Archive of Our Own ^beta

Saint had always been a runner, although technically it wasn’t his fault. His mom died when he was still a child, and his dad had been married to booze ever since. His father was rarely home. Sometimes, he’d show up just long enough to drop off money before disappearing for the rest of the week. Maybe it was his father’s neglectful attitude toward responsibility that influenced Saint.

His childhood was far from average, fists and bruises became his constant companions every time he returned home. His father never said much about it, probably convincing himself that it was normal for kids his age to get into fights.

It only got worse as he grew older. People would come looking for him for a fight or revenge, claiming he had beaten their friends and whatnot. But Saint welcomed it all.

In a way, fighting gave him a sense of solace. It was the only way to feel alive. He never hesitated whenever people came knocking.

One afternoon, he was ganged up on by a group that claimed Saint had stolen his girlfriend, despite the fact that he didn’t even know her. As Saint was about to throw his punches, he felt his head get hit by one of the gang members using a piece of wood lying around. It sent his vision spinning.

Before he could register what was happening, both of his hands were tied, leaving the gang plenty of chances to hurt him. He curled up instinctively, shielding his face from their relentless kicks and punches.

After what felt like forever, Saint heard someone yell, “Stop! What are you guys doing?!” He attempted to lift his head toward the source, but his spinning, aching head made even the smallest effort impossible.

He kept his head down, praying for whoever came to his rescue to win the fight.

Saint didn’t know how many minutes passed before someone started untying his hands. He looked up only to find a pair of black eyes, a sharp nose, and pretty cracked lips with a small stain of blood on the side. And God, he had never seen someone this beautiful.

For a moment, he was convinced he was dead.

“Is this the afterlife? Did I die already?” Saint said, his voice hoarse and small, but the other person could still hear it. His question earned a laugh from the other.

“What are you, stupid? You’re not dead,” his rescuer replied. A smile didn’t leave his cracked lips. “But why would an angel save me?” Saint blurted out.

“You really are stupid.” The rescuer chuckled, his voice pleasant, and there was no animosity. “I’m not an angel. You can call me Shin.”

“My name is Saint.”

“Can you get up? Here, lean on me.” Shin extended his hands to help Saint get up from his position. His ribs hurt, his head was throbbing, and it was totally impossible to sleep tonight, but none of it mattered. Not right now.

Shin was beside him, helping him walk, and he could smell the faint scent of vanilla filling his nose. Sweet and calming. He found himself hoping the smell would stick to his clothes, even if it was just for a few minutes.

“Where is your home?” Shin asked, his tone still light.

Saint hesitated, knowing that if they returned home now, Shin would see his father already intoxicated. “I can’t go home like this. My father is going to be mad.”

“You can just drop me by the school. My bag is still there,” he added before meeting Shin’s eyes. The other raised an eyebrow, because yeah, who in their right mind would care about their bag after finishing a fight? But he didn’t say anything.

“Okay.”

That’s how Saint met his savior. Shin.

*

When Shin told him he wanted to leave the gang, Saint felt betrayed. Maybe scared, too, but no one had to know that. How could Shin leave him when they had agreed to be by each other’s side forever? So, he made the crazy tradition, hoping it could make Shin reconsider his decision to leave, to make him stay.

But Shin insisted he wanted to leave the gang to pursue his soccer dream.

It was raining when they met on the field, anger palpable on Saint’s face. If someone paid a little attention to his expression, they would see a glimpse of hurt, too.

His fists clenched at his sides. His voice tense. “Are you sure you want to leave the gang?”

Under the rain, he could see the determination in Shin’s eyes, the same one he saw every time Shin played soccer, every time he scored a goal. It made his heart ache when Shin simply nodded his head.

He shoved Shin’s chest, hard. It made the other stagger back, a wince escaping his lips. Saint threw the first punch to Shin’s cheek, sending him flat onto the field.

Then came the second, the third.

Saint was sure that if Shin told him to stop, he would immediately stop, but Shin didn’t say anything.

Saint felt challenged.

Why was Shin doing nothing? Why didn’t he at least put up a little bit of a fight? Had Saint’s punches grown weaker?

Shin lay beneath him, taking the hits. Saint hovered over him, giving the punches.

He didn’t know where he got the courage. Maybe the situation had really gotten to him. Maybe he got caught up in the heat of the moment. Maybe this was his true self.

He wasn’t sure which it was.

Saint stood up, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched so tightly it made his knuckles burned. He towered over Shin’s bloodied face, watching as his best friend struggled to push himself up from the ground. The world around them was a blur, the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins made him feel invincible. As if, everything he did today wouldn’t have any consequences.

Without thinking, he drove his foot into Shin’s leg. Hard. Again. And again.

A dangerous need surged through him, a need to hurt, to prove something, to release whatever tornado that had been brewing within him.

Then came the horror.

Shin’s scream tore the atmosphere. A sound so intense and gut-wrenching shattered through Saint’s consciousness like a gunshot. The agony in Shin’s scream sent a chill deep through his bones.

Saint froze. His body went rigid as he stared down at the sight before him. Shin clutched his leg, laying onto his side with his entire body trembling. Blood dripped from his split lip. His eyes that once was full of determination were now glassy with pain.

Only then, Saint had realized what he had done.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” The panic in Shin’s voice was enough to snap Saint out of his daze.

He barely registered his own voice as he barked, “Call an ambulance! Now!” at the shocked juniors standing nearby, their faces white, their bodies frozen in fear.

Saint dropped to his knees beside Shin, his hands hovering uselessly over him, not knowing what to, not knowing how to fix this.

“Shin, hey, stay with me,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. His hands were shaking as he reached out, uncertain, before finally threading through Shin’s damp hair, brushing it back from his forehead.

Shin was still crying out, his breath unsteady as he curled on himself.

“it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” Saint whispered again and again. But he didn’t know he was trying to convince. Shin or himself.

Time blurred. The paramedics arrived. Saint watched, paralyzed, as they lifted Shin onto the stretcher.

Saint should follow.

He should climb into the ambulance and stay by Shin’s side, even if it meant sitting in a hospital he despised.

But he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

The weight of his actions filled his lungs with guilt so thick he could barely breathe.

So he stood there, rooted to the ground, watching as the ambulance doors shut. Watching as the sirens wailed into the night. Watching as the white van disappeared from his sight, taking Shin away from him.

Taking away a piece of him.

Saint’s stomach churned. The nausea built rapidly and hot pressured crept up his throat. He ran to the nearest trash ran and retched. Throwing up everything he had eaten for the day.

Everything hurts.

His throat burned, his stomach clenched painfully, his heart ached as if it’s trying to climb out from his body.

His world felt heavier than it used to be.

An unknown darkness followed him home.

*

Ever since the incident, Saint has avoided fighting. He has seen the damage he can cause to others, and he hates it. That’s why he usually avoids Ken and his gang, useless fighting does him no good.

He doesn’t care about the feud between his school, Thep Burapha, and Udon Pithak. To him, it’s all pointless and stupid. All he wants is to graduate and get out of this school. When the teacher announces that Udon Pithak will be merging with Thep Burapha, some of his classmates groan, others cheer, and a few starts whispering and scheming.

Saint, however, pretends to be asleep.

He still doesn’t care when his new classmates from Udon Pithak enter the class. He hears Ken is already looking for a fight, but he ignores it. But when Miss Jan calls out ‘Naruebet’ during attendance, Saint’s head jolts awake. He couldn’t believe what he just heard.

Shin is here? And they’re classmates?

A mix of eagerness and embarrassment washes over him. It’s been three years since he last saw that handsome man, though their last meeting didn’t turn out well. This time, Saint is determined that he’s not going to run away. He’s going to face the consequences of what he’s done.

When he hears that Shin has to give up his dream of becoming a professional soccer player because of the condition of his leg, Saint feels an overwhelming urge to run to Shin. To offer him comfort. To say he’s sorry. To beg Shin to punch him, beat him, or do anything to him to lessen the guilt that has been residing inside his heart ever since that rainy day.

He does run to Shin’s house, but instead of meeting the pair of eyes he’s been dreaming of, he’s greeted with slaps and angry words from Shin’s mother. She warns him to stay away from her son. He’s done enough damage to her son’s future. Saint understands, really, what kind of mother would want her son to be near the person who ruined his dreams?

With his heart caught in his throat, he agrees not to come near Shin anymore.

*

It’s raining when he finally meets Shin. It looks like Shin is running away from someone, panic flickering in his eyes. Saint takes this chance to take in the face he’s missed for three years. There’s still a faint smell of vanilla clinging to him. He can’t help but suppress a smile. This feels familiar.

But it doesn’t last long before Shin realizes who’s holding the umbrella. His face twists with disgust and anger when he sees that it’s Saint.

“I’m happy to see you again, Shin,” Saint says, his voice soft, his puppy-dog eyes looking up at Shin.

Almost instinctively, Shin grabs his collar and looks like he’s about to throw a punch, but he stops before he can land it. Enough to make Saint feel hopeful.

“Don’t ever call my name again.” Shin's voice is sharp. His words cut like a knife. It makes Saint’s stomach twist in a way he’s never felt before.

Saint knows that tone. It’s the one Shin uses every time he’s about to fight an opponent.

Does Shin really think Saint is his opponent now?

Just like three years ago, Saint watches as Shin disappears into the rain.

*

He can’t contain his excitement anymore when he sees Shin sitting in his classroom, and more importantly, sitting beside him. For the first time in a while, he feels like fate has been on his side.

His excitement doesn’t last too long when he’s greeted by the disgust and annoyance on Shin’s face.

“Why do I have to be in the same class as him?” Shin rolls his eyes as he says this. Saint goes straight to him, ignoring the harsh words that have been thrown.

“Can I talk to you?” Saint asks, pleading, maybe.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” Shin replies simply, a hint of anger in his tone.

“Hey, pal, he said he doesn't want to talk to you.” First interrupts, standing up to defend his friend. But before he can reach Saint, Shin stops him.

“Don't waste your time with him.”

“Shin, you know him?” Airy asks, the tension in the class thickening.

“A person with this kind of nature? I don’t count as one.” Each syllable cuts deep into Saint’s heart, although he doesn’t show it on his face. With anger dripping from his words, Shin adds, “His true nature is to hurt others. He hurts everyone. Even his friends are not exceptions.”

If Saint hadn’t been exposed in front of the whole class, he would probably let his tears run down his cheeks right then.

But that’s okay. He deserves all these harsh words, a beating even.

Before he can retort, Miss Jan enters the class, making everyone sit in their own seats. Discomfort and a mix of curiosity hang in the air. Everyone wonders what has happened between the two classmates.

Saint sinks into his seat. His shoulders cave in under the weight of shame, guilt, and regret, as if he is trying to disappear into thin air. No matter how hard he tries to shake Shin’s words off, it is futile. They have burned deep within his heart, making him unable to focus on anything else. Miss Jan’s voice starts to fade into a distant hum.

He throws glances outside the window, but sometimes his eyes betray him, stealing quick looks at Shin. The subtle tension in Shin’s shoulders tells him that Shin notices the glances but refuses to acknowledge them, treating Saint as if he doesn’t exist.

For a brief moment, Saint imagines himself standing up, marching over to Shin, gripping his shoulder, and shaking him to force him to meet his eyes. Look at me! Please, look at me! his heart screams. But instead, Saint remains rooted to his seat, his chest tight with everything he wishes he could say.

This continues until the end of the class.

The bell rings, indicating the start of lunch break. Saint watches as Shin and his gang head to the cafeteria. Usually, he doesn’t eat anything during the break, wanting to save up some money to help with his father’s debt.

Today is an exception.

He makes his way to the cafeteria and orders the same dish Shin used to eat, with garlic cloves peeled by his own hands.

He walks towards the table where Shin is sitting, offering the plate. “I got this for you. With extra garlic peeled.” His action only receives a glare from the other. Shin shoves it back immediately without thinking.

“What makes you think I want to eat anything you offer?”

Before Saint can answer, Ken and his gang slam the plate onto the ground. Saint clenches his fist, jaw tightening. If it weren’t for the promise Saint made three years ago, he would already have punched them for interrupting his conversation.

“Look what we have here. Not even a day, and Tsunami is already bullying our people.” Ken sneers as he glares at Saint. Before Saint can do anything, Shin is already on his feet. He steps forward and shoves Ken’s chest. His movement is quick and aggressive, anger visible on his face.

“What do you want?” Shin shouts, his voice echoing through the cafeteria.

Ken staggers back a few steps but quickly recovers. Without any warning, he lunges forward, grabbing Shin by the collar, his fist already raised, ready to punch Shin.

But before the fist can connect, Saint moves.

Without thinking, his hand leaps out, trapping Ken's wrist in mid-swing. His hold is tight and steady, and the sound of the impact as a result of flesh against flesh elicits another wave of quiet whispers from the audience.

Ken stops, his fist trembling slightly in Saint's grip. His gang moves uncomfortably, their confidence shaky. Eyes widen throughout the room as the students observe something few expected: Saint stepping in with restraint rather than cruelty.

For a brief moment, everything stands still. Before Ken can do anything else, Mr. Pokpong intervenes, stepping in to break up the fight between the two.

“Go back to your class now! Break is over!” Mr. Pokpong roars.

The students have no choice but to obey, reluctantly scattering back to their classrooms.

Saint doesn’t go straight to his class. Instead, he makes a little detour to the school mart, picking up a bottle of water and a piece of bread with someone lingering in his mind. He smiles to himself, imagining the times when he used to buy bread for Shin. The good old days. He quickly brushes off the nostalgic feelings slowly occupying his mind.

The class is buzzing with conversation when he enters, but he is more interested in the man who is reading the manga. He tightens his grip slightly on the water bottle and the bread in his hand. He makes his way to Shin with the hope that Shin would accept his humble offering.

Without a word, he places the water bottle on Shin’s desk.

Shin blinks, taking his eyes off the manga to the bottle, then up to Saint. His face hardens into something unreadable, guarded.

“I’m not thirsty,” Shin says, his tone flat and dismissive.

“What do you want to eat then? You haven’t had lunch.” Saint presses, his voice softening. But seeing Shin doesn’t respond makes Saint takes a breath and continues, “Want some bread?” He gently places the bread in front of Shin.

Shin eyes the bread for a brief moment before responding, “I don’t like it.”

Saint can’t help but suppress a smile. This is progress. Shin is talking more words to him.

“Is that so? Now, you no longer like bread?” There’s a hint of playfulness in his voice that he’s sure Shin catches.

Saint reaches for his pocket, pulling out a small candy. One that he’s carried with him ever since he was little. “Then, do you want a candy?” He offers, peeling the candy from its wrapper.

Instead of an answer, he’s met with a cutting voice asking, “Am I your friend?”

Saint halts. His chest tightens. He can feel his heart growing heavier with each breath he takes. Still, he hides it behind a faint smile, the kind he’s perfected over time. He pops the candy into his own mouth instead.

The sweetness of the candy doesn’t help to soothe the ache in his chest. He tries not to let the disappointment show on his face.

Ignoring the stings in his chest, Saint asks, “Are you really not hungry?”

“Can you just stay out of it?”

“Eat a little. If you want anything, just tell me, I’ll get it for you.”

“You want to be my gofer so badly, right?”

“If you want me to become one, I’ll do it.” I’ll do anything for you.

Saint’s voice is sincere, laced with a desperation as if he’s begging for a chance, for forgiveness.

But Shin knows better. There’s no way Saint could change, not after everything he had done to him. He looks away. People like Saint don’t change.

Ken, who is watching the scene, lets out an exasperated sigh. He can’t believe Saint would lower himself like this, and even worse, offering to be a gofer for an Udon Pithak student. He feels challenged. Is Tsunami really that good?

As if on cue, he stands up aggressively. The chairs behind him tumble down with a loud clatter, attracting all the attention to him. Without hesitation, he marches toward Saint, his face filled with anger. He grabs Saint by the collar, yanking him forward, causing Saint to stumble slightly.

“Come here!” He shouts as he drags Saint outside the class. “You and I have something to clear up,” he adds, his tone low but threatening.

The girls from his class are already shouting for them to stop fighting. Their efforts are useless as Ken is determined to teach Saint a lesson.

He drags Saint to the rooftop, his grip unrelenting as he shoves Saint forward.

“Who allows you to be a gofer for Shin?” Ken’s voice slices through the air, his anger unmistakable. He pushes Saint hard, causing the other to stagger back, barely keeping his footing.

Saint wishes for the fight to end quickly. He doesn’t have the luxury to waste his time on petty disputes with Ken and his gang. His body aches from the pressure of being constantly dragged into these situations, but he stays silent, accepting the harsh words they throw at him without resistance. He knows arguing will only make it worse.

Their fury increases with each moment he remains quiet. Ken’s face twists with frustration, his patience wearing thin. The verbal attacks escalate, turning into punches that land on Saint’s body with force. Each blow feels heavier, but still, he stays silent, taking the beating without a word.

Little do they know, in his own twisted way, Saint almost feeds off this. He feels like his sins are being purified with each strike he takes. He likes to think that this is a way of karma catching up to him. For everything and everyone that he has hurt before.

Even if his body starts to bruise and ache, he finds it comforting.

But the human body is a wonder of its own. His mind probably decides that his body can’t take the beating anymore. He starts to dodge the strikes thrown by Ken and his gang, his body instinctively moving out of harm’s way.

After a few more failed punches, Saint decides to run away from the rooftop. He knows there’s a way out, a set of stairs leading down at the side of the building next door.

