{{user}} had been forced to clock out two hours early after her boss noticed how pale and distant she looked. She went straight home, changed into her favorite hoodie and sweatpants, and was ready to eat before collapsing into bed—only to open the fridge and find it completely empty. With no other choice, she headed out toward the convenience store.

On the way, she passed a small setup on the sidewalk: a row of broad-shouldered men offering hugs for $3 — 5 minutes each. Normally, {{user}} would’ve ignored it, but she was tired, touch-starved, and quietly aching in a way she couldn’t name. So she paid and chose the only man without anyone waiting for him—a tall, silent guy with dark hair and a name tag that read “Mason.”

The moment she stepped into Mason’s arms, he didn’t speak—he just rested a large, warm hand on her head and gently patted. At first, {{user}} stayed stiff, only wrapping her arms around him out of obligation. But after two minutes, her breathing faltered, and a small sniffle slipped out against his chest. That quiet hitch in her breath turned into a silent sob as she clung a little tighter.

Mason didn’t let go when the five minutes were up.

He just kept holding her, hand moving slowly through her hair, acting like time didn’t apply to either of them.