Me and Thee: English translation.

Wake up call #19

Peach arrived back that afternoon, feeling refreshed after six days of escape. Once he'd unpacked, he called Tawan's manager to set up a reshoot for the next day.

Tawan's contract already covered the possibility of an extra shoot day, though usually only one was allocated. If things went south again, Peach would have to cover the damages himself, not to mention how badly it could tarnish the company's reputation. It wouldn't be a complete disaster, but it was definitely something he wanted to avoid.

The next morning, Peach stood outside Studio 4 with his trusted camera slung over one shoulder and a messenger bag packed with essentials. His usual laid-back work style was on full display—nothing out of the ordinary there. What was unusual, however, was the towering figure standing stiffly beside him, arms crossed tightly, exuding a faint aura of authority and tension. Thee hadn't taken his eyes off Peach for a second.

"Want me to open Studio A for you?" The CEO offered seriously, brows furrowed in concern. "Or should I order more equipment? I can have it rushed over right now."

"No, thanks." Peach dismissed the suggestion instantly, his tone firm. "Just having you standing here talking to me is making me a target already."

He could practically feel the curious gazes burning into him. Even though those looks were filled more with concern and sympathy than jealousy, it still made him uncomfortable. Their conversation stayed low, ensuring no one else could hear. From an outsider's perspective, all they saw was the CEO looking stern and authoritative, giving curt, sharp instructions.

Standing next to the photographer was the much smaller photographer, barely reaching his shoulder. Peach wore a faint, uneasy smile, clearly worried about the situation. Given the explosive incident at the last meeting, everyone watching naturally assumed the CEO was there to intimidate the young photographer.

Thee was used to being under watchful eyes, though this time, most stares weren't directed at him but at the man standing beside him. He'd been in a good mood after seeing Peach first thing that morning, but now irritation simmered beneath the surface. Meanwhile, Peach, far less accustomed to being the centre of attention, was growing more uncomfortable by the second.

"I don't want you to struggle," the mafia muttered with clear disapproval. He'd done plenty to pressure Wivit already and didn't see why Peach should have to suffer for it too. But the smaller man firmly shook his head. Not only did Peach seem unfazed, but there was also a spark of excitement in his eyes.

"People will think I'm using connections," Peach shrugged, his smile widening playfully. "I've been pushed around before, so I'm not about to stoop to the same level. Besides..." His eyes gleamed with mischief. 

"Don't you think this makes things a bit more... thrilling?"

Thee's intense gaze softened at the sight of that smile, and the heavy atmosphere he'd been radiating seemed to ease. Everyone around them could finally breathe a little easier. His sharp, stoic face even appeared to hold the faintest hint of a smile, though it was barely noticeable.

"I trust your skills," he replied evenly, though Peach could sense his mood lifting. After exchanging a few curt nods with others on set, Thee turned and left, allowing the tense air around the studio to dissipate entirely.

As things returned to normal, familiar faces from the crew came over to give Peach supportive pats on the shoulder. Some even offered encouraging words, though he couldn't figure out why. He accepted them with a polite smile, still puzzled. Even Plub came over with teary eyes and wrapped him in a tight hug, whispering fiercely,

"Stay strong, okay?" before biting her lip to hold back a sob. What in the world is going on now?

Peach wondered but didn't bother asking. Time was running short, so he focused on prepping the studio. He'd brought a small string of fairy lights to enhance the room's ambience, along with some sheer fabric he'd borrowed from the art department, ready to work his creative magic.

The main reason Peach refused to switch studios was that he felt forcing the other side like this would be applying too much pressure. If he came back and demanded the larger studio, it would trigger endless comparisons and accusations of favouritism. Honestly, just knowing what he'd be dealing with ahead of time already felt like cheating. If he wanted Wivit to accept defeat fair and square, the only way was to fight on the same playing field.

Before long, the young actor arrived. His long legs carried him into the studio with a scowl plastered on his sharp, handsome face. However, when his gaze landed on the familiar photographer behind the camera, his furrowed brow seemed to relax just a bit, only to scrunch up again in irritation a moment later.

Peach shook his head, practically hearing the storm of thoughts swirling in the actor's mind. Sometimes, he wondered if people madly in love were inherently irrational. Could he please just listen to reason for once? Dismissing the thought, he refocused on the task at hand.

Today was his only chance, half a day, to be exact. There was no room for mistakes. The shoot went smoothly. The photos came out just as he'd envisioned, and within two hours, the job was done. While checking the final shots on his camera, he let one of the assistants escort Tawan to change back into his street clothes. He was so absorbed in reviewing the images that he didn't notice the shadow creeping into his light until it completely blocked the screen.

