Chapter 7 - Learning To Stay
Morning light filtered through thin hospital curtains, pale and hesitant as if even the sun wasn't sure it deserved to enter the room.
Santa woke in a stiff chair beside Luke's bed, neck aching, one hand still curled tightly around his son's fingers like letting go would rewind everything back to yesterday's terror.
The steady beep of the monitor was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.
Luke slept peacefully now, a small bandage on his forehead softening the sharp memory of impact. His cheeks had color again, warm and alive, the kind of normal Santa hadn't realized he was desperate for until it returned.
For the first time since yesterday...
Santa finally could breathe.
His eyes stung as he leaned forward slightly, resting his forehead near Luke's hand without waking him.
A movement across the room caught his eye, making him froze.
Perth sat on the couch near the window. His shoes were off.
The suit jacket folded neatly beside him like it had been handled too carefully, too respectfully, as if even fabric needed gentleness here.
His phone lay abandoned on the table, screen lighting up repeatedly with unread messages he hadn't bothered to acknowledge.
He stayed all night.
Santa swallowed hard, throat tightening at the realization he hadn't noticed when exhaustion would've made anyone else leave.
Perth noticed him stirring and looked up immediately. "How's his head?" he asked quietly.
His voice was lower than usual. Controlled, but underneath it something raw still lingered, like he hadn't fully exhaled since the accident.
Santa blinked slowly. "You... stayed?"
Perth nodded once. "The doctor said he might wake disoriented. Someone should be here."
As if that explained everything.
As if staying was just logistics and not something heavier.
Santa didn't answer right away.
They fell into a gentle silence that didn't feel empty, just fragile.
Then Luke stirred.
His lashes fluttered. His small fingers twitched against Santa's.
Luke's eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light. Then he frowned.
Perth stiffened slightly, caught off guard. "Seems like it," he replied after a beat, voice careful.
Luke studied him with the serious focus only children had when trying to understand the world.
Then, without warning, he reached out with one small hand.
Perth froze completely.
Santa held his breath.
Luke's fingers closed around Perth's index finger. His small grip was warm.
Perth inhaled sharply through his nose, something in his expression cracking softly not breaking loudly, but quietly rearranging itself into something unfamiliar.
Luke nodded once, satisfied. Then added matter of factly, "Papa cried."
Santa instantly flushed. "Luke..."
Then Perth let out a quiet, broken laugh he clearly didn't expect from himself, looking away for a second like he wasn't used to his chest feeling this full.
Later that morning, Force arrived.
The door opened with controlled precision, but his expression shifted the moment he saw Perth sitting beside the bed, still letting Luke hold his finger while helping him sip apple juice carefully.
Perth didn't look away from Luke. "Cancel everything," he said flatly. "All meetings. All press."
Force blinked. "The board..."
Behind Force, Book stepped in, eyes softening instantly at the scene, the CEO of Tanapon Group gently held a child's cup steady while the child explained something very serious about hospital ceilings.
Perth nodded once.
Force exhaled slowly, processing something that clearly didn't fit into any corporate structure he understood.
Santa watched from the doorway, heart tightening painfully.
Protection.
It was a word he had lived without for seven years, and now it was being spoken like it had always belonged to him.
That afternoon, Luke's fever finally broke down. He woke with sudden energy and immediately demanded pancakes.
Hospital pancakes were unacceptable, he declared with the seriousness of a courtroom verdict.
The nurse tried to argue, but Luke did not accept counterarguments.
Perth stepped in instead.
"I'll handle it," he said calmly.
What followed was the most polite but terrifying negotiation the hospital cafeteria had ever witnessed.
Thirty minutes later, real pancakes arrived, and Luke beamed like he had won a war.
Perth looked mildly startled. "At what?"
The words came out softer than Santa intended.
Perth paused.
His gaze drifted briefly to Luke, syrup already smudged on his cheek, laughing quietly at something only he found funny.
Santa's expression softened faintly. "That means you're doing it right."
Perth looked at him then, like he was trying to understand how Santa still spoke gently after everything.
That evening, Luke grew sleepy again.
The room had dimmed slightly, golden hospital light softening into evening quiet.
As Santa adjusted the blanket around him, Luke mumbled half asleep, "Daddy?"
The word landed differently this time.
Not confusion or on accident, but recognition.
Santa froze completely, while Perth stopped breathing. The room felt suspended between one heartbeat and the next.
Luke yawned, eyes barely open. "Can Daddy stay too?"
Silence.
Even the monitor seemed quieter.
Perth's throat tightened painfully. He looked at Santa first, not the child, as if asking permission from the only person who truly mattered.
Santa didn't speak.
He only nodded once, give him a small, trembling, but real.
Perth exhaled shakily.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said softly.
Luke smiled faintly and drifted back to sleep as if that answer had always been the only one he needed.
Santa pressed his lips together hard, emotions crashing silently behind his eyes.
Perth stood slowly. "I missed everything," he said quietly, voice rough in a way success never touched.
Santa shook his head immediately. "You're here now."
A pause.
Perth met his gaze fully this time.
"And I plan to stay."
Not a promise made lightly, but a decision finally made, although it was late.
Outside the hospital room, cameras flashed faintly near the entrance.
Rumors were already stirring.
The CEO who never stayed anywhere too long was spotted visiting a public hospital repeatedly
Inside, none of that mattered, because for the first time in seven years...
Perth Tanapon wasn't chasing success.
He was learning how to stay.