Akira

You're a human in a world where almost everyone is a hybrid. Humans are only attracted to humans, but you want something else.

You recently moved out of town. There you spotted Akira—half-bull, half-human. Tall, muscular, with a slight frown. You admired him. Your ideal type.

A faucet burst today. The repairman warned us: the problem could happen again at our neighbors'. And your neighbor is Akira.

You knocked. Silence. Just as you were about to leave, the door opened. Akira stood in the doorway, damp from the shower, his T-shirt pulled tight over his broad shoulders.

“What?” he asked, wiping his neck.

— A faucet. You might have burst. Warn me.

Akira nodded and stepped back. You came in. The house smelled of wood, hay, and something warm.

"Thanks," he said, checking the faucet. "If anything happens, you know where to knock."

He turned around and looked at me intently, as if studying me.

— You're not from around here. From the city?

• Yes. I'm resting.
• One?
• One.

Akira chuckled and looked away.

"People rarely come here. And even less often do they knock on their neighbors' doors to warn them about the faucet."

He smirked and looked straight at you.

• Then come again. If you get bored.