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The monitors beeped steadily in the hospital room as Perth watched Chimon's chest rise and fall with each breath.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the blinds, creating stripes across Chimon's peaceful sleeping face.
Perth's fingers twitched with the urge to brush away the stray strands of dark hair that had fallen across Chimon's forehead.
"You can sit closer," Chimon's sister said softly from the doorway.
Perth's throat tightened.
Sitting here, watching the familiar curve of Chimon's lips, the delicate arch of his brows—it all came rushing back.
The way Chimon used to trace patterns on Perth's skin in the early morning light. How his eyes would crinkle when he laughed.The sound of his voice, rough with sleep, whispering something against Perth's neck.
The desperate way they had clung to each other that final night, both knowing it was ending but neither wanting to let go.
"I should go," Perth said, standing abruptly. "Santa's waiting for me."
But he didn't move.
His eyes remained fixed on Chimon's sleeping form, remembering how it felt to hold him, to taste the salt of his tears, to promise they would both be okay apart.
They had tried to do the right thing.
Chimon needed space to heal, to fight his demons without dragging Perth into the darkness with him.
Perth needed someone who could give him all of themselves, not just the broken pieces.
So why did it still feel like Perth had left half his heart behind in this very room?
The monitor beeped again, and Chimon stirred slightly. Perth held his breath, torn between fleeing and staying.
Between past and present.
Between what was safe and what his heart truly wanted.
A text vibrated in his pocket—probably Santa wondering where he was. But Perth couldn't bring himself to check it.
Chimon's lashes were fluttering open. His gaze, still clouded with sleep, took a moment to focus.
When recognition dawned, something flickered across his face—pain? Longing?
Perth couldn't tell anymore.
Time had made him rusty at reading the micro-expressions he once knew by heart.
"Morning, P..." Perth's voice came out weak, almost a whisper. His hands gripped the plastic chair arms.
Chimon's lips parted slightly, his voice raspy from sleep. "You're here." The words hung heavy between them, loaded with a year's worth of unsaid things.
His hospital gown had slipped slightly, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone.
Perth shifted uncomfortably, "My drove my mom for regular check in. I saw your sister on the first floor. I thought I..."
The words died in his throat.
What could he say? That he couldn't help himself?
That despite everything—Santa, the past year, their careful distance—his feet had carried him here like muscle memory?
The silence stretched between them. Chimon's fingers played with the edge of his blanket, a nervous habit Perth remembered all too well.
"How are you feeling..." Perth finally asked, desperate to break the suffocating quiet.
"Been better." Chimon's voice cracked slightly.
He recognized that tone—the one that meant Chimon was using every ounce of strength to hold himself together.
Perth's phone buzzed insistently in his pocket. Santa's name flashed on the screen. The guilt rose like bile in his throat.
"I should go," he said softly. His legs felt heavy. They refused to carry him away.
Chimon just nodded, his eyes fixed on some distant point out the window.
The afternoon light caught his profile, highlighting the shadows under his eyes, the slight hollow of his cheeks.
He looked more fragile than Perth remembered, yet somehow stronger too.
The drive home was a blur. Santa's voice on the phone felt distant, background noise to the memory of Chimon's eyes, his voice, the way the air felt charged between them.
Perth found himself touching his own collarbone, remembering how Chimon used to press kisses there, how his breath would catch when Perth would—
No. He couldn't go there.
Not now.
Not when Santa was waiting at home.
Not when he'd finally convinced himself he'd moved on.
But when the night fell and Perth lay in bed, all he could think about was the way Chimon's fingers had gripped that blanket.
How much he wanted to reach out and still those nervous hands with his own.
How some part of him, buried deep but never quite gone, still remembered exactly how their fingers used to fit together.
Sleep didn't come easily that night.
And somewhere between consciousness and dreams, he couldn't quite remember why they'd let go in the first place.
The bedroom was quiet except for Santa's steady breathing beside him. Perth stared at the ceiling, watching shadows dance from passing cars outside. Santa's arm draped across his chest felt both comforting and suffocating.
The younger man's touch was always gentle, always careful—like now, fingers lazily tracing patterns on Perth's skin through his thin t-shirt.
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Santa's voice was soft, in a way that made Perth's guilt twist deeper.
Perth couldn't lie. Not to Santa.
Not when the man had been nothing but patient and kind. "I'm sorry."
Santa's hand stilled on his chest. "Don't be. I knew what I was getting into." There was no bitterness in his voice, just a quiet acceptance that somehow it hurt more.
Perth turned his head, studying Santa's profile in the light. He was beautiful in an uncomplicated way—all warm smiles and easy laughter.
Everything about him was bright, from his optimistic outlook to the way he dressed in cheerful colors.
But that was the problem, wasn't it?
Perth had always been drawn to complexity, to the deep waters that threatened to drown him.
Chimon was like a slow stormy sea at midnight—approachable and yet distant, fun and yet unpredictable.
But god, so beautiful it hurt.
Their love had been all-consuming, slow and steady but filled with passion.
Every touch felt like electricity, every kiss like coming home and falling apart simultaneously.
With Santa, everything was... safe. Their kisses were sweet, their touches gentle.
He was sunshine breaking through clouds, while Chimon had been the full moon on those quiet nights.
Santa never consumed Perth the way Chimon had.
"I write better at night," Perth found himself saying, though he wasn't sure why.
"Everything feels more real in the dark."
Santa's hand resumed its gentle stroking. "I know. You've always been a creature of the night."
The words hit too close to home.
Perth remembered countless nights with Chimon, both of them wide awake at 3 AM, sharing whispered conversations and heated touches.
How Chimon would watch him paint, those intense eyes following every brush stroke.
How they'd drive aimlessly through empty streets, music blasting, feeling like the only two people in the world.
"When we met," Santa continued softly, "you were so exhausted. Like someone had taken all your colors and mixed them into black. I wanted to bring light back into your life."
