When my parents died unexpectedly my junior year of high school, my relatives circled like vultures, eyeing the estate and the insurance payout. They harassed me constantly at my front door. Finally, unable to take it anymore, I knocked on the door of my heavily tattooed neighbor. "Hey man, are you in a gang?" 1 The car crash happened fast. My dad died on the way to the hospital. My mom didn't make it out of the ER, but she hung on long enough to say her last few words to me. She gave me the PINs to her and my dad’s accounts, told me where the deed to the house and other valuables were kept, and her final sentence was: "Don't trust anyone." She didn't even have the breath left to say anything sentimental. She was in so much pain. She just looked at me with tear-filled eyes, and then she was gone. I was still in my school uniform. I had run so fast to get to the hospital that my shoelaces were untied, and I hadn't bothered to retie them. I knelt numbly beside my mom's bed, listening to the doctor pronounce her dead. Faced with such overwhelming grief, the tears just wouldn't fall. I felt disconnected, like I was moving through a dream. Eventually, I took their shattered cell phones. Feeling completely numb, I followed my mom's final instructions, transferring all the money from their accounts into my own. The funeral was organized with the help of my parents' friends. They put me in touch with a lawyer, and the drunk driver's insurance company paid out a substantial settlement. And then, the relatives descended. My uncle and aunt showed up wearing brand new clothes, their eyes gleaming as they stared at my family's modest three-bedroom, 900-square-foot house. "Noah, now that your parents are gone, your aunt and I will move in to take care of you," my uncle announced, taking charge after barely two sentences. "But your cousins will have to come too. Your room is the biggest, so the boys can share that. How about you sleep in that little room next to the balcony?" Our house had three bedrooms. The master was my parents', my room was a decent size, and the smallest room—which could barely fit a twin bed and didn't even have a window—was basically a closet. The settlement details were being handled by the lawyer and my parents' mutual friends. My relatives didn't know the exact figures or the timeline. My uncle continued, "You're not eighteen yet. I'll hold onto your parents' settlement money for you. I'll give you a monthly allowance, and when you graduate college and get married, I'll give the rest back." My older cousin was already in his twenties, and my uncle was desperate to buy him a house so he could get married. Last year, he had come to my dad asking for a loan. My dad lent him a few thousand dollars, but they complained it wasn't enough. And they had never paid back any of the money they'd borrowed in the past. "No thank you, Uncle. I can take care of myself," I said. Their expressions instantly changed. They launched into a long, dramatic speech, even squeezing out a few crocodile tears. They said I was my parents' only son, they were worried I wouldn't be okay, and that my parents' spirits wouldn't rest in peace if I was left alone. I still refused. I was 17. I wasn't stupid. The two people who loved me most in the world were gone. This old house, located right next to some of the best public schools in the district, was a safety net my parents had built for me since they got married. I was going to protect it no matter what. My uncle and aunt spoke sweetly, but their eyes were calculating. When I didn't cave, my mom’s younger brother and sister showed up next, also fighting for custody. Or, more accurately, fighting for the right to live in my house and control my parents' settlement money. 2 No matter how good the soundproofing is, it can't withstand that kind of screaming match. They were all trying to out-shout each other. They weren't arguing logic; they were just competing to see who could be the loudest and say the nastiest things. At first, they tried to keep up appearances, but by the end, the masks completely slipped. My mom’s brother: "He's my sister's son, of course he's coming with me! Don't think I don't know what you're plotting. You're not getting a single dime of my sister's settlement money!" My dad’s brother naturally shot back: "My sister-in-law married into our family, which makes her a Miller! Noah is a Miller! What's wrong with me taking care of him? Sounds to me like you're the one after the settlement money!" "..." I knew exactly what kind of people these relatives were. While my parents were alive, they constantly leached off them. Unless I had money lining my pockets, I would be nothing but a burden in their eyes. Suddenly, someone started pounding violently on the front door. Bang, bang, bang! The force was so heavy it sounded like they were going to punch a hole straight through the wood. The arguing abruptly stopped. My uncle cursed as he went to open the door: "Which blind idiot..." As the door swung open, his voice died in his throat. I looked past the other relatives in the room and saw a young man standing in the doorway. He was dressed entirely in black. He was very tall, and his tight black t-shirt showed off a massive, muscular build with sharply defined lines. More importantly, his entire right arm was covered