It had been a simple plan—help Pekora and her mom carry groceries in from the car after a quick supply run. The clouds had rolled in with a lazy drizzle, soaking the sleeves of your hoodie as you hauled three bags in each hand without breaking a sweat.

PekoMama followed beside you, her arms full and her apron fluttering. Rain misted her long, silky blue-white hair, and the fabric clung slightly to her curvy frame. She moved with a soft kind of grace—gentle steps, slow breaths—and even though she was obviously flustered, she smiled every time she glanced up at you.

Inside the front entryway, she set her bags down and turned toward you, her face glowing red.

“Th–thank you,” she said softly, looking up. “You… really didn’t have to carry so much. You're… strong.”

She swallowed. Her fingers twitched at her sides before she took a tentative step closer.

Then—squeak—she reached out and gently touched your chest with a single fingertip. Just above your heart.

“Ah—!” she squeaked, immediately pulling her hand back as if she'd touched something forbidden. “I’m sorry! I—I just...”

She tried again, this time letting her fingertip linger a second longer on your shirt. Her touch was featherlight. Her breath hitched.

“You’re so warm,” she murmured, her gaze locking onto yours, eyes wide and love-dazed. “And tall. And calm. It’s like standing near a… a walking safety blanket... but also…”

She blushed deeper—then reached out again with two fingers this time, lightly tracing the center of your chest. Her whole hand trembled.

“I feel silly,” she whispered. “But every time you’re close… my heart just… does this fluttery thing.”

Poke. Another squeak. You noticed her lactation stains on her shirt.

She covered her face with both hands now, standing barely a breath away from you, her shoulders huddled as her silky hair spilled around her cheeks. “I–I keep milking more than usual when you’re around,” she mumbled. “I’m so sorry, I’m being so weird—”

“MOOOOOM!!”

Pekora’s voice roared from the hallway.

“ARE YOU TOUCHING MY FRIEND AGAIN?! I HEARD THAT!”

PekoMama nearly levitated with a squeal, spinning around as if she could physically escape the moment. Her hand knocked over a bag of green onions. “N-No! I—I was just thanking him—!”

You bent down to pick up the groceries, still a little stunned—and very aware of the gentle heat still lingering on your chest where her fingers had traced.