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Duang was aware he loved Qin too much, and people around him had always reminded him of that. About how much he pampered Qin, how much he spoiled him, how much he protected him. They told him he was doing too much, but what could he do?
All he ever wanted to do was give everything to Qin; whatever he had to offer, it was all for him. There wasn’t one moment where he had thought he was too much - or maybe there were moments, but he couldn’t acknowledge them. He didn’t want to.
To him, Qin was someone who was never supposed to be with him; he was a person totally out of his league, but he still tried and never gave up. Duang did everything just for Qin to notice him, to remember him as someone who would cherish him wholeheartedly, and now that he was finally with Qin, he couldn’t seem to escape the endless commentary from the world outside.
People looked at how he anticipated Qin's every need, how he shielded him, and called it 'indulgent' or joked about how much he baby-ed and spoiled him. They meant it as a compliment, but it only made Duang's confidence waver.
To him, caring for Qin this deeply was completely natural—it was just what Qin deserved, and the only way he knew how to make him feel truly loved. But the constant drumming of too much, too much, too much was finally cracking his resolve.
A bitter streak of self-doubt was creeping in, making him feel incredibly insecure as he wondered if he really was overstepping, turning his normal expression of love into an unprompted burden.
Shaking his head slightly to clear the noise, Duang let his gaze drift across the room to where Qin was sitting. Qin was completely absorbed in his own world, utterly unaware of the storm brewing in Duang’s mind. Watching him like this—so serene, so beautifully untouched by the judgments of outsiders—made Duang’s heart ache with a familiar, fierce tenderness.
Every instinct inside him screamed to step across the room, to smooth down a stray lock of Qin's hair, to ask if he needed anything at all. It was what he always did. It was his normal.
But as he took a half-step forward, the phantom echo of everyone's warnings caught in his throat, making his feet heavy. His hand hovered in the air for a fraction of a second before he slowly let it drop back to his side. For the first time since they had been together, Duang hesitated to approach him, paralyzed by the sudden, terrifying thought that his comfort might actually look like a cage.
As if sensing the sudden shift in the air, Qin blinked and looked up from what he was doing. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Duang, who was still frozen a few paces away, a carefully constructed but strained smile plastered onto his face. Qin tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion.
To Qin, Duang was his constant, steady anchor—always right there, always anticipating his next move. Seeing him stand at a distance, looking so uncharacteristically distant and unsure, felt entirely wrong.
"Duang?" Qin called out softly, his voice cutting through the quiet room like a knife through the fog. "Is everything okay? Why are you standing all the way over there?"
The sound of his name on Qin’s lips sent a sharp pang through Duang’s chest. Every fiber of his being urged him to close the gap, to swallow his pride and pretend nothing was wrong.
But as he took a slow step closer, the heavy weight of his secret insecurity pressed down on him, making every movement feel like he was walking through deep water. He wanted nothing more than to cherish Qin completely, but now, he couldn't help but wonder if his love was starting to show its weight.
"I'm fine," Duang lied softly, the words tasting like ash as he finally reached the edge of where Qin sat. He forced his hands into his pockets, a deliberate restraint to keep himself from fussing over Qin's posture or adjusting the blanket near his feet. "Just got lost in thought for a moment."
Qin didn't look convinced. He closed his book entirely, setting it aside as his eyes locked onto Duang with unblinking focus. Qin was used to a specific version of Duang—one whose affection was an effortless, protective warmth that enveloped him before he even realized he needed it. This sudden emotional wall, thin as it was, felt like a sudden drop in temperature.
Reaching out, Qin caught Duang by the wrist. His grip wasn't tight, but it was enough to make Duang freeze. "You're doing it again," Qin murmured, looking up at him with a mixture of fondness and mild frustration. "You have that look on your face like you're carrying the weight of the world, and you're keeping me at arm's length."
