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Chapter Text

The rooftop buzzed with music, laughter, and champagne flutes catching the last of the sunset. String lights looped between patio heaters, casting a soft golden haze over the celebration. It was Namtan and Film’s night. Another successful film wrapped, another round of festival praise, another excuse for their world to orbit around each other.
Becca held her glass a little too carefully. She wasn’t used to parties like this
Still, she smiled. Namtan had been sweet all evening, checking in every few minutes to make sure she was comfortable. She was drawn to that at first. Now, she was still trying to understand how much of her belonged to Becca and how much belonged to… well, everyone else.
“Come on,” she said now, hand at the small of her back. “I want you to meet Freen and Film.”
The famous Film, Becca thought, with a polite nod and a tighter grip on her glass.
The couple stood near the railing, mid-conversation with someone who peeled away just as Namtan approached. Becca took in her first impression of them. Film was striking, dark hair swept back in effortless waves, smile sharp and dazzling. She looked like the kind of person who could steal a scene without meaning to.
Beside her, Freen was quieter. She was composed, with a calm kind of presence that didn’t need to announce itself. She held a glass of whiskey in one hand, but her eyes cool, observant—landed on Becca the moment Namtan spoke.
“Guys, this is Becca,” Namtan said. “Becca, meet Film—my longest headache—and her very patient wife, Freen.”
Film rolled her eyes with a laugh, pulling Becca into a quick, glamorous hug. “Finally! She talks about you like you’re some kind of secret museum piece. You’re even prettier in person. That’s annoying.”
Becca blinked, then laughed politely. “Thanks, I think.”
“Don’t mind her,” Freen said, extending a hand. Her voice was low and even. “She weaponizes compliments.”
Becca shook her hand. Firm, warm. “I’ll keep my guard up.”
Namtan grinned between them. “See? Told you they’d get along.”
There was a beat—just a flicker of something subtle—when Becca met Freen’s eyes again. Not flirtation, not exactly. But something flickered: curiosity, maybe. Recognition of shared unease.
The four stood together, drinks in hand, while the night pressed on. Laughter rose and faded. Cameras clicked. Film leaned into Namtan’s shoulder like it belonged to her, and Becca smiled through it. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but Freen glanced at her just then—and she could tell she wasn’t sure either.

A server floated past with a tray of hors d’oeuvres, and Film grabbed one without looking, popping it in her mouth mid-laugh.
“God, I haven’t eaten all day,” she said. “Editing killed me. Namtan’s a meanie.”
“You’re the one who begged for seventy-five insert shots,” Namtan replied, sipping from her wine glass. “I just scheduled them and micromanaged them. You even made me watch it daily three times!”
“You loved it.” Film said laughing.
Namtan nudged Film with her hip. “I tolerated it because we’re brilliant.”
Becca stood silently, smiling, but the conversation felt like watching a private language unfold. They weren’t flirting—not exactly—but the kind of closeness they had was threaded with an intimacy most married people didn’t even share.
Freen didn’t laugh. She sipped her drink and looked towards the skyline. Becca caught it. A flicker of detachment. Or maybe restraint.
“So, Becca,” Film turned her attention back with a sudden interest, “you’re a designer, right? You should see what Namtan’s done to her condo. It’s like a furniture graveyard in there.”
“Hey!” Namtan objected.
Becca laughed. “she told me it needed work. I just didn’t know it was that bad.”
“She’s being polite,” Freen said smoothly. “It’s worse.”
Namtan groaned. “You too?”
“It’s not personal,” Freen added. “You just have no taste.”
Becca raised an eyebrow, amused. “So that’s the legendary loyalty between best friends, huh?”
Film smirked. “This is nothing. You should hear what she says behind her back.”
“Again, standing right here,” Namtan muttered, but she was smiling.
Still, something in Becca’s chest tensed. She wasn’t used to this dynamic yet. How Namtan and Film drifted into their own rhythm. She wondered if Freen felt it too.
“Do you ever get jealous?” she asked Freen, trying to keep it light. “Of how close they are?”
Film paused, blinking. Then she laughed like it was a joke.
“Jealous? God, no. Namtan is basically my sister.”
“Exactly,” Namtan added quickly. “We’ve known each other since we were in diapers. It’s family. Right, Freen?”
Freen hesitated a beat too long. “Sure,” she said. “It’s like family.”
But her eyes didn’t match the tone, and Becca saw it again. That flash of something unspoken. A weight under the words.
“Anyway,” Film said brightly, redirecting, “we should all get together again soon. Double date. Freen’s been in court all week, and I could use a night where no one talks about lighting or frame rates.”
Becca nodded. “That sounds nice.”
Freen didn’t speak. But when she glanced at her, she was already looking at Becca. Not staring. Just… noticing. Like she had questions she wasn’t sure she should ask.
The moment passed. The music changed. A few people called Namtan and Film over for pictures.
“You okay?” Namtan leaned into Becca’s ear as Film tugged her arm.
She smiled. “Yeah. I’m fine. Go.”
She kissed her cheek and disappeared into the crowd with Film.
Which left her standing beside Freen, both of them half-drained glasses in hand, watching their spouses disappear into the party like they belonged more to it than to them.
“Interesting night,” Becca said.
Freen gave a quiet hum. “That’s one word for it.”
The music swelled again, drowning the silence. Somewhere in the distance, a camera flashed.
And beside the railing, Becca and Freen stood in a moment that neither of them quite knew how to name.

