Putting aside the distant city studies, I finally headed home for Tet. Every year our family is slammed—Tet means nonstop work because we run a small grocery shop. At 6 a.m. Mom was already yelling: “Hưng, get up! Come help me!”
It was the 30th—the busiest day. People poured in to buy last-minute supplies. Even though our little market was far from town, everyone prepped Tet meticulously. It’s not just here—every Vietnamese believes the new year should start with “full water jars and full rice bins” for prosperity. Customers shouted for rice and bottled water from dawn without a break.
I dragged my sleepy ass out to mind the shop, morning wood still straining in my pants. Lucky I wore stiff jeans—no one noticed. After moving around a bit I woke up properly, and my little guy settled down. Otherwise I’d have switched from selling rice to sugarcane juice.
Across from us was a tiny eatery packed because the owner cooked like a goddess. From the time I could eat solids, no place matched her flavors. During a lull, I washed up quick and dashed over, ordering a steaming bowl of hủ tiếu. That familiar taste warmed me in the chilly rural morning.
I’d barely taken a few bites when the table next to me piped up: “Hey, isn’t that Tư Thành’s boy? Haven’t seen him all year!” Thành is my dad.
I glanced over—an auntie about Mom’s age, but I didn’t recognize her. I just smiled politely. Mom called from across the street: “Yes, that’s my son, sister. He’s been studying in Saigon all year.”
The shop owner—everyone called her Auntie Ten, though unrelated—had lived here over a decade and was beloved. She said, “One year in the city and he already looks like a city boy. Smooth fair skin, so handsome!”
Another neighbor eating in front of me joined in: “Nah, he was always fair. None of Tư Thành’s kids are dark or ugly.”
Mom is called “Bà Tư Thành” here—wives often go by their husband’s name. I smiled awkwardly at the compliments, knowing behind the praise was petty jealousy toward Mom when I wasn’t around.
Then a strange motorbike pulled up at our shop. Mom rushed over. I finished eating and heard her exclaim: “Quang, you’re back? God, four or five years—I almost didn’t recognize you!”
I smirked inwardly. Not a stranger—Minh Quang, son of my Uncle Ba (Dad’s older brother). So even though he’s a year younger, I have to call him “big brother” for propriety. But Uncle Ba’s failed business left huge debts that my parents helped pay, so I never liked him—or his son.
The bankruptcy was four-five years ago. Uncle Ba vanished; Quang was sent to live with his maternal grandparents. We’d grown distant—only my grandparents were overjoyed. Seeing their excitement, whether jealousy or something else, irritated me more.
Our old yard disappeared when we built the shop. The living house is “upstairs”; the shop is “outside.” He was up in the house, so I didn’t bother greeting him—stayed put in the shop. Eventually he came down to say hi.
I thought smugly: At least he knows who’s boss around here.
He made small talk: “Saigon fun, little bro?”
I froze—not from the question, but from him. Last I saw him five years ago, he was scrawny, dark, shorter than me. Now? A tall, toned guy with tanned-but-glowing skin, bright face, and those cute dimples. He towered over me. Kids these days really grow fast.
I steadied myself: “Yeah, fun. Just crowded.”
When he heard I lived in a dorm with ten other guys, he joked: “Careful—you might wake up with one of them up your ass! Haha.”
I glanced around panicked—adults hearing that would be disaster. “What the hell, man?”
He headed back upstairs, but not before eyeing my crotch and adding: “Just warning you. Looking like that? Every guy would want a piece.”
In my head: Fuck, so you want to fuck me too? But along with that came filthy thoughts. What if we actually…? Crazy. I used to hate him; now he’s tall and hot, suddenly kinda cute…
Having his extra hands on the 30th helped a ton. Tet prep is exhausting—Mom usually finishes cleaning and decorating only by evening. This year Quang did it all alone.
Mom said: “So glad Quang’s here this year. He’s a year younger than you, but look—he knows how to do everything. Unlike you, who only eats, studies, and sleeps!”
Quang replied modestly: “No big deal, Auntie. I do this stuff daily. I’m bad at school, so it balances out Hưng’s brains.”
Hearing “daily” tugged at me. Quang was basically an unofficial orphan. Happy childhood? Barely. Parents split over debt when he was twelve. Thought living with maternal grandparents meant being near Mom—but she remarried and moved abroad.
Rumor has it she’s doing well, sends money monthly. But like his dad, she thinks cash fixes everything. In the end, Quang had to grow up fast, carrying his own weight. Even living with grandparents—did anyone truly understand his heart?
No childhood without pain. No loneliness? Then he’d have no feelings. Outwardly calm and smiling, but that calm was patched from broken family pieces.
