Chapter Text
By seven, the sun was already gone—pulled clean out of the sky like someone had yanked a sheet over the whole neighborhood.
Bangkok didn’t really do true darkness. It did this in-between thing instead: streetlights humming awake, warm squares of window light, the faint orange bleed from distant roads. The heat didn’t leave, either. It just softened into something wetter, heavier, clinging to skin and fabric the moment you stepped out of air-conditioning.
Perth came back to the guard post with damp cuffs and grit at the hem of his jeans, like the night had already had a chance to touch him.
Two hours.
Two hours since Santa’s voice cracked on the phone—thin and trying to sound okay, like he was holding himself together with stubbornness. Two hours since the house had cracked open.
At first—Perth hadn’t panicked about Domiia.
Miiang was a bright kid. Chaotic. Stubborn in a way Perth was secretly proud of. And Perth had always raised him with room to breathe: go ahead, climb too high; go ahead, run too fast—learn your limits, learn your world, learn how to come back. A gated complex, security, familiar roads, the kind of “outside” that was still inside.
Perth’s first worry had been Santa.
Santa with that tight voice, the quiet pauses in the wrong places. Santa, tired and shaken, left alone with a house full of feelings. Perth could picture it too easily—His mate trying to stay gentle, trying to be the adult, when his own body and heart were already stretched thin.
So Perth had told himself: Domiia will come back.
Let him cool off. Let him be angry. He’ll circle back when he’s hungry. When he realizes the world doesn’t bend just because he’s hurt.
That belief held—for maybe forty minutes.
Then the minutes started stacking. Fifty. Sixty. The sky dimmed, and the air changed. People came home from work. Traffic thickened outside the estate. Lights clicked on one by one behind windows. The fountain kept running like nothing was wrong.
And Domiia didn’t come back.
That was when something in Perth shifted—not sudden panic, but a tightening. A watchful urgency creeping in, because a kid’s anger had a lifespan. A kid’s bravery had a limit. And the longer it stayed quiet, the less this felt like a tantrum and the more it felt like flight.
For the last hour, Perth had been moving, not thinking. Walking the perimeter himself. Cutting behind the clubhouse where the cameras didn’t reach. Checking the little side lanes between houses, the service paths, the narrow strips of shadow where a child could fold himself into nothing. He’d looked under benches, behind hedges, into the dark mouth of the utility corridor like Domiia could be there just by willpower.
No one had found Domiia.
Not inside the complex. Not on the main road. Not at the clubhouse. Not at the little playground where he always climbed too high and grinned down like he owned the world. It was like the kid had turned into water and slipped through every crack.
The estate looked normal anyway—lawns trimmed too neatly, the fountain still running, lights glowing warm behind glass. Familiar things that suddenly felt stupid and decorative, like props on a set that didn’t know the story had changed.
At the guard post, the search had become a system: estate security in black shirts, radios clipped to their collars; guards on golf carts looping routes again and again; flashlights slicing through hedges and ornamental trees; camera feeds paused and rewound and paused again on a tablet smeared with fingerprints.
Someone spotted Perth and stepped forward quickly, hands pressed together in a wai.
“Khun Perth—”
Perth’s throat felt tight, but his voice came out level. “Report,” he said—then, because he wasn’t a machine and these people were also human, he added, quieter, “Please.”
The guard swallowed, trying to match that steadiness. “Same as earlier, khrap,” he said first, almost apologetic. “Last confirmed CCTV is still north-side camera at seventeen fourteen. Nong Domiia moved along the outer service road. After that he’s out of camera range.”
Perth nodded once anyway, even though he already knew. 17:14 had been living behind his eyes for the past hour—burned there like a brand.
“We’ve re-checked the usual spots again,” the guard continued, voice tighter now, because again meant still nothing. “Clubhouse, playground, pool area, market corner. No sight.”
“And outside the complex?” Perth asked, though he already knew the answer he didn’t want.
“We have two teams on foot beyond the boundary, khrap. One vehicle circling. No reports from locals yet.”
Perth looked at the paused clip on the tablet. A small figure—too small to be alone—moving fast with the stiff, determined stride of a kid trying not to cry. Bare feet flashing pale against gray pavement.
He had watched it once. Twice.
On the third time, his jaw clenched so hard his molars ached. Because it wasn’t just running. It was escape. It was the kind of running that didn’t expect anyone to follow.
His phone buzzed in his pocket—then buzzed again before he even touched it.
He didn’t need to look to know what it was.
He stepped away from the cluster of guards and into the hedge line where the light was dimmer, where his face could do whatever it needed to do for half a second.
He pulled the phone out.
The screen was a mess of notifications stacked on top of each other, the same three names rotating in different rhythms like a broken alarm clock.
Pond’s were the most frequent—short, sharp bursts, the kind he sent when he was trying not to spiral and failing anyway.
Joong’s were fewer, but each one felt like a fist on a table.
Phi Aou’s came slower, steadier—questions that made space, not noise.
Perth didn’t open everything. He didn’t read all the panic, because he couldn’t afford to let someone else’s fear flood into him when he was trying to keep his own contained.
