The holding area was suffocating. Stale, humid air clung to the room, thick with the scent of sweat. Harsh fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting an unflattering, sterile glow across the cramped space. There were no windows, just concrete walls that seemed to absorb the oppressive summer heat, making it feel hotter inside than out. The mood was heavy with lingering desperation and injustice.

Fort glanced through the bars and frowned. Other cells were similar to theirs, with several young men arrested that night, sitting silently with their heads hung low. "I have a bad feeling about this," he whispered, leaning closer to Sean.

"Me too," Sean agreed, resting his back against the wall and sighed. "They seemed to go for a specific type."

His eyes widened with sudden realisation – all detainees were more or less their height and build. This could only mean one thing. Even in prison and with his assets frozen, Chaiyawat still had police on his payroll. "Fuck."

"Yeah... I'm afraid we are a bit doomed."

Fort forced a smile. "At least Win and Aom managed to get away, so it's all good. No regrets, eh? Oh wait...," he paused, then added teasingly to lighten the mood, "Maybe you should regret it? Because this time, your boyfriend is definitely going to skin you alive."

"Technically, it's not my fault."

Sitting in the corner, a man dressed in a flamboyant rainbow tie-dye t-shirt eyed Sean with a raised brow, his gaze lingering on his white short-sleeved shirt and plain black slacks. He crossed his legs dramatically, the gesture full of judgement, reflecting a sentiment that if you didn't look the part, you weren't fully part of the community. "Still in the closet?" he asked, his tone almost mocking.

"I never needed one," Sean shrugged. "As soon as I realised I'm also into guys, I just went for it. Although, I don't believe broadcasting it to everyone is necessary."

The man sneered, his expression hardening. "Oh, also into guys, huh? Convenient." His words dripped with condescension. "Some of us don't get to just pick and choose when it's easy."

It was a familiar narrative – the subtle erasure of bisexuality within a community that should understand it best. The insinuation that bisexual people were indecisive, playing both sides as if they couldn't be trusted, making them feel less authentic, less queer. Often caught between worlds, they were invisible to both: too straight to be gay, too gay to be straight. Time and time again, they faced a hurtful implication that they didn't truly belong anywhere.

Sean looked at him coldly. "This kind of attitude makes the fight for equal rights twice as difficult," he said flatly.

"Everyone can talk big, but does your boyfriend know you will ditch him for an easier option as soon as things get tough?"

Fort froze, half expecting Sean to punch the guy's lights out. But to his surprise, nothing of the sort happened. Instead, Sean smiled, the kind of smile you would give a petulant child.

"I would have to be an absolute moron to ditch a person like him for any reason."

The man opened his mouth as if to say something but then just angrily pressed his lips into a thin line and looked away.

Meanwhile, Fort grinned. To him, Sean was someone who didn't conform to stereotypes or shallow judgments, always ready to challenge narrow-minded ideas – whether subtly or directly. Maybe that's why they unanimously looked to him as their leader, less outwardly angry than Tay but just as dangerous.

A couple hours later, a sharp scraping sound cut through the tense silence – a police baton sliding slowly across the steel bars. Like an unsettling echo, it startled detainees out of their restless sleep, leaving them confused.

Moments later, the cell door clanged open, and a pair of rough-looking men were shoved inside. Their demeanour was unbothered but, at the same time, threatening. The older one, with tattoos curling up his neck and across his arms, smirked. His younger but no less hardened companion wore a scowl that didn't fade even as he surveyed the room.

As if sensing danger, other detainees tried to make themselves as small as possible, leaving only Sean and Fort unmoved. They somewhat expected it. It was one of their worries that Chaiyawat would connect attacks on him with movement, especially after an extensive article about discrimination across his businesses written by the same person who exposed his criminal activity.

Since they couldn't be tracked by standard means, Chaiyawat's men must have taken advantage of the riots and requested access to detainees, hoping someone would spill the beans. It was also not a coincidence that they looked relatively similar and were placed in the station's farthest corner of the station... Chaiyawat was clearly on a hunt for the trio that attacked his warehouse.

Seeing that others were too scared, afraid to even look in their direction, newly arrived men turned towards Sean and Fort.

"Let's have a little chat," the older man said, gripping Fort's collar and lifting him slightly off the bench.

Sean's hand shot out, firmly grabbing the man's wrist. His voice was a low, menacing whisper. "Let go of him."

The man looked at Sean with a mix of surprise and irritation. "And what if I don't?"

"Then you can add another regret to your list," Sean responded, his unwavering gaze fixed on the opponent.

