There was no table between them this time. No map. No whiskey. No guarded glances behind a veil of smoke.
Just four men.
Two fathers.
Two sons.
The warehouse smelled of metal and rain. Somewhere outside, thunder rumbled low, as if the sky itself had been eavesdropping on all their schemes and decided it didn't like what it heard.
Jay stood beside Jack, both of them dressed in black, their shoulders squared, their faces unreadable. They were no longer just sons; they stood as men now, facing their makers and determining their futures.
Mr. Charlie leaned back against a rusted steel cabinet, arms crossed, jaw tight. Vavaporn stood still as stone, the same cold stillness he always wore like armor. But something new simmered in the air between them, something sharp.
Expectations: the fathers are expecting results.
"You want to join the mission," Vavaporn said. That wasn't a question. A challenge.
Jay's gaze didn't waver. "Yes."
Charlie tilted his head, slow and unimpressed. "And you do not just want to join. You want to lead."
Jack spoke now, steadily. "We know how Juhu thinks. We know his patterns, his men, and his entry points. We're not just emotional deadweights."
That word, emotional,— landed in the room like a bullet.
Mr. Charlie's nostrils flared.
Vavaporn looked at Jay, not as a father, but as a man forced to assess his legacy.
"You think this is redemption?" he asked, voice low. "You think if you bring us Juhu's head, it'll erase that photo?"
Jay didn't blink. "No."
"Good," Vavaporn said. "Because it won't."
Mr. Charlie stepped forward now. His voice was quieter, but somehow heavier.
"You boys want to lead?" he said, eyes burning into Jack. "Fine. Be our bullets. But don't confuse blood with blushes."
Jack swallowed hard
Charlie continued, voice sharp:
"This isn't a movie. It's not your private romance. There's no room for kisses and cuddles on the battlefield. You want to be taken seriously, then act like men, not giggling little girls hiding behind alleyways and moonlight."
Jack's jaw dropped, but he didn't respond. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles pale.
"And make no mistakes," Charlie went on, "we didn't forget that damn photo."
Vavaporn nodded grimly. "The only reason you're standing here and not buried under concrete is because of this mission. You fail... and maybe Juhu was right."
That landed with full force.
Jay's eyes narrowed. "Right about what?"
Charlie turned and stared him down. "That you're weak. That you've been softened by each other. That you've become..." he paused, like the word tasted bitter, "...sissies, a boy girl."
Silence.
Even the rain outside seemed to hold its breath.
Jay didn't look at Jack. Jack didn't look at Jay. But they didn't have to. The silence between them was laced with defiance. They had already made peace with what they were. What they felt. But here, in this room, feelings had no place.
Vavaporn broke the silence.
"You want to prove Juhu wrong?" he asked.
Jay nodded once.
"Then make him suffer."
An hour later, the warehouse was quieter. The fathers had gone to finalize arrangements, leaving Jay and Jack alone with the scent of old steel and lingering judgment.
Jack sat on the edge of the table, arms resting on his knees, eyes low. The weight of Charlie's words still pressed against his chest.
Jay stood nearby, back to the wall, fingers twitching like he needed to punch something. Or someone.
"I shouldn't have asked to lead," Jack said eventually. His voice was hoarse, like the words scratched his throat on the way out. "Should've just followed orders. Kept our heads down."
Jay didn't move. "No. They'd have used us either way. Better we choose it."
Jack exhaled. "Do you think they meant it? About seeing us as... less?"
Jay looked at him now. Really looked. The silence made Jack's shoulders tremble. The quiet vulnerability he tried to hide beneath that usual frost.
"They're afraid," Jay said. "Not of us but of what we represent, of the love we share."
Jack met his eyes. "Which is?"
"A future they can't control."
That earned the smallest flicker of a smile. Sad. Real.
"They think we're distractions to each other," Jack said.
Jay walked over now, slowly, until their shoulders nearly touched. He didn't reach for Jack. Not here. Not now. But his voice softened.
"We've always been each other's reason."
Jack's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "And what if we fail?"
Jay didn't blink. "We won't fail, not when we are in this together."
The next morning, the warehouse was alive.
Plans were being drawn. Weapons chosen. Surveillance reviewed. Intel confirmed.
Jay and Jack were given separate teams, trained men who didn't like taking orders from "soft boys" but knew better than to challenge the orders from above. They were the best of the best. Loyalty wasn't about respect anymore. It was about survival.
Vavaporn walked up to Jay during the briefing, sliding him a phone.
"These are the codes to Juhu's encrypted frequencies. Use them wisely."
Jay accepted the phone without a word.
Charlie gave Jack a blade. Not a gun. A blade.
It was old, scarred down the edge, but perfectly balanced.
"It was mine when I was your age," Charlie muttered. "I earned it with ten kills."
Jack held it carefully. Reverently. "You think I'll need it?"
Charlie looked him dead in the eyes.
"You'll need everything."
That night, Jack stood outside the safehouse they were stationed at. The city below flickered with lights, but it felt distant. He leaned against the rail, feeling the night wrap around his skin like static.
Jay joined him moments later, silent as always.
They stood that way for a while.
Then Jack whispered, "Do you still want this? Us? After everything they said?"
Jay didn't hesitate. "I never stopped."
Jack turned, full now, eyes searching his face.
"They said we're weak."
Jay stepped closer.
"Then we prove them wrong."
And this time, no kiss followed. No embrace. Just quiet promise in their eyes.
This was not the time for softness.
This was war.
And they were ready.