Work Text:
STOP ME
His leg hurt, but Santa tried to ignore it.
Three days had passed since LoL ended and, even though he was supposed to be resting, his mind refused to let him.
His thoughts kept going back there. Always to the same scene.
That split.
His leg dragging wrong across the stage.
The unnatural twist. The tearing sensation. The pain.
It had all happened within seconds, and his life had felt like it shattered together with that movement.
All the sweat. The rehearsals. Everything he had worked so hard for. Gone.
Once again, he found himself scrolling through X, reading people’s comments. The videos. Clips of him crying, breaking down in front of everyone. The comforting words from fans, friends and, of course, Perth.
His fingers tightened around the phone.
The guilt he felt toward him had stolen his sleep. Taken away his breath. Made him cry until there were no tears left.
The fear of disappointing him had dragged him into such a deep darkness that, even now, he still struggled to crawl back out of it.
LoL was over… but training sessions with the Jaspers and rehearsals for the Devil Kiss concert were already approaching.
And he couldn’t dance.
Christ, he could barely even walk.
With a rough motion, he threw the phone onto the bed before quickly turning his wheelchair toward the kitchen, searching for a glass of water or anything that could silence the chaos in his head.
But the thoughts followed him down the hallway.
They slithered behind him like silent snakes. Clinging to him, suffocating him, constantly reminding him how badly he had ruined everything. How he had dragged Perth down with him too.
Yeah. Perth.
Because that was the point, wasn’t it?
This was the second time he had gotten injured and slowed down all their insane schedules. Last year his wrist. Now his leg.
Perth had warned him. Told him not to overdo the jumps or dangerous moves, not to push himself past his limits.
But he hadn’t listened.
Because the desire to improve, to amaze people, to prove something, had been stronger than common sense. Stronger even than Perth’s words.
He yanked the refrigerator open.
A dull ache tightened around his chest.
Right now, Perth was probably rehearsing alone for a choreography they were supposed to perform together. What if he didn’t heal in time? What if his leg didn’t get better enough before July?
He grabbed a bottle of water and slammed the fridge shut harder than necessary, letting the anger explode through the gesture.
He felt trapped.
Trapped inside his own body. Inside his muscles. Inside his own flesh.
The medicine sat on the table: the last pill of the day. Another one to force down his throat while hoping the inflammation would ease at least enough for him to attend rehearsals.
With an irritated movement, he grabbed the nearly empty tube. He opened it too quickly and the pill slipped from his fingers.
It hit the floor.
Perfect.
Santa clenched his fists, breathing unevenly. He tried pulling the pill closer with his good foot, but only managed to push it farther away, nearly underneath the cabinet.
“Great…” he whispered with a broken voice.
He looked around for something that could help him reach it. A stick. Anything.
Nothing.
His eyes, already swollen and red from the crying over the past few days, started burning again.
He maneuvered the wheelchair between the table and the cabinet. One hand grabbed the edge of the table while the other stretched toward the floor as far as possible.
His fingertips barely brushed the pill.
It rolled another few inches away.
Santa gritted his teeth and leaned farther. He tried putting weight on his left leg, but blinding pain exploded through his body.
The muscle spasmed violently.
His hand slipped from the table.
The air left his lungs.
And he fell.
The impact against the floor knocked the breath out of him.
He stayed there trembling, his leg burning while his eyes stung desperately with held-back tears. His hands immediately clutched his thigh, as if squeezing hard enough could stop the pain.
Fuck.
He tried to breathe. Tried not to panic.
But he couldn’t move.
His leg hurt so badly that even screaming felt impossible.
And besides… who would hear him?
There was nobody home.
His apartment, all the way up on the top floor, was so isolated that for one horrible moment Santa thought he could die there without anyone noticing.
He should call someone.
But his phone was upstairs.
He was fucked.
He hit his forehead with small trembling fists before finally breaking down.
He let everything out.
Let the pain consume him completely, staining him from head to toe like something filthy. Something he secretly believed he deserved.
