Chapter 1 - Parallel Lines
Morning arrived differently for them.
For Perth Tanapon, it came with silence.
The penthouse curtains slid open automatically at exactly six in the morning, sunlight spilling across polished marble floors and expensive furniture no one ever really used. Bangkok stretched endlessly beneath the glass walls, alive before most people even opened their eyes.
Traffic already moved below like rivers of silver. Skyscrapers reflected dawn in sharp gold edges. The city belonged to people who never stopped moving.
Perth stood in front of the mirror fastening the cuff of his black dress shirt with practiced precision.
Everything about him was composed now.
Black tailored suit.
Silver watch resting neatly against his wrist. Hair pushed back perfectly.
A face magazine loved, because it looked cold enough to be powerful.
Seven years ago, people feared him because he was reckless, now they feared him because he was controlled.
His phone vibrated nonstop on the kitchen counter.
?? Board reminder
?? Investor update
?? Meeting moved to 8:30
?? Interview confirmation
?? Sponsorship renewal
Perth ignored all of them.
He poured coffee into a dark ceramic mug and leaned one hand against the counter, staring blankly through the towering windows.
Steam curled upward slowly.
He didn't drink it.
Some quiet mornings like this, enough that memories slipped through the cracks.
Perth closed his eyes briefly.
Seven years should have been enough.
Enough time to stop looking for someone in crowded streets.
Enough time to stop checking passing faces instinctively.
Enough time to stop wondering if Santa ever thinks about him too.
Yet every morning still felt unfinished somehow.
A knock sounded lightly at the penthouse door.
Perth nodded once.
Another day, another schedule filled down to the second and another reminder that his future had become exactly what everyone once wanted for him.
Bright, powerful and untouchable, but strangely hollow.
Across the city, Santa's morning was loud.
A loud crash echoed from the hallway followed by hurried footsteps.
Santa barely looked up from tying his apron strings. "What happened?"
Santa smiled despite himself as he slid pastries carefully into the display case. "You checked beside the table," he corrected gently. "Not under."
A suspicious pause followed.
Then...
A few seconds later, Luke emerged triumphantly from beneath the dining table holding two wildly mismatched socks above his head like trophies.
Luke grinned shamelessly.
"That still counts."
The apartment above Lunaria Café smelled faintly of toasted bread and detergent. Morning sunlight filtered through thin curtains while soft music played quietly from Santa's old speaker near the sink.
It was small and simple, but warm.
Nothing like the life Santa once imagined for himself at seventeen.
And yet...
Sometimes he thought maybe this quiet life had saved him.
Santa glanced down at the socks and nearly laughed. "Not even a little."
Luke considered that carefully.
"...I'm wearing them anyway."
Luke beamed proudly.
Downstairs, the café lights still glowed dimly as Santa unlocked the front doors. The smell of fresh coffee drifted through the room instantly.
Mark was already behind the counter grinding beans while humming loudly and horribly off-key to some old pop song playing through his earbuds.
Luke puffed up proudly beside Santa.
"Papa says responsible people wake up early."
Mark snorted dramatically.
"Then you're definitely more responsible than me."
Mark pointed accusingly.
"That was one time."
Luke burst into giggles.
The sound filled the café so brightly that Santa's chest softened instantly.
This was his life now.
Coffee stains.
Inventory lists.
School lunchboxes.
Late-night laundry.
Sticky little hands tugging on his sleeves.
Quiet things.
Safe things.
Things he built carefully from the wreckage of everything he lost.
And still...
Sometimes when the café door chimed open and a tall figure stepped through the entrance, Santa's heart betrayed him for half a second before settling again.
Not him, he reminded himself silently.
It never is.
At Tanapon Group headquarters, meetings unfolded with ruthless efficiency.
Executives sat rigidly around the massive conference table while presentation slides reflected across polished screens.
Perth sat at the head of the room, expression unreadable.
The room fell silent immediately.
Perth's voice never needed to rise anymore. That somehow made it worse.
Force stood nearby holding a tablet, glasses sliding slightly down his nose as he observed the room with quiet precision.
