Me and Thee: English translation.

Wake up call #5

This brunch would go down in history as one of the most unforgettable meals of Peach's life. Not just because it was at the dream restaurant he'd been dying to visit, or because the food lived up to all the hype, but because of the man sitting across from him. A full-on Russian mafia boss, complete with a gun and bodyguards by his side. That alone would've been enough to make this a meal to remember. If the food hadn't been so ridiculously expensive and mouth-wateringly good, Peach would've bolted the moment he sat down. Instead, he stayed, nerves stretched so tight it felt like his stomach might stop working altogether.

He popped a couple of antacids and digestion pills into his mouth, chasing them with water without a second thought about when he was supposed to take them. Honestly, the fact that he wasn't tossing back a migraine pill on top of it was nothing short of a miracle.

"Well, I think I should head out now. Thanks for the meal," Peach said with an awkward smile, his voice stiff. Now that he was done eating, the conversation had dried up, leaving him unsure of what to do with himself. He wanted to turn and walk away, but the other man was still standing there, watching him in silence. The weight of Thee's gaze froze Peach in place, his feet refusing to move.

Thee stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable as if weighing something in his mind. After a long moment, he finally spoke.

 

"You gave good advice. How much do you want for it? Ten thousand? Would that do?"

"Huh?"

Peach blinked, completely lost. How had the conversation circled back to money?

The mafia boss, however, seemed to take Peach's confusion in stride. Instead of clarifying, Thee reached up and tapped his chin, his expression thoughtful.

"Not enough? I intentionally thought of paying ten thousand per piece of advice, and your advice was pretty solid. Fine, I'll bump it up to fifty. Happy now?"

The young photographer groaned, rubbing his templeś like he was trying to keep his head from splitting open. He felt like he might actually cry. Why was talking to a Russian mafia boss so damn hard?

Sure, the guy's words were frustrating as hell—like he was trying to solve every problem by throwing money at it, but Peach couldn't exactly blow up at him. Losing his temper might just get him "handled" before he even finished his next fashion shoot.

Want money? Of course. Taking it would be like signing up as this man's personal lackey, and he was pretty sure getting tangled up with Thee wouldn't end well. Odds were, he'd end up dead long before he spent a cent of it.

Peach took a deep breath, steadying himself, then asked, "Why are you trying to give me money?"

"You did well. I'm satisfied. I reward people when I'm satisfied." Peach let out a long, weary sigh. Did he really have to break this down to basics?

"Please, do me a favour and never say that to Aran. He'll blow a fuse," Peach said, exhaling dramatically as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He wasn't even sure how to phrase his next thought.

Thee furrowed his brows, looking more confused than offended. It wasn't exactly encouraging, but at least he wasn't pulling a gun. That gave Peach the nerve to push his luck a little and offer some advice.

"That kind of phrasing, it sounds really harsh," he explained, trying to sound both earnest and a little pitiful. "It's like you're just throwing money around to buy people off. But I came here out of goodwill. I genuinely wanted to help you, Mr Thee." 

Peach wasn't just explaining, he was boosting his own stock. He could earn a little sympathy from this mafia boss. I know that my name was not Aran. But seriously, could you stop frowning at me like that? It was exhausting.

"How is it cruel to repay someone for being good to me?" Thee frowned again, his irritation seeming to deepen. "The meal just now was more than enough as thanks," Peach said with a small, nervous pause before continuing. "It was delicious— honestly, I've been wanting to eat there for ages but never had the chance." He hesitated, then added, "And if someone does something nice for you and it makes you happy, all you really have to do is say thank you."

The mafia boss fell silent, his expression unreadable. The bodyguards standing nearby exchanged strange looks, caught somewhere between stifling laughter and mild panic. But Thee didn't pay them any attention, his gaze fixed firmly on Peach.

Despite knowing he wouldn't hear what he was hoping for,

Peach couldn't help but hold his breath in anticipation. Thee seemed to mull something over, his lips twitching slightly as if testing unfamiliar words. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he said in a calm, flat voice.

"Thank you."

That was all it took to light up Peach's face. A radiant smile spread across his lips, reaching his eyes and making them curve into crescent moons. He hadn't expected it, not really, but now that he'd heard it, he couldn't deny how happy it made him.

Finally, his words seemed to have gotten through to the man!

"You're welcome," Peach replied warmly.

