Peach was a creature of the night.
Sure, he could drag himself out of bed to take photos in the morning or
attend a shoot if he had to, but when it came to tasks that required focus,
precision, and a creative touch—like photo editing, composing layouts, or
cutting videos—he preferred to work at night.
So last night, after returning from the event, even though he was dead tired,
he still ended up sitting down to edit the first draft of the photos he needed
to send. By the time he finally went to bed, it was well past 5 a.m. He
thought his next job wasn't until the afternoon, so staying up until dawn
wouldn't be a problem.
He hadn't counted on getting a call at ten in the morning.
Peach was so groggy that part of him wanted to ignore the call entirely. But
as soon as he managed to pull himself together enough to check the name
flashing on his phone, he was suddenly wide awake.
Because those smoky gray eyes had been haunting him all night.
The thought of them had dragged him out of bed last night, forcing him to
dig through every piece of work he had ever come across. It had taken him
barely ten minutes to find what he was looking for.
Theerakit Kian Arseny—a half-Thai, half-Russian businessman and his
temporary boss for the Arseny brand's fall fragrance collection, which
Peach was currently managing.
So when he saw the name Theerakit pop up on his screen at ten in the
morning, everything clicked. He was sure he didn't know anyone else with
that name. Combined with the memory of his phone being briefly
confiscated the night before, it wasn't hard to deduce who was calling.
The real question was why? Why was he calling? Why not call Aran
instead?
Of course, those questions remained firmly in his head. All he could do was
drag himself out of bed, wash his face, take a quick shower, and get
dressed.
However, he hesitated for quite a while when choosing his outfit.
His life was usually quiet and uneventful, so much so that it might even
seem a little boring. He didn't like nightlife and preferred staying home. On
rare occasions, he would go on a solo backpacking trip, camera in hand,
choosing the silence of a lone journey over traveling with a large group.
This simplicity extended to his wardrobe. Most of his clothes were plain
and functional—basic T-shirts, shorts, and a few solid-colored button-ups
for work. He had one tailored suit, just in case he needed to attend a formal
event. But now, faced with the need to choose an outfit for something more
significant, he was beginning to see the downside of keeping his wardrobe
so minimal.
It wasn't like he was dressing for a date—far from it. But the person he was
about to meet wasn't just anyone. He was a half-Russian mafia boss.
Would his usual relaxed clothing come off as disrespectful? But showing up
in a full suit in broad daylight would look ridiculous.
In the end, it took him almost an hour to settle on slim-fit black pants and
an oversized gray button-up. By then, the idea of making himself a strong
black coffee before leaving had completely vanished. Adjusting the strap of
his small crossbody bag, he hurried downstairs, unwilling to risk making
the other man wait.
The moment Peach stepped out of his condo, a sleek black luxury car pulled
up to the curb beside him. The rear window rolled down just enough for
him to catch a glimpse of those smoky gray eyes. Immediately, he lowered
his head in a polite nod and quickened his pace toward the car.
Reaching for the door handle, he hesitated for a brief moment.
He wasn't a guest. This definitely wasn't a date—not even close. The
closest thing he could compare it to was being a subordinate. And besides,
sitting farther away from the boss increased his chances of escape in case
things went south.
After a split-second of deliberation, he opened the front passenger door and
slid inside.
But before he could even close it, the man in the back seat, exuding an air
of silent authority, spoke in a low, commanding voice.
"Sit in the back."
Peach's hand froze on the door handle.
For a moment, he toyed with the idea of being stubborn and refusing, but
the mental image of getting killed before he even had a chance to find
coffee stopped him cold.
After weighing all his options, he stepped back out, walked around the car,
and slid into the back seat—feeling utterly out of options.
Peach sat stiff as a board. His discomfort was evident in his furrowed
brows. His mind was racing, trying to figure out why he'd been summoned.
Had he done something to offend this guy? He replayed the events of last
night in his head but couldn't think of anything inappropriate.
Unless… maybe the Big Bad Mafia Boss was holding a grudge over
something he'd said—over the fact that he had laughed. But if this was
about anger and retaliation, wouldn't it make more sense to deal with him
under the cover of night rather than calling him out in broad daylight?
