The soft light pooled gently from the recessed fixtures, casting a subdued glow over the marble surfaces. The pristine and orderly kitchen seemed almost too perfect, its silence amplified by the soft hum of the refrigerator. Everything was in its place, yet the room felt hollow, as though waiting for something or someone to fill it. The air was still, heavy with an unspoken emptiness, the kind that lingered in spaces too quiet, too composed as if detachment had seeped into the walls.

It would be unbearable for most people, but Jay felt familiar and safe, as if nothing could reach him, especially so late at night. He took a sip of tea and leaned on the kitchen island, the unusual tiredness in his eyes betraying how tired he was of this persistent struggle ruling over his mind.

December was always the same. The season brought a sharp chill that seemed to settle into his bones, triggering a reflex more than a conscious reaction. He would shut down, falling deeper into the detachment that had served him well for so long. It wasn't sadness or longing but a programmed response, a way of ensuring that the things he had buried, the things that were long lost, stayed where they belonged.

But this year was different. Margaret's attempts to reconnect had shifted something, making it harder to ignore the edges of memories that threatened to resurface. It wasn't that his defences were failing, rather, they were strained, as if the pressure of it all was pushing against walls that had once felt impenetrable.

And then there was Sean. Sean, with his persistence and his innocent, well-meaning questions. Questions about his mother. About his childhood. Each felt like a tap against the glass, subtle but insistent until the surface began to crack under strain.

Where Margaret's efforts had stirred the past, Sean's curiosity pushed him further, prodding at the things Jay kept locked away. Sean didn't know, couldn't know, how dangerous it was to tread that ground. And Jay couldn't possibly explain any of this.

He knew him too well. Sean wouldn't let it slide. Most likely, he would leave the firm, the internship, and the opportunities that Margaret had opened up for him – opportunities Sean earned through his hard work. Sean wouldn't be able to stomach staying under her wing, not after knowing. And Jay couldn't allow that... he wouldn't risk Sean's future for it. It wasn't worth it. So, he dismissed Sean's questions with curt answers, hoping that his silence would be enough to deter him and make the topic die a quiet death.

In hindsight, it was just an unfortunate confluence of circumstances: Margaret's attempts to reconnect, Sean's well-meaning curiosity, and his own frayed edges. He couldn't blame Sean, not really. Sean didn't know the weight of what he was poking at. But that didn't make it any easier. It only made Jay retreat further into himself, salvaging what little he could from the wreckage of his composure while trying to get back on track.

Suddenly, the faint shuffle of bare feet against the sleek flooring broke the silence. Sean appeared in the archway, half-asleep with messy hair, wearing only his pyjama trousers as usual. He paused briefly as if surprised to see him here, and then his gaze flicked to the clock on the wall.

"Another long night?" Sean asked with concern.

Jay didn't respond immediately, still leaning against the kitchen island, one hand loosely gripping his tea mug, the other resting on the cool marble counter. The dim light softened the crisp lines of his black trousers and white shirt, his tie undone and collar slightly open. He seemed distant, his posture betraying exhaustion that went deeper than lack of sleep.

"Can't sleep?" Jay asked instead, setting down the cup.

Sean shook his head. "Just came to get some water."

Then Sean smiled softly, and in an instant, familiar warmth surrounded him as Sean gently pulled him into an embrace. It was comforting, disarmingly so, tempting him to let go of the walls he had held up for so long.

"You don't look very well," Sean murmured, his voice low and tender, just like his touch. "Did something happen?"

It was the wrong question. Jay tensed, and the fragile thread of comfort snapped. The mechanisms he relied on so heavily kicked in, pulling him back into himself.

"It's nothing."

Sean exhaled slowly, stepping back but not letting go of his hand. "We both know that's not true. You're barely here, Jay," he started, his voice was still gentle, but there was an edge to it now. "You keep everything locked up, and I get it. I do. But this... this isn't how it works, you know that, right?"

His jaw tightened, and he pulled his hand free, the motion deliberate but not harsh. "I told you, it's nothing. Let it go, Sean."

But Sean didn't step back, his voice dropping to a plea. "I can't just stand here and watch you disappear like this... we were supposed to be in it together..."

For a fleeting moment, Jay let Sean's words lull him, tempting him with a comfort he knew he couldn't afford. Sean didn't just care; he saw through him, past the polished surface he presented to the world. That was the problem. If Sean saw everything, including the emptiness hiding behind his composed demeanour, he would know the truth Jay couldn't bear to face: that, at his core, he was unlovable.

The last time he had asked someone to stay, to not leave him, had shattered him. He could still remember the hollow ache when he had been dismissed with a sharp reminder of his insignificance. He had sworn then never to let himself be that vulnerable again, never to give anyone the power to destroy him like that.

Sean's words were a plea, but to him, they felt like a hand reaching too far into the depths he kept locked away. His instinct to protect himself came to life, the familiar walls slamming into place without thought.

