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Peach should have known something was wrong the moment Thee stopped pretending he wasn’t terrible at secrets.
It starts small, because it always does with him. A smile that lingers too long when Peach isn’t even being funny. A distracted hum while checking his phone. Thee stepping away to take calls and lowering his voice like he’s discussing state secrets instead of, Peach is sure, something incredibly stupid and romantic.
The problem is that Peach knows him. Knows the way Thee’s energy coils when he’s planning something. Knows how his affection gets louder when he’s nervous, how he touches Peach more when he’s hiding something. So by the third day of this nonsense, Peach already knows he is doomed.
“P’Kian.” Peach says one evening, watching Thee pace the living room for no reason whatsoever, fingers tapping against the table like he’s trying to drum out a secret. “Why are you vibrating.”
Thee stops mid-step. Turns. Smiles too brightly. “I’m not vibrating.”
“You’re buzzing,” Peach corrects. “Like a malfunctioning bee. A very rich, slightly dangerous bee who lives in my humble abode.”
Thee walks over, bends down and presses a kiss into Peach’s hair. It’s slow, lingering and affectionate in a way that makes Peach’s chest tighten painfully. “You’re imagining things, my Lookpeach.”
Peach swallows. That is the moment he knows he is in danger.
Over the next few weeks, Thee disappears for “quick errands” that last hours, returns smelling faintly of flowers and cologne and chaos. He talks in low tones into his phone, fingers drumming against the table. He smiles at Peach across the room sometimes, eyes glinting, hands twitching, like he’s silently rehearsing a scene that will destroy Peach emotionally.
And Peach? Well, he calls him out on it constantly.
“You’re hiding something,” he says over dinner one night, poking at the rice like it’s a puzzle that can’t be solved.
Thee looks up, all innocence and sharp cheekbones, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
Thee tilts his head, that infuriating tilt that Peach hates and loves at once. “What makes you think that, sweetheart?”
“You reorganized my spice rack P'Kian…Alphabetically…” Peach accuses, chest tightening.
“That was an act of love, Peach.” Thee says gently, intertwining their fingers across the table.
“That was a cry for help…” Peach mutters, voice low, annoyed, helpless.
Thee leans forward, pressing a kiss into Peach’s temple. “Trust me, my Lookpeach.”
And Peach doesn’t argue. He can’t. The way Thee says lookpeach lands warm and heavy in his ribs, settling there like a promise he’s never let himself unpack fully.
The day Thee insists on driving, instead of letting Peach take the wheel as usual, Peach immediately gets suspicious. “You hate driving,” he says, squinting across the dashboard.
“I don’t hate driving,” Thee insists, gripping the steering wheel like it owes him money.
“You despise driving, Kian.”
“I merely dislike it, Peach don’t be dramatic. ” Thee says smoothly.
“You get road rage at bicycles.”
Thee exhales, sharp, a little impatient, a little guilty. “Can you just trust me today, Little one?”
Peach does, of course. He always does. Maybe it’s because of the way Thee says little one and the way it lands like heat behind his ribs, makes him aware of everything. Of his heartbeat, the tremble in his hands and the tension coiling in his stomach.
The whole drive is strange. It’s not exactly tense, but loaded with something. Thee is humming under his breath and Theerakit Kian Lee doesn’t hum. To make matters worse he constantly taps the steering wheel and glances at Peach more than the road. Peach meanwhile just watches the city blur past, stomach fluttering, heart heavy with the sense that something is approaching fast, inevitable and ridiculously overdramatic.
By the time they turn onto Peach’s street, his body is screaming before his brain catches up. The air smells… different. Sweeter. Thicker. Charged. And the lights, they are… golden? flickering softly against the trees.
“Thee…” Peach says slowly, voice catching. “Why is my house… glowing?”
Thee swallows. Hands tight on the wheel. “Well, Peach…you see-”
“Stop right there if you know what’s good for you Theerakit Kian Lee.” Peach interrupts him. And once they pull up to the gate, Peach freezes.
His home. His quiet, familiar, safe little home… it has been transformed. White flowers spill across the garden like snow. Candles line the pathway. Fairy lights hang between the trees like captured stars. Somewhere, a string quartet is tuning. A photographer hides behind a bush, failing.
Peach’s mouth goes dry. “P’Kian…why...” he whispers, “Why. is. there. a. man. with. a. violin. in. my. hydrangeas…”
Thee squeezes his hand. “…So-”
But before he can finish, the front door slams open.
“WAIT.”
Plub steps out, takes three careful steps, freezes. She looks at the flowers, the lights, the musicians, then Thee, then Peach. And then her eyes go impossibly wide.
“Oh my god,” she whispers and Thee visibly deflates. “Oh my god,” Plub says louder this time, her hands flying to her mouth. “THIS IS A PROPOSAL.”
