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Namping was sulking.
As per usual, it was adorable. And, in a bit of a twist, it was not Keng’s fault, Keng able to fully enjoy the way Namping wrapped an arm around his bicep, tucking himself against Keng’s side as the elevator doors closed.
They were in a hotel in Macau, on their way to the airport to head back home. The event had been a short one, and with the clothes they'd worn at the event traveling safely with their stylist, their only luggage was a single duffel bag, slung over Keng’s shoulder. Namping was pouting down at the cell phone in his hands.
“What is it?” Keng asked him, his voice soft and close. Still perfectly audible, though; Maecha was the only other person in the elevator with them, and at the implication that something might be wrong, her head shot up. She and Namping were both scrolling the comments of Namping’s most recent Twitter post.
The caption of the post was innocent enough, thanking fans for their attendance and for welcoming them so sweetly. The pictures attached were… not as innocent. They were the Namping of ninety minutes ago, sitting up in their hotel room bed as though just roused, his eyes glassy and hair mussed, his pajama shirt rumpled. He looked like an absolute dream, and if his lips seemed a little kiss-swollen, then… A fun treat for the fans to speculate over.
It was a little more risqué than Namping would usually post, but Maecha had approved it and Namping had wanted to, rolling close to Keng under the sheets, saying that he felt good and wanted to preserve the moment. Who was Keng to refuse him? Sure, Keng knew that he could get jealous, but he felt secure in the knowledge that Namping’s freshly hickey-littered thighs were hidden under the blankets, and that the matching pants to Namping’s pajama shirt were slung low on his own hips.
And… it was nice to show him off, sometimes.
“No one's saying anything bad,” Maecha said, matter-of-fact, her eyes going back to her phone.
“I know,” Namping mumbled and, if possible, sunk into Keng even further. The elevator doors ding!-ed open.
“Then what is it?” Keng asked again, the three of them stepping out into a surprisingly empty hallway. That had Namping huffing and releasing him—maybe it was becoming Keng’s fault after all—scrolling for just a second before seemingly finding what he was looking for and brandishing his phone in Keng’s direction.
“It's this.”
It was a reply tweet, and it was in English, the foreign language so unexpected that it took a moment for Keng’s eyes to focus on the letters. He recognized his own name pretty quickly—Keng Harit—but Namping took pity on him before he could decipher the rest, pulling his phone back and reading.
“It says Keng Harit, can you fight? It's asking if you're able to fight. There are hundreds of these.”
Namping navigated over to the quote tweets, Keng peeking over Namping’s shoulder in interest. The tweet that was being quoted was horribly distracting, but eventually Keng did realize that the longer Namping scrolled, the more the sentiment appeared; sometimes with different wording, sure, but the meaning was the same. There was even a particularly bold battle cry of “Come on guys, he can't fight all of us!”
“It's a compliment!” Maecha insisted, giving a wave of her hand. “It’s just a meme. It means that you look so good they want to steal you away, and they need to know how prepared against Nong Keng they need to be.”
“I know!” Namping said, a little more insistent, but still completely sulky. Keng hadn't known that, but now that he did, he was failing to see the issue.
“Are you sulking because you don't think I can fight?” he had to ask, stopping to shoulder the duffel bag a little higher, something that seemed to send Maecha into a fit of giggles. He saw her raise her phone in their direction out of the corner of his eye.
“No,” Namping said, before looking properly at him. “I mean, I don't know. Can you?”
The unexpected question sent Keng floundering for a second, Maecha laughing again, Namping sighing before he could answer.
“No, it's that… How come everyone thinks that you're the only person they would have to fight to take me away from you?” The pout was so thick that his next words were steeped with it, Namping’s eyes angled towards the carpeted floor. “If they even want to try fighting you, they'd have to get through me first.”
Keng just had to stand and stare at him for a moment, the duffel bag slipping from his shoulder and catching on his elbow. Namping was going pinker and pinker, seemingly late in noticing Maecha recording them—this had become too intimate to post, a boundary that the woman knew well, but the fact that they had it for posterity was something that Keng was greatly enjoying, taking in the bashful frown on Namping’s face.
“I mean it,” Namping insisted, misreading Keng’s disbelief and definitely sulking at him now. “Anyone that would want to fight for my hand in—in—in romance—” The awkward dancing around the word “marriage” made Keng smile; marriage was what they were calling a “no" topic thanks to how genuinely emotional Keng had gotten when Pharan had proposed to Khem and gotten a yes, the two of them knowing and agreeing that despite the truth of KengNamping Forever, it wasn't the time for anything like that right now. “—they would have to fight me, too! But nobody seems to think that!”
He was so sulky. The restraint Keng was using to hold back his cuteness aggression completely broke, and after a quick glance down the hallway to make sure it was still empty—Keng himself didn't much care about that, but he knew Namping did—he let the duffel bag fall to the floor, taking two large steps and sweeping Namping up into his arms.
“Harit—!” Namping yelped as he was lifted off of his feet, the sound breaking into giggles as Keng spun them around. He was clutching at Keng’s neck, Keng letting out a loud, loud laugh. Keng couldn't help but nuzzle his face into the warm skin of Namping’s neck as their spinning slowed to simple stumbling, Namping still laughing, warm and happy.
They were seated side by side, hats pulled low, phones out, waiting for their plane to finish boarding. Keng opened up Twitter, navigating to Namping’s tweet and retweeting it. Then he replied, as he did with most of Namping’s tweets. He decided to keep it simple.
@harit_keng: I can fight 🤨
Namping saw the tweet immediately, giggling as he leaned his body against Keng’s shoulder. He began tapping at his phone too, Keng letting his head rest against Namping’s own as he watched.
@nampingnapat: and anyone that tries to fight bokbaek will find a bibi in their path 😤
That gave Keng the mental image of the two of them jumping defensively in front of each other ad infinitum, amused, nudging at Namping’s shoulder with his own.
“So sulky,” he remarked quietly, delighted when Namping sent a pointed frown his way.
Maecha posted next, Keng seeing the notification on Namping’s phone. The caption was something about “being a set”, but the attached video was what was important; she had trimmed what she'd recorded to just the sweeping hug, muted and slowed down, and with how she'd been behind Keng, Keng was now able to fully see Namping—the surprise on Namping’s face when he was picked up, the way it so immediately melted into that smile that made his teeth show and eyes disappear into crescents, all pink and happy. God, Keng loved him.
Thankfully for Namping’s mood, after the video, the tide of the memes shifted. They were now being compared to bonded pair animals, people slapping “Do Not Separate” stickers on photos of them. Keng thought that he might prefer fighting for Namping’s hand though when, through giggles, Namping showed him a picture of two kittens that fans were claiming were “them”: an orange one and a black and white tuxedo, sleeping half on top of each other. The orange one was lying primly, which made it obvious to Keng that that had to be Namping, the other one sprawled across the ginger kitten's back, looking directly into the camera lens and seemingly caught at the start of a yawn, its eyes slitted and mouth slightly open. It looked incredibly goofy, Keng glancing at Namping.
“That's what I look like to you?” he had to ask. Namping nodded, grinning.
“When I nudge you awake for snoring in my ear? That's exactly what you look like.”
“I only snore when I'm sick!” Keng protested, and Namping dissolved into giggles against him, leaning playfully against Keng’s arm. Keng let himself sulk, just a bit. “I’m not a cat. I thought I was your puppy.”
Namping looked at him, and a smile scrunched up his entire face.
“You are,” he said, reaching over and squishing at Keng’s chin with his fingers, his voice soft, secret, and wholly pleased. “Mine, mine, mine.”