in a sprawling tattoo sleeve. Right now, he was standing at my front door, looking incredibly annoyed, his eyes dark and menacing. My uncle, who had been so arrogant just a second ago, stuttered under the man's intense glare: "Wh-who are you looking for?" The man spoke, his voice deep but laced with obvious anger: "Are you done screaming yet?" After delivering his warning and getting a terrified guarantee from my uncle, the heavily tattooed guy opened the door to the adjacent apartment and walked in, still looking furious. I was stunned. The apartment next door had been empty for a long time. The previous neighbors moved out after their kid went to college, and the place had been sitting on the market. It looked like it had finally sold. And that heavily tattooed guy was my new neighbor. After the door slammed shut, my aunt and uncle seemed to finally snap out of their daze, turning their heads back. "Noah, how do you have such a terrifying neighbor?" my aunt complained. I glanced at my other aunt, who was holding my hand and wiping fake tears, then looked at the rest of the people in the room—my mom's brother, his wife, my aunt's husband, my dad's brother, his wife, and my older cousin. My parents had financially supported their siblings for over twenty years, yet they had never managed to get their lives together. Now, seeing me sitting on a pile of cash, I was nothing but a juicy steak to them. "Uncle David, Uncle Mark, Aunt Sarah," I addressed them one by one, keeping my voice as calm as possible. "I'm 17 years old. I can take care of myself. You should all go home." "What does that mean, Noah? Are you kicking your own uncle out?!" "Your parents are gone! We are your closest family now!" "..." A bunch of people who were so afraid of chipping in for funeral costs that they only showed up at the very end... what kind of "family" was that? "My house can't fit this many people." I crossed my arms and looked at my uncle. "Uncle David, didn't you say I should transfer all the money to you, and you'd give it back when I get married and have kids? I'm almost a legal adult. I could find a girlfriend very soon. If you all move in now, I'll just have to kick you out when I get married. It's too much of a hassle..." Before I even finished my sentence, my mom's brother howled: "What?! David Miller, you told Noah to transfer the money to you?! Have you no shame?! You're just trying to use that money to buy a house for your son, aren't you?!" They started fighting again, though their volume was noticeably lower this time. 3 They all wanted to stay, and none of them could stand the idea of anyone else staying. Because my apartment simply couldn't hold all of them, they eventually dragged each other out the door. Of course, even if they wanted to stay, I wouldn't have let them. These people didn't seem to care what I thought, even though I was the legal owner of this house now. After locking the front door, I walked back into my parents' bedroom. It was still filled with their things, looking no different than before. It just looked like they had gone on a business trip. But I knew they were never coming back. The emotions, acting like they were on a delay, finally surged up and hit me head-on. I sat on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. The tears finally burst forth, and a profound, overwhelming grief swallowed me whole. For the first 17 years of my life, I had never felt this kind of loneliness. The stable, relatively happy life I had known turned out to be as fragile as a bubble, shattering completely. I hated the drunk driver. I hated him for driving under the influence, and I hated that it wasn't him who died. He was going to prison and paying a settlement, but he couldn't give me back my living, breathing parents. The tears fell freely, refusing to stop. Even though I was the only person left in this house, I still didn't dare wail out loud. I just curled up in the corner and sobbed quietly. After that day, I started going back to school. But those relatives hadn't given up on the fat piece of meat they saw me as. For the sake of the money, they didn't even go back to their own towns. They rented cheap apartments nearby and harassed me at my front door constantly. At first, they played nice, saying they wanted to take care of me. But then my uncle brought up his son needing a house to get married and asked for a "loan." My other uncle said he needed a new car. My aunt said her kid wanted to transfer to a better school in the city. It was like they had coordinated it. They were all trying to dig into my pockets, completely ignoring the fact that that money was the price of their siblings' lives. They could play the victim, and of course, I could too. So, they finally dropped the act and started emotionally blackmailing me, calling me an ungrateful brat. At times like this, I was actually glad my grandparents on both sides had already passed away. I couldn't leave my house without running into them. It felt like I was the one who owed them a massive debt, and they were the debt collectors. This couldn't go on. I was incredibly annoyed. So, on a Sunday afternoon, I knocked on my neighbor's door. When he opened the door, he was shirtless. He had short, messy hair and looked like he had just woken up. The tattoo on his right arm snaked all the