The club was dark except for the dull neon lights that flickered on the ceiling. Music thudded faintly in the background, but Technik's irritation cut through the noise more than the bass ever could.
"Tell me when your brother is coming back?" he demanded, his voice edged with impatience as he leaned toward Mix.
Mix rolled his eyes, unbothered. "Hold your tone, man. Don't forget—he's your brother-in-law the moment your brother signs those marriage papers."
Technik scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I understand. But P'No's mobile is unreachable, and that ass of a brother-in-law isn't picking up my calls either."
"They're on their honeymoon," Mix reminded him lazily, sipping from his glass. "Why would he answer you? Just because you're his brother-in-law?"
Technik let out a frustrated groan. "That bloodsucking vampire and his lapdog keep calling me for P'No's whereabouts. And again—" his phone began to vibrate insistently, "—see, it must be him again."
But when he looked down at the screen, it wasn't his father's number.
For once, his expression softened. He steadied himself, and when he answered, his voice dropped to an unfamiliar gentleness. "Hey, you call after such a long time."
Mix blinked in disbelief. Technik never spoke kindly on the phone. He cursed, mocked, or invented nicknames that no one considered flattering. But now... now he sounded almost.... human.
"Really? Okay, fine. I'll come," Technik said, and with that, he cut the call.
Mix stared at him as if he'd just seen a ghost. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Technik asked, sliding his phone into his pocket.
"Don't play games," Mix pressed, his eyes narrowing. "Who was that? Are you having an affair behind my back?"
Technik chuckled, leaning closer, his fingers gently lifting Mix's chin. "No, my dear wife. But I intend to. I'm going to meet my first and last love." His smile was dazzling, mischievous, and before Mix could snap back, Technik was already walking away.
Mix muttered under his breath, glaring at the empty glass in front of him. "That ass..."
Before the bitterness could fade, his phone rang again. This time, the caller ID made him sigh. "Hey, Dad," he said flatly.
"Why do you sound so down, sweetie?" Max's voice came through warm but tired.
"Nothing," Mix lied, leaning back in his chair. "Just Technik and Kla ditched me, so I'm bored and sleepy now."
"When are you coming back?" The question slipped out before he could stop it. He asked it every time.
And as always, the answer remained the same. "Soon."
Mix clenched his jaw. Frustration cracked his tone. "It's already been years. You didn't come, and you don't want us there. If you don't want kids, why the hell did you have them?"
"Mind your tongue, Mix. Just because we're not there doesn't mean we're not taking care of you and Boom."
Mix laughed bitterly. "Oh right. You send money. And your husband asks for photos. How kind. What amazing fathers we have."
"You don't know what you're saying. Just finish your drink and go home. The car is waiting outside."
"That's not my home," Mix snapped. His hand shook slightly as he tightened his grip on the phone. "And if you're not here, you don't get to order me around. Bye.....Dad. Thanks for the favors. At least when you call, for a second I can pretend I have a father."
Before Max could respond, Mix hung up. He downed the last of his drink in one gulp and shoved the glass aside, heading for the door without looking back.
Miles away, Max lowered the phone slowly. His hand trembled before he hurled it across the table, the plastic shattering against the floor. He closed his eyes, exhaling heavily.
"Win," he said to the man standing silently at the corner. "Track Mix's location. Let me know when he reaches home. And tell Park what happened."
Win hesitated. He had known Max long enough to recognize the grief behind his anger. "I will. But don't you think you should go there yourself? Talk to him directly? Or at least let Lam and Beam know? Park and Forth... they're useless when it comes to kids."
"I can't go now," Max muttered. His fingers slipped into his wallet, pulling out a photograph. An eight-year-old boy grinned at the camera, holding a toddler in his arms. It was a picture Max had kept close for years. There were more—photos of Mix and Boom with Park, Forth, Lam, Beam. He had their school reports, their medical records, every scrap of detail a father could collect from afar.
But details weren't the same as raising them. And Max knew it.
Tul used to call every night at first, voice breaking whenever Mix refused to talk. But with time, silence became easier. Less painful than being rejected again and again. That silence had built a wall even Max couldn't climb.
Boom no longer bothered to pick up their calls at all. And Mix—Mix was slipping further away with every bitter word.
Max's chest tightened. He wasn't ready to lose his son. Not to this business. Not to this distance.
Meanwhile, Mix's phone buzzed in his pocket as he walked into the night air. A single notification blinked on the screen.
Five words.
I am coming to Thailand.
For the first time that evening, Mix's lips curved into a faint smile. He didn't need to go home. His home was coming to him.