He pressed his thumb over the missed calls list instead and called the one person he needed most right now.
Santa picked up on the second ring, like he’d been clutching the phone in both hands.
“Phi,” Santa whispered.
The sound of his voice did something ugly to Perth’s throat. Ta tried so hard to sound normal when he wasn’t.
“Ter,” Perth said quietly. “How are you?”
A small pause. Then Santaa lied, because Santa always did that first. “I’m… okay.”
Perth closed his eyes for one breath. “Don’t do that.. Please, tell me properly.”
In the background, Perth heard movement—fabric shifting, a chair scraping, a soft male voice saying something too low to catch. Dunk. Dunk would be there. Dunk was the only one today with no schedule that could drop everything and run. Permpoon and Jaidee had been sent home with the driver; Jaidee’s grandma had been available and took them both. Dunk stayed.
“I’m not dizzy anymore,” Santa said finally, he swallowed. “Phi Dunk made me eat crackers.”
Perth’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. Of course he did.
“And drink?” Perth asked.
“Soy milk,” Santa admitted, voice thin with exhaustion.
“Good,” Perth said, and meant it, because “good” was something solid. “Dizzy?”
“Not… not too much,” Santa said. Then quieter, honest slipping through: “But my heart is… it won’t stop.”
“Mine too,” Perth said.
Santa’s breath hitched like he was trying not to cry. “Phi… why can’t they find him?”
Perth looked back toward the tablet, the frozen image of Domiia’s small body in motion. “Because he knows how to hide,” he said, voice low. “And because he’s scared. But Ta—he can’t disappear forever. He’ll get tired. He’ll look for somewhere familiar.”
Ta made a small sound that was half a sob and half disbelief. “He’s never done this.”
“He’s never been this scared,” Perth said.
The line went quiet for a beat, and Perth could hear Santa’s breathing—fast, shallow, like he’d been holding himself upright with sheer stubbornness.
Then Santa whispered, “Phi Pond keeps calling.”
“I know,” Perth said. “He’s worried about you.”
Santa’s voice went thin. “He—he might come here like crazy,” He said, and Perth heard the protective edge in it. Even now, Santa was thinking about other people’s panic, like it was his job to manage it.
“I’ll handle them,” Perth said. “You stay with Dunk. Don’t stand too long. If you feel like the room is moving, you sit. No arguing, please?”
Santa gave a small, tired “Mm.”
Perth squeezed his eyes shut, “I’m going to keep looking. I’ll call you when I have him.”
Santa’s breath caught. “Phi…”
“Yes, Ter?” Perth’s voice stayed low, careful. Like he was holding the phone with both hands too.
Santa didn’t answer right away. There was a small pause—so long Perth could hear the quiet in the room around him, the way Santa was trying to swallow something that wouldn’t go down.
Then Santa whispered, barely there. “I’m scared… he hates me.”
Perth’s chest tightened so hard it almost felt physical.
“Ter,” he said, slower now, the way you speak when you don’t want a word to slip and cut. “Listen to me.”
Santa made a shaky sound that could’ve been “mm,” could’ve been a breath he couldn’t control.
“Our baby could never hate you,” Perth said. “He’s… scared. And he’s embarrassed. And he doesn’t know what to do with all that fear.”
Santa inhaled unsteadily. “But he pushed me away.”
“I know.” Perth’s voice went softer. “I know that hurt.”
On the other end, Santa went silent — the kind of silence that wasn’t empty, just full. Full of him trying not to fall apart because he was afraid Perth would hear it.
Perth didn’t let him sit there alone in it.
“Baby,” he said again. “He ran because he panicked. Not because he wanted to leave you. If he hated you, he wouldn’t be scared of losing you.”
Santa’s breath trembled out. “I don’t want Miiang to be afraid of me.”
“He’s not afraid of you,” Perth said immediately. “He’s afraid of the world. He’s afraid of people saying ugly things. He’s afraid of watching you get hurt.”
A beat.
Then Santa’s voice came out smaller, like he was finally admitting what he’d been holding since the moment it happened. “I feel like I did something wrong.”
Perth’s throat tightened.
“You didn’t,” he said. “If you knew how I see you… You’re the reason our house feels like a home. You’re the best papa he could ever have.. So don’t tell yourself you’re failing, please.”
Santa sniffed — quiet, controlled, but Perth still heard it. “Phi…”
“I’m here,” Perth said, firm but gentle. “I’m going to bring our baby back. And when I do, I’ll bring him to you first. Okay?”
Santa didn’t answer right away.
Then: “Okay.” Soft, broken, trusting.
Perth stayed on the line for one more breath — just long enough for Santa to feel it.
Then he said quietly, “Stay with Dunk. Sit down. Don’t be brave alone.”
Santa let out a small, shaky exhale. “Mm.”
Perth ended the call gently, and stood there in the hedge-shadow for a second longer, breathing through his nose—steadying himself before he had to move again.Then he turned back and became the version of himself that didn’t get to fall apart.
“Play the clip again,” Perth said.
