Chapter Text
The first sign this campaign wasn’t going to be normal wasn’t the official invite.
That one was fine. Clean, polite, sent at exactly 8:03 a.m. by Arseni’s branding team. Proper subject line, attachments in order, no unnecessary drama.
ARSENI NEW FRAGRANCE CAMPAIGN — LEAD PHOTOGRAPHER DISCUSSION
Peach liked that kind of email.
The problem came six minutes later.
From Thee.
Peach.
Then—
My beloved photographer.
Then—
My artistic conscience.
Peach stood in his kitchen, staring at his phone, holding a mug of coffee that had already gone cold. He hadn’t even opened the official brief yet. He didn’t need to. He could already feel trouble coming.
Another message popped up.
Please remember that whatever the team tells you today, I have already reduced the drama by at least forty percent.
Peach closed his eyes.
That was not reassuring.
Across the table, Lookplub slowly chewed her toast like she had all the time in the world.
“Is it him?”
Peach flipped his phone face down. “No.”
It buzzed again.
She raised an eyebrow.
Peach sighed, took a sip of cold coffee, and gave up. “Yes.”
“Is he being rich again?”
“He’s always rich.”
“I mean in the annoying way.”
Peach turned the phone back over.
The perfume is about storm, speed, rain, desire, memory, and the unbearable intimacy of choosing someone even when destiny tries to smell expensive.
Peach stared at it.
Then flipped the phone back down.
“Yes,” he said. “In the annoying way.”
Lookplub smiled into her toast.
Peach didn’t. If he encouraged her, she’d enjoy this too much.
The thing was, Peach could handle dramatic clients.
He’d worked with editors who cried over curtain textures. Actors who asked if shadows made them look emotionally abandoned. Brand directors who said “raw” while pointing at lighting setups worth millions.
He could handle dramatic.
He could handle rich.
He could even handle Thee—most of the time.
Because underneath all the speeches and expensive shoes and dramatic hand gestures, Thee was… honest. Exhaustingly honest. He meant everything he said, even when it sounded ridiculous.
Unfortunately, he also ran a perfume brand.
Which meant his feelings came with deadlines.
Peach finally opened the official email.
The brief was good.
That annoyed him.
The fragrance line was called Stormproof. A bit dramatic, but not terrible. The concept leaned into rain, metal, heat, late-night roads—things that could actually work if handled right.
Peach hated when Thee’s ideas worked.
His name was listed at the top.
Not as “CEO’s favorite.” Not as anything personal.
Just:
Lead Photographer Recommendation: Peach.
Below that:
Strong editorial eye. Experienced with movement, intimacy, reflective surfaces, and controlled emotional distance. Good at grounding theatrical concepts. Recommended for visual restraint.
Peach read that twice.
Visual restraint.
At least someone here had sense.
His phone buzzed again.
I have instructed them not to call you my muse.
Peach typed back.
Good.
Thee replied instantly.
I have also instructed myself.
Pause.
I failed once in my heart, but not out loud.
Peach rubbed his forehead.
Lookplub leaned over. “What did he say?”
“Nothing important.”
“Is he hiring you properly?”
Peach hesitated.
That was the real question.
Not whether Thee wanted him there—he always did.
But whether Arseni wanted him.
Whether people would see him as a photographer first.
Not just… Thee’s boyfriend with a camera.
Peach looked back at the brief. Everything was clean. Professional. Even the rate—high, but not ridiculous.
He could live with that.
He’d worked too hard to let people think his work came from anything other than skill.
“Peach,” Lookplub said, softer now.
He looked up.
“You can say no.”
He knew that.
He’d learned it the hard way.
But the strange thing was—
He didn’t want to say no.
Not yet.
He wanted to see if Thee could do this properly.
If he understood that loving someone didn’t mean blurring their work.
“I’m going to the meeting,” Peach said.
Lookplub nodded. “Wear the black shirt.”
“Why?”
“You look like you’ll destroy rich people in it.”
Peach considered that.
Then went to change.
By ten-thirty, Arseni’s office looked like a luxury magazine had come to life.