The party carried on behind them. Bubbling laughter, the pop of a champagne bottle, someone shouting someone's name across the rooftop. But at the far edge, by the glass railing, Becca and Freen stood apart from it all. The city spread out beneath them. Lights blinking, cars weaving through streets like veins carrying heat and purpose.
Freen didn’t speak first. She was the type to let silence settle, to see what someone did with it.
Becca finally broke it.
“They’re… close,” she said, careful not to let too much weight cling to the words.
Freen glanced at her. “They are.”
“Like really close.”
She took a sip of her drink. “That bothers you.”
She didn’t answer right away. “It’s just strange, I guess. I’ve never dated someone who has that kind of… history, and intimacy with someone else.”
“They’re not cheating, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Becca frowned slightly. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Freen leaned one elbow on the railing, eyes still on the skyline. “They’ve always been like that. Always will be. It’s just how they are.”
“But doesn’t it bother you?” she asked. “Your wife practically leans on her like…”
“It used to,” she said quietly, cutting her off. “When we first got together. I asked questions. I picked at things that didn’t want to bleed. It got exhausting.”
Becca studied her. “And now?”
“Now I accept it,” she said. “Or I pretend to. Depends on the day.”
There was a beat. Something unspoken drifted in the space between them.
“You’re saying if I can’t handle it, I shouldn’t date her?” she asked.
Freen looked at her then, really looked. “I’m saying… if you expect it to change, it won’t. Film is a part of her. The same way Namtan is a part of Film. They’re not going to draw clean lines for our comfort.”
Becca exhaled through her nose, not exactly angry but not at peace either. “That’s a lot to ask.”
“I know.”
She leaned on the railing too, close enough to feel the edge of her calm. “How do you do it, then?”
“I work,” she said simply. “I stay busy. I let them orbit each other and pretend it’s gravity.”
Becca gave a quiet laugh. “That’s depressing.”
“It’s honest.”
They stood in silence again, side by side, both watching a world they didn’t feel entirely a part of. The hum of the city rose and fell like breath.
“I’m not sure I can be that patient,” she said finally.
Freen glanced sideways at her. “Then don’t. Ask her what you need. And if she won’t give it to you, ask yourself why you’re staying.”
Becca stared straight ahead, eyes focused on a single flickering tower window. Something inside her shifted. Not a decision, but the first quiet crack in the wall she didn’t realize she’d built.
Behind them, Namtan’s laugh rang out again. Loud, familiar and wrapped in Film’s voice.
Freen said nothing.
Neither did Becca.

“You seem like someone who’s used to watching everything from the outside,” Becca said, her voice soft now, less defensive. “That’s not a bad thing. Just… an observation.”
Freen gave the smallest of smiles. “You’re not wrong.”
“Does Film know that? That you’re always waiting on the edge of whatever world she’s living in?”
“She doesn’t see it that way.”
“Of course not.”
Becca looked over at her, and for the first time, Freen looked tired—not physically, but somewhere deeper, like someone who’d been carrying something heavy for a long time and had stopped hoping to put it down.
“She’s a hurricane,” she said quietly. “Beautiful. Loud. Constant. And I used to think I could anchor her.”
Becca tilted her head. “And now?”
“Now I know hurricanes don’t want anchors. They want open skies.”
There was silence again, but this time it felt heavier.
Becca turned her glass slowly between her fingers. “And what do you want, Freen?”
She hesitated. Then gave a half-shrug. “Quiet. Maybe honesty. Something real.”
Becca's gaze lingered on her, something soft and almost sad behind her eyes.
“You don’t seem very happy,” she said, not accusing, just honest.
Freen looked at her. “You don’t either.”
The words settled between them like ash after a slow burn.
Before either of them could speak again, they heard Film’s voice ring out behind them.
“There you two are!” she said brightly, linking her arm around Freen’s with ease. “We thought you’d gone and eloped.”
Becca stepped back instinctively. Namtan appeared a second later, a bit breathless, a new drink in hand for her.
“You okay, babe?” she asked, holding it out.
“I was just talking to Freen,” she said, taking the glass.
Namtan smiled and leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “She's good at brooding in the corner, isn’t she?”
“Classic Freen,” Film added, rubbing Freen’s arm with mock affection. “She's been giving strangers existential dread since college.”
Freen didn’t react. Just let her touch linger, eyes still quietly watchful.
“You two seemed deep in conversation,” Namtan said, looking between them.
Becca offered a polite smile. “Just trading notes.”
“About what?” Film asked, curiously.
Freen answered before Becca could. “Furniture and jealousy.”
Film blinked, thrown for half a second—then laughed. “Well, those go hand in hand, don’t they?”
Becca watched the way Film’s fingers slid down Freen’s sleeve as she laughed, how Namtan stood next to her like she belonged to this rhythm, this strange and effortless intimacy between best friends that always seemed to leave their partners slightly out of frame.
She forced another smile. “Apparently.”
The moment folded in on itself, swallowed by the noise of the party resuming around them.
But something had shifted.
Becca felt it.
And so did Freen.

