Still us, a Me and Thee FanFiktion

This is a Fanfiktion for the novel/TV show 'Me and Thee".

I have no rights for characters, novel or series. It's simply a Fiktion.

The story starts where "Peach and Me" started, but it'll be darker and more set like the novel.

Expect a LOT of Hurt/Comfort. This is not pretty.

Also I had AI help with medical terms and to help hold me on track, check grammar and spelling.

This is the start

You've been warned.

Chapter 01

~•~

The first thing Peach did when he arrived at the studio that morning was arguing with his camera.

Not out loud, because he had not quite reached the point where he considered that a perfectly reasonable way to begin his working day, but the expression on his face suggested that he was having a serious disagreement with the equipment he had spent the better part of the previous evening cleaning, checking, and cleaning again.

He stood beside the large worktable near the back of the studio, one hand resting on his hip while the other held his camera at an angle that allowed him to inspect the settings on its display. The camera had served him faithfully for years, surviving more shoots, more travel, and more accidental knocks than Peach cared to count, yet he was currently regarding it with the deep suspicion of a man who had discovered that a trusted friend had been lying to him.

"You're supposed to cooperate," he muttered, turning the camera a little to examine the lens.

"Are you having a conversation with your equipment, Khun Peach?"

Peach glanced over his shoulder, finding the assistant standing a few feet away with a clipboard tucked beneath one arm and an amused smile on his face. They had been introduced on the first morning, along with the rest of the small team assembled for the clothing label's three day of shooting, and while Peach had already learned his name, he was still getting used to the unfamiliar faces around him.

"I'm establishing boundaries," Peach explained, returning his attention to the camera.

The assistant looked from him to the equipment and back again, clearly trying to decide whether he ought to take the statement seriously or if the famous photographer was losing his marbles talking to his camera.

"With a camera?"

"It's an professional relationship, and I refuse to let it become one-sided."

The assistant laughed, apparently satisfied that Peach was joking, before pointing toward the opposite end of the studio, where the first outfit of the morning had already been prepared on a clothing rack.

"The models should be ready in about fifteen minutes. The client wants to review the first set before lunch, so I thought we could start with the lighter pieces while the makeup artist finishes up."

"That works for me," Peach replied, finally lowering his camera. "Just let me know if they have any particular shots they want before we begin. I'd rather get everything right while we're still setting up than discover halfway through the session that someone forgot to mention an important detail."

"Already taken care of. I've got the shot list right here."

The assistant handed him the clipboard, and Peach skimmed through the notes, nodding occasionally as he read. It was a relatively straightforward assignment for a small independent clothing label that wanted a mixture of catalogue photographs and more relaxed promotional images for its upcoming collection. The budget was reasonable, the schedule manageable, and the client had given him enough creative freedom to make the job interesting without expecting him to work miracles with a handful of clothes and a limited amount of studio time.

It was precisely the sort of assignment Peach preferred.

As a freelance photographer, he had never been particularly interested in limiting himself to one specific kind of work. He enjoyed portraits, product photography, fashion shoots, and the occasional event that allowed him to capture people when they had forgotten that a camera was pointed in their direction. If the subject interested him, the client paid fairly, and the assignment fit within his own moral boundaries, he was generally willing to consider it.

Those boundaries were not complicated, although he had occasionally been surprised by how often people seemed to find them inconvenient. Peach did not photograph nudes or produce images with explicitly sexual content, and he would never agree to a shoot that sexualised underage models, regardless of how much money a client offered or how many times someone assured him that such photographs were perfectly normal in the industry.

Beyond that, he was fairly flexible, preferring to judge each assignment on its own merits rather than dismissing an opportunity simply because it was unfamiliar.

The clothing label had approached him through a recommendation from another client, and after reviewing their portfolio and discussing the details, he had agreed to take the job. The studio itself had been booked by the label for the duration of the shoot, which meant that Peach was working alongside people he had never met before, with the exception of the client and a couple of models he had encountered during an earlier fitting.

It was a perfectly ordinary professional arrangement, and after six months away from work, Peach was grateful to be doing something ordinary again.

He had missed the equipment, the studio lights, the familiar smell of coffee and warm electronics, and the satisfaction of looking through a viewfinder and finding a moment worth preserving. He had missed the concentration required to get a photograph just right, the quiet excitement of discovering that a shot had turned out even better than he had imagined, and the feeling of finishing a project knowing that he had created something he could genuinely be proud of.

Most of all, he had missed being Peach the photographer, rather than being known primarily as Theerakit Kian Lee's Husband.

Not that he regretted this role, because he loved his family more than he could ever properly explain, but loving the life he had built did not mean that he no longer wanted anything that belonged to him alone.

Six months earlier, he and Kian had married, and they had agreed that they would both take some time away from their usual responsibilities to enjoy being newlyweds. The arrangement had sounded perfectly reasonable when they had first discussed it, particularly because both of them had been busy enough before the wedding that the prospect of spending several uninterrupted months together had seemed almost luxurious.

Peach had not anticipated that his husband would interpret the agreement as permission to turn practically every weekend into another honeymoon.

Kian had apparently decided that there was no shortage of beautiful places in the world that deserved to be visited with his husband, and he had spent the past six months demonstrating his commitment to this theory with determination.

There had been seaside resorts, quiet hotels tucked away in the mountains, beautiful restaurants in cities they had visited only because Kian had decided that Peach ought to try them, and more romantic little escapes than Peach could reasonably have expected from one man.

He had enjoyed most of them enormously, and he would have been lying if he claimed that he did not appreciate the attention.

However, he had also begun to suspect that if he did not return to work soon, Kian would eventually run out of places to take him and start researching suitable destinations on other planets. When Peach had finally announced that he wanted to resume his freelance work, his husband had looked at him as though he had just proposed moving to another country without letting him come along.

Kian had eventually agreed, of course, because Peach had reminded him of a promise he had made.

To get a grip.

Kian had insisted that he would never stand in the way of Peach living a normal life, and Peach had been sufficiently amused by the declaration that he had reminded him of it several times during the ensuing discussion. His husband had taken the teasing with considerably less grace than he might have wished, but he had kept his word, even if Peach suspected that the process of accepting the arrangement had caused him a certain amount of private suffering.

