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New Year’s Eve is supposed to be magical. Or at least loud enough to make Santa forget that he is the only single one in his friend group. He stands in front of the mirror while Phuwin finishes his soft makeup beside him. Music fills the apartment and laughter spills into the night through the open window. Santa adjusts his cream, silky shirt, smooths his short dark hair and reapplies lip gloss for the third time that night. His reflection looks soft, almost glowing.
“You look stupidly pretty,” Phuwin says with a smile.
Santa sighs. “I know. That’s the problem.”
Phuwin laughs because he understands. The latter with Pond, Joong and Dunk.. everyone is taken. Everyone except Santa. Not by choice though. He has dated, or at least tried and hoped, but every time it ends badly enough to make him give up and believe that he’s unlucky when it comes to finding a proper lover.
Tonight, he just wants to dance.
Dunk texts them that he is on his way to pick them up, and soon enough they are dressed and ready. They agree to meet Pond and Joong in front of the club. By the time they arrive, the place is already alive; music shaking the ground and lights flashing in every neon color possible. Exactly the vibes Santa is yearning for.
Inside, Pond offers to buy the first round of drinks while the others find a table. Fifteen minutes later, a waiter brings them instead. They chat, laugh and drink. Santa finishes his glass faster than usual, warmth spreading through his body until his thoughts turn soft and fuzzy. The urge to move comes faster then. “I want to dance,” Santa says, almost begging. And after some convincing, the clique finally give in and head to the dance floor with him.
As expected, couples form immediately. Pond pulls Phuwin close. Joong wraps an arm around Dunk. Santa rolls his eyes and steps away. Alone again. But he doesn’t let it stop him. He’s here to have fun. He’s here to drink and dance the night away. And he will do exactly that. The music takes over and his body starts to move easily and naturally. He spins and sways, losing himself to the rhythm. Dancing has always been his escape.
For a while, he forgets everything else, until his skin prickles. He feels eyes on him. Santa opens his and looks around, searching. It takes a moment before he finds them. At the bar area, a man stands there, wearing a black shirt with the first three top buttons undone. He has a drink in his hand while his eyes are dark and intense looking straight at Santa, not even pretending for it to be casual or looking away when Santa caught him.
Santa’s muscles lock up for half a second. The man’s gaze is heavy and unreadable, like it’s saying something without words being uttered. Santa’s stomach twists. He forces himself to look away, to keep dancing, but he still feels those eyes, like they’re carving holes on the back of his head. When he finally glances back, the man is still staring. Someone calls for his attention, and only then does he avert his gaze. Santa exhales like he’s been holding his breath forever. What the actual fuck!
He feels uneasy as he turns his head away. “Weird.” He mutters under his breath, forcing himself to keep dancing until the feeling fades. After a while, thirst pulls him away from the dance floor. He turns to tell his friends that he is heading to the bar, in case anyone of them wants a drink too, but he finds them too busy with their boyfriends to notice him. Santa sighs and goes alone.
He orders a vodka soda and waits. While waiting and minding his own business, someone steps too close behind him.
“Hey there, sweetheart. What’s your name?”
A chill runs down Santa’s spine. He turns quickly and steps back, putting space between him and the guy. “Excuse me. I’m just-”
“You’re excused,” the man cuts him off with a grin. “Come on now, don’t be shy.” He leans in, breath reeking of alcohol. “Let me buy you a drink.”
“What? No.”
But the guy laughs and doesn’t move. “Don’t be like that-”
Santa stiffens and panics. His friends are somewhere in the crowd of dancing people. They’re too far and too busy but he starts to take out his phone to text them when a deep voice, smooth like smoke, cuts through the noise.
“Is everything okay, baby? What’s going on here?”
Santa freezes again, eyes going wide and nearly choking at the nickname. The voice comes from right behind him, calm and dominant. It hits something in his chest and sends chills crawling up his neck. He turns, and he’s immediately floored when he discovers it’s the guy from earlier. The one who stared.
