Chapter 2 #3
“Indeed,” Wei agreed, swirling his premium roast like a wine connoisseur.
“And let’s be realistic about our finances.
We’re not eating instant noodles anymore, but you’re still our primary breadwinner, Jaxson.
Plus, this place is practically a family heirloom.
Mom and Stepdad poured their souls into making it livable for our situation. ”
The mention of their parents created a momentary silence, a shared pause of remembrance.
Jaxson could almost see them—his father’s broad shoulders as he painted the kitchen, their stepmother’s delicate hands arranging flowers on the windowsill, their laughter filling the spaces that now sometimes felt too quiet.
As if summoned by the scent of domesticity—or more likely, breakfast—Nico breezed into the kitchen, his ash-blond hair performing an impressive impersonation of artistic bedhead, managing to look both completely disheveled and inexplicably stylish.
He brought with him a wave of energy that dispelled the momentary melancholy, his presence like a sudden burst of sunlight through clouds.
“Morning, all my favorite bros!” He dropped into an empty chair, eyeing the spread with undisguised hunger. “What’s for breakfast? French toast and eggs? Don’t mind if I do!” He began piling his plate with the enthusiasm of someone who’d just discovered food existed.
Nico was the easiest of them—uncomplicated, genuinely happy, untouched by the weight of responsibility that sometimes pressed down on the rest of them.
Watching him attack his breakfast with gusto, Jaxson felt a rush of protectiveness.
He wanted to preserve that lightness, to ensure Nico never had to shoulder the burdens the others had carried.
“No selling,” Jaxson declared firmly, returning to their conversation about the apartment.
“Too many memories embedded in these walls… Not to mention we all worked too hard to get our names on that deed.” The apartment represented more than just a place to live—it was tangible proof that they’d survived, that they’d kept their promise to their parents to stay together.
“The Sinclair-Ji Trust owns it now anyway,” Wei pointed out practically. “Mom and your dad made sure of that before they passed. Equal ownership for all six of us.”
“Which means we all get a vote on moving,” Colt added, his precision extending to property matters as well as breakfast etiquette.
A drop of sweat traced a path down his neck, disappearing beneath his running shirt—a reminder that he’d been exercising while the rest of them were just waking up. Always the overachiever.
“Democracy at its finest,” Nico mumbled through a mouthful of French toast. “Though my vote is always going to be for whatever gets me the fastest internet.” He grinned, a smudge of syrup on his chin making him look younger than his twenty-two years.
“Do you know how long it takes to download game updates on our current connection? I could grow a beard waiting.”
“The apartment’s paid off,” Jaxson said, his tone softening as he looked around at his brothers.
“That was the hard part. Maintaining it between the three of us working full-time should be manageable, even with you two”—he nodded toward Xander and Nico—“focusing on your studies. Though I do have enough saved for a deposit if we needed it.”
The admission made Xander’s eyes narrow slightly. “That savings is yours,” he insisted, echoing Wei’s earlier sentiment. “We’ve been parasites long enough. Besides, some of us might spread our wings soon.”
The casual comment hit Jaxson like a physical blow.
Something visceral twisted in his chest—not just emotional discomfort but an actual physical pain that momentarily stole his breath.
“Nobody’s flying this coop anytime soon.
” The words came out sharper than intended, laced with a possessiveness that surprised even him.
The thought of any of them leaving—especially Lan—sent not just anxiety but something deeper through him, a primal fear that made no rational sense.
This apartment, for all its flaws, kept them together.
He couldn’t explain why, but some part of him knew with bone-deep certainty that separation would be disastrous.
Wei watched him over the rim of his coffee cup, something ancient and knowing in his eyes. “Family should stay together,” he said, his tone casual, though his gaze was anything but. “It’s tradition, after all. Some bonds aren’t meant to be broken.”
“Well, I’m certainly not planning my great escape,” Colt interjected, dabbing his mouth with a precision that bordered on compulsive. “Plus, I’m starting a new job at one of New York’s gaming giants next week.”
Wei perked up like a cat spotting an unattended tuna sandwich.
“Does this mean vacation plans might become more than fantasy? I’ve been dreaming of going back to China for years.
” His expression turned wistful, a rare glimpse of something beneath his usual composed amusement.
“Shanghai in autumn. Or maybe Beijing—I haven’t been since we were kids. ”
“Maybe?” Colt’s shrug was noncommittal at best, though something softened in his expression at Wei’s mention of China. For all his precision and control, Colt had a surprising soft spot for his stepbrothers’ heritage, having picked up more Mandarin phrases than any of them expected.
Nico perked up mid-bite, cheeks still stuffed with French toast. “Vacation? Where to? When? Can my entourage join?” His eyes lit up with excitement, boyish enthusiasm that made him look even younger.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Shanghai! All those lights and the food markets.
And the art scene, Jaxson. The art scene! ”
Xander gave him a look that suggested he’d seen this movie before. “Pump those vacation brakes. Colt hasn’t even started the job yet, and you’re already spending his paychecks.”
Nico deflated visibly, shoulders slumping as he pushed his eggs around his plate. “Well, can’t blame a guy for dreaming.” He brightened almost immediately, resilient as always, shoveling another forkful of French toast into his mouth. “At least breakfast is good.”
The mundane morning rhythm of clinking plates and casual banter screeched to a halt when Lan appeared in the doorway. Jaxson’s world tilted on its axis, his breath catching in his throat.
Still damp from his shower, Lan entered the kitchen with a quiet grace that immediately drew every eye.
His ink-black hair fell in soft waves around a face that defied simple categorization—a mesmerizing blend of his father’s Western features and the subtle Xinjiang influence from his mother’s ancestry.
Though the Ji family was one of China’s oldest Han Chinese lineages, Lan’s appearance seemed to have cherry-picked the most devastating elements from each branch of his heritage.
High cheekbones curved like calligraphy beneath skin so luminously pale it seemed lit from within.
His eyes—larger and more expressive than typical Han features—were set beneath perfectly arched brows that gave him a perpetually questioning look.
Those eyes were the true revelation: not the expected dark brown, but a captivating amber-gold that caught the morning light like tiger’s eye gemstones.
The delicate bridge of his nose, the sculpted fullness of his lips, the elegant line of his jaw that hinted at his Western heritage—each element alone would be merely beautiful, but together they created something that felt almost supernatural in its perfection.
Jaxson’s breath caught in his throat, his body reacting before his mind could process.
The scent hit him first—honey-sweet with underlying notes of cherry blossoms and lilies, a fragrance that seemed to bypass his rational brain entirely and reach directly into something ancient and primal at his core.
His pupils dilated instantly, vision tunneling until the kitchen, the breakfast, the very concept of the outside world faded to insignificance. There was only Lan.
The white t-shirt—one of Jaxson’s own, he realized with a possessive jolt that shocked him with its intensity—hung from Lan’s slender frame, slipping off one shoulder to reveal skin so perfect it appeared untouched by time or hardship.
Water droplets still clung to his neck, tracing tempting paths downward before disappearing beneath the collar.
Jaxson’s mouth went bone-dry, his hands curling into fists against his thighs as he fought the overwhelming urge to cross the room and follow those droplets with his tongue.
Something massive and ancient unfurled in his chest—part protective instinct, part consuming hunger, part reverence for something sacred that he couldn’t name but recognized bone-deep. It was devotion and desire fused into a single, overwhelming imperative: claim, protect, possess.