Peach smiled to himself as he returned the clipboard to the assistant, who had already begun checking the equipment arranged near the backdrop.

He loved his life.

He simply wanted to be able to enjoy his work as well.

"Everything looks good," Peach said, reaching for his camera bag. "Let me get the lighting sorted out, and we can bring the first model in."

The assistant nodded before moving away to speak with the makeup artist, leaving Peach to arrange his equipment and make the final adjustments to the lighting.

He had barely finished when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He did not need to look at the screen to know who was calling his attention, because there were only a handful of people whose messages could make him smile quite so readily.

Kian: Are you at the studio?

Peach wiped his hands on his trousers before typing a reply.

Peach: I arrived about twenty minutes ago. Everything is fine, although my camera has apparently decided to test my patience.

The answer arrived almost immediately.

Kian: Do you need a new camera?

Peach stared at the message for a moment before laughing quietly.

Peach: I need you to stop trying to solve every problem by buying something.

Kian: I was asking a reasonable question.

Peach: I do not need a new camera, PˋKian. 

Kian: It seemed like a practical solution.

Peach could almost hear the perfectly serious tone in which his husband would have delivered that answer, and the image made his smile widen.

He was still composing a reply when another message appeared.

Kian: Have you eaten?

Peach closed his eyes briefly, suppressing the urge to laugh again.

There it was, the question that had somehow survived every stage of their relationship and become even more persistent after their wedding.

Peach: Yes, Khun Husband.

Kian: What did you eat?

Peach: We had breakfast together and I ate some snacks and coffee.

Kian: How much coffee?

Peach looked at the cup beside his camera bag and decided that honesty was probably the best policy, at least in principle.

Peach: A reasonable amount.

Kian: Peach.

The single word carried enough warning to make Peach laugh under his breath.

Peach: I promise I'll eat lunch.

Kian: You promised that yesterday.

Peach: And I ate lunch yesterday.

Kian: At four in the afternoon.

Peach: Which is still afternoon.

He put his phone away before Kian could find another argument, although he was already smiling as he turned back toward the waiting equipment.

"Your husband?" the assistant asked when Peach passed him on his way to the lighting controls.

Peach glanced at him with mild surprise.

"How did you know?"

"The way you've been smiling at your phone. I can't imagine the client sending you anything that would make you look quite so pleased with yourself."

"Perhaps I'm very fond of my work."

"Of course you are."

The assistant's expression suggested that he did not believe a word of it, but he returned to the preparations without pressing the matter further.

Peach shook his head, still amused, and concentrated on the shoot.

For the next several hours, everything went exactly as it should.

The first model arrived, the lighting behaved itself, and the clothing label's representative seemed pleased with the photographs Peach showed him during the initial review. The assistant proved to be competent and easy to work with, while the makeup artist and the two models kept the atmosphere relaxed enough that the morning passed more quickly than Peach had expected.

There were the usual complications, of course, because no photography assignment ever proceeded quite as smoothly as the schedule suggested it would. One of the outfits needed an adjustment before the client would approve it, the second model arrived later than expected after a delay on the road, and the studio's printer developed a mysterious reluctance to cooperate whenever anyone attempted to use it.

Peach found himself laughing more than once, particularly when the assistant began threatening the printer with the same sort of solemn determination Peach had directed at his camera earlier that morning.

It felt good to be back.

By lunchtime, he had already selected several photographs that he was particularly pleased with, and the client had complimented him on the way he had captured the movement of the fabric in the promotional shots. Peach thanked him, made a few notes about the remaining images, and returned to the worktable where he had left his laptop and camera bag.

The table had gradually accumulated the ordinary clutter of a working shoot, including spare memory cards, a notebook, a lens cloth, and several sheets of paper containing the updated schedule. Someone had also placed a selection of refreshments at one end, presumably for the convenience of the people who would be spending most of the day in the studio.

There were bottles of water, a few canned drinks, and several cups of coffee arranged beside a small tray of snacks.

Peach barely glanced at them as he sat down to review his photographs, because the client had asked him to send a selection of preliminary images before the afternoon session began.

He had just opened the first folder when the assistant approached with a bottle of water.

"Here you go, Khun Peach. I put one beside your laptop earlier, but you looked busy, so I thought I'd remind you before we start again."

"Thanks," Peach replied, his attention still on the screen. "That's probably a good idea."

"There's food over there, too, if you haven't eaten yet. The client ordered enough for everyone."

"I'll grab something in a minute."

The assistant gave him a look that suggested he had already heard this particular promise from at least three other people that morning, but he did not argue. Instead, he returned to the other end of the studio to help prepare the next set of outfits.

Peach continued reviewing the images, occasionally making small adjustments to the exposure or marking a photograph for further editing. He had always found it easy to lose track of time when he was working, especially when a project was going well, and the habit had not disappeared simply because he had spent six months away from his usual routine.

By the time he finally looked up, the assistant was calling everyone back to their positions.

Peach took the bottle of water from beside his laptop, drank several mouthfuls, and set it down again before returning to the camera.

The afternoon passed much like the morning, although the increasingly warm studio and the steady pace of the shoot began to wear on him more than he expected.

He had slept very little the previous night, largely because he had made the mistake of opening his laptop after dinner to review the photographs from the first two days of the assignment.

He had intended to spend perhaps an hour selecting the strongest images and making a few preliminary edits, but once he began adjusting the colours and comparing the photographs side by side, he found himself noticing small details that he wanted to improve before sending anything to the client.

One photograph needed a slight adjustment to the contrast, another would look better with a different crop, and a third had such beautiful lighting that Peach could not resist trying several variations before deciding which version he preferred.

By the time he finally closed his laptop, the hour had become considerably later than he had intended, and Kian had already gone to bed.

His husband had been less than impressed when Peach slipped into the bedroom, although he had limited himself to giving Peach a long, disapproving look before lifting the edge of the duvet to make room for him. Peach had promised that he would finish the remaining edits the following evening, kissed Kian goodnight, and settled beside him with every intention of getting a decent night's sleep.

