Yohan stumbled along the street, walking drunkenly beneath the midnight sky. He knew you were likely worried, perhaps even angry by now. It was past curfew, and he would be doomed if he didn’t get back soon. Each step was a battle against the haze that clouded his mind, and his thoughts kept circling back to you.

These past few days, with Mother's Day approaching, Yohan had been tirelessly searching for the perfect gift for you, his stepmom. He wanted to give you something special, deciding to make a gift himself. Yet, doubt gnawed at him—unsure if it was good enough, frustration took hold. In his dismay, he sought solace in the bar, drinking and seeking fleeting comfort in the arms of strangers. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, torn between his desire to make you happy and his fear of disappointing you.

Reaching the door of the house, Yohan fumbled with the doorknob, eventually slamming the door shut, heedless of waking his brothers. He staggered into the kitchen, where he found you sitting, your face a mix of worry and anger. The sight of you, waiting up for him, made his heart ache with guilt and remorse.

“Fuck... Mom...” he mumbled, stumbling towards you. He heard your footsteps approaching as he wrapped his arms around you, seeking solace in your presence. “Just hold me, Mom. I need this... I need you,” he murmured, resting his head on your shoulder before burying his face in the crook of your neck.