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Dorm Room 302
Dawn’s pale light stretches long shadows across the dormitory. Outside, the world stirs. Inside, tranquility lingers—deceptively serene.
Finn shifts beneath the covers, instinctively pressing into the warmth that surrounds him. A contented sigh slips from his lips. The heat is steady, solid, seeping through thin fabric, wrapping around him in an embrace that feels inexplicably right. Grounding. A rare indulgence in the hazy stillness of morning.
His fingers brush against something firm—unyielding muscle, warm and reassuring. The scent lingers, sweet and familiar, like freshly baked pastries cooling on a windowsill. He inhales deeply, letting the aroma lull him deeper into drowsy contentment.
It feels… strangely pleasant. Though a little heavy. Pressing on him.
Wait.
A prickle of unease creeps up his spine, scattering the last remnants of sleep.
Something is wrong.
His pulse spikes. His body tenses. Slowly, cautiously, Finn cracks an eye open—just a fraction.
And regrets.
Amber eyes. Wide. Unblinking. Just inches away from his face.
Finn’s heartbeat skids to a halt.
Mash is on top of him. Watching him.
The haze of sleep shatters instantly.
What.
What.
WHAT.
Panic churns in his chest, but his limbs refuse to move, locked beneath the weight pressing him into the mattress. His mind scrambles for an explanation—any explanation—that could justify the utterly impossible situation he has just woken up to.
If he stays still—if he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe—maybe Mash will lose interest and go away.
Yes. That is the plan. A perfect one. He just needs to—
“Good morning, Finn-kun.”
A chill races down Finn’s spine.
Mash’s voice is calm. Steady. Completely devoid of urgency or any recognition of the absolute catastrophe currently unfolding in Finn’s brain.
His heartbeat slams against his ribs—once, twice, three times in rapid succession.
Mash doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t budge.
Instead—his hands begin to wander.
Finn’s stomach plummets.
Mash’s fingers hover just above Finn’s chest, hesitant at first—checking, comparing. Then, carefully, deliberately, his palm settles against the fabric of Finn’s nightshirt, gliding in a slow, measured arc.
The exact way Finn had touched him before.
Finn sucks in a breath sharply.
Mash is copying him. But not just merely copying. The way his palm presses firm yet unobtrusive, the way his fingers flex experimentally, mapping out the subtle rise and fall of Finn’s breathing, it’s methodical. Deliberate. A mirror image of what Finn had done to him. As if returning the gesture. Mash isn’t simply touching him. He is studying him. Replicating. Returning.
Absorbing the feedback from Finn’s body with each incremental shift of his fingers. Then adjusting.
A slow, deliberate press of his palm, firm against Finn’s chest, the warmth seeping through thin fabric. The barest increase in pressure, then a slight withdrawal before repeating, testing.
Like making sure Finn feels the same way he did.
Finn’s breath hitches.
Oh. Mash is learning...
A slow, creeping realization settles in Finn’s gut like a weight of impending doom.
Mash isn’t just experimenting.
He is reciprocating.
His fingers trail lower, brushing against Finn’s ribs in an unhurried, almost thoughtful motion, as if tracing the shape of him like one might study an unfamiliar script.
Then—he stops.
Finn nearly exhales in relief—until Mash’s fingers tighten slightly against his chest.
A tentative squeeze.
Finn inhales sharply.
Mash pauses. Adjusts his grip. Tries again.
Another squeeze. Lighter this time, almost questioning.
Finn’s breath shudders, nerves alight with the sheer wrongness of the situation, yet his body refuses to fully reject the featherlight, almost reverent touches.
Mash hums softly. Thoughtful.
Then, as if confirming a theory or making sure Finn feels the same way he did—he applies the pressure again.
A pattern. A process. A quiet kind of fairness.
And then—“This should feel good, right?”
Mash’s voice is soft. Mildly perplexed. More a thought spoken aloud than an actual inquiry. His brow furrows slightly, his gaze trained on his own fingers, as though evaluating their effectiveness.
Finn stares.
Mash is literally testing different ways to grope him.
For science.
Before Finn can even begin to comprehend the sheer absurdity of the moment—
Mash leans in.
Soft. Featherlight. Chaste.
The kiss barely brushes against Finn’s lips, a whisper of contact so fleeting, so gentle, that Finn almost questions whether it happened at all.
A quiet, innocent experiment.
Then Mash pulls back slightly, tilting his head in contemplation. His amber eyes remain unreadable. Calm.
“Was that correct?” Mash asks, tone as casual as if he has simply copied Finn’s morning stretching routine.
Finn’s mind short-circuits, scrambling for any response.
“M-Mash-kun… w-why are you suddenly—?!” His voice wavers, barely holding onto coherence.
Mash blinks. Then, in that same infuriatingly calm voice—
“You were talking in your sleep. You said, ‘Mash-kun, you feel so good… so warm…’”
Finn. Stops breathing. His entire body locks up.
Did he. Did he say that? Out loud?
“L-L-L-LIES!” Finn sputters, his voice cracking as he lunges forward, desperately slapping a hand over Mash’s mouth.
Mash simply blinks at him. Casually pries Finn’s hands off.
Then innocently, pouting, devastatingly—
“Does my touch not feel good, Finn-kun?”
Finn’s brain implodes.
Mash tilts his head, voice unbearably soft. Endlessly curious.
“Please teach me.”
The Morning After & Finn’s Resolution
Finn made a decision.
He needs to see the school nurse.
To prescribe something to stop his traitorous sleep-talking.
Or maybe a sedative. Something strong. Something that would erase last night from existence.
Because he is never recovering from this.
Unfortunately, Dot is observant.
“Dude,” Dot mutters, squinting at Finn’s progressively redder face. “Why is your face so red? Did something happen?”
Finn stops breathing entirely.
Mash, lazily chewing on a cream puff, completely unbothered.
Then, after a moment of consideration, he swallows his bite and says—
“Finn-kun, you don’t have to wait until I’m asleep if you want to touch me.”
The world screeches to a halt.
Finn, on the verge of spontaneous combustion, makes a new decision.
He needs an exorcist. Immediately.