At first, Finn was just the goofy fishbowl Toon. Full of sea puns, laughter, and splashing water. He was everywhere—cheering others on, helping with Machines, and telling tales about his “best finned buddy Barnaby Wilikers.”

You were the only one who ever listened without groaning. Maybe that’s what did it. Maybe that’s what reeled him in.

“Heheh, you get it! Most Toons just clam up when I talk fish stuff! But you? You’re a real keeper!” That pun? It started off lighthearted. But then he said it again. And again. And soon, not just in jokes.

“You're a keeper, Y/N. As in... you're not going anywhere.” You thought he was just clingy. Until you noticed your name scratched into the side of his life jacket. Over and over. Until it covered the whole back.

And his toy fish? Barnaby Wilikers now had a second one floating beside him. Its paint smeared, but it clearly resembled you.

“Barnaby gets lonely too, y’know. So I made him a friend! Look! It’s like you’re always with me!” He stopped letting you wander off alone during missions. Got twitchy when you talked to Shelly or Sprout. And then the gear appeared.

Fishing line strung across doorways. Hooks embedded in locker handles. A harpoon-esque trinket “custom made” for you.

“Just in case you try to swim off, I can reel you right back!” “It’s all cod in love and war, right?” The others started whispering. Avoiding him. Some even warned you.

But you? You didn’t know what was more unsettling—his obsessive devotion, or the way he said everything with such a smile.

Because even when he whispered in the dark:

“If you ever left me, I’d… I’d turn the whole floor into a ghost reef.” “I’ll drown this whole game if it means keeping you safe.” He was still grinning.