"Happy Birthday, son—!"
Han's parents burst into the living room, grinning.
But instead of their son, they found a random man sleeping on his couch.
They both froze.
Their minds raced—Who was this? A burglar who took a nap mid-crime? A lost stranger? Or... something else?
Han's father squinted. "His jawline is awfully sharp."
Before they could jump to even wilder conclusions, June and Livia bolted in, eyes wide with panic.
"Mr. and Mrs. Yau!" June forced a laugh, stepping between them and Jet. "You're here!"
"Early too!" Livia added, subtly trying to redirect them away.
But Han's mother wasn't budging. Arms crossed, she took a step closer, scanning the stranger with a hawk's precision. She wanted answers. Now.
Han, fresh from the shower, sprinted down the stairs with a towel draped over his head. His damp hair clung to his forehead as he took in the scene—Jet just waking up, his parents staring in confusion, and June and Livia failing to do damage control.
"Who are you?!" Mrs. Yau demanded.
Jet, still half-asleep, panicked. His brain short-circuited. Who was he?! What was happening?!
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Before he could try again, Han rushed forward.
"Mother, he's—" Han exhaled sharply, bracing himself. "He's the reason I told you to stop setting up those blind dates."
Silence.
Then, everyone gasped.
Jet's eyes went wide. Mr. Yau turned to him, catching his reaction.
"Why do you look shocked?" Mr. Yau narrowed his eyes. "Han, are you lying?"
Jet's survival instincts kicked in.
"No! No—no, he's not lying!" He scrambled to his feet. "I was just surprised because—uhh..."
He darted a glance at Han, pleading for help. Han, with a completely straight face, watched him suffer. Jet gritted his teeth.
Fine. If Han wanted him to act, then he'd act.
"Because he told me you already knew!" Jet declared, turning the tables.
Every pair of eyes snapped back to Han.
June and Livia looked like they were watching a live drama. Mrs. Yau's gaze sharpened.
Han sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "I... didn't think you'd accept it. Accept me."
Jet's breath hitched—that sentence. Why did that sound so familiar?
Instinctively, Jet moved closer to Han, standing beside him. The atmosphere grew heavy, but before Mrs. Yau could dig deeper, June and Livia jumped in, guiding the parents to sit down.
"Maybe we should all talk properly!" Livia suggested.
"Yes, yes! Let's sit!" June nodded, shooting Han a look that screamed, Fix this.
Taking his chance, Han grabbed Jet's hand and dragged him into a nearby room.
As soon as the door shut, Jet whirled on him.
"Han. What. The hell. Was that?" he whisper-yelled.
Han pressed his fingers to his temples. "I'll explain when I get you home. Right now, I just—needed to use your character."
Jet frowned. "Use my character? What is this, a novel? At least tell me what's going on!"
Han sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"My mom doesn't allow random people in the house, no one can know I'm here" he admitted. "If she finds out you're just a friend I met two months ago, you'd be dead. She has the power to ruin your reputation, your family's reputation—everything."
Jet stiffened.
Han's voice softened. "So please, just play along until I get you home."
Jet stared at him, brain working fast.
If he refused, he'd be facing a war he wasn't ready for. If he agreed, Han's parents would want to meet him again. Ask questions.
He sighed. "Fine. As long as my family is safe."
Han smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Jet."
"Alright," Jet muttered. "Let's see how good you are at fake dating, Mr. Actor."
Han met Jet's gaze and let out a small grin before leading the way out of the room. They returned to the dining area, where Han's parents sat waiting.
Jet hesitated for a moment before settling next to Han across from his parents. He kept glancing at Han, unsure whether to speak or stay quiet.
"So, what's your name?" Mr. Yau asked.
The first question, and Jet was already stuck.
"Ron. My name is Ron," he lied smoothly.
Mrs. Yau folded her hands on the table. "So, Ron, how long have you been dating my son?"
Jet answered without hesitation. "One month, two weeks, and three days. Since June 17th."
Han blinked, surprised—not just that Jet had a specific date but that he'd calculated it so fast.
"You're very precise about that," Mr. Yau remarked, sounding amused. "And how long have you two known each other?"
"Two years," Jet replied. "As friends."
Han let out a quiet sigh. "Isn't this a little awkward?"
Mr. Yau agreed, but Mrs. Yau did not.
"On your birthday, you'd rather spend time with this man than your own family?" she scoffed. "The first time, I come here to celebrate my love for you, and I find HIM instead?!"
Her voice grew sharper, her disappointment evident. Mr. Yau tried to calm her down, but she refused to listen. Without another word, she stood up and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Jet, June, and Livia watched her leave, stunned. Han, however, remained still. The moment the door shut, Jet caught sight of him—his head lowered, fists clenched against the table. But after a slow, steady breath, he forced himself to relax.
When Han finally looked up, his face was unreadable. "Do you want me to send you home now?" His voice was quiet, flat.
Jet frowned, concern flickering in his chest—Why did Han look so drained? Was he okay?
Instead of answering, Jet reached out, taking Han's wrist. "No, not until you're okay. You look exhausted, Han."
He didn't give him a chance to protest, gently pulling him toward the living room. As Han sank onto the couch, Jet noticed something strange—this wasn't the Han he'd come to know over the past months.
This was the Han from the news. Quiet. Mysterious. Distant.
And that only made Jet more determined to stay.
"You need anything?" he asked, but Han just shook his head.
"You want to talk?" Another shake.
Jet sighed, but he didn't push. Instead, he gently stroked Han's hair, his touch light and comforting. "Alright, just breathe."
The house was quiet. June and Livia stayed in their rooms, giving them space. Jet let Han rest on his lap, hoping he'd say something—anything—but all he got were silent nods and shakes.
After a while, Jet spoke up. "You know, when I was a kid, I used to be a real dummy. I'd do anything my sister or mom told me to. And one time, I ate like a pig. My face was covered in sauce, and my mom told me to wipe it off—but there were no napkins around."
Han glanced up at him, curious but still silent.
Jet grinned. "So, can you guess what I did?"
Han shook his head.
"I grabbed my sister's favorite dress—while she was wearing it—and wiped my whole face on it."
For the first time that night, Han cracked a small smile. It was faint, but Jet caught it, and that was enough.
"Do you have any stories?" Jet asked hopefully.
The smile faded, and Han shook his head again. Still nothing. Whatever weighed on him, it ran deep.
But Jet was patient. He sat there, quietly combing his fingers through Han's hair. After nearly an hour, Han finally spoke.
"I grew up with June and Livia," he murmured. "They were my old maid's daughters. Older than me. When I left home, they followed, but they never stopped being formal."
Jet tilted his head. "So your parents raised you alongside them? That sounds nice."
Han shook his head. Jet almost thought he'd go silent again, but then—
"Let me take you home now," Han said, standing up abruptly.
Jet quickly grabbed his wrist. "No. I'll stay the night."
Han frowned. "There's no need. Let's go." He tried to pull Jet up, but Jet held firm.
"I know you're hiding something, Han," Jet said, his voice steady. "And if that secret is making you like this, I—"
Han scoffed. "What? You don't like it?"
"No," Jet shot back. "I'm worried."
Han froze.
Jet took a deep breath. "Look, we haven't known each other long, but… something about you pulls me in. Like I've met you before. And now you're suddenly shutting down? It's not like you." His grip tightened just slightly. "So, please—let me help you."
Han stared at Jet's hand wrapped around his wrist, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Jet thought he might pull away again, but instead, Han let out a slow breath and sat back down.
"You don't have to stay," Han muttered, rubbing his temples. "You barely know me."
Jet crossed his arms. "But I want to."