The living room that Logan is entering looks like a fancy picture. It's cozy with dim lights from lamps and a warm fireplace. Big, soft couches in deep colors of blue and red looking really comfy. There is a luxurious table with shiny glasses and plates filled with yummy snacks and drinks. Above, a giant light hung from the ceiling, making everything sparkle. But even in this fancy room, you could feel something serious going on, like secrets being shared and important plans being made, all hidden away from everyone else. Every corner of the Lane's extravagant house exudes this aura. A mixture of pure alpha pheromones, casino scent and strong odor of cognac. One of the reasons why the young man doesn't bother putting on cologne. He throws his bag in front of the door and walks to another room. He comes back with a carton of orange juice and drops into the large satin couch before turning on the TV. Logan drinks from the bottleneck with the attitude of someone who is alone in the world.

He recognizes this scene very well. It is the one he repeats every day. The house is empty, it almost looks like he lives there alone. His fathers are never there, and even when they are, they hardly pay attention to him. Today, Logan's attention isn't focused on the program on the screen, but it's never the case anyway. It's just a desperate attempt to create some sort of presence, albeit an artificial one. No, today, Logan is not going to lie down thinking about nothing until he falls asleep. Today, Logan will think about Alexander. He will think about how pretty he is. He will think about his splendid blue eyes, then his lips and the amount of time they call him a jerk. He will wonder if it possible for them to remain silent, if he will be able to silence them, how he will do it and what will they taste like ?

"Will he cry if I shove my dick rough inside him? What kind of face will he make? Is he even capable of that?" he thinks

Also, he will try to remember Alexander's chest. The object of his desire. But most importantly, Logan will think about the way he despises him. Logan will think about that look filling with hatred every time their eyes meet. He'll wonder how Alex would look at someone he likes, someone he loves; someone he desires. He'll wonder if he'll ever be able to call him Alex. For Logan, today will be the best day ever.

Unfortunately, Logan won't have time to ask himself all his questions because someone rings the doorbell just as he starts to close his eyes. He gets up, annoyed, and walks forward nonchalantly. His juices spill, which doesn't seem to bother him. When he gets to the door, he looks through the security screen and rolls his eyes.

"Oh! Christ on a fucking stick, really?"

Logan opens the door and lets in a tall, elegant man. He wears a large, classic brown coat topped with a black scarf. His black hair is slicked back and his facial features as well as some white strands show that he is at least in his forties. He has the same eyes as Logan.

"Uncle Graham, i'm so so happy to see you" says Logan without hidding his exasperation.

"I heard you, you know. I guess it's good to see you too. I can see that you're always a lonely little spoiled brat" his eyes piercing at the spilled juice.

"And you? Still not married?"

He lets his uncle close the door and goes back to sprawling on the couch. The latter joins him after a few seconds, pours himself a glass of brandy and pushes the young man on the ground to sit down.

"Fuck! There's orange's juice on my uniform now"

"Watch your dirty tongue kid" he spills the contents of his glass on Logan's head. He pouts but knows he can't say anything anymore. His uncle pulls a handkerchief out of his jacket and throws it at him.

"Clean"

Logan hastens to do so without flinching.

"So, where is your father?"

"Which one?"

"As if you knew where they are, you little jerk"

A sudden silence is heard. The two look at each other and then burst out laughing like old friends.

"Go change your clothes and come sit next to me, I want to know everything" he says and cross his legs.