Duang stared down at the hand wrapping around his wrist. The skin-on-skin contact sent a familiar jolt of affection through him, but right on its heels came that intrusive, mocking whisper of the crowd outside: You baby him. You're too much. Even now, looking at Qin's upturned face, Duang wondered if his hesitation was making things worse, or if his presence was already becoming the very cage he feared.
"I'm not keeping you at arm's length," Duang murmured, though the defense felt incredibly weak even to his own ears. He slowly let his wrist slip from Qin's grasp, missing the warmth immediately but terrified of what holding on too tightly might mean.
Qin let his hand drop to his lap, his gaze narrowing slightly. He wasn't fragile, and he hated when Duang treated him as if he might break at any moment. "Then come here. Sit down. You've been pacing and staring at me like you're trying to solve a puzzle."
Duang hesitated for a fraction of a second before finally sinking onto the edge of the seat beside Qin. The distance between them was only a few inches now, yet to Duang, it felt like an insurmountable chasm carved out by the opinions of people who didn't understand them.
He looked at Qin’s hands, now resting quietly on his lap, and fought down the overwhelming urge to take them in his own, to rub his thumbs over Qin's knuckles just to ground himself.
Too much, the phantom voices echoed in his mind again. You're smothering him.
"Qin," Duang started, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared at the space between them, unable to meet his eyes. "Do you... Do you ever feel like I'm around too much? Like, I don't give you enough space to just breathe?"
The question hung heavily in the air between them, the silence suddenly thick and fragile.
Qin didn’t answer right away. He didn't scoff or laugh it off, which somehow made Duang’s chest tighten even more. Instead, Qin just stared at him, his dark eyes searching Duang’s face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the tension radiating from his shoulders.
"Where is this coming from?" Qin asked softly. The irritation from a moment ago was entirely gone, replaced by a quiet, piercing seriousness.
Duang swallowed hard, his eyes still fixed on the floor. "People talk, Qin. They see how I am with you. They see how I... how I baby you, how I try to anticipate every single thing you could need before you even have to ask. They think it's too much. They say I'm spoiling you to a fault."
He let out a breathless, bitter laugh, finally looking up to meet Qin's gaze. "And maybe they're right. To me, it just feels normal. It’s the only way I know how to love you. But what if my 'normal' is actually suffocating you? What if I'm taking away your space without even realizing it?"
Qin listened, his expression softening into something deeply poignant. He didn’t pull away; instead, he leaned in slightly, closing the physical gap Duang had worked so hard to maintain.
"Duang, look at me," Qin commanded gently. When Duang’s anxious eyes locked onto his, Qin reached out, deliberately taking both of Duang's tense, reluctant hands in his own. He rubbed his thumbs over Duang's knuckles—mimicking the exact grounding gesture Duang always did for him.
"Do you think I'm a child who doesn't know his own mind?" Qin asked, his voice steady but laced with a fierce warmth. "If I felt suffocated, I would tell you. If I wanted space, I would take it. I am here because I want to be here. With you. Exactly as you are."
He squeezed Duang's hands tighter, refusing to let him drift back into his own head.
"The people outside don't know anything about us. They don't know how hard you tried for me, or how much it means to me that someone finally cares enough to protect me this fiercely. Let them call it spoiling. Let them call it 'too much.' To me, it’s the only place I’ve ever felt completely safe. So stop listening to them, Duang. Don't let their noise change the way you love me."
Duang looked down at their joined hands, watching Qin’s thumbs trace the lines of his knuckles. It was supposed to comfort him, but instead, the contrast of Qin’s steady reassurance against his own internal chaos only made the ache in his chest sharper.
"It’s not that easy, Qin," Duang whispered, his voice cracking slightly as the full weight of his insecurity spilled over.
He didn't pull his hands away, but his fingers remained stiff, reluctant to squeeze back. "You say you'd tell me, but what if you're just used to it by now? What if I’ve conditioned you to just accept me hovering over you?"
He looked up, his eyes glassy and intensely vulnerable. The fierce, confident Duang who had pursued someone entirely out of his league seemed to have vanished, replaced by a man terrified of his own shadow.