Perth's throat tightened. "You did. You do."
"But sometimes..." Santa propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at Perth with those kind eyes, "sometimes people need the dark to see the stars."
The metaphor hung between them, heavy with meaning. Perth reached up, cupping Santa's cheek.
This beautiful, understanding man who deserved someone who could love him completely.
"I'm trying," Perth whispered.
Santa smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I know. But maybe that's the problem." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Perth's forehead. "Maybe we shouldn't have to try so hard."
Outside, a car alarm went off briefly before falling silent. Perth closed his eyes, remembering how Chimon used to kiss him—slow, too slow like he was trying to crawl inside Perth's skin.
How different it felt from Santa's careful affection.
***
The lights of the office buzzed overhead when Perth tried to focus on his computer screen.
The words blurred together, his mind wandering despite his best efforts to stay present.
"He's been in hospital again," the words from his senior drifted across the office space. Perth's fingers froze over his keyboard.
His heart did that familiar stutter it always did at any mention of Chimon.
Off's voice followed, casual as if he was discussing the weather. "Just got off...
"I think he takes vacation again. So he won't be there for tonight's gathering."
Perth released a breath he didn't know he was holding, his shoulders sagging slightly.
He glanced at his phone—a sweet good morning text from Santa still unanswered from hours ago.
"Perth?" Gun appeared at his cubicle. "You're still coming tonight, right? Santa already confirmed."
"Yeah," Perth nodded, forcing a smile. "Of course."
Gun lingered, studying him with knowing eyes. "You know... Chimon asked about you the other day."
Perth's heart lurched. "Did he?"
"Mhmm," Gun leaned against the cubicle wall. "Asked if you were happy. If Santa was treating you well."
The words hit Perth like a physical blow. He could picture Chimon asking, probably trying to sound casual, probably fidgeting with whatever was nearest—a pen, a paper clip, anything.
"What did you tell him, P...?" Perth's voice came out hoarser than intended.
Gun's expression softened. "I told him you were doing fine. That Santa's good to you." He paused. "He just nodded and changed the subject. But Perth..."
"Don't," Perth cut him off. "Please, P... Don't."
The afternoon dragged on, each minute feeling like an hour. Perth kept checking his phone, thumb hovering over Chimon's contact name—still saved, still there, like a wound he couldn't help but prod.
'Is he taking care of himself?' He thought. 'Is anyone making sure he eats?'
The memories flooded back—how Perth used to bring food to Chimon's apartment during his bad days.
How sometimes they'd end up tangled together on Chimon's couch, Perth whispering promises against Chimon's skin, both pretending tomorrow would be better.
His phone buzzed—Santa again.
"Can't wait to see you tonight ❤️ Want me to pick you up?"
Perth stared at the message, at the heart emoji that felt simultaneously too much and not enough.
Santa was everything anyone could want— attentive, caring. He deserved someone who didn't flinch at the mention of their ex's name, someone who didn't carry another man's ghost in their heart.
"I'll drive myself," Perth typed back. "See you there."
He glanced at the time—three more hours until the gathering. Three more hours to build his walls back up, to practice his smile, to remind himself why he chose this path.
But as he packed up his things, Perth couldn't help but wonder—was it really a choice if his heart never got the memo?
Moments later, he found himself opening his photo gallery, scrolling back through months of carefully ignored memories until he found it—a picture from last December, Chimon wrapped in that yellow oversized sweater, hair mussed from sleep, that crooked smile that always made Perth's heart skip...
Perth closed the gallery quickly, but the image was burned into his mind. The rest of the workday passed in a haze, each minute stretching like taffy.
That evening, as Perth drove home through the gathering dusk, he took the long route— the one that passed by Chimon's building.
The lights were on in his window, a warm glow against the darkening sky. Perth's foot eased off the gas, the car slowing almost of its own accord.
He could picture it so clearly—Chimon curled up on that worn couch, probably with his phone, still a bit weak from the hospital stay.
Perth's fingers tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. The light changed to green, horns honked behind him.
He drove on.
***
The gathering glittered with success— champagne flutes catching light, polite laughter floating through the upscale venue Perth had spent weeks securing.
He'd thrown himself into the planning, grateful for any distraction from hospital rooms and memories.
Then he saw him.
Chimon stood near the bar, that familiar lean frame wrapped in a black suit that made Perth's mouth go dry.
The jacket hugged his shoulders perfectly, tapering to a waist Perth's hands remembered too well. His dark hair was styled off his forehead, exposing the angle of his cheekbones.
Their eyes met across the room—a fraction of a second that felt like an eternity. Chimon's gaze, still slightly glazed from whatever medication they had him on, flickered with something unreadable before he turned back to the senior staff surrounding him.
"Babe?" Santa's fingers wrapped around Perth's forearm, warm and grounding. "The marketing team wants your input on their new campaign."
Perth let himself be led away, hyper-aware of Chimon's presence like a magnetic pull at his back.
Later, when he was fetching another drink, Perth's eyes were drawn inexorably to the bar.
Chimon leaned against it, tie slightly loosened.
Beside him, a young trainee—Kao, Perth vaguely remembered—stood too close, laughing too loud at whatever Chimon had said.
Something dark and possessive curled in Perth's gut as he watched Kao's hand brush Chimon's arm.
The touch lingered, deliberate. Chimon didn't move away.
Before Perth could stop himself, his feet carried him toward them.
"P'Mon," he heard himself say, voice rougher than intended. "Didn't expect to see you here tonight."
Chimon's eyes met his, something flickering in their depths. "Gun insisted." His voice was slightly hoarse, "Said I needed to stop wallowing."
"I'm glad you came," Kao interjected, shifting closer to Chimon. "Makes the evening more interesting."
Perth's jaw clenched. He remembered that feeling—being drawn into Chimon's orbit, desperate for any crumb of attention.