In one swift motion, he sprints as fast as he can toward the corner. His mind focuses solely on the escape, blocking out everything else. The angry shouts from Ken and his gang, the distant cries of teachers who have just arrived but whom he doesn’t notice. The mixed shouting and pleas disappear into the background as he spots the stairs below.

His heart races, his body full of adrenaline, but when he looks down, his stomach drops. The ground looks far, too far for him to imagine. He knows that one mistake could cost him his life.

However, in that moment, a wave of apathy washes over him. He doesn’t care.

He takes a few steps back before sprinting and leaping over the railing. His ears ring, his body tense and ready for whatever fate awaits him. He lets out a relieved sigh when his body lands on the stairs. He makes his way down the stairs, his breath still coming fast.

As he reaches the bottom, he looks up toward the rooftop and throws a quick wave toward the teachers and his classmates who are still standing at the top, shocked and frozen in place. He doesn't wait for any response, turning his back to the scene.

A sense of freedom hits him, even if it’s just for a moment.

*

“I have someone to nominate.”

“Who will you nominate?”

“Saint. I nominate Saint.”

Saint who is pretending to be asleep snaps awake when he hears Shin suggesting him as the new class president. He blinks in disbelief and turns his gaze toward Shin only to find that the other boy is still not looking at him. Instead, he's staring off into the distance, as if he couldn't care less about the impact of his suggestion.

Before he can even gather his thoughts or protest, Miss Jan begins counting the hands raised in support. Saint feels a sinking feeling in his stomach as the votes roll in. One by one, his classmates raise their hands, all in favor of him becoming the class president.

“Saint, you are the class president until the end of the school year.” Mr. Sung announces with finality.

His classmates clapping their hands as a sign of mockery, a sarcastic show of approval. Maybe some of them are genuinely relieved that they don’t have to bear the burden of leadership themselves. His face hardens, and the faintest frown creeps its way onto his lips. Is this how Shin gets back at him?

His first task as class president came sooner than he expected.

Saint rushed to the classroom the moment Eve told him that a fight had broken out. At first, it was only between Shin and Ken, but things escalated quickly. It turned into a full-blown fight between Udon Pithak and Thep Burapha, with tensions running high on both sides.

It wasn’t long before things got out of hand. Chairs were knocked over, desks shoved aside amidst the chaos. The room was filled with yelling and curses shouted by the students. Saint’s voice was lost along the other sound in the room.

Suddenly, a loud crash rang out, followed by a distinct sound of shattering glass. The noise had cut through the chaos had brought everything to an abrupt halt. Saint’s eyes darted to the source of the sound, his hair stands when he saw the broken window.

He ran to the window only to find that the chair had landed directly in front of the principal and a few teachers who were inspecting the school. Panic washed over Saint as he realized the severity of the situation. Before he could process anything, the principal’s gaze locked with his. He curses under his breath.

“Everyone, get out from this room now. The principal is downstairs.” He urged, his voice fill with urgency. Some of his classmate looked at him with pity, some looked at him with shock and others showed no reaction at all.

When he saw no one was moving from their place, he added, “Go! Ken, go! Girls, you too. I’ll take the blame.” This time his words seemed to have an effect on his classmate as they finally began to leave the room.

“What are you doing this for?” Shin asked, one of a few that were still standing in the room. Saint looked at him. To be honest, he also didn’t know why he did it. If this had been his old self, he would be the first to leave the scene, not wanting to get involves with teachers or any forms of authority.

Maybe he was changing, maybe he was finally learning how to take responsibility. He didn’t know.

Instead, he simply said, “You should get out before the teachers get here.”

It's late at night when he finally finishes his punishment. Cleaning the toilet isn’t what he had dreaded. It’s about paying the replacement for the window. Where could he possibly find that kind of money? Hell, he would clean every toilet in this school if it meant to not pay for the cost of the window.

Just his luck, Shin walks by. His mouth acts faster than his brain could think. “Shin.” He greets as he fastens his pace to catch up with Shin. “How do you go home? Do you want me to give you a ride?” he asks, standing face to face with Shin now, as the other boy stops in his tracks.

Shin lets out a sigh, “I can go home by myself.”

“Do you have a problem? You can always tell me. If you have problem with Ken, you can tell me.”

“You are our class president. But I don’t need to tell you anything.”

A smile creeps in on Saint’s face.

“I’m glad.”

“What do you glad about?”

“At least you accept me as your class president.”

“Nonsense.”

Saint’s smile drops at Shin’s words. Before he can recover, Shin continues, “I chose you to be the class president because I wanted you to learn about responsibility. So, you won’t treat others like shit, the way you did to me.”

A heavy silence falls between them. It wouldn’t take much effort to see that Shin’s words had hurt Saint in a way it has never did before. Those words sting more than anything else ever has. Saint feels the tears pooling in his eyes but he quickly shoves his feelings down.

“I’m sorry.” is all he manages to say after mustering up his courage. He wishes he could say more, to explain himself, but there’s nothing to explain.

Shin’s hands land first on his collar before he shouts, “Hey! Stop saying you’re sorry. Your apology is irresponsible. Stop trying to be nice to me and my friends. Everything that you do. It’s useless.”

Shin yanks his hands hard before walking away from Saint, leaving the other in the state of despair. Before he could let his tears that were begging to be released fall, he heard Miss Jan calling him.

“What happened in the classroom? What was the problem between you guys?” her voice was soft and filled with concern.

“Why do you want to know it?”

“So, I can help you.”

“Help me? Why?”

“I think there’s more than what I saw.” Her tone gentle but firm, as if she’s trying to reach him.

Saint feels his frustration bubbling over inside him, waiting to be spilled as he tries to stay calm. “Why do you want to know the truth? Every teacher in this school sees Class 2 as trouble kids. I’m asking you, let it end with me.” His words are crueler than he had intended but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Can you take responsibility for all the damages? It’s a lot of money. Tell me truth. I can talk to the principal.”

“If I can’t pay it, you can expel me.”

“That’s not a solution to the problem, Saint.”

“So what? You can’t fix the problem for us. You don’t need to understand us if you already judged us.” He lashes out before walking away.

This is not right, he doesn’t mean to get angry at Miss Jan. It’s just that she had caught him at bad time. He makes a mental note to apologize to her tomorrow when he can think straight again. 

Fate has its own way to make Saint embarrassed. Right now, he is bailing out his father yet again thanks to the courtesy of Miss Jan who had offered to send him to the police station.

He grips his father tightly, providing support to his father’s unsteady steps.

The older man reeks of booze and his weight is a little heavier than Saint remembers. He keeps his mouth shut, struggling to keep his mouth from scolding or asking questions. Not like he had the chance to anyway.

Before Saint can say anything, his father breaks the silence in between them.

“When are you going to get it, Saint? Listen to me. From now on, don’t take a blow for me. The debt is mine. I’ll take responsibility for it. Even if they hit me to death, let them do it. You don’t need to take the hit for me. Everything that you did. It’s useless.”

That was the final blow for Saint. Two of the people he cared about the most told him everything he does is useless.

Not even a simple thank you was said.

He feels as if his heart has been stomped on twice as hard. He doesn’t know how he can still stand in front of Miss Jan after everything she had heard. But he must give her his gratitude for sending him here.

“You can carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You have a future. You need to prepare yourself for it.” She says before giving Saint any chance to speak his mind.

Now Saint feels like asshole. How could he lash out at her earlier despite, her gentle attitude?

“It’s okay, I want to do it this way. Just let it be.”

“Are you sure you can take the responsibility for everything that happened?”

“If I take the blame, the problem will be over. This is the best solution. Thank you for giving me the ride.”

Saint offers Miss Jan a faint smile before turning his back and walks away.

For the first time in a while, he doesn’t want to come home.

*

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night. He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, as the darkness of his room presses in on him from all sides. It has been there for as long as he can remember, feeding on his regrets, failures, and his tears.

Usually, he would ignore it. He can ignore it. However, tonight is different. He can’t ignore it. The darkness has grown, consuming two-thirds of his room, leaving him suffocating for air, almost as if it’s trying to swallow him whole.

Maybe that’s a good idea. At least there’s something that wants him.

Shin’s harsh words echo in his mind, each one like a punch to his gut. His father’s venomous tone floods his mind, replaying the anger in both their expressions when they looked at him. His ears ring with all sorts of sounds, and he doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore.

He thinks about everything he’s done. Is everything that he had done completely useless? Is he useless?

These thoughts press down on him, getting louder with every heartbeat, as if mocking him for his failures as a friend and a son.

He must get out of this house now.

Saint finds himself sitting on one of the swings on the park in the middle of the morning. He doesn’t know what time is it, but it’s probably around 2 to 5 am as the sky are still colored in dark blue.

The cold breeze touches his skin, and he can’t help but trembling slightly. He doesn’t do much, just sit there in silence. The voices aren’t as loud as they were and there’s no darkness here trying to consume him here. Everything feels… peaceful?

He doesn’t know how many minutes has passed before he hears a scream. He knows he should run, save himself. Who knows what kind of people he would encounter? But, there’s a small, filthy, stained part of him that begs him to go toward the source of the sound. So, he does just that. He walks to direction of the noise. It’s not far, maybe just about 200 meters away.

Under the dim light, he sees a man, likely around 150 to 160 cm in height, surrounded by three muscular men. He observes the gang carefully. Okay, no weapon, just fists he mentally notes to himself.

“Hey!” he shouts, directing all the attention to himself, the small man seizes his chance to escape, darting away like a rabbit running from predators. He’s fast enough to make it out of the alley, leaving Saint standing there, alone.

Well, fuck, he thinks to himself. He wasn’t expecting that.

One of the man curses under his breath. “Shit! He ran away!” Their expressions twists with annoyance and fury, muscles in their faces tightening. “What do you want?” The man on the right barks out, his voice thick with irritation.

Today has been a bad day. A miserable one. Saint feels like the weight on his shoulders, the burden he’s been carrying, could be a little lighter with a beating or two. He smirks as he responds, “What kind of man would pick on the weak.”

As he had expected, the insult works. All of them curled up their fists almost immediately upon hearing him. Without giving Saint a chance to flee, they charge.

Saint doesn’t run although he knows he could easily outrun them. He doesn’t fight back too. He stays grounded on his position.

The first punch lands on his stomach with a strong force. He’s weirdly grateful he hasn’t eaten anything today, otherwise, he’s sure he’d be throwing up now. He crouches down, his insides burning but he feels a sense of calm rushes over him. His body feels numb, though he doesn’t feel bad about it.

Then comes another blow, this time, a kick to his abdomen. It sends him sprawling on the ground. The pain is familiar, like the kind he used to carry when he was alone as a child. He couldn’t help but lets out a faint smile, what would the little him think of the big him now?

Then comes another blow, and another. And for once, he doesn’t feel alone. This is real, this is happening, each strike reminding him that this is real. He is real. 

Ah, he thinks he misses this.

Saint wakes up with pain pricking on his abdomen. Had he passed out from the beating? He checks out his surrounding, the sun hasn’t risen yet. The men are gone. The feels of cold concrete beneath start to pricking him, forcing him to sit up.

He eyes himself under the dim light. No broken bones, he thinks.  Just a collection of bruises and some are already turning purple. There are no visible bruises on his face, a few cuts that he’s sure he can make some lies to cover it up. His lips have a cut that already dried, he’s also certain no one would care. He feels like laughing at himself. He is pathetic.

He sighs, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He’s tired, but he has to go back home before his father wakes up and sees him like this. He can’t let anyone sees him like this. He gathers all the strength he has and stands up slowly. Though his muscles demand him to stop, he walks himself home.

He sleeps like a log for the whole day.

*

Going to school with bruises hidden beneath his shirt is not a hard task for Saint. It’s just that today, they have PE class, which requires him to change clothes. He considers skipping, but he knows how persistent his teachers can be about their attendance.

He had skipped yesterday, so skipping two days in a row is not an option. Not for someone in Class 2, anyway. It seems like he will just have to change in the restroom instead of the locker room, as usual. He is the first to enter the classroom today, even earlier than Cable.

He rests his head on the desk with the lights off, facing the window instead of Shin’s side. It’s intentional. He prefers it this way, it’s easier for him to sleep.

He thinks about how his movements are currently limited as the bruises still in the process of healing. PE class is going to suck for him today, he knows it. He lets out a quick sigh before drifting off to sleep. Maybe he should have just skipped school altogether.

He wakes up when Peeta directs everyone to the gym. She has to raise her voice twice, with Cable’s help, to get everyone to listen. Saint feels sorry for Peeta, for his incompetence. He feels sorry for a lot of things lately.

But he just doesn’t have the energy for anything today, like his life has been slowly drained from him without him even noticing.

He waits for everyone else to leave before he makes his way to the restroom, his sport attire in hand. He scans his abdomen as he lifts his shirt for a second, all the bruises have turned deep purple. The mere sight of it makes his gut knots.

Where did things go wrong? How much more can his body endure before it finally broke? He shoves the thoughts deep into his mind, he doesn’t have that kind of time now. He quickly changes and goes to where everyone is.

He doesn’t feel like responding when Mr. Jo asks the class to practice kenjutsu in pairs, but for the hundredth time, his body betrays him. Raising his hand almost immediately when his teacher asks who wants to be Shin’s partner. He just has to. He finds it impossible to refuse any chance to get closer to Shin. Besides, a spar with Shin doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

He rises from his seat, grabs a wooden sword and stands in front of Shin. Shin charges first, rage burning in his eyes, followed by the violence swing of his weapon. Their classmates stop what they are doing to gather the sidelines, watching the fight between the two unfold. Thep Burapha cheer for Saint and Udon Pithak cheer for Shin.

Saint notices Shin grows irritated as time passes by, his strikes becoming more forceful and aggressive, keen with infuriation. Yet, Saint still makes no effort to counter the attack. He remains defensive, using his wooden sword to only block the incoming strike, and it was never once used to strike back.

Ken, standing by the sidelines, narrows his eyes in bitterness. His foot taps impatiently against the floor before he finally shouts, “Saint! What are you doing? Attack him!”

Saint doesn’t react. He keeps his stance firm, his grip steady. The sound of clashing wood fills the room, but it’s a one-sided fight. Shin attacks, Saint defends. Their classmates murmur amongst themselves with growing curiosity.

A sharp sting shoots through Saint’s ribs with every movement, the bruises hiding beneath his clothes burning like a fresh wound reopens. His muscles protest, his bones ache, but he endures.

Shin grits his teeth, his strikes that once wild and relentless begin to falter. Annoyance evident in his moves. “Fight back!” he finally snaps. He swings faster but Saint easily blocks his attack.

Instead, his voice comes so soft, almost as if he never spoke at all. No one hears it. No one but Shin.

“I won’t hurt you this time.”

Shin grips his sword tighter before throws it onto the ground with loud clatter. In the next moment, he grabs Saint by the collar, pulling him forward until they’re face to face. Their eyes meet, anger spreads from Shin’s gaze like a wildfire.

“Your words mean nothing to me.” He spits with malice woven in his tone.

His fist shoots up, stopping just inches from Saint’s face.

Saint doesn’t flinch. He looks deep into Shin’s eyes, looking for something, anything, to soothe his heartache. Someone once told him that the eyes are a window to the soul. If that’s the case, then all he can see in Shin’s soul is fury. Raw and feral, like a beast ready to tear his skin apart and eat his flesh.

But beneath all those outrages, there’s no hate.

Maybe it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, blinding him from seeing the reality just to keep his heart intact. Maybe he’s only seeing what he wants to see. But he desperately clings to the thought anyway. Because as long as he believes there’s no hate in those dark eyes, his life will be bearable.

“Punch me. Hit me.” Saint says, almost begging. The strike never comes. Instead, he sees it, even just for a split second. A single tear slipping down Shin’s cheek before he hurriedly wipes it away. It’s almost imperceptible, but Saint catches it. Before he can react, Shin turns away as he walks off without another word.

Saint’s chest tightens, there’s something unknown clawing at his ribs. Is it regret? Guilt? No. He knows that wasn’t it. It’s something deeper, something the isn’t sure he wants to acknowledge it. Something he isn’t ready to face. His feelings.

Somehow that hurts more than the blazing pain beneath his bruised skin.

*

Saint’s ears are buzzing. He is going way over the speed limit on his motorcycle, but none of that matter. Not when Shin is somewhere out there, getting beaten by Jeng and his gang. And Saint isn’t there.

He doesn’t know who is Jeng or what he is capable of, but that doesn’t change a thing. He will take them all down, make them regret ever laying a hand on Shin and his family.

His grip tightens on the handlebars, knuckles turning white as the image of ChingChing and her mother flashes in his mind eyes, the terror in their eyes before he rescues them. It makes him sick, how could anyone ever hurt innocent people? He won’t tolerate any of Jeng’s dirty tricks. He will make him pay for this.

Saint twists the throttle, his engine roars in response. His speed increases, his surrounding blurs into a meaningless scene. He clenches his jaw as he draws closer to the warehouse. Just a few more turns, just a little further.

It doesn’t take long to reach the warehouse. But even so, every second that passes before he arrives feels like an eternity.

And then he sees it.

Shin.

His heart clenches violently in his chest.

Shin is being held up by two people, he barely able to stand on his own. Bruises marring his skin, blood staining his handsome face, fresh blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. Sweat clings to his skin, his breath shallow as if every inhale burns.

Saint feels his vision blurs with wrath, he doesn’t even realize his own tears have begun to fall. Anger began to consume him.

