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Peach was heading to a cafe to edit the photos from his most recent client when he noticed something peculiar sitting several benches behind him.
He usually ignores the people around him and focuses on what’s important, but it felt like something was calling to him when he turned to look behind him.
There sitting several feet away was a boy—a high schooler judging by the blue button down and navy shorts. The boy looked depressed and ready to cry as he just sat at the bench, looking at nothing.
Peach couldn’t help but feel drawn to the boy.
He couldn’t help but think about N’Plub and how she would sometimes have a similar face when she would hear the word adoption or learn that Peach was struggling to support the two.
He slowed down and started to walk back. Back towards the boy.
The cafe could wait. The clients love him a lot and they weren’t in a hurry to get the final photos back. Peach was just being an overachiever and trying to make money as fast as possible so he wouldn’t have to worry.
He stopped a respectful distance away from the boy, looking to see if the boy made any movements.
Nothing.
“Sawadee,” Peach waied at the boy and still no response.
No wonder Peach’s heartstrings were pulled.
He cleared his throat softly and let his smile reach his eyes. “Nong,” he tried again, voice low so it didn’t startle, “are you okay?”
The boy’s gaze didn’t lift. He blinked once, twice, as if it hurt. Peach shifted the strap of his camera bag from one shoulder to the other and looked at the empty space at the other end of the bench.
It was a good enough distance away from the boy but still on the same bench.
“I’m Peach,” he says, not too loud. “I’m just going to sit… over here. Okay?”
Once he sat, he couldn’t help but look at the boy, taking in the details this time.
His hair was thick and cut just high enough so that the boy can see. The boy clearly came from a good high school, judging by the crest. Not all high schools would have their own logo or crest to put on a shirt.
Peach glanced at the name written under the school’s name.
Pichaya Kittisawat.
He rolled the name on his tongue silently, not saying it aloud. His fingers worried at the zipper tab on his bag before he remembered the small bottle of water he kept for long shoots.
He took it out, unscrewed the cap with a quiet click, and set it on the slat between them.
“Phi has water,” he offered. “If you want.”
Up close, Peach noticed the way the boy’s knuckles were pale where his hands were clasped too tight in his lap. A thread had come loose at the hem of one shorts leg, curling like a tiny question mark against tan skin.
Knowing that the boy wanted some alone time, Peach kept his eyes forward—staring into the park and trees that were swaying from the rare breeze of Thailand weather.
He counted to ten in his head before he spoke again.
“Sometimes, I sit like this when my head is too loud,” he said, his tone conversational as if they were good friends. But his tone was also soft, as if trying to reach Pichaya.
“Like everything’s shouting at once and none of it makes sense.”
The boy’s fingers twitched. Just a little.
Peach didn’t push. He rocked his heel against the pavement, grounding himself. “It helps to find something to do so that I don’t spiral into the thoughts that could come. Life is hard. It can be unfair.”
“And sometimes,” he adds, “starting with something small helps. Like… counting how many green things you can see. Or deciding which cloud looks like a fish.”
The slightest pull of a frown crosses the boy’s mouth, then smooths, like a ripple in a pond. His fingers ease for a heartbeat before knotting together again.
A scooter rattled by on the street beyond the park, a dog barked at nothing, and somewhere a vendor’s bell chimed twice.
The boy’s throat worked. He didn’t look up, but his eyes cut, barely, to the bottle between them. One finger unspooled from his clasped hands.
He reached, hesitated, and then drew the water toward him like something fragile. He didn’t drink yet—he just rested his palm over the label, cool plastic against his skin.
“Phi…,” he said, almost to his knees.
Peach hummed, a little note to say he was listening.
“It doesn’t stop,” the boy whispered, as if looking for something. “It’s like the birds were.”
Peach hummed. “Mn, birds can be loud,” he agreed. “Sometimes, mine are like tuk-tuks. Very rude.”
The boy giggled which brought a smile to Peach’s face. His voice sounded like the chimes of bells.
Like LookPlub’s.
It was like someone took his sister, turned her into a boy, and then just dropped him into the universe for Peach to find.
He glances toward the canopy where a pair of mynas argue, hopping from branch to branch with the confidence of kings.
“Very rude,” he says again, softer, to keep the boy’s smile alive a second longer.
The boy makes a small sound that might be agreement. He worries the bottle cap with his thumb.
“They don’t… stop,” he repeats, clearer this time, and his shoulders hitch as if he’s bracing for scolding that never comes.
