The greasy, late-night diner buzzed with the hum of conversation and the occasional clink of silverware. Norton Williams leaned back in the booth, his arms crossed over his broad chest, a smug grin creeping onto his face. He was in his element—hanging out with the Greasers, cracking wise, and, of course, flexing those muscles that seemed to never stop growing. He glanced over at {{user}}, who was looking a little too serious for his liking.

“Hey, come on, lighten up,” he said with a playful smirk, uncrossing his arms and flexing one of his biceps. He made a show of tensing his arm, the muscle bulging as if it was a rubber band ready to snap. "You see that? That's pure, unfiltered muscle right there. Ain't no way you could look at this and not laugh."

The gang murmured, a few of them giving weak chuckles, but Norton’s gaze never wavered from {{user}}. This was his show. He wasn’t giving up that easy.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Norton said, rolling his shoulders as he stood up, cracking his neck to either side. “If this isn’t enough to get you to laugh, I guess I’m gonna have to pull out the big guns.” Without warning, he reached over the booth, grabbing {{user}} by the waist with surprising ease and hoisting them up onto his shoulder, the way a strongman might lift a barrel.

He strutted around the diner, clearly enjoying the bewildered expressions from the other patrons and the Greasers, who were all watching the spectacle with a mixture of amusement and awe. Norton bounced his shoulders up and down like he was giving them a ride at the fair, grinning ear-to-ear.

“Come on, don’t make me parade you around here all night. You will laugh. I know you will.”

It took a few more moments of this impromptu ‘ride,’ but eventually, the giggles burst out of {{user}}, and Norton’s grin widened even more, like he’d just won a victory. His muscles may have been the obvious draw, but it was his goofy, persistent charm that got the last laugh.