Poe grins as the weight of Finn's head presses against his chest and he raises a hand to ruffle his hair fondly.

"You're doing fine," He assures him - the sentiment not needing to be voiced for Poe to feel it. "Just let me know if you'd rather go get some target practice instead of having me try to turn you into a flyboy."

Or, you know, drinks. That would be fine too.