Steam still hung in the air when Jett stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped loosely around his shoulders. The condo was quiet except for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows, traffic murmurs, a siren somewhere far away.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, water dripping onto the hardwood floor. The place smelled faintly of soap and cigarette smoke, the kind of mix that clung to him no matter how many showers he took.
The doorbell rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
Loud. Relentless.
"Who the fuck is that?!" Jett barked, snatching the towel from his head and stalking toward the door.
He yanked it open, and there he was.
Alex.
Crisp black suit, white shirt, hair slicked neatly back. The complete opposite of Jett's bare chest and low-slung sweatpants. Alex's eyes flicked over him, disapproval barely hidden beneath a layer of practiced calm.
"What the hell do you want, Alex?"
"Good evening to you too." Alex said dryly, stepping past him without waiting for an invitation. He adjusted his cufflinks as he entered, eyes sweeping the living room. The place was clean enough, boxing gloves tossed on the couch, a half-open duffel bag on the floor, and a jacket slung over one of the dining chairs.
Jett shut the door with a sharp click. "You planning to stand there judging my interior design like always or you gonna say what you came for?"
Alex sighed, already moving toward the kitchen. "You could at least offer your brother a drink."
Jett rolled his eyes but followed. "Didn't know you drank protein shakes and instant coffee."
"I'll take water."
"Figures." Jett grabbed a bottle from the fridge and slid it across the counter. Alex caught it without looking up, twisting the cap open with a quiet hiss.
"This is not the life Dad planned for you." he said finally.
Jett leaned against the counter, towel now hanging around his neck. "And why is he the one planning my life?"
Alex's brows drew together. "Mum wouldn't want you to live like this."
"Well," Jett said, voice flat, "she wouldn't want me living a life I didn't want either. So it's a win-win."
Alex took a slow breath, shaking his head. "You're hopeless."
"Appreciate the compliment."
"What does he want this time?"Jett asked, irritation threading through his tone.
"He just wants to see you."
Jett gave a low, humorless laugh. "I doubt he just wants to see me."
"Layla too." Alex added, almost gently.
That made Jett glance up, just for a second. Then he scoffed. "You can't trick me with that. I could go to her school if she wanted to see me."
Alex hesitated, rubbing his temple. "You really should come see him. He's not happy with what you:re doing."
"Why do I have to do what satisfies him and not me?" Jett asked quietly, eyes narrowing.
There was no answer. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator filling the silence between them.
Finally, Jett pushed off the counter, walking to the coat rack by the door. His jacket hung there, still smelling faintly of cologne and dust. He pulled it on slowly, movements deliberate.
"Look," he said, voice tightening, "I don't give two fucks about the company. He already has you, his favorite son. What does he need me for?"
"You know it's not like tha-"
Jett cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "Don't you have meetings to attend and deals to seal? Chop chop. Time waits for nobody, dear brother."
"Jett-"
"I have a fight tonight." He reached for his gloves on the couch, shoving them into his duffel bag. "That's the only thing in my head right now. So everything you're saying is flying over my head. I ain't hearing shit."
Alex's jaw tightened. "So you're not coming home?"
Jett slung the bag over his shoulder, adjusting the strap. He exhaled slowly. "When you're done, you know your way out."
Then he grabbed his keys from the counter and opened the door.
"Bye."
The door shut behind him, the sound echoing through the quiet condo.
Alex stood there for a long moment, the cold hum of the refrigerator the only sound left. He looked around, the unwashed cup in the sink, the boxing posters on the wall, the faint scuff marks on the floor where Jett shadowboxed when he was alone.
He set the half-finished bottle of water down on the counter and straightened his cuffs.
"Still the same stubborn bastard." he muttered under his breath, before turning and letting himself out.
The door clicked shut. Silence returned, heavy and absolute.
✧
Another win. Another night of bruised knuckles and fleeting satisfaction.
He ran a hand over his damp hair as he stepped out of the changing room, the hum of the underground ring fading behind him. His phone buzzed with notifications, just his friends texting about drinks, but his focus was elsewhere.
He wanted a milkshake.
Again.
Hopefully, this time, without any fucking drama.
There were plenty of places open this late, but none of them did it like that café. The one with the perfect blend of chocolate and cream, the kind that made the night a little less bitter.
So he ditched the rest of the guys and let Matt tag along, mostly because Matt didn't take no for an answer.
The city air was cool against his skin as they walked. The streets glowed with neon and soft puddles reflected the lights, typical late-night downtown. By the time they reached the café, Jett's hoodie was zipped up halfway, knuckles hidden in his pockets.