“Do you know… 3 years.” He takes a shaky breath, his fists trembling at his sides. “It’s been 3 years that I haven’t hurt anyone.” Shin lifts his head his piercing gaze locking onto the men before him. His body shakes, rage spilling from every fiber of his body. “But today, I promise you.” He exhales hard.

“Every single one of you. I will beat you up. You all will have to suffer more than my friend does right now, you bastard!” He spits, raising his voice into a furious roar.

The first one to attack was Jeng’s lackey, and Saint couldn’t care less to look into his face. He threw his punch hard on the other abdomen, and the man already fell to the ground. Then they attack him in groups. Saint fights two or three people at once with ease.

Kicks and punches were thrown, but not once was received by Saint. He is untouchable, like he used to be before. Living up to his name ‘tsunami,’ where he will destroy everything that comes his way.

Today, he’s going to remind them exactly why.

Saint doesn’t realize the moment the last of Jeng’s lackeys hit the ground. His fists are still clenched, his body pulsing with adrenaline. It’s only when the sound of groans made out by Shin that he realizes there are only four left standing. Jeng, Ken, Knot and Nate.

His world narrows to a single point, Shin.

Lying there with his chest barely moving. Saint’s stomach twists. The rage had consumed him spiral into something far worse. Fear. His feet move before his mind can catch up, sprinting toward Shin with urgency in every steps.

“Are you okay?” The words fall from his lips in a rushed breathed as he drops to his knees, hovering his hand uncertainly before finally gripping Shin’s arms, trying to pull him up.

His touch is gentle yet firm, as if he is afraid Shin might break if he makes a careless touch. He couldn’t conceal the worry in his voice as he says, “Come on, I’ll help you.”

Saint barely gets the words out before Shin’s body tense, a stifled groan escaping his lips. “Argh!” Shin’s pain is acute and it makes Saint flinches at the very sound of it. Shin trembles under his hold.

It shreds through him, each gasp, each wince, like a blade cutting through his chest. He wishes he could bear Shin’s pain, make it disappear. He truly does.

They finally stand face to face, their breath uneven, their bodies bruised and roughed. Saint couldn’t help but feel his throat constrict, dry as he takes in Shin’s bloodied face. His cheek is grazed with blood, a stark contrast to against his pale skin.

It makes Saint wants to reach out, to wipe the blood away with his sleeve, to carry him on his back piggyback styles like they used to do. When things were simpler.

But they don’t speak. There’s no need to.

Their eyes do all the talking, scanning each other’s condition, silently taking in the damage. Shin’s eyes are exhausted, but he’s standing. That alone is enough to make Saint feel relieved.

“You bastard!” Jeng’s roar shatter their brief moment. Saint barely had any time to make out what was happening before Shin pushes him aside. In the corner of his eyes, he sees it all unfold. Jeng is running toward them with every energy he has.

Shin doesn’t hesitate. His reflexes are always better and faster than Saint’s. Without a doubt he steps into Saint’s place, shielding him from the upcoming attack. Then come the impact.

A sickening thud echoes through the warehouse as Jeng’s kick slams onto Shin’s chest with brutal forces. The sheer force of the blow sends them both sprawling to the ground. Pain creeps on Saint’s back as he collides with the cold concrete, Shin’s body landing against him.

For a moment, everything stops moving.

Saint’s lips quiver, he doesn’t hear anything, rage has sunk into his bones. Covering him up like a blanket in winter. His heart beats loudly, dub, dub, dub. The only sound that he can hear.

He exhales, slow and controlled. His hands move with gentleness as he cradles Shin’s head, carefully setting it aside on the concrete floor. Even if anger spread within him, he handles Shin with the care that is reserved for something precious.

Saint lifts his head, his gaze locks onto Jeng’s, in that moment, something shifts in the air. He doesn’t wait. His movement swifts as he pushes himself off the ground and launching forward.

His first punch cuts through the air and connects with Jeng’s face, resulting the other to snap his head to the side. But Jeng barely stumbles before retaliate with his own fist.

They exchange blows. Saint effortlessly change his sidesteps to dodge Jeng’s attacks with precision. Another punch lands on Jeng’s cheek, forcing a grunt out from him. Yet, instead of backing down, Jeng straightens up, wiping the blood off his lips. A slow smirk stretches upon his wicked face.

“Your punch is quite heavy.” Jeng taunts, his confidence unshaken.

Saint says nothing. Instead, he takes a step forward, then another. His body is tense like a predator stalking its prey, adrenaline drowns his mind amidst the fight. He is ready to attack the other at any given moment.

Before he could do just that, Jeng pulls out his knife from his back pocket. Swaying it in front of Saint as a reminder, as expected, there’s no way people like Jeng don’t have another dirty trick up their sleeve.

But in that moment, fury has blinded Saint.

Jeng sways the knife, stepping forward, but Saint doesn’t move back. He doesn’t hesitate.

If he has to kill Jeng today, then so be it. If he was the one to be killed today, then so be it.

He puts his fists forward, protecting his face, getting his stance ready before he attacks. He lunges at the knife first, trying to push it off from Jeng’s grasp. The knife wobbles, but Jeng isn’t so easily disarmed. He fights back with his strength matching Saint’s.

The blade slashed through the air, grazing past Saint’s cheek. A burning sting creeps onto his skin, but he doesn’t falter. He tightens his hold, twisting Jeng’s wrists with enough force to make him tremble. Before he could grab the knife from Jeng, the sound of a siren filled the ambience.

Police.

The distant wail of the sirens grows louder. Saint doesn’t let his guard down. He still has Jeng’s wrist locked in his iron grip. Jeng grits his teeth, muscles tensing as if debating whether to fight or to flee.

Ken and his gang, who were watching from the side, finally move from their position, yanking Jeng away from Saint’s grip.

“We’ve got to go now, boss!” Ken shouts with urgency. Jeng draws a short breath before turning on his heels and bolting. The rest of his gang follow suit, running away in various directions like startled rats.

Saint doesn’t chase them. He doesn’t care.

Flashing red and blue spilling into the warehouse like a warning, but he has no attention to spare for the incoming officers.

His chest tightens as he turns back toward the one person who matters.

Shin.

Saint rushes to him, dropping his knees beside him. before he could do say anything, a frantic voice cuts through the chaos.

“Shin!”

Chatjen comes sprinting toward them, panic written all over his face. He kneels behind Shin, helping steadying Shin to stand up. “Shin, are you okay?”

Shin lets out a ragged breath, his lips curling into a weak, exhausted smirk. “It hurts… but it won’t kill me.”

Without hesitation, Saint says, “I’ll take you to the hospital.” His hand instinctively finds Shin’s arm offering support. Shin jerks away, hard, in response.

“No!”

Saint freezes, his hand hovers mid-air before slowly falling to his side. His chest tightens as the weight of rejection settles deep into his bones.

“Shin... Saint is just...”

“Enough Chatjen. I don’t want to hear it.”

Saint forces a lump down his throat, lowering his gaze in a desperate attempt to keep his tears from spilling. His heart aches. Chatjen steps in without hesitation, slipping an arm around Shin. “Shin, lean on me.” He says softly.

Saint watches in silence as Shin follows, resting his head against Chatjen’s chest. He couldn’t help but reminiscence the view in front of him. Chatjen’s place used to be his. He would be the one with privilege to hold him close. A hollow ache return to his chest, gnawing at him harder this time, more relentless and unforgiving.

Step by step, they move away, leaving Saint behind.

*

The situation at the police station hasn’t been kind either. The air thick with exhaustion and unspoken tension. Saint sits on one of the benches, now that the adrenaline has worn off, he finally feels the bruises settling on his body.

Shin sits beside Chatjen, he leans slightly against the chair as his injuries more severe. Chatjen’s gaze flickering between the two boys as if asking them to break the silence.

Miss Jan arrives, she carries a plastic bag filled with skewers, the scent of grilled meat cuts through the sterile air of the station.

“Here. You boys have to eat something.” She says as she hands them each a stick.

At first, Saint and Shin shake their head, neither are in the mood for food. But when Saint reluctantly takes a bite, the smoky taste of the beef floods his senses. Without thinking, he mumbles, “Can I have more?”

At the exact same moment, Shin says, “Can I have more?”

The words overlap, their voices blending, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, the tension eases a little. Chatjen lets out a small chuckle as Miss Jan smiles and hands them more skewers.

Saint spares a glance at Shin. He catches the faintest twitch at the corner of Shin’s lips, barely a smile, but something close.

The door to the police interrogation room swings open as Mr. Sung steps out, his expression unreadable, but there’s a hint of worry too. His eyes lands on Shin.

“Shin.” He says, his tone gentle yet firm. “How do you know mafias?”

Saint’s heart skips a beat. Shin? Mafia?

He turns to Shin, scanning for the other’s face for any reaction, but Shin remains composed, only letting out a tired sigh.

“I don’t know them.” Shin answers fairly. “And I don’t want to know them.”

Mr. Sung’s frown depends. “You don’t know them? Then how did you have a fight with them? They are very dangerous, Shin.”

Shin exhales, before he can respond, hurried footsteps reverberate through the station. His mother and little sister rush toward him, their faces stricken with worry.  At least ChingChing is. His mother, however, is burning with anger.

His mother’s gaze landed directly on Saint. And then, without warning, she strides toward him and slaps him across the face.

The loud sound stops everything in the room.

Saint doesn’t respond, instead he lowers his gaze in defeat. The weight on his chest grows unbearable. He deserves this, he thinks to himself.

“I told you to stay away from my son.” Shin’s mother seethes.

Saint doesn’t argue. He doesn’t defend himself. What good can it do?

But then, small hands clutch onto the fabric of her pants. ChingChing comes to hug her mother’s leg. “Mom, don’t hurt Saint.”

She looks up at her mother with wide, pleading eyes, trying to understand why the person who once stayed over at their house, was now the one being struck.

“Shin’s mom, please calm down.” Miss Jan interrupts. “Saint actually saved Shin from the thugs.”

Shin’s mother barely reacts, her gaze still fixed on Saint. If Saint dares to look up, he will notice the immense amount of hatred within it.

She turns to the two teachers. “You two are their homeroom teachers, right?”

They both nod in response.

“Mark my words. From now on, don’t let Saint come near my son.”

Saint remains still. His hands clenched at his sides. He tried to swallow, but the lump in his throat won’t go away.

“I don’t think I can do that.” Mr. Sung replies.

Shin’s mother glares. “If you can’t, then you should quit being a teacher.”

A new kind of silence falls upon them, constricting and cold.

Shin who was silently watches the argument, slowly steps out from his place. He hates this. He hates this version of his mother.

“Mom.”

Shin’s voice is quiet but it’s enough to make everyone hears.

His expression cold, his jaw tense. He takes a step forward. “I won’t associate with him again.”

Saint’s head snaps up. He holds his breath.

Shin looks at him then, the moment their eyes meet, Shin delivers the final blow.

“Because I loathe him.”

Saint forgets how to breathe. His chest tightens, something breaking so intensely inside him that it physically hurts. He feels a bile coming up his throat, but he shoves it down. This is not the time to do that. His skin crawls like there are thousands of bugs under it. He wants to scratch it, to remove it forcefully from his skin, but this is not the time to do that.

Shin doesn’t waver. He doesn’t take his word back.

Saint wants to laugh. He wants to scream. To demand, Do you mean that? Do you really mean that?

But those words never leave his lips.

He doesn’t move.

He doesn’t do anything when Shin turns away. He doesn’t chase after him as he walks out the door with his family.

*

Saint doesn’t take his bike home after everything that had happened at the police station. Instead, he lets his legs to take him whenever his mind could think of. Without any real destination in mind.

He used to do this since he was a child, hitting the road until his lungs burned, until his legs hurt, until the chaos in his head muted. Sometimes he ran to escape his father’s drunken behavior. Other time, it was just another way to blow off some steam.

Now, it feels like the only way to keep himself from falling apart.

Well, besides from purposely letting himself get beaten. He did think about looking for some unnecessary fight, but he figured his body couldn’t take any punches today. Not after the whole fiasco with Jeng and his gang.

The night air feels rough against his skin, harsh and biting. He doesn’t care.

His vision blurs from the tears streaking down his face. He doesn’t wipe them away. He lets them spill freely as he runs faster. Outrunning the words that have been thrown to him earlier.

The memory of Shin’s words claws at his inside, but he pushes forward. Step after step, he runs faster and faster. His breath ragged, his lungs burned, he wants to scream.

And then, even just for a fleeting moment, relief washes over him. A strange sense of bittersweet freedom crashes into him like a wave. Out here beneath the open sky, away from people who look at him with disgust, away from Shin’s cold eyes and his mother’s jagged words, Saint feels weightless.

Free.

No one to judge him. No one to tell him he is useless.

And finally, he exhales the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding since the police station.

*

Give up on the most important thing to you. If you can do it, I’ll pretend to believe that you feel very guilty. If you can give it up, I’ll go back to school.

Saint lays on his bed, staring at the ceiling, Shin’s words echoing in his skull like a broken record. Dangling heavy around his neck as if it’s trying to choke him. He is tired, but sleep doesn’t come. He doubts it ever will tonight.

His throat tightens and before he realizes it, a single tear slips down his cheeks, then another. His breath shudders as he presses the help of his palm against his eyes, an attempt to stop the flood. It’s ineffective of course.

The weight of everything crashes down on him all at once, breaking the dam.

Silent sobs rack his body. He bites his lips to muffle the sounds, but his chest heaves uncontrollably. He feels small. Weak.

His father is nowhere to be found, probably passed out on some sidewalk, and Saint has no one. No one to call. No one who would listen.

A shallow laugh bubbles up his throat, bitter and quiet.

He used to think he could handle being alone. He’s been alone for as far as his mind can remember. But tonight, the loneliness taunting him more threatening than usual.

Maybe it’s because he knows what it’s like to not be alone. To have someone beside him. To have Shin beside him, even if it was only for a short while.

Saint is grateful, in some peculiar way, that Shin isn’t like him. That Shin has people. That Shin will never have to feel like this.

Give up on the most important thing to you

He grits his teeth, what even is the most important thing to him? If Shin meant himself, then Saint already lost him. If it’s his will to fight and keep moving, he wonders if he’s already given that up too.

The night stretches endlessly and Saint is still awake. His mind won’t stop spinning, searching, grasping for an answer. What is it? What is the most important thing to me?

Then, everything clicks into place.

Oh.

The realization settles deep in his chest, more numbing than he expected. He finally knows. He finally understands what he needs to give up.

So why does it still hurt? Why do his ribs feel too stiff, like they’re going to burst open at any given moment? Why do his tears keep spilling, silent and unstoppable?

Shouldn’t he feel relieved?

Then why does it feel like he’s breaking all over again?

The darkness looming over his bedroom grows darker.

He thinks he misses his mom. Her soothing whisper. The warmth of her hands smoothing down his hair. Her comforting lullaby, the one she used to softly hum whenever Saint has a nightmare.

That night, he dreams of her.

*

Saint wakes up the next day with a headache as though his skull is too small for his brain. His legs like lead, each step a struggle against gravity. He stumbles lightly, catching himself on the edge of the bed.

He grits his teeth, knowing he has no choice but to push through the heaviness of his body. He fights the pressure in his chest, the weight of everything resides within him.

Today, there’s something he has to do. Something important.

He doesn’t look in the mirror, as he has for weeks, months, maybe longer. He doesn’t like the image staring back at him because it reminds him of the person he used to be. He can’t bear to see the tired eyes with dark eye bags drooping under them.

He knows what he looks like, or more accurately, what he used to look like.

He dresses quickly and heads for the door. The world outside waits, but Saint doesn’t know if he’s ready for it. Yet, he forces himself to keep walking.

As he approaches the school building, Miss Jan spots him. She pauses, concern flickering in her eyes as she hurries toward him. “Where is Shin?” She asks. “Can you tell him to come to school now? Otherwise, the principal might change her mind.”

All of the sudden, Saint feels his bag is heavier than usual. The words hit harder than he expected. Without answering her right away, he simply nods in response.

Miss Jan doesn’t wait for anything else. She turns and walks away, going to the classroom probably, her steps quick. Saint stands there for a moment, staring at the empty space where she was just standing.

His breath catches in his throat, his heart thudding louder than it should. For a split second, he considers walking away. Maybe Shin was just joking about the wishes, maybe he will come on his own.

But the thought doesn’t last long. Saint pulls out his phone as he dials the number he knows by heart. It rings twice before the voice on the other end answers.

“What?” Shin’s voice is flat.

“Come to school right now,” Saint speaks, his voice firm but strained, the words coming out in a rush.

Shin's voice returns, constant and uninterested. “No.”

Saint’s jaw clenches, his heart hammering in his chest. He speaks again, his voice quieter but resolute.

“I’ll give up the most important thing to me,” he says, the words feeling heavier with each syllable. “I’ll do what you say.”

There’s another silence. He waits for something, anything, but all he hears is the steady hum of the line.

Saint turns off the call.

*

Saint tells his decision to Mr. Sung and Miss Jan earlier, just moments before he is about to confront Shin. Mr. Sung, as expected, doesn’t say much. He merely nods, as though he understands more than he lets on or perhaps he is simply too worn down by the weight of the situation.

But Miss Jan, Miss Jan protests. Her voice is firm with concern. She tries to convince him. Saint can feel the anxiety rolling off her. “This is irrational, Saint,” she insists, pacing in front of him like a mother trying to protect her fragile young. “There has to be another, some solution we haven’t thought of. You don’t have to sacrifice your future for this.”

He wants to argue, to tell her that she doesn’t understand, that the circumstances are more complicated than she can grasp.