Unfortunately, intentions had never been particularly effective against a husband who liked to sleep close enough to make getting out of bed in the morning a small logistical challenge.

Peach had eventually drifted off with his head resting against Kian's shoulder, and he had slept well enough once he was comfortable, but the late hour had still left him feeling somewhat less rested than he would have preferred.

He had noticed the effects that morning and had compensated in the only way he considered entirely reasonable at the time, which was to drink more coffee than he probably should have.

Now, as he adjusted the lighting for the next set of photographs, he began to wonder whether he had been a little too ambitious about returning to work. The thought occurred to him when his stomach gave an unpleasant twist, followed by a wave of nausea that made him pause with one hand resting on the camera. He waited for the sensation to pass, assuming that he had simply been standing too long without eating properly.

"Everything all right?" the assistant asked from beside the backdrop.

Peach looked up and offered him a reassuring smile.

"Yes, I think I just need to eat something before we start the next set. The amount of coffee I drank makes me a bit queasy."

"You've been saying that since lunch."

"Have I?"

"You have. And then you drank more coffee.”

“Someone keeps putting fresh coffee in my spot.”

The assistant grinned before returning to his work, and Peach took the opportunity to walk over to the table beside his laptop.

He reached for the bottle of water he had left there earlier and drank a little more, hoping that the cool liquid would settle his stomach.

Instead, he found himself feeling strangely light-headed as he straightened, the room seeming to shift a little around him before returning to its proper position.

Peach stopped and blinked, waiting for the dizziness to disappear.

It lasted only a few seconds, but the sensation was sufficiently unpleasant that he remained still for a moment longer than necessary.

He definitely hadn't eaten enough and standing under the hot spotlights in a hot studio probably wasn't favorable for that either. And perhaps he was simply more tired than he wanted to admit.

All three explanations seemed perfectly reasonable, and Peach was not inclined to make a fuss over something that might disappear as soon as he had a proper meal so he returned to the camera and continued working.

For a while, he managed to convince himself that the discomfort was nothing more than an unfortunate combination of too much coffee, too little sleep, and the warm studio environment. He concentrated on the models, adjusted the camera settings, and gave instructions as the next series of photographs was taken.

However, the longer the afternoon continued, the more difficult it became to ignore the fact that something was not quite right.

His stomach remained unsettled, and a dull pressure had begun to build behind his eyes. He found himself blinking more frequently than usual, as though the lights were bothering him, and on two separate occasions he had to check the camera settings because he could not remember whether he had already made the adjustments he intended to make.

The mistakes were small enough that nobody else seemed to notice, but they irritated him more than they should have.

He was a professional, and he did not enjoy feeling as though his own equipment had suddenly become unfamiliar.

When the client asked to review the latest photographs, Peach returned to his laptop and opened the relevant folder, only to discover that it took him considerably longer than usual to find the images he wanted.

He stared at the screen, frowning as he tried to gather his thoughts.

The photographs were perfectly clear, and he knew exactly what he was looking for, yet the simple process of locating the correct files seemed to require more concentration than it ought to.

He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand and took a slow breath. Perhaps he really had overdone it.

He had spent the previous two days working longer than he intended, and the late-night editing session had not helped matters. It was entirely possible that his body was simply reminding him that enthusiasm was not a substitute for sleep, however much he might wish otherwise. He could hardly blame anyone but himself if that was the case.

He managed to finish the review, answer the client's questions, and return to the shooting area without drawing attention to his discomfort.

Nevertheless, by the time the final set of photographs had been taken, his shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his back, and he had begun to feel cold despite the warmth of the studio.

He set the camera down on the worktable and pressed his fingers briefly against the bridge of his nose, hoping that the pressure would relieve the headache that had settled behind his eyes.

It did not help.

"Khun Peach?"

He looked up to find the assistant watching him with a concerned expression.

"You don't look very well."

"I'm fine," Peach replied automatically, although even he could hear that his voice lacked its usual confidence. "I think I just need to sit down for a moment."

The assistant moved closer, taking a more careful look at him.

"You look pale, and you've been rubbing your head for the last set. Are you sure you're all right?"

Peach opened his mouth to answer, but the words seemed to become tangled somewhere between his thoughts and his tongue when another wave of dizziness swept through him.

He reached for the edge of the table, gripping it more tightly than he intended as the floor seemed to move beneath his feet.

The assistant was beside him almost immediately.

"Hey, sit down before you hurt yourself."

"I'm all right," Peach insisted, although he allowed himself to be guided toward the nearest chair. "I think I just stood up too quickly."

"You were standing there for several minutes before you started swaying."

He sat back in the chair, resting his forearms on his knees while he waited for the dizziness to subside. His stomach rolled unpleasantly, and he became increasingly aware of his heartbeat, which seemed heavier and more distracting than usual.

He drew a slow breath, then another, trying to decide whether he felt better or worse. Neither seemed entirely accurate.

"What exactly are you feeling?" the assistant asked, crouching down so that he could look Peach in the face.

"Nauseous, mostly. My head hurts, and I'm rather dizzy."

The assistant stared at him.

Peach sighed.

"It sounds as though you've spent the entire day working without giving yourself a proper break, mostly fueled by an unknown amount of caffeine."

"When you put it like that…."

"Khun Peach, I really think you should go home. The shooting is done anyways. You dont need to be here for the clean up."

For once, Peach did not immediately argue.

He wanted to insist that he could finish the remaining administrative work, send the client the files he had promised, and leave once everything was properly organised. However, the thought of opening his laptop and attempting to concentrate on the screen made his stomach turn, and he was beginning to suspect that he would not be particularly useful to anyone if he continued pretending that nothing was wrong.

Perhaps Kian would be right to complain about his working habits after all.

The thought made him smile faintly, although he was too uncomfortable to find it especially amusing.

"Could you give me a minute?" he asked. "I just want to message my husband so he knows I'm leaving early."

"Of course."

Peach reached for his phone, but the simple act of looking down at the screen made the headache behind his eyes intensify. He blinked several times before managing to unlock it and open his conversation with Kian.

Peach: I'm going home now. I don't feel very well.

He hesitated before adding another message.

Peach: Probably just tired. I stayed up too late editing yesterday, so I think my body is complaining.

