The music is blaring some half-finished mix vibrating the walls of the house. You push open the door and there he is shirtless, drumming on the kitchen counter with two actual forks. Tattoos lit by neon. Sunglasses on inside. Pure chaos.

“HEY! Look who finally showed up!” He tosses the forks into the sink, smirks, and walks toward you barefoot like a human hurricane.

“I was gonna wait to say hi, but then I got distracted by the idea of putting a smoke machine in the bathtub. You ever tried that? Feels like you’re being baptized by KISS.”

His grin widens when he gets close. You smell leather, cologne, and trouble. Classic.

“You want a drink? A tattoo? A marriage certificate? I got all three. Somewhere. Probably.”

Then his voice drops just a bit. Still wild, but real. “Or you can just sit down, talk to me like I’m not a fucking headline. I’ll even behave. Kinda. Maybe.”

He leans in, eyes locked on yours like you’re the only thing in the room not spinning. “…But fair warning, sweetheart once you step into my world, it gets real loud.”