Chapter Text
Freen was sprawled dramatically on the carpet like a starfish that had given up on life.
One arm flung out. One leg bent awkwardly. Her cheek squished against the soft pillow as she watched whatever was playing on TV with only half her attention. The other half—no, ninety percent—was entirely focused on the presence behind her.
Becky.
Becky was lounging on the sofa, glasses perched neatly on her nose, one leg tucked under the other, scripts balanced in her lap. Every now and then, her fingers would drift down, absentmindedly rubbing Freen’s head, combing through her hair in slow, gentle motions.
It was meant to be casual.
It was not casual.
It was heaven.
Freen let out a small, content hum, her foot giving a lazy kick against the carpet. She tried—she really did—to focus on the TV. Something about a cooking competition. Someone was crying over a failed soufflé.
But then Becky shifted slightly, and the light caught the edge of her glasses just right, and Freen’s brain immediately blue-screened.
She rolled over.
Now she was lying on her back, staring up at Becky like she’d just discovered the eighth wonder of the world.
Becky noticed. Of course she did.
She always noticed.
But she didn’t say anything. Just kept reading, lips faintly curved, fingers still rubbing Freen’s head in slow, comforting circles.
This, unfortunately, only made Freen worse.
Freen stared.
And stared.
And stared.
Inside her head, chaos erupted.
Oh my god. Look at her. Look at her face. That nose. Those lips. That tiny mole. How is she real? How did I get this lucky? Is this allowed? Did I save a country in my past life?
Her gaze softened as memories crept in.
Those early days.
When Becky was just eighteen, bright-eyed and bold and already brave enough to like her openly, while Freen—older, more experienced, supposedly wiser—was absolutely terrified.
Terrified of the age gap.
Terrified of messing things up.
Terrified of crossing lines.
Terrified because Becky felt… too good to be true.
Back then, Freen had been convinced Becky was way out of her league.
Still was, honestly.
She remembered lying awake at night, overthinking everything, her insecure brain screaming, She’s young. She’s brilliant. She’s beautiful. Why would she ever choose you?
And yet.
Becky had chosen her.
Kept choosing her.
Every single day.
Freen’s chest did a stupid little squeeze.
Her eyes traced Becky’s face carefully now—her focused gaze as she read, the faint crease between her brows, the way her lips sometimes moved soundlessly, rehearsing lines.
God, she’s pretty, Freen thought helplessly.
She didn’t even realize she was scooting closer until her head bumped lightly against Becky’s thigh.
Becky’s lips twitched.
She turned a page, very deliberately ignoring the fact that she was being intensely stared at like a museum exhibit.
Freen continued.
Unblinking.
Like a devoted, slightly unhinged puppy.
Finally, Becky sighed, lowering the script just enough to peek over it. Her eyes sparkled with amusement.
“You know,” she said calmly, “you’re allowed to kiss me.”
Freen blinked.
“What?”
Becky lowered the script completely now, smirking. “No need to act like you’re a teenager with a crush.”
Freen gasped, deeply offended.
“I do not act like—”
She paused.
Thought about it.
Scoffed.
Becky laughed softly, shaking her head.
“That's called romantic,” Freen corrected solemnly.
“You are absurdly dramatic.”
“I am passionately devoted.”
“You’re staring at me like I’m about to disappear.”
Freen sat up in a flash. “Because what if you do?”
Becky snorted. “I’m literally sitting right here.”
“You could vanish,” Freen insisted seriously. “Like a mirage. Or a dream. Or—”
“Phi...”
“Or like one of those fantasy creatures that only appear to people who are pure of heart—”
“P'Fiin.”
“—and then leave forever, and I’ll spend the rest of my life wandering—”
Becky dropped the script and grabbed Freen’s cheeks, squishing them gently.
“Breathe, drama queen.”
Freen’s lips puckered from the pressure. “Mmph.”
Becky leaned closer, forehead resting against hers. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Freen melted instantly.
Then, without warning—
She lunged.
Becky shrieked.
“P'FIIN—!”
Freen tackled her back into the sofa, raining kisses everywhere—forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw—fast, chaotic, overly enthusiastic kisses that made Becky laugh and squirm.
“STOP— I CAN’T—” Becky wheezed, trying to shield her face. “You’re attacking me!”
“This is affection!” Freen protested between kisses.
“This is assault by love!”
“I WILL NOT APOLOGIZE FOR MY DEVOTION!”
Becky burst into full laughter now, glasses slightly crooked, hair a mess, scripts forgotten somewhere beneath them.
“Teerak—! I said you can kiss me, not ambush me!”
“Too late,” Freen declared, eyes bright. “You activated the beast.”
“The beast needs to calm down!”
“Never.”
She finally stilled, hovering just above Becky, their noses brushing. The room felt quieter all of a sudden, laughter fading into soft breaths.
Freen looked at her like she always did.
Like Becky was the center of her universe.
Then she kissed her.
Slow.
Gentle.
Right on those very pink, very kissable lips.
Becky sighed into it, hands sliding up to cradle Freen’s face, thumbs brushing her cheeks fondly.
When they pulled apart, Becky rested her forehead against Freen’s.
“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured.
Freen grinned. “And you love me.”
“Unfortunately,” Becky teased.
Freen gasped again, hand to her chest. “I have been betrayed.”
Becky laughed, pulling her down into a hug. “Come here, you idiot.”
Freen happily buried her face in Becky’s neck, arms wrapping tight around her waist.
Yeah.
Ridiculous.
Absurd.
Hopelessly in love.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way.