Jason has his back to Amarin, but he didn't need to see the other man's face to know he bore an expression of concern. He could picture the wrinkle of his forehead down the last wrinkle, to the way the corner of his right brow raised higher than the other. The way the hard line of his frown pulled on scar beneath his left eye. He'd seen that same look a million or more times since the first time they met as kids in a dead end back alley in Old Bangkok.
He didn't reply to the question, just kept stuffing rolled clothes into his duffel. There was barely anymore space. Somehow he made them fit. Amarin wasn't dissuaded by his silence.
"You know you probably can't come back," he pressed on. "No one has ever come back from there."
Jason's voice was quiet. It usually was. "I gave my word." He turned towards the Thai man and reached out to clap him on the shoulder. "Thank you for being my brother."
Amarin's eyes searched his. Searched for a crack in his resolve where he might worm his way in. He slowly extended his hand to clap onto Jason's shoulder.
"Goodbye, my brother. Don't die a terrible death," he replied in a cracked voice despite his attempt at a joke.
Jason smiled. "Don't forget who gave you that scar."