The next day Becca woke up before the sun.
The apartment was still, the soft hum of traffic below barely audible through the window. Namtan’s arm was draped loosely over her waist, heavy in sleep, her breath warm against her shoulder.
But Becca stared at the ceiling, eyes dry, mind noisy.
Freen’s voice echoed from the night before.
“If you expect it to change, it won’t.”
“I stay busy. I let them orbit each other and pretend it’s gravity.”
Namtan shifted beside her, murmuring something half-dreamed. Becca gently moved her arm and slipped out of bed, padding barefoot to the kitchen. The city lights still blinked in the distance, a dim imitation of daylight.
She poured coffee she didn’t want and stood by the window. Her reflection in the glass looked calm. Collected. But something in her chest buzzed restlessly, like a warning.
She remembered the way Freen looked at her. Clear and steady like she saw through the performance.
She wasn’t used to that.

Freen didn’t sleep much, either.
Film had passed out in the Uber ride home, head on her shoulder, her body slumped like a child after a sugar crash. She hadn’t asked how Freen felt. She hadn’t noticed the way her voice had gone quiet after Becca left.
Now, she snored softly on the other side of the bed, one arm flung over her pillow, mouth slightly open.
Freen lay on her back, staring at the ceiling fan spinning above them like time she couldn’t hold onto.
Becca’s laugh dry and skeptical played back in her head.
“That’s depressing.”
“You don’t seem very happy.”
Neither do you, she’d said. And she’d been right.
Film stirred briefly, mumbling something about a sound mix, then rolled over. Freen watched her settle, her face peaceful, untouched by doubt. She had no idea what she left behind in her wake.
She got up before the alarm. She had a case to prepare. Deadlines to meet. Clients to defend.
But for the first time in a while, She felt the edges of distraction pulling at her. Something new. Or maybe something honest.

By midmorning, Namtan was gone—off to some production meeting with Film. She kissed her forehead like everything was fine. Maybe it was. Maybe she was overthinking.
Orm called around noon.
“So? How was the party?” her best friend asked, voice sharp with curiosity.
“It was… a lot.”
“Uh-oh. What did she do?”
“Nothing. She was great.” Becca hesitated. “It’s just…”
“The Film thing?”
Becca closed her eyes. “Yeah.”
“I warned you. They’re weirdly close.”
“She calls her ‘babe’ sometimes.”
“Becca. No.”
“I know.”
Orm sighed. “You’re gonna have to either live with it or call it out. Pretending it’s normal won’t work.”
Becca didn’t answer. Because she wasn’t sure what she’d do yet.

At lunch, Freen found herself scrolling through Instagram, not really looking—until Becca’s name popped up in a tagged photo from the party.
She was smiling in it. Holding her drink. The city skyline behind her.
Her thumb hovered.
She zoomed in without meaning to. Noticing the tilt of her head, the guarded amusement in her expression. She didn’t look like someone who belonged in that world—not because she wasn’t beautiful, but because she looked like she was thinking too much in a room that thrived on pretending.
She locked her phone and went back to reading depositions.
But the image stayed with her.

Chapter Text

A few days after the party. The café was tucked between a florist and a dry cleaner. One of those quiet corners of the city where time slowed down. Mismatched chairs, warm amber lights, and the smell of roasted beans mixed with something sweet.
Becca sat by the window, laptop open, fingers hovering over the keyboard more than they actually typed. She was supposed to be reviewing a proposal. Instead, she’d spent the last ten minutes reading the same sentence. She sipped her drink—lukewarm by now—and sighed.
The door opened, bells jingling. She glanced up.

Freen walked in, not alone. Two men and a woman trailed behind her, dressed in business casual and talking in clipped, tired tones. Something about a meeting that ran over. She recognized the pace. She wasn’t here to relax.
Her first instinct was to duck behind her screen, pretending not to see her.
But Freen saw her almost instantly.

There was a flicker of surprise in her eyes and then something more unreadable. She gave a polite nod before turning to order.
Becca tried to focus on her screen again. It didn’t work.
They sat at a table across the room, papers pulled out, coffee cups between them. Freen didn’t speak much. Occasionally, her eyes drifted to Becca’s. Never long. Never obvious.
Just enough to remind her that she was aware of her presence.
Eventually, one by one, her colleagues packed up and left. Quick goodbyes. Something about catching trains. Freen shook hands, smiled in that professional way.
And then she was alone.
She looked at her again. This time,she walked over.

“Mind if I sit?”
Becca blinked. “Uh..sure. Yeah.”
She slid into the seat across from her. For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Becca closed her laptop.
“So,” she said, leaning back. “You haunt this place too?”
Freen smiled faintly. “Good coffee. Quiet.”
“That’s what I like about it too.” Becca said.
Freen studied her for a moment. “Are you working?”
“Pretending to.” She glanced down at her cup. “Mostly avoiding thinking too hard.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“Speaking from experience?”
Freen didn’t answer right away. “Maybe.”

They sat in that stillness again. The sound of the coffee hissed from behind the counter. A man near the window coughed. Rain tapped lightly against the glass.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Becca said suddenly.
Freen raised an eyebrow.
“At the party. About not expecting it to change.”
Freen tilted her head, waiting.
“And about the hurricane thing.” She gave a small, self-conscious smile. “You really meant that, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Does it help? Saying it out loud?”
Freen gave a quiet laugh. “No. But it keeps me from pretending I’m surprised when it hits.”
Becca nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. “I’m still trying to figure out if I’m building something with Namtan… or just getting swept up in something she already built with someone else.”
Freen didn’t speak. But her eyes didn’t leave hers.
“You’ll figure it out,” Freen said finally.
She tilted her head. “You sound certain.”
“I’m a lawyer. I fake certainty for a living.”
Becca laughed—quiet, real.
Freen smiled again, softer this time. “You seem different.”
“Since the party?”
“Since the last time we were alone.”
Becca hesitated. “You do too.”
They didn’t say more. They didn’t have to.
But somewhere in that quiet, something had shifted again.
Something small.
Something dangerous.