"How are you feeling?" Perth asked, ignoring Kao completely. "After..."
"Better," Chimon cut him off, fingers tightening around his glass of what Perth noted was just soda. "The doctors say I can return to work next week."
"That's... good." Perth swallowed hard, watching Chimon's throat work as he took a sip. "Are you sure it's not too soon?"
Something soft and painfully familiar crossed Chimon's face—the same look he used to get when Perth fussed over him. "Still worried about me, Perth'?"
"Someone has to," Perth replied before he could stop himself.
The air between them grew thick with unspoken words.
Kao shifted uncomfortably, clearly sensing he'd become irrelevant to the conversation.
"Perth?" Santa's voice cut through the tension. "There you are. Oh, hi P' Chimon! Feeling better?"
Chimon's expression shuttered, that careful mask sliding back into place. "Much better, thanks."
He turned to Kao. "Would you mind getting me another drink?"
The younger man practically bounced away, eager to please. Perth wanted to tell him it was pointless—that Chimon's sweet smiles and gentle touches didn't mean what he thought they meant.
That Chimon gave affection freely but his heart... his heart was a fortress few had ever breached.
"The gathering turned out great," Chimon said to Santa, all professional courtesy. "Perth always had an eye for details."
"He does," Santa agreed, sliding an arm around Perth's waist. The touch felt wrong somehow, performative. "Though he stressed himself sick over it."
"He always does," Chimon's voice softened with memory. "Takes everything too seriously."
Their eyes met again, and for a moment the years fell away. Perth remembered late nights of Chimon forcing him to take breaks, of gentle hands massaging tension from his shoulders, of whispered reassurances against his skin.
Kao returned with Chimon's drink, breaking the spell. Santa's arm tightened slightly around Perth's waist.
"We should mingle," Santa said cheerfully. "Good to see you up and about, P'Chimon."
As Santa guided him away, Perth glanced back. Chimon stood watching them go, something raw and honest breaking through his careful mask for just a moment.
Then Kao said something, drawing his attention, and the mask slipped back into place.
Perth let Santa lead him through the crowd, making appropriate small talk, playing the role of the perfect boyfriend.
But his skin buzzed with awareness of Chimon's presence, his ears straining for that familiar laugh.
Some habits, it seemed, refused to die. Some feelings ran too deep to be buried. And some loves.
***
Late into the night, after the gathering had wound down, Perth found himself alone on the venue's balcony. The city sprawled below.
His tie hung loose around his neck, top buttons undone against the humid air.
The glass door slid open behind him. Perth didn't need to turn to know who it was—he'd recognize those footsteps anywhere.
"Everyone's leaving," Chimon's voice was soft, slightly raspy. He stayed by the door, maintaining that careful distance they'd cultivated over the past year. "Santa's looking for you."
Perth's fingers tightened on the railing. "I needed some air."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with things unsaid. Perth could sense Chimon shifting his weight, probably fighting that urge to fidget that always came when he was nervous.
"You've lost weight," Perth said finally, still not turning. "Are you eating properly?"
A quiet exhale. "You don't get to ask me that anymore, Perth."
The words stung with truth.
Perth closed his eyes, he didn't know how to respond to that.
"I saw the paintings in your office," Chimon continued, his voice careful, measured. "They are... They're... different."
Perth swallowed hard.
The paintings—all safe colors, gentle landscapes, nothing like the raw, dark pieces he used to create when Chimon was his muse.
"Santa likes them," Perth said, the words tasting hollow.
"Do you?"
Perth finally turned.
Chimon stood in the doorway, jacket discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up to expose lean forearms.
The city lights caught the sharp planes of his face, softening the shadows under his eyes.
"I don't know what I like anymore," Perth admitted.
Something flickered in Chimon's eyes—pain? Understanding? He took a step forward, then seemed to catch himself.
"Your hands are shaking," Perth noticed, concern overriding caution. "Side effects from the new meds?"
Chimon glanced down at his trembling fingers. "They'll adjust the dosage next week." He shoved his hands in his pockets.
The space between them felt charged, like the air before a storm. Perth wanted to cross it, to steady those shaking hands with his own.
"P'Perth?" Santa's voice drifted from inside. "We should get going, love."
Chimon stepped back immediately, that careful mask sliding back into place.
But not before Perth caught a glimpse of something raw and honest in his eyes.
"Goodnight, Perth," Chimon said softly, turning to leave. He paused at the door.
"The blue painting, the one with the stormy sea... that one felt like you."
Then he was gone, leaving Perth alone with the city lights and the weight of what remained unspoken.
Inside, Santa waited with Perth's coat and a gentle smile.
That night, Perth lay awake staring at the ceiling. His fingers itched for a paintbrush, for dark colors and violent strokes, for the kind of art that bled truth onto canvas.
Tomorrow, he decided.
Tomorrow he would paint again.
Really paint.
Not the safe pieces that pleased others, but the emotions that raged inside him.
***
A week later
The steady patter of rain against Ohm's floor-to-ceiling windows created a hypnotic rhythm.
Perth nursed his whiskey. His new painting had sold that morning—a stormy piece full of deep blues and violent purples that made Santa furrow his brow in concern.
The color was midnight blue, the exact shade of the shirt Chimon wore to their last meeting.
"Playing tonight?" Ohm gestured to the guitar propped in the corner of his luxurious penthouse.
"Maybe later," Perth murmured, watching droplets race down the glass.
The door opened, bringing a gust of rain-scented air and... him.
Chimon stood in the doorway, water dripping from his hair onto the collar of his black button-down.
The fabric clung to his shoulders.
Their eyes met across the room, and Perth's fingers tightened around his glass.
"Shit weather," Chimon said to no one in particular, running a hand through his wet hair.
The motion exposed his throat, water droplets sliding down to disappear beneath his collar. "Sorry I'm late."