Those dark eyes meet his. He’s close enough now that Santa can catch the faint scent of leather and something clean and citrusy, like bergamot maybe?
His eyes say ‘play along’.
Santa gulps and complies before he can stop himself. Anything to get the scary drunkard off his back. “Oh, y-you’re finally here.”
The pushy guy blinks between them. “Huh? Naaah, you playing me, right? You were dancing alone earlier. Where did this dude come from now?”
Santa shifts nervously. What kind of a fucked up situation did he put himself in? Everything was fine a moment ago. He was dancing and having fun for God’s sake. This is not how he has planned for this night to be. Fuck his-
Warmth spreads across his waist suddenly and it quickly snaps him out of his internal panic. It’s a steady hand, firm but not rough. Santa realizes it’s the stranger’s fingers. They rest there like a silent promise.
Santa looks up at him, mind spinning and confusion crashing into his chest. The man doesn’t speak, just slowly nods once in a reassuring manner. And somehow, although it’s freaking foolish, Santa understands the connotation behind that single nod. Let me handle it. As if he’d known this man his whole life to be able to have this level of illogical telepathy with him. As if this night can get even crazier.
He nods back. His instincts telling him to trust this man.
The latter steps forward then, hand sliding away. Santa hates that single, insane thought that crawls into his mind. Unnecessary and absurd really. Like how the fuck does he feel the absence of a stanger’s hand on his waist when it was there just for a couple of seconds, and for the life of him, he just met this said strangerer! Or is being single in a group of couples getting to him now and making him this desperate? This is so fucking embarrassing. Santa sighs.
“Who the hell are you?” the other guy snaps.
The stranger doesn’t even flinch. His presence is solid and protective. “The boyfriend you should’ve fucking known better than to mess with.”
The guy scoffs. “Boyfriend? Please.. I saw him dance alone since he came here. You weren’t there.”
The stranger’s tone doesn’t change. “I give him space to have fun with his friends, doesn’t mean he’s not fucking taken. And it definitely does not give you the right to impose yourself on him.”
Santa’s pulse races. The man’s voice is so calm, but there’s weight in it, the kind that makes people listen. He’s not going to lie to himself, that’s kinda hot. For the first time that night, Santa feels something strange and unfamiliar. He feels safe.
“Also,” the stranger adds, eyes sharp, “you ever heard of ‘no’ being a full fucking answer?”
The guy stammers, face red. “You-”
“Cut the bullshit.” The stranger cuts him off. “You were out of line. Take the loss and walk away.”
The guy glares, mutters something under his breath and storms off without any other arguments.
Santa doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until the stranger looks down at him again. His voice is softer now with a tang of concern in his tone. “You okay?” he asks.
Santa nods too quickly. He feels nervous. “Yeah. I just- thank you.”
The man smiles, a small curve of his lips that looks almost moderate. “You’re welcome.” He steps back then, eyes lingering. “What’s your name? If you mind me asking of course.”
“Santa.” And it’s ironic because Santa doesn’t mind telling his name to this guy.
“Santa,” the man repeats, like he’s trying the weight of it out on his tongue. “Nice to meet you.” He offers his hand. “I’m Perth.”
Santa shakes the man’s hand but he doesn’t answer with the customary ‘nice to meet you too’. In fact, he doesn’t even say anything. His focus narrows to the warmth rolling out from the man’s hand to his own, spreading throughout all his body. He just can’t stop looking at him. Even now, when the danger is gone and the crowd’s noise rushes back in, all he can see is this guy, calm and unreadable. Besides, he’s so freaking handsome, in the most magnetic way possible.
The man keeps looking at him too and Santa thinks he should say something. Anything.
“Um,” he tries, his voice too soft against the music, “thank you, again.. for helping me out I mean. That guy was pushy and scary.”
Perth looks down at him again, that same quiet intensity in his eyes. “You don’t really need to thank me,” he says. His tone is smooth and natural, like every word escapes the filter before leaving his lips. “No one should make you feel unsafe.”
