Chapter 2 - A Familiar Quiet
Perth used to believe silence was peace.
Seven years of boardrooms, negotiations, and carefully controlled expressions had taught him otherwise.
The silence was not calm, it was pressure waiting to crack.
The elevator descended smoothly from the top floor of Tanapon Group headquarters, soft instrumental music humming quietly through hidden speakers. Numbers blinked downward one by one while Perth stood motionless in the center, hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his tailored coat.
Thirty seven floors.
Thirty seven levels between him and the city waiting below.
His reflection stared back from every mirrored wall.
Sharp jawline with a dark suit fitted perfectly against his broad shoulders.
Silver watch gleaming beneath cold elevator lighting.
Composed and untouchable.
Exactly the version of Perth Tanapon the world preferred.
No one looked at him and saw the seventeen year old boy who once bruised his knuckles bloody protecting someone he loved.
That boy had been buried beneath the expectations, and years of silence.
His phone buzzed softly, a message from Force came in.
You skipped breakfast again.
Perth glanced at the message without expression, then locked the screen.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. Employees immediately straightened as he stepped into the underground parking garage.
Perth acknowledged them with short nods, calm and distant.
People respected him now, while some feared him, but most never dared look at him long enough to realize how exhausted he truly was.
The driver opened the car door immediately. "Your nine o'clock meeting files are inside, sir."
Perth slid into the backseat with a quiet hum of leather. "Thank you."
Bangkok moved around him in endless motion once the car pulled into traffic.
Motorcycles weaving between lanes.
Street vendors preparing breakfast.
Glass towers rising above old buildings like another world growing on top of the first.
Perth skimmed through documents on his tablet without actually absorbing any of the words.
Lately, everything felt slightly out of focus.
Force noticed it, so did Pond.
Even Khaotung had stopped joking about Perth's "midlife crisis" after the third ignored phone call this week.
Something restless had settled beneath Perth's ribs lately, something he couldn't explain.
The car slowed near an intersection.
Morning sunlight spilled across the sidewalk through rows of trees, landing softly against wide café windows glowing warm gold against the busy street.
Perth looked up absently.
Then stilled. A normal café, nothing unusual about it, and yet it like something pulling him.
The car eased toward the curb.
Perth stared through the tinted window for another second before stepping out onto the sidewalk.
Warm air brushed against his face instantly carrying the scent of coffee, rain-damp pavement, and baked bread.
Above the café entrance hung a small elegant sign.
The name tugged faintly at something inside him. Not from memory but more like instinct.
Something quiet and buried shifting beneath years of carefully controlled numbness.
Perth frowned slightly at himself.
It was just a café.
The bell chimed softly when he pushed the door open. Warmth wrapped around him immediately.
Soft music drifted quietly through hidden speakers. Sunlight spilled across wooden tables polished smooth with use. Fresh pastries sat neatly arranged behind glass displays while the scent of espresso and vanilla lingered sweetly in the air.
The place felt lived in.
That unsettled Perth more than any hostile boardroom ever had.
A cheerful barista behind the counter looked up with an easy smile.
Perth blinked once before nodding politely. "Black coffee."
Perth hesitated for the briefest second. "...Perth."
The barista scribbled it onto a cup carelessly. "Got it."
For once, he wasn't Tanapon Group's CEO. He was just another customer waiting for coffee. The realization felt strangely unfamiliar.
Perth chose a table beside the window, setting his phone face down against the polished wood.
Outside, traffic flowed endlessly past the café.
Inside, life moved softly around him.
A college student sleeping against textbooks. Two office workers laughed quietly over breakfast sandwiches. A little girl near the counter carefully stirring whipped cream into her drink with complete concentration.
Perth didn't realize how tense he constantly was until his shoulders slowly loosened against the chair.
Then, the bell above the entrance chimed again. Perth looked up absentmindedly, and time fractured.
Santa stood in the doorway.
For one impossible heartbeat, Perth genuinely forgot how to breathe.
Not memory or a dream, not another stranger with familiar eyes, but the real Santa. Alive and he was standing less than twenty feet away.