They did. Seventeen fourteen. Seventeen fourteen. Seventeen fourteen.
Perth tracked the direction with his eyes like it could imprint itself onto the inside of his skull.
“Where does that outer road go?” he asked.
The older guard—experienced, calm under pressure—answered quickly. “There’s old land outside the complex boundary, khrap. A small lake behind a maintenance shed. It’s not on the estate map officially.”
Perth froze.
The lake.
A small, unremarkable patch of water most residents didn’t know existed because it sat past the clean borders of the estate, beyond the cameras, beyond the manicured landscaping. Just water, reeds, mosquitoes, a shed with tools.
But Domiia knew it.
Because Perth had taken him there.
When Domiia was smaller. When weekends were still possible.
Perth used to carry him there on weekends, away from fans and schedules and the suffocating clean perfection of their gated life. They would throw bread to fish, skip stones badly, and pretend the mosquitoes weren’t eating them alive. Domiia would run along the edge like he owned that muddy little kingdom, laughing and shouting.
Familiar. Out of sight. A place to disappear without being found too fast. A place out of camera range.
Perth didn’t waste time explaining.
“Please send one team near the lake,” he said. “But stay back. No sirens. No shouting. If he feels scared, he’ll run farther.”
“Yes, khrap.”
Perth walked straight to his car.
His phone buzzed again the second he sat down. He glanced at the screen.
Pond again.
Then Joong.
Then Phi Aou.
Perth didn’t open the group chat. He didn’t have the bandwidth. He used his thumb and typed one line in the direct chat with Phi Aou because Phi Aou was the one most likely to keep the others from doing something loud.
At lake.I found a lead. Please keep Pond + Joong calm Phi.
Three dots appeared immediately, then Phi Aou’s reply came in—short, steady, the kind that felt like someone putting a hand on your shoulder.
Okay. Go. Update me when you see him.
Perth started the engine.
Outside the estate, the roads were rougher, less polished. Streetlights were sparse. The air smelled different—damp earth, exhaust, faint fried garlic from a stall somewhere down the way.
Rain began as lazy dots on the windshield. Not heavy yet. Just enough to make everything reflect.
Perth drove with the windows up and the AC low, because he couldn’t afford the fog of heat and panic building inside his own chest. His hands stayed steady on the wheel—knuckles pale, grip controlled.
His heart wasn’t.
Every few seconds his mind tried to rewind the last two hours like a clip he could scrub back and fix. Ta’s voice on the phone, the way it had trembled, as if he’d been swallowing cries between words. The single fact that kept stabbing through everything else:
Domiia ran out barefoot.
Not shoes forgotten by accident, barefoot like he didn’t even stop long enough to think, like he was running on pure panic and stubbornness. Like whatever happened had pushed him past the point of logic.
Perth’s chest tightened, hot with the urge to blame someone—anyone—until the blame looped back to the only place it could land cleanly.
Me.
He’d been away. Busy. Thinking the house was safe because it was gated, because it was staffed, because his mate had always been capable. Thinking “home” was a location you could pay to protect, not a feeling you had to show up and build with your body and time.
His thoughts started to slide toward the edge—toward the kind of spiral that ended in shaking hands and stupid decisions—and Perth cut it off hard.
Not now.
Not when he had a road in front of him and their child somewhere in the dark.
He forced his focus back onto the streetlights, the wet asphalt, the shapes at the edges of the road where a small body could fold into shadow. He breathed in through his nose, slow. Out through his mouth, controlled.
Then his phone lit up again on the passenger seat. Calls this time, not messages.
Pond.
Perth let it ring out.
Joong.
He let it ring out too—because if he answered Joong, he’d have to hear the tight restraint in his voice, and if he answered Pond, he’d have to hear the panic he was trying not to carry.
Phi Aou’s call came next.
Perth answered without thinking.
“Phi.”
“Where are you now, Perth?” Phi Aou asked. His tone was calm, but Perth could hear the vigilance underneath it—oldest Phi energy, the kind that kept the group from combusting.
“On the service road. Two minutes,” Perth said.
“Okay,” Phi Aou said. “Pond is pacing. Joong is trying to pretend he’s not angry. I told them both to shut up.”
Perth exhaled a short breath. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Phi Aou replied. “Find our nephew first.”
Perth’s jaw tightened. “I will.”
“And Perth,” Phi Aou added, softer now. “Just focus. You’re doing the right thing, don’t split your head too many ways. ”
Perth’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Yeah.”
Phi Aou hummed like he understood that Perth didn’t need advice as much as he needed someone to say it out loud anyway. “Update me when you can. I’ll handle the noise on this side.”
Perth ended the call and drove the last stretch in silence, rain ticking a little faster now, the sky lowering as if it was leaning in.
He took the turn toward the service path. The road thinned into something barely road—patchy asphalt, then gravel. Streetlights were sparse. Ahead, the dark shape of the shed appeared—low, corrugated metal, half-hidden by trees. And beyond that, the lake—just a flat sheen of water catching the faint orange of a distant light.
Perth slowed and parked far enough back that his headlights wouldn’t slice the place open like an interrogation.
