Halfway Home

Chapter 3: "Lost Luggage, Lost Patience"

It rained.

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Al had always been good at pretending things didn’t bother him. Years of growing up between two households, of nodding politely at family events he barely felt a part of, had trained him well. But as he stepped into Jao's house—his temporary prison for the night—he felt every muscle in his body tense.

The place was exactly what he expected: tasteful, well-kept, and absolutely insufferable.

"Welcome home," Jao said, tossing his keys into a bowl near the door, his voice dripping with amusement.

Al shot him a glare. "Don’t."

Jao grinned but said nothing.

The bungalow was warm, both in temperature and atmosphere. Soft, ambient lighting illuminated sleek wooden furniture, and there was an almost irritatingly perfect balance between modern elegance and rustic charm. A large bookshelf stood against one wall, filled with hardcover books arranged with an I didn’t try too hard, but it still looks perfect precision. There was a faint scent of coffee and something citrusy in the air, like Jao lit expensive candles just for the aesthetic.

It was the kind of home that was supposed to be inviting, but to Al, it just felt territorial.

Jao’s space. Jao’s world. And now, for the night, Al was trapped in it.

"You can drop your bag anywhere," Jao said, walking toward the kitchen. "Oh, wait—you don’t have one."

Al exhaled sharply through his nose. His duffle bag had somehow disappeared at the reception, which only deepened his suspicion that the entire town was in on some elaborate scheme to make him stay.

"I’ll survive," Al muttered, toeing off his shoes. He was damp from the rain, tired from the wedding, and thoroughly done with the day.

"Shower’s down the hall," Jao continued, opening the fridge like a man who knew he had the upper hand. "Unless you’d rather stay in those wet clothes all night."

Al ignored him and made his way to the guest room, pointedly not acknowledging how annoyingly nice it was. It had the same warm tones as the rest of the house, a queen-sized bed with crisp white sheets, and a small desk tucked into the corner. Everything was neat but not overly sterile—lived-in, but curated.

He sat on the bed, running a hand down his face. He had only been in San Rafael for more than a day, and he already wanted to scream.

A knock sounded at the door.

Al groaned. "What?"

Jao leaned against the frame, arms crossed, holding what looked like—Al squinted—a folded t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

"I figured you didn’t want to sleep in your suit," Jao said, smirking. "But hey, if that’s your thing, go for it."

Al stared at the clothes like they might bite him. "I’m fine."

Jao rolled his eyes. "Just take them. Unless you prefer sleeping in jeans."

Al did not, in fact, prefer that.

He snatched the clothes from Jao’s hands without saying thank you, earning a knowing chuckle in response.

"You’re welcome," Jao said, pushing off the doorframe. "Towels are in the bathroom. Try not to flood the place."

Al resisted the urge to throw something at him.

After showering and changing into the borrowed clothes—admittedly soft and way too comfortable—Al returned to the guest room, ready to collapse. But the moment he settled into bed, he heard movement outside the door.

Then the distinct sound of Jao humming.

It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to be annoying.

Al groaned, rolling onto his stomach and shoving a pillow over his head.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to pretend he wasn’t hyper-aware of every little noise coming from outside the room. The soft creak of floorboards. The distant hum of Jao’s voice, still audible even though it had faded into a lower, more absentminded tune. The faint clinking of glass from the kitchen.

San Rafael was quiet—too quiet compared to the city noise Al had grown used to. The silence made everything else seem louder, more noticeable.

And more annoying.

With a sigh, he turned over and buried his face in the pillow. He was determined to sleep through whatever smug, self-satisfied aura Jao was radiating from across the house.

But, of course, Jao had other plans.

A sharp knock landed on the guest room door.

Al gritted his teeth. "What."

The door cracked open, revealing Jao in a loose button-down and sweatpants, leaning against the frame like this was some kind of casual chat between friends.

"Just checking if you’re still alive," Jao said easily.

Al groaned and turned onto his side, facing away. "Go away."

"No can do. We have to set some ground rules."

Al exhaled sharply. Of course Jao had house rules.

Jao invited himself inside, unfazed by Al’s obvious irritation. "Rule number one: No locking yourself in here all day like some kind of hermit. You’re staying under my roof, so you have to at least pretend to be a functioning human being."

Al turned his head just enough to glare at him. "What makes you think I want to be here all day?"

"That brings me to rule number two," Jao continued, ignoring him. "If you go out, at least let me know so I don’t accidentally report you missing."

Al scoffed. "Like you’d be that concerned."

Jao gave him a look. "I don’t need the town thinking I lost my brand-new stepbrother within two days of knowing him."

Al rolled his eyes. "Anything else, Your Honor?"

Jao’s mouth twitched. "Glad you asked. Rule number three: No eating in the living room."

Al sat up slightly, squinting at him. "You just made that one up."

"No, I didn’t. I have principles."

Al gave him an unimpressed stare. "You sound like my grandmother."

Jao pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

Al flopped back onto the bed, groaning into the pillow. "Are you done?"

Jao hesitated, as if debating something. Then he said, voice lighter, "Actually—"

"Oh my god."

"—Rule number four: I expect some level of social interaction. That means you have to talk to me."

Al lifted his head just enough to shoot him a deadpan look. "We’re talking now. And I hate it."

Jao grinned, unbothered. "You’ll get used to it."

"Not happening."

"Famous last words."

Al muttered something under his breath and rolled back over, yanking the blanket over himself. "You’re enjoying this too much."

Jao leaned against the doorframe again, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Can’t say I mind watching you struggle."

Al didn’t dignify that with a response. He was already regretting everything.

A few beats passed. Just as he was about to assume Jao had finally left, he felt the weight of a stare.

Al peeked over the blanket. "What now?"

Jao tilted his head slightly. "You’re wearing my clothes."

Al blinked. Then scowled. "Yeah, because someone made me."

Jao smirked. "It’s a good look on you."

Al’s brain short-circuited for half a second. Then: "I will throw this pillow at you."

Jao just laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll let you sleep."

"Finally."

Jao turned to leave, but not before throwing a final, smug, over-the-shoulder remark—

"Sweet dreams, stepbrother."

The pillow flew before the door even closed.

...to be continued.