"Get changed before you catch something," Ohm tossed him a bundle of clothes. "Your old stuff's still in the guest room."
Perth watched Chimon disappear down the hallway, remembering countless nights spent here during their relationship.
He remembered how Chimon would curl up in that oversized armchair by the window, watching Perth play guitar until his eyes grew heavy.
When Chimon returned, he wore one of Ohm's sweaters that hung slightly loose on his frame.
His hair was towel-dried into messy spikes.
"Play something," Earth called out, already tipsy. "Perth's been hoarding that guitar all night."
Before Perth could protest, the instrument was thrust into his hands. The familiar weight settled against his chest.
His fingers found the strings, muscle memory taking over. The opening notes of his newest composition filled the room.
He didn't look up, but he felt Chimon's presence like a physical touch. Knew without checking that he'd taken his usual spot in that armchair, probably with his legs tucked under him.
The song built slowly, like gathering storm clouds. Perth had written it at 3 AM, paint-stained and raw, thinking about hospital rooms and trembling hands and all the words they'd never said.
When he finally glanced up, Chimon was watching him with an intensity that made his breath catch.
Those dark eyes saw too much, understood too well. Perth's fingers faltered on the strings.
"That's new," Chimon said softly, his voice barely carrying over the rain. "When did you write it?"
"Last week." Perth's throat felt tight. "After the gathering."
Understanding flickered across Chimon's face. He shifted in the chair, that familiar nervous energy radiating from him. "It sounds like... before."
Before.
When Perth's music was all passion and pain. When every note carried the weight.
Before he started writing the kind of pleasant, forgettable melodies that made Santa smile.
"Yeah," Perth admitted. "It does."
The room had grown quiet, their friends sensing the charged atmosphere. Even the rain seemed to soften.
"Play the bridge again," Chimon requested, his voice rough. "The part that sounds like waiting."
Perth's heart stuttered. Of course Chimon would hear it—the longing woven into each note.
His fingers moved across the strings, pulling out the ache he'd poured into the composition.
Chimon closed his eyes, head tilting back against the chair.
"Fucking hell," Earth broke the spell, "when did music hour turn into therapy session?"
Laughter rippled through the room, breaking the tension. Perth set the guitar aside, his hands shaking slightly.
He needed air, needed space from the way Chimon's presence filled every corner of his consciousness.
The balcony offered escape, though the rain had left the air thick and heavy. Perth leaned against the wet railing, letting the moisture seep into his sleeves.
"You're getting better," Chimon's voice came from behind him. "At letting it out through art instead of keeping it in."
Perth didn't turn. "My therapist says it's healthy."
"Is that why you started painting again? Really painting, not those safe little landscapes."
"You've been keeping track of my work?"
A pause. "Gun shows me sometimes. Says it helps him understand how you're doing."
Perth finally turned.
Chimon stood closer than expected, the oversized sweater making him look younger, more vulnerable.
"And how am I doing?" Perth asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Chimon met his gaze steadily. "Your colors are coming back. But they're different now. Deeper. Like you've learned to swim instead of just drowning."
The accuracy of the observation hit Perth like a physical blow. Chimon saw right through him.
"I missed this," Chimon admitted suddenly, looking out at the rain-soaked city. "Watching you create. You always looked most alive when you were making something beautiful out of pain."
"Mon..." Perth's voice cracked.
"I should go back inside," Chimon said quickly, stepping back. "Santa will be here soon, right?"
The mention of Santa felt like cold water down Perth's spine.
"Right," he managed. "He's coming after his shift."
Chimon nodded, already retreating. But he paused at the door, his hand resting on the frame. "That song... will you record it?"
"Do you want me to?"
A ghost of a smile touched Chimon's lips. "Yeah. I'd like to hear it again. When I'm alone."
The implications of that statement hung in the humid air between them.
Perth watched Chimon disappear back into the warmth of the party, leaving him with the rain and the memory of what his music used to mean to them both.
Inside, he could hear Earth demanding more songs, the clink of glasses, laughter.
But Perth stayed on the balcony, letting the mist dampen his skin.
***
The expensive whiskey burned pleasantly in Perth's veins as he wandered down Ohm's hallway.
The sounds of the party grew muffled, replaced by the steady drumming of rain against windows.
His fingers traced the wall for balance, mind hazy with alcohol and need.
The door was slightly ajar, he saw warm light spilling into the hallway. Perth's breath caught at the sight of Chimon through the gap—lounging on the bed, one arm behind his head, phone casting a blue glow across his features.
Ohm's borrowed sweater had ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of skin above his waistband.
Perth pushed the door open. Chimon looked up, dark eyes widening slightly.
"What's wrong?" Chimon asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
Perth didn't answer.
Couldn't answer.
The alcohol thrumming through his system had stripped away his carefully constructed walls, leaving only raw want.
He crossed the room in three strides, crawling onto the bed with single-minded purpose.
"Perth, what-" Chimon's words were cut off. Perth crashed their lips together.
The kiss was messy, desperate—nothing like the careful pecks he shared with Santa.
Chimon made a startled sound against his mouth, his phone clattering to the floor.
For one terrifying moment, he was completely still.
Then Chimon's hands fisted in Perth's shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing away.
He opened his mouth with a broken moan that Perth felt in his bones. They kissed like drowning men finding air, all clashing teeth and searching tongues.
"Fuck," Chimon gasped when they finally broke apart. His lips were swollen, eyes wild. "Perth, we can't-"
"I know," Perth breathed against his jaw. "I know we can't." But he was already mouthing down Chimon's throat, tasting rain-damp skin and familiar cologne.
His hands slid under that borrowed sweater, mapping the ridges of ribs he used to know by heart.
Chimon arched into the touch, even as he protested. "You're drunk. You have Santa. We— ah!" His words dissolved into a whimper when Perth bit down on his pulse point.
