"You barely know me."
"But I want to know." Jet said.
Han looked away, eyes shadowed. "It's not that simple."
Jet exhaled through his nose. He wasn't the type to push, but this—this wasn't just some small issue. Whatever weighed on Han wasn't something he could ignore.
"I get it," Jet said. "You're used to keeping things to yourself. But if you don't want to talk, fine. Then let me just sit here with you."
Han gave him a sideways glance, as if trying to figure him out. But after a moment, his shoulders loosened slightly, and he leaned back against the couch. "Do whatever you want."
Jet smiled, nudging Han's shoulder lightly. "Already was."
Silence settled between them, but it wasn't heavy this time. Jet could tell Han was thinking—really thinking.
And then, just when Jet thought he'd fallen asleep, Han spoke.
"My mother never wanted me."
Jet's breath hitched. He didn't move, afraid that if he did, Han would stop talking.
"She only cared about my father's money," Han continued, voice quiet. "And when she found out she was pregnant, she… she didn't want to deal with it. My father was around sometimes, but mostly, I was left with the staff."
Jet frowned. "The same staff who had June and Livia?"
Han nodded. "They were older, so they looked out for me. But my mother—she only started acting like she cared when I got famous. Suddenly, I was worth something." His hands curled into fists. "And now she pulls this? Acting like she actually gives a damn?"
Jet stayed quiet, letting Han talk. He could see how much it hurt—how much Han hated pretending things were fine.
"She never celebrated my birthday," Han murmured. "Not once. And now, out of nowhere, she wants to be the perfect mother? It's bullshit."
Jet hesitated before reaching for Han's hand, gently prying open his clenched fist. "Yeah. It is."
Han blinked at him, like he hadn't expected agreement.
"You don't have to pretend for her, Han," Jet said, squeezing his hand. "Not with me."
Han didn't pull away. He just stared at their hands, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
Jet's heart pounded, turning his face away as he blushed. He hadn't planned on holding Han's hand like this, but it felt right. Natural.
And then Han said, barely above a whisper, "I don't know how to let people in."
Jet smiled softly. "Then I'll wait."
Han let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You really don't give up, do you?"
Jet smirked. "Not when it comes to people I care about."
Han stilled. For a second, Jet wondered if he'd said too much, but then Han gave his hand a small squeeze back.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
And for now, that was enough.
"Do you really want to stay?" Han asked, his voice softer now.
"Just for a night," Jet replied with a small smile.
Without another word, he grabbed a nearby pillow, smacked it onto Han's lap, and flopped down, resting his head there. Stretching out on the couch, he smirked.
"I'm still a guest, no?" Jet teased. "You must treat me well!" His voice dripped with exaggerated drama.
Han let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Of course, my dearest guest!" he played along, matching Jet's tone.
They both chuckled, the tension from earlier melting away. Jet sat up, patting Han on the shoulder, relieved to see him opening up again—but he didn't say that out loud.
"Alright, time for bed, Mr. Actor," Jet announced. "I'll be fine here."
"Here?" Han scoffed. "You think I'm letting you sleep on the couch?" He stood up, grabbing Jet's wrist. "No way. Come on, I'll show you to a room."
Jet blinked as Han pulled him along. "How many rooms do you even have?"
"A few," Han said casually. "Not too many."
He led Jet upstairs to a guest room—spacious and elegant, yet still carrying a sense of warmth.
Jet sat on the bed, glancing around in admiration. "This is amazing," he murmured before shooting Han a playful look. "You served me well, Mr. Actor. Thank you."
"Mr. Actor now? Not Enigma?" Han teased right back.
"I'll call you whatever I want," Jet quipped, grinning.
Han chuckled, stepping back toward the door. "Then, I'll see you in the morning, little Alpha."
Jet blinked. The door clicked shut.
'…Did he just call me short?'
But the thought barely lingered before something else took over—he got Han back. The teasing, the warmth—it wasn't quite the same as before, but it was something.
Zhao Han was quiet, guarded. But this Han—the one who bantered, who let himself be pulled into playful moments—he didn't mind this one either.
'Feng Jet fell in love with Zhao Han… Will history repeat itself?'
Jet didn't know. But as sleep took him, he decided—whatever happens, he'll accept it.
—
"Morning," Jet said as he walked down the stairs, stretching his arms with a yawn.
Han sat at the kitchen counter, sipping his morning tea, a small smile appearing as he glanced up. "Comfortable last night?"
Jet nodded, grabbing a few biscuits from the counter before making himself some tea. Han opened a few cabinets, scanning for anything that might satisfy his little Alpha.
"I won't be around for a few weeks," Han said as he sat down. "I'll be overseas filming for the live adaptation."
Jet nodded as he chewed. "That's cool. I'll wait for you to come back, then."
Before Han could respond, the doorbell rang. Livia appeared from her room and went to open it.
It was Han's father.
Mr. Yau stepped in with a polite smile, though his eyes held a flicker of surprise when he noticed Ron was still there.
"Dad?" Han blinked, standing up. "Didn't expect you so early."
"Hi, son. Sorry for dropping by unannounced," Mr. Yau said before turning his attention to Jet. "But I'm glad you're still here."
Jet straightened as Mr. Yau approached, stopping at a respectful distance.
"I wanted to apologize for my wife's behavior last night," he said, his tone a little awkward. "She was upset because Han didn't tell us about you. I wanted to bring a gift, but I didn't have time to prepare one."
"Oh, no, sir, it's fine!" Jet replied quickly. "I don't need a gift."
"No, no!" Mr. Yau insisted. "It's a welcome gift to the family!"
Jet shot Han a look—help me.
Jet's lips twitched as if holding back laughter. "No gift is more special than your son, sir."
Mr. Yau's eyes lit up, clearly pleased by that response.
Han patted his father's shoulder. "And if it's a welcome gift to the family…" He paused, smirking. "Why don't you save it for our wedding? When he's actually part of the family?"
Mr. Yau hummed, considering it. "If you say so. But still, Ron, I really am sorry for the trouble."
Jet waved it off, waiting until Mr. Yau finally left before letting out a dramatic sigh of relief.
"I do not want to come back here and meet them again."
Han chuckled. "Then let's get you home."
As they stepped toward the door, Jet nudged Han's arm. "By the way, did you actually say 'wait for the wedding'? Your dad's probably going to hold you to that now."
"If my dad's expecting a wedding, we might as well give him one." Han said it so casually that Jet nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Relax," Han chuckled, patting Jet's back. "Not yet, anyway."
'Not yet?' Jet repeated in his head, feeling the heat rise to his face. 'What the hell does that mean?! Is he joking? He's joking, right?!'