Peach nods, even though the boy isn’t looking. “Sometimes I tell mine to line up,” he says. “Like students at assembly. I make them stand by height. The biggest, loudest, at the back.”
Pichaya’s lip quirks. “They listen?”
“Never,” Peach admits. “But it makes me laugh. And then it’s quieter inside, even if only a little.”
Another breeze threads through the park, thin as silk, and the leaves applaud politely. The boy turns the bottle until the label is face-down, as if not wanting to read the brand name, as if any words might be too much.
“Did something happen today?” Peach asks, keeping it easy, an open door that doesn’t creak.
A beat.
Two.
The boy’s mouth presses, releases.
“I don’t know. I give up,” he said, sounding so small. “How do I continue when everything I wanted is gone.”
The words tumble out, thin and cracked. Pichaya’s fingers curl in his lap like he’s holding onto something invisible.
“I tried so hard,” he says, and Peach doesn’t miss the way his voice breaks on tried. “I was supposed to go to school. Have a great hia. A great boyfriend.”
He swallows hard, eyes finally lifting, glassy and angry all at once. “And then it’s like my whole world flipped upside-down. Like none of it mattered.”
Peach stays quiet, lets the ache sit between them. After a moment, he says gently, “Life does that. Some willingly and others by fate. What do you think went wrong, nong?”
The boy looked even more distraught as he tried to answer Peach’s question. “I—I—I don’t know? When I let him into my life? When I trusted someone who said all the right things but meant none of them?”
Pichaya’s voice cracked, and he pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes like he could push the tears back in. “My hia’s… my hia’s working for someone now. Someone important. And his boss’s brother, he—”
The words caught in his throat.
Peach’s heart sank. He knew where this was going.
“I thought he loved me,” Pichaya continued, barely audible. “Said I was special. Different. That he saw me when no one else did.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “And I believed him. I thought—I thought maybe someone like him could actually love someone like me.”
“Nong,” Peach said softly.
“But he didn’t,” Pichaya whispered. “He just wanted to snoop about my brother. My brother. When I confronted him, he—” His breath hitched. “He looked at me like I was nothing. Like I’d imagined everything.”
Peach felt anger simmer in his chest, the protective kind that made him want to find this person and make them understand the damage they’d done.
“My hia doesn’t know,” Pichaya added quickly, panic threading through his voice. “He can’t know. He’d do something stupid, and he’s finally happy, finally safe in his job, and I can’t—I can’t ruin that for him.”
“You wouldn’t be ruining anything,” Peach said firmly. “If your hia loves you, he’d want to know you’re hurting.”
Pichaya shook his head violently. “You don’t understand. Hia Porsche, he’s given up everything for me. Everything. And now he has someone who takes care of him, who—” His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “He’s found his happiness now. I don’t want to burden him with the knowledge that I was dating my dream man and gave up on school.”
“Gave up on school?” Peach repeated, not understanding how this correlated with Pichaya’s love life.
“He was my dream man. I was a music major—I was supposed to be a music major. He was my muse. My everything. My reason for choosing that path. And when he—when he threw me away like I was nothing, suddenly music didn’t sound the same anymore.”
Pichaya’s fingers tightened around the water bottle until the plastic crinkled. “Every song led back to him. Every chord progression, every melody—it all led back to the person who made me feel like I mattered and then proved I didn’t.”
Peach’s throat tightened. He understood that kind of loss—when something you loved became tainted by the person who hurt you.
“So I stopped,” Pichaya continued, his voice hollow. “I stopped going to class. I even threw away my college application. I worked so hard on it and then I just threw it away. Like he threw me away.”
Peach let the words settle, heavy as afternoon heat. He watched a leaf loosen from a branch, tumble once, twice, and land near his shoe.
“That doesn't mean music wasn't real for you,” Peach said carefully. “Maybe it started because of him, but the passion? That was yours, nong.”
Pichaya shook his head. “I don’t have any passion for it anymore. It’s like he took it when he left.”
A tear finally escaped, rolling down his cheek. He wiped it away roughly, angry at himself for crying.
“Hia will be so disappointed,” he whispered. “He was so happy for me to get me into that program. He sacrificed everything, and I'm throwing it away because I can't handle a breakup like a normal person.”
“You're not throwing anything away,” Peach said firmly. “You're grieving. There's a difference. You feel in love. Your first love isn’t it?”
