Chapter Text
— Chapter 9 —
Santa threw his phone onto the bed, the screen still glowing with another check-in from Aou.
He knew his friends were up to something; he could see it in the way Pond’s jaw tightened whenever Perth’s name was mentioned, and the way Joong had been unusually quiet, focused, and lethal in his movements.
But for the first time in months, Santa didn’t ask. He didn’t care.
He sat at his desk and pulled out his luggage, the heavy thud of the suitcase against the floor sounding like a period at the end of a long, painful sentence.
He started folding his scrubs—the ones Perth used to compliment because they made him look “professional.” He folded them with robotic precision, his face a blank mask.
“Live your life, Perth,” Santa muttered under his breath, his voice devoid of the warmth that used to live there.
“Live your perfect, calculated, lying life.”
The thought of his friends potentially cornering Perth or ruining his reputation didn’t bring Santa joy, but it didn’t bring him guilt either.
That was the most jarring part of the betrayal—the sudden, freezing numbness.
He had spent so much energy worrying about Perth’s feelings, Perth’s bruises, and Perth’s ego, that he had nothing left to give. Not even pity.
If Joong and the others wanted to tear him down, then that was their business.
Santa was busy. He had a career to start, a life to rebuild, and a six-hour drive to a place where no one knew his name or the boy who had broken it.
He reached for a stack of textbooks, his fingers brushing the small, dried flower Perth had tucked into his notebook during a “study date.”
Santa looked at it for a split second—a tiny, withered trophy of a fake war. Without a hint of hesitation, he swept it into the trash can.
Perth Tanapon was no longer his problem. Santa was finally ready to stop haunting himself.
The hallway was deserted, the evening shadows stretching long and jagged across the floor.
Perth’s back slammed against the metal lockers for the second time that week, but this time, it wasn’t Santa’s shaking hands pinning him. It was a solid, unrelenting wall of muscle.
Joong’s forearm was crushed against Perth’s windpipe, just enough to be agonizing without cutting off his air completely.
To Perth’s left and right, Pond and Aou stood like silent sentinels, their expressions devoid of the typical student curiosity. They looked like professional enforcers.
“Who the fuck are you guys?” Perth snarled, his eyes darting between them. He tried to shove Joong back, but it was like trying to move a mountain.
“What do you want from me?!”
“Your nightmares,” Joong replied, his voice a low, terrifying vibration.
He didn’t yell; he didn’t have to. The sheer coldness in his eyes was enough to make Perth’s blood run cold.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Perth?” Pond stepped forward, his shadow looming over them.
He reached out and tapped the bruise on Perth’s jaw—the one Santa had left—making Perth wince.
“The big strategist. You spent months playing with someone’s heart like it was a game for your bored friends.” Perth’s eyes widened. The realization hit him like a physical blow.
They’re his.
“You’re with Santa,” Perth choked out, his voice straining against Joong’s arm.
“We’re the people who watched him cry for three days straight because of you,” Aou said, his voice quiet but dripping with venom.
“We’re the ones who had to listen to him call himself a fool for believing a single word that came out of your lying mouth.” Joong leaned in closer, his face inches from Perth’s.
“Santa is too good for you. He was going to give up his future for a ghost. But since you wanted to ‘get rid of him’ so badly, we’re here to make sure you get exactly what you asked for. But first, you’re going to learn that actions have consequences.”
“I love him!” Perth shouted, the words tearing out of his throat, desperate and raw.
The silence that followed was deafening. Joong didn’t move an inch. He just stared at Perth, a cruel, mocking smile slowly spreading across his face.
“Love?” Joong echoed, the word sounding like a joke. “You don’t get to use that word. Not after what you did. You didn’t love him when you were bragging to your friends. You didn’t love him when you made the ‘plan.’ You only ‘love’ him now because you lost your toy.” Joong tightened his grip, the metal of the lockers groaning behind Perth’s head.
“Stay away from him. Don’t look at him. Don’t even think of his name. Because if we see you near him again, the lockers will be the softest thing you hit.”
The hallway was eerily quiet now, the only sound the rhythmic drip of water falling from Perth’s hair onto the linoleum floor.
He sat there, slumped against the base of the lockers, looking nothing like the untouchable “Iron Heir.” He was drenched, shivering slightly as the cold water soaked through his shirt, his ego shredded by the public humiliation those guys had just delivered.
Perth’s fingers curled into fists, his knuckles white. He was ready to burn the whole school down. He was ready to find Joong and the others and make them bleed for this.
But as he tilted his head back to blink the water from his eyes, his breath hitched.
Santa was standing at the end of the corridor. He was as still as a statue, his nursing bag gripped tight in his hand.
For a split second, the old spark of connection flickered between them. Perth saw it—the way Santa’s pupils dilated, the slight tremor in his lower lip. Despite the betrayal, despite the “plan,” that small, instinctive part of Santa still hated seeing Perth hurt.
“Santa…” Perth’s voice was a broken rasp. He scrambled to his feet, his wet shoes squeaking loudly in the empty hall.
He didn’t care about the water or the bruises; he just needed to reach him.
“Santa, wait—”
Santa didn’t move toward him. He didn’t even flinch. He simply watched Perth struggle to stand, his expression shifting from a flash of concern into a mask of absolute, freezing indifference.
It was the look of someone watching a stranger fall in the street—vaguely uncomfortable, but ultimately detached.
“Santa, please, just let me—” Before Perth could take a second step, Santa turned.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t offer a parting insult or a look of pity. He just walked away, his footsteps steady and rhythmic, echoing the finality of a door being locked for the last time.
Perth stood frozen in the middle of the hallway, a puddle forming around his feet. He reached out into the empty air, his mouth hanging open as he tried to find the words to bring Santa back, but the hallway remained silent.
The concern he had seen in Santa’s eyes hadn’t been an invitation; it had been a funeral.
As he stood there dripping and alone, he realized the water wasn’t the coldest thing in the room—it was the silence Santa had left behind.