[BL] Sons of Poor Things

Storm season brings more than just rain to the Kaʻaukai house—it brings the kind of violence that makes brothers into protectors and boys into survivors.

Late September, 2023

The house groaned like an old man’s bones every time the wind picked up, which was almost always during the tail end of storm season. Nakoa Kaʻaukai pressed his back against the kitchen counter, watching his father Makana pace the worn linoleum in tight circles, beer bottle gripped like a weapon in his weathered fist.

“Where the hell is Hoʻokena?” Makana’s voice cut through the humid evening air, thick with the scent of rotting wood and yesterday’s sweat. The overhead light flickered, casting shadows that danced across his blotchy, sunburnt face like ghosts of better times. “Boy thinks he can come and go as he pleases. This is my goddamn house.”

Koa’s jaw tightened involuntarily, muscle memory from years of bracing for impact. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit that had gotten worse over the years, leaving a permanent mark where his fingers worried the skin. At twenty-one, he still felt like a child under his father’s bloodshot gaze, still flinched when Makana raised his voice, which was every fucking day.

“He’s probably just—”

“Shut your mouth.” Makana spun toward him, pointing the beer bottle like an accusation, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “You don’t know shit about what your brother’s doing. None of you boys know shit about anything. Worthless, the lot of you.”

From the living room came the soft sound of a laptop keyboard clicking—rapid, nervous typing that suggested Kai was trying to disappear into his work. At seventeen and skinny as a rail, Kai hunched over his computer at the dining table that served as his desk. He never looked up during these scenes anymore, just kept his head down and typed faster, like he could disappear into the screen if he concentrated hard enough.

Koa bit his inner cheek until he tasted copper, the sharp pain grounding him in the moment. The familiar rage bubbled up from his stomach, hot and acidic, but he swallowed it down with practiced efficiency. Getting angry never helped. It just made Makana worse, gave him another target to focus his venom on.

The front screen door slammed open with enough force to rattle the frame, and Hoʻokena stepped inside, his long hair tied back in a messy bun, work clothes dusty from whatever job had kept him out past dinner. At twenty-seven, he carried himself like a man who’d been shouldering the world since he was a teenager—which, Koa supposed, he had been. There was something different about him tonight, though. A looseness in his shoulders that spoke of time spent somewhere peaceful.

“You’re late.” Makana’s voice dropped to a dangerous quiet, the kind that preceded violence.

Hoʻokena didn’t even glance at him, which was either brave or stupid depending on Makana’s mood. “Truck needed gas.” His voice was low and rough, the kind of voice that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

He moved toward the stairs with deliberate calm, but Makana stepped into his path like a predator cutting off escape routes.

“Don’t walk away from me, boy.”

“I’m tired, old man. Whatever you want to yell about can wait.” Hoʻokena’s tone was carefully neutral, but Koa could hear the edge underneath—years of suppressed anger sharpened to a fine point.

The tension in the room ratcheted up another notch, thick enough to choke on. Koa could feel it in his chest, that familiar tightness that made it hard to breathe. In the living room, Kai’s typing stopped altogether, the sudden silence more ominous than the noise had been.

Makana took a step closer to Hoʻokena, and despite being six inches shorter and thirty pounds heavier, he somehow made himself seem bigger through sheer force of malevolent will. “You think you’re too good for this family? Think you’re better than the rest of us?”

“I think I’m tired of your bullshit.” Hoʻokena’s dark eyes finally met their father’s, and for a moment, Koa thought someone might throw a punch. The house held its breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

Then Makana laughed, a sound like broken glass being ground underfoot. “Your mother would be ashamed of what you’ve become. All of you. Especially this one.” He jerked his head toward Kai without looking away from Hoʻokena, the gesture dismissive and cruel. “Kid’s not even a real boy. Probably never will be.”

Koa’s hands clenched into fists before he could stop them. “Leave him alone.”

“Or what?” Makana turned his attention back to Koa, and there was something almost gleeful in his bloodshot eyes, the satisfaction of someone who’d found a nerve to press. “You gonna protect him? You can barely protect yourself, faggot.”