First, his future is nothing compared to Shin’s. He is no one’s hope, never been the one anyone relies on for anything except his brute strength. His father has never cared about his school nor has he cared about his life. Not once has he asked about Saint’s grade or his dream.

To him, as long as Saint can manage his noodle cart and pick him up every time he messes up, then that’s good enough for him.

Shin, on the other hand, is different. Shin has a future, one that has been carefully planned and meticulously laid out in front of him like a roadmap to success.

There is a clear path: the best school, the best coaches, the future he has been groomed for since he was young. Shin’s mother cares about his future, his sister loves him, and there are people who believe in him. There are people who expect things from him.

Shin is always meant for greatness, and long before Saint came into his life, he had already dreamed his future. A successful soccer player, a star on the field, someone to look up to. Saint has seen enough to know that it’s not just wishful thinking. It is reality. Shin’s footwork is flawless, he is a real genius on the field.

And that’s the worst part. Saint knows it. He knows Shin can achieve everything he dreams of. Yet, somehow, he has become the one thing that destroys everything Shin has worked for.

Saint knows that he owes Shin his future. He isn’t just making a decision for himself. He is making it for the sake of a future that Shin has every right to claim.

If Saint doesn’t make this sacrifice, Shin might never get the chance to graduate. He might not get the chance to make something of himself but as long as Shin does, it’s enough. This is the price that he has to pay, a price he never asked for, but one he knows he must shoulder.

Miss Jan once tells him that he can carry the weight of the world on his shoulder. But does she not see it? Does she not know that Shin is his world? Everything he does, every decision he makes, it all comes back to Shin.

Saint will carry the weight because Shin has to fly.

To become the person, he is always meant to be.

And Saint will be the one to make sure that happens, even if it costs him everything.

Because for Shin, it will be worth it.

Second, how can he explain Shin? How can he make her understand that once Shin has made up his mind, there is no talking to him? That’s just the way it works.

“I know Shin.” Saint replies simply, there is only truth behind those words. “Once he’s decided on something, he doesn’t back down.”

Miss Jan looks like she doesn’t like the answer but she stays silent.

Now, here he is, in Class 2, alone with the two teachers and Mr. Pokpong. The room feels oddly empty now that his classmates are gone as though even the walls are holding their breath. He couldn’t shake the tightness in his chest.

The teachers sat atop of the desk, neither of them speaks. The silence in the room almost enough to smother Saint. So, he throws his gaze outside the window, staring out into the distance.

He shifts in his seat, his palms sweating. He doesn’t know how long he’s been waiting but it feels like time has stretched into eternity. It makes his head throb.

Shin hasn’t arrived yet.

But Saint isn’t worried. He knows Shin. Knows how he behaves. He isn’t late nor is he early.

He will be there at the right time.

When he’s made up his own mind, only then he would show up and everything would fall into place.

It doesn’t take long before Shin arrives, sullen looks on his face. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to be at school. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to face what’s coming.

Saint doesn’t look, but he can feel Shin is looking at him. His breath ragged, his heart shatters every time Shin takes his step to sit at his desk.

Shin slams his school bag down with a force that echoes through the silent classroom, the loud clatter ringing in Saint’s ears like a warning. He takes his seat, and the air between them thickens.

Then, Mr. Pokpong breaks the tension. “Although you’re late, I’ll mark you as present,” he says, standing before Shin’s desk, his voice firm and commanding. “From now on, you need to attend every class. If you don’t want to get expelled, you understand?”

Shin lets out a faint smirk, his eyes still not meeting Saint’s, and mutters a simple, “Yes.”

“Mr. Sung and Miss Jan, please monitor his community work,” Mr. Pokpong instructs before walking out of the room.

A moment of silence passes, tense and weighted, before Mr. Sung speaks. “Your community work starts tomorrow. You need to clean the school every evening. Got it?”

Shin doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he simply nods, a mischievous smile creeping onto his lips as if he’s already planning how he’ll get through it. Then, the two teachers leave the classroom, leaving Shin and Saint alone.

Shin lets out a loud sigh, purposely making it known how bored and disinterested he is. Saint doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even acknowledge the sound. He remains still, quiet, his gaze fixed on a spot far away, refusing to look at Shin.

“So, what are you giving up?” Shin’s voice cuts through the silence, but his eyes are still focused somewhere else, anything but on Saint.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Saint rises from his seat. He walks toward Shin’s desk, paper in hand. He places it in front of Shin.

Shin glances down at the paper, his eyes narrowing, his lips twitching in confusion. He snatches it from Saint’s grasp, his brow furrowing as he reads the contents. Saint watches him, but doesn’t say a word.

The paper is a letter of school withdrawal. The words on it are clear, final.

Shin’s eyes widen, and his fingers tighten around the paper. He stares at it for a long moment, disbelief written across his face. Then, he looks up at Saint, his glance intense.

“Are you happy now?” Saint’s voice is low, steady, almost empty.

For the first time since he arrived, Shin lifts his gaze to meet Saint’s, their eyes locking in a way that feels like a lifetime of unspoken tension, regret.

Without waiting for an answer, Saint snatches the paper back. He walks out of the classroom, each step heavy with a burden he can’t name, but he knows it will follow him forever.

Shin leans back in his chair. He watches as Saint disappears down the hallway.

Saint doesn’t look back.

The door closes with a soft click.

*

Saint knows he can find Shin on the rooftop. He doesn’t know why but he feels like he needs to see Shin now.

After sending the withdrawal letter to Miss Jan, a strange emptiness creeps in. There’s something unfinished that are urging him to sees Shin just one more time. he can’t quite explain it, but he has this strong desire inside his bones to capture this one last moment before it slips away for good.

Bingo. The rooftop door creaks open. Saint can already see him, Shin’s back, outlined against the fading light of the setting sun.

Shin stands there, as if he’s lost in the horizon, staring into something Saint doesn’t know.

The way the sun paints everything in golden hues only makes it more painful. Saint doesn’t know what Shin is seeing, but he’s sure it’s something beyond him, beyond his capable ability to understand.

“What are you doing here?” Saint’s voice breaks the silence, his voice comes out strained like he’s forcing words out of a dry throat.

Shin turns abruptly at the sound of his voice, his eyes hard and piercing. He doesn’t speak at first. Instead, his hand moves so fast it’s almost like a reflex, grabbing Saint by the collar with a force that makes Saint’s chest tighten.

“What are you doing?” Shin half-shouts, his breath ragged, his face flushed with anger and confusion.

Saint feels his tears rising, threatening to spill. He wants to break, to let them fall, but he swallows hard and holds them in. He speaks through the tightness in his throat. “I’m giving up on my most important thing. Just like you told me to do.”

The words feel like a weight inside him, suffocating him, and yet, they’re all he can give.

The sun is setting behind Shin now, casting a glow around him. And despite the fury, the hurt, and the frustration in his eyes, Shin looks beautiful in this light. The kind of beauty that makes you want to fight everything, gods, angels, the world itself, only to make sure he stays safe, to keep him from slipping from your fingers.

Shin looks away for a time, almost as if he's trying to collect his thoughts. Then he speaks, his voice quiet yet harsh with incredulity. “Is school your most important thing?”

Saint’s heart sinks, knowing what comes next. Shin’s gaze turns back to him, still furious but clouded with something else. “Resigning from school is not enough. You need to give up on something even more important.”

Saint’s chest tightens, the air thick and heavy between them. His eyes fall to the ground, the weight of the question crushing him. “Do you think what I’m giving up is school?” He asks, but it feels like he already knows the answer.

Shin doesn’t say anything for a moment, but the silence hangs in the air like a storm, waiting to break. Then he presses, his voice low and demanding, “Then what is it?”

Saint wants to break, wants to scream it out, but instead, his words come slowly, with difficulty, as though they’re dragging something deep inside him into the light. “Do you really not know?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, the truth so raw it stings as it leaves his lips. “The most important thing I’m giving up... it’s not school. It’s you, Shin.” His breath catches in his throat as he forces himself to continue. “I’m giving up on the chance to be with you.”

Saint can feel the tears now, rolling down his cheeks, but he doesn’t want Shin to see. He looks away for just a moment, but it doesn’t last long.

When he finally meets Shin’s eyes again, he finds that they’re not dry either. Shin’s gaze is filled with something painful, something deep that Saint can’t quite reach.

It makes his heart shatter just a little more.

Saint brushes off Shin’s grasp, taking his hand only to gently put it aside.

It feels like goodbye, it really does.

Saint wishes to stay for longer, but he knows this is the time. The time to let go. The time to exit Shin’s life is for good, even though every part of him screams to hold on. All the things he tried to make something work between them were proven pointless. Nothing can change the way it was between them.

He can’t go back to when things used to be easy.

He turns away slowly. He feels like with each step he takes, gravity itself is pushing him back ten times harder.

But despite all that, he doesn’t look back. Because if he does, he knows he won’t be able to walk away.

So, he keeps moving forward.

*

Saint doesn’t know how much time has passed since he handed in the withdrawal letter. Day? Days? It doesn’t really matter.

He doesn’t know how many hours he’s spent curled up in bed, staring at his ceiling until sleep takes him under. He doesn’t remember his last proper meal. His stomach growls in protest, but the hunger feels distant, like it’s not happening inside his body.

Burrowing deep under the blanket is far more important to him. It feels safer, easier. He can breathe under it. The world outside stops for a while, not moving if he doesn’t acknowledge it.

Occasionally, he checks his phone with a glint of hope in the back of his mind. But he brushes it off quickly, shames himself for even dares to hope that anyone would care about him.

There’s no message. Not from someone he’s expecting.

Every time his screen stays blank, he sinks his body further into the mattress, like his body is already sewn to it. Like he belongs there.

When the silence gets deafening, he likes to imagines himself far away, lost in a deep, vast country where nobody knew him. Somewhere without language or streets.

Saint hears his father’s motorcycle today. He sighs, that means he has to find some lie to cover up why he’s not in school now. He thinks fast, an idea he’s sure his father won’t question.

If he can’t go to the school, he needs to something else, one that happens at the same time as the time he goes for school. It doesn’t take long before his mind tells him that the gas station seems like a perfect option.

Yeah. He could work there. He could go to the interview tomorrow.

*

Saint gets the job. So, here he is, in his first day on the job, dressed in a uniform that a little big for him, wiping down the window of a customer’s car. The midday sun bears down on him, sweat pooling at the nape of his neck, but he doesn’t complain.

Here, there’s no grades to maintain, no future to figure out, no science problem waiting to be solved. Just cars pulling in, hands exchanging cash and the occasional murmured, “thank you” from customers who barely makes time to look at him. It’s repetitive, but there’s a comfort in it that Saint couldn’t explain.

His first visitors from school are Peeta, Eve, Cable and Chatjen. The rumor of him working here must have spread in school, huh. He doubts they will be the last one.

Peeta is the one that called his name out loud, her voice cutting through the low rumble of the car’s engine. Saint exhales before he turns his attention to face them.

“Why are you here?” Saint asks, the long-handled squeegee tight in his hand.

It’s weird to see them standing side by side like this, given the history between Udon Pithak and Thep Burapha. “We’re here to bring you back to school.” Peeta speaks amongst the four, her tone firm as if this is a decision Saint can’t refuse.

Saint stands there, suppressing himself from letting out an exhausted sigh. Turning his head back to the car before answering, his voice steady when he responds. “I quit it already.”

Peeta looks at him in disbelief, how could he easily say that?

“Why did you do that?” Eve asks him. Her tone has a hint of worry, maybe she thinks he has been forced into doing this by Shin.

There’s a pause before Saint answers, “I don’t want to study anymore. Better quit and start working.”

It’s a lie. Deep inside him, he loves coming to school. Although most of the time he would pretend to be asleep, but he still loves to be a part of them. A part of something.

Cable’s eyes flicker, his eyes widen slightly as he says, “Only because of that?” he takes a breath, frustration creeping into his tone, “You didn’t want to study, so you quit. Didn’t your family say anything?” Does Saint do not have a controlling parent like him at home? Does his father do not operate like his mom?

Saint doesn’t reply right away. He keeps his focus on the squeegee, dragging it across the glass, clearing away the soapy water. When he eventually speaks, his voice remains unaltered. “We aren’t wealthy, so dropping out of school would help ease our financial burden.”

Chatjen interrupts. “Well, Saint. I think you better go back to school. You can work again once you graduate.” He hesitates, glancing around like he’s looking for the right words. “My dad once said education…”

Saint clenches his jaw, not out of anger but exhaustion. He appreciates their care, but not everything in life goes as planned. For him, this is one of those things.

He doesn’t let Chatjen finish. “Thanks, everyone, for your concern,” Saint cuts, meeting each of their gazes.

“But I’m not going back.”

Silence follows.

He lets it sink, lets the weight of his words settle in, before finally dunking the squeegee into the water bucket. “I’ll get back to work now.”

His second visitor is someone he never expected. Shin.

At first, he doesn’t notice the other’s presence. Too focused on his task, guiding a customer’s car away from the pump. But when the vehicle pulls out, clearing the space behind it, it reveals a familiar figure.

There Shin is. He is standing between the gas pump and the station's sign, gazing at him with an expression that Saint finds difficult to understand. He appears to be torn between hesitation and resolve.

Saint did wonder if this is all his imagination. If the exhaustion and hunger finally started to mess up his head.

“Shin.” He breaks the silence. His voice comes out almost naturally as if trying to convince himself that Shin is actually there, standing in front of him.

Shin doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, he strides toward Saint, making his presence impossible to ignore. “Do you want to do it this way?” Shin asks, now standing face to face with Saint.

“What do you mean?”

“That you would quit school.”

“Yeah, I’m serious. I’ll go back to school.” There’s a pause, Saint this chance to look into dark orbs in front of him. Then, softer, he adds, “You’ll never see me again.”

Shina takes few steps forward. “Are you trying to annoy me?”

Saint blinks, caught off guard. “Do you think what I’m doing… Is just to provoke you?”

“Yeah.” A quick answer comes out from Shin’s mouth.

“I’m doing this,” he starts, then hesitates. He takes a deep breath. “Because I want you to finish your studies. You told me yourself, if I gave up my most important thing…” He steels himself, eyes looking straight into Shin’s. “Then you would return to school.”

Shin staggers back for a moment. A glint of uncertainty paints his face. “But…”

“Make sure you keep your promise.” Saint nods for a few whiles. “Make sure you graduate from high school.” You have a future.

Then he turns on his heel. The conversation is over. There’s nothing he wants to talk about anyway. Saint walks back to the station, toward his job.

“Hello, what kind do you want?” Saint’s voice travels through the air. His once cheerful tone has turned into something professional, detached. “B7 for 1000 THB, please.” A customer replies.

Shin watches Saint go about his work as he stands there, already far from Saint.

*

His third visitor arrives the next day. Mr. Sung.

Saint isn’t surprised, not really. He figured the teachers would catch on sooner or later. Still, seeing Mr. Sung pulling up in his car did shocked Saint.

The older man steps out, slipping his hands into his pocket, leaning on the driver’s door, looking around as if this is his first time at the gas station. “Skipping school to work instead?” His voice is casual, but Saint knows better. There’s always something unspoken behind Mr. Sung’s words.

“Yes. I left school to help my dad make a living.”

Mr. Sung pauses, watches him for a moment before he finally asks, “What do you think you’ll be doing ten years from now?”

It doesn’t take long before Saint answers. “What do you mean?” Like he’s trying to avoid the question, trying to ignore the weight of the question for fear that if he had a moment to think about the significance of the question, his world crumble.

Mr. Sung doesn’t let him escape easily. “I mean, how do you picture yourself in the future? Doing this kind of work or something different?”

Saint’s shoulders sink in slightly. That’s the thing.

You see, when he was 6, he dreamed of becoming a firefighter. Helping people in need, rescuing cats stuck on trees or putting out fires before they grew into something worse, something uncontrollable.

When he was 11, he dreamed of becoming a Muay Thai fighter. He loved the rush of the ring, using his brute force to win a match, to make something good out of his strength.

When he was 15, he met Shin. He dreamed to become a cheerleader, of all things. It was sudden and stupid, but back then, he thought that even if he could be on the sidelines and cheer for Shin, it would be enough.

When he was 16, his world changed.

He learned that no matter how much he tried try to run from fight and bruises, at the end of the day, it would always find him. It was in his blood.

After the incident, he did not dare to dream anymore.

Now, he is 18, he doesn’t have a dream.

After a long pause, he lifts his gaze to meet Mr. Sung’s. “I can handle my own future.”

Mr. Sung studies him before nodding in response. “Without even having a high school diploma? Are you sure about this?”

Saint doesn’t respond. Not that he has anything to say anyway, all the thing his teacher says is true. He has thought about it. About how hard his life going to be without a diploma.

Mr. Sung lets out a deliberate sigh, changing his position from leaning back onto his car into standing in front of Saint. “I’m warning you out of goodwill, class president. Don’t do anything you might regret later, because we can’t go back and fix it.”

“And you think that, if I go back to school and graduate, my life will really be different from what it is now?”

“I can’t predict the future.” Mr. Sung admits. “But I know you’ll have options if you focus on finishing your studies.”

Saint swallows, looking hard into Mr. Sung’s face. There’s truth behind those words, but hearing it out loud still make Saint uneasy.

“Also, class president…” The teacher reaches inside of his car and pulls out a familiar piece of paper. He holds it out. “I know you forged your parent’s signature.”

Saint stops.

“If you really want to drop out, go get the real signature.” The paper hangs midair in front of Saint. “But think it through, your future could depend on it.”

