Your's, Still

Prologue

Seven years was supposed to be enough time.

Enough time for memories to fade, enough time for wounds to scar over cleanly, enough time for names to stop echoing inside his chest like unfinished prayers, but it wasn't.

Bangkok woke before dawn.

The city breathed low and slowly beneath fading streetlights, neon signs flickering weakly before surrendering to morning. Cars moved like rivers of light beneath towering buildings made of glass and ambition.

Somewhere in the distance, the first train of the day rattled across the tracks, carrying exhausted workers and students chasing futures they hadn't chosen yet.

On the top floor of one of those towers, Perth Tanapon stood in silence.

A skyline stretched endlessly behind him through walls of spotless glass. His office was sleek, cold, expensive in the kind of way that made people lower their voices when they entered it.

Awards lined on one shelf.

Corporate magazines featured his face. A championship medal rested carelessly beside unopened documents.

Success looked effortless on him now.

Tailored black suit. Sharp jawline.

Broad shoulders built from years of discipline and restraint.

A watch worth more than most people's monthly salary rested against his wrist.

People feared him differently these days, because Perth Tanapon had become powerful.

The kind of man who walked into rooms and owned them without trying.

Yet the coffee beside him had long gone cold untouched.

His assistant stood nervously near the doorway holding a tablet.

"Sir," she said carefully, "the board meeting starts in twenty minutes."

Perth didn't answer immediately.

His gaze remained fixed on the city below.

Seven years.

Seven fucking years.

And somehow mornings still felt emptier than they should.

Perth blinked slowly before finally turning away from the window.

"I heard you."

His voice was deeper now.

Calmer and controlled in a way teenage Perth never was, but exhaustion still lived beneath it.

The assistant hesitated before speaking carefully. "You should rest soon."

A humorless smile tugged briefly at his mouth. "That sounds like something Force would say."

The assistant looked startled.

Perth waved a hand dismissively.

"Reschedule the investor lunch. Keep the board meeting."

The office fell quiet again.

Perth loosened his tie slightly, jaw tightening as his eyes drifted unconsciously toward the rain speckled glass.

Some mornings were worse than others.

Some mornings he woke up convinced he'd dreamed Santa entirely.

Then he'd hear a song while catching the scent of warm bread from a nearby café. See someone laugh softly in the street, and suddenly all memories came back.

Perth closed his eyes briefly.

There were things money could not buy back, and no amount of success had ever managed to fill the space Santa left behind.

Across the city, a small café sign flickered beneath the soft glow of hanging lantern lights.

Warmth spilled through wide windows onto the quiet sidewalk outside. Inside, the world felt slower.

The scent of fresh bread and cinnamon wrapped around the room gently. Soft acoustic music played through hidden speakers while early sunlight painted gold across wooden tables and handwritten menu boards.

It was peaceful. Built intentionally soft.

Santa Pongsapak stood behind the counter tying the strings of his apron, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. His hair was still slightly damp from a rushed shower, a few strands curling against his forehead as he checked the pastry display one last time.

Seven years had changed him too.

He looked older now. Softer in some places, but mostly stronger in others.

The sharp fragility he carried at seventeen had settled into something quieter.

He smiled more carefully now.

Protected himself better.

Learned how to survive without waiting for someone else to save him.

But traces of the boy from Silverpine still remained. Especially in his eyes.

Especially when he looked tired.

Small footsteps raced across the café floor.

Santa barely had time to turn before a tiny body crashed into him at full speed.

Laughter burst from his chest instantly. "Whoa...hey, careful!"

Luke giggled brightly as Santa caught him effortlessly, tiny arms wrapping around his neck.

Luke grinned proudly.

"Teacher Namtan says important days should start early!"

Santa laughed softly.

God.

That smile.

Every single time it hit him directly in the chest. Luke looked too much like someone Santa spent seven years trying not to remember.

Dark expressive eyes with sharp little grin. The same stubborn tilt to his chin whenever he gets excited.

Sometimes it terrified him how much genetics could betray secrets.

Luke nodded enthusiastically.

"And I packed crayons! Can I draw at the back table today?"

The boy cheered quietly before racing toward the corner booth he'd unofficially claimed as his own.