The rain had turned heavy while they talked. Now it pounded against the windows, blurring the street beyond in a wash of gray and gold.
Becca stood near the door of the café, clutching her bag and staring out with mild frustration. Her broken umbrella hung limply from one hand.
“You don’t have an umbrella?” Freen asked as she joined her, slipping her blazer on.
“I did,” she said, holding up a broken mess of metal and fabric. “It lost a fight with the wind earlier today.”
Freen glanced outside, then back at her. “I’ll drive you.”
Becca shook her head quickly. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just wait it out or grab a cab.”
“You’ll be waiting an hour. And there’s a line of soaked people trying to do the same thing.”
Becca hesitated. Freen was right. And she was cold.
“I don’t want to bother you.” Becca said.
“It’s fine,” Freen said. “I’m just offering a ride. I won’t drive off a cliff or confess my undying love or anything.”
Becca gave her a look. “That’s… oddly specific.”
Freen smirked. “So is your hesitation.”
She exhaled, half-laughing. “Okay. Fine. Just a ride.”
“Just a ride,” Freen repeated, laughing.

The drive was quiet at first.
Rain tapped against the windshield like a soft percussion, filling the space between them. The city blurred outside, smeared in streaks of red and gold from traffic lights and passing cars.
Freen’s car smelled faintly of leather and mint. Her hand rested loosely on the gearshift, her eyes focused ahead.
Becca sat with her hands in her lap, unsure where to look. Her thoughts were louder than the music playing low through the speakers.
Becca watched the droplets race down the glass. Her fingers fiddled with the frayed edge of her bag.
“So,” she said finally, more to break the silence than anything else. “Busy week ahead?”
Freen glanced at her. “Always. Trials don’t schedule themselves.”
She smiled faintly. “Sounds intense.”
“It is. But you get used to it.”
The conversation stalled again. It didn’t feel uncomfortable. Just quiet, like neither of them needed to fill the space.
They pulled up to her building. The street was quiet, the rain still falling in a steady rhythm.
Freen put the car in park but didn’t reach for the ignition yet.
Becca hesitated. “Thanks… for the ride.”
“Anytime.” then added, “That was… nice. Talking.”
Becca nodded once. “Yeah. It was.” She opened the door slowly, the sound of rain rushing in.
Then paused. “Freen?”
Freen looked at her.
“Would you still be in that marriage… if you could go back in time?”
The question hung in the air, like fog inside the car.
Freen didn’t answer right away.
“No,” Freen said finally.
Becca nodded, stepped out, and shut the door before Freen could say more. She didn’t look back as she walked up the steps, but she could feel her car lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary before pulling away into the rain.

Later that night. Film tossed her bag onto the kitchen counter, pulling her hair up into a lazy bun as she kicked off her shoes. “I’m thinking that we should host a game night.”
Freen, still halfway through a stack of case notes at the dining table, barely glanced up. “For who?”
“For us. Everyone. You, me, Namtan and Becca.” She opened the fridge, frowned, then shut it again without taking anything. “It’s been forever since we just hung out without being on a set or in a courtroom.”
Freen flipped a page. “You see Namtan literally every day.”
“That’s different,” Film said, grabbing a pear from the fruit bowl instead. “I mean actual fun. Like Cards Against Humanity fun. Or pictionary that turns into an argument fun.”
Freen gave her a skeptical look. “And you want to invite Becca? Isn’t it kind of early for couple bonding exercises?”
Film shrugged. “I liked her. She’s not fake. Plus, Namtan’s clearly serious. She’s not exactly the type to bring someone into our circle unless she means it.”
Freen raised an eyebrow. “She brought her ex to your birthday last year.”
Film pointed her pear at Freen. “Exactly. And she lasted twenty minutes before leaving in tears. Becca, on the other hand, handled the party like a pro. She’s sharp.”
Freen leaned back, rubbing the back of her neck. “You think she’d want to spend a night watching you and Namtan act like an old married couple?”
Film smirked. “Well, she better get used to it, don’t you think?”
Freen didn’t answer right away. She stared at the paper in front of her, then set it aside.
“She seemed... quiet,” she said finally.
“You noticed,” Film said, amused.
“She just looked a little overwhelmed. That’s all.”
“She’ll loosen up.” Film grinned. “And maybe you should too. Come on, Freen. You used to be fun.”
Freen gave her a dry look. “I’m still fun. I just prefer it without yelling over Uno cards.”
“No promises.” She tossed her the pear core and headed down the hall. “I’m texting them. Game night’s happening.”
Freen caught the core without looking. She sat there a moment, staring at the doorway that Film just disappeared through. Freen didn't mention to Film about seeing Becca in the cafe that day. She didn't know why.
She also wasn’t sure why the idea of seeing Becca again made her feel... unsettled.
Not nervous. Not excited. Just unsettled.

