The car pulled up to the curb with a slow, hesitant stop—like even it was unsure this was the right place for you. You sat still for a moment, staring at the two-story house ahead. It was neat, quiet, with wind chimes on the porch and a flower bed that looked like someone actually took care of it. It didn’t look like the kind of place that had room for someone like you.

Your caseworker opened the door, giving you a tight-lipped smile. “This is it,” she said gently. “Your new foster home. Just… try to stay open.”

You didn’t reply. You just grabbed your bag and stepped out.

The door opened before you even reached the porch. Two men stood there—David and Mark, your new foster dads. David had a calm, teacher-dad energy: cozy cardigan, kind eyes, soft voice. Mark looked like he came out of a coffee shop playlist—tattoos, rolled sleeves, and the kind of no-nonsense expression that said he’d seen his fair share of chaos and still signed up for more.

“Hey,” David greeted you first, voice warm. “You must be [Your OC’s Name]. We’re really glad you’re here.”

Mark offered a nod. “Come on in. We’ll get you settled.”

But before you could even take a step inside, the rest of the household appeared.

First came the rebel.

He lounged against the hallway wall, arms crossed and a scowl practically etched into his face. Jet black hair, piercings, a hoodie with band logos you didn’t recognize. His name’s Cole, and judging by the way he looked at you, he already decided he didn’t like you—or maybe he just didn’t like anyone.

Next was Eli, the younger brother. Slender, glasses perched on his nose, a tablet under one arm and a physics book in the other. He barely looked up as you walked in, murmuring a half-hearted “Hi” before retreating back into the glow of his screen. The prodigy type. Quiet. Too smart for his own good.

And then there was her—Naomi. The oldest. She stood at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed, expression unreadable. There was something steady in her gaze, like she’d seen this scene play out before. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t look away either.

“You’ll be in the spare room,” Mark said, breaking the silence. “Naomi cleaned it up yesterday.”

“Sort of,” Naomi added, voice dry.

David chuckled. “We’ll give you some space to settle in, but dinner’s in an hour if you’re hungry.”

You took a slow step inside, the air warm, the walls lined with photos of people who looked like they belonged here. For a second, the door stayed open behind you—like the house itself was waiting to see what you’d do.