Because deep down, he knew it.
Even if he tried hiding it. Even if everyone around him tried convincing him otherwise.
He wasn’t enough.
The only artist who always got injured. The one who was always awkward, always offbeat, always out of place despite belonging to that world.
A fish out of water in his own sea.
And so he stopped holding back.
The tears poured out uncontrollably, like water bursting through a dam too fragile to keep standing.
Sobs shattered his breathing.
Everything went dark until he heard the front door unlocking with a loud click.
“Santa?”
Using the key Santa had given him for nights when his own house was too far away, Perth stepped inside, unaware of what he was about to find.
Santa stiffened. He didn’t know whether to feel grateful for the surprise or ashamed of the state he was in, but he couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
“Santa? Are you awa—”
The sight of the overturned wheelchair was enough to cut him off.
“Oh my God.”
Perth appeared in the kitchen doorway and all the color drained from his face instantly.
“TA!”
He dropped everything in his hands and was beside him within seconds, kneeling on the floor.
“What the fuck happened?” His voice shook. “Did you hurt yourself? Did you try to stand up?”
Perth’s hands touched his arms, his face, his leg, like he was trying to check every part of him at once just to make sure he was still whole.
That touch made something collapse inside Santa.
He looked away, suddenly too ashamed to even breathe in front of him.
“Leave it…” he whispered.
“The fuck I will.” Perth was breathless. His eyes glossy. Terrified. “Why are you on the floor? Why didn’t you call me?”
Santa bit down on his lower lip.
Because I didn’t want to become another problem.
But he couldn’t say it.
Carefully, Perth slid an arm behind his back, trying to help him up.
“Slowly… slowly, okay? Don’t move your leg.”
Santa barely nodded, but the second he tried shifting, a painful sound died in his throat.
Perth froze.
Their faces were too close now.
Way too close.
Santa could feel his uneven breathing brushing against his skin. He could see the panic in his eyes, that genuine fear Perth was desperately trying to hide beneath his calm tone.
And somehow, that hurt more than his leg.
“Sorry…” he whispered.
Perth frowned immediately. “For what?”
A broken laugh escaped Santa together with another sob.
“For everything. For always ruining everything.” He lowered his gaze. “The rehearsals… the concert… the Jaspers… you.”
“Santa.”
“It’s always like this.” His voice trembled. “I’m always the one breaking apart. Always the one slowing things down. And you always have to clean up the messes I make…”
“Stop it.”
“Perth, I—”
“I said stop.”
This time, Perth’s voice cracked for real.
Santa slowly lifted his eyes.
Perth was trembling.
“You really think I care about the concert right now?”
Santa stayed silent.
Perth dragged a hand down his face, exhausted. Destroyed.
“When you stopped replying to my messages, I thought you were asleep… then I started calling and you still didn’t answer.” He swallowed hard. “I drove all the way here thinking only…”
The sentence died there.
Thinking I was losing you.
Even without hearing the words, Santa felt them anyway.
The air in the kitchen suddenly became unbearably heavy.
For a second, Perth looked down like he hated himself for what he was about to say.
“I can’t understand what’s happening between us anymore.”
Santa stopped breathing.
Perth let out a nervous laugh, empty and tired.
“It’s scary, isn’t it?”
Santa’s eyes burned immediately.
Because yes. It was terrifying.
The way Perth always seemed to know what he was thinking before he even spoke. The way a single glance was enough for them to understand each other. The way everything with him felt natural.
Like breathing.
Like they had always been meant to find each other.
“Nong and Phi,” Santa reminded himself desperately.
That was all they were supposed to be.
Just friends. Just partners. Just two people absurdly in sync.
So when had everything changed?
When had Perth’s smile started making his heartbeat speed up? When had simple affection turned into something else? When had needing him nearby become so desperate it stole his sleep?
“People keep saying we’re soulmates…” Perth murmured with a fragile smile that looked ready to melt into something else. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
Santa felt his chest tighten painfully.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because if you say it out loud… it’ll become real.”
