Chapter Text
The Thep Burapha students were not only fucking annoying, but fucking weird.
It started last year. Gestures that they made, directed towards each other (the gestures grew more complex as time passed) led to snickers and derisive laughs towards their direction.
He had no fucking clue what caused their change in modus operandi, but it was clear indication that the Thep Burapha were trash-talking about Udon Phithak through those gestures somehow.
Pissed him and others off so bad.
What pissed him off the most though, was Saint.
Not one sound passed through Saint’s lips, no matter the circumstances.
Even when elected class president, Peeta, as vice president, led all the class greetings and dismissals.
Even when Shin confronted him, Saint never spoke, taking the verbal lashing and/or hits with pained eyes and twitching fingers before turning away.
Even for Chingching. Saint merely pointed at his throat and shook his head to communicate to Chingching that he was unable to talk.
A new thing about Saint as well was the black bandana around his neck. It was obviously against the dress code, but the teachers never scolded Saint about it, but did reprimand the others who did break the dress code.
Saint never took it off the new accessory either. Shin had grabbed the black bandana instead of Saint’s collar once, and Saint flinched, fear flashing through his eyes. Stunned at Saint’s uncharacteristic behavior, he’d let go and Saint had fled, holding the bandana against his neck.
Even Saint was in on the damned Thep Burapha pantomiming, using it with the other Thep Burapha students in the class. When interrupting the The Burapha and Udon Phithak face-offs, his gestures would be directed at Ken and the twins, gesturing with sharp and confrontational movements. Ken would scowl and gesture back before shoving Saint out of the way, barking insults.
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Shin looked up and tensed at the sight of Ken coming up the stairs. His injuries screamed at him at the slight movement. “The fuck are you doing here?” He rasped.
“Language,” Kru Jane scolded.
Ken’s eyes flickered briefly before he sneered. “Not for your ugly mug, obviously.” He pulled out something out of his pocket.
“Got you a new one.” Ken addressed Saint, holding out a slightly-scuffed black handkerchief as if he was holding a dirty sock.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Saint freeze before snatching the handkerchief with shaking hands, attempting to tie it around his neck.
Ken leaned back against the railing, watching Saint with an unreadable expression.
“P’Saint,” Chatjen spoke up. “Do you need help?”
Saint shook his head vehemently, and gave up, wrapping the cloth loosely around his neck like a scarf.
“Shin!”
Shin shifted his gaze to look at Mae and Chingching coming up the stairs. “Mae…”
They were safe. Something loosened in his chest at the sight.
Shin struggled to stand up, helped by Chatjen and a balancing hand from Kru Jan.
He looked at Mae’s unreadable expression, and her eyes then shifting to the side and narrowing. He watched in apprehension as she walked to Saint and slapped him.
A mix of disbelief and alarm cycled through him before he tensed at seeing Ken twitch out of the corner of his eye, his hands clenching.
“I told you to stay away…from…” Mae’s angry words trailed off.
…What?
“P’Saint,” Chingching’s voice quivered. Shin looked over at Chingching to see her shiny eyes filling with tears as she looked at Saint. “You can’t talk because you got hurt?”
Confused, Shin looked back at Saint and a pit in his stomach plummeted at the uncovered sight of Saint’s neck, the black handkerchief having fallen to the floor somehow earlier.
A grotesque ragged scar of white and blood-pink snaked across Saint's pale throat, a stark contrast against Saint’s pristine-white skin. The ragged line bisected his Adam's Apple, marring Saint's otherwise flawless skin like a lightning-scarred tree.
Shin’s mind flashed back to earlier.
“The famed Tsunami, scared of a knife?” Jeng’s voice sneered. “I’ll be more than happy to slit a new line into your throat.”
Shin heard Kru Jan gasp and Kru Sung silently inhale next to him, and felt the blood drain out of his face at the sight of the ugly scar. What happened in those three years gone did Saint get that scar?
“Sorry, Beanie, that’s what happened,” Ken bluntly replied. “Saint’s mute because of that scar he got a long time ago.”
Shin tensed as Chingching turned to Ken, who looked at Chingching with his resting bitch face and shrugged helplessly. Her chin quivered before she burst into tears.
“You made my sister cry,” Shin growled.
“What? It’s the truth.” Ken replied, shuddering and muttering something under his breath before peeling himself off the railing and walking towards Saint. Shin looked over at Saint to see silent tears streaming down his face, eyes distant.
Shin's heart tugged painfully at Saint's expression. He felt helpless, a dull roar of disbelief and anguish echoing in his ears.
Ken wrapped his arms around Saint and hoisted up Saint in a fireman's carry with a grunt. It was an odd sight, the short Thep Burapha leader carrying the taller and broad-shouldered Tsunami.
“We’re leaving,” Ken announced. “Before I start ranting about being ableist.” Ken glared at Mae at that, who recoiled.
“You hit Saint too.” Shin pointed out.
Ken turned to glared at him, his eye twitching. “Just because Saint’s mute, doesn’t mean he needs to be coddled,” Ken growled. “I know I’m an as-” Ken’s eyes flickered to the still-crying Chingching, who was on Chatjen's lap.
Ken flashed a middle finger briefly, out of sight of Chingching’s vision. “That, but I’m that to everyone, regardless to who it is. You don't see me treat Chatjen any different from anyone else, do you?” Ken raised an eyebrow.
Shin raised a fist threateningly at Ken, his arm screaming at the sudden movement.
Ken’s smirk dropped from his face. “Don't do that," he snapped. Shin set down his arm, confused that he'd obeyed Ken's overwhelmingly authoritative tone.
"We’re out. See y'all whenever.” He carried Saint, careful steps echoing down the stairs before Ken’s heavy footsteps faded.
“P’Shin,” Chingching blubbered, reaching out to him from Chatjen’s arms.
He carefully sat down on the cold ground of the police station and gathered Chingching into his arms, feeling a wet patch start to form on his school jacket.
His mind reeled, stunned. The reason Saint that never spoke...
...was because he wasn’t able to.