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The Resistance base never really slept, but there were quieter hours, the kind that settled in after the last round of briefings and before the earliest patrols slipped back out into the dark. Finn had started to recognize those in between moments, the way the corridors softened, the way voices dropped, the way the hum of machinery became something almost steady enough to lean on. It was during one of those hours that he realized Poe Dameron was absolutely, undeniably doing it on purpose.
At first it had been easy to dismiss. Poe was warm with everyone, quick with a grin, quicker with a hand on a shoulder or a reassuring squeeze to someone’s arm as he passed. Finn had told himself it didn’t mean anything, that this was just how Poe moved through the world, bright and unguarded, leaving small traces of contact behind him like sparks. But then it kept happening, always just a little different when it was Finn. A hand at the small of his back that lingered a fraction too long as Poe guided him through a crowded hangar, fingers brushing his wrist when passing a datapad, a light, rhythmic tap, twice, always twice, against his arm as if marking a private beat only they could hear. By the third time in a single evening, Finn found himself standing still in the middle of a corridor, watching Poe walk a few steps ahead with easy confidence, and feeling something twist tight and uncertain in his chest.
He caught up quickly, falling into step beside him as the overhead lights cast long, dim reflections across the polished floor. “You keep doing that,” Finn said, the words coming out more direct than he expected, edged with confusion he hadn’t quite managed to hide.
Poe glanced over, eyebrows lifting in practiced innocence, though the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Doing what?”
Finn gestured vaguely between them, frustrated by how hard it was to pin down something that felt so obvious. “That. The touching, the…whatever that is. You keep doing it.”
Poe’s gaze dipped briefly to Finn’s hand before returning to his face, his expression thoughtful in a way that felt suspiciously like teasing. “Huh,” he said after a beat, dragging the moment out just enough to make Finn’s pulse stutter. “Weird.”
Finn let out a short breath, halfway to a laugh and halfway to exasperation. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet you came looking for me,” Poe replied easily, slowing his pace just enough that their shoulders brushed, warm and solid and deliberate.
“I was going to the mess hall,” Finn said, though it sounded weaker out loud than it had in his head.
“Sure you were,” Poe said, softer now, his tone losing some of its edge as he looked at Finn more closely, like he was trying to read something beneath the surface.
Finn hesitated, the corridor stretching quietly around them, the distant clatter of tools and low murmur of voices fading into the background. “You’re like this with everyone,” he admitted finally, the honesty catching in his throat as it surfaced. “Friendly. Always…close. And I don’t know what it means. Not when it’s me.”
For a moment, Poe didn’t answer. He just studied Finn, really studied him, the playful energy settling into something more grounded, more careful. Then he stepped closer, slow enough that Finn had time to pull away if he wanted to, and reached out with a kind of quiet certainty that felt entirely different from before. His hand found Finn’s, not in passing this time, not accidental or fleeting, but deliberate, his fingers curling gently around Finn’s like he was testing something fragile rather than teasing something light.
It was such a small gesture, and yet it stilled Finn completely.
Poe’s thumb brushed once across the back of Finn’s hand, then again, that same familiar rhythm, and when he spoke, his voice had softened into something warm and unguarded. “It doesn’t mean the same thing with everyone.”
Finn’s breath caught before he could stop it. “No?”
Poe shook his head slightly, his smile returning but quieter now, less performative and more real. “With you, it means I’ve been trying to get your attention without making a big deal out of it. Which in hindsight might not have been my best plan.”
Finn let out a breath that felt like it had been sitting in his chest for days. “You could’ve just said something.”
“I could have,” Poe agreed, his grip on Finn’s hand steady, grounding. “But you’ve had enough people demanding things from you. I didn’t want to be another voice like that. I figured maybe I’d let you come to me.”
The words landed deeper than Finn expected, settling somewhere that still felt tender, still learning how to trust something gentle. He looked down at their hands, at the simple, uncomplicated way they fit together, and then back up at Poe, who was watching him with an openness that made it hard to look away.
“You’re still confusing,” Finn said quietly, though there was no real bite to it anymore.
Poe huffed a soft laugh, relief threading through it. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
Finn felt the corner of his mouth lift despite himself, something lighter easing into his chest. After a moment’s hesitation, he shifted his hand, turning it just enough to lace their fingers together instead of simply being held. The movement was small, but it changed everything, and he felt it immediately in the way Poe went still for a heartbeat before his grip tightened in response.
Poe didn’t say anything right away, but his smile widened, brightening into something quietly delighted. He gave Finn’s hand a gentle squeeze, once, twice, and this time the rhythm felt less like a question and more like an answer.
“Okay,” He finally said softly, almost to himself, as if confirming something he’d hoped for but hadn’t wanted to assume.
Finn glanced at him, warmth spreading through him in a way that felt unfamiliar but undeniably right. “Okay,” he echoed, and this time the word came easy.
They started walking again without really deciding to, moving in step down the corridor as the base carried on around them, distant and unintrusive. Poe didn’t let go of his hand, and the quiet between them felt full rather than uncertain now, charged with something soft and steady, like the beginning of a language they were both just starting to understand, built not from grand declarations but from small, deliberate choices to stay close.
And when Poe’s thumb brushed lightly over his hand again, no longer tentative but certain, Finn found himself smiling, realizing he’d already learned how to answer.