The Bad Boy's Dirty Little Secret BL Chapter 101: The Very First Failure

Kai’s P.O.V

We returned home in heavy silence. The drive back felt longer than usual, the air thick with tension. Once we pulled into the driveway, my mother let out a tired sigh, glancing back at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

“Kai, you should get some rest,” she said softly, reaching out to give my shoulder a reassuring  squeeze. My sister, Kia, shot me a sympathetic look before they both headed upstairs, no doubt eager to shake off the evening’s tension and get changed for the night ahead.

As the sound of their footsteps faded, I lingered in the quiet of the living room, staring down at my hands. The memory of Night’s face, the look in his eyes just before they pulled him away, haunted me. Everything felt surreal, like a dream I couldn’t wake up from.

But that was not all that was haunting me. Jonathan’s face when he saw my father… the way his icy mask dropped… What in the world happened between them?

As soon as Kia and Mom disappeared up the stairs, I turned to my father, who was already looking for an exit of his own, but I wasn’t going to let him go without an explanation.

“Dad,” I said, my voice sharper than I’d intended, “what happened back there? With Jonathan? Why did he look at you like that?”

He froze, his hand resting on the edge of the doorframe, shoulders tense. He didn’t turn to face me, but I could see the subtle shift in his posture, the way his fingers tightened slightly. “It was nothing,” he replied, his tone dismissive. “Just old history. It doesn’t concern you.”

But I wasn’t going to let it go that easily. I stepped forward, refusing to back down. “It does concern me if it’s part of why they took Night away. Please, Dad, I need to understand.”

His jaw clenched, and he turned just enough for me to see the strain in his expression. “I don’t have anything else to say about it. Just… let it go.” He turned to leave, but I followed him into the hallway, my frustration mounting.

“Dad, don’t tell me it was just some old history. You knew Jonathan Winters, didn’t you?” I demanded. “I saw the way you both looked at each other—like you’d seen a ghost.”

My father sighed, his back still turned. “He… may have been one of my patients once,” he said slowly, as if testing the words. “That’s all. That’s why he looked familiar. I just thought he looked like someone I knew, but I was wrong.”

I stared at him, anger simmering beneath my confusion. “Dad, be for real. You see thousands of patients every month. It’s impossible to remember every single one of them by face, let alone freeze like that when you see them.”

He didn’t answer.

“Something is going on here, and you’re not telling me the truth,” I said, my voice quieter now, laced with hurt. “This isn’t just about me or Night, is it?”

For a moment, he looked as if he might speak, but then he let out a deep sigh, the kind that seemed to pull every ounce of energy from him. “There are… some stories,” he began quietly, “that need to stay buried in the past. Left where they belong.”

I shook my head, refusing to let him retreat into riddles. “But are you really willing to keep hiding the truth, knowing it’s hurting me? Knowing it’s hurting Night?”

He looked up at me, his expression torn. Then, as if defeated, he sank onto the sofa, his shoulders slumping forward, his head falling into his hands. He looked worn, shadows lining his face, as if he’d been carrying this weight for far too long.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was his slow, uneven breathing, like he was gathering strength for whatever he might say.

Looking at him like this, my anger and hurt evaporated, and instead, my concern for his health overpowered everything. I took a cautious step closer, watching him carefully. “Dad… are you okay?” I asked, worry creeping into my voice. His exhaustion looked so deep it scared me; I couldn’t ignore how pale and worn he seemed, as if he’d suddenly aged a decade.

He lifted his head slowly, managing a faint, weary smile. “Physically, I’m fine,” he assured me, but his eyes held a sadness that went beyond anything I’d seen in him before. “It’s just… some scars, they’re hard to heal. And some never do. They stay open, raw, reminding you of your failures… every single day.”

I felt my throat tighten. I wanted to reach out, to understand whatever pain he was carrying, but the weight of his words and the years of silence he’d kept made me hesitate. Something had gone seriously wrong for it to have scarred my father in this manner. He was a dedicated doctor, someone who valued the truth above anything else. Then why was he suddenly talking in riddles, his pain palpable in a way that made my stomach twist in knots.

“I just don’t want you to be hurt by something that should’ve been dealt with long ago,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper. “But I guess some mistakes follow you no matter how far you run, no matter how much time passes.”

I couldn’t take it; I joined him on the couch, turning to face him properly. “What are you talking about, Dad?” I asked, an urgency coloring my voice. “What could you possibly have failed in? And… how does this connect to Jonathan Winters? What’s this got to do with me and Night?”

He sat there, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the walls of our home, and for a moment, I wondered if he’d answer my questions at all.

Then, he finally spoke, his voice so low I almost missed it. “It’s related to Jonathan because… I failed him, Kai. He was the very first failure of my life.”