Chiang Mai, Late Evening , The Vavaporn Estate
The message had been brief: Come alone.
Jay didn't ask questions. He never did when it came to his father. Obedience wasn't expected , it was demanded. Even now, with blood on his knuckles and Jack's kiss still ghosting his lips from that morning, Jay moved like a soldier reporting to a commander. Not a son answering his father.
The hallway leading to Vavaporn's private study was long, lined with relics of war ; guns in glass cases, swords older than Thailand itself, and portraits of men with hard eyes and full graves.
Jay didn't knock.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was dim. Vavaporn stood by the bar, pouring two drinks, though only one would be touched. His back was turned, posture straight, every movement deliberate — the kind of man who never wasted effort, he was very intentional in whatever he did.
"You came," Vavaporn said without turning.
Jay closed the door. "You asked."
A pause.
Then, quietly: "Do you know what killed your mother?"
Jay blinked.
It wasn't the question he expected.
"I…" He hesitated, surprised. "Wasn't it the aneurysm?"
Vavaporn turned then, holding one glass, letting the other sit untouched. His face was unreadable , something between calm and exhaustion, between a storm and the eye of it.
"She died of silence," he said. "Of pretending everything was fine. Of biting her tongue until it bled."
Jay didn't know what to say. His mother had been a shadow in his life , quiet, pale, always watching but never speaking. She smiled in fragments and loved from behind glass. He remembered her softness and how that softness disappeared long before her body did. That was a lie; he barely remembered anything about his mother. He didn't remember anything about his mother except for the things his father and the maids told him.
I loved her," Vavaporn said, eyes narrowing on the drink in his hand. "But I didn't understand her. Not until it was too late. She had dreams, fears, and wants. And I never asked. I never really listened. I just... expected her to adapt to my world," but just when she was beginning to adapt, she was shot… shot because of me… your mother died because of love, because she loved me…. You see why i tell you that love is not for people like us… he said shakily
Jay's chest became heavier, heavier than usual
"Is that what this is about?" he asked. "You think I'm going to lose Jack the way you lost her?"
"No," Vavaporn said. "This is about you making a mistake; you won't survive."
Jay's hands curled into fists. "You think I don't know what I'm doing?"
"I think you're too much like me to admit when you're wrong."
A long silence followed.
Vavaporn set his glass down on the table, still full.
"I'm not bothered by the gender," he said finally. "This is a civilized world. People are allowed to embrace their sexuality. Be who they are. That's not the problem here."
Jay blinked again. That... surprised him.
Vavaporn's gaze was hard but not cruel. "I don't care that he's a man. What I care about is who he is. Jack Charlie. The boy was raised by my enemy. The one trained to take everything from you if the time ever came."
Jay swallowed. "He's not his father."
"No," Vavaporn agreed. "But neither are you. And yet you carry my blood like a weapon."
Jay felt something sharp behind his ribs. He hadn't expected this to go deep. He thought he'd have to defend love. Instead, he was being interrogated on intention.
Vavaporn stepped closer.
"Are you sure this isn't a game?" he asked. "A rebellion? You didn't pick him because you wanted to hurt me? Or hurt Charlie?"
"No," Jay said quickly.
"Then what about Jeff?" Vavaporn's voice lowered, as if cutting through flesh. "You didn't want to lose to him? You didn't want to prove that you could take what no one else could? That you could win?"
Jay chuckled.
"This isn't about Jeff," he snapped.
"Isn't it?" Vavaporn's voice was suddenly loud. "You two have been locked in quiet battles since you could talk. And now, you show up with him—the forbidden boy, the untouchable prize. Doesn't that sound like a victory?"
Jay's chest heaved. "You think I'm using Jack?"
"I don't know what to think anymore," Vavaporn barked. "That's the problem. You used to be calculated. Ruthless. Predictable. Now you're bleeding in the open for a boy who should've been buried years ago."
Jay stepped forward, fury tightening in his throat.
"I'm serious about him," he said. "It's not a game. It's not a bet. It's not rebellion. I love him."
Vavaporn didn't move.
Jay's voice trembled now, but he didn't lower it.
"He is the only person who's seen me—all of me—and didn't even think of leaving me. Didn't run. He stayed. Through blood, through pain, through every scar this war gave me."
"Stop romanticizing trauma," Vavaporn snapped. "It makes you weak."
"No," Jay said. "It makes me real. We are not broken little boys playing soldier. We are the result of everything you built, and we chose not to be poisoned by it."
He breathed hard now.
"Together, we're something else. Something better."
Vavaporn looked away, jaw clenched. "You think you're a power couple?"
"We are," Jay said. "No man can break us."
The room pulsed with silence.
Vavaporn exhaled slowly. Not tired, neither was he broken. Just… quiet.
"You're so sure," he said.
"I've never been more certain of anything."
There was a long pause.
Then Vavaporn turned and walked to the window. The city glimmered below, bathed in night, trembling in the hush before more blood would come.
He didn't look back when he said, "You'll regret it."
"No," Jay replied softly. "I won't."
"You think love will save you?"
"No. But it gives me something worth surviving for."
Vavaporn's shoulders tensed. "Then prepare to watch it get taken from you."
That cut deeper than it should have.
Jay swallowed. "You always think threats are the only language I understand."
"Because love didn't protect your mother," Vavaporn said. "And it won't protect you."
Jay took a step back. Then another.
"Maybe not," he said. "But I'd rather die with love in my chest than die a stranger to myself."
Vavaporn finally turned. And this time, there was something wild in his eyes, not hatred. Not even disappointment. Just... helplessness. A father who had lost the script.
"Get out," he said quietly.
Jay didn't move.
"I said—"
"I heard you," Jay said. "But I'm not leaving ashamed. I'm leaving free."
And then, without another word, he opened the door and walked out.
Down the same hallway filled with relics.
Past the ghosts of the men he was raised to become.
He walked until the weight lifted. Until his heart slowed.
Until the only thing he could hear was his own name in Jack's voice