"When they talk about me babying you, it makes me feel like... like I'm failing you," Duang admitted, the words spilling out in a painful rush.
"Because to them, it looks like I don't trust you to be independent. And then I start looking at myself in the mirror, asking if they're right. Am I doing all this for you, or am I doing it because I'm terrified that if I stop being useful to you, even for a second, you’ll realize you don't actually need me here?"
He let out a ragged breath, a tear finally escaping and slipping down his cheek.
"Every time I look at you, I still see the person who was never supposed to be mine. I see the person I had to fight tooth and nail just to get to notice me. So when I pamper you, when I protect you from every little inconvenience, a part of me is just desperately trying to prove that I'm worth staying with.”
“But if that 'love' is actually making you weaker in the eyes of the world... if it’s making people look down on how we function... then my love isn't a gift, Qin. It’s a flaw. And I don’t know how to fix it without feeling like I'm abandoning you completely."
Qin didn’t let go. Even as Duang’s hands stayed rigid and stiff, Qin only tightened his grip, anchoring Duang to the present moment before the spiral could pull him under completely.
The room fell entirely quiet, save for the ragged sound of Duang’s breathing. Qin leaned in closer, his forehead gently resting against Duang’s tense shoulder for a brief second before he looked back up, forcing Duang to face the sheer sincerity in his eyes.
"Is that really what you think?" Qin’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried a profound sadness. "You think you’re only here because you’re useful to me?"
Duang tried to look away, but Qin wouldn’t let him.
"Listen to me, Duang," Qin said, his tone shifting into something fiercely protective—turning the tables on their usual dynamic.
"I didn't choose to be with you because you adjust my blankets, or because you anticipate what I want to eat, or because you protect me from the world. I chose you because of you. If you stopped doing all of those things tomorrow—if you didn't lift a single finger for me ever again—I would still be right here. I don't need a caretaker, Duang. I need you."
A heavy, emotional silence settled between them as Qin's words hung in the air.
"You think your love is a flaw because it makes me look weak to outsiders," Qin continued, his thumb gently reaching up to brush away the tear trailing down Duang's cheek.
"But their definition of strength isn't ours. They don't see that your tenderness is exactly what gives me the room to breathe. You aren't making me weaker. You're the only person who lets me lay my guard down. If that's what they call being 'babied,' then let them talk until they run out of breath."
Qin leaned forward, sealing the distance entirely until his lips pressed softly against Duang’s temple, lingering there until he felt the rigid tension in Duang’s shoulders finally begin to break.
"So don't you dare think you're failing me," Qin murmured against his skin. "And don't you dare change the way you look at me just because people who don't know us are loud."
The rigid wall Duang had built around his heart finally fractured.
With a shaky, uneven breath, the stiffness left his fingers. He flipped his hands over within Qin's grasp, squeezing back so tightly his knuckles turned white.
He buried his face into the crook of Qin’s neck, hiding away from the imaginary audience that had been tormenting him all afternoon. The familiar scent of Qin—clean, calming, and entirely his—flooded his senses, slowly washing away the bitter taste of the outsiders' words.
"I'm sorry," Duang choked out, his voice muffled against Qin’s skin. "I hate that I let them get into my head. I hate that I made you feel like I was pulling away."
Qin wrapped his arms securely around Duang’s shoulders, holding him close, letting his own warmth melt away the remaining paranoia. "Don't apologize for being vulnerable with me," Qin murmured, resting his cheek against Duang’s hair.
"For once, let me be the one holding you up. You don't have to carry the weight of protecting both of us all the time."
For a long time, neither of them spoke. The heavy silence that had suffocated the room earlier was gone, replaced by a quiet, grounding peace.
Duang held on, realizing with a wave of profound relief that his love wasn't a cage, and it wasn't a flaw. It was a shelter they had built together—and as long as Qin felt safe inside it, the rest of the world could say whatever they wanted.
