It was almost midnight when Jay walked into his father's private study.
The mansion was silent, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Vavaporn stood with his back to the door, his fingers clasped behind him, a glass of untouched whiskey on the table beside him. He didn't speak right away.
Jay stood in silence, hands at his sides, hiding the tremble in his fingers. His shirt still smelled of smoke. His boots were stained with blood. The wound on his shoulder throbbed with each breath.
Finally, Vavaporn turned.
"I heard," he said coldly, voice like a knife's edge.
Jay said nothing.
"I heard," he repeated, taking a slow step forward, "that you failed to secure the perimeter. I heard that some of the Koreans escaped. I heard you let them slip right through your fingers."
"We captured two," Jay said carefully.
Vavaporn's voice cut through him. "You were supposed to capture all."
Jay's jaw tightened.
"I also heard," Vavaporn continued, stepping closer, "that while your men were handling the firefight, you were busy playing bodyguard to Jack Charlie."
Jay's heart froze.
"I heard," his father said, enunciating every word, "that you shielded him. Again. Just like at the warehouse. And this time—" he stepped even closer, his eyes narrow, voice low "—you held his hand."
Jay blinked. "That's not—"
"Don't lie to me."
The room seemed to shrink.
Jay opened his mouth, but no sound came out at first. Then finally, "It was the heat of the moment. We were chasing down fleeing targets. I grabbed him—he grabbed back. It wasn't planned."
Vavaporn didn't blink.
"And the part where you threw yourself in front of him again?" he asked. "Was that a reflex too? Or is this something else?"
Jay exhaled slowly, trying not to show his panic. "He's not my enemy right now. We're working together."
"And that's reason enough to throw away your instincts?" Vavaporn asked, circling him now. "Reason enough to let a weakness dictate your decisions?"
Jay clenched his fists. "It's not a weakness."
"Then what is it?" Vavaporn barked.
Jay stood tall. "It's a strategy. If Jack had been killed, the mission would've fallen apart. That's not emotion. That's logic."
Vavaporn stared at him for a long moment. His voice, when it came, was quieter—but deadlier.
"You think I don't know what's happening between you two?"
Jay's pulse jumped.
"I built my empire by reading men's eyes before they spoke. You think I don't recognize a boy trying to bury guilt in duty?" He stepped closer, until they were nearly nose to nose.
"I see it in your face. Every time his name is mentioned. Every time you come back alive after being with him."
Jay stayed silent.
Vavaporn leaned in.
"Are you screwing Jack Charlie, Jay?"
The words hung in the air like poison.
Jay didn't flinch.
"No."
But he hated how soft the word sounded. How hollow.
Vavaporn tilted his head. "Because if you are, if I ever find out that you've let that boy inside your head, your bed, your heart, I won't just kill him. I'll make you watch."
Jay's throat dried.
Vavaporn straightened, brushing past him toward the window. Fix your mistake. Find the ones who fled. And next time you see Jack Charlie, remember who you are.
Jay said nothing. He just walked out.
But his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Across the city, thunder cracked in the Charlie estate.
Jack stood before his father's desk, shoulders stiff, jaw set, while Mr. Charlie slammed a folder onto the polished wood with enough force to send a nearby glass flying.
Unbelievable, Mr. Charlie seethed. This is who you are now? A fool with a pistol and no spine?
Jack didn't move.
"They escaped," his father snarled. Not one. Not two. Most of them. And you stood there, what? Holding Jay Vavaporn's hand like some damn housewife?
Jack's lips twitched. "It wasn't like that."
"Then tell me how it was," Mr. Charlie snapped. "Because from what I hear, while your men were doing their jobs, you were busy catching bullets and brushing shoulders with the enemy."
"He's not the enemy on this mission," Jack said coolly. "He's the ally you agreed to fight beside."
"Ally?" Charlie laughed coldly. "Is that what you're calling him now? Is that what you call the boy you keep protecting like he's made of glass?"
Jack gritted his teeth.
"I heard everything," Mr. Charlie continued, stepping around the desk. "Every damn word. You shielded him. Again. You held his hand. Again. You were seen running into fire together. Again."
Jack didn't respond.
Charlie grabbed him by the collar and yanked him close. "Is this how you intend to run my empire when I'm gone? Playing Romeo in a goddamn war zone?"
Jack yanked free, voice low but dangerous. "Don't touch me."
Charlie's eyes narrowed.
"You think you're special? You think you get to rewrite the rules because you like the way he smells?" His voice dropped to a sneer. "You incompetent, man-hungry little fool."
Jack stiffened.
Charlie circled him slowly. "I buried my softness in the dirt years ago. I killed the part of me that ever thought desire was something you could afford. You think love makes you stronger? It makes you a target."
"It's not love," Jack said, too fast.
Charlie paused. "Then what is it?"
Jack swallowed.
"I don't know," he said quietly.
Charlie's face darkened. "Then figure it out. Fast. Because the next time you hold his hand, Jack… it'll be the last thing you ever do."
He turned back toward his desk.
"Leave."
Jack didn't move.
Charlie didn't look up. "You're not fit to lead. Not yet. Not while he still makes you hesitate."
Jack turned, walked to the door, and opened it slowly.
Just before he stepped out, he said, "If protecting someone is weakness… maybe you've forgotten what it means to be human."
Then he left.
Later that night, Jay stood on the balcony of his penthouse, wind howling around him. His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He hesitated, then pulled it out.
Jack:
"He called me man-hungry."
Jay stared at the message, thumb twitching.
He typed:
"Mine said if I ever touch you again, he'll kill you in front of me."
Pause.
Jack:
"So… we're still pretending?"
Jay:
"I'm not pretending. I'm surviving."
Jack:
"Same."
Jay:
"Do you regret it?"
Long silence.
Then:
Jack:
"I regret not kissing you again when I had the chance."
Jay exhaled, leaning against the balcony railing, heart pounding like war drums.
Across the city, Jack sat in his room, still dressed, his phone glowing beside him.
He typed:
"Next time we see each other… no more running."
Jay's reply came fast:
"Then we better be ready to bleed."
And they both knew—they already were.