Engine off.
For a second, there was only rain on the roof and Perth’s breathing.
Then he stepped out.
The air hit wet and heavy. Mosquitoes found him instantly like they’d been waiting.
Perth didn’t care.
He walked slowly, boots crunching softly on gravel—slow enough not to spook a frightened kid, even though every part of him wanted to sprint.
He didn’t call out Domiia’s name yet. He listened first.
Sometimes you could hear a kid before you saw them—sniffling, shifting, the small restless sound of someone trying not to be found but too young to be silent.
The lake was still.
The shed stood quiet.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness. He scanned the ground like a dog tracking scent.
And then he saw it—near the edge of the water, under the shadow of a tree: a small pile of something darker than mud.
A backpack.
Half-open. Strap twisted.
Perth’s stomach dropped.
He crouched, touched it. Wet. Fresh.
His gaze lifted to the shed.
The door was slightly ajar.
Perth exhaled through his nose and forced his body into calm. With one hand, he texted security.
Please stay back, and keep noise at minimum.
Then he walked toward the shed like he wasn’t carrying a whole universe of fear in his ribs.
The door creaked when he pushed it.
Perth froze, breath held.
Inside: darkness, tools, damp wood, a faint smell of oil.
And under that—Domiia. The scent hit like a physical thing once the door opened wider: wet cotton and rainwater, the unmistakable line of Domiia’s alpha—still young, still sharp around the edges—bright with bruised fruit and clean lavender, spiked with panic and fury.
The smell of fear sat acidic at the back of Perth’s throat; anger was hot, burning; shame was metallic, tight. But there was also that familiar softer note tangled in it—Santa’s, a warm vanilla-floral hush threaded through the mess, like Domiia had carried home on his skin without meaning to.
Perth’s chest loosened for one heartbeat. Relief. First. A stupid, overwhelming wave that almost made his knees go soft. Found you.
A small movement in the corner—a flinch, a shift deeper into shadow.
Perth didn’t step in fully. He stayed at the threshold, rain dripping off his hair, hands visible at his sides.
“Domiia,” he said softly.
Silence.
Then, hoarse and small from crying: “Go away.”
Perth’s throat tightened. “No.”
A sharper hiss—anger trying to be bigger than fear. “I said go away!”
Perth didn’t match the volume. He matched the truth.
“I’ve been looking for you for hours,” he said quietly. “I’m not going away.”
In the dark, something wet moved—Domiia wiping his face hard with his sleeve like he was furious the tears existed at all.
“You’re only here because Papa called you,” Domiia spat. “If Papa didn’t call you, you wouldn’t come.”
Perth let it hit. He didn’t dodge it.
He swallowed once, then said quietly, “I came because you’re my son.”
A beat—so the words could land.
“And yes,” Perth added, voice rougher now, honest, “Papa called me. Papa was scared out of his mind.”
Silence again, thick and breathing.
Perth’s eyes adjusted more. He could see him now: crouched behind a stack of plastic containers, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around himself so tight it looked like he was trying to hold his body together. Hair damp. Cheeks streaked with tears and rain. Feet filthy, scraped, red at the toes.
Perth’s chest hurt. It was sharp and protective and guilty all at once.
He kept his voice steady anyway.
“Come here,” Perth said gently.
Domiia shook his head hard. “No.”
Perth nodded. “Okay.”
Domiia blinked. “...Okay?”
Perth lowered himself onto the wet ground right there in the doorway—half in, half out—making himself smaller, less threatening, like he was willing to sit in rain if it meant Domiia didn’t feel trapped.
“Then I’ll stay here,” Perth said.
Domiia stared at him like he couldn’t decide whether to hate him or cling to him.
“You’re going to scold me,” Domiia whispered.
Perth didn’t lie. “Yes.”
Domiia’s chin trembled, anger up like armor. “Then I’m not coming.”
Perth nodded again. “Okay.”
Domiia’s eyes widened, confused. “Okay?”
Perth’s mouth twitched faintly. “Dadddy can scold you from here.”
A wet, frustrated noise came out of Domiia’s throat. “I don’t care.”
Perth waited, let the rain and the lake do their quiet work.
Then he asked, carefully, “Why did you come here?”
Domiia’s shoulders tightened. “I don’t know.”
Perth didn’t push with force. He pushed with patience.
“You do know,” Perth said.
Domiia stared at the floor. His voice came smaller, stripped of anger for a second. “Because… you used to bring me.”
Perth’s throat burned.
“Mm,” he said.
“You don’t anymore,” Domiia whispered, and the words were accusation and grief in one.
“I know,” Perth said.
Domiia’s eyes flashed up, wet and furious. “So why are you acting like you care now? You’re always gone. And Papa is always tired.”
Perth felt his jaw tighten. Not at Domiia—at himself. At time. At the way “recently busy” could become “always” in a child’s mind if you weren’t careful.
He forced his hands to stay open at his sides. He felt the alpha part of him—the instinct to snap, to dominate, to make this unruly pup stop and abide—rise in his throat.
He pushed it down and chose something harder: listening.