way up his shoulder and onto his chest. It looked like a dragon. He looked incredibly intimidating. "Hey, man," I suppressed the anxiety in my chest. "Are you... in a gang?" 4 After hearing my question, my heavily tattooed neighbor's face froze for a second. Finally, he just looked at me blankly and asked, "What do you want?" His chiseled face had strong, sharp features. He was genuinely handsome. But the aura he gave off made it very easy to ignore his looks. I had been observing this neighbor. Most days, he left the apartment around 8 or 9 PM and didn't come back until early the next morning. Occasionally, if he came back a little later, it coincided with me waking up early to study, and I'd hear his door open. The doors in this old apartment complex used heavy, outdated locks, so they were loud when they opened. I guessed this neighbor worked some kind of physical labor job because he was tall, incredibly muscular, and had an intense, aggressive vibe about him. Facing someone like him, I was internally terrified, but I kept my voice as steady as possible. "Hey man, I... I'm your neighbor. I live right next door. I was hoping I could ask you for a favor." "Not interested." He started to close the door. I quickly reached out to stop him. "Wait, wait! I'm not asking for a freebie. I'll pay you! You don't even really have to do anything. Just help me scare off a few people." The tattooed guy stopped closing the door. He seemed to study me for a second. "You want to hire me as a bodyguard?" "..." That was basically the gist of it. Before I could answer, he said coldly, "If you're getting bullied, call your parents. What kind of logic is asking a stranger for help?" "I don't have parents anymore." "What?" The tattooed guy's tone seemed to falter, and his gaze landed on my face. "My parents died in an accident. Those relatives of mine are eyeing the stuff they left me, and they keep harassing me." I looked up, trying to gauge his reaction. "Man, it's the same people who disrupted your sleep the other day. You definitely don't want to see them again either, right?" "Those people were here trying to shake you down?" The tattooed guy frowned slightly. "Yeah. One by one, they all owe my parents money and have never paid it back. Now they want to steal the settlement money my parents left me." I nodded. "Hey man, what's your daily rate usually? I'll hire you for your daily rate to help me out, okay?" I just needed him to show his face when those relatives showed up and scare them off. The tattooed guy finally let out a scoff. "Do you even know what my daily rate is before you ask that?" I honestly didn't, but I couldn't think of a better plan right now. "Man, just give me a number?" I asked tentatively. Instead of answering, he asked, "When do those relatives of yours usually show up?" "I don't know, but probably around evening." It was the weekend; they knew I'd be home. My uncle and the others had been sending me long, rambling messages on WhatsApp, trying to guilt-trip me. Some of the messages were just nasty insults. Most of them were voice memos, and I was too lazy to even listen to them. "Alright. Go back inside." I heard this incredibly intimidating neighbor reply. I walked back to my apartment feeling thoroughly confused, still unsure if he had actually agreed to take the job or not. Around 5 PM, there was a knock at my door. I was instantly on high alert. But aside from the knocking, there weren't any obnoxious voices outside, and the rhythm of the knocking was different from theirs. I stood behind the door and heard unfamiliar voices talking. So I asked, "Who is it?" "Me." It was my neighbor's voice. I opened the door, and when I saw the scene outside, I froze. 5 There were several guys standing outside. Aside from my tattooed neighbor, there were three others. They were all very tall and heavily built. The biggest one had a buzz cut and muscles that looked like they belonged on a heavyweight boxer. He had a very aggressive face. Another one had dyed blond hair, was covered in accessories, and had tattoo sleeves on both arms. There was also a guy with curly hair wearing a tank top. He was thinner than the rest but looked equally intimidating. Most importantly, they were all carrying grocery bags. "Man?" I looked confused at the leader, my neighbor. He led the guys inside, and as he walked past me, he said, "I don't have any cookware over there yet. We're borrowing your place for hot pot." With that, he navigated his way to my kitchen and led the group over. "Oh, right," he looked back at me. "Leave the front door open." The guys didn't pay any attention to me. They just went straight into the kitchen and started prepping. They had brought a ton of meat and vegetables. Because it was too cramped, the biggest guy got kicked out of the kitchen. "Kid, why are you staring at me?" He caught me peeking and asked in a booming voice. I instinctively replied, "Man, your muscles look really impressive. I was just admiring them." That comment seemed to please him. He let out a booming laugh. "You've got a good eye." "Man, what's your name?" I asked. Through a brief conversation, I learned that the big guy currently making himself entirely at home on my sofa was named Marcus. The blond guy in the kitchen was Jayden, and the curly-haired guy was Eli. As for my neighbor, his