His hair was slightly longer now, softer around his face. A cream colored apron wrapped neatly around his waist over a loose sweater with rolled sleeves. He looked older than seventeen obviously older but somehow gentler too.
Less fragile, like life had taught him how to survive quietly. Yet Perth would have recognized him anywhere.
The same eyes, the same careful mouth, the same presence that once turned Perth's entire world inside out.
Seven years collapsed instantly.
Perth's fingers curled tightly against the edge of the table.
Santa hadn't noticed him yet.
He moved behind the counter with practiced ease, greeting customers softly while tying his hair back loosely. Then he laughed quietly at something nearby.
The sound hit Perth directly in the chest.
God.
He forgot that laugh.
No.
That was a lie.
He remembered it too well.
Perth's gaze shifted automatically.
A little boy climbed onto one of the stools near the counter, legs swinging carelessly beneath him while scribbling onto a piece of paper with blue crayons.
Maybe five.
No... older.
Seven, perhaps.
The child looked up at Santa with complete trust shining openly across his face, and something inside Perth twisted sharply.
There was nothing extraordinary about the boy at first glance.
Messy dark hair, with bright curious eyes and his small hands smudged with marker ink.
Yet, Perth couldn't look away.
The child turned suddenly, and their eyes met. Then the little boy smiled brightly, like sunshine breaking through clouds without hesitation.
Perth's chest tightened so fast it almost hurt.
Ridiculous.
Children smiled at strangers all the time, but still, something about it felt strangely personal. Without thinking, Perth lifted his hand slightly in greeting.
The little boy's face lit up instantly, and he waved back enthusiastically.
The movement was so familiar it made Perth's pulse stumble.
Santa followed the motion automatically.
Then froze.
Their eyes met across the café, and everything changed.
The smile vanished from Santa's face immediately, not annoyance or anger, but fear.
Not a loud kind of fear, but worse.
The quiet kind.
The kind that came from being found after years spent hiding.
Perth felt his stomach drop.
Santa's fingers tightened visibly around the cloth in his hands before he looked away too quickly, pretending to wipe down the counter despite the surface already being spotless.
His shoulders had gone stiff, like prey recognizing danger. That reaction hurt more than Perth expected.
Seven years apart and Santa still looked at him like something capable of ruining his life.
The barista returned with Perth's coffee. "Black coffee for Perth!"
Perth barely heard him, his gaze stayed fixed on Santa.
The little boy tugged lightly at Santa's sleeve, saying something too quiet to hear. Santa immediately softened while responding.
The expression on his face twisted something deeper inside Perth's chest, because Santa looked happy.
Not completely.
There were still shadows beneath his eyes, still exhaustion hidden in the way he carried himself, but there was warmth here.
A life.
A routine built carefully without Perth anywhere inside it.
Perth suddenly realized something horrifying. Santa hadn't looked at him like an ex-lover unexpectedly reappearing.
He looked at him like a past he desperately hoped would stay buried.
The coffee sat untouched.
Perth stood abruptly.
The chair scraped softly against the floor. Several customers glanced over briefly before returning to their conversations.
Santa didn't look up again.
That somehow hurt worse.
Perth placed several bills beneath the cup before turning toward the door.
The bell chimed softly once more as he stepped back onto the sidewalk.
Noise swallowed him instantly, but his pulse refused to settle.
The driver hurried toward him looking confused. "Sir? Is everything alright?"
Perth stared blankly across the street for a long moment before answering.
"...Drive."
The car door shut quietly behind him.
Bangkok blurred past the windows once more. Yet Perth barely noticed any of it, because Santa was here.
Close enough to touch, and somehow that truth hurt even more than losing him the first time, because Santa had built an entire life without him.
Perth leaned his head back against the leather seat and closed his eyes briefly.
Seven years ago, Santa vanished without goodbye. Now he'd returned carrying a life Perth clearly had no place in.
And for the first time in years,
Perth Tanapon felt seventeen again.
Lost.
Breathless.
And dangerously close to breaking.