Shoulder to hip.
His leg was bouncing so fast against hard tiles that the nurses milling around started shooting him glares.
He ignored them.
Shoulder to hip.
His chin was perched on the tips of his fingers, splayed out in a silent prayer to whatever-whoever-was listening.
His chin was scruffy. He should take care of that sometime soon.
Shoulder to hip.
Finn's breathing was easy, at least. The twining IV shooting into his veins ensured that much. His skin was a stark contrast to the pale sheets, and his eyes were still beneath their lids. A dreamless sleep. He deserved that much, at least.
Shoulder to hip.
He hadn't known what to do with his hands at first. Clutch the sheets? Too weird. Grab a book to occupy himself? His mind was racing far too fast. Hold Finn's? He had tried. Some mental block kept him from straining that last centimeter to wrap his fingers around the unmoving one lying on the bed. It was probably for the better. He couldn't bear to feel that flesh grow cold.
Even still, he ached to brush his fingers against Finn's calloused hand.
Shoulder to hip.
The nurses weren't sure when exactly he'd wake up. Between blood loss, exposure to the elements, and the resulting shock, it was anyone's guess at this point. The General had clapped him on the shoulder during her initial visit, shooting him a knowing glance, but said nothing. She hadn't seemed worried, at least.
Shoulder to hip.
If he hadn't known from Rey's solemn retelling of the events at Starkiller Base that the Sith apprentice was now sporting a similar scar that gouged his pale face from jaw to forehead, he would have been itching for retribution. Even still, anger had burned behind his dark eyes ever since he'd seen Finn's lifeless form on the gurney.
Anger that burned dark enough to earn him reproachful frowns from the rest of his squadron.
Shoulder to hip.
He loved flying more than anything. He loved being weightless, being invincible, funneling his skills into a greater cause. Even so, there were moments where he could feel a twist in his gut, a breathless fear for the people down below. The ones he couldn't protect.
Not even an ace pilot could be in two places at once.
Shoulder to hip.
He wanted him to wake up. Needed him to shoot a grin like the one he wore when they had hijacked that TIE-fighter. Ached to see his dark eyes twinkle with laughter, anger, fear, anything.
He wanted to banter, fool around, fight by his side, win the war. He wanted to embarrass him with pet names, hold his hand, kiss his forehead, make him laugh. He wanted to tell how deeply he felt and get a shy grin in return.
He wanted them both to live long enough so that he could leave a trail of kisses over a long-healed scar, grinning into his back, giddy and drunk on intimacy.
Shoulder to hip.
But for now, he would wait.