The word hit like a physical blow, sharp and designed to wound. Koa’s face burned with shame and rage in equal measure, and he looked away, hating himself for the reaction even as he couldn’t control it. Hating that his father could still reduce him to nothing with a single word.

“That’s enough.” Hoʻokena’s voice cut through the air like a blade, carrying an authority that made even Makana pause. “Go sleep it off.”

For a moment, Makana looked like he might escalate, his face flushing red with alcohol and fury. His breathing got heavy, his grip on the beer bottle tightened until his knuckles went white, and Koa braced for the explosion that seemed inevitable.

But then something in his expression shifted, like he’d remembered something that took the fight out of him. Or maybe he just ran out of energy for violence, the alcohol finally winning over the rage.

“This is my house,” he said quietly, but the venom was gone, replaced by something that might have been exhaustion. “My rules. You boys remember that.”

He turned and walked toward his bedroom, leaving the three brothers standing in the wreckage of another evening, the air still thick with poison and unspoken threats.

Hoʻokena waited until they heard the bedroom door slam before he spoke, his voice carefully controlled. “You okay?”

Koa nodded, though he wasn’t. The word still echoed in his head, along with all the other words Makana had used over the years. Freak. Disappointment. Waste of space. Each one a small death, a piece of his soul carved away and discarded.

“I’m going out,” Hoʻokena said, already moving toward the door. “Don’t wait up.”

“Where—”

But Hoʻokena was already gone, the screen door slamming behind him with a sound like a gunshot in the humid night.

Koa stood alone in the kitchen, listening to the house settle around him like old bones finding a comfortable position. From the living room, Kai’s typing resumed, a soft, rhythmic sound that was almost comforting in its normalcy. Almost.

The next morning brought Scott Pacheco like a gift from the gods of second chances.

Early October

Koa first saw him from the kitchen window, climbing out of a beat-up Ford pickup with California plates. He was tall and lean, with sun-bleached blonde hair and the kind of tan that came from actual work, not lying on a beach. When he knocked on the front door, Koa’s stomach did something complicated—a flutter of interest mixed with wariness that had been beaten into him over years of learning that good things usually came with hidden costs.

“You the Kaʻaukai boys?” Scott’s voice carried a slight California accent, clear and confident. He stood on the front porch like he belonged there, which was more than Koa could say for himself most days.

“Depends who’s asking.” Koa kept his voice flat, trying not to notice the way Scott’s green eyes seemed to take in everything at once—the peeling paint, the broken screen, the way Koa held himself like someone expecting trouble.

“Scott Pacheco. I bought the old Tanaka place, about twenty minutes through the jungle paths. Heard you boys might be looking for work.”

Behind Koa, Hoʻokena appeared in the doorway like a shadow, moving with the quiet alertness of someone who’d learned to assess threats quickly. He looked like he hadn’t slept much, his hair still messy from yesterday’s bun, but his eyes were sharp and focused.

“What kind of work?” Hoʻokena asked, his voice carrying the natural suspicion of someone who’d been disappointed too many times.

“Farm work, mostly. I’m trying to get the old Tanaka land productive again, but it’s more than one person can handle. Pay’s fair, hours are regular, and I don’t give a shit about your personal business as long as you show up and do the job.”

The offer hung in the air between them, too good to be true and yet somehow feeling genuine. Hoʻokena and Koa exchanged a look—a quick conversation conducted entirely through raised eyebrows and subtle head tilts, the kind of communication that came from years of surviving together.

Regular work was hard to come by in Kaheawa, especially for boys with their reputation. Their father’s drinking and their family’s general dysfunction was an open secret in town, the kind of thing that made employers nervous about reliability and drama.

“When do we start?” Hoʻokena asked, making the decision for both of them with characteristic efficiency.

“Tomorrow, if you want. Seven AM. Don’t be late.”

Scott’s eyes found Koa’s again, and this time Koa didn’t look away. There was something in Scott’s expression—curiosity, maybe, or interest—that made Koa’s pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with nervousness. It was the look of someone who saw potential where others saw problems.