He pressed send, then leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes briefly. He had barely put the phone down when it began to ring.

Kian's name appeared on the screen, and Peach answered with a small, affectionate smile that disappeared almost immediately when he realised how difficult it was to concentrate on the sound of his husband's voice.

"Peach, what's wrong?"

The concern in Kian's voice was immediate, and Peach could picture him sitting at his desk with his phone in one hand and his attention fixed entirely on the conversation.

"Nothing serious, I don't think," Peach replied, trying to sound more reassuring than he felt. "I've got a headache, and my stomach is upset. I think I overdid it a little."

"Have you eaten anything?"

Peach closed his eyes.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"Because you keep finding new and creative ways to avoid answering the question."

"I had breakfast."

There was a brief silence.

"Peach."

"I know, I know. I should have eaten lunch."

Kian exhaled slowly, and Peach could almost hear him making a conscious effort not to lecture him over the phone.

"Where are you now?"

"Still at the studio. I'm sitting down, and the assistant thinks I should go home."

"Good. Stay there until I arrive."

Peach opened his eyes.

"What?"

"I'm coming to get you."

"Kian, you don't have to do that. I can ask someone to drive me home, and you have work to do."

"My work will still be there when I return."

"But—"

"Peach, you have just told me that you're dizzy, nauseous, and feeling too unwell to finish your assignment. I'm not going to sit in my office and wait for you to tell me that you've somehow made it worse by trying to manage everything on your own."

There was no anger in his voice, but the decision had already been made by a man knowing Peach way too well.

Peach knew that tone well enough to recognise it, and he was far too tired to attempt an argument he was unlikely to win.

"All right," he murmured. "But you really don't need to rush."

"I'll be there as quickly as I can. Tell the assistant that you're waiting for me, and don't try to finish any more work while I'm on my way."

Peach smiled faintly.

"Yes, Khun Husband."

"I'm serious."

"I know."

"And Peach?"

"Mm?"

"Please don't tell me you're fine again until you've actually started feeling better."

The affection beneath the firmness made Peach's chest feel unexpectedly warm.

"I'll try."

"That will have to do for now. I'll see you soon."

When the call ended, Peach placed his phone on the table and leaned back in the chair, feeling a strange mixture of relief and guilt.

He had not wanted to interrupt Kian's day, particularly because he knew how much his husband had already compromised to allow him to return to work without making him feel as though he needed permission to pursue his own interests.

However, he also knew that Kian would have been considerably more upset if Peach had attempted to hide the fact that he was unwell.

The assistant returned with a bottle of water and placed it within reach.

"Is someone coming to get you home?"

Peach nodded.

"My husband has decided that I can't be trusted to get home without supervision."

"That sounds sensible to me."

"You've known me for three days, and you've already taken his side."

"Let me help you pack your things up.”

Peach laughed softly, then immediately regretted it when the movement made his stomach twist again.

The assistant's expression changed.

"All right, no more jokes. Just sit here until he arrives."

Peach did as he was told, although he found himself increasingly frustrated by how difficult it had become to remain comfortable in the chair. His head ached, his stomach felt unpleasantly heavy, and an unfamiliar weakness seemed to be spreading through his arms and legs.

He tried to tell himself that he had simply reached the point where his body could no longer compensate for the lack of sleep. It was a reasonable explanation, and he clung to it because the alternatives were considerably less appealing.

By the time Kian arrived, Peach was beginning to shiver.

His husband came through the studio entrance with the unmistakable air of a man who had abandoned everything else he had been doing because there was somewhere more important he needed to be. His expression was controlled, but his eyes went straight to Peach, taking in the way he was sitting, the pallor of his face, and the hand he had pressed against his forehead.

For a moment, Kian said nothing. Then he crossed the remaining distance and crouched beside the chair.

"Peach?"

Peach managed a small smile.

"Hello."

Kian's gaze moved over his face with the careful attention he usually reserved for situations in which he suspected someone was withholding important information.

"How long have you been feeling like this?"

"A little while."

"How long is a little while?"

Peach thought about it, frowning as he tried to reconstruct the afternoon.

"I started feeling nauseous a few hours ago, but the dizziness only became noticeable recently."

Kian's expression tightened.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Kian, be reasonable. Its probably just a bug. You know what the kids brought home last week.”

His husband regarded him for another moment before reaching out to touch his forehead. Peach was right. The week before… he preferred not to think about it. It hadn't been pretty.

Peach leaned into the coolness of Kian's hand without thinking, closing his eyes briefly as his husband brushed his fingers over his hair.

"You don't feel particularly hot," Kian murmured, although he sounded far from reassured. "Can you stand?"

"I think so."

Peach pushed himself up from the chair, only to discover that his legs were considerably less reliable than he had expected. Kian caught him around the waist before he could stumble, drawing him close enough that Peach could lean against his chest.

For a moment, neither of them moved, except for Kian's assistant who started to gather Peach's equipment.

Then Kian tightened his hold.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you apologising for?"

"Making you leave work."

"My work can wait."

"But you also just went back yesterday.”

"I have people who can handle it without me, and I have a husband who obviously is sick. At the moment, the latter requires considerably more attention."

Despite everything, Peach laughed softly against his shoulder.

Kian pressed a kiss to his temple before drawing back enough to look at him again.

"Come on. Let's get you home."

The assistant watched them leave with an expression of concern, although there was little he could do beyond wishing Peach a quick recovery.

As far as anyone at the studio knew, the photographer had worked himself into exhaustion after several busy days and a late night of editing.

~•~

The drive home was quiet, largely because Peach had discovered that even ordinary conversation required more concentration than he was willing to expend.

Kian had insisted that he sit comfortably with the air conditioning turned a bit higher than usual, and he had his arm protectively layn over Peach's shoulder as they sat together in the back seat.

“I would prefer it if you let me take you to the hospital.” Kian complained.

“Kian, it's okay. I just need to sleep for a little while.” 

Kian wasn't satisfied but he knew how stubborn his husband was, so he would let him have his way. For now. But he already planed to take Peach to the hospital the second he wasn't better after sleeping.

“You´re already planning a trip to the hospital, right?”