Theerakit was a Russian mafia boss through and through. His father had been a Russian mafia kingpin—a weapons dealer who had started as a mere middleman and clawed his way to the top, eventually owning his own arms manufacturing company. Today, his father dominated the global black-market arms trade, supplying everyone from small-time gangsters to national governments. The Arseny surname was infamous in the underworld.

In recent years, various organisations had started sniffing around, trying to investigate their empire. While no one dared make a direct move, the constant meddling had become a nuisance. In response, Thee had set up a legitimate front: a luxury brand specialising in jewellery and perfume sets, which was the perfect money-laundering machine for the family's arms business.

Of course, many of the jewellery pieces had hidden surprises—some were modified into weapons, others crafted from the same high-grade metal used in arms manufacturing. With Thee's sharp business acumen and decisive leadership, the Arseny brand of jewellery and perfume skyrocketed to prominence within its first year of launch, landing a top spot in the luxury market. It was a classic case of the apple not falling far from the tree. With a father like his, how could Thee have turned out any differently?

He'd grown up learning that if you wanted something, you had to fight, claw, and manipulate to get it. Reward those who play along, punish those who don't, and always ensure people fear you. That's how it had always been. But today, right here, right now, someone had looked him in the eye and asked for nothing more than a meal and a simple "thank you."

Apologies and gratitude. Words as hollow as they come. Thee never thought those words could get him anything worthwhile. So when Peach had asked for them, Thee had hesitated. He, a man who had never uttered those words in his life, found himself weighing the request carefully. But then he caught sight of those bright, honest eyes watching him, half-expectant, half-resigned. And he thought, fine. He'd already promised a reward. If a two-syllable word was all it took, it wasn't much of an effort.

What he hadn't expected was that those two simple syllables would light up Peach's face like the sun breaking through storm clouds, his beaming smile so dazzling it was almost blinding. For a moment, he wondered if the guy really liked hearing that? Was it worth more to him than getting ten thousand?

Shaking off the ridiculous thought, he dismissed it as nothing more than Peach being... peculiar. There was nothing particularly fascinating about him. 

Pushing the odd moment from his mind, he turned back to his work, tapping the screen of his tablet. He preferred to receive all his documents digitally, ready to load and read on any of his devices. Given how much he travelled, keeping paper documents was a hassle he had no patience for. Thanks to this setup, he could work anywhere, even in the middle of a traffic jam on a crowded city street.

Thee had been reading documents for a while when he finally leaned back and lifted his gaze to rest his tired eyes. His sharp, piercing eyes landed on a small flower shop along the sidewalk outside. For some reason, a conversation from three days ago replayed in his mind. He supposed flowers were a good place to start.

"Mok, order a small bouquet and send it to Aran," he said casually to his bodyguard-slash-secretary seated in the front. His tone was indifferent, his eyes lingering on the flower shop without much enthusiasm for the task.

"What kind of flowers should I get, boss?"

"Anything"

That answer made his secretary hesitate slightly, unsure of what to make of the situation. He'd heard rumours that Thee, for the first time, seemed genuinely interested in the famous model Aran. The fact that Thee had bothered to order flowers at all—a gesture he'd never made for anyone else was telling. Yet, when asked for specifics, Thee seemed almost disinterested.

Unaware of Mok's musings, Thee's mind had drifted elsewhere. Normally, his thoughts would be filled with the strikingly beautiful features of Aran—the captivating eyes, the confident smirk, the aura that demanded attention. But lately, another face had started to intrude. The soft, warm voice from that day kept echoing in his mind, accompanied by the memory of a radiant smile that seemed to light up an otherwise ordinary face.

Peach's features weren't conventionally stunning, nor did they demand a second glance. Yet, for one fleeting moment, that smile had held him completely still, something no one had ever done before. The simple smile he had received after muttering thank you hadn't left his thoughts since.

"Send some chocolates to Peachayarat, too"

"Yes, boss,"

"Pick something that's not too sweet."

"...Yes, boss." Mok almost choked on his breath before managing a reply. How could he not be shocked? The boss had never given such detailed instructions for gifts, not even for his own father. Thee pressed his lips, hesitating for a moment before adding another instruction.

"Write a card to go with it," he said, his tone casual but measured. After a brief pause, he continued, "Write: 'I'll leave it on you."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a rare and subtle expression of satisfaction. From now on, I'll leave myself in your capable hands.