Peach makes a sound somewhere between a squeak and a gasp. “WHAT?!”
Thee groaned, tilting his head back. “Plub-”
Plub gasped again. “You’re proposing TODAY? In MY HOUSE?”
“Technically it’s Peach’s house-” Thee started.
Plub spins, arms flailing, interrupting Thee. “I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I told you he was up to something P’Peach!”
Peach’s brain completely short-circuited. “LIKE WHAT.”
Thee groans, burying his face in his hands. “Plub! Stop!”
“My future brother in law is so EXTRA.” Plub said firmly. “And Financially irresponsible. AND Emotionally dramatic.”
Thee winced. “That feels unfair.”
“ARE THERE FIREWORKS?” she shouts.
“Maybe…” Thee admits weakly.
She screams again.
“Well,” Thee says finally, rubbing the back of his neck, voice trying to stay calm but cracking slightly, “now that the secret is out… we might as well just get married. Peachayarat. You’re free next month, right, darling? We can adopt later-”
“Do not finish that sentence, P’Kian.” Peach hissed, yanking him by the sleeve. “ and STOP PLANNING MY LIFE IN FRONT OF MY LITTLE SISTER.”
Plub crossed her arms. “I want a speech.”
Peach pointed at her. “NO.”
Thee smiled nervously. “I did write one Peach…”
Peach snapped. “YOU WROTE A SPEECH?!.”
Thee raises one eyebrow, charming and infuriating simultaneously. “Of course I did! Now don’t distract me! I was going to ask you a question, little one.”
Peach blinks. “…A question?”
“Yes. An important question,” Thee says, kneeling on one knee with an exaggerated sweep of his arm, looking absurdly theatrical. “A life-altering question. Something that-”
Plub gasps dramatically. “OH! HE’S GOING TO ASK! I CAN’T!”
Thee groans again. “Plub, I swear if you scream one more time!”
“I’M DOCUMENTING THIS FOR ETERNITY!” she interrupts, bouncing like a human popcorn machine.
Peach covers his face with his hands, taking shallow breaths. “You’re insane.”
“Yes. But my insane is yours,” Thee says, voice dropping to that soft, trembling, intimate tone Peach knows too well. “…Lookpeach, will you marry me?”
Time stretches. Everything slows. Fireflies, candles, flowers, Plub shrieking in the background, Thee’s ridiculous, beautiful face, pleading, perfect. Peach’s heart is doing backflips. But… he can’t answer. Not yet.
So instead he turns and walks. Walks away from the candles. Away from Thee. Away from the chaos.
“Peachayarat! WAIT!” Thee screams, standing up too quickly, jacket flaring, heart pounding like a drumline. “Little one! Sweetheart! LOOKPEACH! COME BACK!”
Plub is dancing in the background, filming everything. “RUN, P’PEACH! WHILE YOU STILL CAN! RUN FROM YOUR FUTURE HUSBAND! RUN!”
“You cannot run from destiny!” Thee yelled, nearly tripping over a candle. “PEACH DO YOU HEAR ME! PEACHHHH!”
And Peach just runs. His laughter spilling over his panic. His heart racing, adrenaline filling his every limb. He trips over the garden stones, curses, gets up again, cursing out Plub who is laughing hysterically.
Thee is behind him, chasing like a man possessed, suit wrinkled, hair wild, dignity gone. “PEACHHH! DON’T YOU DARE RUN FROM ME!”
“You’re insane!” Peach shouts over his shoulder, laughing.
“And you love me!” Thee yells. “COME BACK HERE AND LET ME LOVE YOU LEGALLY! I SAID YOU CAN’T OUTRUN DESTINY PEACHAYARAT!”
Peach skids to a stop at the gate, panting, chest heaving, hair falling into his eyes.
Thee collapses to his knees again, hands still outstretched. “Please, Lookpeach. Love of my Life. My everything. Say yes. Please.”
“You’re insane” Peach said softly.
Thee looked up. “I might be insane, but I’m yours.”
Peach freezes. Heart pounding so hard he can barely hear the fireworks popping in the distance, Plub screaming in delight, candles flickering.
He looks at Thee. His ridiculous, desperate, perfect Kian, and finally lets himself agree.
“Yes.” he whispers. Voice trembling. “Yes, of course. Yes.”
Thee erupts, laughter spilling out, pulling Peach into a tight, chaotic hug, spinning him almost off his feet. More Fireworks explode overhead. Plub screams, still filming everything.
“I love you!” Thee shouts, voice cracking, happy, absurd.
“I love you too,” Peach breathes back, holding him, dizzy, laughing, finally letting himself melt into the chaos he’s been both terrified and desperate for.
And for once, everything makes sense.