Santa feels warmth crawl up his neck. The way he says you sounds personal, like it means more than it should. He tries to play it cool. “Still.. you didn’t have to step in like that.”
“I know,” Perth replies, voice low. “But I wanted to.”
Santa’s heart skips a beat. He hides his lips behind the glass that the bartender already prepared, taking a sip of his drink, trying not to show how much that affected him. “So.. you’re the kind of guy who rescues strangers in clubs?”
A soft laugh escapes Perth. It’s short and deep but it’s effortless. Santa tries not to melt because that might be the best sound he has ever heard in his life. “Only when the stranger looks like you.”
Santa almost sputters.
Oh.
He looks down at his drink, pretending to focus on the ice cubes melting. His cheeks burn and his heart skips two beats now. He tells himself it’s just the alcohol.
Perth leans a little against the counter, posture relaxed. He seems to be the straightforward type. Whatever comes to his mind, he says it, although each word feels chosen and weighed. His voice wraps around the noise of the club like it owns space there. “So, Santa,” he says, his tone lighter now. “You come here often?”
Santa laughs, nervous. “That’s such a line.”
“It is,” Perth admits, smiling faintly. “I hope it has worked the way I was intending for it to work though.” He winks.
Santa’s brain short-circuits for a second. His tongue feels heavy. “I-” he starts, then shakes his head, laughing again, a little breathless. “You’re.. smooth.”
“I like to say it’s an occupational hazard,” Perth says.
Santa tilts his head. “Oh really? What do you do?”
“I’m a tattoo artist,” Perth says simply. “Own a small shop here in Bangkok.. isn’t it very obvious with all these tattoos on me?”
“Yes, that I’ve noticed,” Santa says, and his eyes wonder to the lines of ink decorating Perth’s body. They start with his right arm, where a snake coils beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt, dark and sharp, its head peeking out as if it’s alive. Santa’s gaze follows the curve of Perth’s forearm without meaning to, drawn to the way the tattoo moves when Perth shifts.
Then he notices the ink on the back of Perth’s left hand. Clean lines and symbols stretch onto his long fingers. They’re subtle but impossible to ignore. Santa swallows, suddenly very aware of how long those fingers are and how veiny Perth’s hands and arms seem to be. As if this man can get even more hotter.
His eyes drift higher before he can stop them. Perth’s shirt is unbuttoned just enough for another tattoo to show on his chest, black ink peeking through warm and tan skin. Santa doesn’t see all of it, only hints and edges, but somehow that makes it worse. Or better? He isn’t exactly sure.
He quickly averts his gaze, heat creeping into his cheeks, hoping Perth hasn’t noticed how long he stared. When he finally summons all his courage to look at the latter’s face, he finds him already watching. A slow, knowing smile curves his lips, dark eyes softening just a little. “You’re allowed to look,” he says quietly.
Santa hopes the ground opens up and swallows him whole right then and there. “I-I wasn’t-”
Perth chuckles, low and warm. “It’s okay,” he adds. “I don’t mind.”
Somehow, that makes Santa want to look even more. And he doesn’t hold back, his gaze drifts back to Perth’s arm, to the snake peeking from beneath the rolled-up sleeve. The way it coils feels deliberate and almost protective. “Does it.. mean something?” Santa asks, pointing at the said tattoo.
Perth glances down at his arm, then back at Santa. For a moment, he looks surprised, like he didn’t expect the question. Then he gives Santa a small smile. It’s endearing, Santa thinks. “Yeah,” he says. “It does.” He shifts slightly, rolling his sleeve up a little more, revealing the full curve of the snake. “It’s about survival,” Perth continues. “People think snakes are dangerous, but most of the time, they’re just defending themselves.”
Santa listens closely, eyes fixed on the ink. “So.. not a warning?”
Perth lets out a chuckle. “Maybe. But mostly a reminder.” His gaze lifts, dark eyes meeting Santa’s again. “To stay alert and to strike only when necessary.”