His eyes flickered in anger, and his hold on Fort's t-shirt tightened. "Listen, kid... I don't know how many films you watched, but you are not calling shots here."

Sean smirked. "Don't cry later that I didn't warn you."

In an instant, Sean was on his feet. He drove the heel of his shoe into the thug's foot, eliciting a pained grunt. Without missing a beat, his palm crashed into his opponent's chin, snapping his head back. The older man's confusion was immediate, but before he could react, Sean's fist hammered into his spleen.

Reeling from the sudden assault, the man dropped stunned Fort and barely had time to brace himself as Sean seized his arm, twisting it behind his back and slammed him against the wall. The impact was jarring, leaving him gasping for breath.

Sean wasted no time. He delivered a precise kick to the back of the goon's knee, sending him sprawling to the floor. The man landed with a thud, his face contorted in pain and shock. Immediately, Sean pressed his knee against the small of the thug's back and twisted his arm even further, immobilising him entirely.

"I tried to be polite, but you refused to listen," he said quietly. "Now, let's have a little chat, hm?"

The younger man, now visibly shaken, stepped back, staring at Sean in disbelief, and then a sudden recognition flashed in his eyes. "Jesus Fucking Christ, you are..."

"Not another word," Sean hissed, cutting him off. "What do you want from us?"

He waved his arms as if afraid he would be next. "It's a misunderstanding. We were supposed to rough up a few kids and ask about a group called Swift," he explained hurriedly. "We have nothing against you."

"Shut the fuck..." the older man started, but Sean slammed his face against the floor, successfully silencing him.

"Never heard of them. What are they?" Sean asked, feigning confusion and ignorance.

The man shrugged. "Small group disturbing boss's operations. I only know he wants them gone but has no leads on them."

"And you thought you could find it here? With a bunch of scared uni students?" Sean laughed as if he had heard the biggest joke. "I don't know who your boss is, but if he can get you here easily, wouldn't his opponent be on the same level? You know, like someone who could benefit from your boss's trouble... but then maybe I just watch too many films," he added sarcastically, releasing his opponent.

Fort sat on the bench silently, trying to comprehend what had just happened. He was as confused as hell, wondering where Sean had learned to fight like that. It was even more efficient and brutal than during their mission at the warehouse. And that was already bloody scary. Still, he couldn't help but smile as Sean swiftly pointed Chaiyawat towards his biggest competitor, Thanarak.

Suddenly, an officer rushed in, drawn by the unexpected commotion. Spotting one of Chaiyawat's men, who he meant to protect, sprawled on the ground, he acted immediately. Before anyone could intervene, the baton swung hard, cracking against Sean's jaw and splitting his bottom lip. Sean staggered and spat out blood but quickly raised his hands, stepping back to avoid escalating things further.

"Leave him," the younger thug interjected. "My friend asked for the beating. We're done here anyway."

As he bent down to help his companion off the floor, another officer burst into the cell, whispering urgently into his colleague's ear.

"The prime minister?"

"Yes," the officer replied, his voice low but tense. "The chief is raging. If anything undesirable happens tonight, we're all done for...," he trailed off, looking at Sean in horror. "E-especially these two. Their lawyer will be here the day after tomorrow. I heard it's some big shot. No one is allowed to interrogate or touch them until then."

Sean and Fort exchanged a brief, bewildered look but wisely kept quiet.

"And get him some ice, you idiot!" the officer barked, darting towards another cell.

The others hurried out, leaving them in stunned silence. Fort wasted no time, gently pushing Sean onto the bench. His fingers carefully probed along his jaw, checking for potential fracture. Finally, Fort exhaled in relief and sank down beside him.

"It's a miracle he didn't knock your teeth out," he said, rummaging his pockets for anything to stop the bleeding. "I'm not going to ask and keep it to myself. But damn, that was impressive."

Sean glanced at him with appreciation. "Thanks."

"So, I assume Win managed to get to Jay?" Fort asked, lowering his voice. "But who the hell did he call that they could get a prime minister involved? And why do we even need a lawyer? No one told us what our charges are."

Sean shrugged helplessly, feeling bad about dragging Jay into their mess. "He is definitely going to skin me alive..."

Fort chuckled lightly, feeling the tension leaving him. They were both exhausted but somewhat relieved. It seemed like they managed to escape Chaiyawat's grasp yet again.

The living room was unusually subdued, draped in the dim, grey light of a rainy day. The floor-to-ceiling windows, usually a frame for the vibrant cityscape, now reflected the relentless downpour that blurred the skyline into a canvas of shifting greys. Raindrops streaked the glass, their rhythmic drumming punctuating the silence within.

