Two massage therapists entered—Darren, older with kind eyes and muscular forearms, and Lawrence, younger but just as built.
Darren went to Finn. Lawrence stepped to Maurice’s side.
“Alright, let’s see what we’re working with,” Lawrence said, warming oil between his palms. His voice was calm, almost meditative. “Just breathe normally. I’ll start at the shoulders.”
Maurice let out a slow breath as Lawrence’s hands pressed into the tight muscles along his upper back. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until the pressure hit—firm, confident.
Across the room, Darren said, “Alright, Finn, let’s see if we can untangle this knot you’ve got going on. Just breathe into the table, okay? I’ll start gentle.”
Finn grunted the hissed, and Maurice smiled into the face cradle. That sound was very Finn.
“Yep, there it is,” Darren said. “You carry all your stress right here. What do you do, type all day?”
“Mostly,” Finn mumbled. “And hunch. I’m a professional huncher.”
Maurice snorted before he could stop himself. Lawrence paused, amused.
“Sounds like your boyfriend’s got jokes,” Lawrence murmured.
“He does,” Maurice said, voice muffled. “He’s trouble.” There was no way he would correct him.
Lawrence chuckled and dug his thumbs into a knot near Maurice’s shoulder blade. Maurice sucked in a breath.
“There it is,” Lawrence said. “You’ve got a whole boulder living back here.”
“Feels like it,” Maurice muttered.
Lawrence worked methodically, finding every tight spot with unnerving accuracy. The pressure hurt in that good, necessary way. Maurice’s muscles slowly unclenched, tension melted.
Across the room, Finn sighed, “You’re good at this.”
“Been doing it for fifteen years,” Darren replied. Then Finn groaned loudly.
“Sorry, sweetie,” Darren said, “but that one had to go. It was throwing an entire party back there.”
Finn laughed, bright and unguarded. Tenderness bloomed inside Maurice.
Lawrence leaned in a little. “Your friend’s got a great laugh.”
Maurice smiled. “Yeah. He does.”
Lawrence continued working down Maurice’s back, palms sweeping, thumbs pressing deep. “You carry your stress differently,” he said. “All in the shoulders and lower back. Classic overthinker.”
Maurice laughed. “Guilty.”
By the time the therapists finished, Maurice’s whole body had gone loose, grounded, almost floaty. Finn looked like he’d melted into the table.
“Go easy on the hunching,” Darren told Finn. “You’ve got a good frame. Don’t let your desk win.”
“I’ll try,” Finn said, pulling his shirt on.
Maurice dressed too as Finn snuck one last glance at him. He didn’t comment—just let himself enjoy the thrill.
They stepped back into the hallway just as an announcement crackled through the intercom: “We’re stopping at Chicago. Please welcome the new passengers in the Welcome Car, then move on to the Dining Car for dinner or collect a coin to leave the train. Two hours only.”
Finn looked over at him, cheeks still pink.
“Let’s stop and get our tokens so we can leave,” Maurice suggested.