Santa watched him go with soft exhaustion settling behind his smile.

Seven years ago, he left everything behind. He hadn't left because he stopped loving, but he left because he loved him too much.

That was the cruelest part.

Love had never been the problem, but power and fear was.

Santa exhaled slowly before returning to work.

The morning rush began quietly.

Office workers ordered coffee half-awake. Students crowded around pastries. Regular customers greeted Santa warmly by name.

Here, he was simply Santa.

Just a café owner with flour on his sleeves and tired eyes.

It was enough.

Or at least he'd spent seven years convincing himself it was.

Outside, Bangkok continued moving.

A sleek black car rolled smoothly through traffic beneath towering buildings.

Inside the backseat, Perth scrolled absently through financial reports without truly reading them.

Force sat across from him, glasses perched low on his nose as he reviewed schedules.

Seven years had changed Blackout too.

They weren't reckless boys anymore.

Force now handled legal operations for Perth's company with terrifying efficiency.

Joong worked in private security.

Dunk disappeared into cybersecurity and information networks nobody questioned too closely.

Pond still flirted with everyone breathing.

Khaotung somehow became famous online for speaking too honestly into microphones.

But despite the years passing, one thing never changed.

None of them said Santa's name around Perth unless necessary, because the silence afterward always hurt to witness.

Perth hummed vaguely.

"So I've been told."

Force finally lifted his gaze.

"You punched a wall last week."

Perth smirked faintly despite himself.

The car slowed at a red light.

Outside the tinted window, morning sunlight caught against café glass.

Warm lighting with soft music drifting faintly through open doors.

A laughing child seated near the corner window with crayons scattered everywhere.

Perth's gaze flicked toward it absentmindedly.

Then away.

The light changed.

The car moved forward.

Fate remained patient.

Because fate understood something humans didn't.

People only truly look backward once they believe they've finally escaped their past.

Inside Lunaria, Luke held up a drawing proudly.

"Papa! Look!"

Santa walked over immediately.

The drawing showed three figures beneath a giant yellow moon.

One small, one tall and the other one standing slightly farther away.

Santa's chest tightened.

"Who's that?" he asked softly, pointing carefully toward the tallest figure.

Luke tilted his head innocently.

"My other parent."

The world stopped for half a heartbeat.

Children were cruelly observant without realizing it.

Santa forced a smile gently enough that Luke wouldn't notice it trembling. "Oh?"

Luke nodded seriously.

"Teacher says everyone has two."

Santa swallowed hard.

Luke seemed to consider that carefully before nodding once.

"Okay."

Then he smiled again instantly distracted. "Can I color the moon blue?"

Santa laughed weakly.

"You absolutely can."

Luke cheered.

But afterward, Santa stood behind the counter longer than necessary, fingers curling tightly around a coffee cup that had gone cold.

Seven years, and somehow the universe still found ways to drag Perth back into the room even when he wasn't there.

That night, rain fell across Bangkok.

Perth stood alone on his penthouse balcony overlooking the city.

Lightning flickered faintly across distant clouds.

His phone buzzed once beside him.

A message from Khaotung.

You ever think maybe he didn't leave because he stopped loving you?

Perth stared at the screen for a long moment, then locked the phone without replying, because some thoughts were too dangerous after midnight.

Inside another part of the city, Santa tucked Luke carefully into the bed beneath soft blankets.

Santa froze slightly.

Children noticed everything.

He brushed gentle fingers through Luke's hair. "Sometimes."

Luke blinked up at him with sleepy seriousness. "Did someone hurt you?"

Santa's chest ached so suddenly he almost couldn't breathe. "...No," he whispered eventually.

That wasn't entirely true.

Luke yawned softly.

"Okay."

Within minutes, he drifted asleep.

Santa stayed there anyway.

Protecting and loving quietly the only way he knew how anymore.

Outside the apartment window, the city glowed endlessly alive.

Somewhere beneath those same lights, Perth Tanapon still existed.

Still breathing.

Still searching without realizing it.

Still carrying love like an old wound that never healed correctly.

And fate...

Fate was already moving pieces back into place.

Because some stories don't end when people walk away.

They pause.

They wait.

And when they begin again...

They begin exactly where it hurts most.