name was Jax. The smell of hot pot drifted out of the kitchen. I watched them carry out the pot, plates of meat and vegetables, and two large bowls of dipping sauce. In the short time they had been here, they looked more like the homeowners than I did. "Kid, why are you just standing there? Come eat! Don't be shy in your own house," Marcus called out. "..." The broth was incredibly spicy. I was inhaling sharply as I ate. It was hot, but it smelled amazing. The tattooed guy sitting next to me cracked open a can of Coke with one hand, popped a straw in it, and handed it to me. "Can't handle spice?" "Jax, I'm fine." I had heard the others calling him that. "I love it, I'm just not very good at handling heat." Jax didn't care how I knew his name. He got up, poured me a glass of ice water, and set it in front of me. "If you can't handle the spice, just rinse the food off before you eat it." His action, however, stunned the other three guys. The blond guy complained, "Jax, last time I had a breakout and didn't want to eat spicy food, you told me to go eat at a separate table..." The curly-haired guy chimed in with the same tone: "Jax, remember when you said picky eaters can get out..." Marcus just laughed loudly. Jax scoffed. "What, you want to kick the homeowner out while you're eating at his house? Are you guys trying to stage a mutiny?" The others teased him a bit more. When they opened their mouths, they were actually pretty easy to get along with. It was just their physical appearance that was easily misunderstood. Halfway through the hot pot, sure enough, there was noise coming from outside. 6 I heard several voices. "Noah Miller, you actually have the mood to sit at home and eat hot pot?!" My uncle's voice came from outside. He had clearly smelled the food and saw that my front door was wide open. Then came my aunt: "The elders are suffering so much because of him! He has no conscience!" "..." The group walked in, looking unified, like they had coordinated their approach beforehand. They all wanted to extract money from me. However, when they gathered at the doorway and looked inside, the four adult men sitting next to me all looked up and stood up simultaneously. They were all very tall, and unlike my uncle's flabby weight, this was pure, gym-built muscle. The intimidating aura of these guys standing together was off the charts. "Noah Miller, who are these people you're hanging out with?!" "If your parents knew you were acting like this, they'd be rolling in their graves!" "You're young and naive. You won't be able to hold onto the money your parents left you for long. You'll probably blow it all on these shady friends of yours!" "..." They felt they held the moral high ground as they walked in. Jax and his friends took two steps forward. Just those two steps made my relatives retreat a few paces in fear. "Noah Miller, what is the meaning of this? Did you hire these thugs to intimidate your elders?" my aunt spoke up first. She had a sharp tongue, but even she was intimidated by these tall, intimidating strangers. Jax looked at them and spoke first: "Since you people are the 'elders,' the kid's parents recently passed away, and he's all alone. We're not even asking you to provide any help, but shouldn't you at least pay back the money his parents lent you?" My relatives had never, ever considered the concept of "paying back" the money. Hearing this, their expressions varied wildly. "What money? When did they ever lend me money?" My mom's brother was the first to deny it, swearing up and down that it never happened. Then came my dad's brother's wife: "Noah's dad transferred money to us a few years ago, but wasn't that the allowance money for his grandparents before they passed away? We never borrowed money!" My other aunt had a similar excuse ready. I felt numb. Even though I already knew exactly what kind of people they were, I still felt that my parents' sacrifices were completely unworthy of them. "I still have my parents' phones. The text message logs say otherwise," I spoke up suddenly. "And Uncle David, did you forget? You borrowed five thousand dollars from my parents the year before last, and you even signed an IOU. Do you want me to bring out the chat logs and the IOU to confront you?" Their eyes widened. They had been showing up constantly lately just to extract money. How could they possibly agree to lose money now? Actually, no matter how sweet they sounded when they borrowed the money, they never had any intention of paying it back. The front door suddenly slammed shut. They looked back and realized that the curly-haired guy had circled behind them and locked the door without them noticing. Jax: "If the debts aren't settled today, no one is leaving." My relatives instantly panicked and turned to try and open the door to leave. Naturally, that wasn't happening. "What do you think you're doing?! Believe it or not, I'll call the police!" Marcus laughed. "Call 'em. Let the cops come and see who's really being shameless. Paying back debts is a basic rule of society. He has proof you owe him money. Suing you in small claims court wouldn't be hard at all." Seeing that they couldn't reason their way out of this, my uncle turned his gaze back to me. "Noah Miller, is this how you treat your own flesh and blood? Letting them bully us?" He tried to sound self-righteous. "Are you even a Miller anymore?!" 