself to his feet with a grand sweep of dark Jedi robes. He clears his throat and a hush falls over the room.
Finn leans into Poe’s side and, under the table, brushes his fingers over the back of his hand. His fingers graze Poe’s cool metal wedding band and Finn can’t help but allow a small smile to sneak onto his face. Husband. Poe is his husband.
He really shouldn’t be smiling right now. It’s supposed to a solemn day, after all. The Resistance might have won the war, but they hadn’t done it without the taste of ashes and loss in their mouths. Instinctively, Finn looks at the empty spot between old Luke and the Wookiee Chewbacca, where Han Solo would have sat. A knot twists painfully in his chest as red-soaked images of that dreadful night play out behind Finn’s eyes.
He shakes the memories away. Poe’s hand tightens around his under the table.
“Today we honor the fallen,” Luke’s strong voice rings out, ricocheting like blaster bolts off metal walls. “Today we mourn the lives lost. Today we celebrate our victory.”
“Here, here.” Poe lifts his glass and Rey follows suit.
Finn runs his thumb along the rim of his glass. Who will say a toast for Slip? For Nines and Zeroes? Fiver? Eight-Eight? Kala? Torrin? Who will say a toast for my parents, Force protect their souls?
Finn lifts his glass as well. The wine is bitter and burns all the way down.
***
After the celebration, Finn retreats to his and Poe’s quarters, having begged off from the after-party with a headache.
(It was a lie, one that he only feels a little bit bad at telling.)
Finn dims the lights and climbs into the bed.
He can hear music and revelry just beyond the walls of the room he shares with Poe. Somewhere, Poe and Rey and their friends are dancing and drinking and giving thanks to the Force that they’re still alive.
Finn ought to be out there with them, celebrating, but he can’t—he—
Finn sighs and tosses himself onto his back, unable to find a good position in bed.
The door to their room hisses open and Finn stiffens, silently cursing himself for leaving his blaster in its lockbox. It’s too far for him to reach.
“Room, illumination,” Poe calls out, and warm, buttery light fills the room.
Finn sits up, sighing. “What is it? Is everything okay?"
“Everything’s fine, I guess,” Poe says, coming over to the bed. He sits on the end, on top of Finn’s feet, and moves Finn’s legs into his lap. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure, everything’s fine. I’m fine,” Finn says too quickly for it to be believable.
Poe’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh really?”
Finn frowns. Marrying the man has apparently made him incapable of lying to him. “I guess I had some things on my mind.”
“A credit for your thoughts?” Poe offers Finn a smile, an invitation to bare his soul.
Finn thinks about Slip, about the smoking hole in his chestplate. About Nines, lying limp in the dirt like a broken doll. Even Kylo Ren, black hair caked with blood, led to the Republic in chains.
“It didn’t feel right to be there celebrating,” Finn ventures, folding his hands in his lap. He fiddles with a loose thread on his pants. “We won, sure. But I knew people on the other side. Toasting their deaths feels... It feels wrong.”
Poe sighs and rubs his hand over Finn’s leg. “I’m sorry, buddy. I wasn’t even thinking—”
“It’s not your fault, or anything you did. It’s not even the Resistance’s fault, really. War is unfair, war is cruel. I get it. People die. It’s just—” Finn clenches his hands into fists, frustrated that he can’t just get this out. That his words are failing him right now. “Maybe I could never really call them friends, but I knew them. Slip was the closest thing to a friend in the Order. I grew up alongside him and Zeroes and Nines. Now they’re gone and...and we’re celebrating it. Outside, people are dancing around a bonfire. If you and I hadn’t found each other when we did, where we did, maybe you’re out there celebrating my death.”
Poe pushes Finn’s legs gently out of his lap and crawls up the length of his torso until they’re more or less eye to eye. His breath is warm and sweet, smelling faintly of Corellian liquor.
“We always would have found each other,” Poe says, shaking his head a little when Finn opens his mouth to protest. “I believe that. If not then, some other time. Some other place.”
“You have a lot of faith in the Force,” Finn offers.
Poe scoots in and kisses him gently. “I’ve got faith in you and me. The Force I can take or leave.”
Finn can’t help but laugh a little at that. Poe slides a hand to the back of his neck and pulls him in. Their lips meet, messy and wet, laughter on their breath.
There’s still a knot in Finn’s chest, there’s still an ache he that doesn’t know will ever go away, there are nightmares lurking in the shadows waiting for dark to fall, but here, now, he has Poe. He has Rey, Luke, Leia, Chewbacca, and a whole Resistance base on his side.
For the first time in a very, very long time, Finn has hope for the future.