Inside, the bell chimed softly.
They went straight to the counter. The barista recognized him, hesitated for a second, but took the order without comment. Two milkshakes. One thick and cold, extra cream.
When they sat down, Matt tried to fill the silence.
"So.....good fight tonight, man. You really messed that guy up in round three, I thought his jaw-"
Jett didn't respond. Not a nod. Not a sound. He just stared out the window, expression unreadable, tapping a finger slowly against the table.
Matt sighed, eventually giving up, sinking back into his seat and scrolling through his phone. The silence settled again, heavy but not awkward, just the kind Jett preferred.
Until the bell above the door jingled.
He didn't even mean to look. It was just instinct. But his gaze lifted, and the moment it did, his entire expression hardened.
The smaller one walked in first, wearing a pale pink sweater, smile bright enough to burn through the dim café lights. His brother trailed behind, tall and quiet, a calm contrast.
The two brothers.
From that day.
The one with the mouth.
"Fucking fantastic." Jett muttered under his breath, voice dripping with dry irritation.
Matt looked up from his phone. "What?"
Jett didn't answer. His eyes stayed locked on the counter where Jamie stood, still talking to his brother like the world wasn't even capable of ruining his mood.
Matt followed his line of sight, and his face lit up.
"Wait...is that Jamie?" he asked, almost to himself.
Jett frowned. "What?"
"Jamie. My neighbor." Matt leaned forward, squinting.
"Well how the fuck would I know? It's not like I live with you or something." Jett shot back, tone clipped.
Matt blinked. "The hell's your problem?"
Before Jett could reply, the two at the counter turned with their drinks in hand and started walking past their table.
"Hey!" Matt called out.
Both brothers stopped. The taller one was the first to recognize him. His face broke into an easy smile.
"Hey Matt." He greeted and approached them.
Matt grinned. "Hi Jace, hi James."
Jamie's head turned sharply. "It's Jamie."
"I know." Matt grinned.
Jamie gave a small scoff, unimpressed. He wasn't new to Matt's teasing.
"Do you guys wanna sit with us?" Matt offered.
"Sure." Jace said at once, friendly as ever.
"No." Jett cut in, voice like gravel.
The word hung in the air. Both Jace and Jamie turned to him, and recognition sparked instantly.
Jamie's expression shifted first. His smile fell, replaced by a scowl sharp enough to cut glass.
"Like we'd wanna sit with someone like you anyway." he scoffed, crossing his arms.
"Good." Jett said flatly. "Now walk away."
Jace blinked, clearly confused, while Matt glanced between them, trying to piece things together.
"Uh....did I miss something here?" Matt asked.
Jamie's glare didn't waver. "You really think you can act like that every time and people will just let it slide?"
Jett's jaw tightened. "You think I care what people let slide?"
"Oh, you look like you care plenty," Jamie shot back, sarcasm dripping. "That's why you're sitting there, scowling at everyone like the world owes you a medal."
"Kid, you got a death wish or something?" Jett leaned forward slightly, voice low.
"Or what?" Jamie's chin lifted. "You'll punch me?"
Matt raised his hands. "Whoa, okay-"
But neither of them heard him.
Jace looked uncomfortable now. "Jamie-"
"No, because he needs to hear it," Jamie said, voice rising. "You think everyone's scared of you just because you look like that?. You don't even-"
Jett's hand slammed on the table as he stood up sharply, his eyes narrowed, but his tone stayed almost calm. "You sure you wanna finish that sentence, sweetheart?"
"Don't call me that." Jamie snapped.
"I'll call you whatever the fuck I want sweetheart."
Jamie's face flushed red. "You're such an asshole."
"Yeah, been told that a lot of times."
They stared at each other for a long, tense beat. Jamie's breathing uneven, Jett's expression unreadable.
Finally, Matt stood up halfway, cutting between them. "Okay, enough. Seriously. What the hell's going on here?"
Neither answered.
Jace rubbed his temple. "Long story."
"Short version?" Matt asked.
Jamie glared at Jett. "We met at this same café last week, and we had a nice talk."
"Oh for fuck's sake." Jett muttered, looking away.
"What?" Matt looked at him. "Wait, you two know each other?"
"Unfortunately." Jamie snapped.
Jett sat back down and took a slow sip of his milkshake, unbothered. "You done talking or you still need attention?"
Jamie's jaw clenched. "Asshole."
Matt exhaled, dragging a hand over his face. "Okay, seriously, we are not doing this here. Sit. Down. Everyone."
Jamie didn't move. Neither did Jett. The tension hung heavy, bitter, and way too personal for a late-night café.