Something about the way he says it makes Santa’s chest feel warm and tight all at once. “It suits you,” he says softly.
Perth’s smile deepens. “Yeah?”
The realization hits Santa a second too late. Heat rushes back to his cheeks for the second time in just.. what? Ten minutes? God, he’s hopeless. He quickly looks away, suddenly very interested in his glass. He hadn’t meant to say that, it just slipped out, honest and unguarded. Blame the alcohol of course. “I-” He clears his throat, grasping for something else to say. Anything else. “So.. why tattooing?” Santa asks, forcing a small smile. “Why did you choose to be a tattoo artist?”
Perth studies him for a moment, like he knows exactly what Santa is doing, but he doesn’t call him out on it. “It’s not an interesting story really,” he says.
“I don’t mind if you don’t mind,” Santa replies quietly.
Perth shifts then leans back against the bar, eyes drifting somewhere far away. “I like permanence,” he says after a pause. “Life changes too fast. People leave and moments fade.” He shrugs slightly. “Art, though.. it stays, it preserves things that we want to stay with us for a long time.. and tattoos are art.”
Santa’s fingers tighten around his glass. He didn’t expect such a deep, well thought answer.
“When someone lets me tattoo them,” Perth continues, “they’re trusting me with something important. A memory maybe or a scar, either way it’s that part of themselves that they don’t want to forget.” His gaze returns to Santa, steady and sincere. “I get to turn that into something beautiful.”
Something in Santa’s chest shifts. “That’s.. really beautiful,” he says, barely above a whisper.
Perth’s lips curve into a softer smile this time. “Yeah?”
Santa meets his eyes, heart racing. “Yeah.” And this time, he doesn’t look away and doesn’t change the subject. He really meant to say that.
Perth hums in amusement, his eyes never leaving Santa’s face. “And you? What about you?”
“I’m a senior at Siam University,” Santa replies, trying to sound casual. “Computer science.”
Perth’s brows lift slightly, surprise softening his expression. “Computer science? Really?”
“Yeah,” Santa says, fidgeting with the edge of his glass. “Why? Don’t I look like it?”
Perth’s smile is faint but genuine. “No. I just didn’t expect it.. because you have the look and the aura of a superstar, like an idol or a celebrity maybe. Your face is incredibly photogenic.” His gaze drifts briefly over Santa’s face, thoughtful. “Guess there’s more to your pretty self.”
The words land heavier than they should. Santa blinks. He literally malfunctions for a moment and all he can do is laugh, too quickly and too awkwardly, to cover the way his pulse quickens. “Ahahaha p-please.. I’m just a normal, university boy.”
Perth doesn’t move and doesn’t take it back, he only watches the blood color rise on Santa’s cheeks like it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen all night.
Santa blurts without thinking, “Do you dance?”
Perth chuckles humorously. “Not if I can help it.”
Santa grins, sighing in relief for the change of subject. “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I’m saying that because I’m the kind of man who looks like he should know how to move,” Perth says, eyes glinting, “but really doesn’t. It’s tragic.”
Santa laughs, real and carefree, and Perth watches him, not just his face but the way he lights up.
“You, on the other hand,” Perth adds, voice dropping just a little, “seem to know exactly how to move.”
Santa gets weak in the knees. He doesn’t know if it’s because of those dangerous words or the way they have been uttered. Perth’s low voice gets him breathless. It’s ridiculous and embarrassing how a mere low voice can affect Santa like that, but yeah, you can’t blame him if you’re not in his shoes right now. Perth is hottly dangerous, or is it dangerously hot? Either way this man is a menace and Santa is weak when it comes to hot men. And besides, the way Perth says you again, deliberately slow, makes Santa’s stomach flip.
He looks away. “You saw me dancing?”
“I did,” Perth says easily. “Hard not to.”
