If Finn had to pick his favorite thing about her-and he can't, god he can't; he likes everything about her, even her most aggravating parts, he thinks maybe he adores those parts the most-it's not so much about her than it is about them.
He likes the way they fit.
He likes the way his body feels curled around hers in that too-small bed she owns, the shitty, cheap sheets wet with their sweat and his spunk. He likes the way her chest falls rapidly up and down after he's done fooling around with her, the beats of sweat that gather on her forehead that he kisses away for her as he pushes the hair away from her face. He likes the way he can't tell where he ends and she begins.
The thing he likes the most, though, is the way her hand feels in his, skin clasped closely together. He likes the way the sparks climb up his arm and settle in his chest, alighting his heart with a fire he's never experienced before.
In short, Finn likes everything about her, and he'd stand here for hours listing them all if he could-and he would, really.
But, he can't.
Rae is looking at him from across the table. Her hair is everywhere, like it always is after they've spent time at the pub drinking-he's so terribly gone on her that he finds this nothing but endearing-and her eyes are half-lidded, tired and droopy and so fucking beautiful in the dim-light of the cafe that he's knocked breathless with how badly he wants to kiss her (well, he always wants to kiss her, but he can't recall a time he's ever wanted to kiss her this much).
He settles, though, for reaching across the wood to hold her hand. He smiles at her, exhausted, but he'd do this a thousand more times just to see her look like that at him, so utterly tired-Finn accepted a long time ago that Rae is always tired, anyway, no matter how many times he tries to will her to go to sleep earlier, to sleep later, it's something that sticks to her-with her cheeks flushed happily, eyes wide and bright.
Her skin is warm, sweaty even against his own, and he can see the way she sags with it. He flips her palm over, lacing their fingers together.
"What?" Rae asks on a laugh, her eyes following Finn's own curiously.
Finn doesn't say anything, knows he doesn't have to, because she'll understand him no matter what (it still throws him through loops sometimes, how he's found someone who can tell what kind of mood he's in just by looking at him, who can pry away every secret closely guarded to his heart and not make him feel guilty for letting them inside; how he's found her). His other hand wraps tightly around her forearm, tracing out letters over the goosebumps that sprouted with his first touch.
'H-O-M-E-?'
He doesn't have to look up to know she's smiling at him-she's always smiling at him, if not with her mouth, then with her eyes, and it makes something unknot in his stomach, how he could have that affect on another person. He tugs at her hand, gently, leading her out of the pub and onto the street, and he doesn't let her hand go until she's safely tucked in bed, hair spread out on her pillow, looking soft and tender under the blanket of moonlight.