Meanwhile, Becca and Orm were having a girls night. “So, tell me about the party again. The other day I couldn't tease you on the phone about it and I want do it now so how was it?” Orm asked smirking, sipping her iced coffee with a suspiciously raised brow.
Becca stirred her tea without looking up. “Fine.”
“Uh-huh. ‘Fine’ like boring fine, or ‘fine’ like an emotionally confusing fine?”
Becca gave her a flat look. Orm laughed. “Spill! You met the infamous Film and Freen, right?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“They were... interesting.”
Orm leaned forward. “Interesting how? Attractive interesting? Weird interesting? Open-marriage vibes interesting?”
Becca choked on her tea. “Oh my God, Orm. No! Just…they’re really close. Film and Namtan, I mean. Like...closer than I expected.”
Orm raised a brow. “And how did Freen feel about that?”
Becca paused, fingers tapping lightly against her cup. “She seemed used to it. Like it’s just background noise at this point.”
“Did you talk to her much?”
“A little. We also had coffee today. She gave me a ride home.”
Orm blinked. “Wait. What?”
“It was raining,” Becca added quickly. “And my umbrella died a dramatic death. She offered. That’s all.”
Orm leaned back, folding her arms. “Okay. That’s still something.”
Becca’s phone buzzed before she could reply. She glanced at the screen.
Group Text:
FILM: “Hey guys! Game night at our place this Saturday. You’re coming. No excuses. Bring snacks and a good attitude.”
A beat later:
FILM: “Also Becca I promise we won’t make you play charades unless you want to.”
Becca showed Orm the messages.
“Well, that escalated quickly,” Orm said.
Becca bit her lip. “Should I go?”
Orm shrugged. “Do you want to?”
“I don’t know yet,” Becca said honestly. “I really like Namtan. But I can’t figure her and Film out. It’s like they live in their own little bubble.”
“And Freen?”
Becca looked out the window for a moment.
“She’s hard to read,” she said quietly.
Orm didn’t press, but her smile lingered. “You’re going.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You will. And I want a full report afterward.”
Becca smiled while nodding.

Chapter Text

Film’s and Freen’s apartment was warm, bright and humming with music. The lights were low but cozy. Film’s personal touch is evident in every corner. Framed film posters, string lights, and a stack of board games on the coffee table.
Becca arrived just behind Namtan, both of them carrying bags full with drinks, chips and cookies. When Film opened the door, she greeted them with a dramatic gasp.
“My favorite couple. Well… almost couple!”
Becca laughed awkwardly. “Don’t jinx it.”
Namtan rolled her eyes. “She’s been planning this all week.”
Film leaned in and kissed Namtan on the cheek. “I promise I’m only mildly controlling. Come in.”
Inside, Freen was already on the couch, dressed casually in a black hoodie and jeans, sipping some whiskey. She gave a polite nod when Becca entered.
“Hey,” Freen said.
“Hi.” Becca gave her a quick smile, grateful she wasn’t making it awkward after their last encounter. Then she turned to help Film unpacking the snacks.
Once the snacks were unpacked and everyone had a drink in hand, Film clapped like a host at a game show. “Alright, warm-up round. Pictionary. Teams are me and Namtan versus Becca and Freen.”
Becca’s eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”
Film grinned. “We’re testing your compatibility. Lawyer and a designer versus director duo. Let’s go.”
Freen looked at Becca. “You okay with that?”
She shrugged. “Are you good at drawing?”
She smirked. “Only if you’re good at reading minds.”

They played on a small whiteboard balanced on a coffee table. Namtan and Film went first. Film drew first, just a few quick curves and dots.
“Moon. Alien. Sleepwalker. Film festival,” Namtan guessed rapidly.
She added sparkles and a tilted camera.
“Pluto! That short film we shot in Tokyo!”
Film threw her hands up. “Bingo.”
They high-fived without even looking at each other. Becca blinked.
“How is that even fair?” Becca muttered.
Freen gave Becca a sideways look. “Ready to be humiliated?”
Becca smirked. “Depends who’s drawing first.”
Freen gave Becca the marker. She started with a house. Then a dog. Then a cloud.
Freen squinted. “Storm. Home. Doghouse. Rain. Shelter?”
She added an umbrella. Then a smiley face.
“Happy... home... during a storm?”
The timer buzzed.
“It was ‘safe space’,” Becca groaned.
Freen tilted her head. “That was abstract. I kind of liked it.”
They shared a short laugh.

Namtan was fast. She drew a movie camera, a face with a big frown, then a trophy.
Film immediately said, “Oscar snub.”
“Correct.”
“Ugh,” Becca muttered. “You two are telepathic.”
Freen kept drinking and didn't comment. Then she crouched at the board, marker tapping her chin before she started with a bed, a clock, and a tired face.
Becca tried to guess quickly. “Jetlag. Late night. All-nighter.”
She drew papers flying in the air.
“Deadline?” she asked.
Freen shook her head.
“Overworked!”
“Yes!”
Becca gave her a little high five. “Look at that. We’re not so bad.”
“Yet,” Freen said, smiling slightly.
Becca knelt in front of the whiteboard, chewing her lip as she thought. Then she started sketching quickly. Two figures, a big circle, a jagged shape in the corner.
Freen leaned forward. “Volcano. Tourists. Panic?”
Becca added stick figures holding hands and some motion lines.
“Vacation? Disaster date?”
She underlined the volcano.
Freen narrowed her eyes. “Hot... couple? Hot Mess?”
The timer buzzed.
“The Honeymooners,” Becca said, groaning. “I thought it was obvious!”
Freen tilted her head, amused. “With a volcano?”
“Symbolism!” she defended.
“Ah yes, nothing says newlywed bliss like lava death.”
Namtan grinned. “You two are chaotic. I like it.”
Film’s picture began abstract: a giant eye, a spotlight, a microphone.
“Interview. Talent show,” Namtan said.
She drew a smiling stick figure with stars around it.
“Fame. Rising star. Director’s pick—Debut!”
“Boom,” she said.
Becca looked at Freen. “Do they live inside the same brain?”
“Worse,” she replied. “They share the same ego.”
Film stuck her tongue out at them both. “Alright. That was our warm-up. Let’s raise the emotional stakes: Never Have I Ever.”