The heavy, suffocating tension that had gripped Duang’s chest finally dissolved, leaving behind a comfortable, lightweight warmth. As Duang slowly pulled back from Qin’s neck, his eyes were still a little red, but the tight, strained lines around his mouth had completely vanished.
Qin stayed close, his arms loosening just enough to let Duang breathe, but his eyes were already sparkling with a familiar, mischievous glint. The serious, fiercely protective protector from moments ago was gone, replaced by the playful Qin Duang loved so much.
"Well," Qin began, a slow, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he deliberately wiped a lingering tear from Duang's cheek with his thumb. "Now that we've established that you're stuck with me, I have a confession to make."
Duang blinked, his voice still a little thick. "A confession?"
"Mm-hmm," Qin hummed, leaning back against the cushions and crossing his legs comfortably. "All those people who say you baby me too much? They might actually have a point."
Duang’s heart gave a tiny, instinctive thud of panic, but before the insecurity could even think about creeping back in, Qin reached out and playfully tapped the tip of Duang’s nose.
"I mean, think about it," Qin laughed softly, his eyes dancing. "Yesterday, you practically cut my food into bite-sized pieces for me. And last week, I distinctly remember you trying to tie my shoes because you thought the knot I made looked 'unreliable.' If you stop pampering me as you threatened to, I might actually forget how to function in society. Is that your grand plan, Mr. Caretaker? To disable me completely so I can never leave this couch?"
Duang let out a genuine, breathless laugh, the last remnants of his anxiety evaporating into the air. He shook his head, looking down at his lap as a soft flush crept up his neck. "I didn't think the knot was unreliable. It was objectively loose, Qin."
"Sure it was," Qin teased, his voice dripping with mock indulgence. He nudged Duang’s knee with his own. "And what about this morning, when you insisted on carrying my bag because it looked 'unusually heavy'? It had a notebook and a pen in it, Duang. I think my spine could have handled the devastating weight."
"I was just being helpful," Duang muttered, though the helpless smile stretching across his face betrayed him entirely.
"You were being ridiculous," Qin corrected affectionately, his expression softening as he slid his hand back into Duang's, his fingers intertwining with a casual, confident ease.
"But... I suppose I've grown attached to the ridiculousness. So, if you're going to keep babying me, you might as well go get me a glass of water. All this deep emotional talking has made me incredibly parched, and as we've established, I am far too spoiled to get it myself."
Duang rolled his eyes, but the warmth blooming in his chest was undeniable. The phantom voices of the outsiders were completely gone, utterly drowned out by Qin's lighthearted laughter.
"Fine," Duang murmured, squeezing Qin's hand one last time before standing up, his movements light and unburdened. "One glass of water. But don't expect me to hold the glass for you."
"Oh, come on," Qin called out after him, his voice echoing playfully through the room. "Where's the service? I thought you cherished me wholeheartedly!"
Duang walked toward the kitchen, a chuckle escaping him as Qin’s playful complaints faded into the background. The heavy, suffocating fog that had settled over him just an hour ago felt entirely ridiculous now.
Reaching for a glass, he filled it with water, watching the clear liquid spill over the brim for a split second before cutting off the tap.
Objectively loose, he thought again, smiling to himself as he remembered the shoelace incident. Qin was right. He did do ridiculous things.
But hearing Qin turn those very actions into a joke—treating them not as a tragic psychological flaw, but as a quirky, endearing part of their everyday life—was the greatest reassurance Duang could have ever asked for.
He walked back into the living room, careful not to spill a drop.
Qin was still leaning back against the cushions, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, his eyes locked onto Duang the moment he stepped through the doorway. He held out his hand expectantly, a dramatic, expectant pout on his face.
"Your water, Your Highness," Duang said dryly, handing over the glass.
Qin took it, taking a deliberate, slow sip before setting it down on the side table. He patted the space on the couch beside him, giving Duang a commanding look. "Sit. Your break is over. You still have to explain why you thought a notebook and a pen were going to crush my spine."
"I told you, the bag looked bulky," Duang said as he sat down, completely abandoning his earlier hesitation. He didn't think twice about closing the distance this time.