Santa’s heartbeat stumbles. His fingers tighten around the glass. “Oh, you were staring earlier,” he calls out but without meeting Perth’s eyes.
“I was,” Perth replies without hesitation. “I know it sounds weird, and I’m terribly sorry, but you make it difficult to look anywhere else.”
Santa feels dizzy. Who even talks like that? God help him. He bites his lower lips, trying hard not to melt. Then, from the corner of his eye, he spots Pond and Phuwin waving at him from across the dance floor. “Oh-” he says, blinking back to reality. “My friends.. they’re waiting for me.” He literally forgot he came here with them.
Perth nods, disappointment plastered all over his face. He’s not even trying to pretend otherwise. “Then go to them,” he says softly. “They’ll worry.”
Santa hesitates. He stops rigid in his place. His chest tightens. He really doesn’t want to go. He wants to stay here with Perth and talk with him more about tattoos, his tragic dance skills and what not. And seeing the latter’s disappointed face when he told him his friends are waiting for him, didn’t really help his cause.
Perth watches him carefully, holding his breath like he’s waiting for Santa to say something.
“Would you-” Santa swallows. “Would you like to meet them?”
Perth’s expression softens. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I’d like that.”
Santa smiles, relief blooming in his chest. They walk back together, close enough that their shoulders brush. Santa spots his friends immediately. Phuwin notices first, eyes widening before a slow grin spreads across his face.
“There you are,” Dunk says when Santa reaches them. “We were about to send out a search party.”
Santa lets out a small laugh. “Sorry. I got.. held up.” He ends up saying. “And rescued,” he adds, glancing at Perth. “This is Perth, by the way. He stepped in when some guy at the bar wouldn’t leave me alone.”
Pond’s expression hardens instantly. “You okay?”
“I am, Phi. Don’t worry.” Santa says quickly. “Thanks to him though.” He points at Perth, smiling softly and the smile turns into a grin when the latter reciprocates with a soft smile of his own.
Phuwin looks between them, eyes sparkling with realization. He says nothing and just winks when Santa looks at him questioningly. Dunk nudges Joong, both of them clearly holding back comments. “Well,” Dunk says lightly, “we like him already.”
Perth smiles, polite but relaxed. “Nice to meet you all.”
The teasing is subtle but relentless. A raised brow from here, a knowing look from there. Santa pretends not to notice, although his cheeks stay colored the whole time. He’s actually grateful for the warm way his friends welcomed Perth. They chatted with him, asked him questions and made him feel included quickly.
After another round of drinks, which Perth has insisted on paying for, music shifts, louder and heavier. Someone pulls someone else toward the dance floor. Santa turns to Perth, nervous again. “Do you.. want to dance?”
Perth hesitates. “I told you, I’m really bad at it.”
“I’ll teach you,” Santa says quickly. “I promise.”
Something flickers in Perth’s eyes. “Okay,” he says. “But I’m holding you to that.”
The dance floor is crowded, bodies moving in rhythm. Santa places his hands lightly on Perth’s shoulders, guiding him. “Is this okay?” He asks and Perth nods. He follows with a surprising attentiveness, his hands hovering at Santa’s waist before settling there, warm and steady.
“Like this,” Santa murmurs. “Just feel the beat.” Their bodies move together, slow at first. Santa counts softly, breath close to Perth’s ear. The latter’s scent is everything. Santa can’t get enough and feels lightheaded at the same time. Is it the proximity? Or Perth’s hands at his waist? Maybe it’s the man himself. Santa can’t help but tremble.
Perth relaxes, only his fingers tightening just a little, like he’s afraid Santa might slip away. The music then becomes background noise and the lights blur. Their bodies are so warm against each other, allowing touch to become the only language. Perth leans in to say something, but stops as his jaw tightens. He then exhales slowly. “I need some air,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
Santa doesn’t think. “Can I come with you?” he asks, breathless. Perth smiles and instead of answering, he takes Santa’s hand in his and leads him through the crowd.
