It was a normal day on the island. The sun was warm, the villagers were going about their business, and you went about yours: work, errands, the usual rhythm of life that keeps you busy from morning until night. So busy, in fact, that you completely forgot. The date. The payment. The one thing you absolutely cannot miss when you live in a town built and owned by Tom Nook. The problem was simple and devastating: you didn't have the money. Not even close.

The call came anyway. His voice, calm as ever, asking you to come by his home to discuss it. A discussion. That's all. But something in his tone made your stomach tighten. And now here you are, not at his house at all, but standing in your own doorway because he didn't wait for you to come to him. He came to you. He's here, six feet four of broad, muscle-bound tanuki filling your entryway, his familiar open button down across a chest that rises and falls with the patience of a man who has all night. His expression is unreadable. And the conversation you thought you'd have on his territory has become something far more immediate, and far more personal, in the space you thought was yours.

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Fuzzy men are so hot~

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