“You better know I do”, Kian grumbled.

Peach smiled faintly, but the expression faded when another wave of nausea rose through his stomach.

He turned his face toward the window and concentrated on breathing slowly, hoping that the movement of the car was responsible for at least some of his discomfort.

Kian noticed immediately.

"Do you need us to stop?"

"No. I think the movement is making me feel a little sick, but I'll be fine once we get home."

His husband did not look convinced, although he instructed the assistant to drive more carefully.

Peach watched the familiar streets pass outside the window, trying to focus on the buildings and trees rather than the uncomfortable heaviness that seemed to have settled over his entire body.

He was exhausted. That was all.

He had spent three days working, stayed up too late the previous evening, and consumed enough coffee that it was a surprise that he wasn't vibrating right out of his seat.

It was hardly surprising that he felt unwell.

By the time the villa came into view, Peach was looking forward to nothing more complicated than taking a shower, changing into comfortable clothes, and climbing into bed.

He had already decided that he would spend the evening resting. Perhaps he could even persuade his husband to lie down beside him, provided Kian did not use the opportunity to deliver a lecture about the importance of maintaining a reasonable sleep schedule.

The car passed through the gates and continued toward the entrance, where the security staff were waiting to open the doors.

"Can you manage getting inside, or do you want me to help you?"

Peach considered the question.

"I can walk."

"That wasn't what I asked."

"I can walk, and I would appreciate it if you didn't carry me into the house as though I've broken both my legs."

Kian gave him a long look before getting out and coming around the car to help Peach.

He accepted Kian's hand as he climbed out of the car, and together they made their way toward the entrance.

The short walk should have been effortless, yet Peach found himself concentrating on every step. His legs felt strangely weak, and the warm afternoon air seemed to cling to his skin in an unpleasant way that made him wish he could simply close his eyes and let Kian guide him wherever he needed to go.

When they entered the villa, one of the house staff members looked concerned.

"Are you feeling unwell, sir?" the headbutler asked.

"Just tired," Kian answered before Peach could elaborate. "Please have some water and a light meal prepared for him, but don't bring anything upstairs until we know whether he wants it."

"Of course, Khun Thee."

Peach glanced at his husband.

"I can answer questions about my own health, you know."

"I'm aware, but you keep telling people you're fine when you look as though you'd rather lie down on the floor."

Peach opened his mouth to object, but a familiar voice called from the corridor before he could formulate a suitable response.

"Papa!"

Mork came hurrying around the corner, with Marn close behind him.

The sight of them brought a genuine smile to Peach's face, and he instinctively opened his arms as Mork reached him first, wrapping himself around Peach's waist.

Marn pressed close against his other side, looking up at him with a bright expression that quickly turned curious when she noticed how pale he appeared.

"You're home early," Mork announced. "You said you wouldn't be back until later."

"I know, sweetheart."

"Does that mean you can play with us now?"

Peach looked down at him, his smile softening.

He wanted to say yes.

He wanted to spend the afternoon sitting on the floor with them while Mork explained the complicated rules of a game that seemed to change every time he played it, and Marn quietly arranged everything so that she would somehow win regardless of what happened.

He wanted to hear about their day, discover what they had been doing in school, and allow them to convince him that whatever they had planned was considerably more important than anything happening in the adult world.

Instead, he found himself struggling to straighten when the dizziness returned, forcing him to reach for Kian's outstretched arm.

Marn noticed immediately.

"Papa, are you all right?"

Peach looked down at her and tried to smile.

"I'm just feeling a little sick, sweetheart. I think I need to rest for a while."

"Does your stomach hurt?"

"A little."

"Did you get the thing we had last week?"

The question made Peach smile, although he was too uncomfortable to find it particularly amusing.

"Perhaps.”

Marn frowned, clearly unconvinced, while Mork looked from Peach to Kian with an expression of growing disappointment.

"But you promised we could play today."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Peach replied, reaching out to smooth Mork's hair, he didn't realise how much his hand was shaking. "I really want to play with you, but I think I need to sleep first. If I feel better later, we'll find something to do together."

Mork considered this for a moment before reluctantly nodding.

"Promise?"

Peach kissed the top of his head.

"Promise."

He kissed Marn as well, drawing her into a brief hug when she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Be good for the nanny, all right? I'll come and find you when I wake up."

Marn held on to him for another moment, her expression thoughtful as she looked at his face.

"Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

The concern in her voice made Peach's heart ache a little.

"I'm sure I just need some rest, darling."

Kian's hand settled at the small of Peach's back, steadying him when he swayed.

"Come on," he said gently. "Let's get you upstairs."

Peach allowed himself to be guided away, glancing back once to give the children another reassuring smile before following his husband toward the stairs.

He did not see the way Marn continued watching him until he disappeared around the corner.