"I can't do this."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, brittle and final. He didn't choose them – they had chosen him, pulled from someplace he couldn't quite reach, where necessity smothered regret. Saying them felt like conceding defeat in a fight he didn't remember starting, a battle waged against long lost things for feelings that shouldn't even exist. But now, these unfortunate words hung in the air like a blade, cutting through the fragile thread that had been holding them together.

The room was steeped in the quiet stillness of the city's slumber, faint traces of light slipping through the gap in the curtains. Everything felt at peace, undisturbed, until the soft ringtone broke the silence, vibrating against the bedside table.

Sir Fitzgerald was first to react with a sharp hiss, his ears flattening as he glared at the offending phone. Meanwhile, Victor, ignoring his indignant ruler, slowly reached out and answered the call sleepily.

"Yeah?" he murmured, running his fingers through blonde hair and lulling Scott back to sleep.

"Can you do me a favour?"

The broken, hollow tone on the other end of the line froze Victor in place, a voice he hadn't heard in nearly a decade. Without a second thought, he stumbled out of bed, fumbling to find his clothes. "Where are you?"

"I'm fine, but..."

"Fine, my ass," Victor cut him off, trapping his phone between his shoulder and ear, as he pulled on the trousers. "Just tell me where you are, and I'll get there as fast as I can."

"Ha Long Bay."

Victor froze mid-motion, blinking in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing in Vietnam?"

"The first available flight was to Hanoi."

Victor closed his eyes, exhaling softly as the pieces fell into place. Jay was gone. He had seen him like this before – spiralling and untouchable, drowning in whisky and reckless sex, anything that would leave him numb. Victor feared this might happen if Jay were to push away the only person who could save him. But what surprised him was the choice that followed... silence of the cliffs over self-destructive chaos.

"I will be there tomorrow, and we will get through this like always, okay?"

There was a long silence on the line before Jay's voice returned, quiet and measured, though unmistakably strained.

"You don't have to come," Jay said softly. "I know... I don't have the right to complain. Or miss him. So, I'll pick up the pieces like I always do... and sooner or later, I'll be fine... But none of this is on him, Vic... He doesn't deserve this... If you could just check on him... that's all I need."

Victor plopped on the bed with a resigned sigh, helpless and devastated by his own powerlessness. Instantly, Scott's warm arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him close as if to remind him that he wasn't alone with it. Victor tilted his head back and smiled faintly, then returned to Jay.

"We grew up believing our coping mechanisms are keeping us afloat, but in reality, they're slowly eating away at everything good in our lives... until there's nothing left. But the only way forward is to stop running and turn around to face the mess, Jay," Victor responded as he decided to help him do that with the person who understands him better than anyone. "Think about it, while I take care of something, I'm sure you still have left."

"Thanks."

"No need, just make sure to send me info about the place you are staying at and try not to fall off the cliff."

As the call ended, Victor remained silent for a moment before turning to Scott with an apologetic smile. They were supposed to spend Christmas together with his Grandfather and Alex, but if Jay needed him, there was no question – he had to go.

"I will look after Fitz and take Alex with me," Scott reassured him, understanding the gravity of the situation. "He won't be alone, so you have nothing to worry about."

"What about you?"

Scott smiled. "He was always there for you when you needed him, and I understand why you'll always be there for him. There's nothing to feel upset about. In fact, I'm glad you had someone like Jay by your side. And I know you wouldn't forgive yourself if you didn't help him when he needs you the most, Vic," he added, intertwining their fingers. "Besides, my job as your boyfriend is to support you, not be the reason for your regrets."

And just like that, about twelve hours later, Victor stood in front of familiar doors and rang the doorbell. He waited, the seconds stretching into what felt like minutes, the faint sounds of movement on the other side giving way to a long pause before the door creaked open.

Sean appeared in the gap, and for a moment, Victor almost didn't recognise him. He looked utterly haggard, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, his face pale and drawn. It wasn't just the sleepless night evident in the dark circles under his eyes; it was the quiet devastation etched into every inch of him. Even so, there was something else behind the weariness, an unease that lingered just beneath the surface, worry so deep it seemed to fuel his every breath.

"Hey, how are you holding up?"

Sean smiled weakly and invited him in. "Is... he safe?"

This single question confirmed that he had made the right choice; even when faced with immense heartbreak, Sean still worried about Jay. It wasn't just love. It was something deeper, an unwavering need to protect and care for him. Jay was the same in many ways, even if he went about it the wrong way.

Victor patted his shoulder as he walked in, trying to cheer him up. "Given he is most likely hanging off the cliff, I would say yes... but first of all, I owe you an apology."

"Why?"