“Tell Daddy about today,” Perth said quietly.
Domiia’s breathing hitched. “No.”
Perth waited.
“Miiang,” Perth said, not loud, just heavy with the way a father could say one syllable and make it mean everything.
Domiia cracked.
“They said Papa should die,” he blurted.
Perth’s world went cold for a heartbeat.
Domiia kept going, words spilling like he’d been holding them behind his teeth all evening. “They said Papa is weak. They said he’s a burden. They said Daddy has to work more because Papa can’t do anything. They said Daddy deserves someone better. They said—” his voice broke, suddenly high with panic—“they said Papa became like that because he had me.”
Domiia shook hard, wiping his face with his sleeve like he was angry at the tears for existing.
“And Jaidee was crying and Poon was angry and the teacher didn’t hear and—Papa looked like he was going to fall, and I pushed him and he fell and he cried and I—”
Domiia stopped, shoulders shaking so hard it looked like his whole body was trying to run again even though he was still.
Perth didn’t move.
Not because he didn’t want to—every muscle in him wanted to cross the room in two steps and scoop his pup up—but because he knew Domiia’s fear had teeth. One sudden movement and the kid would bite the air and run.
Perth’s voice came low and rough. “Look at me.”
Domiia didn’t.
Perth repeated it softer, heavier. “Miiang. Look at Daddy.”
Slowly, Domiia lifted his gaze.
His eyes were red and wild—fear and shame and anger mashed together into something too big for a kid’s face.
Perth held that gaze steady.
“You didn’t make Papa worse,” Perth said., clear and grounded “You hear me? You didn’t break Papa by being born.”
Domiia’s mouth trembled. “But they said—”
“I don’t care what they said,” Perth cut in, sharp for half a second, instict flashing—his scent surging with it before he could stop it, a hot spike of warning that filled the shed like a slammed door.
Domiia’s shoulder jerked.
Perth caught himself immediately. He swallowed the rest of the flare, forced it down with sheer control, and let out something else instead—slow, low, grounding.
His voice gentled to match it, because Domiia’s body was already braced for punishment. “They don’t know anything.” Perth said. “They’re just... repeating ugly words.”
He paused, let his tone settle into something solid.
“Daddy will handle it.”
That sentence changed the air.
Domiia blinked like he’s been hit. Like a switch in his chest flickered on. Because that was what Perth always said when something was bigger than him.
When the neighbor’s dog had snapped at him—Daddy handled it.
When a kid shoved him at the playground—Daddy handled it.
When someone tried to follow Papa out of the mall and Domiia went stiff with anger—Daddy handled it.
Domiia swallowed. “How?”
“Tomorrow Daddy goes to school,” Perth said. “With Papa. We make it stop.”
A flash of emotion crossed Domiia’s face, fear, then relief, then fear again.
Perth leaned forward just a little—still not too close to scare him. “You don’t have to trust my words right now,” he said softly. “Trust what Daddy does.”
Domiia’s brow furrowed. His gaze dropped, caught in that ugly tug-of-war. He knew Daddy always handled it—except Daddy had been away. Gone. Busy. How could Daddy fix this now? Would he really show up for it the way he used to?
Perth stared at the rain outside the shed like it was a curtain he had to talk through.
Then he spoke, and this time he didn’t try to sound invincible.
“When you disappeared tonight,” Perth said, “my whole body felt like it was dying.”
Domiia’s eyes widened.
Perth didn’t soften it. “I couldn’t breathe properly. When I thought you could be on the road, in the rain—” Perth swallowed hard. “Daddy was scared. Really scared.”
Domiia’s voice went tiny. “You were scared?”
“Yes,” Perth said.
Domiia stared, stunned, he’s never seen his Daddy admit to anything like that. Daddy was always the one who stayed calm, who lifted him up with one arm, who made everything feel smaller and manageable.
Domiia’s throat bobbed. His anger didn’t disappear, but it shifted, less sharp, more bruised.
Then, in a voice that sounded younger than he wanted it to, Domiia whispered, “Then why are you never home?”
Perth hated that question because it was simple and complicated at the same time. He stared at the rain outside the shed like it held answers.
He could talk about schedules and contracts and the way the industry ate your days. He could talk about providing, about protecting them, about being trapped in obligations.
But none of that would land right now.
Right now, the thing that mattered was that Domiia had felt alone enough to run.
So Perth said, “I’ve been wrong.”
Domiia blinked. “Wrong?”
Perth nodded. “About thinking you and Papa would be okay just because the house is safe. About thinking you’d understand just because I love you.”
“I don’t understand,” Domiia whispered.
“I know,” Perth said. “That’s why I’m saying it now.”
He paused, then said it like a nail driven into woord
“Daddy is not leaving,” he said, controlled. “Do you hear me?”
Domiia blinked, tears slipping again. “But—”
“Daddy have been away more recently,” Perth admitted. “That part is true. And I’m sorry. But being away doesn’t mean Daddy is gone.”
He paused, then reached for something Domiia already knew—something he’d seen a thousand times in the most embarrassing, undeniable way.
