Me and Thee: English translation.

Wake up call #9

Peach had just sent the final batch of photos to the art team at six in the morning. With what little energy he had left, he managed to plug in his phone charger before collapsing onto his bed. Wrapping himself snugly in a blanket, he shut down all his senses and drifted off into a deep sleep almost instantly. Pulling all-nighters before crashing had become second nature to him by now. Besides, last night had been a smooth ride. Once he'd managed to hand the model over to the mafia boss, he felt an immense sense of relief. His mind cleared up, ideas flowed like a dream, and before dawn broke, he'd managed to finish all his work.

 

Peach had already calculated — tomorrow was his day off, and the day after, he only had a meeting scheduled in the afternoon. That left him with a full day and a half to himself. Sleeping through the day and waking up the next evening sounded like a solid plan. But just two hours into his blissful slumber, the phone on his bedside table shrieked to life, dragging him back into the waking world in a haze of exhaustion. Groaning, the young photographer fumbled around blindly for the phone. When he finally answered, his voice was groggy and half-asleep.

 

[Peach, when did you send the files? I can't find them], came the voice of Plub, one of his teammates who also happened to be his actual younger sister, blurred by the commotion of people shouting in the background. Without bothering to open his eyes, Peach instantly knew who it was. His sister-slash-teammate in the art department was brilliant at her job, no doubt, but she had a knack for losing things. There'd even been times when she'd misplaced files so often that she'd started storing backups with him. Mumbling, he gave her a lazy reply without even considering getting up to check his computer.

 

"Check your email. Sent it this morning."

 

His words were more fragmented grunts than coherent sentences, but it didn't faze her. She was used to his half-awake rambling by now and carried on the conversation without missing a beat.

 

[What about the behind-the-scenes shots for the magazine interview? When will those be ready? I need to schedule the next steps.] Peach let out a long sigh. The more she talked, the more he wanted to bury himself in his blanket and pretend the world didn't exist. 

 

"Just open the files, Plub."

[Huh? Wait, everything's done already? Did you even sleep last night?!]

"I'm sleeping now," he mumbled, too tired to muster up the energy for a proper scolding.

 

[We're having barbecue tonight. Are you coming, Peach?]

"No."

 

With that, he hung up, fully aware she didn't have any real business with him other than disrupting his much-needed rest. Pulling the blanket over his head, he hugged his pillow and tried to return to his dreams. But just as he was slipping back into unconsciousness, his phone blared again.

 

[Peach, come on! Let's go tonight. I want to drink.]

 

"Not going. And no more than two drinks, got it?" Peach shot back, ending the call with no patience for her antics. He tossed the phone out of reach, but the damn thing rang again almost immediately. This time, irritation flared in him. Without opening his eyes, he swiped to answer and snapped.

 

"Plub, I said I'm not going. I'm trying to sleep. We'll talk tonight."

 

He hung up before she could get another word in, chucked the phone even farther away, and burrowed back into his cocoon of blankets. Sleep claimed him again as if nothing else in the world mattered.

 

When Peach finally woke up, it felt like he'd been out cold for a century. He groggily pushed himself up, every limb moving sluggishly as though rust had crept into his joints. His room was pitch black. Thick blackout curtains sealed out every trace of sunlight, leaving him completely clueless about the time of day. On autopilot, his hand groped for his phone, vaguely recalling he'd flung it somewhere near the headboard. The moment his eyes landed on the screen, whatever fog of sleep still clung to him was wiped away in an instant.

 

It was already 6 p.m., but Peach's phone screen was still flooded with notifications—missed calls and unread messages had been piling up relentlessly since 8 a.m., with the most recent one arriving just fifteen minutes ago. The tally included nearly ten missed calls and countless texts waiting for his attention.

 

T: Who's Plub? What time is your "evening"?

You've got ten minutes left.

 

Peach stared wide-eyed at the last message, sent thirty minutes ago. His mouth hung open as confusion swirled in his brain, desperately trying to piece together the hazy details. He quickly pulled up his call log.