Pichaya nodded.
“Leaving your first love with always hurt. It feels like the world is ending,” Peach murmured, his voice gentle against the backdrop of rustling leaves. “But you can’t let him take your future too. If you give up on your dream, then he takes everything. Don’t give him that power. The music belongs to you, not him.”
Pichaya looked down at the bottle in his hands, his knuckles turning white again. He sniffled, a wet, miserable sound that tugged at Peach’s chest. The boy looked so young, too young to carry such a heavy heart.
“He doesn’t deserve your songs,” Peach added, leaning back slightly to let the words land soft. “But the world still deserves to hear them. And your brother… he just wants to see you smile.”
Peach watched as Pichaya took a shaky breath, finally twisting the cap off the water. He took a small sip, the first sign of acceptance.
“Take your time, nong,” Peach whispered. “The music will wait for you.”
Pichaya nodded slowly, the movement jerky, but he didn’t argue. He held the bottle close to his chest like a shield, his gaze fixing on a patch of grass near Peach’s shoe.
The despair was still there, heavy and suffocating, but the panic had receded enough for him to breathe.
Peach checked his watch, realizing the sun had shifted considerably, but he didn't regret the lost time. He stood up, dusting off his trousers.
“I’m going to be at that cafe across the street,” he said, pointing vaguely. “If the birds get too loud again, come find me. I’m a good listener.”
Pichaya nodded before his head shot up like he forgot something.
“I’m so sorry Phi! I didn’t get to introduce myself. I’m Pichaya Kittisawat but I go by Porchay,” he said as he gave Peach wai.
“Nice to meet you, Nong Porchay,” Peach replied, his smile softening around the edges. He liked the name. It suited the boy perfectly. “I am Peachayarat Janekit, but I go by Peach like I said earlier.”
He adjusted the strap of his camera bag, ensuring it sat comfortable against his shoulder. “Remember, the offer stands. The cafe has good drinks if the water isn’t enough to wash the bad taste away.”
Porchay offered a small, tentative nod, his grip on the bottle relaxing just a fraction.
With a final, encouraging nod, Peach turned on his heel, leaving the boy to the company of the trees and his thoughts.
He didn’t look back, sensing that Porchay needed the privacy to pull his scattered pieces back together without an audience.
Crossing the street to the cafe, the weight of the conversation lingered on his shoulders.
The world was cruel to soft hearts, he mused, pushing open the glass door.
The scent of roasted coffee hit him immediately, grounding him, but as he settled into a window seat and pulled out his laptop, his eyes instinctively drifted back to the lonely figure on the bench.
Hopefully N’Chay will feel better.
He opened his editing software, but his mind stayed with the boy across the street. He made a quiet promise to himself: if their paths crossed again, he'd check in.
4 years later
“P’Kian, you don’t need to hover over me,” Peach nudged a pouty Thee away as he gave him a knowing smile.
Thee was worried and Peach couldn’t help but soft at the thought.
“But LookPeach, you might be in danger,” he pouted as he stepped into Peach’s space.
“With the amount of people—influential people, I don’t think anyone would want to do anything risky,” he said as he held onto Thee’s hand.
“You can’t trust anyone here,” Thee said as he whispered into Peach’s ear, “in fact, some of these are mafia.”
Thee pulled back and stared into Peach’s eyes, trying to show his concern.
Peach squeezed the hand holding his, the warmth grounding him amidst the glitz and underlying danger.
“Then it is a good thing I have you to protect me,” he teased softly, hoping to dissolve the tension lining Thee’s shoulders. “Relax, Phi. I promise I won’t leave your sight tonight.”
Thee’s expression softened, the pout dissolving into a resigned sigh as he brought Peach’s knuckles to his lips for a brief, possessive kiss. “You better not,” he murmured against the skin.
He guided Peach deeper into the ballroom, his grip firm and protective against the swell of the crowd.
“How do you think the kids are right now?” Thee asked, scanning the crowd with a careful eye.
Peach chuckled, shaking his head. “Knowing Marn and Mork? Absolute chaos. I fear the staff and the bodyguards might quit after tonight.”
Thee’s lips twitched, dragging Peachh. “Let’s hope they don’t. They got rid of the last batch. We’re getting a bad reputation already.”
Chandeliers glittered overhead, casting fractured light across the sea of silk suits and dangerous smiles.