Jay closed his laptop with an inaudible sigh, his expression betraying restlessness. He found himself unable to focus on work, as if suddenly his surroundings became too quiet, making him realise how much he missed Sean's presence. This comfort of knowing he was here. It was bothersome, threatening his self-sufficiency, but somehow Jay didn't mind. It was a little over a day, but it was clear that Sean had become an irreplaceable part of his life.

Trying to banish the overbearing silence, he flicked on the news channel. It discussed the prime minister's press conference. Srettha Thavisin strongly supported a bill to legalise same-sex marriage and urged the LGBTQ+ community to be patient as he collaborates with various agencies to address existing prejudices and ensure the successful passage of the legislation.

Jay smiled. It seemed like a full-on riot could still shake things and force the government to take a clear stance. Sean would love to see it...

Suddenly, his phone lit up with an upcoming message in the group chat.

Christina Charlotte Emilia

I just saw the news about riots.

Are you okay?

Vivian

Is it really as bad as the media portray it?

Me

I'm fine.

They contained it by now, but it wasn't pretty.

Christina Charlotte Emilia

That's a relief.

Are you still coming back next week?

Me

Yes, I can't delay it anymore.

Vic

What about your boyfriend?

Vivian

I still can't believe you have one, Jay.

I was sure you and Victor would remain forever single.

Vic

Don't worry, Vivi.

I'm not going to disappoint your expectations.

Me

True, who would want your sorry ass.

Vic

I don't recall you ever complaining about it 😏

J.B.

Why do I always need to walk into a conversation like this 😭

Me

Your timing legendarily sucks 😂

And Sean is currently in prison.

Christina Charlotte Emilia

What?!

Vic

What the fuck... are you joking?!

Vivian

What happened?

J.B.

No way!

Me

Police scooped him during a meetup at his uni.

Just when the riots started.

Vivian

Is there anything we can do?

Me

Don't worry, I will take care of it.

Vivian

I know, but we can still help.

Or at least keep you company.

Vic

So what's the plan?

Me

It's tricky and may mess up his records.

So, I asked Margaret for help.

Vic

You did what?!

Fucking hell, Jay...

How bad is it?

Me

They came up with ridiculous charges and denied bail.

Vivian

How is it possible?

This must be illegal, right?

Me

It is, but there is nothing I can do about it.

J.B.

Did she agree to help?

Me

Yes, she will be here later today.

Vic

How much is it going to cost you?

Does she want you to stay at her firm?

If so, you can move with us to NYC.

Me

She doesn't want anything in return.

Vic

I did not see it coming.

Me

Me either

Christina Charlotte Emilia

I can't believe I'm saying it, but colour me impressed.

J.B.

Is she dying or something?

Vivian

Jonathan!

Don't make me walk upstairs and smack you!

Me

😂😂😂

They continued chatting for a while, the conversation flowing effortlessly, filled with inside jokes. It was the perfect distraction, but it wasn't able to take his mind off Sean.

"God, I really miss him," he muttered with a faint smile.

The soft hum of the engines filled the quiet first-class cabin, creating a hushed atmosphere. Outside, the skyline shimmered in the fading light, skyscrapers cutting sharp lines against the amber sky, while further below, the river wound through the city like a ribbon of fire reflecting the sunset.

A calm voice crackled through the intercom, announcing their descent and upcoming arrival. Then, a subtle shift in altitude sent a slight pressure into the air as the plane dipped lower towards the city.

Margaret Anderson lifted the blind, her eyes briefly flickering over the view. As always, the sprawling city below was a striking sight, but her attention quickly returned to the neatly organised case file in front of her. She opened the dossier again, her sharp gaze skimming over the details.

Impressive. Top of his class in his major for two consecutive years, a full scholarship covering his expenses, an internship with a non-profit, and a record of activism that pushed boundaries. It instantly piqued her professional curiosity. This was precisely the type of person her company often pursued, offering a contract that covered further education and future employment.

But it wasn't just that. Her son was willing to sacrifice everything for this person.

She never expected him to call, so when he did, Margaret panicked and answered instantly, not knowing what to expect. Truthfully, she had no right to expect anything. After all, she had failed him. Her career had taken precedence, with years slipping away, their lives becoming parallel lines that never met.

For far too long, the routine had been the same – occasional calls from school, complaints about his behaviour, and brief clinical meetings at the end of the year where they discussed his academic progress as if they were strangers. No warmth, no connection. Just performance reviews.