Looking up, he found himself face-to-face with a petite young man with fair skin, wide, sparkling eyes, and an irresistibly cute face. If Arseny was the definition of beautiful, this guy was adorable.

There was only one problem: Peach was almost certain this was Wivit's new full-time photographer, the one hired to replace him. And for the life of him, he couldn't understand why the guy was standing there beaming at him, his eyes practically twinkling like stars. What was even more baffling was that the kid greeted him loudly, right there in front of the entire crew. Everyone still in the studio knew exactly who he was and why he was there. So what was this supposed to mean?

"Hello! My name's Trend." The young man bowed politely, his respectful demeanour making it impossible for Peach to brush him off.

"Peach." He nodded curtly, keeping it short. Judging by the guy's baby face, he was probably younger. Still, Peach stayed on guard—he had no clue whether this approach was friendly or something more calculated.

After all, Trend was on Wivit's team. Peach had been yanked from the project mid-way, his name erased and replaced. Expecting this sudden greeting to be pure and innocent felt... naive.

"I've heard so much about you, Peach," Trend said, using the respectful Thai prefix for an elder. "I couldn't miss the chance to watch you work in person today. As a junior trying to learn the ropes, I hope I'm not bothering you." He tilted his head with a charming smile— adorable, but Peach only felt more tense. Honestly, dealing with Wivit's blatant hostility would've been easier than facing a smile he couldn't read.

He forced a stiff smile in return but didn't say anything. Trend, apparently unfazed, took it as encouragement and scooted closer. He craned his neck to peek at the camera hanging around Peach's neck.

"Whoa! These shots are amazing! Totally out of my league."

Peach frowned, instinctively stepping back. He hated when people he didn't trust got into his personal space. Even with Arseny, whom he considered family, he kept some boundaries-this was far from okay.

"They'd look clearer on the computer," he muttered, taking another step back. His shoulders felt rigid, and his grip on the camera trembled slightly.

Trend chuckled awkwardly before shifting to check the images on the computer instead. His eyes sparkled with admiration, though a flash of envy crossed his face. Peach, highly attuned to people's emotions, could tell that Trend's awe was genuine, but so was that underlying dislike. So when the other party turned back with another bright, innocent smile, it only made Peach feel more uneasy.

"These are really stunning, even unedited," Trend breathed out in awe, clearly mesmerised by the images. "I've always wanted to be a photographer. I got straight A's back in school, but once I graduated... It's been tough."

"You majored in photography?" Peach finally responded, keeping the conversation going now that Trend had backed off to the computer screen. He still felt uneasy but couldn't help being curious about Trend's motives.

"Yep! I graduated with a degree in Communication Arts, majoring in Photography." Trend's proud smile stretched wide.

"Where did you graduate from?" Peach's brow twitched slightly, his eyes narrowing as pieces began to fall into place.

"I didn't major in this."

"Really? You're so talented. I thought you must've studied photography!" Trend exclaimed with what looked like genuine surprise, his expression so perfectly innocent that it almost felt calculated. "I was wondering why you weren't hired full-time here. You're so good... how could Vit let someone like you slip away?"

Peach calmly packed up his camera, then folded his arms and leaned casually against the edge of the table. His lips stretched into a wolfish smile-the kind that would make his little sister scream in horror, not joy. What a horrible smile.

"I'm pretty picky about the work I take on. Freelancing's nice—you get to choose what jobs to accept. No need to take orders from anyone." Peach flashed a casual shrug. His tone was light, devoid of any tension. 

"And honestly, no one's ever asked about my degree or GPA when I'm working. Shame, though. I graduated in German Studies with straight A's, but I never get to brag about it."

He paused briefly, then added with a faint smirk, "But like you said, this job's about skill, not grades, right?"

The smaller one's cheeks flushed a deep pink, his delicate hands clenching into fists. His wide eyes shimmered with unshed tears, making him look so pitiful that anyone watching would think Peach was bullying some helpless rookie. Peach's smirk widened just a bit, his eyes curving into something dangerously gentle. 

Slowly, he raised a hand and lightly brushed a tear from Trend's flushed cheek with his fingertip, soft, almost tender: He wasn't just some self-taught photographer fumbling his way through the craft. If this were a game of pretend, Trend was years too late even to try matching his skill.

"I know you're upset, but don't worry. Photography's all about practice. Your work's not bad, it just has room to grow."

Peach's voice softened into something warm and reassuring, designed to draw sympathy from the onlookers now casting concerned glances their way. Peach reached out and gently clasped his trembling hand. His soft smile twitched for just a second but held firm.

"If you ever want advice, feel free to ask. I'd be happy to help." 