Peach adjusted his cuffs, his photographer’s eye already scanning the room for angles, ignoring the way the hair on his arms stood up. It wasn't just the air conditioning—the room hummed with secrets.
He leaned into Thee’s side, letting the solid warmth of his partner anchor him as they navigated the sea of polite smiles and predatory gazes.
“Theerakit Lee,” called an unfamiliar voice. The married couple both turned to see who it belonged to.
Thee stiffened, his demeanor shifting instantly from doting husband to a cold, imposing wall. He angled his body to shield Peach, his eyes narrowing as they landed on a man approaching with a predatory grace.
"Khun Kinn," Thee greeted, his tone icy, tightening his grip on Peach’s hand until his knuckles turned white.
The man offered a polite, shark-like smile, but Peach was no longer looking at him. His gaze had drifted to the figure standing just behind the mafia boss’s shoulder.
He looked familiar but Peach wasn’t sure where to place it.
The man standing next to Kinn wore a matching suit in the same burgundy color, but instead of unbuttoning the first few buttons, he’d forgone the shirt entirely.
“It’s been a while Khun Theerakit. I trust business is treating you well?” Kinn finished, his smile sharp enough to cut glass.
Peach, however, was distracted. The man beside Kinn shifted, offering a charismatic, lopsided grin that tugged at a memory buried deep in Peach’s mind.
It was the eyes—they held the exact same shape as a specific nong.
Peach's grip on Thee's hand loosened slightly as recognition settled in his chest.
Four years.
It had been four years since that afternoon in the park, and he'd never forgotten the boy on the bench or the weight of secrets he'd promised to keep.
Porsche's eyes swept over them with practiced ease, the look of someone accustomed to assessing threats.
When his gaze landed on Peach, there was no recognition—why would there be?
They'd never met.
“Well enough,” Thee replied, clipped and impeccably formal. His thumb traced a slow, possessive circle over Peach’s knuckles. “And you?”
“Thriving, as always.” Kinn’s gaze slid to Peach, sharp with calculated curiosity. “And who might this be?”
“My husband,” Thee said, the word honed to an edge. “Peachayaret.”
The possessiveness in Thee's voice was unmistakable, and Peach felt him shift closer, creating an almost imperceptible barrier between Peach and the two men.
Peach also noticed that Thee didn’t give his full name.
Peach offered a polite wai and stayed quiet, as Thee preferred at events like this. Still, his attention kept drifting to the man in burgundy. The bone structure, the easy confidence despite the unconventional styling—it tugged at something familiar, just out of reach.
“Porsche,” Kinn said, gesturing to his companion with an intimacy that wasn’t subtle, “this is Theerakit Lee and his husband.”
Porsche.
Porsche's expression softened just a fraction, something like approval flickering across his features.
“Husband,” he echoed, then extended his hand toward Peach with unexpected warmth. "Porsche Pachara Kittisawat. It's nice to meet you."
“Pleasure,” Porsche said warmly, even as Thee’s coolness filled the space.
His gaze lingered on Peach, curious, as if he sensed recognition without understanding why.
“Look at them,” Porsche turned to Kinn, looking jokingly pissed. “They’re already married and look at us. No ring.”
He said bringing up up right hand before switching to the left. Peach noted the family ring on the right hand.
Kinn rolled his eyes with practiced fondness, capturing the hand Porsche waved around to press a kiss to the knuckles.
“We’ll get there,” Kinn murmured, ignoring the tension in the room to smile at his partner.
Peach watched them, his heart giving a small, sympathetic squeeze.
Thee made a soft, thoughtful sound, eyes never leaving the entwined hands in front of them. “Love doesn’t wait for proof,” he said absently. “It just knows where it belongs.”
Peach turned his head slightly, familiar fondness warming his expression. Thee didn’t notice. He rarely did when the words slipped out like that.
Kinn arched a brow, amused. Porsche smiled, something easy and genuine tugging at his mouth.
“And if you don’t claim what’s yours,” Thee added calmly, thumb brushing over Peach’s knuckles, “someone else will.”
Peach squeezed his hand in warning. “P’Kian.”
Thee blinked, giving a knowing smirk. “What?”
“…Nothing,” Peach said, smiling.
Kinn merely chuckled, the sound low and confident, while Porsche leaned into him with a grin that held no fear.
“How romantic,” Kinn said dryly, though amusement flickered behind his eyes. “You're quite sentimental for someone in your line of work, Khun Theerakit.”
