54. Solitude

The sky over Bangkok is heavy with moisture, the aftermath of the recent rainstorm still clinging to the air. Luca stands at the sink in the dim bathroom of his apartment, rinsing his hands, the sound of running water somehow too loud in the quiet. He knows Jet is behind him, in the doorway, watching.
“You’re really going to this funeral?” Jet’s voice cuts through the air, brittle with disbelief, anger simmering underneath.
Luca doesn’t look up, drying his hands with a towel, moving with deliberate slowness. “Yeah. I owe him that much.”
Jet steps forward, fists clenched at his sides. His chest heaves, and his eyes flicker with something Luca hasn’t seen in a while—betrayal. “You owe Nail? The guy who tried to kill both me and Kai?”
Luca’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls a tie from the hook by the mirror, wrapping it around his neck. The fabric slips through his fingers as he begins to knot it. The silence between them expands, stretching thin.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Luca’s voice is tight.
Jet scoffs, pacing the small space. “What wouldn’t I understand? That you’re paying respects to a killer? After everything? After—”
He breaks off, the words choked in his throat, as if saying Kai’s name again might unravel him.
“He killed Chalam.” Luca drops his hands, speaking to Jet’s reflection. “So we both owe him for that.”
Jet’s eyes narrow. “What did you just say?”
“I said,” Luca repeats, firmer this time. “Nail killed Chalam. Because Kai wasn’t able to.”
Jet blinks. “And when were you going to tell me that? After you swore you’d never lie to me again?”
“It wasn’t a lie.”Luca winces but doesn’t retreat. “You didn’t need to know.”
“Didn’t need to know? You think after everything, after—” Jet’s voice cracks, and he falters, breathing hard. His eyes are burning, too bright. “You think I didn’t need to know that Nail was still alive, that he—”
“I didn’t tell you because you’d been through enough already,” Even as the words leave his mouth, Luca knows how pathetic they sound.
Jet takes a step back, his eyes filled with a storm of hurt and betrayal. “You’re the one who said we’d be straight with each other from now on. No more lies. But this? This is a pretty fucking big thing to keep to yourself, Luca.”
Luca holds his ground, his gaze unwavering. “Jet, I—”
“Is that why you’re going? Jet looks away, his breath still heavy, like he’s trying to contain something that’s about to explode. “Because you feel bad for him?”
Luca’s face hardens. “It’s not that simple.”
Jet looks back at him, his eyes flashing. “It’s always that simple with you, isn’t it? You do what you want, and screw the consequences.”
“I had to make a choice,” Luca’ voice is low. “And Nail… he didn’t deserve to die like that.”
“Kai didn’t deserve to die, Luca.” Jet’s voice cracks again, higher this time, like he’s reaching a breaking point. “Or did you forget?”
Luca opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. He swallows, eyes dropping to the floor. Outside, the distant hum of the city vibrates through the still-wet streets. The storm hasn’t fully passed—it lingers in the air, in the tension between them.
“You swore, Luca. You swore you wouldn’t lie to me again.” Jet’s breathing slows, but his anger doesn’t dissipate. “Sei un figlio di puttana.”
He turns on his heel and walks out, leaving Luca standing there, the tie still undone around his neck, the silence of the room deafening. Jet’s last words slam into him like a physical blow. You son of a bitch.
Luca moves to the window, the tie dangling loosely from his collar, half-forgotten. The funeral is starting soon, and he can’t miss it—not after everything. But Jet’s words hang over him like a shadow, heavy and inescapable.
You swore you wouldn’t lie to me again.
Luca exhales, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He can’t stay here, not right now. He pulls out his phone, shooting a quick message to Pepper, telling her he’ll be at the funeral soon. There’s nothing he can say right now that’ll fix this.

◼️◼️◼️◼️
Jet’s hands shake as he scrolls through flight options on his phone. His mind races, heart pounding in his chest. He should have seen this coming. The hurt sits like a stone in his gut, fueling the anger still simmering beneath the surface. Nail killed Chalam. And Luca—Luca knew. The whole time.
Jet’s fingers tighten around his phone as he selects the next available flight out of Bangkok. He books the ticket before he can second-guess it. It’s a late flight, leaving in just a few hours. He doesn’t need much. Just his passport, his wallet, a bag with whatever clothes he can grab. The rest is already in Modena.
As soon as the confirmation email pings in his inbox, Jet stands, stuffing clothes into a small duffel bag. His movements are sharp, quick, fueled by the restless energy buzzing under his skin. He can’t stay here. Not after this.
The house feels suffocating, a constant reminder of Luca’s lies. Everything between them is tainted now—Kai’s death, Nail’s death, all of it.
When Luca walks back in, Jet doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to look at him, hear more half-hearted explanations, or worse, apologies that won’t fix anything. Jet needs distance. He needs to breathe.
◼️◼️◼️◼️
The funeral is… brief. Somber. Luca stands among strangers, his face expressionless, a practiced calm hiding the storm inside him. Nail’s body rests in a closed casket at the front of the small, shadowed room. No one talks much. No one knows what to say.
Luca watches the ceremony with a detached sort of focus, feeling like an outsider even though he’s the only one here who really knows why Nail did what he did. The only one who understands why Nail died, the burden of that knowledge settling heavily on his shoulders.
When it’s over, Luca lingers in the doorway, looking down at the rain-slick street outside. He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him. It’s over. Chalam’s gone. Nail’s gone. Kai’s gone. And somehow, none of it feels like closure.
He pulls out his phone, fingers hovering over Jet’s contact again. He wants to tell him—tell him everything, lay it all out. He needs Jet to understand, even if it won’t change the hurt. But when he opens the front door later, Luca’s world goes quiet.
Jet is gone.
Luca pulls out his phone, scrolling through his messages. Nothing. Not a word from Jet. His stomach drops. He dials Jet’s number, holding his breath as the call rings once, twice, then goes straight to voicemail.
“Jet, where are you? Call me back.” His voice sounds too rough, too strained, as he leaves the message.
He stares at the phone for a moment, his mind racing, before heading for the door again. He needs to find Jet. To fix this before it spirals any further. But as he steps outside into the thick evening air, another notification pops up on his phone.
Flight confirmation: Bangkok to Rome.
Luca’s heart stops.
Jet isn’t just gone. He’s leaving.
For good.
For a moment, Luca stands frozen, the city buzzing around him, the streets still slick from the rain. And then he’s moving, fast, pulling out his phone again and dialing Jet’s number—over and over, his footsteps quickening, his mind racing with a thousand things he needs to say, needs to fix. But the call doesn’t go through. It never goes through.
◼️◼️◼️◼️
Jet sinks into his seat, pulling his hoodie over his head, trying to disappear. He glances out the window, watching the tarmac stretch out beneath him as the plane begins to taxi. There’s a gnawing ache in his chest, a tightness that won’t go away, no matter how much he tries to push it down.
He thinks about Luca—about the way he’d sounded back in the house, about the way he’d lied, yet again. Part of him knows that Luca didn’t mean to hurt him. Part of him understands that. But the other part—the part that’s still raw, still grieving for Kai, for everything they’ve lost—can’t forgive it. Not yet.
Jet exhales slowly, his eyes closing as the plane takes off, lifting him away from Bangkok, from everything.
He doesn’t look back.