“God, can we close the window? It always reeks of fried chicken!” Ace complained, stabbing a piece of bacon with his fork in annoyance. Dominic frowned, raising a brow at his half-brother’s antics.

“Who hates the smell of fried chicken? It’s only morning, no one needs to hear you whine.” The boy rolled his eyes, pushing his thick frames back up his nose. Before Ace could get another word in, their father dropped his cutlery with a little too much force, startling the boys. The older man patted his mouth with a napkin in a calculated manner and stood up.

“You two are brothers, enough of the bickering. I expect you both act civil.” Their father’s voice had no hint of negotiation, which was no surprise. Ace and Dominic glanced at one another before mumbling a quick apology.

Later that night, Dominic was in the backyard, the afternoon sun bathing the green grass in a warm hue. He looked up as the now familiar scent of fried chicken filled his senses, his eyes drawn to the house next door. It was much smaller, especially since the home that his father bought was rebuilt into a larger one, but it looked homey. He saw a delivery bike in front of the house and raised a brow. Maybe his neighbours sold chicken, and by the smell it must be a lot of chickens.