7 "Not anymore, Uncle. You never treated me like a human being anyway," I said flatly. Marcus burst out laughing at that. "You're a pretty funny kid." These guys blocking the door was still very intimidating. My relatives, who usually relied on their status as "elders" to be arrogant, were terrified. They eventually coughed up a few hundred dollars each. They muttered about paying the rest in installments. As Jax watched them transfer the money to me, he added one sentence: "Put 'Debt Repayment' in the memo line." Only then did he open the door and let them go. I looked at the extra couple of thousand dollars in my phone, feeling relieved. I knew full well that "paying in installments" was just a lie to get out the door. But they had come here not only failing to extort me, but actually losing money themselves. It felt incredible. "Guys, you were amazing!" Marcus waved his hand. "Ah, people like them just bully you because you're young and have a thin skin. The second they run into real trouble, they panic. You and Jax are neighbors; I doubt they'll dare show their faces around here again." Eli clicked his tongue. "A bunch of fully grown adults with working arms and legs, targeting a kid's house and wallet. Shameless!" "We see this kind of thing all the time," Jayden said, sitting down and continuing to eat. "Scumbags who only pick on the weak." They went back to happily eating. After they finished, they wiped their mouths, said goodbye to Jax, and left, saying they had to get to work. I looked at my tattooed neighbor and asked, "Jax, how much do I owe you guys for the day rate?" He hadn't told me their daily rate yet. Jax glanced at me, then glanced at the table. "You clean up. Keep your money. Don't go around telling people how much cash you have." He didn't want my money, and his friends seemed to have just come over for hot pot before strolling away. They left a huge bag of unfinished drinks and snacks at my place. It wasn't until Jax was about to leave that I finally snapped out of it and stopped him to exchange contact info. I originally didn't know what he did for a living. Seeing him leave late and come back early, it wasn't until I saw a post online one day that I realized he was a bartender at a nearby club. So he wasn't in a gang after all. I thought back to my initial impression of him and felt a little guilty. Jax had truly done me a massive favor. After that day, terrified of being hounded for the debt, my uncle and the others made a silent pact to stop harassing me. Another weekend rolled around. I texted him in advance, wanting to treat him and the other three guys to dinner. I checked his club's operating hours; there was plenty of time for dinner beforehand. At first, Jax just replied with one word: [Unnecessary]. I insisted, and he finally compromised, telling me to send him the restaurant address and time, and he would notify the other three. Around the agreed-upon time, I knocked on the door next door. A man wearing a burgundy dress shirt stepped out. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the top buttons were undone, leaving his collar open. The tattoos on his right arm and chest were faintly visible. He was also wearing a silver cross necklace. Jax smelled like expensive cologne. "Let's go," he said to me. 8 I picked a place not too far from the club where he worked. I chose it intentionally. I booked early, so we even got a private room. The other three guys arrived early. "Noah's here? Come sit. We're riding your coattails today." I walked over and smiled at them. "No way, Marcus. I'm the one who owes you guys. Things have been so much quieter lately. Please, don't be polite." As their eyes landed on Jax, Eli suddenly let out a low whistle. "Jax, dressing up this flashy just to grab dinner with our boy?" Jax lightly kicked his shin, not using much force. "Shut up. This is my work uniform." The other three instantly burst into laughter. Work uniform? Seeing my confusion, Eli threw his arm around my shoulder and explained: "Noah, Jax opened a club with some partners. Jayden and I are in the house band, Marcus handles security. Right now, they're short-staffed, and good, high-quality bartenders are hard to find. So he stepped in himself. Now, men and women alike just stare at his face and come in to spend money on eye candy." Jayden smirked. "Jax is basically the face of the club now. Anyone else can call out sick, but he can't. Every night, rich guys and girls come in asking if he needs money or a sugar daddy/mommy." Jax shoved a piece of watermelon into his mouth. "Stop corrupting the kid!" "17 isn't a kid! I'd had two serious relationships by the time I was 17!" Jax: "That's why you didn't get into college." "...Bro, really? Hitting me with the academic insult?" Jayden protested. "You went to college, and now you're working the same job as me?" "Food isn't enough to shut your mouth!" "..." I had ordered the food in advance, and it didn't take long for the waiter to start bringing out the dishes. Halfway through the meal, Jax stepped out to use the restroom. When he didn't come back right away, I stepped out too. I passed by the front desk and saw him trying to pay the bill, only to be told it had already been settled. He turned around, and our eyes met. I grinned