“We’ll be there,” Koa said, his voice softer than he’d intended, carrying more hope than he’d meant to reveal.

Scott smiled, and it transformed his whole face, turning him from merely attractive to something approaching radiant. “Good. Looking forward to working with you boys.”

After he left, Koa stood in the doorway watching his truck disappear down the dirt road, dust motes dancing in the afternoon light. Something had shifted in the air, like the moment before a storm when everything goes still and electric. But this felt like the good kind of change, the kind that brought rain to drought-stricken land instead of destruction.

“Seems decent enough,” Hoʻokena said behind him, but there was something in his voice that suggested he’d noticed more than just Scott’s work offer.

“Yeah.” Koa rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how the gesture might look to someone paying attention. “Yeah, he does.”

That evening, while Makana passed out drunk in his chair and Kai hunched over his laptop in a pool of blue light, Koa lay in his narrow bed and thought about green eyes and California accents. He thought about the way Scott had looked at him, like he was seeing something interesting instead of something broken.

It was dangerous thinking. The kind of thinking that got boys like him beaten or killed in places like Kaheawa. But he couldn’t stop himself from imagining what it might be like to be seen—really seen—by someone who didn’t look at him with disappointment or disgust.

Outside his window, the jungle pressed close against the house, alive with night sounds and secrets. Somewhere out there, Hoʻokena was probably with whoever it was he snuck out to see. Koa had never asked, but he’d noticed the pattern—the late nights, the careful showers, the way his brother sometimes came home smelling like flowers and contentment.

Everyone in this house had secrets. Maybe it was time Koa started keeping some of his own.

The next morning, he and Hoʻokena drove to Scott’s farm in Hoʻokena’s old Honda, windows down to catch whatever breeze they could find. The twenty-minute drive through winding jungle paths felt like traveling to another world—one where possibility lived instead of just survival.

Scott’s property was everything the Kaʻaukai place wasn’t—clean, organized, hopeful. The farmhouse was small but well-maintained, painted white with blue trim that looked fresh enough to still smell like possibility. Fields stretched out in neat rows, already showing signs of new growth and careful planning.

“Impressed?” Scott appeared from behind the house, wearing work gloves and a smile that made Koa’s chest tight with an emotion he couldn’t quite name.

“It’s nice,” Koa managed, the understatement feeling both honest and inadequate.

“It will be. Give me a few more months and this place will be producing enough vegetables to supply half the island. At least, that’s the plan.”

Scott spent the morning showing them around, explaining his vision for the farm with the kind of passionate detail that spoke of dreams carefully nurtured. He pointed out what needed to be done, where he wanted to expand, how he planned to turn this abandoned land into something productive and beautiful. He was a good teacher—patient, clear, never condescending. When he stood close enough for Koa to smell his soap and sweat, Koa had to concentrate on breathing normally.

They worked until noon, when Scott called a break and brought out sandwiches and cold beer. They sat in the shade of a massive mango tree, eating in companionable silence while the island heat pressed down around them like a warm blanket.

“So what’s your story?” Scott asked eventually, looking between the two brothers with genuine curiosity. “You grow up here?”

“Born and raised,” Hoʻokena said, his voice carrying the weight of generations. “Our mother’s family had land here going back to before the missionaries came.”

“Had?”

“She died when Kai was ten. Our father...” Hoʻokena’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Let’s just say he’s not much for maintaining property. Or anything else.”

Scott nodded like he understood more than they were saying, which was probably true. There was something in his eyes that suggested familiarity with family dysfunction, recognition of the careful way they spoke around certain subjects.

“Family’s complicated,” he said simply.

“That’s one word for it,” Koa muttered, then immediately regretted the bitterness in his voice.

Scott’s eyes found his across the small circle they’d formed under the tree, and there was no judgment there, only understanding. “What about you? You always want to be a farmer?”

