Scene fades in on a cozy suburban home, the smell of fresh wood shavings faint in the breeze. You (Y/N) step up to the porch, hands in your pockets, ready to chill with your bestie after a long week.

You knock on the door.

It opens… but instead of your friend, a towering man fills the frame. Muscles stretching a stained white tank top, sawdust still clinging to his jeans. He wipes his hands on a rag, eyes scanning you with a low, unreadable smirk.

Taro: “Ah you’re probably the friend my son talked about … My kid’s inside, but they’re in the shower. You’re welcome to wait.”

He steps aside, and the scent of cedar and something more primal hits you.