So Friday comes around, and I’m trying very, very hard to be a functioning adult yoga instructor instead of whatever flustered disaster I’ve slowly become. I even arrived an hour early to set up everything and was already dreading to face Mason and his hyper-irrigated limb.
And then Mason walked in.
Hear me out: I genuinely believe the universe is testing me at this point. Because he showed up wearing an even thiner black drop-arm tank top, the kind that is basically a socially acceptable way for men to display 80% of their torso. Loose, low cut, sides completely open, revealing his chest, ribs, abs, and those ridiculous pecs I have definitely not thought about outside of class.
He said “Hey man!” in that warm raspy voice extending his hand for a generous shake.
I extended mine, a little shaky, and felt his strength wash over me as his big palm tightened around my hand. It was the first time Mason had touched me like that. Usually, I don't shake hands with students, only maybe with the oldest of the bunch, but he knew. He knew he had permission to shake my hand, that it was now a habit, and that I would have to deal with my own demons every next time.
I swear the room got warmer. Or he got warmer. Or I got warmer. Unsure. Not investigating further.
But good lord, the tank top. Every time he moved, it swung open like a curtain revealing a forbidden exhibit. And he didn’t even realize it. Of course he didn’t.
He dropped his bag with the enthusiasm of a retriever tossing a stick.
Then he did something completely new: something silly, maybe on purpose, maybe not. Hard to tell with him. But it definitely felt like he was trying to get my attention, or maybe he just exists in chaos mode.
He grabbed a yoga block, tossed it in the air like he was about to do a trick, and… absolutely didn’t catch it. It hit his shoulder, bounced, and skidded across the floor.
“Oh. Whoops,” he said, rubbing the spot and then laughing like an idiot. “Guess I’m not a magician.”
He glanced at me right after, like he wanted to check if I’d been watching. And like the idiot I am, I was, way too much. I tried to hide my smile and failed miserably.
The look on his face when he caught me laughing at his failed trick was priceless. His eyes searched for mine… and then he locked that bright, innocent, ridiculously deep gaze on me. It lasted for several seconds.
Come on. No straight guys stare at other dudes like that, right?
Class started, but focusing was a joke. Every posture made his tank top slide or shift in some new, distracting way. In downward dog, the thing practically hung open like he was modeling. In Warrior I, I caught a flash of the sharp V-line of his lower abs and nearly forgot which leg we were supposed to be using.
I corrected three people out of pure instinct and somehow none of them were Mason, even though he definitely needed it the most. I was too scared to get close to him, the combination of warm skin, exposed sides, and zero personal space skills was lethal.
But of course the universe didn’t let me escape.
We were doing a slow flow with arm transitions, and Mason (bless him) miscalculated his movement and stepped back at the wrong time… right into me.
Not just a little bump either. He basically backed up his whole gym-bro wall of a back into my chest. I made a sound. Not a dignified one, more like a surprise cry from a scream lady in a giallo movie.
He whipped around fast, hands out like he was checking for damage.
“Oh shit — sorry bro! Didn’t see you there. You okay?”
His hands landed on my shoulders before I even processed what happened. They were so warm. The kind of touch that sends a shock straight down your spine because it’s comforting and intimate and not supposed to feel that good.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, his fingers slipped slightly onto my collarbone while trying to steady me.
“I didn’t squash you, right?” he asked, genuinely worried.
Squash me? Sir, you could bench-press me and I’d thank you.
“I’m fine,” I managed to say, even though my vocabulary was violently limited in that moment. "Don't worry."
He let his hands rest there a second too long. Probably accidental.
Class went on, I was trying to forget about the heat coming from his body, slowly melting my own, but at some point, during the last few stretches, he whispered:
“Man, I thought I was gonna knock you into the incense table.”
“You didn’t big boy,” I whispered back.
He grinned.
That was it. That was the moment I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape this cute creature.
At the end of the session, when everyone was packing up, he stretched both arms over his head, coming to me like it was now a usual thing to do between us:
“My sides are kinda sore today. Think that’s from that. The triangle thing you made us do?”
I nodded.
“You could show me how to do it better next time?” he added, a little hopeful.
Then, he cleared his throat. Then scratched his jaw:
“Yo, teach,” he said, grinning. “Got a question.”
My stomach dropped. His questions are never normal.
“So listen—I've been bored lately. Like, tragically bored. Man can only stare at dumb gym memes for so long before his brain melts, you know. Training is fun and all but I kinda stopped going out lately.”
“Oh... yeah. Honestly this happens to me sometimes."
“And I was thinking…” He nudged my arm with his elbow, playful. “You’re kinda fun. Way funnier than you look, no offense.”
"Thanks?"
"I had mates back at Montpellier but moving with Sara made me start from scratch. I barely have any bros out there anymore."
He paused, and I swear, I saw the tent in his shorts twitch, like a massive twitch.
“You wanna hang out sometime? Grab food? Watch a movie?”
He said it so easily, so casually, with zero weirdness, like this was the most natural idea in the world, two guys, just vibing. Meanwhile I painfully glitched:
“Ha... Hang out?” I repeated, very intelligently.
“Yeah.” He shrugged, all loose and confident. “I don’t go to the movies anymore and that sucks, so maybe you can fix my cultural life. You seem like you know things.”
Sure I liked movies and had a fair shair of old dvd's back home, but how did he even think about that? I had no idea what he meant but he looked so excited I couldn’t even think straight:
“Well… sure. If you're up to, we could watch something,” I said, my voice catching just enough that I wanted to punch the air afterward. “Like… a film noir? What do you like anyway?”
His whole face lit up:
“Film noir! Man, that sounds fancy.” He straightened, as if preparing to be educated. “I’m down for whatever. You pick it, I’ll watch it. I trust the yoga guy with taste.”
I laughed awkwardly:
“That’s… an overestimation.”
“Nah,” he said, waving it off. “Bet you’re like a secret movie nerd. Those calm, thoughtful types always are.”
He winked, then added:
“Plus, you’ll make sure I don’t get bored and fall asleep like a dumbass.”
"Yeah... ?"
“Cool,” he said, already slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. “It’s a bro date, then. I’ll text you. Give me you number. You free tomorow?”
BRO. DATE.
After getting my phong number (which I had to search since I had zero mental capacity at that moment), he gave me a warm smack on the shoulder, firm and friendly at the same time, and walked out, leaving me clutching a yoga block like it was life support.
So yeah. That’s how I accidentally agreed to a movie night with Mason, the Euclid entity that was going to devour my brain.
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