He barely finished his sentence when a sudden, sharp pain shot through his wrist. His entire body was yanked backwards, sending him stumbling until his head bumped against something solid—a warm, unyielding wall that shouldn't have been there. Blinking in confusion, Peach struggled to regain his bearings. He looked down at the iron grip clamped around his wrist, fingers strong and unrelenting. 

Slowly, his gaze travelled upward, from the black suit sleeve stretched over firm muscles to a chiselled face twisted into a fierce scowl, dark eyes blazing with barely restrained anger. Only then did he realise that the "wall" was the young mafia, standing so close that their bodies were almost touching. Thee's brow knitted in a hard line, his expression radiating displeasure so intense that Peach momentarily forgot how to react.

Despite the tight grip, there was no actual pain-just firm restraint, as if Thee was being careful not to hurt him while still making escape impossible. After what felt like an eternity, Thee's icy gaze shifted toward Tren, pinning the smaller man with a look so frosty that it could've frozen anyone in place. Cold, calculating, and utterly devoid of warmth, it carried an unspoken threat that made Tren's breath hitch.

"What's going on here?" Thee's low, steady voice cut through the air like a blade, its deadly calm laden with intimidating pressure. Trend's mouth opened as if to stammer out an excuse, but fear rooted him in place. He couldn't speak-couldn't even think. All he wanted was to run.

While the tension spiked around them, Peach simply looked up at Thee with an expression of pure bewilderment, utterly unfazed by the suffocating atmosphere. Inwardly, he couldn't help but wonder: What the hell's gotten into him this time?

He was still scared. Thee looked like he could kill him in a fit of rage. But the hand gripping his wrist, though strong, was careful— deliberately so. The reassurance seeped through, whispering silently that things were still under control, even if he had no clue what had triggered Thee's sudden outburst.

"Mr Thee... calm down, okay?" Peach gently rested his fingers on the back of Thee's hand, still clasping his wrist. "Is something bothering you?"

Thee's sharp gaze flicked back to him. Peach blinked, genuinely puzzled. The mafia boss let out a low, throaty chuckle before asking coldly, "Shouldn't I be asking what you two were doing? Getting that close.... Have you got no shame?"

Peach stared back, deadpan. The words sounded straight out of a bad soap opera. He decided to let that slide, answering only what seemed important.

"I was just giving some photography tips to a junior in the field," he explained, pausing to glance around. They were definitely drawing attention again thanks to Thee's looming presence, practically crowding him in front of everyone. Peach sighed inwardly and shifted gears. "You came because you wanted to see the photos, right?" he offered smoothly. "Why don't you grab a seat while I go get them for you?"

Without waiting for an answer, Peach gently pulled his wrist free, his large, pleading eyes shining with practised charm. Thee hesitated briefly before his grip loosened, letting him go. Peach gave a small, respectful nod and turned away, walking back toward the young full-time photographer. Trend was still at the same computer, hands clenched into tight fists, though his eyes were practically glowing with determination.

Peach watched for a moment before taking another step closer, clearing his throat to snap Tren out of his thoughts. The smaller one jerked slightly and quickly turned around. The forced, fake smile he'd worn earlier was long gone, though there was still a faint tremor in his frame, and his eyes were alive. Peach could tell he genuinely loved photography.

"A photographer's weapon... is the camera. The first thing you need to master is knowing your weapon inside out." Peach said quietly, almost as if talking to himself. He felt ridiculous, like a guardian spirit, but he kept going anyway.

"It's true that expensive weapons are better in quality. But if you don't know your own weapon, don't understand what it's capable of—you won't be able to use it effectively, even if it's god-tier."

Trend's trembling had faded, replaced by sharp determination that lit his eyes, his composure snapping back into place like a blade drawn from its sheath.

"It's not just about reading the manual from the manufacturer. Real understanding comes from hands-on experience. You need to know what works, and that's what really matters. Peach let out a small sigh, ruffling his already messy short hair, making it even more unruly. "After that, it all comes down to experience. I'll post the photography schedule on the team's board. You can drop by if you want to see it—but so you know, I'm not sitting down to teach you. Figure it out yourself."

Trend's head snapped up, his eyes sparkling with renewed determination, though his lips were still pressed tightly together as if holding back a flood of emotions. Peach saw the fire burning there and decided it was enough. He turned away, dismissing the smaller man entirely. He could tell Trend loved photography; where that passion would lead from here was entirely up to him.

However, as Peach turned back, he froze. Standing dead still was the mafia, the towering mafia boss who, instead of retreating to the couch like he'd suggested earlier, was now standing with his arms crossed, staring at him intently. He was still within arm's reach, those long limbs ready to snatch him in a second if he so wished.

Great, just finished one problem—now onto the next.