widely at him. "Jax, I said I was treating. I paid ages ago." Jax: "..." "Who lets a minor pay the bill when a bunch of adults go out?" he muttered. A moment later, he couldn't help but add, "You're so young, where did you learn to play the networking game like this?" "My mom taught me. If you're going to treat someone to a meal, you have to show genuine sincerity." Jax reached out and patted my head. "What does a high school kid need with all this social maneuvering? Focus on studying, that's the right path." After we finished eating, the other three guys asked if I wanted to come hang out at their club. Jayden said, "Noah, our club is actually really fun. There are lots of hot guys and girls. You're so good-looking, you'd definitely be popular..." Before he could finish, Jax cut him off: "Noah, I'll walk you home." He also shot Jayden a glare. "Jayden, stop being a bad influence." "Jax, why are you so tense? If people didn't know better, they'd think we run a sketchy underground club!" Jax: "..." After this dinner, I definitely felt closer to my new neighbor, but we still didn't have much overlap in our daily lives. I was a student; he was a club owner and bartender. We were fundamentally on two different paths. I finally gradually got used to living alone—going to school every day and coming home to an empty house. Until summer break arrived. 9 I spent more time at home, mostly just grinding through practice tests. The neighbor's club was doing great business. He usually didn't get home until nearly 6 AM. One night, I had insomnia and couldn't sleep until 4 AM. While getting up to use the bathroom, I suddenly heard a loud THUD outside my front door. Usually, at this hour, any noise out there would only be made by Jax. I hesitated for a few seconds before carefully opening the door and peeking out. The motion-sensor lights in the hallway hadn't turned off yet. Jax was collapsed entirely on the floor. I froze, then quickly stepped out and crouched down beside him. "Jax?" I called out softly, shaking him gently. Jax reeked of alcohol. He was clearly incredibly drunk. "Jax, wake up." I patted his pockets but couldn't find his keys. He didn't react at all. He didn't even open his eyes. The only thing I could confirm was that he wasn't dead. I glanced down the hallway. I couldn't just leave him passed out in the corridor. I gritted my teeth, used all my strength to pull him up, and half-carried, half-dragged him into my apartment. He was tall and solidly built. He was heavy. It took an insane amount of effort to maneuver him into my room. After taking off his shoes, I turned around, locked the door, turned off the lights, and went into the master bedroom to sleep. The consequence of insomnia was waking up late the next day. The sun was already high in the sky when I finally became lucid. The first thing I did was get out of bed and walk out to the living room. Jax was sitting on my sofa. I had no idea how long he had been sitting there. "Jax, you're up early?" Jax turned to look at me. He was still wearing last night's clothes. He rubbed his temples. "How did I get in here last night?" He had completely blacked out. Makes sense, considering how drunk he was. I gave him a brief rundown, including the fact that I couldn't find his keys in his pockets. Jax patted his pockets again and finally concluded: "I probably left them at the club." I found some spare, unused toiletries in my house for him. "Jax, I'm going to order some food on DoorDash. What do you want?" The sound of the running faucet in the bathroom stopped, and a voice called out: "Whatever you're having, I'll have." When Jax came out and saw the takeout containers on the dining table, and then glanced at the stash of instant ramen in the corner, he asked, "Do you just survive on DoorDash and ramen when you're on break?" "Is there a problem?" I looked at him, confused. During the school year, I could eat at the cafeteria. At home, takeout was just more convenient. I could cook a little, but my culinary skills weren't exactly stellar. Jax didn't say anything else. After eating, he grabbed his phone, sent a message to someone, and then left, taking the trash with him. I thought it was just a perfectly ordinary day until the next evening when Jax sent me a text: [Come over for dinner]. ? It was my first time inside Jax's apartment. There were several dishes set out on the dining table. The aroma was incredible. Jax, wearing a black tank top, carried a bowl of soup out of the kitchen. "Sit down." "Jax, you know how to cook?" I was still a little shocked. Jax gave a non-committal "Mhm," and placed a ladle of soup in front of me. "Eat up. I can't finish all this by myself." None of the dishes on the table were bad. I ate while giving Jax a thumbs-up. "Jax, you're amazing!" Jax didn't even try to be modest. He pulled a corner of his mouth into a smirk. "Obviously." I hadn't experienced the feeling of eating a home-cooked meal like this in a very long time. Even though it was at a neighbor's house, it still made me feel incredibly moved. I buried my head and ate voraciously. Jax didn't seem to notice the emotional shift in my mood. From that day on, my heavily tattooed neighbor would occasionally show off his culinary skills and invite me over to eat.
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