Thee's expression remained neutral, but his hand found the small of Peach's back possessively. “I simply understand priorities.”
Porsche laughed outright at that, the sound surprisingly genuine in the calculated atmosphere.
“I like him,” he declared to Kinn before turning back to them. “You two should join us for drinks sometime. Away from all this.” He gestured vaguely at the glittering crowd.
"We'll see," Thee replied noncommittally, ready to guide Peach away from the couple with practiced politeness.
As they walked away, a figure came running to Porsche and Kinn.
“Hia! P’Kinn!”
The voice cut through the polished chatter like a bell—young, breathless, urgent. Peach's heart stuttered before his mind caught up.
He turned.
The boy—no, young man now—was weaving through the crowd with the kind of graceless speed that came from panic. His suit jacket was askew, hair slightly mussed, and his eyes were wide with something close to alarm.
Porchay.
Four years had changed him. The softness in his face had sharpened into defined cheekbones, his frame had filled out, and he carried himself with more confidence. But those eyes—those were the same eyes that had stared at nothing on a park bench, glassy with grief.
Peach's breath caught.
Porchay skidded to a stop beside his brother, grabbing Porsche's arm. “Hia, we have a problem—” He cut himself off, finally noticing they weren't alone.
His gaze swept over Thee with polite acknowledgment, then landed on Peach.
For a heartbeat, nothing. Then Porchay's eyes widened, recognition flickering across his features like lightning.
“Phi Peach?” he asked, immediately raising his hands in a wai.
Something shifted in the air.
Porsche’s expression softened without him even realizing it, and Peach felt his chest ache as warmth spread through him. In that moment, they both melted by the boy standing in front of them.
Peach returned the gesture with a warm, genuine smile, ignoring the sudden tension radiating from Thee beside him. “It is good to see you again, Nong Porhay,” he replied softly.
Porsche looked between them, eyebrows raised in sheer surprise, while Thee’s hand tightened possessively on Peach’s waist, a silent question hanging heavy in the air.
“Chay?” Porsche asked, “You know him?”
“We met at a park a few years ago,” Porchay answered, his panic momentarily forgotten as he offered his brother a sheepish smile. “He helped me during a tough time.”
Peach’s smile deepened, a silent understanding passing between them. “I am glad to see you looking well, Nong.”
Thee’s fingers drummed a restless rhythm against Peach’s hip, his gaze sharpening. He leaned down, his whisper brushing Peach’s ear with dangerous curiosity. “You never mentioned meeting a Kittisawat.”
“This was before I met you,” Peach muttered to his husband.
“And I’m glad I did,” Peach added aloud, offering a reassuring squeeze to Thee’s hand before meeting Porsche’s gaze.
The older brother’s expression shifted, the earlier shark-like assessment dissolving into genuine gratitude.
“Then I owe you a drink,” Porsche said, placing a protective hand on Chay’s shoulder. “For looking after him.”
Peach shook his head. “No it’s fine. He reminded me of my little sister, N’Plub. Seeing him happy is enough.”
Porchay beamed, his earlier panic softening into a shy grin. “Thank you, Phi.”
“How have you been, nong?” Peach asked and suddenly Porsche and Kinn groaned. Peach smiled knowing what he just caused.
Porchay’s eyes lit up like someone had handed him a microphone and a captive audience. “Oh Phi, where do I even start? So much has happened! Remember how I said I gave up on music? Well, I didn’t! I mean, I almost did, but then—”
“Chay,” Porsche warned, but it was too late.
“—so you remember the guy that broke my heart? Well, turns out he actually did have feelings for me, he was just being stupid and emotionally constipated—his words, not mine—and we got back together! His name is Kim, and Phi, he’s amazing. He’s a musician too, and he’s been teaching me guitar and—”
Peach’s smile froze slightly.
Kim.
So that was his name.
The person who’d made Porchay throw away his college application and lose his love for music. The one who’d looked at him like he was nothing.
“—and I know what you’re thinking, Phi, but he really did apologize. Like, properly. Got down on his knees and everything, it was very dramatic—”
“Porchay,” Kinn said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“—and now I’m studying music composition! Well music compostions and business management! At university! I reapplied and everything. Kim helped me with my audition and I got in and it’s been amazing and—”
“Nong,” Porsche tried again, louder this time.