“At home… Domiia see Daddy and Papa, right?” Perth said, voice softening despite himself.
Domiia’s ears went pink immediately. “Don’t—”
Perth huffed a tiny breath that was almost a laugh. “You always go ‘eww,’ right? Because Daddy can’t stop.”
Domiia glared, mortified, but didn’t deny it.
Perth’s voice turned warm—so warm it almost hurt. “That’s not a joke, Miiang. That’s just… how Daddy is with your Papa. My hand always goes to him. I always want him close. Even when he tells me to behave.”
He looked at Domiia, steady. He kept it simple, because kids understood simple.
“Your Papa isn’t just someone I love,” he said. “He is my person. The one I chose. The one I keep choosing.”
Then his tone gentled even further when he added, “And you… You’re ours. You’re not a burden. You’re not the reason Papa gets tired. You’re the thing Daddy is proudest of—because you came from us loving each other.”
Domiia’s lips trembled. “They said Daddy will get tired.”
Perth’s gaze didn’t waver. “Daddy gets tired from work,” he said. “But I don’t get tired of you. I don’t get tired of Papa.”
Domiia swallowed hard, eyes stuck on Perth’s face like he was checking if the words were real—if his daddy was still the same solid thing he’d always been.
Perth didn’t look away.
Rain drummed harder on the shed roof now—heavier, steady. The lake outside was a moving sheet of black.
In the small space of the shed, his presence shifted into something older, paternal. Alpha to alpha. Not a threat, not a fight—just the quiet weight of leadership settling into place. The grounding scent he’d forced out earlier held steady in the air like a hand at the back of Domiia’s neck.
“Listen,” Perth said. “You cannot run like this again.”
Domiia’s eyes flashed defensive, pride bristling up on instinct. “I didn’t go far.”
“You went far enough that we couldn’t find you,” Perth said. “That’s far.”
Domiia’s shoulders shook. “I was ashamed.”
Perth’s chest tightened. “Ashamed of what?”
Domiia’s voice cracked. “Of making Papa cry.”
Perth held still, let that sit—let the truth land without turning it into a weapon.
“Yes,” Perth said finally. “You did.”
Domiia flinched like he expected punishment.
Perth didn’t give him punishment. He gave him a rule. A way back.
“And because you did,” Perth continued, steady, “you apologize to Papa. You don’t run from it. You face him. You stay.”
Domiia’s eyes filled. “He’s going to hate me.”
Perth answered immediately, absolute. “No.”
“He cried because of me,” Domiia whispered, frantic. “He fell—”
“Papa cried because he loves you too much,” Perth said. “And because he was scared. Ta’s body gets tired, yes. But his love for you is never tired.”
Domiia’s breathing hitched. “He looked like he was going to faint.”
Perth’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
“Why doesn’t he eat?” Domiia demanded, tears turning angry again, his protectiveness snapping sideways like a young alpha without a target. “Why is he always tired? If Daddy loves Papa, why do you let him be like that?”
Perth felt that one like a slap.
Because it wasn’t only about the kids at school. It wasn’t only about shame. It was also about fear—fear of losing Santa, fear of watching their home crack and not being able to hold it together with sheer strength.
He could feel it in Domiia too, that wild protective instinct—energy with nowhere to go, snapping at the closest thing because it didn’t know the right target.
Perth chose his words carefully, the way you did when you were teaching instead of winning.
“Papa’s body is sensitive,” he said. “And Papa is stubborn. He pushes himself because he thinks asking for help makes him weak.”
Domiia whispered fiercely, “It doesn’t.”
Perth’s mouth twitched—painful pride. “I know.”
Domiia’s voice broke. “Then make him stop.”
“I try,” Perth said honestly. “Every day.”
He let his scent stay low—steady, not heavy—like a hand between Domiia’s shoulders.
Then, softer: “But Papa listens better when you’re gentle. Not when you fight. Not when you run.”
A beat.
“If you’re scared—come to us.” His voice went firmer, not sharp. A rule. “You tell Daddy. You tell Papa. Even if you’re angry. Especially if you’re angry. You don’t carry it alone and you don’t disappear.”
Domiia looked down at his knees, fingers gripping his own skin.
“I was trying to protect him,” he whispered.
“I know,” Perth said.
He looked at Domiia properly then—really looked—until Domiia’s eyes lifted again despite himself.
“Daddy understand that instinct,” Perth said, voice low. “That part of you that wants to stand in front of Papa. That’s yours.” A beat. “And I’m proud you love him like that,” Perth added, quiet but solid. “But you need to learn how to use it without hurting him. Without hurting yourself.”
Something in Domiia’s face shifted—still messy, still wet with tears, but less alone. Relief flickered through him; he’d been waiting all night to be told his protectiveness wasn’t wrong, only untrained.
Perth slid his jacket off and held it out, open-palmed.
Domiia stared at it.
“You’re wet,” Perth said. “Come here. Wear this.”
Domiia didn’t move.
Perth didn’t push. He waited, jacket still extended like a bridge.