"Not that drunk," Perth murmured into his skin. "Drunk enough to be brave. Not drunk enough to forget this."
His fingers traced the slight hollow of Chimon's stomach, feeling it quiver under his touch. "I miss you. Miss touching you. Miss how you taste."
"Perth..." Chimon's voice cracked on his name. His hands moved restlessly over Perth's back, like he couldn't decide whether to pull him closer or push him away. "We said we wouldn't..."
"I know what we said." Perth raised his head, meeting Chimon's conflicted gaze. "But tell me you don't think about it. About us. Tell me you don't miss this."
Instead of answering, Chimon surged up to recapture his lips. The kiss was slower this time, deeper, filled with all the longing they'd tried to bury.
Perth groaned as Chimon's tongue swept into his mouth, remembering countless nights spent learning each other's bodies.
Their hips aligned and Perth felt Chimon's hardness press against his thigh.
The contact drew matching moans from both of them. Perth rolled his hips experimentally, swallowing Chimon's gasp.
"Wait," Chimon panted, pulling back slightly. His chest heaved under Perth's palms. "The door..."
Reality crashed back in.
The party continued down the hall—their friends, Santa's imminent arrival, all the reasons this was a terrible idea.
Perth's head spun with more than just alcohol.
He sat back on his heels, taking in the sight of Chimon sprawled beneath him. Hair mussed, sweater rucked up, lips red and swollen.
Beautiful in a way that made Perth's chest physically ache.
"Mon..." he started, not sure what he was going to say.
"Don't," Chimon cut him off softly. He sat up, adjusting his clothes with trembling hands. "Just... don't say anything."
Perth watched those familiar nervous movements.
He stood on shaky legs, putting distance between them before he could give in to the urge to taste Chimon's skin again.
"I should..." Perth gestured vaguely at the door.
"Yeah," Chimon wouldn't meet his eyes. "You should."
Perth made it halfway to the door before Chimon's voice stopped him.
"Perth?"
He turned.
Chimon sat cross-legged on the bed now, looking young and vulnerable in the borrowed sweater.
"I do," Chimon said quietly. "Miss it. Miss you. But that doesn't make it right."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with truth and regret. Perth nodded once, not trusting his voice, and fled the room before he could do something stupid like crawl back into Chimon's arms.
He leaned against the wall in the hallway, listening to the rain and trying to steady his breathing.
His lips still tingled from Chimon's kisses, his hands remembering the feel of warm skin under his palms.
Somewhere in the apartment, he heard Santa's arrival being greeted with cheerful hellos. Perth closed his eyes, guilt and want warring in his chest.
***
The late-night diner's lights cast harsh shadows across Santa's concerned face. Perth pushed his Pad Thai around the plate, barely tasting it.
His mind still trapped in that dim guest room, remembering the taste of rain on Chimon's skin.
"You're quiet tonight," Santa observed, stirring his coffee. The spoon clinked against porcelain with each rotation. "Did something happen at Ohm's?"
Perth's throat tightened. "Just tired. The new paintings are taking a lot out of me."
Santa reached across the table, fingers brushing Perth's wrist. The touch felt wrong somehow—too gentle, too understanding. "You've been different lately. Ever since..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
They both knew when Perth had started changing.
"I should head home," Perth said, pulling his hand back. "Early meeting tomorrow."
Santa's eyes held too much knowledge, too much patience. "Want me to stay over?"
"Not tonight." Perth couldn't meet his gaze. "I need to work on some compositions."
They parted with a chaste kiss outside the diner. Perth watched Santa's car disappear into the night traffic.
As soon as he was back in his apartment, he dialed Ohm's number. The phone rang three times before his best friend answered.
"What's up?" Ohm's voice was thick with sleep.
"Did I leave my jacket at yours?" Perth asked, pacing his living room.
What he really meant was: Is he still there?
"Nah, everyone cleared out hours ago." A pause. "Including Chimon, if that's what you're really asking."
Perth's breath caught. "I wasn't-"
"Perth." Ohm's tone turned serious. "I saw you follow him to the guest room. And I saw your face when you came out. Whatever you're thinking of doing right now—don't."
But Perth was already grabbing his keys, slipping on his shoes. "I left something important in that jacket."
"No, you didn't." Ohm sighed. "You're going to his place, aren't you?"
"I need to talk to him."
"At midnight? After what happened in my guest room?" Another sigh. "Perth, you're with Santa now. He's good for you."
"I know." Perth's voice cracked. "I know he is. But Mon..."
"Is finally getting better," Ohm finished firmly. "Don't drag you both back into that mess. You remember how bad it got last time."
Perth did remember. The 3 AM panic attacks, the days Chimon wouldn't eat.
But he also remembered the way Chimon's eyes would crinkle when he smiled.
"I have to see him," Perth said quietly. "Just... just to talk."
"You're going to hurt Santa."
"I'm already hurting him by pretending."
Silence stretched over the line. Finally, Ohm spoke: "His new address is in the building next to the art gallery. Unit 1407. Don't make me regret telling you that."
Perth was already heading for the door. "Thank you."
"Perth?" Ohm's voice stopped him. "Be careful with him. He's not as strong as he pretends to be."
The drive to Chimon's building passed in a blur of neon lights and late-night traffic.
Perth's hands gripped the steering wheel too tight, his mind replaying the feel of Chimon's lips, the sound of his gasps, the way his body remembered every curve and hollow.
He parked in the visitor's lot, staring up at the modern high-rise. Somewhere up there, Chimon was probably getting ready for bed.
Maybe thinking about their kisses too.
Maybe. Maybe regretting them.Perth's phone buzzed—a text from Santa:
Hope you get some rest. Love you 😘
He stared at the message until the screen went dark, then got out of the car. The night air was still heavy with humidity.