“—and Hia finally got his head out of his ass and admitted he loves P’Kinn, which took forever by the way, and now they’re living together and P’Kinn bought Hia this ridiculously expensive watch that Hia pretends he doesn’t wear every single day but he totally does—”
Thee leaned down to Peach’s ear, his voice barely a murmur. “He should never meet Rome.”
Peach nodded solemnly, trying to suppress a smile even as his mind processed the information.
Kim.
He filed the name away carefully. “Never. We’d lose entire days.”
“—oh! And I’m performing next month at this venue downtown, Phi should come! I’ll send you tickets. Do you still have the same number? Actually, I never got your number, did I? We should exchange—”
“Porchay,” Porsche said firmly, finally clamping a hand over his brother’s mouth. “Breathe.”
Porchay blinked, then grinned sheepishly against his brother’s palm, his words muffled. “Sorry. I got excited.”
Peach couldn’t help but laugh, the sound genuine and warm, though part of him was still processing.
This Kim person had hurt Porchay badly enough to make him give up his dreams, and now they were back together? “It’s wonderful to see you so happy, Nong. Truly.”
“See?” Porsche said to Kinn, removing his hand from Chay’s mouth. “This is what I deal with every day. He gets like this and doesn’t stop.”
“I stop!” Porchay protested.
“You don’t,” Kinn and Porsche said in unison.
Thee’s lips twitched with amusement despite his earlier possessiveness. “How old is he?”
“Twenty-one,” Porsche answered, then shot his brother a look. “Acting like he’s twelve.”
“I’m enthusiastic!” Porchay defended. “Phi Peach understands. Right, Phi?”
Peach smiled diplomatically, though his photographer’s eye caught the way Porchay’s entire demeanor had changed—brighter, more confident, alive in a way he hadn’t been on that bench.
Whatever this Kim had done to make amends, it seemed to have worked. “I think it’s good to have passion for life.”
“We have two children,” Thee interjected smoothly, apparently deciding to join the conversation properly. “A six year old and a seven year old. If they inherit even a fraction of this energy, LookPeach, I’m retiring early.”
Peach elbowed him gently. “P’Kian.”
Porsche’s head snapped toward Kinn, his expression pointed and deliberate. His eyebrows rose in an exaggerated arc that clearly said, See? They have kids. KIDS. Plural.
Kinn met his gaze with practiced calm, though his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Porsche replied innocently, but the smirk tugging at his mouth said everything his words didn’t.
“You’re thinking it very loudly.”
“Am I?” Porsche’s grin widened. “I’m just admiring their lovely family. Their married family. With children.”
Kinn let out a long-suffering sigh, looking like he might strangle his own patience.
Porchay gasped, attention snapping from his brother’s antics. “You have kids? Are they here? Can I meet them?”
Peach chuckled, feeling Thee stiffen beside him, a silent “I told you so” radiating off him.
“They’re not with us, nong,” Peach said, amused at the flicker of panic crossing his husband’s face. “Maybe another time.”
“Please! I love kids,” Porchay beamed, pulling out his phone. “Can we exchange Line? I want pictures, playdates, everything—”
“Chay,” Porsche groaned, though the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him.
Peach glanced at Thee, who gave a subtle nod of approval despite his territorial instincts. They exchanged contacts, Porchay typing like a kid on a sugar high.
“Oh! That reminds me,” Porchay said suddenly. “Hia, P’Kinn—Kim’s here. He just arrived.”
The air around them cooled instantly. Peach felt Thee’s hand tighten on his waist. Kim. The person who’d shattered Porchay’s heart.
“We should find him,” Kinn said smoothly, placing a hand on Porsche’s lower back.
“It was lovely meeting you both,” Porsche said with a warm smile that reached his eyes. “And thank you, Khun Peach, for looking after my brother when I couldn’t.”
Peach dipped his head. “He’s a good kid. You raised him well.”
A flicker of softness crossed Porsche’s face before he masked it with his usual calm. Kinn nodded respectfully and guided his partner away.
“Bye, Phi Peach! Phi Thee!” Porchay waved furiously as he was pulled along. “I’ll send my performance schedule!”
As the trio melted into the crowd, Thee finally relaxed, drawing Peach close.
“You have a soft spot for strays,” he murmured into Peach’s hair.
“Says the man who married one,” Peach replied, leaning into the warmth.
Thee let out a quiet laugh. “Fair point.”
They lingered a moment, wrapped in their bubble amid the glittering chaos. Peach thought of the boy on the bench, now a young man with bright eyes and a future full of music.