The question caught Koa off guard. Nobody ever asked him what he wanted—not his father, not his teachers, not even himself most of the time. “I... I don’t know. Never really thought about it.”

“Well, you’re good at it. Got good instincts with the plants.” Scott’s smile was warm, genuine, carrying the weight of someone who didn’t give false praise. “You should think about it.”

That afternoon, working side by side in the sun, Koa found himself stealing glances at Scott when he thought no one was looking. The way his muscles moved under his t-shirt. The focused expression on his face when he was explaining something. The laugh lines around his eyes that suggested he’d spent a lot of time being happy—a concept so foreign to Koa that it felt like observing an exotic species.

When their hands brushed reaching for the same tool, Koa felt electricity shoot up his arm like touching a live wire. Scott didn’t pull away immediately, and for a handful of seconds they stood there, skin touching skin, both of them very still.

“Sorry,” Koa said, stepping back and hating how his voice came out rough.

“Don’t be.” Scott’s voice was quiet, and when Koa risked a look at his face, he found Scott watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read but that made his pulse race.

The moment stretched between them, heavy with possibility and danger in equal measure, until Hoʻokena called from across the field that it was time to head home.

That night, Koa couldn’t sleep. He lay in his bed listening to the house breathe around him—Makana’s drunken snores, Kai’s quiet typing, the old wood settling into the humid night. But mostly he thought about Scott’s hands and the way his voice had sounded when he’d said “don’t be.”

At some point, he heard the familiar sound of Hoʻokena’s truck starting up in the driveway. His brother’s nightly disappearance had become as predictable as sunrise, but tonight Koa found himself wondering where he went, who he saw, whether he ever felt this same desperate longing for something he couldn’t have.

Hoʻokena drove through the empty streets of Kaheawa with practiced ease, muscle memory guiding him to the small flower shop on Main Street. Leilani’s Blooms sat between the post office and a defunct restaurant, its windows dark at this hour, but he knew she’d be waiting.

He parked in the alley behind the building and used the key she’d given him months ago. The shop smelled like jasmine and plumeria, rich and sweet in the night air, wrapping around him like an embrace. He found her in the back room, arranging tomorrow’s orders by lamplight, her movements graceful and sure.

“You’re late,” she said without looking up, but there was warmth in her voice that made the words sound like endearment rather than criticism.

“Old man was on a tear tonight.” Hoʻokena closed the door behind him and turned the lock with practiced efficiency. “Sorry.”

Leilani Ahe turned to face him, and as always, the sight of her hit him like a physical force. She was beautiful in a way that made him forget words—tall and graceful, with long black hair that caught the lamplight like silk and skin that seemed to glow from within. She wore a simple sundress that showed off her curves, and her eyes were lined with the kohl that made them look even larger than they were.

At twenty-five, she’d built this flower shop from nothing, creating beauty and making it her living. There was something about her that had always drawn him—a strength that came from surviving and choosing joy anyway, a grace that spoke of battles fought and won in private.

“Bad?” she asked, reading his expression with the accuracy of someone who’d learned to navigate the aftermath of other people’s violence.

“He called Kai—” Hoʻokena stopped, shook his head with visible effort. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”

She moved toward him, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. When she was close enough to touch, she reached up and pulled the elastic from his hair, letting it fall around his shoulders in dark waves.

“You’re tense,” she murmured, running her fingers through the strands with practiced care.

“Always am.”

“I know.” Her hands moved to his shoulders, working at the knots of muscle there with the skill of someone who’d made a study of his particular tensions. “But not here. Here you can let go.”

He caught her hands in his, stilling them against his skin. “Lei...”

“What?”

“Sometimes I think we should stop this. It’s not fair to you, keeping you a secret.” The words came out in a rush, months of guilt finally finding voice.

Her eyes flashed with something that might have been anger or hurt. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare make that decision for me.”

“Your reputation—”

“Is mine to worry about.” She stepped closer, until her body was pressed against his, and he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. “I knew what this was when we started. I’m not some fragile flower who needs protecting.”

“You deserve better than sneaking around in the dark.”

