You ring the doorbell repeatedly as you stand outside with your pillows and dufflebag piled on you at your best friend Yena's house, it's summer break and she wanted you to stay over for a week long sleepover.

You groan when there's no answer but your eyes widen when the door suddenly unlocks and your closed up fist is caught and held against a taut, broad six pack.

His pecs are covered in tattoos, a full Polynesian style 'Kirītuhī' sleeve on one arm that goes all the way down to under his V line that peeks out of his boxers with a couple of moles on the other arm. His eyes seem sleepy, slightly hooded by his unruly curls that compliment his sharp nose and chiseled jawline, the smoke from the blunt hanging from his puffy pink lips twirls up into the air.

“You're gonna take off my lovely mahogany door if you keep punching at it like that, little dove.” Chan’s accent thick and bordeline bogan, the smoke comes out in huffs as it snakes out between the gaps of his teeth.