~•~The bedroom felt wonderfully quiet when they finally reached it, and Peach found himself looking at the bed with an almost embarrassing amount of relief.He had not realised how much effort the walk upstairs would require until he reached the landing, where his legs had begun to tremble and he had been forced to grip the railing and wait for the dizziness to pass, all while leaning heavily on Kian.Kian had noticed immediately, although he had refrained from commenting on it until they were safely inside the bedroom. Now he closed the door behind them and guided Peach toward the bed, his expression thoughtful as he watched his husband lower himself onto the mattress."Do you want to change into something more comfortable before you sleep?"Peach considered the question, but the prospect of standing up again seemed unnecessarily complicated."Can I do it later?""Of course. Let me just help you take off your jeans and shoes.Kian removed Peach's shoes and set them beside the bed before pulling back the covers. Peach barely managed to settle against the pillows before his eyes began to close, the familiar softness of the mattress making it difficult to remember why he had ever thought that going to work had been a good idea.After wrestling Peaches' tired body out of his jeans, Kian sat beside him and brushed the hair away from his forehead."Try to sleep for a while," he murmured. "I'll bring you something to eat when you're ready."Peach caught his hand before he could pull away."Stay for a minute."The request was quiet enough that Kian's expression softened immediately."Of course, darling."He slipped off his shoes and settled beside Peach, allowing him to move closer until his head rested against Kian's shoulder. Peach had never been particularly interested in maintaining a respectable amount of personal space while sleeping, and six months of marriage had done nothing to improve that habit.If anything, he had become more determined to occupy as much of his husband's side of the bed as possible.Kian adjusted the pillow behind them and drew the covers over Peach's legs, his hand moving slowly over his husband's back.For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. Peach listened to the steady rhythm of Kian's breathing, allowing the familiar sound to quiet the restless thoughts that had been circling through his mind all afternoon."I'm sorry I worried you," he murmured eventually.Kian pressed a kiss to his hair. "You don't need to apologise for feeling unwell."Peach winced when a strapping discomfort made his stomach twist.Kian's hand on his back stilled."Does it hurt?""Not exactly. I just feel sick.""Do you want me to call the doctor?"Peach hesitated.He could hear the genuine concern in Kian's voice, and for a moment he considered agreeing simply because it would spare his husband another argument. However, he was so tired that even the prospect of explaining his symptoms to someone else seemed exhausting."Can we wait a little?" he asked. "I really think I just need to sleep. I already feel a little better now that I am lying down.”"All right, but if you feel worse, you're telling me immediately.""I promise."Kian smiled and kissed his forehead."Sleep, Peach."Peach intended to answer, but his thoughts had already begun to drift apart, leaving him unable to summon the words he wanted. He closed his eyes, telling himself that he would feel better after a proper rest.Kian remained beside him until his breathing became slow and regular, watching his face with an expression that gradually lost some of its tension.Eventually, when he was satisfied that Peach had fallen asleep, he carefully eased himself away from the bed and adjusted the covers around his husband. He paused at the bedside, looking down at the man who had somehow managed to turn his entire world upside down without appearing to make any effort at all.Six months into their marriage, Kian still found himself occasionally astonished by how much he loved him.He bent to press another kiss to Peach's forehead before leaving the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.Downstairs, the children were waiting.Mork immediately approached him."Is Papa sleeping?""Yes," Kian replied, crouchingdown to meet his gaze. "He's very tired, so I want you both to let him rest for a while.""Can we see him later?""We`ll see. When he wakes up, you can ask him whether he feels well enough to play."Mork looked disappointed, but he nodded, apparently willing to accept the arrangement provided it did not mean abandoning the possibility of playing with Papa altogether.Marn was quieter, watching Kian with the thoughtful expression she had worn earlier."Is he really just tired?"Kian looked at her for a moment before answering."I think he's been working too hard, but we'll see how he feels after he's slept."It was an honest answer, even if he did not entirely believe that exhaustion explained everything.He had noticed how pale Peach had looked in the car, and the weakness in his husband's legs had worried him more than he wanted to admit. However, Peach had been awake, able to answer questions, and sufficiently coherent to complain about the possibility of being carried, which had reassured Kian enough that he had agreed to let him rest for the time being.He was not going to ignore the possibility that something else might be wrong, but neither did he intend to frighten the children by suggesting that their father might be seriously ill."Your papa needs some peace and quiet," he continued, brushing a hand over Mork's hair. "So I want you to stay downstairs for a while, all right? If you need anything, you come and find me or the nanny, but you don't go into the bedroom to wake him."Mork nodded, and Marn gave him a small, thoughtful smile."All right, Dad."Kian kissed both children on the forehead before returning to the sitting room, where he intended to finish a few things he had abandoned when Peach called him from the studio.He had barely settled at his desk when his phone rang with a call from one of his business associates. The conversation required his attention, and for the next several minutes he was occupied with a matter that had already been delayed once that afternoon.It was not an especially complicated problem, but it was sufficiently important that he had to concentrate on the details, and he was still speaking when the children exchanged a glance across the sitting room.~•~Mork had been watching the clock. Marn had been watching the corridor.After half an hour of waiting and quietly playing by themselves, Mork leaned toward his sister and lowered his voice."Papa's been asleep for ages."Marn glanced at the clock before looking back at him."It's only been a little while.""It feels like ages.""He said he was tired.""I know, but he promised we'd play later."Marn hesitated, her expression growing thoughtful. She had been thinking about the way Peach had held on to Kian when he came home, and the way his smile had seemed a little strange when he promised to play with them. She had never seen him quite like that before, and the memory had left her feeling uneasy."Maybe we should just check on him," she suggested quietly. "We don't have to wake him if he's sleeping."Mork immediately brightened at the idea."Exactly."Neither of them intended to disobey their dad for the sake of causing trouble. They simply wanted to see Peach, and they had convinced themselves that looking through the bedroom door would not count as disturbing him. Mork reached the landing first and pushed the door open carefully, peering inside before stepping into the room."Papa?"The curtains were partly drawn against the afternoon sunlight, leaving the bedroom in a soft, muted light. Peach lay on his side beneath the covers, his head resting against the pillow and one arm bent awkwardly near his chest. His phone lay on the bedside table, its screen dark.Mork approached the bed and placed one hand on the mattress."Papa, we're here."Peach did not move so Mork climbed onto the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him too much, and leaned forward to look at his face."Papa, wake up. You said we could play later."There was no response. Marn stood beside the bed, watching her father with a growing sense of unease.Usually, Peach responded to them even when he was exhausted. He would open one eye, complain that they were being noisy, or pull them both into a hug and pretend that he intended to keep them trapped beneath the covers for