Saint stares at the paper, reluctantly he reaches out and takes it from Mr. Sung’s grip. The older man pats his arm, a polite gesture, before slipping back into his car. The engine growls to life and within seconds, he is gone.

Saint doesn’t know what to do with the paper clutched in his hand.

His fourth visitor is his father.

He doesn’t expect to see the familiar noodle cart, the worn-out motorcycle or the tired line on his father’s face as he pulls up to the gas station.

His heart throbs, but he keeps his expression neutral. “Why are you here?”

His father parks before swinging his leg off the bike. “I brought the car to refuel.” His father replies, simple. But his father looks up at him properly, his gaze searching. “How did you end up here? Why didn’t you tell me? Do I have to find out from your teachers?”

Saint looks down, his fingers twitch at his sides. He doesn’t dare to look into his father’s eyes. He doesn’t want to know what he will find in it. He couldn’t take another disappointment look from his father. The same look when he when failed a math test he barely studied for. The same look when their house was silent for days after his mother left.

“You don’t want to study anymore, right?” his father asks again, voice softer now but firm nonetheless. “Didn’t you tell me you wanted to graduate? So what’s going on? Why do you suddenly want to drop out?”

Saint felt the words pound against his ribcage, dense and stifling.

“I…” He pauses, hesitant. How does one handle when caught in this kind of situation?

His father scratches the back of his head and shakes his head as he takes a step forward. “I’m asking seriously. Why have you changed your mind?” his father puts his hand on Saint’s shoulder, warm and grounding. “Did someone do something to you?”

Saint stiffens. All he can do is stare at his father, his eyes rimmed with red. He wishes he could tell his father. He wants to tell him about the guilt that has been leading to this decision. But no words come out.

Instead, his eyesight blurs briefly before he blinks it away. He sighs. “No one did anything to me, dad. I just want to drop out.” Each syllable came out like piercing debris, causing pain in his throat.

His father looks at him in disbelieve, like he can’t recognize the person in front of him. “Just want to drop out?”

“Yeah.”

His father releases a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Well, you really are just like your mom.” He taps Saint’s shoulder as he enunciates each word.

Saint blinks. The words caught him off guard. “In what way?”

“You can’t lie for crap.”

Saint looks away. Suddenly feeling small. He stares at the ground, looking for something that isn’t there on the pavement.

His father sighs again, this time lighter. “Come on, will you tell me why you want to do this?” The frustration in his voice now being replaced by something else. Concern.

Saint stay stills.

His father watches him for a moment before shaking his head. He waves a hand over his head, gesturing that he won’t push this matter any further. “Fine. Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay. It’s your choice. If you want to drop out, I won’t stop you.”

Saint’s head jolts up. Shocked. His father continues. “Go to school with me tomorrow.”

“Why?” Saint can’t hide the confusion in his expression anymore.

His father looks at him dumb-founded, as if the answer is obvious. “Well, to sign the resignation letter.”

Then just like that, he turns away, not even bothering to refill his motorcycle as he mentions earlier.

Saint glances down. There's a tug in his ribcage.

He, for one, is grateful to his father for not forcing him to attend school and instead allowing him to make his own decisions. That should be a good thing, right? Treating him like an adult.

But there is a part of him that still wants his father to fight for him to go to school, to refuse signing that paper. Because if his father argued, even just for a little bit longer, then maybe it would mean that he mattered.

Human’s mind really fascinates Saint sometimes.

*

Saint dreads getting up today. He blinks up at the ceiling, his body still, his thoughts begging for him to stay in bed and avoid what today entails. But reality is unrelenting. He has no choice but to confront it.

He and his father are headed to school today to process his withdrawal. To sign the paperwork. To make things official. And God, how he wishes he could simply disappear. His stomach wrenches at the idea of walking down those familiar halls for the last time. Of seeing faces that previously felt like hugs. He prays that he will not run into Shin. Or anyone else. He doesn’t think he can handle that.

But the world didn’t wait for anyone. So he forces himself up. He goes to his bathroom, avoiding the mirror as usual. His fingers shakes slightly as he grabs his toothbrush. He showers, letting the water run over and he brushes himself a little too hard today, rinsing himself clean of everything except the ache that refuses to leave his chest. He ignores the silent scream inside his lungs.

When he puts on his school uniform, it feels bigger than usual. This is the last time he will wear it. The thought descends on him like an overwhelming cloud, tightening his chest. His fingers graze across the fabric, as if attempting to memorize its texture. There are so many memories tied all over these clothes. There are so many wonderful and awful times. Now it’s all coming to an end.

His father doesn’t say anything when he steps out of his bedroom, and Saint doesn’t either. His father eats his breakfast without a word while Saint only stares at his own untouched food. He has no appetite this morning.

The drive to school is quiet. He walks beside his father as they approach the school lobby. His steps slowed down as he sees Mr. Sung is already waiting for him there.

They exchange greetings. His father gets straight to the point. “I’m here to process my son’s withdrawal from school.”

Mr. Sung only nods as he says, “Alright.” His voice higher than usual like he’s trying to hide something.

Then, the teacher turns his head to Saint. “Want to say goodbye to your friends, Saint?”

Saint stares at Mr. Sung. He knows what Mr. Sung is doing, he’s trying to make saint rethinking his decision, trying to give him a reason to stay. But Saint has never been one to take his words back. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” He replies.

But Mr. Sung doesn’t back down easily. “But I already told them you’d be saying goodbye.”

Saint blinks, hesitate. “It’s really okay.”

Mr. Sung pushes again. “Come on, you’re already in your uniform. Go say a quick goodbye to them. See your friends. Say goodbye to Miss Jan at least. They’re over at the gym.”

Saint looks at where the gym is and pauses, thinking hard whether he should abide or not. He was about to refuse again until his father interferes. “Come on, Saint. Just say goodbye.”

“Alright.”

He makes his way to the gym, leaving the two older men behind, unaware of whatever prior plan they had arranged.

With every step, the knot in his stomach tightens. Saint wants to turn around, wants to run. He doesn’t want to go to the gym. Doesn’t want to be greeted by his friends’ pity eyes. Doesn’t want to feel like he is also disappointing them.

The walk to the gym is short but it still takes a lot of time for Saint to be there.

He stops behind the door, his hand hovering over the handle. He could still leave. He could still walk away. He could lie to Mr. Sung and his father that he had said his goodbye. But something in him keeps him moving forward.

His hand turns the door handle, slowly. Instead of meeting a room full of his classmates, he’s met with Shin’s back. Alone.

The door creaks as it closes, and Shin turns around, their eyes meeting. Saint’s breath catches.

Silence sits between them.

Saint shouldn’t walk toward Shin. He knows he shouldn’t. But his legs carry him anyway. It’s like Shin has his own gravitational pulls and Saint will always finds himself bound to his orbit, no matter how much he tries to resist.

“How did you end up here?” Shin breaks the silence.

Saint looks around, avoiding Shin’s gaze before finally meeting them. “I came with my dad to sign the resignation letter.” His feet move forward, closing the distance. “Where is everyone?”

“What are you talking about?”

Saint frowns. He glances around again, searching for his classmates. “Well… Mr. Sung told me to say bye to everyone.” He takes a breath. “Where is everyone?”

Shin shifts in his position. “It’s just me. There’s no one else here.”

“Then, why did you come here?” Saint asks, though he’s not sure if he wants to know the answer.

Shin looks him upside down before he finally replies. “Chatjen told me to come here.”

Then, the realization hits them both at the same time. Their brows furrow instantly. Shin sighs and he inhales deeply. “Guess I’ve been tricked.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean both of us got tricked.”

“Tricked? What are you talking about? I can’t keep up.”

Shin lets out an exasperated sigh. “It means he tricked me into coming here to make up with you.” His voice rising.

Saint doesn’t say anything, he couldn’t, it’s like a cat got his tongue. Shin doesn’t look at him.

“Are you really here to make up with me?” Saint’s voice is quieter this time. Almost hesitant.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t do that.” Shin bites before he brushes past Saint, shoulder hitting his as he walks toward the door.

Saint still standing in his position. Stunned. He turns around at the sound of Shin furiously knocking on the door, his hand rattling the handle.

Shin sighs before looking back at Saint. He stands in his position, thinking, before he walks slowly toward Saint back. Both of his hand shove in his pocket.

“Alright, let’s do it.” Shin says with his head down. He pauses, thinking. Then, he looks up to Saint. “Hey Saint, wanna have a competition?”

The tension in the air ease a little. Saint studies him, brows knitting. “What kind of competition?”

“Rock-paper-scissors.”

Saint’s lips crack a little. “What? For what?”

Shin shakes his head. “Come on, just play.” Shin moves closer to Saint. “I’ll tell you why after we get a result.” Shin says as he lowers his head in between. One of the habits he does whenever he’s embarrassed. “Come on.”

“What?” Saint asks, but he rises his hand to get ready for the game because despite everything, despite all the distance and the hurt, he still listens to Shin.

“Rock-paper-scissors.”

Saint, rock. Shin, rock.

Shin shakes his head.

“Let’s go again.”

Saint, paper. Shin, paper.

“Again!”

Saint, paper. Shin, paper.

“Hey! Why did you copy me?” Shin asks.

“How was I supposed to know we’d choose the same thing?” Saint argues.

“I’ll pick rock and you go with paper. Ready?” Shin instructs, hiding his hand behind his back.

“Huh? What’s the point of this then?”

“Come on, just do as I say.”

“Rock-paper-scissors.”

Saint, rock. Shin, rock.

“Hey, why didn’t you pick paper?”

Saint looks at his hands, gaze changing between his hand and Shin’s hand. Confuse visible on his temper. “Why would I? I didn’t want to win against you.”

Shin lets out a frustrated sigh. “So I have an excuse to make up with you!”

Saint’s world tilts for a moment. He looks at Shin who is still oblivious with what he had said earlier.

Then, Shin turns quiet as if he’s already realized. He meets Saint’s eyes before looking away.

Saint raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get me back to school?”

Shin doesn’t return his gaze for a while. Only forcing out a cough.

“Then just say it.” Saint says softly. I’ll stay if it’s for you.

“I’m not here to ask. I order you.”

The words sink heavy on Saint’s heart. He wanted Shin to ask, to need him to stay, not command him like it was just another obligation. But even so, even if it wasn’t what he was expecting for, he clings to it. At least he can stay by Shin’s side.

He forces himself to sound casual, but his voice falters at the edges. “Alright, tell me then.” He hopes Shin doesn't notice the quiet desperation in his remarks, unspoken plea for something more.

“I hate that you used me as an excuse to quit school.”

Saint stiffens. “Hey, you’re not an excuse.”

“If I’m not, then what is it? Do you really think quitting will solve everything?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“You say you’re giving up what’s important, and that means you’re giving up on me. But you know what? You gave up on me a long time ago. Three years ago, when you broke my leg. So, you don’t get to leave me behind again.”

The words hit Saint harder than they should. His heart screams, begging for him to explain everything why he did what he did. He wishes he could lay all his thought in front of Shin, he wishes he could explain himself better. But how could he, when he never learned how? When he had spent his entire life treating his words as weapons instead of speaking them?

So, he looks down, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“Well… If I come back.” He hesitates. “Will you stay in school, too?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay.” Shin answers promptly.

“Alright. If you’re here, then I’ll come back.”

*

It’s late at night when Ken and his friends knock on Saint’s house. The pounding against the metal door echoes through the narrow alley, waking Saint from his sleep. His first instinct told him to not open the door, to let them stand out there in the dark until they get bored and leave. But Saint knows Ken isn’t the type to walk away empty handed. If Saint ignores them, they might just keep knocking, worse, make a scene loud enough to wake his father.

With a sigh, he grabs the shirt on his nightstand and makes his way to the front door. The metal panel rattles as he slides it open, just enough to step outside.

Ken stands at the front, his arms on his pocket, his expression hard under the dim light. Beside him is Knot and Nate, both muted at the side as if they don’t want to be there but have to. Saint doesn’t care, his attention is locked on Ken.

“What do you want?” Saint’s voice is low, cautious to not make any noise.

Ken stares at him for a moment, most likely contemplating, before shooting his sentence. “I have an offer for you.”

Saint sighs, what could Ken probably offer that he doesn’t already have? He knows whatever it is, it won’t be worth the trouble. He shakes his head and takes a step back. “Never mind. Thanks.” He says as he reaches for the door, ready to shut them out. But before Saint does that, Ken leans in slightly, a little too eager, a little too anxious to keep him from leaving.

“Hey.”

There’s something in Ken’s tone make Saint hesitant. Saint glances back at him, his brow furrowing. He expects some cocky remark, some lazy taunt. But Ken doesn’t speak right away. Ken takes the opening as he sees Saint is waiting him to continue and steps forward.

“Listen to me first.” Ken’s voice is smooth, too smooth like a con man. “I’m sure you’re gonna be interested in it.”

At that moment, Saint notices Knot’s subtle flinch, a show of something buried beneath his usual confidence. Hesitation? Regret? If Saint were paying attention, he might’ve asked Knot what was wrong. But he doesn’t. His focus is still on Ken.

“I need you to steal Jeng’s bike.” Ken says like his request is simple.

Saint raises his eyebrow. Steal Jeng’s bike? Only a fool would do that. “Are you insane? No.”

“Here’s the catch. What if I told you, if you stole the bike, I wouldn’t bother Shin anymore.” Ken proposes, a smug sneer paints across his face.

Saint’s breath stops. The name hangs between them, more dangerous than any weapon Ken might deploy. Shin. His shin.

Ken notices the change in Saint's attitude, the fracture in his resistance, and knows he has Saint in his grasp. Saint clenches his hands, hating how easily Ken manipulates him, but it doesn't matter. The choice has already been made.

In the end, Saint is a fool. A fool in love.

Now, he crouches behind a stack of dusty boxes in a dimly lit warehouse, he knows he should feel scared but he doesn’t. There’s no room for doubt now. He has to do this. For Shin.

He can see the bike, just a few metes away, but so are two young men guarding it. One of them is smoking cigarettes and laughing at something his companion said. They look relaxed but Saint doesn’t let his guard down.

His eyes scan the area and land on a short stick near his feet. This can do the work. Without wasting time, he grabs it and hurls it toward the far end of the warehouse. The loud clang vibrates through the space.

The laughter dies down. Both men snap their heads toward the direction of the sound. “Hey, go check it. What’s that sound?” the smoker mutter. His partner immediately reaching for something tucked behind his back. Saint’s gut becomes sick when he notices the gleam of a firearm. Fuck, he thought to himself.

The armed man advances cautiously, taking small steps as he inspects the scene. Saint's heart skips a beat as he holds his breath till the man passes by his hiding location. Saint observes his motions through the little spaces between the boxes, each muscle strung like a spring, ready for the suitable moment.

The other man, the one who was smoking, stays put near the bike. He exhales a long puff of smoke, seemingly unconcerned, then begins whistling a tune.

Saint’s attention switches to the fire extinguisher a few steps ahead. A plan arises in his thoughts, as if instinct takes control. His breathing evens out, and his body becomes stiff but controlled. The gloomy warehouse lights create lengthy shadows that distort objects, but Saint’s focus is extremely skilled.

He swings with all of his vigor.

The heavy metal hits the man in the back of the skull. The whistling ceases.

The man slumps on his desk.

“Forgive me, bro.” Saint mutters as he puts his hand on the unconscious man’s arm.

In the meantime, the armed man returns to his post, grumbling as he looks around. “There’s nothing…” he mutters, stretching his neck before his gaze lands on his unconscious companion slumped over the desk. His brows furrow. “He secretly takes a nap again.” He scoffs, clicking his tongue in annoyance.

“If Jeng sees this, I’ll be scolded again.” What he doesn’t notice is, Saint, still having the fire extinguisher in his hand, now marching forward from behind the boxes.

Saint tightens his grip on the fire extinguisher. His movements are deliberate, each step laced with a deadly purpose. He barely hears the armed man complaining about Jeng, his voice distant like background noise in a movie scene.

Saint is already behind him.

The extinguisher crashes against the back of the man’s skull with a sickening thud. The force vibrates through Saint’s arms, and the man staggers forward, collapsing onto his knees before crumpling to the ground.

“Sorry, bro.” The words leave his mouth but there’s no real remorse behind them.

His gaze switches to the bike. That is the goal. The reason he is here. He forced himself to move, scanning the desk for the keys and grappling with strewn papers and tools. His mind screams at him to hurry.

“Who’s that?!” The voice is loud and clear.

“Damn it.” Saint curses under his breath. This time, he sees a man with a blue bandana and a gun in his hand.

He doesn’t think. He runs away. His legs move on instinct, fast and powerful. If anything, running always has been one of his specialties. The adrenaline pumping through his veins, pushing him forward.

Then, a bang rings out.

Saint barely dodges, the bullet striking the metal railing near him.

He doesn’t stop. He leaps onto the staircase, taking two steps at a time, gripping the railing tight. His breath is harsh, his muscles scream, but he keeps moving. He risks a glance back. The men are following.

Saint’s heart slams against his ribs. He has to find an exit. But before he can make a move, he crashes into something, someone.

His world rotates for a split second before he hears a familiar voice. “Saint!”

“Shin? Why are you here?” Saint’s voice sewn with terror. He stares in disbelief. Shin is here. Right in front of him. His face twisted in urgency and his eyes wide with worry.

The thing is, Shin shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be caught in this.

“I’m taking you home.” Shin says.

Saint barely has time to process those words before the reality of the situation slams back into him.