They settled around the coffee table, drinks in hand. Film dimmed the lights slightly, the flicker of candles casting soft shadows on their faces.
“Alright,” she said, sitting cross-legged beside Namtan. “Time for Never Have I Ever. You know the rules. If you’ve done it, drink.”
Namtan raised her glass. “This is where reputations die.”
“Speak for yourself,” Freen muttered, stretching out her legs beside the couch. Becca sat across from her, her wine glass resting on her knee.
Film clapped her hands together. “I’ll start.”
She looked smug.
“Never have I ever... kissed someone at work.”
Becca paused, then took a sip.
“Wait,” Namtan said, laughing. “Seriously?”
Becca shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Intern, mutual mistake.”
Freen raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Film, however, nudged Namtan.
“Your turn.”

Namtan smirked. “Never have I ever lied to someone I was dating.”
Becca hesitated but didn’t drink.
Film, however, did. Namtan laughed knowingly.
Freen turned to Film. “That wasn’t about me, was it?”
Film raised both hands. “It was about lying to someone before you. Relax, Counselor.”
Freen rolled her eyes but her lips twitched slightly.
Becca sipped quietly. She was watching Film and Namtan again. How in sync they were. How comfortable.
“Alright,” Freen said, gaze drifting to Becca. “My turn.”
She tapped her glass thoughtfully.
“Never have I ever... pretended something didn’t bother me when it absolutely did.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, slowly, all four of them drank.
Becca glanced at Freen and met her eyes for a moment longer than necessary.
Film leaned back. “Well, that got serious.”
“I’ll lighten it up,” Becca said, lifting her glass. “Never have I ever sent a risky text and immediately regretted it.”
Everyone drank.

Laughter broke the tension as Namtan groaned. “That should’ve been the drinking game on its own.”
Film winked. “You mean like that time you—”
“Don’t!” Namtan warned, pointing at her.
Becca smiled, but her thoughts were distant again. Watching them. Wondering. She glanced at Freen, who was already watching Becca.
Freen leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. “Becca, your turn again.”
She twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers for a moment, thinking. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she said:
“Never have I ever felt like a third wheel in a room of people who don’t realize they’re being a little... exclusive.”
It landed sharper than she’d expected.
There was a pause. Then Freen took a sip. So did Namtan, a little more slowly. Film didn’t.
“Well, damn,” Namtan muttered, clearly caught off guard.
Becca gave a small shrug, her tone playful but her eyes steady. “Just a general observation.”
Film’s smile had cooled a few degrees. “Noted.”

“Okay,” Namtan said, trying to deflect the tension. “My turn.”
She gave Freen a slightly too-wide smile.
“Never have I ever developed feelings for someone I wasn’t supposed to.”
Becca looked straight down at her drink, then took a long sip.
Freen didn’t move for a second. Then, almost definitely, she drank too.
Film didn’t.The silence that followed was heavier than before—thick with something unspoken. Then Film gave a breezy laugh, standing to refill her glass.

“Wow. You guys are getting deep tonight.”
Namtan chuckled, but it was short-lived. Film sat back down and leaned against Freen, brushing her shoulder against hers. “Your turn, babe.”
Film thought for a moment, then looked across the room, not at anyone in particular.
“Never have I ever wanted to say something and held it in... because I knew it would make things complicated.”
This time, only Becca and Freen drank.
Film and Namtan didn’t comment on this.

The silence after Freen’s last line stretched a little too long.
Film broke it with a clap, too bright. “Alright, enough of that. Never Have I Ever is starting to feel like a therapy session.”
“Because it is,” Namtan muttered under her breath.
Film ignored her. “Let’s change it up. Truth or Dare. More fun, less brooding.”
Becca glanced at Freen. She looked oddly relieved.
Namtan grinned. “Fine. But if someone makes me kiss a plant again, I’m leaving.”
Film raised an eyebrow. “That’s a dare for later.”
They rearranged themselves a bit, drinks refilled, energy shifting.

“Becca,” Film said, clearly reclaiming control of the moment. “Truth or dare?”
Becca leaned back, smoothing her hair behind her ear. “Truth.”
Film smirked. “Have you ever had a dream about someone here tonight?”
Becca paused, just long enough to make everyone wonder.
Then: “Yes.” She said.
“who?!” Film asked.
“Wouldn't you like to know?” Becca teased, smiling.
“It is definitely me.” Namtand said, smirking she kissed Becca. The three of them laughed.
Freen's expression didn’t change. But she didn’t look away either.
Film gave a playful little gasp. “Scandalous.”