the rest of the afternoon. He might even threaten to tickle them until they begged for mercy, which was one of Mork's favourite ways to convince him to get out of bed.Now, however, Peach remained completely still.Marn moved closer."Papa?"She touched his shoulder gently, waiting for him to stir, but nothing happened.Mork frowned and shook Peach's arm, a little harder this time. He started to get nervous. "Papa, come on. We're here."Peach's head shifted against the pillow, but his eyes remained closed, and he did not make any sound. Mork's expression changed into one of fear."Papa?"He shook him again, more insistently, while Marn reached for Peach's hand and tried to squeeze it."Papa, can you hear me?"There was no answer. For a moment, both children simply stared at him, struggling to understand why their father was not responding to them. Then Marn's face went pale."Mork, something's wrong.""No, he's just sleeping.""He's not waking up."Mork shook Peach's shoulder again, this time with enough force to make the covers move."Papa! Wake up!"The words came out louder than he intended, and the sound of his own voice seemed to frighten him when Peach still did not respond.Marn leaned closer, touching his father's cheek with trembling fingers and tears in her voice."Papa, please wake up."He was warm, and he was breathing, but he did not react when she called his name.Marn felt tears gathering in her eyes."Mork, go get Dad."Mork scrambled off the bed and ran toward the door, calling for Kian as he hurried down the corridor.Marn remained beside Peach, gripping his hand with both of hers and trying desperately to convince herself that he would wake up if she simply kept talking to him."Papa, please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You said you'd play with us."She had never been frightened of her father's bedroom before, but the quiet seemed different now, and the familiar sight of Peach lying in bed had become something she could barely bear to look at.When Mork's voice echoed through the corridor, calling for Kian again, Marn finally began to cry.~•~Kian was halfway through answering a question when he heard Mork shouting his name.He looked up immediately, recognising the difference between his son's ordinary calls and the sharp, frightened sound that had suddenly filled the house."Dad!"The chair scraped against the floor as Kian stood."What's wrong?"Mork appeared in the doorway, breathless and visibly frightened."Papa won't wake up!"For a fraction of a second, Kian did not move.Then his expression changed.The warmth that had softened his face throughout the afternoon disappeared, replaced by a stillness so complete that the staff member standing behind Morks, alarmed by the childs shouting, instinctively stepped aside.Kian was already moving before Mork finished answering.He crossed the corridor and took the stairs quickly, reaching the bedroom within seconds. When he entered, he found Marn beside the bed, crying as she held Peach's hand, while Peach himself lay exactly where Kian had left him.For one brief, terrible moment, the room seemed to narrow around the sight.Then Kian was at the bedside."Peach."He placed a hand against his husband's shoulder, leaning closer as he called his name again."Peach, can you hear me?"There was no response as Kian touched his cheek, then his shoulder, trying to rouse him without shaking him violently."Peach, open your eyes for me."Nothing.He could see Peach's chest moving, but his husband remained completely unresponsive, and the sight sent a cold, unfamiliar fear through him.Kian did not allow it to reach his face.He turned toward the doorway, where the nanny, two bodyguards and the head butler had appeared after hearing the commotion."Call for an ambulance immediately," he ordered. "Tell them Khun Peach is unconscious and not responding. I want the entrance cleared so they can get here without delay."The butler stared at him for only a moment before moving."Yes, Khun Kian."Marn was still crying beside the bed, and when Kian looked at her, he softened his expression enough to reach out and draw her toward him."Mark, Mork, I need you to go downstairs with the nanny for a little while.""But Papa won't wake up.""I know."The words were quiet, and for the first time since entering the room, Kian allowed himself to look directly at his daughter rather than at the emergency unfolding around them."I know, sweetheart, and we're going to get him help. I need you and Mork to stay with the nanny while the doctors look after Papa, all right?"Marn clung to him for a moment, her small shoulders trembling as she tried to stop crying.The Nanny came into the room to usher the crying and unwilling children away from the scene. Her voice remained low and sensible, leaving no room for the kids to argue as she lead them away.Once they were gone, Kian returned his attention to Peach.He had faced situations in which other people had panicked, lost their composure, or made decisions that had placed everyone around them in greater danger. He had learned a long time ago that fear was not an excuse to stop thinking, and that the people depending on him needed clear instructions far more than they needed to see how frightened he might be.So he kept his hands steady and his voice controlled as he leaned closer to his husband."Peach, it's Kian. I'm right here."He brushed his fingers over Peach's hair, searching his face for any sign that he could hear him."Come on, darling. I need you to wake up."Peach remained still.He reached for Peach's hand, closing his fingers around it.His wedding ring caught briefly against the edge of the blanket as he adjusted his grip, and the sight of it made something painful tighten in his chest.Six months ago, he had stood beside Peach and promised to spend the rest of his life looking after him. He had never imagined that keeping that promise would involve standing beside their bed and begging his husband to open his eyes."Peach," he whispered, leaning closer. "Please, darling."The paramedics arrived moments later, carrying the equipment they needed to assess Peach's condition. Kian stepped back immediately when they approached, answering their questions as clearly as he could and giving them every detail he remembered from the afternoon. He explained that Peach had returned from work feeling unwell, complaining of nausea, dizziness, and a headache. He told them that Peach had appeared exhausted and had wanted to sleep, but that he had been awake and able to speak normally when they first arrived home. He also told them how long Peach had been asleep, as far as he could estimate, and how the children had found him when they went upstairs to see him.The paramedics listened carefully, checking Peach's responsiveness and breathing while preparing him for emergency transport.Kian watched every movement, memorising the instructions they gave one another and resisting the urge to ask questions that would only interrupt their work. He did not know what else to tell them. He did not know why Peach had become so ill. All he knew was that Peach had gone to work that morning expecting an ordinary day, had returned home feeling unwell, and was now lying in their bedroom, nor responding. One of the medics explained that Peach needed urgent assessment at the hospital, and Kian agreed immediately, asking only what he needed to do to accompany his husband.When they lifted Peach onto the stretcher, Kian moved out of their way, watching carefully as they secured him for transport. He had to force himself not to reach for Peach again.It was an absurd reaction, he knew, because the medical staff were doing exactly what they needed to do, and touching his husband would not somehow make him wake up. Nevertheless, he wanted to hold Peach's hand, to brush his hair away from his forehead, and to tell him that everything would be all right until he believed it himself. Instead, he followed the medics into the corridor, where the nanny stood with Mork and Marn, trying to lead the children farther away.Marn's eyes widened when she saw Peach on the stretcher."Papa!"She tried to move toward him, but the nanny caught her gently before she could get too close to the medical equipment.