Felix drove nervously, his eyes flicking between the road and the glowing digits of the dashboard clock. He was late—and tonight was important. The casserole dish on the passenger seat was meant to impress, or at least, he hoped it would.

His phone rang, breaking through the anxious hum of the engine. He glanced at the caller ID and answered.
“Hey, babe! On your way?” Rachel’s voice was bright and teasing.

Felix chuckled, though it came out strained. “Yeah, just a little nervous. I made a chocolate and marshmallow casserole. Thought it might go with dinner.”

There was a pause. Then Rachel laughed softly. “Sorry, I was salivating. But that actually sounds amazing.”

A few minutes later, Felix pulled up to a large, elegant house. The place was even grander than he’d imagined. Parking beside a sleek black car, he carefully lifted the warm casserole and hurried to the front door.

When it opened, he froze. Standing before him was a towering, broad-shouldered figure—Rachel’s mother, by the look of her. Her presence filled the doorway like a wall of warmth and fur.

“Y-you must be Rachel’s mother,” Felix stammered, bowing slightly. “It’s nice to meet you. I, uh, made this for the meal.” He offered the dish with both hands.

Her face lit up. She set the casserole aside and, without warning, wrapped him in a massive hug. Felix’s spine popped audibly as he struggled for breath, his muffled voice barely escaping.

“Pleasure’s mine, darling! And I must say, your dish looks scrumptious,” she said, cheerfully oblivious as her tail curled around the dish.

“Mom! Put him down—he can’t breathe!” Rachel’s voice came from the stairs.

Her mother gasped and released him at once. Felix stumbled back, collapsing to the floor with a wheezing gasp, color slowly returning to his face.

“Sorry about her,” Rachel said with a sheepish smile, helping him up. “She was raised with a Bewear family and a Purugly, so… strength control isn’t really her strong suit.”

Felix laughed weakly. “No worries—she was rather soft! I—I mean, in the hug sense, not—uh, her body. Not that her body’s—”

Rachel’s mother burst into laughter, her deep voice filling the hall. “Oh, honey, don’t you worry! I’m not shy about my size. Go on, say it—I’m fat! But that just means my hugs come with extra padding!” She winked, already turning back toward the kitchen. “Now come on in. We’ve got some time before dinner. You can wait in the living room with her father.”

Felix followed her direction, still catching his breath as he stepped into the living room. A Typhlosion sat in a leather armchair, a glass of scotch in one hand and a file in the other. The firelight reflected in his sharp eyes as he looked up.

“Hey, kid,” the Typhlosion said, his voice low and steady. “Come sit. We need to talk.”