As he walked toward the building's entrance, Perth knew he was about to make either the biggest mistake of his life or the only decision that had ever truly mattered.
The elevator ride to the 14th floor gave him too much time to think, to remember, to doubt. But when the doors opened, his feet carried him forward without hesitation.
Unit 1407.
Perth stood before the dark wood door, heart thundering in his chest. Light spilled from underneath.
Chimon was awake.
Before he could lose his nerve, Perth raised his hand and knocked.
The door swung open to reveal Chimon flushed and disheveled. His thin white t-shirt clung to his damp skin, hair wild like he'd been running his fingers through it.
A sheen of sweat glistened on his neck, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.
Perth's mouth went dry at the sight. He knew that look—had seen it countless times in their shared past.
The glazed eyes, the bitten lips, the slight tremor in Chimon's hands.
"Did I interrupt something?" Perth's voice came out rougher than intended.
Chimon shifted uncomfortably, not meeting his eyes. "I..." He swallowed hard. "Look, if this isn't urgent, can we talk tomorrow?"
He started to close the door, but Perth's palm pressed against it, holding it open. The proximity let him catch Chimon's scent—soap and sweat and something darker, more primal.
"Were you just... touching yourself?" Perth asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.
He knew the answer. He could read it in every line of Chimon's body, in the way his pupils were blown wide, in the flush spreading down his neck.
Chimon's breath hitched. "Perth..."
"Were you thinking about earlier?" Perth pressed closer, backing Chimon into the apartment. "About what happened in Ohm's guest room?"
"You shouldn't be here," Chimon protested weakly. He retreated from Perth's advance. His back hit the wall beside his door.
"But I am here," Perth murmured, closing the door behind him. "And you were just thinking about me, weren't you? About my hands on you, my mouth..."
"Fuck," Chimon's head fell back against the wall, exposing the column of his throat. "We can't— this isn't—"
"Tell me to leave," Perth challenged, stepping into Chimon's space. "Tell me you don't want this."
Instead of answering, Chimon grabbed Perth's shirt and yanked him forward, crashing their mouths together. The kiss was desperate, messy, full of teeth and tongue and pent-up need.
Perth pressed him harder against the wall, hands sliding under that thin t-shirt to find hot skin. Chimon arched into the touch with a broken moan that sent fire through Perth's veins.
"Been thinking about you," Chimon gasped between kisses. "Since the party. Couldn't stop—ah!" He cut off with a whimper as Perth's teeth found his neck.
"Show me," Perth growled against his skin. "Show me what you were just doing. What you were thinking about."
Chimon's hands fisted tighter in Perth's shirt. "Perth, please..."
"Please what?" Perth nipped at his earlobe. "Tell me what you need."
"Need you," Chimon breathed. "Need everything."
Perth pulled back just enough to meet Chimon's eyes—dark with desire, vulnerable with honesty. "Then take it," he whispered. "Take everything."
Their lips met again, softer this time but no less hungry.
Perth lifted Chimon into his arms, carrying him toward the bedroom. He knew there was no going back from this moment.
The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the rest of the world—with all its complications and consequences—on the other side.
They crashed through the bedroom doorway, a tangle of desperate hands and gasping breaths. The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the scene—the rumpled sheets, the still-buzzing black silicone toy, the open bottle of lube glistening in the light.
"Fuck," Perth groaned at the sight. His cock strained painfully against his zipper. Chimon bit his lower lip, both eyes dark with embarrassment and arousal.
Perth stripped Chimon's shirt off with shaking hands, mouth immediately finding that sensitive spot below his collarbone. Chimon arched against him with a whimper, fingers fumbling with Perth's belt.
"Wanted you so bad," Chimon gasped as Perth marked his throat. "Couldn't stop thinking about— ah!"
Perth pushed him onto the bed, drinking in the sight of him.
"This what you were using?" Perth growled, picking up the vibrating plug. "Trying to fill yourself with plastic while thinking of me?"
Chimon whined, spreading his legs wider. "Please, Perth..."
Perth sank into him in one fluid motion, already slick and stretched. The tight heat made his vision blur.
Knowing Chimon had been fucking himself, desperately chasing release while imagining this moment—it unleashed something primal in Perth's chest.
His thrusts turned brutal, possessive. Each snap of his hips drew increasingly loud cries from Chimon, his nails raking down Perth's back.
"Mine," Perth snarled against his throat. "No fucking toy can give you what you need. Only me."
"Perth, wait-" Chimon's voice cracked. "Slow down, it hurts..."
Perth forced himself to slow, feeling Chimon's tight heat pulse around him. Every inch was exquisite torture.
"Shhh," Perth breathed against Chimon's ear, catching a salty tear with his lips. "Let me in, baby. Your body remembers me."
Chimon's fingers dug into Perth's shoulders, chest heaving. "It's been... nnngh... too long." His hole clenched and fluttered, trying to adjust to Perth's girth.
"Fuck, you're so tight." Perth rolled his hips gently, drawing a broken sob from Chimon. "But your ass is still shaped for my cock, isn't it? Still knows exactly who it belongs to."
Chimon turned his face into the pillow, but Perth caught his chin. "Look at me," he commanded softly. "Want to see your face while I fill you up again."
Their eyes locked as Perth pushed the final inches home. Chimon's mouth fell open in a silent scream, tears tracking down his temples. His inner walls gripped Perth like a vice, quivering around the intrusion.
"That's it," Perth praised, staying perfectly still to let him adjust. "Taking me so well. Just like you used to."
Chimon's breath came in hitching gasps. "You're... bigger than I remembered."
Perth caught one of those gasps with his mouth, kissing him deeply while his body acclimated. He could feel every twitch, every pulse as Chimon's channel gradually relaxed around him.
"No toy could ever fill you up like this," Perth murmured against his lips. "Could never reach these spots that make you cry."
