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“Tilt your head a little to the left,” Peach calls professionally, with kindness in its depths.
After three more shots, the shoot is over. The room fills with motion; equipment is packed away, staff crowd around screens to pick the best images, voices overlapping.
Laughter breaks out somewhere near the monitors, the sharp scent of hairspray and warm lights lingering in the air. The familiar bustle settles comfortably around Peach.
Today, Aran, their usual model, wasn’t there due to other circumstances, so their best option had been a newbie in the industry with growing popularity. It had been a risk, but one worth taking.
“Amazing, Peach! Make sure you go take a break,” P’Nuch says, placing a supportive hand on his upper back. Her grip is brief but grounding, her voice loud and lighthearted as she flashes a smile before rushing off to speak with a colleague.
“Yes, I’ll make sure of it,” Peach replies with a small nod, exhaling just before someone taps his shoulder.
It’s Kla, the model he’d been shooting. “Thanks for taking good pictures of me, P’Peach.” The boy gives a small wai before grinning, the tension finally leaving his shoulders.
It reminds Peach of himself when he was younger and new to everything—the nerves, the excitement, the hope. He chuckles softly, letting out a familiar sigh. “Don’t worry about it, it wasn’t a hassle at all.” He ruffles Kla’s hair lightly before letting go.
The boy laughs and says another quick thank you, relief written clearly across his face. Being new to the industry isn’t easy, and moments like this matter more than people realize.
Suddenly, the air shifts.
Movement slows, voices lower, whispers sharpen. Even the hum of equipment seems quieter. It’s strange how quickly the room seems to dim.
“I see you’re busy speaking to other people.”
Thee approaches with long strides, polished shoes clicking softly against the floor, Mok following behind him like a shadow. He stops beside Peach, posture firm and unmistakably authoritative, a frown already settled on his face.
“Get a grip Khun Thee,” Peach turns toward him, a polite smile forming out of habit. “I talk to people all the time,” he says, raising a brow. The CEO always spoke in riddles or melodramatic half-statements, it had become a pattern. “That’s how a job works,”
Kla stiffens under Thee’s stare, fingers curling nervously. He gives a quick, awkward wave before retreating, nearly running toward the exit as if the tension itself might grab him.
“I didn’t know you’d gotten this friendly with models, Peacharayat,” Thee says, irritation edging into his tone, something tight flickering beneath it.
Peach feels like he’s watching a lakorn, the kind where the heroine catches her husband cheating in broad daylight. A quiet laugh slips out before he can stop it.
Thee doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away.
And Peach realizes—too late—that Thee isn’t angry.
He’s jealous.
“Why are you laughing?” Thee asks, lifting a brow meant to be menacing, though it looks almost goofy under the studio lights.
Peach catches himself, schooling his expression. “You’re acting like you walked in on something,” he says lightly. “Like you saw me and Kla holding hands.”
“Were you?” Thee’s voice turns colder, surprise flashing briefly across his face before he reins it in.
“Khun Thee, are you jealous?” Peach giggles, intentionally softening the mood.
“Why would I be jealous?” Thee replies, genuinely confused. He would never be jealous over Kla, a newbie model.
Still, irritation had crept in at the sight of Kla standing too close to Peach, smiling too freely, lingering longer than necessary.
Peach wasn’t someone to take lightly. He shouldn’t be close to unfamiliar people without notice—without awareness.
After a brief pause, Thee speaks. “Next time, I’ll send you a bodyguard. So no one gets too close.”
“Don’t flash your money,” Peach says bluntly, folding his arms. “And I don’t want a bodyguard at work. I’m allowed to have normal human interaction.”
Thee grimaces and glances at Mok, who looks visibly disappointed, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Khun Thee would like to invite you for dinner,” Mok says smoothly, stepping in before the situation worsens.
Peach exhales, tension slipping from his shoulders. “Fine. I want pork skewers. Let me review the shots and I’ll meet you in thirty minutes.”
Thee smirks to himself, satisfaction curling in his chest, unable to resist dinner with the photographer. Mok’s expression remains unimpressed.
Later, Thee waits silently in the car, city lights reflecting faintly off the windshield.
“Tomorrow, I want a bodyguard assigned to Peach,” he says suddenly, staring ahead.
“Yes,” Mok replies without hesitation.
The door opens. Peach steps in, tote bag slung over his shoulder, expression neutral but eyes tired.
Thee hesitates, then speaks. “I booked a Michelin-star restaurant. They’re known for pork skewers.”
“I know a place that’s better,” Peach replies, lifting a finger. He pulls out his phone and shows the location to Mok, who nods immediately.
Thee frowns in confusion. What could possibly be better than Michelin stars?
When they arrive, the place looks almost broken down, paint chipped, lights flickering softly. Thee has never paid attention to shops this small before—never needed to.
An elderly Thai woman works the grill in a hairnet, turning skewers patiently as smoke curls into the night air. Middle-aged men chat near their motorbikes, laughter mixing with the sound of sizzling meat. The shop sits quietly on a street corner, old and worn, but alive.
How could this be better?
“Khun Earn,” Peach says, wais, and smiles warmly. “How are you doing? Is your back any better?”
Her face lights up instantly. “Nong Peach! It’s been so long.”
“Oho, I saw you two weeks ago,” Peach laughs, the affection in his voice unmistakable.
She squints at Thee, eyes sharp but kind. “So who is this handsome man, hm? And why haven’t you introduced him sooner?”
“This is Khun Thee, the owner of the company I work at,” Peach says. “And this is Earn, my longtime friend.”
She smiles warmly. “Nice to meet you. So, tell me, what would you like today?”
“Just give me six skewers to share,” Peach says easily, pulling out a chair and sitting down like he belongs here.
“I’ll toss in an extra just for you,” she replies with a grin.
“Thank you.”
The skewers are set down between them, grease soaking into the paper, heat radiating upward. It’s nice watching Peach eat his food, relaxed and content. Without thinking, Peach feeds Thee, holding the skewer steady until he leans in and takes a bite.
“Do you like Kla?” Thee asks quietly, eyes watching Peach more than the food.
“Oho, you think so much over something little,” Peach says. “He’s just my junior.”
“You look close,” Thee mutters.
“You’re acting like a possessive boyfriend from the movies,” Peach teases, smiling faintly.
“I just don’t like people getting too comfortable,” Thee replies.
“With me?” Peach asks, tilting his head.
“With anyone,” Thee answers too quickly.
Peach laughs softly. “Liar.”
“Then why are you glaring at an eighteen-year-old kid?”
“He smiles too much.”
“That’s your issue?”
“It’s unnecessary.”
Peach shakes his head, amused. He leans in and wipes sauce from the corner of Thee’s mouth with his thumb. “You’re messy.”
Thee freezes, breath catching slightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“You didn’t stop me,” Peach replies easily.
They sit a little closer to each other. It makes a world of difference. Smoke fills their lungs, warmth seeps into their skin, and the street noise settles into something almost comforting.
The simplicity of it all gives Thee butterflies. He’s never experienced anything like this—an ordinary life, simple and unpolished, yet filled with something honest. Money doesn’t buy this. His heartbeat quickens at the realization.
Earn clears her throat, clearly entertained. She smiles at Peach. “Next time, bring your boyfriend along again.”
Peach laughs.
Thee smiles.
It was short and simple, beautiful in a way. He messaged Mok.
Khun Thee 9:32PM
Call off the bodyguard.