He hears footsteps. The men are coming. “Damn, we must escape first.” He says as he reaches for Shin’s wrist. “What?” Shin asks, confused, but there’s no time to explain.

Another gunshot.

Saint barely has time to react before he yanks Shin along with him, shielding him instinctively. His body moves before his mind, positioning himself between Shin and danger.

“Shin, this way!”

They run as fast as they can but at the end, the chase is short-lived. The corridor twists and turns before leading them straight into a dead end. Stacks of old chairs, desks, and crates block their path. Saint panic is now more visible.

“Damn. What should we do?” His voice is raw, desperate. His mind races for an answer, for an escape.

Shin, despite the tension, places his hands on his hips, scanning the place carefully before looking down, thinking. Even under the dim light, Shin stills look like he doesn’t belong in this kind of place.

Saint watches him, his thoughts spiraling. Shin shouldn’t be here. This should be his fight. Alone.

Saint looks into Shin longingly as the other is breathless. Short breath coming in and out from his nose. Shin thinks long before looking up to lock eyes with him. The determination is his gaze is unshakeable. “If we can’t escape, then let’s fight them together.”

Suddenly a wave of nostalgia crashes over Saint, so strong it nearly drowns him. Fighting beside Shin. Just like the old days. Saint feels his eyes soften, lost in those black eyes in front of him. He nods as he says, “Um.”

Their eyes meet, a quiet understanding passing between them. The stillness isn’t heavy this time.

Almost as if Shin is also thinking about it too. The past. The days when they used to stand back-to-back, fists raised, ready to take on the world together. Saint’s heart beats faster than when he first arrives the warehouse. But not from fear.

And God, how much has he missed this. He missed Shin.

Tonight, even if he dies, he thinks he’s going to die happy.

They drop into position, hiding behind the stacked chairs. Saint watches the silhouette approaching, gun in hand. Both of them already know who the dark silhouette belongs to. They have met before.

Jeng.

“Come out, you bastard.” Jeng says as he approaches the dark corner. “I know you are here.”

Saint and Shin hold their breath. Saint grits his teeth, hands curling into fists. He can feel Shin’s presence on the other side. That placement wasn’t coincidental. If Jeng finds them, he’ll see Saint first. He’ll go for Saint first, giving Shin an ample of time to flee.

“How dare you try to steal my bike?” Jeng goes on, his steps quiet.

Jeng moves past them, giving Saint the perfect moment to signal Shin. Without hesitation, Shin strikes Jeng’s lackey with a rod, the impact swift and precise. At the same time, Saint moves in, catching the man before he can collapse with a sound. He lowers him carefully to the ground, silent and controlled. This kind of seamless coordination is something they’ve perfected since their teenage years.

Saint eyes the gun in the unconscious man’s grasp. His instinct tells him to leave it, he doesn’t need it, doesn’t want it. But something deeper, something primal, urges him otherwise.

So he takes it. And he moves.

Jeng remains unaware, oblivious to the danger creeping up behind him. Saint doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess. He simply lifts the weapon and brings it crashing down onto Jeng’s neck with unrelenting force.

At the same time, Shin doesn’t notice another man creeping up behind him. The man swings a steel rod, striking Shin’s already injured leg. Shin lets out a sharp cry as he collapses to his side, clutching his leg in pain.

Saint’s body moves before his mind does. He doesn’t even register how quickly he’s closing the distance, gun in hand, aiming without hesitation.

The man who hurt Shin freezes, eyes wide as he stares down the barrel. His hands go up in surrender. He knows. He knows what Saint is capable of.

"Don’t come closer," Saint warns, his voice low, dangerous.

The man obeys.

But Saint doesn’t lower the gun.

His breathing is ragged, his hands trembling. The urge to pull the trigger is there. Strong, consuming, a dark whisper in his mind telling him to do it.

“Damn it.” Shin’s voice drags Saint back to reality.

Saint’s gaze snaps downward, and suddenly, nothing else matters. “Are you okay?” He kneels beside Shin, his voice gentler now. “Yeah.” Saint knows better than to believe that. But he doesn’t push.

Instead, he slides an arm around Shin’s waist, lifting him to his feet. The weight against him is small, but enough for him to sense the tremors running through Shin’s body, his pain, his exhaustion.

As they move toward the exit, Saint keeps the gun raised. His grip is firm, but his fingers feel numb. “Don’t come closer, or I’ll shoot.” His voice doesn’t waver. His threats are never empty.

They move as fast as they can, but Shin is limping more than running, and it makes something deep inside Saint twist painfully. The urge rises again. To pick Shin up, to carry him, to shield him from everything, to make this easier for him, just like he used to when they were youngers.

But he doesn’t. Because he knows Shin. And Shin would never allow that. Not after what he had done. So instead, he tightens his hold just a little, bearing more of Shin’s weight, guiding him forward.

Finally, they make it out of the warehouse.

The chilly night air rushes across Saint’s skin, but it does little to alleviate the sickness in his chest. His breath is ragged and his heart is still throbbing from the chaos they just barely escaped. But Saint doesn’t pay attention to any of those.

His concentration is solely on Shin.

Shin is limping beside him, his face distorted in pain despite his efforts to conceal it. He winces every few steps, his breaths unsteady, but he keeps going as he usually does, defiant, resolute, and unwilling to show weakness, even when his body fails him.

Saint stops for a second. “Shin, what about this gun?” he asks as he holds it up to Shin.

Shin stops, turning his head to glance at the weapon. “Just throw it away. Why will you keep it?”

Saint does as he’s told, tossing the gun aside. Shin picks up his pace, running faster this time, and Saint follows close behind.

The bus stop is just ahead now. A few more steps. Just a little more.

“Shin, are you okay?”

It’s a stupid question. A pointless one. But Saint can’t stop himself from asking, hoping that somehow Shin will say something different.

“Yeah.”

Saint clenches his jaw. That’s a lie. A terrible one. How can he be okay? Saint sees it. How every step takes effort, how Shin’s body tenses with each movement, how his fingers curl ever so slightly into fists, gripping onto his own pain.

And yet, Shin doesn’t complain. Doesn’t slow down.

Saint hates that. Hates how Shin keeps pushing forward as if he’s fine, as if he has to be fine. Hates how Shin refuses to lean on him, even when his leg is barely holding up. And more than anything, Saint hates himself.

If only he hadn’t been the one to break Shin’s leg back then, Shin wouldn’t be limping now. Wouldn’t be wincing. Wouldn’t be suffering because of him. The guilt is suffocating, gripping his chest like a vice, making it harder to breathe.

He wants to say something. Wants to apologize. But what difference would that make? Shin wouldn’t want his apology. Wouldn’t accept it. So Saint doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he does the only thing he can do.

As they get near to the waiting bus, he wraps his arm loosely around Shin's waist, supporting him as discreetly as possible. Shin did not protest, doesn’t pull away, and though it’s a small gesture, it helps ease the weight on his injured leg. It’s not much.

But it’s something.                                            

Shin takes the seat near the window and Saint sits beside him. They pant heavily as if trying to catch their breath. Saint ignores the dull ache settling in his own body, too focused on scanning Shin for any signs of worsening pain, his worry deepening with every shallow breath Shin takes.

Shin then gives him a smile, as if sensing his thoughts. “Damn, we almost died.” His voice carries an easygoing tone, one that doesn’t match the exhaustion in his eyes.

Saint exhales, playing along. “Yeah, I thought we might not survive.” 

Shin throws an arm behind Saint’s head, resting it on the headrest. He looks into Saint’s eyes, searching for something. “Don’t do it again next time. What would you do if I weren’t there?” His voice is firmer now, the worry slipping through the crack of his usual vitriol.

Saint doesn’t hesitate. “Guess I’d fight with my all.”

Shin sighs, shaking his head. “I’m afraid you might for real, brat.” He reaches out and lightly strikes the back of Saint's head, causing Saint to lower his head slightly.

Saint looks at Shin, his gaze softens. They exchange looks, long before Saint says, “Shin.” Saint takes a pause. “Is your leg okay?”

Shin immediately looks down at his leg. He stares at it for a moment as if looking for the answer himself before looking up to Saint again. “I’m fine. What about you?” His gaze scans Saint upside down, checking for any sign of injury. “Did you get hurt anywhere?”

“I’m okay.”

Shin exhales. “Nice then, mate.” His hand that was on the headrest is now on Saint’s shoulder, warm. But it only lasted for a second before he takes his hand back to the headrest and look ahead. The touch was short, but Saint felt it. And he holds onto it for longer than needed.

“Shin.” Saint speaks as he looks at Shin, his eyes grow larger with interest. “Did you just call me ‘mate’?”

Shin stops moving, visibly flustered with the question. “Classmate.” He corrects. “I haven’t finished the sentence.” He takes his hand from the headrest at rest it at his side. Throwing his glance outside the window as if the scenery outside has become the most interesting thing in the world.

Saint observes him for a bit before a faint smile forms on his lips. “Okay. Classmate.” He nods in between. “Just a classmate then.”

That’s okay. Classmate would be enough for now. He catches Shin sneaking a glance at him, only for Shin to quickly turn away when their eyes meet. But Saint doesn’t look away. He doesn’t need to.

Shin exhales, half annoyed, half amused. “Hey, move over.” He nudges Saint’s arm. “You’re too close.”

Saint leans back, crossing his arms. “Fine.” But just as he gets comfortable, Shin nudges him again.

“Hey, sit properly.” Shin grumbles, shifting in his own seat. “The space is small here.”

Saint chuckles under his breath before adjusting himself. “Sure. Got it, classmate.” He straightens up, tilting his head slightly downward, hiding the smile he can’t seem to hold back.

The bus rocks gently along the road, the soft sound of the engine filling the quiet space between them. There aren’t many people around, no loud chatter, no distractions. Just the two of them, sitting side by side, breathing the same air. It’s calm, too calm even, like the world slowed down just for them.

Saint moves slightly in his seat, stealing a glance at Shin. The other is resting his eyes, his head tilted against the seat while his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. He looks peaceful, the kind that Saint has missed over the year. He wants to memorize it, tucked it safely inside the deepest part of his mind, where even sickness couldn’t reach.

Out of the blue, Saint feels this overwhelming need to touch Shin, to hold his head and lays it on his shoulder. He yearns for connection, for something tangible. Saint wonders if this feeling is coming from the remaining adrenaline from the fight earlier or if it’s coming from himself. A deep part of him that he’s been trying to ignore.

Saint watches Shin’s open hands silently, even the thought of knowing Shin’s warmth again is able to make Saint gasp for air. He ponders, should he or should he not?

His fingers twitch on his lap, the urge become unbearable. Before he can question himself, he delicately reaches out, brushing his fingertips against the back of Shin’s hand. His touch is featherlight, barely there, yet to him, it feels like the most grounding connection he has ever known.

Shin doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch or pull away. His breathing stays the same, the motion of his chest rising and falling unchanged, as if he’s deep in sleep.

Saint exhales shakily, his heart hammering against his ribs. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be taking advantage of a moment Shin won’t push him away. Yet, he doesn’t have the strength to stop.

It’s weird, isn’t it? He could fight a hundred man, but even at the slightest touch of Shin can make him weak.

His fingers ghost along Shin’s knuckles before finally settling on top of his hand, letting the warmth from Shin’s hand to travel to him.

Saint’s throat dries up, as if there’s a lump so big that he couldn’t swallow. He doesn’t what drives him, but the words come spilling out before he can stop them. He looks down as he speaks them.

“…I like you.” His voice is not too loud to let others hear it, but just enough to let Shin hear. “And I don’t mean it as friend. Or as your classmate. I mean… I like you, Shin.” His voice relents, but he doesn’t stop. “I like the way your eyes crinkle every time you laugh at my jokes, even the unfunny one.” He lets out a small and nervous chuckle, his thumb brushing over Shin’s skin. “I like when you fight beside me. I like when you beside me.”

Shin’s hand remains still beneath his. Saint bites his lip, taking the silence as a sign to keep going, to say everything he’s been holding in.

“My life never existed before I met you. I have lived 15 years without knowing you, and now that I do, I don’t think I could ever spend a moment without you.”

Saint pauses, inhaling a breath. “I know you’ll never hear this.” He murmurs and his voice is filled with something close relief and heartbreak. “And that’s okay. I just needed to say it.”

Shin is still unmoving, and that alone is enough to convince Saint that his words have disappear into the quiet ambience of the bus, never reaching into Shin’s ears.

Something in his heart both aches and eases at the same time.

He should feel relief but he doesn’t at the same time. He should feel better that Shin doesn’t hear his confession but at the same time he wants to know Shin’s answer. Yet, if Shin never hears it, then there’s no rejection to face. They can stay as they are. Just like this. Not close enough to be lovers but not distant enough to be just friends.

He exhales softly and closes his eyes. His fingers slowly retreat from Shin’s hand, already missing the warmth but he doesn’t reach out again. Instead, he folds his arms together tightly, hugging himself.

The rest of the ride home is silent.

Saint doesn’t try to fill it. He doesn’t force conversation or try to wake Shin. He just sits there with his shoulders barely brushing Shin’s, his mind still entwined with the words he will never say again.

In another lifetime, he will have the courage to say it out loud in front of Shin. But in this one, he is simply thankful to have known him at all.

Shin walks beside him as they walk towards Shin’s house. Saint’s hand gripping on Shin’s arm to support the other.

“How is your leg?”

Shin's response is casual, brushing off the pain like it’s nothing. “I’ve been through worse pain than this. I’ll be fine soon.”

Saint doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t push further. “I thought you were fully recovered.” He thought Shin was fully recovered, but now that doubt lingers, and he can’t help but wonder if Shin is hiding something more than just a bruise.

“Don’t think too much about this. I’m fine, really. It’s just a bruise. I’ll get better soon.”

Then they stay silence, Saint doesn’t know what to say when Shin is being stubborn like this. There’s a part of him that wants to push, to ask more questions, but he knows that Shin won’t open up if he’s forced.

When they reached Shin’s house. He knows it’s time to say goodbye. “Shin. Thanks a lot for helping me out today.”

Shin’s response is typical of him, teasing, “Cause you’re just a wimp.”

“Um.”

Shin scoffs. “I always have to help you.”

“I know.”

There’s a pause. Saint wants to speak more, he’s not sure why it feels so important to say this now, but it does. “Shin. Thanks a lot for not forgetting our promise. I haven’t forgotten it either. For me, you’ll always be my friend.”

The word tastes bitter on Saint’s tongue. He’s not sure if they are really friends anymore. Not after his whole secret moment on the bus. But at the same time, it feels right. Maybe this is what they are meant to be.

Shin stays silent.

“You don’t need to say anything. I only want you to know that, I’m fucking happy that we started talking again.” In a way, if Shin did hear his confession earlier in the bus, Saint hopes he knows he doesn’t have to say anything.

“You just talked too much now.” Shin’s voice is lighthearted.

That earns a laugh from Saint, a sound that feels foreign after everything. “I’m also glad you thought of me.”

“Yeah.” Shin agrees.

“Shin….”

But before Saint can continue, Shin cuts him off. “Even if you say one more word, I’ll stop talking to you.”

Immediately Saint closes his lips, obeying Shin’s word for fear that Shin wouldn’t want to speak with him again.

“Thanks for sending me home.” Shin says, his tone softer now as he pats Saint’s arm in that familiar way, a gesture that always brings comfort to Saint.

“Um. See you tomorrow.”

But just as he turns to leave, a voice rings out from behind them. Shin’s mother.

“Shin.”

Saint can feel his heart beating faster, anxious but yet he knows what will happen. Just like that day at the police station, she doesn’t hesitate. Her smack hits his face with a horrible snap, harsher and more agonizing than before. Saint doesn’t lift his head. The hurt remains, but it’s the guilt that burns deeper, crawling beneath his skin and creeping into his bones.

“I have told you, right? Don’t bother Shin anymore. Get inside, Shin.” She orders, her eyes cold as they fixed onto Saint.

Saint doesn’t flinch. He knows he deserves it, even though the words tear him open. “I deserve it.” He speaks amidst the heat on his cheek.

Shin’s mother doesn’t even blink. “This isn’t even enough.” Shin’s mother gaze pierce through Saint. “You cannot be friends with Shin.”

The words cut like a wound, one where he can’t stitch up. He tries to ignore the hollow in his chest as he answers. “Yes, I know.”

If he had dared to glance at Shin, he would have noticed the pain and betrayal in those dark orbs. But Saint doesn’t look. He can’t.

“If you know it, then don’t bother him anymore.” Shin’s mother snaps. “Or else I’ll have him resign from school.”

“I’m not leaving.” Shin’s voice is loud, but Saint feels the crack beneath it. He sees how much his mother’s words hurt him.

Saint’s eyes are already red, brims with tears that he tries so hard to control. He changes his gaze to Shin, shocked with the other argument.

“I told you to go inside, Shin.” His mom says.

Saint changes his gaze between Shin and his mom for a moment. There’s a revelation creeping over him, a devastating realization of the harm he has caused to this family, to Shin, and to everyone he has touched. His heart shudders, a fierce torment resonating through him, tearing apart in ways he can’t fix.

“Mom. That’s enough. Saint…” Shin tries to argue but his words trail off as his mother’s rage cuts through the air, louder than anything Shin can say.

“Stop talking!” She snaps again. “He is the one who hurt you and made you cry. Are you still going to keep someone like this as a friend?”

Shin takes a step back as if his mother’s question has stabbed him with realization. Shin’s mother’s words ripped through the air again, her voice like ice, a vicious blow that sears everything it touches. “Don’t go soft on someone with this kind of nature, Shin.”