To prove his point, he shifted slightly, angling for that bundle of nerves he knew by heart. Chimon's whole body jerked, a fresh tear escaping.
"Perth, please..." Chimon's voice was wrecked, desperate. "Need... need you to move."
"Yeah?" Perth nipped at his jaw. "Ready for me to fuck you proper? Make you remember who you belong to?"
Chimon nodded frantically, hips trying to grind down. "Please, please, please..."
Perth drew back slowly, savoring the drag of Chimon's walls clinging to him, before pushing back in with measured control.
Each thrust earned him a broken moan, Chimon's body opening up for him like a flower to the sun.
"Missed this," Perth groaned, picking up his pace slightly. "Missed how perfect you feel around me. How you take every inch like you were made for it."
Chimon could only whimper in response, his hole fluttering and gripping with each withdrawal. His cock leaked steadily between them.
Perth knew they should talk—about Santa, about their past, about what this meant.
But right now, buried deep in Chimon's heat while tears of pleasure tracked down his face, nothing else seemed to matter.
They had always communicated better with bodies than words anyway.
Perth's thrust turned calculating, each movement deliberate and cruel. Watching Chimon writhe beneath him, he felt years of anger bubble up like poison.
"You left me," Perth growled, pinning both of Chimon's wrists above his head with one hand. His other gripped Chimon's hip hard enough to bruise. "You fucking ran away."
"Ahh... Perth..." Chimon's back arched as Perth dragged his cock torturously slow across his prostate.
"Couldn't handle it, could you?" Perth pulled almost completely out before slamming back in, making Chimon cry out. "Too weak to fight. Too scared to let me help."
Each thrust punctuated his words, shallow but deep enough to brush that spot that made Chimon's toes curl.
Perth knew this body too well. He knew exactly how to keep him teetering on the edge of pleasure and pain.
"We were perfect," Perth snarled, tightening his grip on Chimon's wrists when he tried to squirm free. "But you chose to break us instead of being strong."
"I'm...'m sorry," Chimon sobbed, tears streaming down his face. His cock leaked steadily onto his stomach, neglected and angry red. "I couldn't- nnngh... couldn't burden you..."
"Burden me?" Perth laughed darkly, angling his thrusts to nail Chimon's prostate with precise cruelty. "You were everything to me. Everything."
Chimon thrashed beneath him, trying desperately to touch himself, to get the friction he needed. But Perth held him firmly in place, watching him fall apart.
"Please," Chimon begged, voice cracking. "Perth, please..."
"Please what?" Perth slowed his pace to an agonizing crawl. "Please let you come? Please forgive you for running away? For leaving me alone?"
Each word dripped with years of hurt, of anger, of love turned bitter. His hips snapped forward sharply, making Chimon wail.
"You don't get to beg," Perth growled into his ear. "Not after what you did. Not after choosing your demons over me."
Chimon sobbed openly now, his hole clenching desperately around Perth's cock with each torturous drag.His wrists would have bruises tomorrow.
"We could have had everything," Perth's voice cracked slightly. "I would have given you everything."
He kept his pace ruthless and measured, using his intimate knowledge of Chimon's body against him. Every thrust was calculated to drive him mad with need while denying him release.
This wasn't making love.
This wasn't even fucking.
This was punishment—for leaving, for giving up, for making Perth learn to live without the other half of his soul.
Perth's teeth found Chimon's right nipple first, biting down until he heard that familiar desperate whine. The sensitive bud hardened instantly between his teeth as he dragged his tongue roughly across it.
"Fuck! Perth, please!" Chimon arched up violently, his chest pushing into Perth's mouth.
"These little nipples," Perth growled, moving to the left one and biting harder. "Still so fucking sensitive."
Chimon thrashed beneath him, cock leaking steadily as Perth's teeth worried the tender flesh. His body remembered everything—every spot that made him break.
"We promised," Perth snarled against his chest, grinding his hips in slow, torturous circles. His cock pressed relentlessly against Chimon's prostate. "We fucking promised we wouldn't break. But you..."
"I'm sorry!" Chimon sobbed, his nails raking bloody lines down Perth's back. "I'm so sorry!"
Perth laughed darkly, rolling his hips deeper. "Sorry doesn't fix what you did. Doesn't erase how you left me alone."
Each circular thrust drew increasingly desperate sounds from Chimon's throat. His legs wrapped around Perth's waist, trying to pull him deeper, faster—anything to ease the torment.
"Let them hear you," Perth commanded, biting down on a nipple again while grinding mercilessly. "Let the whole fucking building hear how sorry you are."
Chimon's screams echoed off the walls, a mixture of pleasure and agony. His nails carved fresh tracks across Perth's chest, marking him like Perth had marked him.
Chimon's body seized beneath him, hole clenching rhythmically around Perth's cock as tears streamed down his face. His nails dug deeper, drawing blood, but Perth welcomed the pain.
It was nothing compared to what he'd felt when Chimon left.
Perth leaned down to bite the tender spot where Chimon's neck met his shoulder, deliberately marking him. He wanted to leave proof that this was real, that Chimon was his again.
"Nghhhh... Perth!" Chimon's voice cracked as he writhed. His hole clenched desperately around Perth's throbbing length. "Please, I need..."
"What do you need?" Perth growled against his throat, grinding his hips in slow circles. "Tell me exactly what you're begging for."
"Need you to fuck me harder," Chimon sobbed, his cock leaking steadily between them. "Make me feel it for days. Please!"
Perth's control snapped at those words. He pulled almost completely out before slamming back in brutally deep, making Chimon scream. The headboard banged against the wall with each savage thrust.
"Like this?" Perth snarled, setting a punishing pace. His fingers dug bruises into Chimon's hips. "This what you've been missing? What no fucking toy could give you?"
"Yes! Fuck, yes!" Chimon's back arched off the bed as Perth nailed his prostate. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"
Perth grabbed Chimon's legs, pushing them up toward his chest to change the angle. The new position let him sink even deeper, drawing broken wails from Chimon's throat.
