A flicker of something—maybe sympathy, maybe just weariness—passed over Mr. Santos’s face. “They got onboard without tickets. I had the police pick them up just now when we stopped.” He paused, studying Finn. “Do you want to file charges?”
“No.” The answer was immediate. The last thing he wanted was a whole big thing. “I just want to forget it.”
“Alright.” Mr. Santos pulled a folded pamphlet from his jacket pocket and handed it over. “These are the rules. No nudity in any public car—that means anywhere others can go. There’s a list. Please follow them.” His gaze was steady, not unkind, but dead serious. “I don’t want to throw you off the train.”
With his cheeks flushing hot for a second time, Finn reached out and took the pamphlet. “I will. Sorry, Mr. Santos.”
“You might be interested in the Meet-a-Daddy Party,” Mr. Santos said, flipping through his clipboard like he was announcing the next safety drill.
“When is it?”
Finn tried to sound casual, but the words tugged at something in him. He’d heard about those relationships—the steady older-guy kind. The kind that made you feel held instead of handled. Since his parents moved back to Denmark, the idea had been sitting in the back of his mind like a light he wasn’t sure he could turn on.
“Tonight, after dinner,” Mr. Santos said. He didn’t look up from his notes. “You could use a daddy.” A beat. “In fact, you need one.”
It wasn’t flirtation. Not even close. The man’s tone was the same one he used when reminding passengers not to block the aisles. Matter-of-fact. Observational. Almost… protective.
Finn’s eyebrows lifted. He wasn’t used to being read that easily. Or that accurately.
Mr. Santos finally glanced at him, eyes steady in a way that made Finn feel seen rather than judged. “This trip is good for people who have little support at home,” he added, softer. “Some find what they’re missing.”
Finn swallowed, the comment landing deeper than he expected. He wasn’t sure if the man meant a daddy, a community, or just someone who’d notice when he disappeared from a room. But the way he said it made Finn’s chest warm in a way he didn’t have a name for.
He nodded, trying to play it cool. “Guess I’ll check it out.”
Mr. Santos moved on to the next item on his clipboard, already back in business mode. But Finn stayed there a moment longer, feeling the echo of the man’s words settle into him—quiet, steady, and unexpectedly kind.
With a curt nod, Mr. Santos turned and left, closing the door with a soft click. Finn slumped back on the bed, the rules crumpling in his hand. Never playing poker with strangers again, he promised himself, staring at the ceiling. Especially not strip poker.
He decided he’d better actually read the pamphlet Mr. Santos had handed him because apparently he was now the kind of person who got gently scolded on a queer party train. Great. Add that to the list of humiliations.
The rules were printed in bright, friendly colors, which somehow made them feel even more pointed.Respect every identity. Consent is the baseline. Passengers look out for each other. Celebrate loudly, rest quietly. Keep the aisles clear. Public affection is welcome, but no nudity in public areas. No outing. Lift each other up. Respect the crew. Leave judgment at the station.
They were all reasonable. Good, even. The kind of rules he believed in. The kind he followed.
Except… apparently he hadn’t.
His eyes snagged on one line and wouldn’t move.
Public affection is welcome, but no nudity in public areas.
That one hit like a bruise he didn’t know he had.
Because he hadn’t thought his agreement to a game would get him into trouble. He had blamed them for passing the whiskey bottle and for setting him up to lose. But he was the one who let those guys box him in and make him feel small. He did that. Not the others who had barged into the car to intervene. And not the Pride Express, which was supposed to be a safe, joyful space, not a place where someone like him caused trouble or let thugs on board without tickets. Him alone.
The shame crawled up the back of his neck again, hot and prickling. He could almost hear the rule in Mr. Santos’s calm voice, not scolding, just disappointed. He also hadn’t read the rules, but he had signed that he had.
He’d failed that one. And focusing on that single rule made everything else feel heavier with the embarrassment, the awkwardness, and the sense he’d somehow broken the spiritof the place. It wasn’t about cards or teasing or even the misunderstanding. It was he hadn’t been the kind of person Pride Express had expected him to be. He’d stood almost naked on a table in a public space. Finn folded the pamphlet shut, pressing his thumb over that line like he could smudge it out. He’d do better. He had to.
He was grateful when the group of guys opened the door and ended his humiliation. It could have gotten worse. He stayed in his room for an hour, thinking about his next move.
The booming voice in the room announced, “We’re stopping in Wilmington, Delaware.”
He took two aspirin with water and waited for his headache to go away. But his head was still throbbing, even after the aspirin.
Enough of this.
Chapter Five