Saint wants to scream. He wants to shouts at her, what kind of nature does she mean? He wants to tell her that he didn’t choose this kind of life, he didn’t choose to be born this way. Every night, before he sleeps, he desperately prays to a god or some kind of cosmic power out there that he wants to break free from this vicious cycle of his life. Break free from this violent curse that seems to follow him no matter how hard he tries to get rid of. But nothing changes. Nothing ever does.

Instead, he looks down, the words trapped inside.

“Mom, calm down.” Shin tries to soothe his mother’s anger.

“What do you mean I’m hot-tempered? I’m been very patient, Shin. How many times do I have to watch you like this?”

Shin raises his voice, his patience thinning. “You don’t listen to me!”

“And do you listen to me?” His mother's tone softens, becoming sad, and the words contain with a sensation that feels like a knife twisting in Saint's gut. Her sorrow is heavier than her fury, more crushing.

Shin says softly, trying to protect Saint. “He didn’t mean to be so.”

“How long do you want me to keep seeing you like this?”

“I’m fine, mom.”

But before Shin can continue another familiar sound interferes.

“Shin.” The words taste strange on his tongue but Saint swallows. “I got what aunty said.” He blinks his eyes rapidly, a wasted attempt of trying to keep his tears from falling. “I… really shouldn’t be your friend.”

Now he is glad Shin doesn’t hear his confession on the bus earlier.

Shin looks at him in disbelieved, anger, how could Saint say that after he tries his best to defend him in front of his mother?

But Saint continues, pushing through the weight of his own guilt, ignoring the pain in Shin’s eyes, as if he’s incapable of looking away now. “I ruined your dream. And I was selfish enough to ask for your forgiveness. I’m such a jerk.”

His heart feels burdened with the truth of it. He has been selfish. He has spent so much of his life looking for excuses, for ways to avoid facing the consequences of his actions. And now, standing here in the fallout of his own mistakes, the truth bites. He can feel the anger and regret, but it doesn’t change what he has done.

Shin looks down, but when he finally speaks up, his tone comes out harsh but there’s undeniably sadness in it. “You’re always like this.” Shin takes a step forward, closing the distance. “When you came to apologize, you wanted me to be your friend again. You were stubborn and did everything to get things your way. Before, you told me that you wouldn’t walk away from me anymore, but as soon as my mom scolded you, you gave up so easily.”

Shin pushes Saint hard, as if trying to wake him up. Shin’s words hit him harder than any physical blow ever could. “You’re going to leave me again, just like that, you jerk!”

Saint staggers back, but he doesn’t speak. He clenches his jaw and bites his tongue.

“You’re always like this!” Shin’s scream cuts through the alley, a sound filled with frustration. It echoes in Saint’s ears making him wants to throw up.

“In the end.” Shin looks at Saint hard. “You still choose to run away.”

The word comes faster than he can think. “Shin.” Saint whispers, his voice barely a sound against the deafening silence that follows. He wants to explain, to make Shin understand, but the words don’t come.

Shin flails his hand in front of Saint, as if he’s trying to swat him away, like Saint is nothing more than an annoyance he can’t get rid of fast enough. “Get lost!”

Saint flinches, but he doesn’t move. He’s frozen in place.

“I didn’t run away.” Saint tries to explain, his voice strained against the tightness in his throat.

“I told you to get lost!” Shin screams. Their eyes lock for a moment, heavy with everything left unsaid. Then Shin exhales. “You and I, we’re done here.” His voice is unyielding. Saint can see the tears streak on Shin’s cheek that he wishes he could wipe.

Shin turns and walks away, pulling his mother's hand, leaving Saint standing in the alley, broken and forlorn. Saint wants to yell out, stops him, and make things right, but his voice dies in his throat. It is too late to apologize now. It is too late for anything.

Shin pauses and looks back over his shoulder, and Saint’s heart skips a beat. He’s not sure what to expect. He doesn’t know what to hope for.

“And…” Shin starts, drawing Saint’s gaze to him.

Shin hesitates for only a second before releasing the jab. “I don’t even like you.”

Saint doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe.

So Shin did hear his confession on the bus.

*

The sound of Shin’s voice echoes in Saint’s ears, repeating the same sentence over and over. I don’t even like you.

He doesn’t notice when his legs carried him home. His vision is blurred, burden by the unshed tears pooling in his eyes until they finally spill. He lets them. People stares as he passes, probably wondering why a man his size cries. Probably don’t. He doesn’t care. His heartbreak is too big to make room for anything else.

The house is quiet when he arrives. The absence of his father in the living should bring relief, but it doesn’t. If anything, it only makes the emptiness inside him feel bigger.

He makes his way to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him with trembling fingers. He doesn’t turn on the light. The darkness is better. There’s no grief in the darkness. The only source of light is the faint moonlight peeking through his curtains, but even that feels weaker than usual, like it, too, is moving away from him.

He doesn’t bother changing out of his uniform. He doesn’t move except to collapse onto his bed, curling in on himself as if making himself smaller will somehow lessen the pain. His body shakes, and when the sob finally tears out of his throat, it’s low and strangled, like even his grief is ashamed of itself.

He should have known better. He should always have known better. Every time things start to look up for him, there is always a disaster awaits at the end. A punishment. A lesson he should have learned by now. The higher he climbs, the harder the fall.

Saint should have known that happiness was never meant for him. That the moment he let himself believe, let himself reach for it, it would slip right through his fingers like it always did.

He should have never let himself get this close again. He should have never let himself be blinded by the heat of it, by the unrealistic notion that maybe this time would be different.

He should have never let himself fly too close to the sun. To his sun. To Shin.

But human tend to forget when they are happy. One of our greatest and worst traits.

Saint is only a human.

His lungs burn. His legs hurt. His head pounds. And his heart, oh his poor heart, shatters.

Saint has no idea how long he will stay like this before his hands move on their own and reach under his bed. His hands brush against something familiar, and the tears fall harder.

The box.

He drags it out, his fingers trembling as he pulls off the lid. Inside, the pristine white cleats stare back at him, untouched and unscathed. The ones he had bought with his own savings. The ones he had promised himself he would give to Shin if they ever reconciled.

Back then, after what had happened on the field, he believed he had lost his chance. But then Shin transferred to his school, and suddenly, Saint had hope again.

Now, that hope has broken into million pieces.

His breath stutters as he runs his fingers over the cleats, hesitant, as if even the lightest touch will ruin them. His vision swims, his throat tightens. He sobs. Why did he confess on the bus? Why did he have to ruin everything? Why did he have to ruin the one thing that he has persevered with Shin all over again?

Maybe Shin’s mother is right. Someone with this kind of nature shouldn’t be beside Shin. All he has ever done is hurt, hurt, hurt.

He couldn’t help but wonder, where did all this violence inside him come from? His mother was gentle, wasn’t she? He remembers his mother to be someone warm and loving. She would never resort to any sort of violent, rarely raising her voice to Saint. But it has been so long since she left. So long since Saint had last heard her voice.

A strong, awful pressure spirals into his chest, pressing him down till he feels trapped. The weight is inhumane, crushing, as if the walls surrounding him are closing in. The air feels thinner, the space smaller, and his lungs struggle for oxygen that will not come.

His breaths are in short and distressed gasps. He grabs his chest, his fingers pushing into the fabric of his uniform, as if attempting to physically rip his ribcage open. His heart beats too fast and vigorously, his head spins, and everything feels bizarre.

He can’t breathe. The world is closing in and the moonlight is gone.

He tries to inhale, but it seems like his lungs won’t expand. As if something inside him is collapsing and destroying him from within. His vision darkens at the edges. He needs to get out. He has to run from this room.

But today, he can’t. His body won’t listen.

His lungs stutter. His breath comes in short, shallow gasps. The walls around him seem to inch closer, the air thickening, turning to something solid, something he can’t pull into his lungs. His head spins. His limbs go numb.

He forces himself to sit up, but it only makes it worse. His vision sways, tilting dangerously as black spots dance at the edges of his sight. His ears ring. His pulse thunders in his throat, erratic, uneven, wrong.

A sob rips out of him, but it doesn’t bring relief. It only fuels the panic clawing at his insides. He presses his hands against his temples, fingers trembling. Make it stop. Please make it stop. He whispers into the air.

His fingers dig into his arms, nails pressing against his skin, grounding himself the only way he knows how. His mind screams at him to breathe, but the harder he tries, the more impossible it feels.

His breaths turn to ragged, choked gasps. The walls are too close.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to push past it, trying to force his body to listen to him. But all he hears is his own ragged breathing, the deafening roar of his pulse in his ears.

Tears streak down his cheeks, hot and endless. His shoulders shake, his muscles locked tight. He doesn’t even realize he’s rocking slightly, his body desperate for something to anchor him.

But there’s nothing. No one.

No one to pull him out of this.

No one to remind him how to breathe.

He gasps again, his entire body trembling. He curls into himself, forehead pressed to his knees, as the attack rages on, stealing every ounce of air, every scrap of control he has left.

His fingers twitch. His body shudders.

Then, the darkness that hides in the corners of him room creeps forward and swallows him whole.

The last thing he feels is his body collapsing sideways onto the bed, his limbs lifeless. The weight in his chest doesn’t go away, but it melts into something remote, unreachable, as his mind succumbs to slumber.

And finally, for the first time that night, his mind goes silent.

*

Saint wakes up to the sound of his father’s knocks on the door, announcing it’s time to go to school. For a moment, everything feels different. Almost as if by some magic, his headache disappears and the memory of yesterday no longer break his heart. His body curled up in the fetus position and he feels calm. He doesn’t feel like drowning anymore.

He looks at the mirror today. The anger that would usually make him scrub his skin so hard until it leaves a red mark in the shower is nowhere to be found. He greets his father this morning, offering a simple nod though no words are uttered. He eats his breakfast. No loud thought rattling in his head. Just quiet.

When he grabs his bike, he takes the longer route to school. The coldness of the morning air feels nice against his face as he takes a deep breath. The storage at the back of his bike contains something, something he had been meaning to give. The thought of giving it makes his chest tighten slightly but it’s not suffocating the same way it did before.

He sees Shin, who is pretending not to notice him as he enters the classroom. Saint lets him. He doesn’t try to speak to Shin. His heart doesn’t feel like it’s being ripped apart. Instead, he makes his way to his seat, casting his glance out the window as he puts his head on the desk, pretending to sleep, allowing himself to be still in the chaos of the classroom. His classmates’ voices blur into the background as he focuses on the way the sunlight filters through the window.

When Miss Jan or Mr. Sung come to teach, Saint listens but only just enough. He would answer their question when prompted, but his thoughts wander to other things. The lessons aren’t enough to hold his attention.

Eve and Peeta try to make a simple conversation with him but he would quickly brush them off, resting his head on the desk again. When the lunch starts, Saint stays in the classroom, choosing to ignore with whatever things are happening at the cafeteria.

Shin never looks his way. It should bother Saint, but it doesn’t. Saint tells himself that he is okay with it. He has come to an acceptance that this is good enough for him. They can’t go back to their past version.

When the bell rings, he leaves the classroom ahead of everyone else, his mind is set on one thing. He heads straight for his bike, opening the storage compartment only to reveal the box. The box holds the white cleats, shine brightly in the sunlight. He plans to give them to Shin. To make Shin knows, despite everything he has ever said, Saint will never forget their promise.

Just as he reaches for the box, something catches his eye. A black van. At first, it’s only a passing glimpse, but then he notices Jeng and what seems like a small army of his lackeys pouring out of the van. The sight makes his pulse spike. Saint bites his tongues, “Jeng… the hell they’re doing here?”

He can already hear Jeng's voice, calling out, “So, this is where those bastards are studying?”

Saint panics. His hand hovers over the box in the storage compartment for a moment before he pulls it back, locking it safely away. His gaze hardens. The calm demeanor he has been trying to maintain from the morning slowly slipping away.

His muscles stiffen, and a familiar weight presses against his chest. He approaches towards Jeng, his steps slow and deliberate. Each step feels as if the ground under him is trembling, but there is no going back. He has done running. His eyes sharpen as he meets Jeng’s, and a blaze ignites inside him.

“You came right to me, huh?” Jeng speaks, throwing away his cigarette as he eyes Saint. “You’ve got some guts, I like it. What about your friend?”

Saint responds almost intuitively, with a low voice. “Don't mess with my friend.” His fists clench at his sides, but he forces himself to remain still. “Talk to me if you've got something to say.”

 “Of course, I’ve got something to say.” Jeng’s smirk widen. “Guys, load him on our van. We are eating big tonight.” Jeng gestures to his lackeys as they swarm Saint, closing in around him.

Saint follow, he knows if he puts up even a little bit of resistant, Jeng will find Shin.

He lets them bind his hands and blindfold him, the sensation of the rope begins to suffocate him. They drag him into the back of the van, his body shoved roughly against the metal. The van smells like oil and sweat and the sound of men talking over each other fills the air. Jeng’s voice slice through the noise.

“You’re quiet. That’s good.” Jeng says from the front, his tone mocking. “But you’re not getting off that easily.”

The lackeys jostle around him, whispering and chuckling among themselves. The atmosphere turns gloomy and hostile. Saint can hear Jeng barking his orders. “Kick him while you’re at it. Let’s see how tough he is now.”

Saint’s body tenses, but he doesn’t fight back. He refuses to. The pain doesn’t matter anymore. What’s important is that Shin is safe, that he doesn’t cause any more harm than he already has. The blindfold presses against his eyes, cutting him off from everything, leaving him in the dark with his thoughts and the rising ache in his chest.

Saint prays, deep down, that Shin doesn’t come to save him this time. He has caused enough suffering to the boy already. Now, he will face this on his own.

*

The light reaches Saint's eyes unexpectedly, and he takes his time adjusting to the abrupt apparition of light. He looks around, fuck, this is a different warehouse than previously, he mutters quietly. There are two men at his side, Jeng in front, others seated behind Jeng, and he notices a familiar face at Jeng’s side. Ken.

Before he can gather his bearings, a boot slams into his chest, knocking the breath out of him. Saint falls hard, the ground biting into his back and the pain spreading like fire. He grits his teeth, eyes narrowing, forcing himself to breathe through the pain.

Jeng looms over him. “You can take a beating pretty well, huh?”

Saint’s breath comes in ragged gasps, his blood boiling. “I already told you, if you’ve got something, come talk to me.” he manages, his words loaded with anger, but his body betrays him, his chest throbbing with every inhale.

“Talk to my feet. You prick.” Then his boot comes down again, slamming strongly on Saint's head. The wrenching pain sears through him as the cut above his eye opens, the warm blood trickling down his face. But Saint refuses to make a sound. The pain is nothing compared to what he’s already gone through in his life.

Jeng’s voice changes as he presses his foot down harder. “I really wanna see how long you can take it for your friend.” He signals to his lackeys with a grin. “Grab him.”

They haul him to his feet, the blood running freely from his head, but he doesn’t flinch. His knees tremble, but his resolve is steel. His vision sways but he forces himself to focus. Saint looks Jeng in the eye, “Is this all the strength you’ve got?” he taunts, his lips curling into a defiant smirk.  “Not much.”

Jeng’s face twist in anger. “I really like these loud-mouth kids. Let’s see if you can back it up.”

A punch lands on his face. Then, another.

Saint doesn’t have time to brace himself before a fist slam into his face. The impact sends a shockwave of pain through his skull, but he doesn’t give Jeng the satisfaction of seeing him stumble. Another punch. Another hit, harder this time, right to his cheek. His mouth fills with the metallic taste of blood. He spits it out, not even flinching.

Saint doesn’t falter. Jeng grabs a handful of his hair, not leaving any time for Saint to catch his breath. “You and that Shin really pissed me off. Don’t think I will let you go easily. You’re gonna die at my feet.”

Die. The word sticks in Saint’s mind. He forces himself envision a life beyond this warehouse, but the image never appears. There is no one waiting for him outside, no one who would care. And if his death tonight means Jeng will never hurt Shin or his family again, then Saint finds it hard to see a future worth living for, especially when he imagines Shin finally free as he lives happily without the shadow of Jeng hanging over him.

And for that, he would endure all this torment again, over and over.

“Go ahead. If you can do it, then do it.” There’s no fear in Saint’s voice, only determination. “But you’ve gotta let my friend go.”

Jeng scoffs. “Hmm, you really care about each other, huh?”

Another punch. This one hits Saint directly on the cheek, sending him crashing to the ground. The world spins as he lies there, blood soaking into his uniform, his body battered, his mind hazy.

Saint coughs up blood, a harsh, wet sound that burns his throat, before collapsing back to the cold ground, his body begging for support.

“Hey, Ken. Handle him.”

Ken doesn’t answer.

“Hey! Didn’t you hear me, bastard?” Jeng raises his voice as he turns sharply, his anger intensifying as he stares down at Ken. But Ken remains unmoving, his eyes locked onto Saint as if he’s trying to figure out what to do. “I told you to deal with him!”

Saint watches Ken, waiting what he will do.

“Jeng, I think that’s enough. Saint is gonna end up dead at this rate.” Ken speaks as he lowers his gaze.

Jeng’s fury knows no bounds. He shoves Ken’s head down forcefully, growling, “You’re gonna disobey me? If you don’t do it, I’ll make you my target next.”

Saint spits his blood, taking every second of time he can get to rest. Despite the pain, he sees the contemplation in Ken’s eyes. For the briefest second, there’s something in Ken’s expression, something that Saint knows all too well. A moment of doubt. Ken might not be his friend, but Saint has seen him fight for his survival, fight to protect himself, and sometimes, even for Saint.