"Look at you," Perth panted, watching his cock disappear into Chimon's stretched hole over and over. "Taking my cock so perfectly. Like you were made for it."
Chimon could only respond with increasingly desperate moans. His inner walls fluttered and gripped with each thrust, trying to keep Perth buried inside.
"Want to feel you come on my cock," Perth demanded, reaching between them to wrap his hand around Chimon's neglected length. "Want to feel this tight little hole milk me dry."
Chimon's entire body seized as his orgasm hit, screaming Perth's name as he painted their chests with thick ropes of cum. His hole clamped down, pulling Perth's own release from him.
Perth buried himself to the hilt as he came, marking Chimon from the inside with pulse after pulse. He wanted to claim every inch, leave no doubt who Chimon belonged to.
Perth's chest heaved as sweat cooled on his skin, the room heavy with the scent of sex and regret.
His vision swam, focusing and unfocusing on the ceiling fan spinning lazily above. The sheets beneath him were damp, sticky with their combined fluids.
"Fuck," he whispered again, the word hanging in the thick silence. His throat felt raw from earlier growls and commands.
Next to him, Chimon's ragged breathing filled the space between heartbeats.
No words, no gentle touches, no sweet nothings—just the deafening quiet they always fell into after fucking.
So different from Santa's warm embraces and tender pillow talk.
The thought of Santa hit Perth like a punch to the gut. Sweet Santa who deserved better than this betrayal. Who filled Perth's bed with laughter and conversation instead of this suffocating silence.
A soft sound drew Perth's attention. Through blurred vision, he saw Chimon turn away, hands covering his face.
The first sob was barely audible—a hitched breath, a trembling shoulder. But soon the cries grew stronger, more desperate, until Chimon's whole body shook with them.
"Hnngh.... fuck....." Chimon's voice cracked between sobs, raw and broken. His fingers dug into his face, nails leaving crescent marks on tear-stained cheeks.
Perth lay frozen, listening to Chimon break down. The sound ripped through him.
"Fuck," Chimon choked out between sobs, his voice thick with anguish. "This is a fucking mistake."
His chest heaved with each wail, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks.
"P'Mon..." Perth whispered tenderly, his heart breaking at the familiar sound of Chimon's pain. The nickname felt both right and wrong on his tongue, heavy with years of history.
Chimon's body shook harder as he gasped for breath between sobs. "I am so sorry. I am so fucked up."
His voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Santa doesn't deserve this. YOU don't deserve this."
The wails grew louder, more primal—the sound of someone shattering from within.
Perth couldn't bear it anymore. The cries pierced through him like physical pain.
Acting on instinct, Perth reached out and pulled Chimon against his chest. The older man's skin was still slick with cooling sweat, trembling beneath Perth's touch. He could feel each sob wracking through Chimon's frame.
"Shhhhh," Perth murmured, running his hands soothingly along Chimon's spine.
Their eyes met in the dim light. Chimon's were red-rimmed and glassy with tears, dark lashes clumped together wetly.
Perth traced the delicate arch of his eyebrow, the sharp angle of his cheekbone, the soft curve of his bottom lip—still swollen from earlier kisses.
Chimon's breath hitched at the gentle exploration, fresh tears spilling over Perth's fingertips.
His face was beautiful even in despair - perhaps especially in despair. It was the face Perth had dreamed of for years, had tried so hard to forget.
"P'Mon..." Perth whispered again, thumb catching another tear as it fell.
"I cannot shake you off my skin," Chimon whispered, his voice trembling. Tears continued flowing down his cheeks.
"Even when my brain said I shouldn't," he continued, breath hitching between words.
His eyes were wide, vulnerable, filled with a pain that made Perth's chest ache. "I tried so hard to forget... to let you go..."
Perth watched a tear roll down the curve of Chimon's jaw.
"I know you're happy now..." Chimon's voice cracked. "But I-" He choked on the words. His hands shook where they gripped Perth's skin.
"You're right, I am so sorry for being weak." The words came out broken. Chimon's whole body trembled against Perth's chest.
Perth felt his throat constrict, now from holding back his own tears. He'd never meant to blame Chimon's depression for their breakup.
He had promised himself he wouldn't. Yet here they were.
"I'm so sorry, Perth," Chimon whispered, his fingers tracing the contours of Perth's face with desperate tenderness. "We could have had everything."
They did have everything—passionate love, deep understanding, a connection that transcended words.
Until the darkness in Chimon's mind convinced him he was a burden, that leaving was the only way to save Perth from drowning with him.
"It doesn't matter now." Chimon's voice was hollow. He pushed himself up from the bed.
His naked form caught the city lights filtering through the window, highlighting the fresh marks Perth had left across his skin.
"You need to go." The words came out flat, emotionless.
Chimon's hands trembled slightly. He wrapped his arms around himself, like he was trying to hold something inside from spilling out.
"P'Mon..." Perth knew this dance too well— how Chimon would build walls the moment vulnerability threatened to overwhelm him, pushing away anyone who got too close to his broken parts.
Chimon padded silently to the window. He reached for a pack of cigarettes hidden behind a plant pot, pulling one out with shaking fingers. And lit it up.
Perth's brow furrowed in confusion. In all their years together, he'd never seen Chimon smoke. The sight of him taking a long drag, exhaling a stream of smoke into the night air, felt wrong somehow—like watching a stranger wearing his lover's skin.
With a heavy sigh, Perth began gathering his scattered clothes from the floor. His shirt was wrinkled where Chimon had gripped it earlier in desperation.
His belt still lay where it had been hastily discarded in their frenzy to get closer.
Each item felt like another weight added to his heart. The room smelled of sex and cigarette smoke now. Their passion had cooled, leaving only ashes and regret.
⭐End⭐