Chapter Text
Employees at DMD Corporation were said to be the luckiest in all of Thailand's corporate world.
Namping would like to call that bullshit.
He didn't feel lucky working overtime on a Friday, when he could instead be relaxing in his bath right now, a glass of white wine in hand. Namping didn't feel lucky under the Director's harsh and ever-present gaze. If anything, he felt cursed. To Namping, the corporate life felt like modern slavery. The abundance of benefits that came with working a 9 to 5 couldn't possibly be all that worth the seemingly never-ending endeavor.
A multitude of files were strewn across Namping's desk, and after going at it for almost three hours straight, the words on his paperwork were starting to melt into puddles of ink. Perhaps Namping was going crazy.
"You're still here?" Thomas snickered, a briefcase in hand. He looked to be clocking out of work.
Namping looked up at him, seconds away from pulling his hair out. Thomas had his right arm on top of Namping's cubicle divider, hip jutting out in a pathetic attempt to rile him up.
The sun was well below the horizon, the last remnants of soft orange light permeated the office.
Namping lazily dropped his pen down onto his table, placing his arms behind his head. He leaned back into his chair, "If it weren't for that asshole, I would've left two hours ago. Two!"
"Sucks to be you. I gotta say, though, Ping–"
"I told you not to call me that."
Thomas rolled his eyes, straightening up, "Like I was saying, it isn't exactly his fault. That new intern of ours, Pong? Kong? Whatever. That guy— he mixed up the file content for three of our clients."
Namping was aware of this, and he couldn't bring himself to blame Kong. With Keng Harit as their Director, who wouldn't crack under pressure and mess up?
"I'm cleaning up someone else's mess," Namping murmured, realization hitting him.
Thomas nodded, slowly, "You're cleaning up someone's mess," he pitifully gave Namping a pat on the shoulder, "and I'm leaving. Good luck!"
Namping watched Thomas walk out of the office, shooting daggers at his retreating back. This wasn't a rare sight for him, Namping often stayed back late to finish up his work. He had the option of getting it done at his apartment, but Namping refused to bring torture back to his safe space. He would rather die than be reminded of his monotonous job when he's on the couch watching his comfort shows.
Namping watched the hands on the clock tick by as he sped through the last of his paperwork, a newfound surge of energy quickly returning to his body. He felt himself smile, giddy with the thought of skipping to his apartment and becoming one with his soft bed.
"Finally..." Namping whispered to himself, wiping the non-existent sweat off of his forehead.
Stacking all the files together, Namping pushed himself off his chair, making his way to the Director's cabin.
This was probably the part he hated most. Every time Namping would walk into his cabin, it was as though his soul was sucked out of him. The room itself was darker than the rest of the office, adding to the depressed atmosphere inside.
Namping slowed down when he was almost at the door, taking a deep breath in and exhaling out of his mouth, nodding to himself.
The handle to the door was ice-cold as Namping twisted it, slowly pushing the door open. It creaked, once, twice, and a final third as it fully swung open.
In Namping's direct view was a large floor to ceiling glass pane window, spanning across an entire wall in the cabin. Despite the yellows and pinks of the city lights, the grey paint on the walls shined the brightest. In the centre was a large mahogany table, housing two monitors. Namping wasn't sure why he needed two PCs, it was obnoxious.The wood seemed to be glistening from this angle.
In the middle of it all sat the devil himself: Keng Harit.
Keng seemed to be occupied, right hand clicking away at his mouse. Namping tip-toed his way across the room, his gaze lowered and focused on his shoes. Once his feet nearly touched the front of the table, he swiftly placed the files onto it and turned around, making a run for it.
"Napatsakorn," Keng called, his voice quiet.
Namping stopped in his tracks, eyes slightly widened.
Why can't he just call me Namping?
His shoulders sunk, and he turned around, regretfully. Namping raised his head, still unable to see Keng's face. It was a good thing, Namping didn't want his brooding expression to ruin his mood.
"Do you not know how to knock?" Keng asked, somewhat distracted. A black tie hung loosely around his collar, a stark contrast against his white shirt.
"I didn't think you'd be in here, Phi," Namping lied straight through his teeth, hoping he sounded convincing. He knew Keng would be here, he always is. Nearly everyday, Keng would come into work early and leave last. Even if it meant staying back hours after sunset. Namping wasn't sure what sort of gratification this gave him, but it added to the whole psychopath demeanor. It made sense after all.