"Why so tense? You're not even half as bold as you were last night," Thee
remarked, his sharp gaze fixed on him.
Peach snapped out of his spiraling thoughts, forcing a blank smile and
trying to smooth things over. Not that he thought it would help much.
"I might've had a bit too much to drink last night. Sorry if I said or did
anything inappropriate."
"I didn't say it was inappropriate," Thee replied calmly, his eyes still
piercing through him, his voice laced with something almost teasing. "Why
aren't you talking like you did last night?"
"Well, last night, I didn't know who you were," Peach blurted out, running
a hand through his hair in frustration.
Socializing wasn't exactly his strong suit, and this whole dance of carefully
choosing his words and tiptoeing around was starting to get on his nerves.
Thee paused, the sharpness in his gaze softening slightly, almost as if he
was amused. The more Peach squirmed, the more entertained he seemed to
be.
"Are you afraid now that you know?"
"I was afraid last night too," Peach said in a neutral tone, turning to give
him a flat look. "Who wouldn't be scared of someone flanked by
bodyguards with guns strapped to their waists?"
Thee's lips twitched, his tone firm but undeniably smug. "Then it's no
different."
Peach rolled his eyes so hard he nearly gave himself whiplash. He couldn't
believe he was having this conversation. Dealing with someone whose
sense of normal was light-years away from the average person's was
mentally exhausting.
Big-shot guys were one thing, but a high-scale arms-trafficking mafia boss?
Seriously, who wouldn't be more terrified?
Peach muttered something under his breath—grumbling in a tone so low it
couldn't be understood—but he didn't dare say it out loud. In the end, he let
out a long sigh, deciding it was probably smarter to focus on the strange
situation in front of him. Subtlety wasn't exactly his strong suit, so he got
straight to the point.
"So, uh... why exactly did you call me here, Mr. Arseny?" he asked,
frowning suspiciously. "It's not because you're mad about last night, is it?"
Thee watched him with barely contained amusement, like a cat playing with
a nervous mouse. Though his stern, contemplative face remained impassive,
his eyes gleamed with mischief.
There was an unusual air of delight radiating from him, enough that the
bodyguard-slash-driver in the front seat couldn't help but sneak glances in
the rearview mirror.
It was frankly surprising. Not even Thee's favorite pastimes managed to
provoke this kind of reaction from him.
"How's your arm?"
Peach blinked, surprised. He looked down at his arm before remembering.
Right—the night before, he had scraped it badly enough that they had
detoured to a hospital for a tetanus shot. He never thought Thee would
actually remember, though.
"It's fine, just a little scratch," he replied quickly. "I already got the shot, so
I'm good." He hesitated for a moment, pressing his lips together as his
confusion grew. "Wait... did you call me just to ask about that?"
"I called to ask about that model boy," the mafia boss said casually, leaning
back as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "You told me I
should start by flirting, right? Teach me how."
"I—" Peach pointed at his own chest with a finger, eyes wide as if he'd just
been told the world was flat. Whatever fear remained vanished instantly,
swept away by the sheer absurdity of what he had just heard. "Uh. Just so you know, Mr. Arseny. I got dumped two months ago because I was, quote,
'too boring to be a boyfriend.' Apparently, I'm better as a therapist than as a
significant other. And you think I'm qualified to teach you how to flirt? Are
you sure about that? Really?"
Thee's lips curled into a slight smile. Not only did he seem completely
unfazed by Peach's wide-eyed stare, but he actually looked more amused
than ever. When he spoke, his tone brimmed with confidence. "Well, aren't
you supposed to be a good advisor? You're also close to that model boy.
Seems like a solid choice to me."
This time, it was Peach who opened his mouth to argue but quickly shut it,
unsure of what to say. As much as he wanted to deny it, Thee wasn't exactly
wrong. And to make matters worse, his words hit a little too close to home.
Still, no matter how logical it sounded, Peach couldn't imagine how he was
supposed to help a mafia boss with... this.