 

The last call he'd taken before passing out wasn't from Plub calling back to nag him—it was from that Russian mafia boss. After hanging up on the call, Peach must've silenced his phone, which explained why the ten missed calls that followed hadn't disturbed his blissful sleep. But why the hell was he calling that early!?

 

Peach had no idea whether Thee's ominous ten-minute countdown was still ticking or if he'd already lost his patience. Either way, panic set in, and Peach launched himself off the bed and into the bathroom. His rush was so frantic that he tripped over the pile of blankets on the floor, smacking his head against the wardrobe with an audible thud. Luckily, he didn't hit a sharp corner, so there was no blood. Not stopping to nurse his bruised pride, he jumped in the shower, changed into fresh clothes, and dashed out of his apartment.

 

Practically sprinting, Peach made it to the elevator, slammed the button for the ground floor, and bolted out as soon as the doors opened. He skidded to a halt in the condo's lobby, bending over with his hands braced on his knees to catch his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a pair of bodyguards in black suits, standing tensely, ready to move, before quickly returning to their still, composed stance. Peach's heart nearly jumped out of his chest. I almost made them draw their guns!

 

"Forty-five minutes."

 

The cold tone of the man sitting in front of him sent a shiver running down Peach's spine. Once he'd steadied his breathing, he cautiously lifted his gaze, feeling a tremor of unease deep in his chest. The sight of those piercing, sMok-grey eyes fixed on him with a mix of aloofness and icy detachment only made his heart sink further. Up until now, Mr Thee had always been intimidating, sure, but the atmosphere had never felt this suffocating.

 

"I'm sorry," Peach murmured, dropping his gaze as he bowed his head respectfully. Deep down, though, a part of him still grumbled, Was this even my fault? Still, with this capricious mafia having waited forty-five minutes for him, Peach figured an apology was the least he could offer. The silence that followed was deafening, leaving Peach increasingly on edge. He stole a quick, nervous glance upward, only to be met with Thee's unyielding stare. The longer Thee stayed quiet, the harder it became to breathe.

After what felt like an eternity, Thee's hand moved. Peach instinctively shut his eyes tight, heart pounding as he braced himself. Is he going to hit me? Instead, warm fingertips brushed against his forehead, cradling his head gently. The pad of Thee's thumb pressed lightly against the centre of Peach's forehead, a touch so unexpectedly tender that it left him momentarily stunned.

 

"Who did this?" Thee's voice, casual but with an undertone of steel, made Peach shiver again. His bodyguards, who'd been silently observing from the sidelines, visibly tensed, their hair on end. But Peach couldn't see any of that. All he knew was that Thee's voice had softened ever so slightly, and the oppressive tension seemed to have lifted just enough for him to breathe properly again.

 

"I ran into my wardrobe like an idiot. But it's your fault for rushing me like that!"

With Thee no longer glaring daggers at him, Peach felt a bit of his courage returning. He decided to plead his case. "I didn't get to sleep until six-thirty this morning, and before that, my phone kept going off nonstop. I thought your call was from my team member, so I just muted it."

 

"Who's Plub?"

 

The completely unrelated question threw Peach for a loop. But with Thee's firm fingers holding his face in a vice grip, Peach couldn't even lift his head enough to see the man's expression. His line of sight was trapped frustratingly low, making the whole situation feel even more oppressive.

 

"Plub is my little sister. She's part of the art team for the Arseny brand." He couldn't help but feel a pang of worry-would Thee think he'd pulled strings to get where he was?

 

"She's been working at Arseny for a long time. She's really talented, I promise. As for me, I've just done some freelance work for the brand. When this project came up, Plub invited me to join her meeting. I swear I didn't use any connections to get involved." The air hung heavy with silence, save for the soft, rhythmic pressure of Thee's thumb brushing lightly against his forehead. Peach felt like he was standing at the gallows, silently praying for mercy.

 

Please let him be reasonable, he begged inwardly. Finally, as though his appeal had been heard, Theerakit loosened his grip, letting his hand drop away slowly.