Namping took a few steps forward, accepting his fate. He wasn't going to get to leave soon.
Click. Click.
"Is that so?" Keng hummed.
Namping could see the top half of his head from here, the rest of it covered by the PC. Keng had his hair in a comma style like he usually did, a few strands effortlessly falling to the front, like it was intentional.
Click.
Keng's hair, although nearly perfect, wasn't as fresh looking as it was in the morning. It looked like he might've ran his hand through it a few times, probably out of frustration.
Namping nodded, hoping Keng could see it through his periphery.
Namping assumed he did see it, because he then heard Keng hum softly, an acknowledgement of sorts.
"I hope you've finished the work I assigned, Mr. Napat."
Click. Click.
At this, Namping raised his brows. He didn't even bother acknowledging the huge stack of paperwork that he had worked so hard to finish, and still had the audacity to ask?
"What do you think I just put down on your table?"
The clicking stopped.
Namping flit his gaze from the table to Keng, and he felt himself go cold, because Keng was looking straight at him.
Keng's eyes were half- lidded, and if you really looked closer, the bags under his eyes were more or less visible. Namping looked into his eyes, searching for any hints of anger or annoyance, and yet he found nothing. Maybe it was the exhaustion on Keng's face from overworking himself, but Namping felt a twinge of guilt.
"Bratty, are we?" Keng chuckled softly, his hand back on the mouse. He clicked twice, and the soft blue light that reflected onto his features slowly dimmed down, completely disappearing. Keng found Namping's eyes again for a brief second before he looked away, his expression unreadable.
Namping, safe to say, was dumbfounded. He expected snarky comments, eye-rolling, an argument even. Instead, he got this. A feeling he thought he would never in a million years harbour for a man like Keng. Pity.
Keng was a privileged man, as far as privilege could go. DMD Corporation was basically handed to him on a silver platter. At least, that's what the tabloids say. Namping was never really interested in fact-checking, but if it was published, it must be true.
Keng picked up the stack of files, giving them a quick look before he stood up, grabbing his blazer off of a coat rack somewhere against the wall.
Namping took this as a sign to leave, turning on his heel. He was quick to reach the door, hand on the doorknob.
"Napat?" Keng's voice resounded in the bleak room.
Namping paused, his head turned slightly over his shoulder, his breathing steady.
"Thank you. For... Yeah, just, thank you," Keng sounded almost embarrassed to be thanking Namping, but there was a softness in his voice. It wasn't loud, but it was there. It wasn't something he heard very often, if at all. Namping was accustomed to him being reserved, a man of few words when it came to conversations outside of work. And while they were at work, Keng would go around barking orders in that grumpy tone of his.
Namping closed the door behind him, and his breath hitched.
࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆
"I think-"
"You can think?" Thomas snorted, pushing in a button to dispense his coffee.
Namping groaned, "Shut it."
"I think something's wrong with Keng," Namping furrowed his brows, tapping his nails on his coffee mug.
Thomas sipped his coffee, and Namping is pretty sure the idiot just burned himself.
"You always think something's wrong with P'Keng, I'm not surprised," Thomas shrugged, indifferent about the situation, like it was the most obvious thing on the planet (it was).
It wasn't completely true, but it also wasn't completely a lie. Namping was aware of how he felt a certain way towards Keng. A bad certain way. He couldn't get past the fact that Keng was beyond condescending, paired with him being a perfectionist in the worst way possible. It brought out a feeling of rage Namping didn't know it was possible to even feel.
Namping knew corporate wasn't easy, but he also didn't turn in his application form assuming he would be signing his life away to slave around for that sociopath boss of his.
"No, look, I think there's actually something wrong with him this time," Namping exclaimed, there's no way he wasn't right about this.
As much as Namping would hate to admit it, he often found his eyes linger just a tad bit longer than they should. He'd notice the way Keng would fidget with his cuff links, or the way he would tap his fingers on his table in a specific beat that was always the same every single time he did it. Naturally, Namping was able to pick up on the subtle changes in Keng's demeanor as of late.
In the morning, his usual authoritative glares were replaced by tired, downcast eyes. Keng still managed to command respect and undivided attention, because as soon as he walked in, everyone in the room would straighten up, more or less trying to impress him. When Namping would pass by his cabin, intentionally slowing down, he would hear Keng reprimanding lazy employees— voice gruff. Now, Keng sounds feeble, like it takes a toll on his body to push out words.