He slid his arm along the back of the sofa, letting it rest just behind Qin’s shoulders, his fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of Qin's shirt. "I was just factoring in the potential risk of shoulder strain. It’s called being preventive."
"It’s called being a helicopter boyfriend," Qin corrected smoothly, leaning back until his weight rested comfortably against Duang's side. He reached up, casually capturing Duang's hand from the back of the couch and bringing it down to rest over his chest. "But I suppose I'll let it slide. Just this once."
Duang rested his chin against the top of Qin's head, breathing in deeply. The phantoms of the outside world, with all their opinions and backhanded compliments, felt incredibly far away. They didn't matter.
In the quiet rhythm of the room, with Qin's heartbeat steady beneath his palm, Duang finally let himself believe it: he wasn't doing too much. He was just doing exactly what they needed.
"Preventive," Qin scoffed softly, his voice vibrating gently against Duang's chest. "You really have an excuse for everything, don't you?"
"It’s not an excuse if it's based on logic," Duang murmured, his fingers tracing slow, idle circles on Qin's shoulder. The lighthearted banter was a comfortable shield, but beneath it, the air in the room was beginning to shift again.
The emotional vulnerability from before hadn't vanished; it had simply melted into a thick, magnetic warmth that drew them closer.
Qin shifted, turning his head so he was looking directly up at Duang. The playful smirk was still there, but his dark eyes had grown incredibly dark, heavy with an entirely different kind of intent.
He let his hand slide from Duang's chest, up the column of his throat, his thumb softly brushing against Duang's lower lip.
"So," Qin whispered, his breath warm against Duang's skin. "If you're so worried about my physical strain... what are you going to do about the tension right here?"
Duang’s breath hitched. The casual distance they had been maintaining vanished as Qin leaned his full weight into him, shifting until he was practically bridging the space across Duang's lap. The sheer proximity of him—the heat of his body pressing against Duang's—instantly erased the last traces of lingering thought from Duang's mind.
"Qin..." Duang warned softly, his hands instinctively finding Qin’s waist to steady him, his grip tightening as his protective instincts flared in a completely new direction.
"Don't 'Qin' me," he murmured, his fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of Duang's neck, pulling him down just enough that their lips were practically brushing. "You wanted to make sure I felt completely cherished, right? I'm just letting you do your job."
Duang didn't need to be told twice. He closed the remaining distance, his lips meeting Qin's in a deep, bruising kiss that carried all the unspoken intensity of the afternoon.
The hesitation from before was entirely gone, replaced by a fierce, consuming hunger. Qin let out a soft gasp against his mouth, his arms winding tightly around Duang’s neck as Duang shifted, guiding Qin down onto the soft cushions of the couch, pressing his body over him to shield him completely from the rest of the world.
Qin pulled back just a fraction of an inch, his chest heaving, his lips swollen and flushed as he looked up at Duang hovering over him. Even now, completely breathless, the sharp wit in his eyes hadn't faded.
"See?" Qin panted, a breathless, utterly sarcastic smile breaking through the heat. "I told you... you baby me too much. Now look at you... forcing me to lie down."
Duang let out a low, rough chuckle, his gaze dropping to Qin's lips before locking back onto his eyes. "Shut up, Qin," he murmured, leaning down to capture his mouth again. "I'm just being preventive."
Qin’s muffled laughter was swallowed up by the next kiss, his shoulders shaking beneath Duang's grip as he completely lost his sarcastic composure. "Logic... right, pure logic," Qin gasped out, planting a breathless, giggling swat against Duang’s chest that totally ruined the intense mood they were trying to build.
Duang couldn't even pretend to be serious anymore; a helpless chuckle broke against Qin’s lips, and he dropped his forehead right onto Qin's shoulder, both of them just cracking up together on the cushions.
The heavy, dramatic angst from earlier didn't stand a chance, completely drowned out by their giggles as the afternoon light faded and the room went quiet.