Finally, Domiia crawled forward slowly. He stopped just out of arm’s reach Perth didn’t grab him. He didn’t close the distance like a trap.
He simply draped the jacket around Domiia’s shoulders gently, pulling it forward so it covered his chest the way Perth used to do when Domiia fell asleep in the car as a toddler.
The jacket carried his Daddy. The scent in the fabric—clean, familiar, steady—settled over Domiia’s skin. Domiia’s breath hitched like he hated how good it felt to be cared for.
Perth stayed quiet until Domiia’s shoulders dropped a fraction.
Then Perth asked, “Did you eat anything since you left?”
Domiia shook his head.
“Drink?”
Another shake.
Perth exhaled, controlled. “Okay. We’re going home.”
Domiia’s eyes widened with immediate fear. “Papa is angry.”
“Papa is scared,” Perth corrected.
Domiia’s lip trembled. “He’s going to cry again.”
Perth leaned forward slightly, voice low like a vow. “He might. And if he cries, you don’t run. You stay.”
Domiia’s tears spilled again, silent. “But I—”
“You stay,” Perth repeated. Not louder—he didn’t need loud. Just immovable. “You let him hold you. You apologize. And if you want to cry too, you do it.” Perth’s gaze held Domiia’s face the way a father held his pup in place.
Domiia swallowed hard, then nodded—small, shaky.
Perth stood first and held his hand out.
Domiia stared at it for a long moment, pride and fear wrestling in his face.
Then he took it.
His hand was cold, damp, trembling.
Perth’s grip was firm, warm—anchoring without crushing.
They stepped out into the rain together.
The lake rippled under the downpour. Perth spotted the backpack near the water and grabbed it with his free hand, slinging it over his shoulder.
Halfway to the car, Domiia’s steps began to wobble—not from injury, but from exhaustion finally catching up now that the adrenaline was draining out of him. The bravado that had kept him upright by spite alone suddenly had nowhere to stand.
Perth stopped and crouched without a word.
Domiia blinked up at him, confused and still trying to look tough. “What?”
“Up,” Perth said simply.
Domiia hesitated, pride flashing for a second—his shoulders tensing like he was about to insist he was fine.
Perth raised an eyebrow, not unkind. “You want to walk barefoot like that? Go.”
Domiia’s mouth twisted, caught between stubbornness and relief. Then he climbed onto Perth’s back.
The moment his arms looped around Perth’s neck, something in him softened—automatic, betrayed by his own body. He pressed his cheek to Perth’s shoulder, wet hair sticking to Perth’s shirt, and inhaled without meaning to.
It was just… Daddy. The way Daddy always smelled at home: clean shirt, warm skin, something steady underneath that made Domiia’s chest loosen even when his head was still full of messy feelings.
Perth shifted his stance and, like he’d done a hundred times when Domiia was smaller, he held him tighter—one arm firm behind Domiia’s back, the other steadying his legs. And with that closeness, Perth’s scent seemed to rise on its own—quiet, protective, spreading around them like a blanket pulled up to Domiia’s chin.
Domiia’s grip tightened, not in fear now, but in that small, childish way of claiming safety when it was finally offered. He tucked closer, nose nudging into the side of Perth’s neck for another breath like he could refill himself with it.
Perth stood and adjusted him with one arm behind his back, steady and practiced. “Hold tight,” he murmured—quiet, almost gentle.
Domiia obeyed immediately.
By the time they reached the car, Domiia had gone heavy against him—still awake, still watching, but clinging like the storm and the dark couldn’t touch him as long as Daddy was carrying him.
Perth settled him into the seat and buckled him in himself, fingers careful around the scraped feet, the damp jacket. Domiia watched him the whole time with wide, shining eyes—like he was checking if Daddy would disappear again the second the crisis ended.
Perth started the engine, wipers swishing, and only then did he glance at his phone again.
Missed calls. More. The same names.
A message from Pond popped up at the top of the screen—one line, raw.
Perth answer me or I’m driving there.
Perth didn’t reply to the threat. He called Phi Aou again, because that was what Phi Aou was for tonight.
Phi Aou picked up immediately. “Did you find him?”
Perth exhaled, and it felt like breathing for the first time in hours. “Yeah. He’s with me.”
Phi Aou’s relief didn’t explode. It softened. “Good. Is he hurt?”
“Scraped feet. Wet. Scared. He hasn’t eaten,” Perth said.
“Okay,” Phi Aou replied. “Bring him home. Let Ta hold him first.”
Perth’s jaw tightened. “Yeah.”
“I’ll update Pond,” Phi Aou said, already moving into control. “Joong too. You focus on getting inside quietly.”
Perth’s throat tightened. “Thank you, Phi.”
He ended the call and drove.
The estate gate appeared again, lights reflecting off rain-slick asphalt. Security moved to open for him quickly, but Perth’s focus stayed on the house—its warm windows, its calm face hiding panic inside.
He parked in the driveway and killed the engine.
For a second, he just sat there, rain ticking on the windshield, listening to Domiia’s breathing beside him—fast and shallow, like he still didn’t believe this would hold.