"He's acting less like an asshole and more like a normal person, Thomas. That has to be enough of a reason to think there's something up with him."
Thomas wasn't sure when it started: this weird obsession Namping had with Keng, "Leave the poor guy alone, he's been staying back everyday this week. It's probably the workload getting to him."
Namping shook his head, still not convinced, "He's pretending he isn't literally the devil. I will get to the bottom of this. Mark my words."
The low hum of the mini fridge in their office pantry was the only other noise filling the silence, save for Namping's demented ramblings.
"Maybe he's trying to seduce the intern. You know what? That's probably it. Can you imagine falling for that conceited nutcase?" Namping huffed, placing his hands on his hips.
"Will you relax? I don't get why you're so obsessed with hi-"
"Obsessed? I can't believe you would accuse me of such things!" Namping squeaked, he could feel his ears getting slightly warm, a blushed pink appearing on the skin there.
"Anyway, speaking of the intern," Thomas stated, "P'Keng has asked the two of you to report to his cabin at 3:00 p.m."
Namping felt himself die a little on the inside. Keng was the last person he wanted to face today. Namping had already lost two hours of sleep the previous night, his neighbor from hell deciding it would be the perfect time to drill holes in the wall at four in the morning.
"It's 3:05 right now," Namping grunted, mentally preparing himself to get yelled at.
Thomas nodded, unfazed, "What're you still standing around for? Your knight awaits you, princess."
Namping haphazardly set his unfinished coffee down and rolled his eyes at Thomas' stupid shit-eating grin, hands reaching up to pat down his hair. He wasn't sure why he did that, because he sure as hell did not care what Keng 'The Devil' Harit thought of him. To put things into perspective, Namping didn't always aimlessly hate on Keng. In fact, Namping looked up to him. At least, he used to look up to him. A hard-worker with a drive to push himself beyond his limits, maintaining a calm and collective composure on the outside, even if his world was falling apart on the inside. The mental strain that came with running a company was vast, and Keng was no exception to such a disease. The bags under his eyes and the slouch in his walk were enough of a symptom for Namping to diagnose him with 'Miserable and Bossy Syndrome'.
On his way to Keng's cabin, Namping spotted their new intern—Kong. Kong was standing by a large, industrial printer, eyes glancing back and forth from his tablet to the printer's -confusing- buttons. Namping remembers the times where he used to feel the strong urge to round-house kick that damned printer when he was new. Namping sauntered over to Kong, taking in his attire. Kong was sporting a cute, light blue sweater vest today, a long sleeve white shirt underneath. He looked like a little puppy, the runt of the litter.
"Kong?" Namping beckoned, a soft smile on his face. He hoped a smile would ease Kong's nerves. It wasn't uncommon to be met with tired, unimpressed faces at their office.
Kong looked up in a frenzy, nearly dropping his tablet onto the ground, "Phi! I didn't see you there, I'm sorry."
Namping giggled, shaking his head dismissively, "Don't worry about it, I'm not angry. I'm not P'Keng, you don't have to be so shaken around me." Namping focused his gaze onto Kong's face now, trying to gauge his reaction to what he just said.
"P'Keng?" Kong tilted his head, looking confused. It was almost as if he was unable to believe that Keng was capable of being anything other than sweet and welcoming. Namping almost rolled his eyes.
Kong set his tablet down next to the printer and chuckled nervously, his hands fiddling with the stray threads on his sweater, "P'Keng isn't actually that bad... Everyone around here says the same, too. If I'm gonna be honest, Phi, you scare me more."
Namping's jaw dropped in utter and absolute shock, "Me? You're scared of me? You think I'm worse than- Ah, forget it. He's called us to his cabin, by the way. We better get going, you don't wanna be late and upset your Phi."
This time, Namping did roll his eyes.
Sure, Namping was loud and boisterous, sometimes a little too loud. He spoke with tenacity, and he was shamelessly straightforward. Namping carried himself with poise, refusing to display his disposition for his workplace. Thomas, in a way, kept him sane. When he wasn't driving Namping mad, he was a good source of comfort. Thomas would regularly stay back with Namping, bringing him coffee to help keep his eyes open. Namping did think of quitting, but he also needed a roof over his head and food in his stomach to survive the bustling city life of Bangkok. The upkeep definitely wasn't cheap, and neither was Namping.
