Finn has never properly dealt with his own identity before. He didn't believe he could have one.
It's a world of darkness and fresh air and stars glowing like dense, beady pinpricks. Everything has possibilities now that he's out of the iron clutches of the First Order—and he's lived to tell the tale to others. It's a damn miracle in itself.
Poe's growing a beard over some time—it's coarser and dark, thickening scruff, grazing against Finn's jaw when their lips meet in greeting, in a sleepy and tender press. Poe's fingers softly cradle the side of Finn's head, urging them closer together. He's so impatient when it's just them.
"You need a shave," Rey says grumpily, flush-faced from her morning routine. Her thin, brown ringlets of hair sticking against her damp, high forehead.
She leans on her tiptoes, mumbling and squirming out of Poe's impish hands. Rey slowly locks her hands to Finn's waist, cross-crossing them, burying her face entirely to his chest and swaying into him. It didn't happen overnight—either her or Finn getting accustomed to touch.
"I'll get right on that," Poe tells her, smiling good-naturedly.
He sets a quick, doting kiss to her scalp, listening to her relaxed breathing and meeting Finn's dark, also smiling eyes.
Rey's hands stroke gently up Finn's back, wrinkling the loose material of his over-shirt. Her fingertips memorizing and outlining, charting where his long, rigid burn-scar lies. She doesn't talk about that particular injury, and the recovery—and Finn has no reason to bring it up, with no painful, lingering echo to grimace his features. Poe eventually strolls away from them, calling out to BB-8 who chirps and hums for attention in the next room.
"What do you want more than anything…?" All of these strangers would ask Finn, as if nagging him, as if incredulous, "What do you FEEL… …?"
At least to him.
Rey, with her soft, bared skin through her nightdress, a pale sun-gold against Finn's dark brown. Her courage and her strength that inspires Finn, when she fights and stands with her friends, when she refuses to quit. She can be difficult, and stubborn as any top-ranking commander he's ever met—but her kindness is unwavering, and unmatched.
Poe, with his scent clinging faintly still to the lapel of his old, shredded jacket. His benevolent heart and his confidence makes Finn want to somersault over miles of scorching-hot lands and attempt to bend the winds, and the stars themselves, if it meant he could be with this man. He's no pilot and no man Finn has known in his whole life.
He's never felt an emotion so fulfilling before—if love could be described as a growing familiarity, with elbow-nudges and fleeting, bright-eyed grins before they return to the Resistance base; or love as warmth and comfort found in two bodies beside him, when Rey's little toes burrow under him. She lays out on the blankets, groaning out loud about her sore, heavy limbs. Poe looks up curiously from reading Finn's book, his cheek mashed and weighing down against Finn's shoulder.
If love could be whispery, reassuring promises after each screaming, vividly-charged nightmare, and if it allowed you to be a better person… Finn doesn't have anymore questions, or anymore doubts about what he feels.
It's just the two of them he wants, embraces and open-mouthed kisses. He views Rey's history and Poe's future combined as one, and they are connected to each other now.
Finn will face his own destiny, face himself at the very end of it all.
Because, there once had been a world of monotonous, purging darkness—and as far as he can tell, his fears and uncertainties are chased out by their presence and their light.
Star Wars belong to its creators. GUYS, I SAW IT! I SAW THE NEW MOVIE! I haven't been this obsessed over an canony OT3 since... god, Eleven/Amy/Rory? JFC. But omg, please tell me someone loves these three as well! Any thoughts and comments are appreciated, thank you! It's my 1st SW fic. I really hope you liked this!