“I deserve to be with the man I love, however I can have him.” Her voice was fierce, sure, carrying the weight of absolute conviction. “Don’t take that away from me.”

The word—love—hung between them like a bridge he wasn’t sure he could cross. They’d been doing this dance for months, meeting in secret, touching and wanting and never quite saying what they both knew was true.

“Lei—”

She silenced him with a kiss, fierce and desperate, her hands fisting in his shirt. He kissed her back helplessly, all his careful control dissolving under the press of her mouth. She tasted like mint tea and promises, and when she pulled back, they were both breathing hard.

“I need you,” she whispered against his lips. “Right now, right here. No more talking.”

He lifted her onto the worktable behind her, scattering flower petals and ribbons across the floor. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed her throat, tasting salt and perfume and the particular sweetness that was uniquely hers. Her hands worked at his belt, urgent and sure, and he helped her, both of them desperate to get closer.

“Turn around,” he said roughly, and she did, bracing her hands against the wall as he pushed her dress up around her waist. She wasn’t wearing underwear, and the sight of her made him groan with need.

“Please,” she breathed, and he was lost.

He took her hard against the wall, her back arched, her cries muffled against her own hand. There was nothing gentle about it—months of hidden longing and careful distance collapsed into raw need. She pushed back against him, meeting every thrust, and when she came apart in his arms, he followed her over the edge with her name torn from his throat like a prayer.

Afterward, they stayed pressed together, breathing hard, his face buried in her hair.

“I love you too,” he said quietly, and felt her whole body relax against him.

“I know.” Her voice was soft, satisfied, full of the contentment that came from being seen and chosen and claimed. “I’ve been waiting for you to say it.”

They cleaned up in comfortable silence, putting the shop back to rights with the efficiency of people who’d done this before. She walked him to the back door, and they stood there for a moment, neither wanting to break the spell.

“Same time tomorrow?” she asked.

“If I can get away.”

“You’ll find a way.” She kissed him softly, a promise. “You always do.”

Hoʻokena drove home through streets that looked different now, charged with possibility. For the first time in months, the weight on his shoulders felt manageable. Love, it turned out, was lighter than secrecy.

Back at the house, he found Koa still awake, sitting on the front porch in the dark.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Hoʻokena asked, settling into the chair beside him.

“Too hot.” Koa’s voice was carefully neutral, but Hoʻokena could read the tension in his younger brother’s posture, the way he held himself like someone carrying a burden too heavy for his frame.

“Scott seems like good people.”

“Yeah.” Koa rubbed his neck, the gesture so familiar it was almost unconscious. “Yeah, he does.”

They sat in comfortable silence, listening to the night sounds from the jungle. Brothers who’d learned to communicate in the spaces between words, in the things they didn’t say but both understood.

“Ho’o?” Koa’s voice was small in the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“You ever feel like... like you’re waiting for your real life to start?”

Hoʻokena thought about Leilani’s hands in his hair, her voice saying she loved him, the way the world looked different when seen through the lens of being chosen. “Every day.”

“But then what? What if it never does?”

“Then you make it start.” Hoʻokena’s voice was quiet but sure, carrying the weight of recent revelation. “Whatever it takes.”

Koa nodded, though he wasn’t sure he believed it yet. But sitting there in the dark with his brother, listening to the jungle breathe around them, he could almost imagine what it might feel like to stop waiting and start living.

Inside the house, their father’s snores continued unabated, and somewhere in the living room, Kai’s laptop cast its blue glow into the darkness. The Kaʻaukai boys, each lost in their own longing, each carrying their own secrets.

But change was coming to Kaheawa, arriving in the form of a California transplant with green eyes and patient hands. Change was coming whether they were ready or not.

And in the flower shop on Main Street, Leilani Ahe smiled as she arranged tomorrow’s orders, humming under her breath, finally able to call what she felt by its name.

Love was a dangerous word in a small town, but it was the only word that mattered.

The bones they’d been given—broken fathers and dead mothers, secrets and shame—those were just the starting point. What they built from here was up to them.