The warm rain had drenched Finn to the skin. He stripped out of his shirt and pants, leaving them behind in a sodden heap. When he tilted his head up toward the sky, the rain stung his eyes and nose, and made him splutter and choke. Finn wouldn’t have traded it for any star in the galaxy, though.
Even though he’d never before felt rain on his bare skin or heard thunder that wasn’t manmade, artificial, he sometimes had flashes of memory that came to him like lightning strikes. Master Luke had told him he couldn’t possibly have memories of before—before Finn was stolen from his parents by the First Order—because he was too young. It was the Force, Luke said.
Finn didn’t really care what it was. Those memories, like the rain that currently pelted his skin, warmed him over. He didn’t feel so alone in the rain.
“Isn’t it glorious?”
Finn turned his head; Rey had joined him behind the Resistance barracks. She reached up and twisted the hem of her shirt, squeezing the water out in a futile attempt. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and the sides of her face now. She blinked the rain out of her eyes and beamed at Finn, and her smile hit him like the warmth of the rain did. Her smile was the sun that now peered through the clouds.
Finn broke into a grin, felt it spread across his face, as he reached out and wrapped his hand around Rey’s. She laced her fingers with his as if she’d never let go.
No, Finn thought, as he squeezed back in response and turned his face back up toward the sky. No, I’m not alone.