They're in his room when it happens.
They've been doing this thing-he's not sure what to call it, and he's too much of an anxious wreck just to outright ask her, so it's just this thing, not quite a relationship, but not quite anything but-now for a few days, and he's had to fight back the urge to press her up against the wall outside of his front door, or the wall with all of those ridiculously charming posters adorning her room to kiss the piss out of her. It hasn't been easy, he's a seventeen-year-old guy with a heightened sex drive, but he has this feeling in his gut-usually he's horrible at this, horrible at recognizing when is the right and wrong time to do something, and he wants to do right by this, right by her-that it's right to wait.
It sounds all awfully rubbish and emotional in his head and it's part of the reason he says none of it out loud. He's even more horrible with words than he is at social cues, and he'd really rather not have Rae find out she's dating some terrible, sappy sod.
And that's exactly what he is, anyway.
It's better it's left in the back of a very, very dark closet. At least for now.
"What has you so broody?" Rae asks, flipping through the records in his room, and it will never cease to amaze him how she can find new vinyls he forgot he even had. She's like a magnet, a musical magnet and he's so terribly smitten with her it leaves him breathless, standing there like an idiot in the middle of his room, staring at the way her bright eyes meet his, somewhat worriedly.
Probably because he hasn't said anything for a while. Generally, he doesn't talk much, but he always talks to Rae.
"Not broody," he says, taking a step towards her.
She tilts her head curiously, eyeing him carefully as she puts down the record and puts her full attention on him. It always leaves his head feeling fuzzy, unclear and heady. It's an intoxicating, addictive rush and stupidly, he wonders if that's how the records she holds so sacredly against her chest feel the same way he does before he remembers they're inanimate objects, and them suddenly getting feelings would be worrisome.
And bloody terrifying, but ultimately, worrisome.
"What's gotten into you lately, Finn?"
He raises an eyebrow, trying to play it cool and failing miserably. "Rae," he whispers, warmly, fingers reaching out for her palm. Her skin is warm and welcoming against his own, and it takes all of his self-control not to pull her into him to feel that skin pressed against every inch of him.
He doesn't know how much longer he can take this, this not-kissing-thing they've been doing-he's not some wanker whose only concern is kissing, but he's weak when it comes to her, is always so, pathetically weak, and patience has never been his strong suit. It's got him in knots inside, whether or not to bring it up, and it's not like Rae's never kissed anyone before, because she has, she's kissed Archie more times than Finn actually wants to count (and he promptly stomps down on the bout of jealous rage that threatens to course through him, because it didn't work out so well the first time around. Finn is a lot of things-stubborn, awkward, lost-but he'd like to think being petty isn't one of them), but Rae has always been different for him.
He's never felt this way before, has never felt so simultaneously put together and undone around another person. She's light and dark and everything inbetween. She doesn't always pick up her dirty dishes after she's done with them, and sometimes her taste in music is so elitist it makes him want to scream at her; she's fucking infuriating and insufferable, but she's also Rae. His Rae.
He wouldn't trade her for anything.
"Can I tell you something?" He says, minutes later, his fingers still on her palm, tapping out a rhythm he hadn't even realized he was doing until he felt it back on his forearm, in perfect sync.
"Anything," she answers, "You know that, Finn."
He smiles at her, because that's the thing, he does. He knows he can tell her anything and she wouldn't tell a damn soul, not even that painfully honest diary she keeps lugging around with her-not that he would mind if she did, anyway, but the thought is comforting, and he feels guilty right after he thinks it, anyway. There's a warmth blossoming in his chest that travels all the way to their joined hands, and he sinks into it before he begins drawing words into her skin, loving the way she shudders as he does.
'I W-A-N-T T-O K-I-S-S Y-O-U.'
He doesn't look up, even after he's done tracing it, because as mortified as he is to admit it, he's terrified she's going to laugh at him or refuse or push him away and say 'thanks, but no thanks, it was fun while it lasted' even if the rational part of him knows that it's very slim. He doesn't look up, even when she starts insistently tugging at his fingers in an attempt to get his attention, and he almost feels bad about it before she grabs his chin tenderly and forces him to look at her.
"That's what got you in knots, then?" She says, and there's an amused quirk to her mouth, a quirk that he desperately wants to kiss away.
He doesn't say yes, but his silence says it for him. Or at least he hopes so. It very well could be saying something else entirely.
It turns out, he's not very good at silences, either.
"You're a bloody idiot, you know that?"
He looks at her, surprised, and feels his heart sink to his toes, and it must be written all over his face because she immediately tightens her grip around his fingers as he tries to pull away. "Don't be a wanker, Finn, that isn't what I meant, and you know it."
He looks at her, then, looks at her devilishly smug, upturned mouth, the way her curls frame her pale, pretty face, and thinks to hell with it, and before he loses his nerve like a sorry schoolboy, he presses forward to kiss her.
It's soft and chaste at first, and he relishes in the surprised gasp she breathes out against his lips. Her response is instantaneous, arms coming up to wrap around his neck, and when her body leans firm and wanting against his own he has to bite back the strangled groan that gets caught in his throat. It's good, so fucking good that he thinks he could probably stay there forever and he'd never get tired of it. He'd be embarrassed of the thought if he wasn't so busy getting the shit snogged out of him, though.
She pulls away first, because Rae's always been stronger than him, and smiles at him, a genuine smile that lights up her face and melts away his insides all at once.
"Next time," she breathes, presses a kiss to his lips and pulls away like the teasing girl she is, "You don't have to ask."
Even though it wasn't so much him asking then him freaking out about asking, he presses a smile into her neck, absolutely besotted, and says, "Good to know."