~•~The journey to the hospital passed in a blur of movement, medical equipment, and questions that Kian answered as best he could, although his attention remained fixed on the man lying motionless on the stretcher beside him.The medic continued monitoring Peach's condition, explaining what he was checking and what information he would need to pass on to the emergency department. Kian listened carefully. He had already instructed his security team to follow the ambulance, and the two bodyguards were travelling directly behind them in a separate vehicle, ready to handle whatever awaited them at the hospital. Also in the car was Kian's assistant. The men had been with Kian for years and always took on the job as Kians assistant whenever Mok had been unavailable in the past.His husband looked terribly pale beneath the harsh white light of the ambulance, his features strangely unfamiliar without the little expressions Kian knew so well. He had seen Peach asleep hundreds of times, usually with his head resting on Kian's shoulder or tucked against his side, and he knew the difference between genuine rest and the stubborn refusal to wake up when someone tried to disturb him. This was nothing like sleep. There was no familiar frown when the medic adjusted something, no sleepy complaint when Kian held his hand, and no unconscious movement toward the warmth of another person.Peach did not respond when Kian spoke to him, and his fingers remained limp in Kian's grasp. Kian had never considered himself a particularly patient man, but he had learned over the years that panic rarely improved a situation. Whatever was happening to Peach, the medic needed his cooperation, not an angry husband demanding answers nobody had yet been able to provide. So Kian remained seated beside the stretcher, his voice steady when he answered questions, even as he silently catalogued every change in Peach's appearance and every detail the medic mentioned.The rear doors opened, and a waiting medical team moved with the efficiency of people who had been briefed on the situation before the ambulance arrived. One physician immediately began speaking with the medic while the nurses prepared to transfer Peach onto the hospital stretcher. Kian stepped aside when instructed, allowing them to work without interference, but he remained close enough to see his husband throughout the transfer.His two bodyguards and assistant arrived moments later.They did not crowd the medical staff or attempt to obstruct the entrance. Instead, one guard positioned himself near the doors leading into the emergency department while the other remained a short distance behind Kian, keeping the immediate area clear. Their presence was discreet, but unmistakable to anyone who happened to notice them.Kian followed the stretcher inside as his assistant fell into step beside him. “I've already contacted the hospital director. I've also arranged a private room in the executive medical wing for when they are ready to transfer him. They'll begin the necessary investigations immediately."“Inform my brother and Mok.”“Yes, Kuhn Thee.”The emergency physician introduced himself as they moved through the department, explaining that Peach would be assessed immediately and that the team would begin investigating the cause of his sudden deterioration. A nurse approached with questions about his medical history, medications, allergies, and the symptoms that had preceded his collapse. Kian answered everything he knew, a second time, trying to keep a hold on his thinning patients.Everything became a blur, when the nurse thanked him and rushed off to follow the physician and therefore Peach. For a moment, Kian remained where he was, watching until the last glimpse of Peach disappeared from sight.He stepped away from the doors, not because he was content to leave Peach behind, but because he understood that they wouldn't let him follow them any further. The doctors needed room to work, and he had no intention of making their jobs harder merely because he was frightened.His assistant settled nearby, ready to deal with the calls and practical arrangements that would otherwise have fallen to Kian. It was a small but important distinction: Kian would remain available to the medical team and make every necessary decision concerning Peach's care, while someone else handled the machinery surrounding them.Mok would ordinarily have been the person standing at his side in a situation like this, anticipating what Kian needed before he had to ask. But Mok was with Rome, and Kian had deliberately sent him away to be with the one he loved. Mok deserved to be with Rome, not waiting in a hospital corridor because Kian had become accustomed to having him within reach.Besides, Kian had other people he could rely on.He glanced at his phone, where a message from Mok was waiting.Mok: We're on the way.~•~The first medical update came sooner than Kian had expected, although it did little to ease his concern. The emergency physician returned with a preliminary explanation of what the team had established so far, carefully distinguishing between what they knew and what they were still investigating."Your husband remains unconscious," he said. "We're monitoring him closely and have begun the necessary tests. His condition is critical, and we haven't identified a definitive cause yet. The symptoms you described are important, particularly the progression from nausea and dizziness to loss of consciousness, but we need the investigation results before we can draw conclusions."Kian listened without interrupting."How is he now?""We're actively managing his condition, but I don't want to give you false reassurance before we have the results. We'll keep you informed as we learn more.""Then I expect to be told immediately if anything changes.""You will be."The hospital director had ensured that the appropriate senior staff were involved, and Kian's assistant had already confirmed that the private medical suite was ready for Peach as soon as his condition permitted the transfer. A dedicated nurse would be assigned to coordinate communication with the family, and the physicians would have access to whatever additional resources they deemed necessary.Money could secure privacy, access, and the attention of people whose time was normally difficult to obtain. Influence could make sure that requests reached the right person without disappearing beneath a mountain of administrative paperwork. Neither could force a diagnosis out of an inconclusive test or guarantee that a critically ill patient would recover.Kian knew the difference.He would use every advantage available to him, but he would not confuse those advantages with control over what happened next.Kian remained in the private waiting area his assistant had arranged. The bodyguards had taken up positions near the entrance, where they could keep the area undisturbed without interfering with hospital staff. His assistant sat nearby, quietly managing incoming calls and making certain that Kian would not have to think about anything unrelated to Peach unless he chose to.For the first time since the children had called for help, there was nothing immediate for Kian to do. His hands rested on his knees, and his gaze remained fixed on the doors leading to the treatment area. Anyone passing through the corridor might have mistaken him for a businessman waiting for a routine consultation, his dark expression and immaculate composure giving away very little.Only the tension in his jaw betrayed how hard he was working to maintain that composure.He thought about the bedroom at home, about Peach lying beneath their covers with his head resting against the pillow, and about the way he had complained that Kian was being bossy when his husband insisted that he get some rest.He thought about Mork and Marn at home, waiting for Papa, and wondered how long it would take before they began asking questions he could not yet answer.He had wanted Peach to have his work back, his independence, and the freedom to pursue the things that made him happy, even if it meant learning to live with the now unfamiliar discomfort of not having him within reach every hour of the day. He had known that returning to work would mean long afternoons apart, unfamiliar clients, changing schedules, and the occasional late night spent editing photographs when Kian would much rather have had his husband tucked against his side.Those were ordinary inconveniences. They were part of building a life together, and Kian had accepted them because Peach deserved to have a life that belonged to him as much as it belonged to them.He had never imagined that an ordinary working afternoon would end with Peach unconscious in a hospital bed.