The silence that followed was devastating.
Perth looked at him like he wanted to run away and move closer at the same time.
“We shouldn’t feel like this,” he whispered.
Santa nodded immediately, almost desperately.
Their work.
Their fans.
The people around them.
The expectations.
Everything could fall apart.
And yet, even in the middle of all that fear, Santa couldn’t stop looking at him.
Perth still had one hand gripping his shirt like he was afraid to let go.
“I hate seeing you hurt,” he admitted softly. “And I don’t think that’s… normal anymore.”
Those words went straight through Santa’s chest.
His eyes dropped to Perth’s lips for just one second.
Huge mistake.
Because Perth did the same.
And suddenly the kitchen felt too small to contain everything they were trying to ignore.
“Phi…”
Santa didn’t even know what he meant by it. Maybe a warning. A plea.
Or maybe simply: do it.
Perth touched his face with hesitant fingers.
That gesture alone destroyed the last bit of distance left between them.
The kiss happened without logic.
Without decision.
Like something that had been restrained for far too long.
Perth’s lips landed against his carefully, almost fearfully, and Santa felt his heart stop for a second.
Fear. Fear everywhere.
In the way Perth trembled.
In the way Santa himself hesitated before kissing him back.
In the suffocating knot both of them carried in their throats.
But when Santa closed his eyes and grabbed Perth’s shirt with trembling fingers, Perth let out a broken breath against his mouth, like he was falling apart too.
Wrapped in terror. Hearts at war.
Their tongues slid against each other, tasting one another in a way they never had in front of cameras. Because this time there were no lights illuminating the scene. Only darkness, warmth, lips, and bites.
Santa tasted Perth inside his mouth.
Warm. Shaking. Real.
And that realization hit him almost harder than the pain in his leg.
Perth was really kissing him.
Not as a joke.
Not for fanservice.
Not for some scene shot from a weird camera angle.
A real kiss.
For him. Santa.
Their lips searched for each other in the suffocating silence of the kitchen, between uneven breaths and fingers trembling too much to hide anything anymore.
Perth pulled away first.
Suddenly.
Like he had just woken up from a dangerous dream.
His breathing came out uneven through parted lips.
“We…” he whispered with a broken voice. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Santa closed his eyes immediately.
Because he was right. God, he was right. What the fuck were they doing?
“I’m sorry,” Perth murmured.
Those words hurt. They sounded like proof that this was a mistake. A dangerous game they might never come back from.
Santa swallowed hard, desperately trying to regain clarity.
They had to stop.
They had to go back to being Perth and Santa. Phi and Nong. They had to pretend this moment had never happened.
And yet, when he opened his eyes and looked at Perth again, something inside him shattered completely.
Perth looked just as devastated as he felt. Confused. Terrified.
In love.
The word crossed his mind so quickly it almost made him flinch.
No.
No, no, no.
It couldn’t be that. Not now. Not with them. Not like this.
Then why did staying away from him hurt so badly?
Why did his body keep reaching for him while his mind screamed to stop?
Perth took a deep breath before forcing himself to move back a few inches.
“We have to stop,” he repeated, almost like he was trying to convince himself.
Santa nodded immediately.
“Yeah.”
Lie.
A horrible lie.
Because the second Perth truly moved away, Santa’s chest emptied completely.
This time, he was the one who gave in.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered through tears as he grabbed Perth’s shirt again in desperation, crashing their lips together once more.
Harder. More confused.
Perth let out a strangled breath against his mouth like he was losing control piece by piece.
“Ta…”
His name sounded like a prayer.
Or a sentence.
Perth’s fingers slipped into his hair, stroking him with a tenderness that made Santa want to cry all over again.
They kissed messily, chaotically, deeply. Trying to understand each other through that contact. Like their bodies were finally saying everything they had never managed to admit out loud.
Every time they tried pulling away, it happened again.
One of them gave in.
Another kiss. Another broken breath. Another “I’m sorry” whispered against skin.
“We need to stop.”