Unfortunately for Namping, the walk to Keng's cabin was rather short. The two stood outside the door in shared silence, waiting for either of them to lift their hand up to the door and knock. Kong silently gave in, his knuckles finally making contact with the door. On the third knock, they heard a quiet "Come in".
Kong pushed the door open, stepping aside to let Namping walk in first. Namping muttered a 'thanks', quickly entering the room. Kong followed shortly after, closing the door behind him.
Keng wasn't alone.
He was with a woman who sat across from him, bright red dress standing out like a sore thumb in his dim cabin. She sat with her right leg crossed over the other, sitting a little too straight to be comfortable. The woman reeked of perfume, the smell so strong it hurt Namping to inhale. He could already feel the incoming migraine.
"Who's this?" Namping inquired, his lips curving downwards, forming a small frown.
Only when everyone in the room turned to look at him did he realize he had said that out loud.
The woman gave Namping a pointed look, raising one of her eyebrows at him. She wore a perplexed expression on her face, like Namping had just committed blasphemy.
"Mr. Napat," Keng started, eyes boring into Namping's. Keng wore a navy blue shirt today, his tie a few shades darker. His voice was soft, like he was in a better mood compared to the previous today, "This is Leena, owner of Starlite Inc., our newest client."
Leena, the entitled woman, flashed a sickeningly sweet smile at Namping, her red lipstick matching the red of her dress.
You're kidding me, Namping thought, face-palming on the inside.
Namping let his eyes wander around the room for a bit before they landed on Keng. The rings on his fingers sparkled in the sun, and among them was one that Namping had gifted him last year. Namping felt his head clear up a bit, both confused and elated that Keng still had the heart to wear it a whole year later.
Namping's moment of peace quickly shattered.
Leena brought a hand up to her mouth, covering her obnoxious laugh, "Oh, Keng darling, he seems quite flustered. I've been told I had that effect on people, I didn't think I would catch it in real time." She brushed her hand against his arm, her gaze lingering.
Keng smiled at her, oblivious, "This is Napatsakorn, one of our long-standing employees. He's been a good asset to the company, Leena."
All Namping could do was watch in disbelief at the circus that went down in front of him. Who did she think she was? He felt Kong's worried gaze on him. Namping was used to meeting all sorts of people that walked into DMD Corporation, people that respected him just as much they respected Keng, and people that outright ignored his presence. Like Keng mentioned, Namping truly was their biggest asset. He was the voice of the company, helping secure contracts and making their clients feel utmost comfort.
Now, this? Namping would rather turn in a resignation letter.
There was nothing he hated more than someone like Leena— fake, condescending, and clearly wanting to get into his Director's pants.
"You can call me Namping."
Leena, predictable, cackled once more. She flipped her hair over, and Namping wanted to pull it out.
"Namping? Well that's a silly name," Leena batted her eyelashes, hands resting on her knees.
Namping grit his teeth, forcing a smile back at her.
Sensing the tension, Kong spoke up, "P'Keng, you asked for us?"
Keng nodded, like he just realized they were standing there for a reason, "Napat, Kong, you're going to be guiding Ms. Leena throughout her stay here at the company. Until this project is done being under works, I need the two of you to assist her with whatever she asks of you."
"But-" Namping was interrupted.
"I'm sure there's no need to further discuss this. The two of you can leave now," Keng turned a few pages over on a file that sat on the desk in front of him. He looked up, catching Namping's eye. Keng always seemed so unreadable to Namping, which somehow sounded impossible to literally everybody else at their office. But in that moment, Keng's gaze softened, his crimson lips parted.
For a split second, Keng's eyes glimmered with an apology: I'm sorry. He blinked, his eyelashes discarding any evidence of what Namping had always wanted. For Keng to show him a side he kept hidden away.
Despite the implications of Namping's hostile attitude towards Keng, his actions showed otherwise. It was a secret that Namping kept to himself, one that he whispered into Keng's hot morning coffee that he would deliver to him everyday without fail. A secret that he hushed down when he felt his heart thump against his ribcage just a little faster. A secret that Namping definitely did not want to admit. Namping may have recklessly caused a few minor riffs between Keng and himself. It was only natural, of course, a consequence of putting a stubborn, brazen employee and an uptight, hot-headed boss in the same room.
This meant war.