Outside, the night air is cool and quiet compared to the hot chaos inside. Santa sighs the moment it hits his face. “It was so loud in there,” he says, laughing softly. “Which is funny, because that’s exactly what I wanted tonight.”
Perth lights a cigarette, watching Santa through the glow. “And you don’t want that anymore?”
They stand close, their shoulders almost touch. Santa gives a little shake of his head, fidgeting with his hands.
When Perth notices it, he carefully takes one of Santa’s hand in his own again, his thumb immediately starting to stroke the back of it. Santa takes a slow breath. This feels like a dream.
“So,” Perth says after a moment, “tell me,” He glances at Santa. “About your love life.”
Santa snorts. “Unfortunate.”
Perth blinks. “Unfortunate?”
“Yeah,” Santa says with a shrug. “I just.. can’t seem to find the right one.”
Perth studies him. “Hard to believe,” he says quietly. “A pretty boy like you.”
Santa’s breath catches in his throat. He looks up, straight into Perth’s eyes, which are darker now, more focused. “I don’t want just anyone,” he says softly. “I want the one.”
The air shifts as Perth holds his gaze for a bit longer than necessary, which makes Santa look away, heart racing too fast. “What about you?” He asks quickly. “You seem like you’ve.. had options.”
Perth exhales smoke into the night. “Ah, Petal, what happened to ‘don’t judge a book from its cover’?”
Santa’s knees almost gave for the second time that night. Petal? Oh my God! “Sorry.” He bites his lips.
With the hand that’s holding the cigarette, Perth’s thumb carefully touches Santa’s lower lip, pulling it away from between his teeth, his eyes never leaving the motion. “I’m actually saving myself,” he says. “For the right one.”
Santa looks at him then, surprise coloring his face. “Really?”
Perth nods. “Yeah.” He tosses the cigarette to the ground, stepping on it without looking away once from Santa.
Suddenly, from inside the club, a muffled, collective voice starts counting. “Ten.. nine..”
Santa doesn’t know who moved first, all he knows is that his other hand quickly finds Perth’s without letting his brain second-guess it. Perth laces their fingers together instantly, like he’s been waiting.
“Six.. five..”
Their eyes never leaving each other. “The year is ending.” Perth’s voice drops several octaves lower.
Santa licks his lips nervously and Perth’s eyes drop to the motion and darken. “Yeah. And a new one is starting.” Santa breathes.
“Can I kiss you?” Perth asks softly.
Santa nods, smiling softly. “Yes.”
Perth’s hands go to Santa’s waist then, pulling him close while Santa’s arms circle his neck, both of them taking a sharp breath as their bodies meet again.
“Three.. two..”
Their lips finally meet. The kiss is slow but it’s all warmth and certainty. Santa’s thoughts are a blur though but his skin is alive. His fingers move, brushing the fabric of Perth’s shirt just to feel something solid. Fireworks burst in the sky above them, colors blooming as the year changes. Santa feels those fireworks everywhere: in his chest, in his stomach, in his hands, in the way Perth holds him like this is the only thing he has ever wanted from life.
When they pull back, just a tiny little, foreheads touching and breath ragged, Santa smiles and Perth groans. “God, I’ve been wanting to do this since the very second I saw you on the dance floor, dancing, so carefree and so beautiful.”
Santa giggles, tightening his grip on Perth’s shirt. “Happy new year, Mr. Hottie!” He breathes onto Perth’s lips and pecks them.
Perth chuckles breathlessly. “Gosh, you’re so cute.” He returns the peck, holding Santa even closer to himself. “Happy new year, Petal!”
Santa came here wanting noise, a music so loud to drown his thoughts, drinks so strong to forget and a night spent dancing until nothing else mattered. Instead, he finds warmth, steady hands and a kiss that feels like the beginning of something he never planned for but needed so bad.
And the way Perth holds him, tight and careful, like Santa might turn into illusion if he lets go, tells him that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t the only one who, from now on, wants all his new years to start exactly like this.
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