This time Santa meant it.
He said it while desperately clinging to the last bit of reason he had left.
Perth swallowed and slowly nodded.
With visible effort, he pulled away from him. The emptiness he left behind was immediate. Almost physical.
Santa felt cold.
Perth dragged both hands over his face, breathing deeply like he was trying to force his thoughts back into order.
“We… we can’t do something like this.” His voice still shook. “We can’t cross this line.”
Phi and Nong.
That’s what they had to remain. They had to keep working the way they always had. If they ruined even that… what would be left?
Perth forced himself to stand up from the floor without looking directly at him. Santa instinctively copied him, using the table to help himself back onto the wheelchair.
The movement tore a muffled sound from his throat.
Perth turned immediately.
“Wait—”
“I’m fine.”
Santa was still trembling. From pain. From crying. From the way he could still taste Perth even after they had separated.
With Perth’s help, he managed to sit back down in the wheelchair. He breathed hard once. Twice. Trying desperately to return to normal.
Normal.
They had to be normal.
Perth stood a few feet away from him, hands tangled in his hair, eyes lost somewhere far away.
“This shouldn’t have happened,” he murmured.
Those words hit Santa straight in the stomach.
Because they were true.
Then why did hearing them hurt so much?
“Tomorrow we’ll pretend nothing happened,” Santa said with a broken voice. “We still can—”
“No.”
Perth answered too quickly. Too desperately.
Santa looked up immediately.
Perth’s chest was still rising and falling too fast. His eyes glossy. Ruined.
“I’m trying,” he confessed quietly. “I’m really trying to stop.”
Santa stopped breathing.
“But the more I pull away… the more I want to come back to you.”
Something inside Santa’s chest broke all over again.
Perth took one step forward.
Then another.
Like he was fighting against himself with every movement.
“It’s wrong,” he whispered. “It’s terrifying. And we should stop before we ruin everything.”
Santa nodded slowly, unable to speak.
And yet Perth kept moving closer.
Until he knelt in front of him again, trembling hands gripping the wheelchair’s armrests.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, eyes locked on his.
Santa opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Perth let out a broken breath, like that silence had destroyed the last of his resistance.
And then he gave in.
He kissed him again.
With anguish. With all the fear they had tried uselessly to contain.
The kiss consumed them instantly, more desperate than the last one. Perth held Santa’s face like he needed proof he was real, while Santa clung to his shirt with shaking fingers.
It felt like goodbye.
Or maybe the beginning of something neither of them was ready to face.
Perth kissed like someone falling apart. Him — the person who had always been Santa’s rock, his pillar, his guide.
Santa kissed him back the same way.
And in the middle of that chaos of broken breaths, hesitant hands and suffocating fear, they both understood the most terrifying truth of all.
All those months spent touching each other without thinking too much about it. The glances that lasted too long. The fingers intertwined playfully. The stupid jealousy. The constant need to seek each other out.
It had always been there.
They had only pretended not to see it.
Perth stopped, forehead pressed against his, eyes squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to hold back tears.
“Do I need to stop, Ta? Should I stop?”
Santa clung to him, fingers tangled in his brown hair.
“Don’t stop,” he sobbed softly, shaking his head. “Phi… don’t stop.”
And so Perth kissed him again, hands cradling his face while their mouths found each other over and over, their hearts tangling together into a single heartbeat.
He helped him up, carrying him carefully in his arms without ever fully stopping the kisses. He brought him to the bedroom and laid him down gently, protectively. One arm slipped beneath Santa’s neck like a pillow.
Their eyes locked together.
They both knew what was about to happen.
And once again, Santa could see that same question inside Perth’s gaze.
Do you want me to stop?
Santa took a deep breath.
His hand rose to caress the face of his beloved Phi. His soulmate.
Then his fingers slid into Perth’s hair and pulled him down into another soft kiss.
Small bites. Hesitant breaths.
And for the last time, Santa answered that question.
Without regret. Without fear.
“Don’t stop… Phi.”
THE END