“My turn,” Freen said quickly. Her eyes scanned the circle. “Becca. Truth or dare?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Truth.”
Freen hesitated just for a second.
“Do you believe Namtan when she says Film is just her best friend?”
A sharp stillness fell across the group.
Becca blinked. “That’s your question?”
“Yes.” Freen dropped that like it was a casual conversation. But it hit like a grenade. Subtle, surgical, and just enough to make everyone freeze.
Becca looked at Namtan, who looked back at her with a faint smirk, then at Film, who for once wasn’t smiling.
Becca answered evenly, “I don’t think my belief changes what they are. Or aren’t.”
“Interesting answer,” Freen said, more to herself than anyone.
Film didn’t respond, but her arm dropped from Freen’s shoulder.
The group sat still for a moment after Becca’s response, the weight of the question lingering like smoke.

Then Film stood up.
“I need a refill,” she said lightly. “Babe, come help me please?”
Freen looked at her, catching the shift in her tone, and followed without a word.
They stepped into the kitchen, just out of earshot.
Film opened the fridge but didn’t grab anything. She stood there, back to her, arms crossed.
“You did that on purpose,” she said quietly.
Freen leaned against the counter. “Did what?”
“That question. About Namtan and me.”
“It was a truth game, wasn’t it?” she replied, calm. “I asked a real question.”
Film turned around to face her. “You know how it looks when you say things like that in front of Becca.”
Freen met her gaze evenly. “Do you know how it looks, Film? The way you and Namtan are sometimes?”
“We’ve always been like that. You said it yourself. You accepted that when we got married.”
“I did,” she said. “But sometimes I wonder if Becca knows what she’s walking into.”
Film’s jaw tightened. “So what are you doing, Freen? Warning her? Or testing me?”
Freen's silence was an answer enough.
Film let out a breath. “Whatever game you’re playing… just be careful. With her. And with me.”
Freen gave a small nod.
They rejoined the others.

Back in the living room, Becca and Namtan were chatting quietly. Namtan’s arm rested gently on Becca’s shoulder

When Film and Freen sat down again, Namtan looked at Film. “Are you good?”
Film smiled too easily. “Yes!.”
“Great,” Namtan said. “My turn again. Freen. Truth or dare?”
Freen looked amused. “Dare.”
Namtan didn’t hesitate. “Call your mom and tell her you finally got that tattoo she hated.”
Becca snorted into her glass.
Freen smirked, pulling out his phone. “You owe me dinner after this.”
She called. On speaker.
“Mom,” she said casually. “Just wanted to let you know…I finally got that dragon tattoo. Full sleeve.”
A horrified gasp came through the phone. “Freen Sarocha!”
She quickly hung up, looking both guilty and entertained.
Film was giggling. “She’s going to message me in ten seconds.”
“She already has,” Freen said, glancing at Film’s phone.

“Alright,” Film said.“Becca. Truth or dare?”
Becca smirked. “Dare.”
Film’s smile turned mischievous. “Go in the kitchen. Come back with the first drink your eyes catch and you have to finish it.”
Becca rolled her eyes but stood up, playing along.
The others waited. She came back with a half-opened energy drink from Freen’s stash.
“Ugh,” she muttered, sipping it reluctantly. “Tastes like regret.”
Freen grinned. “That’s mine.”

“Figures.” Namtan said, smirking. Then added. “Your turn, Becca.”
She scanned the group slowly, then locked eyes with Film.
“Truth or dare?”
Film lifted her chin. “Truth.”
Becca’s voice was light, but her eyes were sharp.
“Have you ever been in love with someone you weren’t supposed to be?”
Film blinked. Just once.
Then she smiled. “Haven’t we all?” Then she glanced at Namtan who was already looking at her.

A beat passed after Film’s answer, heavy with implications no one dared to untangle.
Then Namtan let out a dramatic sigh. “This is the most emotionally loaded game night I’ve ever been to.”
Becca raised her glass. “To repressed feelings.”
Everyone drank even Freen, who was a little bit drunk already.
“Okay, okay,” Film said, smoothing her expression back into a smile. “Let’s shift the vibe. Freen, your turn.”

Freen looked at Becca, then at Namtan, then settled on Film.
“Truth or dare?”
Film crossed her arms. “Still feeling brave? Truth.”
Freen didn’t miss a beat. “Have you ever regretted marrying me?”
Becca froze.
Namtan straightened slightly.
Film’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not pulling punches tonight.”
“You picked truth,” Freen said flatly.
Film looked at her. Really looked and then exhaled softly. Namtan tried to interrupt but Film already answered.
“No,” Film said. “But sometimes I’ve wondered if I should’ve given myself more time before saying yes.” Namtan reached for her glass but didn’t say anything.
Freen blinked. Then gave a small nod. “Fair.”
“Alright,” Film said quickly. “Namtan, truth or dare?”
She smiled lazily. “Truth.”
She smirked. “Do you think you’re in love with Becca?”
Becca choked on her drink. “Film!”
Namtan smiled looking at Becca. “I think I’m getting there.”

Freen’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t look away.
Becca sat frozen, her fingers tightening around her wine glass.
“Okay!” Namtan said, clearly trying to move on. “Becca. Truth or dare?”
She let out a breath, forcing a smile. “Dare. Let’s lighten this.”
Namtan smiled mischievously. “Sing your guilty pleasure song. Full chorus.”
Becca groaned but stood up, already scrolling on her phone. “If anyone records this, I’m leaving.”