He picked up the bottle of whisky from the side table and two glasses. "I should have warned you, but he was doing so well with you that I thought it would be fine. I'm not at liberty to explain his reasons... but I should have told you that December is always hard on him, and Jay shuts down, trying to keep it together," Victor said slowly, pouring whisky for them. "The best way is to wait it out and let him get over it at his own pace."

Sean took a sip, realising it was Jay's favourite whisky. "It's not your fault. I pushed him too much."

"Jay said that none of this is on you. And he is right, Sean. We have a shit ton of issues, and most of them are something we did to ourselves, so don't blame yourself for it."

Sean shook his head. "I'm not surprised he didn't see any other choice but to leave... I knew something was wrong, yet I couldn't be as patient with him as usual...," Sean said, sinking deeper into the sofa. "I guess it was too hard to see him keep pushing me away."

He could understand where Sean was coming from. Victor knew how difficult Jay's coping mechanisms were to deal with. After all, he wasn't much better until his therapist showed him a different way, and now Scott has taught him what it means to love and let someone love you in return. But Jay... he was lost for too long. The issue now was how to explain this to Sean without saying too much?

"We were ten when I first realised Jay was the only person, besides my brother, I would go to hell for, just like he did for me." Victor started, swirling his glass. "But neither of us would leave without the other, so we stayed trapped in that hell... ironically digging ourselves deeper under the guise of coping with... things."

Victor exhaled, struggling to find the words. He was already pushing the line and once Jay learns about it, he will be pretty much dead. But he couldn't stand by and watch the person who helped him through his worst time crumble without doing anything.

"But you're different, Sean... You are everything Jay once wanted and everything he long refused to ever need."

Sean's eyebrows furrowed slightly as he tried to make sense of it. "I don't think I follow. Are you saying he doesn't..." he stopped himself, suddenly uncertain whether he wanted to finish the sentence.

Victor's lips twitched into a faint, humourless smile. "It's not that he doesn't, Sean. He does. Probably more than he even realises. But Jay..."

He paused for a while, staring into his glass as though searching for a way to explain the inexplicable.

"I know it's hard to believe it, but Jay wasn't always this... aloof. When we met, despite everything, he laughed easily and made friends without thinking twice. But then... life happened," Victor paused, drinking whisky. "And overnight, he went from this relatively cheerful kid to someone who learned how to shut the world out, bit by bit. By the time we hit our teens, he had perfected the art of compartmentalising. Emotions? Locked away. Need for affection? Non-existent. Vulnerability? Buried so deep even he forgot where it was."

The image of a young and approachable Jay felt almost impossible to reconcile with the man Sean knew now. But it explained so much. He could see it clearly now, The constant tension, the moments when Jay almost let his guard down, only to retreat again as though something deep inside him wouldn't allow it.

"He's trapped," Sean said finally.

"Exactly. And the worst part? He has been like this for so long it has become instinct... like breathing."

Sean let out a quiet sigh. It made sense now why Jay pushed him away even when they were at their closest. It wasn't rejection, not in the way Sean had feared. It was something far deeper and harder to unlearn, ingrained in him since Jay could probably remember. The sensible thing to do would be to let go rather than stubbornly keep hitting a wall.

But these past two days had been unbearable, an emptiness so vast it felt like Jay had taken a part of him when he left. The penthouse felt lifeless, every silence heavier than the last, and even the simplest routines had become reminders of what was missing. Sean had thought he could live with the cracks, the push-and-pull that came with loving Jay, but this... this was different.

Sean wasn't naïve. He knew their relationship started all wrong, but somewhere along the way, something had shifted. Jay wasn't just someone he loved. He was a part of his life now, so intertwined that imagining a future without him felt impossible.

And as much as Jay tried to hide it, Sean knew the feeling was mutual. It was there in the quiet moments, the fleeting touches, and the rare, unguarded glances Jay thought Sean didn't notice. Jay needed him, even if he couldn't admit it yet.

Sean didn't have all the answers, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he wouldn't give up. Not now, not ever.

"Where is he?" he asked, finishing his drink.

His initial intention had been clear: to convince Sean not to give up on someone who couldn't ask for help, even if his life depended on it. But now, sitting across from Sean and seeing the sheer devastation etched into every part of him, Victor hesitated. He was questioning whether it was right to push Sean back into the storm Jay was.

Because as much as he believed in Jay – and he did, in ways that had kept him tethered to his best friend for years – Victor couldn't deny the toll it would take. Being with Jay meant walking a tightrope over an abyss, where every step was shadowed by the risk of him pulling away, retreating into himself. Could anyone truly endure that?

"Are you sure about this?"

Sean looked at him, surprised. "I won't lie, sometimes it's hard, but he's worth it."

Victor forwarded him a text message from Jay with lodge details. "Maybe it's best to give him a few more days to sort himself out."

Sean nodded in agreement. Jay needed space, and he was willing to give it to him, hoping that they would come stronger from this.