Perth reached over and pressed his palm over Domiia’s knee. Steady pressure. Warmth. He let his scent settle too—quiet and safe, the way he used to when Domiia couldn’t sleep.
“I’m here,” Perth said softly.
Domiia swallowed hard. “Promise?”
Perth’s chest tightened. He reached up, ruffled Domiia’s damp hair, then cradled his cheek in his palm—warm, familiar, grounding. No speeches. No big explanations.
His thumb brushed the edge of Domiia’s cheekbone.
“Always,” Perth said, voice steady.
Then he lifted Domiia out again—because Domiia didn’t resist this time—and carried him to the door.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of soy milk and crackers. Dunk’s brand of care.
The living room lights were soft. A blanket was folded on the couch like someone had prepared for shaking.
Dunk stood up the moment Perth entered, face tight but controlled, eyes snapping to Domiia and then to Perth like he was counting injuries.
“You found him,” Dunk said, voice low.
Perth nodded once. “Yeah.”
Dunk’s shoulders dropped a fraction, relief slipping through before he contained it again.
And then Santa appeared.
Not running—walking fast but careful, like his body didn’t fully trust itself. His hair was messy. His face looked drained. His eyes were red around the edges, like he’d been crying and forcing himself to stop.
But he still came in with purpose. Shoulders squared even through the tremble, steps measured like he was refusing to let his body make the decision for him.
The second Ta’s gaze landed on Domiia, his whole face crumpled.
He didn’t speak at first. His hand flew to his mouth, breath catching like it hurt.
And then the omega in him answered before his words could. A faint shift in the air—warm, sweet, familiar. Mandarin brightness at the edge of it, lavender that calmed without trying, that deep, soft sweetness of vanilla anchored low—tempered by something sharper, more adult underneath, like vetiver and amber, like a spine, unmistakably Santa.
Perth felt Domiia register it before Domiia even moved.
The pup went still in Perth’s arms—shame tightening his shoulders, fear making him small again even while he tried to stand tall. His throat bobbed.
“Papa…” Domiia whispered.
Santa stepped closer slowly, like you approached something skittish. His hands hovered for a second, fingers trembling, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to touch after being pushed away—
Then he chose anyway.
“It’s okay,” Santa whispered, voice shaking. “It’s okay… baby. It’s okay.”
The word baby undid Domiia.
His face crumpled, and a sob broke out of him like it had been held inside his ribs all night.
Perth lowered him onto the floor gently.
Domiia stood there trembling for half a second, then did what Perth told him to do—because even in shame, he wanted to be good.
He brought his hands together and wai-ed.
Deep.
“I’m sorry, Papa,” Domiia whispered, voice cracking. “I’m sorry.”
Santa’s tears spilled immediately.
He crouched and pulled Domiia into his arms like he’d been holding his breath for hours and finally exhaled. Domiia collapsed into him, sobbing into Santa’s shoulder, arms clutching tight like he was trying to crawl back into safety, into being little, into being held.
Santa held him tight, he pressed his cheek to Domiia’s hair. His hands cradled the back of Domiia’s head and neck, fingers shaking, stroking, smoothing—and Perth felt it again, the way Ta’s scent wrapped around their pup without squeezing. A soft containment. A call back to the den.
“I’m sorry,” Domiia repeated, broken. “I was scared. I was ashamed. I pushed you. I didn’t want you to fall.”
“I know,” Santa whispered, wrecked. “I know… I know, baby.”
Dunk stayed a step back, giving space, but Perth saw his hands clench and unclench at his sides like he was containing his own anger for later—for the kids, the school, the world.
Perth stood over them, soaked, feeling relief and guilt and love twist together so hard it almost made him dizzy.
Santa pulled back just enough to cup Domiia’s face, thumbs wiping tears with careful swipes.
“Don’t run away from me again,” Ta whispered, firm through tears. “If you’re scared… you tell Papa. You don’t disappear. Okay?”
Domiia nodded hard, crying.
Santa pressed a kiss to his forehead—slow and shaking. Another to his temple, his body needed to reassure itself Domiia was real and warm and here.
Then Santa looked up at Perth.
Relief hit his face first—his body finally understood the danger was over. Then love, the kind that softened his eyes even through the red. Gratitude, so bright it almost looked like a smile trying to break through tears. Happiness, small and trembling, because their baby was here. Because Perth brought their baby back.
Perth didn’t say anything. He just crouched beside them and laid his hand on Santa’s shoulder—warm, steady, anchoring. Santa’s breath shuddered out as if that single touch gave his heart permission to slow.
Then Perth’s other hand found Domiia’s head, fingers sliding through damp hair with a gentle pat—careful, protective, mine in the quietest way. Domiia made a small sound and tucked closer into Santa’s chest, letting himself be held.
Perth’s thumb pressed once into Santa’s shoulder—soft reassurance.
“We’re home,” Perth murmured.
Santa blinked, and the tears that slipped this time weren’t panic. He nodded, small and trusting, and pulled Domiia in tighter like he was sealing the whole house back together with his arms.
Outside, rain kept falling.
Inside, they were home again.