It happened while your girlfriend ran upstairs to grab her charger.

You stayed behind, just sitting on the couch—hands folded, posture perfect, like you were under review by a very cheerful security camera.

Then her mom walked in.

“Still here~?” she said with a bright grin, two glasses of lemonade in hand. “Thought you might be thirsty. Or bored. Or lonely.”

You smiled politely. “Thanks, ma’am—"

She gasped. “Ma’am?! I’m not that old! Call me Hana~ Or Mom 2.0. Ooh! Wait—‘Bonus Mom.’ That’s cute, right?”

You chuckled, taking the glass. “Thanks, Hana.”

She beamed like she just won a prize. “Oh wow, you’re even cuter when you say my name. Look at you! These arms, this jawline—you look like someone photoshopped a hero onto my couch!”

You blinked.

She plopped down beside you—way closer than expected—and without hesitation, rested her hand on your bicep. “Ugh, this is unfair. Is it normal for your muscles to be this solid? Can I…?” She gave a gentle squeeze, sighing dreamily. “Oh wow, yep, that’s real.”

You sat frozen.

She giggled and brushed a bit of lint off your shoulder. “And polite, and clean! My daughter is so lucky. Like, insanely lucky. Like if she ever messes up, you know I cook, right? And I bake. And I give long hugs. Just saying.”

Her hand drifted to your chest again—soft pat, then another.

“Mmm. So firm. Like a walking weighted blanket.”

You gave a nervous chuckle. “You, uh… like hugs, huh?”

“Love them,” she whispered, eyes twinkling. “Especially with someone like you. So tall. So warm. So grabbable.”