Glass walls. Soft lighting. Everything expensive in a quiet, deliberate way.
The staff were polite.
That mattered.
No weird looks. No whispers. No “Khun Thee is waiting” in that tone.
Peach relaxed—just a little.
Then the meeting room door opened.
And there was Thee.
Perfect suit. Perfect hair. Looking like he had prepared emotionally for this moment.
“Peach,” he said.
Peach raised a finger. “No.”
Thee froze. “I haven’t said anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to greet you.”
“You were going to greet me like I came back from war.”
Thee blinked.
Behind him, Mok coughed.
Peach stepped inside. “I’m here as a photographer.”
“Yes,” Thee said quickly.
“Lead photographer.”
“Of course.”
“Not your muse.”
Thee inhaled.
Rome leaned back, clearly entertained.
Thee exhaled. “Not my muse.”
Peach sat down. “Good.”
The meeting started.
Thee stood up immediately.
Of course he did.
“Today,” he began, “we are not merely discussing perfume—”
Peach wrote one word in his notes.
Lie.
Rome saw it and nearly laughed.
The slides moved on.
Rain. Metal. Motion. A garage setting. No faces yet—just mood.
Peach stopped writing.
It was… good.
Too dramatic in places, yes. But the core idea worked.
He could already picture the shots.
Low angle. Rain in the background. Light catching metal. A blurred figure.
Not speed.
Aftermath.
He hated that he liked it.
Thee noticed.
Peach pointed his pen at him. “Don’t.”
“I said nothing.”
“You were glowing.”
“I cannot control the lighting of my soul.”
Peach ignored him.
“What locations?” he asked.
They showed options.
Studio. Showroom. Warehouse.
“No,” Peach said.
Everyone looked at him.
“You need a real garage,” he continued. “Texture. Wear. Something that feels used.”
The creative director nodded.
Mok spoke up. “Saifah mentioned one. His connection. Owner’s name is Phayu.”
Rome raised an eyebrow. “That Phayu?”
Peach frowned. “Should I know him?”
“Depends,” Rome said. “Do you like peace?”
Peach sighed. “Sounds promising.”
The discussion moved on.
Models. Lighting. Schedule.
Peach pointed at the timeline. “Three overnight shoots?”
“They’re optional,” Thee said.
“For whom?”
Silence.
Then Thee adjusted. “Reduce to one. Only if Peach approves.”
Peach nodded. “Good.”
By the end, Peach had notes, a headache, and a growing interest in the project.
That was the dangerous part.
After the meeting, people left one by one.
Soon it was just him and Thee.
Thee didn’t speak right away.
That was unusual.
Peach packed his bag. “What?”
“I’m trying to say something normal.”
“How’s that going?”
“Difficult.”
Peach waited.
“You were very good,” Thee said.
Peach blinked.
That was… normal.
“Thank you.”
“You made it better,” Thee added. “Not smaller. Better.”
Peach paused.
“I know people will think I chose you because I love you,” Thee said quietly. “That’s true. But it’s not the only reason.”
Peach looked at him.
“You’re the one who tells me when I’m being ridiculous.”
“I do that a lot.”
“Yes. You save my brand from my own ideas.”
Peach almost smiled.
“Just listen first,” he said. “Especially at work.”
Thee nodded.
“I will.”
Mok came back in.
“Saifah says he can ask Phayu.”
“Good,” Thee said.
“He’ll need details. Crew size, equipment, safety… and whether you’re bringing artificial rain indoors.”
Peach looked at Thee.
Thee looked away.
Peach sighed. “He is.”
Later that day, Peach sat at home, looking through the updated files.
New mood board.
Rain. Metal. Light.
It was too much.
But it was close.
At the bottom, a handwritten note from Thee:
Emotion must be visible.
Peach stared at it.
Then at the location label:
PHAYU’S GARAGE — pending approval.
He leaned back.
“One normal campaign,” he muttered.
His phone buzzed.
Peach, before you judge the handwritten note, please understand that I showed great restraint.
Peach smiled a little.
Then typed back:
Khun Thee.
That sounds dangerous.
Peach sent the next message anyway.
We’re going to need rules.