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Years ago, on a shimmery whim he himself couldn’t begin to parse from honest curiosity, Peach’d let Plub buy him a trinket. A shell-necklace, or it should be called that, at least; the sea shells were no bigger than pearls, and they sat close to his throat in a way that drew attention to his collarbones.
How fitting, then, that he should’ve packed that necklace for his trip along with his other things when his heart is once again at a threshold of desire and impulse. When his feet once more stand in the warm grains of sand, slowly being lulled into a deeper wade. When he’s once again not sure, only by looking at it, if he really wants to try it on, or if he’s just accepting it as a gift.
But after waking up from his short nap, Peach is anything but uncertain. He’s smiling, just a little, at nothing. Empty space becomes someone’s face, the cold floors send out fuzzy warmth, a confusing melody guides his limbs, and the mirror stares, its gaze knowing.
With a deep breath, he spreads out on the bed again, and the wrinkled sheets from his nap earlier cuddle him from all sides, covering the back of his ears and the length of his calves. He feels the material against his skin, blank, as if dissolving into another component of the room. A Peach-shaped hole in the universe that is full to the brim and has no space for anything else. Like a bear, he lifts a leg and kicks lazily at empty air. The lights, dim and intimate, trace meaningless patterns on his bare skin.
He rolls over onto his stomach and drifts into space, sinking into soothing melodies that rise off his own skin like steam off boiling water, and a few strands of his hair fall over his eyes. He plucks the necklace off his bedside table and all at once, his smile melts wide, so dripping wide, down on the bedsheets, pooling everywhere under his elbows and knees.
The final version of Peachayarat looks something like this: a casual white shirt over shorts, the colors of the sky and the snow and the serenity of solo trips, and around his neck a necklace made of pearly seashells.
I think jewelry would look cute on you, Plub had told him, offhanded.
“I don’t know, Plub,” he whispers, tracing the shells with a finger, “but I want to try it.”
Rome is different from Thee in many ways, and yet there’s a performance in him that reminds one of his older brother. And less esoteric than this is the sadness in his eyes, an inheritance.
“Well, I better take my leave.” He stands tall, posture firm and defying all worldly sufferings, a familiar cadence to his self-assured tone that Peach has learned to read as neither arrogance nor challenge but simply nature, “Oh, and by the way—Nice necklace. Really brings out your eyes.”
Peach gives him a sincere smile, and finally, someone other than his mirror smiles back.
“And one thing I always say—” Mok makes a gesture which is completely lost on Peach, making the drink in his wine glass swirl dangerously close to the lip. Whatever Mok says next is slurred out by tipsiness and a loud roar of laughter from Rome who’s been making Thee read Thai proverbs on his phone.
Peach gravitates over to the sitting area until they notice him approaching and suddenly, he pauses like a deer caught in headlights. Mok has no such reservations and swiftly flops into one of the armchairs, ready to pour everyone more drinks; naturally, Rome’s attention shifts to him, but it leaves Thee and Peach staring at each other a little dumbly in the middle of it all.
“I’m so ready to get wasted,” Rome says in, as Peach notes at the back of his mind, an equally bad Thai.
The strange spell breaks, and Peach walks towards an empty armchair.
He doesn’t take off the necklace; it feels like he’s already used to it, like he’s been wearing it for years. He likes to be reminded of its presence when the seashells press gently into his skin with a careless movement, and his stomach flutters all over again like it’s the first time. He feels festive, celebratory, but also adrift from it all. He supposes that this is how the gods must feel looking down at the worship and the prayers going on in their name.
Peach is just Peach but Peach is also a measure of the universe. If he touches a hand to his chest, he’d know for sure that all of it rests here in him, and it’s wonderful and alive.
As he gets into the car, aware of the breeze running through his hair and the salt stuck to his soles, there’s a hand at his hip. Peach stops, molasses growing on time. “Careful,” Thee says, warm and encompassing next to his ear. Eventually, he looks down at where Thee’s hand stands between the doorframe and him. He turns his head, and he has to tilt his chin slightly upwards to meet Thee’s eyes. They’re almost hugging. “The edges are sharp. Step away from the door just a bit.”
Peach’s heart thumps so hard he thinks it dislocates itself from his chest. He looks away, too fast, and slides into the passenger seat with his bag in front of his body like a makeshift shield. An ocean gapes under his clothes, yet the soft heat clinging to his chest down to his navel wants to blaze into an inferno. He hopes he managed to say thank you at least, but he’s not sure.
Plub gives him a searching look, “Don’t try to take everything on yourself again, please?”
“When have I done that?” Peach answers, half-joking. She disapproves, and the weight from his shoulder disappears as she sits up on the couch with her hands folded before her.
“I know you like him but he’s just some guy—” Peach purses his lips to keep himself from giving away his expression, “and if he doesn’t appreciate who you are like all those other girls, then I hope you’ll know that he was an idiot.”
Peach smiles at her unwavering, headstrong confidence in him, at her familiar eyes shining with simple love. “Got it,” he says, lowering his gaze as a fine pinprick of loss tingles in his bones, at just thought of Thee turning away from him like the others did. “All I can do … is be there for him. I can give him something steady.”
Plub squeezes his shoulder, “My pocket-sized brother.” Then, her teasing turns gentle, and she adds, “You’re good at being steady. You’re my rock, P’Peach.”