The wake-up call came when Jay was in year twelve. The headmistress called her directly to say that her son had been caught drunk and engaged in gross misconduct with another student on her desk. Margaret was stunned. Through the numbness, she vaguely recalled some overdue paperwork the school had requested from her. But that seemed trivial now. When she mentioned it during the conversation, the headmistress let out a bitter snort and told her bluntly that maybe Jay wouldn't have ended up in this situation if his mother had paid more attention to him. Then, the line went dead.

Margaret didn't know how to respond. How do you face a reality like that? So, she did what she always did. She increased his allowance, thinking money could patch over what was already broken beyond repair. But the truth was, Jay had outgrown the need for her long before that call. And in that moment, she understood – perhaps too late – that there were some things money couldn't fix.

Since then, Margaret had tried to learn more about her son from a distance, subtly supporting him without imposing on his life. She knew Jay wouldn't appreciate any overt gestures, so she kept her distance, watching him carve out his own path. Despite the weight of family tradition, Margaret hadn't protested when he chose to study criminal law, even allowing him to use her company as a stepping stone to the Crown Prosecution. She owed him that much, didn't she?

Yet, after years of interaction that felt more like business transactions than mother and son, she found herself at a loss for words. Whenever they spoke, she often came across as harsh, more concerned with maintaining the family image than understanding him. Jay would respond with a polite distance, remaining indifferent and resigned. As a result, their conversations were limited, often passing through her loyal head secretary, Rebecca.

Disillusioned and painfully aware of her past mistakes, Margaret didn't see his sudden call as an opportunity for redemption. After all, she missed her chance that one winter when Jay called her last time.

The expressionless gaze of brown eyes that met her at arrivals only reaffirmed it.

As they settled into the taxi, the city blurred past in a wash of neon lights and muted colours, contrasting the silence inside the car. The lack of conversation felt weighty yet neutral as if the air between them had long since lost any need for words. It simply existed, echoing the strained familiarity of their relationship.

"Your case files are very meticulous. You will make an excellent prosecutor one day," Margaret said awkwardly, glancing at his reflection in the window.

Jay nodded in acknowledgement but didn't say anything.

"We should be able to resolve it without leaving any traces on their records. The video is very clear and contradicts all charges. If the police refuse to release them, we will file for misconduct during arrest," Margaret continued, accustomed to his reaction. "I also spoke with the president of Chulalongkorn University. This incident won't affect their education."

"Thank you."

"No need. They shouldn't have been treated like this," she paused briefly, unsure whether to bring it up, then finally added, "This person... Sean... he's important to you, isn't he?"

"Yes."

Margaret smiled faintly, seeing how his expression softened imperceptibly. "If you want, we can shift your workload around, and you could stay here longer," she proposed carefully, afraid she was overstepping.

"No need."

Margaret shifted slightly in her seat, her fingers smoothing over the leather strap of her handbag as if searching for something to hold onto. The city lights flickered against the glass, casting fleeting shadows on her face. She hesitated momentarily before speaking again, her voice quieter, almost uncertain.

"I know I've never been... there for you in the way that matters," she began, the words foreign on her tongue. "The truth is, I didn't consider you. I thought building my career and following family expectations was all that mattered. It was about my ambition. I put you in boarding school because it gave me the space to do that," Margaret sighed with a self-deprecating smile. "I wasn't... suited to being a mother, was I? I never made time for you. I was always somewhere else."

Jay remained silent, his gaze fixed on the blurred scenery outside, not offering her the reprieve of a reaction. His expression was unreadable, as if he was waiting for her to finish, but was already somewhere far away in his mind.

Margaret swallowed, feeling the weight of the silence. "I've realised that I made mistakes. You deserved more from me."

At first, it seemed as if he hadn't heard her, the silence stretching between them indefinitely. Finally, he spoke, his voice neutral, devoid of any resentment or warmth.

"You did what you thought was right," he said, offering no judgment, no absolution. "There's no point dwelling on it now, mother."

That single word – mother – was delivered so flatly it felt more like a formality than a gesture of closeness. It stung, but she knew better than to expect anything else.

"I see," she said softly, nodding. The weight of her guilt settled back into place, a constant companion she had grown accustomed to in recent years. She wanted to say more, to offer something that might matter, but the words wouldn't come.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence was no longer neutral; it now carried the weight of things left unsaid, the decades of emotional neglect that couldn't be undone in a single conversation. Margaret realised this might be the closest they would ever get to addressing the past.

The taxi slowed as they neared their destination. Margaret finally let out a quiet sigh, resting her hands on her lap. "If you ever need anything... or want to talk, I'm here," she said, her voice barely audible.

Jay gave a polite nod, but his eyes remained distant. "I know."

As the car came to a halt, Margaret wasn't sure if that was true – if he knew or if it even mattered anymore.