Peach, who had been hunched slightly throughout the whole ordeal, straightened up with a deep breath. His heart, which had been hammering in his chest, began to slow. Looks like he had been acquitted!

"So, is there a reason you came to see me today?" he asked tentatively, still testing the waters. The thought brought a certain junior model to mind, and Peach couldn't help but wonder if Thee's sour mood was fallout from a botched date.

He sighed inwardly. With Theerakit's unpredictable behaviour and Aran's nosy tendencies, trusting anyone seemed like a gamble these days.

 

"It's just boring."

..."

 

Peach blinked at him, frowning instinctively before he could catch himself. For a moment, he was completely at a loss. Last time, Mr Thee had said he wanted him so badly he'd practically dragged him into bed. That hadn't even been a week ago!

Peach had gone out of his way to arrange a nice dinner date, only for them to show up now and casually declare he was bored.

 

He rubbed his temples, feeling exasperated. Was this what people meant by calling someone a "rich kid with too many toys"? They got bored and tossed things aside just like that. It didn't even seem like Aran had made it to "toy" status yet.

 

Of course, Peach didn't want his junior model friend to end up as some disposable plaything. If there was ever a chance for a relationship to blossom, he wanted it to develop into something real, genuine. Especially when that clingy Tawan kid kept hovering around without making anything clear. Someone's gotta take a stand and sort things out soon.

 

"What do you mean by bored? Did something happen? Did Aran do something to upset you?"

 

He was genuinely worried for the younger model. If Aran had somehow managed to anger the mafia standing before him, there was no guarantee he'd leave this encounter in one piece.

 

"T'm just bored," Theerakit shrugged, a slight look of irritation flickering across his sharp features before he waved a dismissive hand.

 

"It's time for dinner."

 

With that, the mafia stood up from the sofa, turned on his heel, and strode out of the condo with long strides, not bothering to wait for Peach. The photographer blinked, utterly baffled. What did that even mean? Does he mean he's going to eat dinner without me? Or does he mean we're eating together?

Peachayarat, the photographer, was well aware that he wasn't named Aran and didn't have a career as a model, but he hesitated only briefly before deciding to head back to his room. He turned on his heel and managed just one step before the black-suited bodyguards flanking the room grabbed him by the arms, lifting him clean off the floor and spinning him back around to face the mafia, who was now standing with his arms crossed, glaring at him with an intensity that could burn a hole through steel.

 

"Where do you think you're going?" The mafia's icy tone sent a chill down Peach's spine. The bodyguards' strong grips kept him suspended in the air, and he didn't dare utter even half a complaint.

 

"Back to my room, obviously. I didn't bring anything with me." He couldn't see the point in struggling. Have you seen these guys' muscles? One punch from either of them, and he'd be waking up in a hospital bed.

 

"No need. Everything is on me."

"When exactly did we agree to have dinner together?"

 

Peach blinked a few times, completely baffled, his confusion only heightened by his growing hunger. The moment the words left his mouth, he realised he'd made a mistake. Thee's gaze turned even icier, practically freezing him in place. Scrambling to fix the situation, Peach forced a nervous smile, awkwardly averting his eyes. He wanted to ask, did Thee actually say anything about dinner? But the weight of Thee's cold stare was enough to keep him silent. Calm down, Peach. You're not Aran. Don't push your luck unless you want to get in trouble.

 

"Mr Thee, I've already got plans with my sister tonight," Peach said firmly. "I can't go with you."

 

"I heard you tell her you weren't going."

 

"Even so, I'm still worried about her. She's planning to go drinking, and as her brother, I want to pick her up later," Peach insisted, this time with more conviction. His sister always came first-there was no room for compromise when it came to her safety.

 

"We'll eat first, and then you can pick her up."

 

Without waiting for any response, he spun around and climbed into the car. Peach, who had nothing but his phone on him, found himself nudged forward by the bodyguards. A few long strides later, they unceremoniously shoved him into the car, right next to the mafia boss. I thought I had handed this whole mess off to Aran. How the hell did it end up back in my lap?