Seven years hadn't softened Force either. It had simply sharpened him.
The meeting continued smoothly until Perth suddenly spoke again.
Several executives exchanged startled glances.
Force looked up immediately.
"That proposal was rejected last quarter," he noted carefully once the room finally emptied.
Perth blinked once before glancing back at the paperwork.
"...Fix it."
Force studied him for a long moment.
"You're spacing out more often lately."
Perth loosened his tie slightly.
"I said I'm fine."
Force sighed quietly.
That answer used to mean anger, but now it usually means exhaustion.
Perth let out a short humorless laugh.
"And do what?"
Force didn't answer immediately, because they both already knew.
There were no breaks from grief that lasted seven years.
At kindergarten, Teacher Namtan crouched beside Luke's tiny desk while children colored loudly around them.
Luke smiled proudly.
The picture showed a small café beneath a giant moon with three stick figures standing outside.
Luke hesitated.
His little fingers tightened around the crayon. "...Someone I haven't met yet."
Teacher Namtan's expression softened slightly.
When she mentioned it quietly to Santa during pickup later that afternoon, Santa's smile faded almost imperceptibly.
Santa's grip tightened around Luke's lunchbox strap.
Children shouldn't speak like that, he thought suddenly.
Children shouldn't miss people they were never allowed to know.
Luke skipped happily beside him toward the café completely unaware of the ache settling behind Santa's ribs.
Santa looked up automatically.
A sleek private jet crossed the clouds overhead. For some reason, his chest tightened painfully.
Evening settled slowly across Bangkok.
Traffic lights blurred beneath rain-speckled streets while skyscrapers glowed against the darkening sky.
Perth sat alone in his office long after most employees had gone home.
The city glittered endlessly outside the glass walls.
Force had already left after reminding him twice to eat dinner.
Perth ignored that too.
His tie hung loose around his collar now, while the top button of his shirt is undone. For once, the silence felt heavier than usual.
His phone rested in his hand almost absently while he stared at the screen.
Then, without fully understanding why, he typed a name into the search bar.
Lunaria Café.
Photos appeared instantly.
Warm lighting with wooden tables and fresh pastries arranged carefully behind glass.
A photo uploaded by a customer showed someone blurry in the background behind the counter.
Perth stared at it longer than necessary. Something twisted sharply in his chest.
Not recognition exactly.
More like instinct.
He locked the phone immediately and leaned back hard against his chair.
Ridiculous.
And yet...
For the first time in years, curiosity settled beneath his skin like something waking up.
On the other side of the city, Santa tucked Luke carefully into bed.
Rain tapped softly against the apartment windows while warm lamplight painted gold across the blankets.
Luke yawned dramatically before curling against his pillow.
Luke blinked sleepily toward the ceiling. "Do you think people can miss someone they don't remember?"
Santa froze.
The question landed so suddenly it stole the air from his lungs.
Luke shrugged slightly beneath the blanket. "I don't know," he murmured. "It just feels like that sometimes."
Santa sat quietly beside him.
His fingers brushed gently through Luke's soft hair.
Outside, thunder rumbled faintly in the distance.
Luke nodded sleepily like that answer made perfect sense.
Within minutes, he drifted asleep, but Santa stayed there.
Watching him breathe, watching the tiny rise and fall of his chest.
Watching the shape of Perth hidden quietly in his smile.
Seven years, and somehow love still lived here. Not loudly, just quietly, like something waiting beneath water.
That same night, Perth stood once more before the massive windows of his penthouse.
Rain streaked across the glass.
Far below, Bangkok pulsed endlessly alive.
He should have been thinking about tomorrow's meetings, the merger contracts or the investors that are flying in from Singapore.
Instead, his mind drifted toward a small café he'd passed without noticing before today.
Toward a feeling he couldn't explain.
Toward a life that somehow still felt unfinished.
Across the city, Santa stood at his own apartment window holding a warm mug between both hands.
The same moon hung above them both.
Close enough to share the same sky.
Far enough that neither realized fate had already started pulling their paths together again.
Because parallel lines only appear separate...
Until the exact moment they meet.