letters ; stormpilot au

( A. )

Finn worries about everything — just like how he worries now, that if he doesn't arrive early to this support group thing, he might not get a seat. And he'll have to . . . stand up for the whole time like a clown.

( Do clowns stand up a lot? Like stand up comedy, right? )

And he's already an hour late, damn you Rey for dragging me into one of your marathons, he thinks, as he peels off his sticky shirt, and hopping into the bathroom, and taking the fastest shower known to mankind, before throwing on whatever he has lying around and jumping onto the next subway train ride to Brooklyn.

He manages to catch his breath as he sits down, his heart rattling in his rib cage, doing slow measured breathing exercises as he watches the lights strobe past him the window opposite.

When he gets his breathing capacities in order, he looks around curiously, his gaze flickering between the passengers of the train. There's a girl with a green stripe running through her ponytail, chewing gum noisily as she taps her feet to the sound of music blaring through her headphones, an elderly couple holding each other's hands ( Finn smiles at that ), and a tiny little kitten which managed to hitchhike onto the train somehow, a little orange thing, with white socks, and a innocent demeanor as he purrs and rubs his head against Finn's cargo pants and boots. He beams, and takes off one of his fingerless gloves and rubs the cat behind its ears, the cat leaning into his touch.

"How did you get on here?" he murmurs to himself, looks around, maybe the cat has an owner, ( The girl? The couple? ), he thinks, but no one looks up as he picks up the cat and places it on his lap.

The kitten walks in circles on its lap, before plopping down and snuggling into his pants, making faint happy sounds as he buried his head in Finn's jacket. He places his hands on both sides of the small creature, after putting his glove back on, stretching the frayed cotton onto his fingertips.

The train comes to a halt, and a few people sidle in ( non-peak hours explained the lack of crowds and tight places ), but the person that stands out the most is this distraught unshaven man ( and Finn does not use the term 'man' lightly ), walking in, his hair everywhere, pointing in every single direction — disheveled was the word, Finn supposed.

The guy's hair isn't the only thing that needed to be in order, as he's wearing sleeping clothes ( at four o'clock! ), as Finn called them ( they're only pajamas if they're flannel ), a white sleeveless undershirt and soft cotton pants, with those draw strings ( though Finn was a firm believer of wearing flannel to sleep, even if Rey teased him about it ). His pants was riding low on his hips, revealing sharp indentations where his hips were, gentle rising slopes prominent above his waist.

His face is gruff, like I-Haven't-Shaved-Today-gruff, a faint stubble running along his chin, which he rubs as he staggers along the length of the train, whistling lowly, looking under seats, much to the perversion of some of the people there. The girl with the green stripe crinkles her nose and lifts her feet underneath her in disgust.

His eyes widen when he sees Finn.

And Finn starts worrying that he knows this man, and he starts freaking out, and when he starts freaking out he starts imagining situations where in all of the ends, he dies. ( Because that's the only logical thing to do. )

He could be a murderer, Finn thinks, and he only kills people who hold cats, and he's be called something cheesy by the papers like the Cat Crusader, or something.

The man points at the cat. "You have my cat."

The only thing Finn can force out is an, "Oh." ( Finn's still freaking out, but not because the man could be the Cat Crusader, but because his voice is so deep, like it's ... there are no words to describe it. It's just deep and raw and everything. )

Finn picks the kitten up gently, cradling it in his hands like a baby, and holds it out to the Cat Crusader like a peace offering. He takes it from Finn, his hands are rough and callused as they brush against Finn's ( which Finn almost screams at ), the Cat Crusader gently cuddling him against his chest, as he sits down.

His hands fall, and Finn wants to shout to hold on to the cat, he might fall, he wants to say, but the cat just clings onto his shirt, like a discount scarf.

Okay okay, act cool, Finn rubs the back of his neck. "What's his name?"

"BB-8," the Cat Crusader says, pronouncing it as 'BeeBee-Ate'.

"BeeBee-Ate?" Finn scoffs, and cringes when he realizes what he said.

"Save me the grief, man, BeeBee-Ate is my cat, and I'll call it whatever the hell I want, alright?"

Finn shrinks back into his chair, wanting to disappear ( or implode ). This was why he only hung out with Rey — she's thoughtful, and answers his dumb questions kindly, slowly, that he could process it, and churn it.

The Cat Crusader realizes when Finn, a hurt look on his face, turned to stare at the window again. "I'm sorry that was . . . catty."

Finn looked away from the window and back at the Cat Crusader. Finn's eyes hesitantly rake over the man's tired expression, the bags under his eyes, which come together as he pinches the bridge of his nose. The lower muscle of his arm flexes slowly as he runs a hand through his hair, in an attempt to tame it. ( Failed attempt. )

"I'm Finn," he says slowly.

"Dameron," he says with a warm smile ( which wants to scream about to, but in a good way ), "Poe Dameron."