“Hey.” Saint’s voice comes out soft but enough to make Jeng hears. “Jeng, you ran out of steam or what? Gotta get the kid to help, huh?”

Jeng releases his grips on Ken. “Big mouth, huh?”

Saint doesn’t react. He is too exhausted for that. He is too far gone to feel the weight of Jeng’s words anymore. Instead, he forced himself to concentrate on Jeng's every motion, watching his gaze and every tick, preparing for the next strike.

“Give me his phone.” Jeng growls.

Saint feels a glimmer of resistance stir within him, a spark of rebellion that refuses to die.

But as the strong hands pin him to the ground, Saint’s body screams in resentment. He tries to move, to escape, but it’s meaningless. His limbs feel like they belong to someone else. He’s outmatched, overpowered by the men surrounding him. “Hey, asshole. Don’t mess with me.”

They don’t listen as they reach for Saint’s pocket, taking his phone from him.

Jeng snatches the phone from his lackey’s grasp and turns to Ken before ordering him. “Call Shin and tell him to come clean up his friend’s body.”

He tries to reach for the words, for the strength to stop this from happening, but it’s like his throat is filled with cement. He begs, the words coming out strained, desperate. “Ken, don’t.” Please don’t call Shin, please let Shin goes on with his life without knowing this incident. Shin will only blame himself for this. “Don’t listen to him. Ken.”

But Ken doesn’t listen, no one will. His voice grows weaker with each plea, but the words feel like they are mesh into the background. Ken doesn’t even look at him as he takes the phone, “Ken.”

Jeng doesn’t let him to persuade Ken, he grabs a long rod behind him and start hitting Saint. The metal strikes Saint with a painful thud, breaking his entire body. The misery that runs through him is too much, but Jeng isn't through. He kicks him again, each time accompanied by curses. “You bastard!”

Instinctively, Saint curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his head, his torso hunched to protect the most vulnerable parts of his body. His ribs scream as the kicks land, but he has no strength left to do anything more than endure. Every breath feels like it’s being yanked from his lungs.

Then, Saint stops protecting himself. His body sags to the ground, too drained to fight, too wounded to move. His face lies exposed, and each kick hits harder than the last. He gasps for air between blows, trying to hold on to any remnants of consciousness, but the pain is distorting his vision. His breath is shallow and ragged and his body trembles, unable to shield itself anymore.

Still, they don’t stop.

Ken disappears after taking the phone, leaving with a quiet acceptance. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even hesitate. Saint doesn’t know if Ken’s heart is heavy with guilt or lack of interest, but he doesn’t care. It’s too late now. The crew continues without pause. At first, they only use their fists, but as the minutes pass, they start to pick up whatever weapons they can find, wooden planks, metal rods, plastic pipes. The sounds of the blows vibrate in his ears.

It’s everywhere. It’s all-consuming. Every inch of his body is struck by something, and it all hurts, more than he can bear, more than he thought possible. But despite the pain, one thought rises above all others and it hits him like a punch in the gut.

Is this how Shin feels? Is this what he felt when Saint hurt him on the field? The thought comes unbidden, and Saint can’t stop it, can’t push it away. It’s wrong to feel this way. He knows it. He should be ashamed. But instead, there’s a weird sense of tranquility. He is finally feeling it, finally understanding the enormity of his actions, the consequences of his own rage.

No wonder his day started off so calm, only for it to end in suffering.

The blood on his face stings. Some of it is coming from his mouth, some from his nose. His ribs are bruised, his legs are sore, his abdomen is a throbbing mess. Everything hurts, but none of it matters. The pain, the blood, it all feels the same.

Saint is certain that his bones are made of steel. He has always believed it, convinced that his bones play a major part for his monster strength. He had shown Shin that strength countless times as he kept his guard up, never letting anyone see how much it hurt, how much he could truly endure. He had always been thankful for his bones, for the resilience they gave him.

But now, as the blows keep coming, he wonders if those steel bones are finally starting to bend. He feels fragile in a way he’s never allowed himself to be before. The thuds of fists and weapons crashing against his body reverberate through him, sending waves of excruciating pain that seem to break apart at the very foundation of his being.

The voices of the men around him fade into nothingness, distant and hollow, like a reflection from another world. He can no longer tell if it is Jeng or someone else is talking. All he hears is the dull, constant thumping of his own blood flowing through his ears, the rasp of his breath struggling to keep up with the attack, and the awful sound of his own body taking hit after hit. It’s as if he has become numb to the world as his senses are being dulled by the pain.

He had always thought he was untouchable, above it all. But now, all he can think about is how foolish he’s been. He is not made of steel. He never was. He was just a boy pretending to be something stronger than he is, a boy who lied to himself that he could bear the weight of the world without collapsing.

Saint closes his eyes amidst the unforgiving strikes.

*

When Saint finally opens his eyes, the scene before him isn’t the warehouse anymore. Instead, he finds himself somewhere else entirely, somewhere peaceful. The pain is gone. His body no longer feels broken, tired, or battered.

But then he sees him. Shin. Saint blinks, unsure if he’s seeing things. The world around him feels different, lighter. And when he looks at Shin, he sees the familiar face, the boy who had always been a constant in his life is standing before him with a smile on his face.

A smile? That’s strange. Shin hadn’t smiled like that in ages. Not at Saint. Not since everything between them changed. It’s the kind of smile that makes Saint’s heart ache with longing and regret. He blinks again, confused. Shin doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t look like he’s been hurt, or like he’s holding onto any grudges. He looks... happy.

“Hey, Saint! What are you waiting for? We are going to be late.” Shin offers as he holds his hand out.

Saint frowns. “Where are going?”

Shin laughs as he rolls his eyes playfully. “Are you serious? You are going to watch my soccer game, of course!”

The words hit Saint like a ton of bricks. His mind races, trying to process what’s happening. He looks at Shin, really looks at him, and it hits him all at once. Shin is wearing his soccer uniform. The gray jersey that fits him perfectly, paired with his favorite shorts, the ones he once told Saint brought him luck every time he wore them on the field.

Something caught Saint’s eyes. The white cleats. The same ones Saint had bought for him, the ones he had intended to give Shin before everything went wrong.

Saint’s breath catches and that’s when the truth sinks into his chest.

“What soccer game?” Saint asks, still playing dumb, even after he already knows the truth.

Shin raises an eyebrow, “Are you stupid? I have told you today is my National Competition.”

Saint can’t help but lets a laugh escapes him. It’s cruel, almost like a sob, filled with regret. He looks around him, his heart sinking. He’s standing in his younger body, fifteen again, with all the hope and possibility that came with it.

And Shin, standing across from him, is the same age.

But from where is Shin standing, everything is vibrant and full of life, untouched by the tragedies that would come. It’s like there is an invisible line that separates them. Shin is on one side, where things go right, where his leg isn’t broken, where the incident on the field never happens, where he finally achieves his dream.

On the other side, there’s Saint. His world is muted, gray. It’s a place where all the mistakes and regrets exist at once. It’s a place where he sees the future unfold, a future where Shin will never know how badly Saint had messed everything up. A world where Shin does not have to bear the burden of their broken friendship, where he may live free of the sadness Saint had caused him.

So this is how God makes him cross his bridge, huh?

Saint watches Shin who is still holding out his hands, waiting. Shin’s legs are tapping anxiously, probably worried that he might miss his game.

Saint knows he shouldn’t take the hand. He knows he should try to wake himself up.

But Saint is a selfish man, a truth he has come to term with. The real Shin no longer likes him, but this version of Shin, standing before him, is smiling at him.

Saint hesitates. This isn’t real. It can’t be real. This is some sort of test, some crossing point between life and death, some moment where he’s supposed to choose. And yet, the more he looks at Shin, the more he feels the pull. He wants to take Shin’s hand, wants to go with him, to escape the pain and guilt that has followed him for so long. For once, he wants to be the person Shin could count on.

His hand stops mid-air. He rethinks his decision. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to let go. The image of how much it would hurt the real Shin after his death fills his mind. There’s still time to go back, he whispers. There’s still time to fix things with Shin if he refuses to take the hand.

Saint stands at the edge, staring at Shin’s outstretched hand. His chest tightens as he feels the weight of the decision pressing on him. The harsh truth of what it means to truly let go.

Shin’s smile is so warm, so genuine, it makes Saint’s heart ache. The boy he sees in front of him is the Shin he remembers before everything went wrong. The Shin who used to trust him, the Shin who used to be so full of hope. But Saint knows better now. This isn’t real. This is just an illusion, a beautiful moment pulled from the past. The Shin in front of him, the one who’s so eager to help him cross over, isn’t the real Shin.

The real Shin doesn’t look at him with love anymore.

As the pain fades and the light grows stronger, Saint’s true weakness is laid bare. The guilt, the shame, the mistakes he has made, all of it comes flooding back, stronger than any blow he has taken. He wants to fight it. He wants to hold on to whatever fragments of his life remain. He wants to reject the bridge that Shin is trying to lead him across.

“I’m not ready.” Saint says, his voice trembling despite himself, barely more than a whisper. He doesn’t look at Shin, doesn’t let himself fully see the boy’s hopeful expression. He can't, because if he does, he might just give in to this dream. “I’m not ready to let go of everything.”

Shin’s expression falters, just for a moment. But then, the smile returns. It’s soft, understanding, and full of something that Saint doesn’t feel deserving of.

“You don’t have to be ready, Saint.” Shin replies, his voice gentle, soothing. “You don’t have to carry it anymore. Let go.”

Saint shakes his head, his chest tightening with the weight of his regret. “I’m not ready. I haven’t fixed everything. I haven’t done enough... for you.” For the real you.

A sharp pang hits his chest as the realization sinks in. He knows he hasn’t done enough. He knows he can’t undo what’s been done. The thought of Shin, of the real Shin, broken, hurt, alone, fills him with dread. If he crosses over now, what will happen to the world he’s leaving behind? What will happen to the real Shin?

“Don’t go.” Saint whispers, the words barely making it out of his throat. His voice cracks as he reaches out, his hand trembling. “Shin, I can’t leave you like this. I can’t just let go.”

But Shin’s gaze softens, and he takes a step closer. “You’re not leaving me, Saint. You’re letting go of the pain, the guilt. You don’t need to carry it anymore. You’ve done enough.”

Saint hesitates, his breath shaky, his thoughts scattered. He’s been so afraid of dying, so afraid of leaving everything behind, his regrets, his failures, his pain. But the more he looks at Shin, the more he realizes this isn’t about him anymore. It’s about Shin, about the boy who has been through so much because of him. The boy who deserves to live free of the burden Saint has placed on him.

Saint’s hand slowly reaches out, trembling as it inches toward Shin’s. The light around them feels like it’s pulling him in, urging him to let go, to cross the line. But even then, Saint fights it. He resists. He clings to his doubts, his fear of what awaits him on the other side.

“I can’t just leave, not like this.” he mutters, his voice full of frustration, as if trying to convince himself.

But Shin’s expression never changes, his smile still patient, still kind. “You don’t have to fight it anymore, Saint. You’ve done all you can. Now, it’s time for you to find peace.”

“What does it look like at the other side?”

Shin smiles. “There will be no more struggles.”

He looks around, the vibrant, warm world where Shin stands, and the dark, cold part of himself that follows behind.

“I don’t want to leave him. I don’t want to leave anyone behind. I’ve messed things up. I’ve hurt people. I’ve hurt Shin. And the worst part of this is, I never had the chance to apologize to him properly.” Saint’s voice cracks. “I want to see him graduate. I want to see him smile. I want to see him with ChingChing, Chatjen, his friends.”

“I want to see him.” Saint whispers, his eyes brimming with tears.

Shin’s eyes never leave him, and there’s no judgment there, only compassion. “You have been through so much, Saint. But sometimes, the only way to make things right is to forgive yourself.”

“Can you at least tell him or show him a sign that I’m sorry? Maybe send something to comfort him when he is crying?” His voice trembles, like he’s asking for something impossible, like he’s asking for a lifeline he knows he doesn’t deserve. He wants to do something, anything, to ease that burden, to show that he truly is sorry, even if it’s too late for him to make amends directly.

And then Shin’s answer comes, soft and certain. “Of course.”

It’s the simple, sincere response that Saint never expected, but it’s the one that gives him the most peace. It’s a promise, a small act of mercy, but it seems like an immense burden has been lifted off his chest.

For the first time in a long time, Saint feels like maybe, just maybe, there’s a way forward. Maybe the burden of regret doesn’t have to stay with him forever. Maybe there’s hope for him, even now.

With a final, shuddering breath, Saint takes Shin’s hand, stepping forward. The draw of peace tugs at him, and as the world he’s known begins to fade, he feels his feet lift off the ground, as if he’s flying.

He doesn’t look back.

*

Shin’s feet ache from the relentless run, his muscles burning with every step, but none of that matters now. His world stops when his phone rings, and Ken’s name flashes across the screen. The sound of Ken’s voice is barely audible in the chaos of his own racing thoughts, but the message is clear: Saint’s in trouble, and he’s in danger.

Shin doesn’t think twice, his mind already flooded with images of Saint, his best friend, his other half. The familiar weight of worry tightens in his chest as he listens to the location Ken gives him. The warehouse. A place he’s never been before. It’s far, far from where he is now, but the distance doesn’t matter. He’ll get there. He’ll get there as fast as he can.

The thought of Saint, of something bad happening to him, makes his heart race. He doesn’t even think about what might be waiting for him when he arrives. All he can do is pray for Saint’s safety, whispering a silent prayer under his breath as he runs, the air in his lungs burning with every stride.

When he finally arrives, though, everything stops. The flashing lights of ambulances and police cars blur in the background, the chaos of officers and paramedics crowd the area as if they can fix everything that has happened there.

Shin’s legs threaten to give out beneath him, but he doesn’t care. All that matters is Saint.

His eyes scan the area with a twisted knot in his stomach. He’s looking for someone, someone he can’t lose. His heart races as he pushes through the crowd, trying to get to the source of his anxiety. But no matter how much he searches, no matter how fast he moves, there’s no sign of him. Not yet.

Then, he sees him. His breath catches in his throat, and his body freezes. Saint. It’s Saint. His eyes widen as he struggles to process the sight before him. Saint is lying motionless on the cold ground, surrounded by paramedics. His limbs are unnatural, his body contorted in ways it shouldn’t be. The familiar figure is so still, too still. Shin’s heart hammers in his chest as the ground beneath him seems to disappear.

He can’t breathe. He can’t think. His vision blurs, his whole body shaking as he takes a step forward, the world spinning around him. No. No, no, this can’t be happening. Please, don’t let it be him. Please. His mind refuses to accept it, even as his feet carry him closer, his body moving against its own will. The image of Saint’s still form haunts him like a scary ghost.

It’s too real. Saint. His Saint. Lying there, pale, bruised, bloodied. His face is barely recognizable, damaged beyond recognition. The sight sends a physical wave of pain through Shin’s chest, and he swears he can feel the same bruises on his own skin. His legs static, but he forces them to move, inching closer to the only person who’s ever meant anything to him.

His knees hit the ground with a dull thud, the impact barely registering. His hands shake as they hover above Saint, trembling with a kind of fear he’s never known before. He doesn’t want to touch him. He doesn’t want to make it real.

But he can’t just stand here, powerless and watching. So, he gently cradles Saint’s head in his lap, his fingers brushing the familiar, disheveled hair as his tears begin to fall, one after the other.

There’s a deep, gut-wrenching silence as he cradles him, the emptiness inside him growing, a hollow ache that consumes everything. He’s numb, but the sharp, cruel reality of what he’s seeing is impossible to ignore. Saint’s body is cold. He’s not breathing. The warmth, the life that had once been there, is gone.

“No… no, this can’t be happening.” His voice cracks as the words fall from his lips. His hands grip Saint’s body tighter, as if by holding on, he can bring him back. He wants to pull Saint close, seal him up in his arms, to hold him tight enough that even if the paramedics try to take him, they will never be able to separate them again.

His chest heaves with frantic breaths and despair rising within him. He screams. The sound is ragged and filled with all the grief he can’t contain. The people around him reach out, trying to calm him, to hold him back, but their voices feel distant and meaningless. He wants to shout at them, to tell them they don’t know, they don’t understand, how much Saint mattered, how much he meant to him.

He can’t hear them. All he can hear is the pounding of his own heart, the deafening silence of Saint’s stillness.

Saint is gone.

Worse than that, Saint dies not knowing the truth. He dies never knowing how much Shin still cares, how much he still loves him, despite everything. It’s the cruelest irony of all. His heart aches with a hollow emptiness as regret fills every inch of him. He couldn’t fix things. He didn’t get the chance to make it right.

Saint will never know.

Shin closes his eyes for a time, allowing the tears to fall freely. And as he does, something small catches his eye. A flutter of delicate wings, a little butterfly lands gently on his shoulder. For a split second, he doesn’t move or swat it away.

It sits there, a symbol of something he cannot grasp, something out of reach. He doesn’t mind that it’s there. He doesn't even wonder why it’s there. He only knows that, for a small while, he is not alone. The butterfly rattles its wings, as if to console him, reminding him that life isn’t all sorrow and regret.

But Shin can't think about it. He can’t stop thinking about Saint’s death. His mind screams, screaming for this to be a nightmare, a mistake, anything other than the truth.

Then, one of the paramedics comes forward.

“Saint Thamnithit Nitiroj was pronounced dead at the scene at 1:50 A.M. The cause of death was excessive blood loss.”