With a deep sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that things were spiraling
out of control fast. But on the other hand, part of him was genuinely
concerned about his younger friend. Aran didn't exactly have the best
judgment when it came to people. Most of the people around Thee seemed
just as far removed from common sense as the man himself. As someone
who still clung to a shred of rationality, Peach felt obligated to step in.
"Can I ask what you really think of Aran?" Peach finally ventured.
Thee didn't respond immediately. For a moment, he averted his gaze, as if
deeply considering something. But when he looked back, his expression
was cold and composed—almost indifferent.
"Close to my type. I wouldn't mind having sex with him."
"And… what about anything else?" Peach pressed.
"Interesting. Pretty face."
"…"
Peach smacked his forehead with his palm, feeling the beginnings of a
headache throbbing behind his temples. Sure, he knew Thee was blunt to
the point of being oblivious to social norms, but this level of brutal honesty
was almost too much.
"But wasn't Aran pretty clear when he said he wasn't interested in a one-
night stand with you?" Peach said quickly, his tone firm as he tried—
desperately—to inject some basic common sense into Thee. "I think we
should really respect his boundaries." He leaned forward, his voice steady
despite the nerves creeping in. "Look, I know someone like you probably
has plenty of ways to make Aran fall in line. But forcing someone
emotionally or otherwise won't lead to anything good in the long run.
Honestly, I don't think it's worth it."
Thee remained silent, his gaze dropping as if he were mulling something
over. Worried about his companion's safety, Peach quickly spoke up again.
"You said Aran was more interesting than the usual models you meet,
right?" Peach prompted, feeling like he was trying to tame a lion with
nothing but a toothpick.
"Why not start with something normal? You know, without expecting sex to
be the main focus?" he suggested cautiously.
"But that is my focus," Thee stated matter-of-factly.
Peach barely resisted the urge to slam his forehead against the car
window…
His brain felt fried, and he hadn't even done anything yet. He found himself
daydreaming about an iced Americano to soothe his nerves. What the hell
was this mess? The urge to scream in frustration bubbled up, but he held it
back. There was no way he was going to risk upsetting the mafia boss
sitting right next to him.
"Make it just one part of the whole picture, okay?" Peach tried again,
forcing a calm tone. "If you think Aran is interesting, why not try getting to
know him? Talk to him. Who knows? It might turn into something real.
Maybe even love. And when that happens, the sex will just… happen
naturally, you know? It doesn't have to be the goal."
He delivered the explanation in a single breath, barely pausing. To his
surprise, Thee neither interrupted nor argued. He simply listened, his
expression serious.
"It's an interesting idea. You're close to Aran, right? Help me with this."
Peach almost rolled his eyes but managed to hold back. Of course, Thee
would approach courting someone like a business transaction. Forget
romance.
"We're not that close," Peach replied with a sigh. "We've worked together a
lot, sure, but it's not like we're best friends or anything. I doubt I'll be much
help."
"I don't expect that much from you," Thee dismissed, as if it didn't matter.
Before Peach could figure out what to think about that, Thee signaled the
driver and waved for him to start the car. No further explanation. No
clarification.
Peach watched as the car smoothly pulled away, his wide, panicked eyes
darting around. He thought Thee would just call him for a quick chat and
then kick him out of the car.
Isn't that how it always happens in the movies?
"Mr. Arseny!"
"Just call me Thee. Drop the 'Arseny'—it's annoying," Thee interrupted, his
tone laced with irritation. However, the way he glanced at Peach from the
corner of his eye seemed to suggest he was waiting for the next question.
"Uh, well, Mr. Thee. So… where exactly are we going?"
The corner of Thee's mouth curved into a subtle smile, his eyes gleaming
with faint amusement.
"To lunch. Anything special in mind?"
Peach was still trying to process the situation, but the mention of food
managed to pull him slightly out of his confusion. His mind immediately
went to the one thing he'd been craving since he answered the phone that
morning.
"Can we get coffee first? An iced Americano, extra shot, please," he blurted
out almost desperately.
He needed something to ground him, and caffeine was definitely at the top
of the list.