Thinking about it left me quiet until Mom snapped me out: “It’s late—go shower before the water gets cold tonight.”
I said: “Let Quang shower first. I’m used to cold water from the dorm.”
Mom: “Okay, Quang, you go first. You’ve been sweeping all day—rest. I’ll finish the rest.”
He said “yes, Auntie” and headed to the backyard bath. I needed to piss, so I followed. Passing the bathroom door, I caught him shirtless—firm, smooth, youthful muscles glowing.
I pretended not to see, but he spotted me. “Thought you weren’t showering—planning to join me?”
I didn’t look back: “Dude, I’m just pissing!”
We had a toilet, but the old fish pond out back was my favorite spot—cool and private. The platform was gone, but peeing off the edge still felt great.
I pulled my cock out—held it too long, so morning wood lingered. Eyes closed in relief as I let go. Then a voice behind: “Pretty big, huh?”
I jumped—Quang, standing on the raised bathroom step, angled perfectly to see everything but my balls.
I turned my back, pissed off: “Fuck! Go shower instead of spying!”
He laughed: “Wasn’t spying. Came to ask for soap—we’re out.”
I finished, stormed inside: “Wait.”
Any sympathy from earlier? Gone—he’d pissed me off. But as host, I stayed polite. I grabbed my usual Clear shampoo-soap combo from the shop and knocked on the bathroom door: “Soap.”
He asked: “What kind?”
“Clear. Take it or leave it.”
He: “Anyone outside? I’ll open the door.”
I checked: “No—hurry!”
Door unlatched. But instead of cracking it for the hand-off, he flung it wide—completely naked.
I freaked, tossed the soap in, and bolted. In that split second, his rock-hard cock pointing straight at me like a loaded gun burned into my brain. Sparse, trimmed pubes. If I hadn’t run, my own dick would’ve saluted and I’d have died of embarrassment.
Same thought: Kids grow up too damn fast. Followed by: But what a little devil.
Straight guys teasing gays? Seen it. But this far? I had to wonder. Is Minh Quang gay too? Even if he is, we’re cousins—way over the line. Not blood-related, but “cousins” alone should be enough red flag.
Obviously I told no one—even when my little brother (five years younger) saw me sprint in like a ghost was chasing and kept asking. All afternoon and evening I avoided Quang’s eyes, haunted by that “gun.” He noticed my awkwardness and smirked knowingly.
Rural roads are quiet year-round—except New Year’s Eve. Motorbikes zoomed toward the provincial city for fireworks. I never cared for it—after the show, roads turn into gridlocked war zones. Neighbors always crawl home at 2 a.m.
Me? Not interested. But my little brother and “big” cousin were all in—dressed up by 7 p.m. Little bro waited out front for friends; Quang helmeted up and revved his bike. Him leaving let me breathe easier. I just wanted him out partying Tet away—otherwise I’d spend the holiday embarrassed.
Finally a peaceful 30th night. Parents and neighbors barbecued; we had a cozy year-end feast with beers. That rare warm vibe relaxed everyone. At midnight, TV played the familiar “Happy New Year” song; we headed inside reluctantly, still missing the glowing coals.
Call me boring, but I never stay up for midnight. Usually asleep by then. This year? Couldn’t—with those two party animals still out. Before bed, Mom tossed me the keys: “Open for your brother and Quang later. I’m tipsy—sleeping first!”
My peaceful night? Gone.
Parents, grandparents, little bro slept upstairs. I slept in the shop—same land, lower foundation. A door separates shop from house—closed, it’s private. Parents used to sleep here; now they’re upstairs with grandparents.
12:30 a.m.—bike outside. Thank God. I opened for my little brother—Quang still missing. “How’d you get back so early?”
He: “Duh—I parked on the edge. Fireworks end, I’m out.”
I muttered: “That idiot cousin probably went deep downtown. Fucking jammed.”
Little bro nodded: “Saw him in the thick of it before the show. Probably stuck.”
After letting bro upstairs, I waited hopelessly for the last one. Around 2 a.m.—bike, then phone call. I answered: “Open the door for me.”
Too tired to be mad. I let him wheel in silently. After a bit he asked: “Mad at me?”
If we weren’t cousins, I’d think we were dating. I yawned hugely: “Just sleep so I can too!”
He: “Where am I sleeping?”
“Upstairs, duh.”
He: “It’s late—opening the door will creak and wake everyone.”
I pointed outside: “Sleep out there then!”
Quang: “Let me crash in the shop tonight. I’ll move upstairs tomorrow.”
I shook my head: “Too cramped.”
He: “Your parents used to share the bed here. You’re smaller—no problem.”
Alarms blared in my head. Mom, he even knows how big my bed is? Why do I feel like he came home late on purpose?