The door slammed so hard behind Vavaporn that the floor vibrated beneath Jay's feet. Dust rained softly from the ceiling. And then there was silence. Not the calm kind. The kind that screams underneath.
Jay didn't move for a long time.
He stood in the middle of that lavish room—ornate, regal, suffocating—like a soldier freshly dismissed from war, still gripping a weapon no one could see. His fists, still clenched. His jaw, locked.
His father's last words echoed in the room like gunshots.
"You think love will protect you? It won't. It never did. Ask your mother."
Jay blinked hard, as if that could shove the words back down his throat. But they stayed. Lodged. Heavy.
A knock came. Not from the door his father had stormed out of—but the side entrance. The quiet one. Reserved for people who knew the family well enough not to need permission.
It was Jeff.
He stepped in slowly, dressed in black, his brows slightly raised as if he'd heard everything. Maybe he had.
Jay didn't look at him. Just exhaled a slow, bitter breath. "How long were you outside?"
Jeff shrugged, walking in like the air hadn't been scorched. "Long enough to know that was either a funeral or a rebirth."
Jay let out something close to a laugh—but it was hoarse and frayed. "He still sees me as his legacy. A weapon with his name etched into the steel."
Jeff leaned against the wall. "And you're trying to tell him you're not a weapon."
Jay met his cousin's gaze. "No. I'm telling him I'm not his."
Across town, in a room just as cold but far less golden, Jack sat with his back against the wall of the safehouse. His fingers drummed against the floor, slow and steady, trying to mimic a heartbeat that refused to settle.
He hadn't heard from Jay in hours.
The last message had been short.
"He called me in. Said it was urgent."
Jack had read it more times than he'd admit.
He could still smell smoke in his hoodie. The scent of ash and old blood refused to leave, no matter how many showers he took. The war outside had paused—but the war inside? That was another beast.
Rin entered quietly, handing him a fresh cup of coffee. "Still nothing?"
Jack shook his head. "I'm trying not to spiral."
Rin didn't respond. Just sat beside him. They both stared at the wall in silence, the kind that had more weight than words.
"You think he'll walk away from me?" Jack asked softly. Too softly.
Rin flinched a little, almost offended. "You think Jay could survive walking away from you?"
Jack swallowed.
"I think… I don't know what he's capable of anymore. Not when it comes to his father."
Rin looked down at the steam rising from the cup. "Then you're not giving him enough credit. Or yourself."
Jay left the mansion without telling anyone. No guards. No driver. Just keys, boots, and a storm behind his eyes.
He drove fast. Not because he needed to get somewhere—but because slowing down meant thinking. And thinking meant feeling. And feeling… hurt.
When he finally pulled up to the safehouse, night had already blanketed Chiang Mai in heavy darkness. The lights inside were dim, but he could see a silhouette through the window—Jack, pacing, chewing his lip raw.
Jay didn't knock.
He opened the door and froze.
Jack looked up.
They stared at each other.
Jay didn't speak.
Jack crossed the room in three strides and punched him softly in the shoulder.
Jay stumbled back, not from pain, but from the impact of everything behind that fist.
"That's for not messaging me." Jack's voice cracked.
Jay caught his breath, eyes still on him. "You want to hit me again?"
Jack didn't answer. Just grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into the fiercest, most desperate kiss of his life.
They didn't speak. Didn't need to.
Jay held Jack like he'd just come home from war. Because he had.
And Jack held Jay like he was terrified he might still choose the battlefield.
When they finally pulled apart, Jack whispered, "Tell me you didn't choose him."
Jay leaned his forehead against Jack's. "I didn't. I chose us."
Jack's breath hitched.
Jay ran his thumb over Jack's cheek. "But I think we just became targets for both sides again."
Jack gave a bitter laugh. "We've been targets since we kissed the first time."
They stood there, wounded and wired, hearts still beating in sync despite the world trying to pry them apart.
Jay whispered, "Then let them aim. Let them come. I'm done hiding."