Word spreads fast in a school like theirs.
At first, it was just whispers. People noticed that Perth no longer stormed through the halls like a storm looking for lightning to strike. He'd stopped fighting. Stopped yelling. His fists were always clenched — but not flying anymore.
And he was always with him.
Santa, the ghost boy. The walking echo of a smile that no longer existed.
Someone noticed.
And then everyone did.
⸻
It came to a head one afternoon in the courtyard.
Perth and Santa sat on one of the benches tucked away near the back of the school, near the flower beds. Santa was flipping through his sketchbook — not drawing, not yet, but staring at the pages like he was searching for something lost. Perth was quiet beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his presence, but not close enough to touch.
Then—
"You've got a lot of nerve."
Perth looked up.
It was Rin.
Rin had been in the hospital a month because of Perth. Broken ribs, a concussion, a shattered wrist. His smile never returned the same.
He wasn't alone. Two other students stood behind him, arms crossed.
Perth stood immediately, shielding Santa instinctively.
Rin's voice was sharp. "What, now you're a bodyguard? After everything you did to him?"
"Back off," Perth said, tone low, controlled.
Rin's eyes narrowed. "He was in a coma, you freak. And now you walk around here like you're some kind of reformed angel just because you sit next to him during lunch?"
Santa didn't move.
Didn't blink.
But he stood up too.
And that alone made Rin hesitate.
"I'm not pretending," Perth said, jaw tight. "I know what I did. I live with it every day."
"Then maybe you shouldn't be near him," Rin snapped. "Maybe people like you don't deserve a second chance."
Silence fell.
The other students watched, tension thick in the air.
Perth didn't respond.
Because maybe Rin was right.
Maybe he didn't deserve it.
But before anything else could be said, Santa stepped forward.
No emotion.
No expression.
Just a quiet, flat sentence:
"I choose to sit beside him."
Everyone turned to look at him.
It was the first time most had heard him speak since returning to school.
Rin stared, thrown off. "You—what?"
"I choose it," Santa repeated.
Then, slowly, he turned to Perth.
And without looking at the others, he placed the sketchbook in Perth's hand.
Like trust. Like a shield.
Perth's throat tightened.
Rin scoffed and stepped back. "Fine. Let the monster and the mute play house."
He turned and walked off.
The others followed.
And when the courtyard was silent again, Perth looked at Santa.
"...Why did you do that?"
Santa didn't answer at first.
Then he opened the notebook, took Perth's pen, and wrote:
"You protected me once. It's my turn now."
Perth blinked hard.
And for once, he didn't know what to say.
So he didn't.
He just sat back down.
Santa did too.
And together, they stayed — quiet, calm, and watched by no one.
Just two boys with too much past.
Trying to build something that might, one day, look like peace.