A few seconds later, the opening notes of “Daylight” filled the room.
Becca sang dramatically, with a hand to her chest and exaggerated falsettos. She belted the chorus with her eyes closed and one hand reaching into the air, like she was pouring her soul into every note. The tension cracked just enough for laughter to spill out. When she finished Namtan stood up and kissed her laughing.
Freen clapped at the end, shaking her head. “Truly inspiring.” Then the rest joined clapping.
Becca curtsied. “Your turn.” looking at Freen.
Freen leaned back, pretending to consider. “Alright. Dare me.”

Becca grinned. “Say something honest. No filter. To anyone in this room.”
The group collectively inhaled.
Freen looked at her. No hesitation.
“You’re the only one here who doesn’t pretend.”
Becca’s smile faded, unsure how to take that.
Film and Namtan shifted in their seats.
The silence threatened to settle again when Namtan stood up abruptly.

“Alright! Food break. I need to emotionally recover from this game.”
Everyone laughed, but there was something shaky underneath it.
After the food break.“Let’s do Who’s Most Likely To,” Film said.
Becca raised an eyebrow. “Alright,” she said, leaning forward. “I’ll start.”
She scanned the group with a dangerous glint in her eye.
“Who’s most likely to run away and start a secret life?”
“Freen,” Becca and Namtan said in unison.
Freen didn’t argue. “That’s fair.”

“My turn,” Namtan said. “Who’s most likely to fall for the wrong person?”
Becca hesitated.
Film said, “Becca,” and grinned.
Becca gave a tight smile. “No comment.”
Freen looked at her for a second too long.
Film tapped her chin, still smiling. “Who’s most likely to keep a big secret from their spouse?”
No one answered right away.
Freen muttered, “Wow, Film, subtle.”
Becca looked away. Namtan cleared her throat.

“Okay, lighter round!” Namtan said quickly. “Who’s most likely to become famous?”
“Film,” everyone said together.
She accepted it with a mock bow. “Obviously.”
Becca smiled. “Who’s most likely to flirt without realizing it?”
All eyes drifted toward Namtan.
She looked genuinely confused. “What? I’m just nice.”
“Exactly,” Freen said.
Film smirked. “You’re the human version of a golden retriever with emotional boundary issues.”
Namtan grinned. “I take that as a compliment.”

Freen leaned forward, her voice quieter. “Who’s most likely to fall for someone even when they know they shouldn’t?”
The silence came again.
Longer, heavier this time.
Then Becca spoke, voice soft. “Depends if they’re brave… or just lonely.”
Freen didn’t respond. But she didn’t look away either.
After a moment of stillness, Becca clapped her hands once. “Alright. Let’s crank up the emotional instability.”

“Two Truths and a Lie?” Film asked, already grinning.
Becca nodded. “Let’s go there.”
They rearranged themselves into a loose circle, drinks refreshed, cushions claimed. The air felt just a little thicker, whether from the wine or what they weren’t saying, it was hard to tell.
“I’ll go first,” Namtan offered. “Ease everyone in.”
She held up three fingers and said:
“1. I’ve crashed a motorbike into a rice field.
2. I once kissed someone I didn’t even like just to prove a point.
3. I’ve never fallen in love before.”
Everyone stared.
“Three’s the lie,” Film said immediately.
Freen frowned. “No. One. You’re too careful to crash anything.”
Becca looked at her, then Namtan. “It’s number two.”
Namtan smiled faintly. “Film’s right.”

Film cleared her throat. “My turn!”
She brightened her tone. “1. I once got cast in a commercial and bailed last minute.
2. I used to have a crush on one of my teachers.
3. I’ve never lied to anyone in this room.”
Silence.
“Three,” Becca said softly.
Film hesitated, then grinned. “Yeah, okay. That was a little too on the nose.”
Freen arched a brow. “You used to have a crush on a teacher?”
Film winked. “Chemistry was involved.”
Everyone groaned.

“My turn,” Becca said, sitting up straighter. She spoke slowly:
“1. I once faked a sick day just to avoid someone I liked.
2. I got my heart broken so badly once, I didn’t date for a year.
3. I’ve never been jealous of anyone.”
Freen was the first to speak. “Three is the lie.”
Film tilted her head. “I think it’s two.”
Namtan studied her. “No. It’s three. You are jealous. You just don’t like showing it.”
Becca’s lips curved. “Correct.” She didn’t say anything else.

Freen nodded once. “My turn.”
She didn’t smile.
“1. I proposed to Film after a fight, not because of love.
2. I’ve thought about cheating, even if I didn’t do it.
3. I don’t believe in soulmates.”
No one answered.
“Damn,” Namtan muttered.
Becca’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What’s the lie?”
Freen looked at her and only her.
“Number one.”
Film stared at Freen, eyes wide.
Namtan opened her mouth, then closed it.
The game had turned quiet again, like a piano playing a little too close to the truth.
Film gave a slow exhale and tried to laugh off the tension. “Okay, wow. We are deep in the therapy zone now.”
“Let’s stay there,” Becca said with a crooked smile. “Who’s next?”

“Me,” Namtan jumped in, her voice lighter than necessary. “I need to cleanse the energy.”
She held up three fingers again. “1. I once went skinny dipping in the ocean at midnight.
2. I’ve read every book Becca’s ever recommended—even the cheesy ones.
3. I never lied to Film.”
Film’s eyes flickered. Becca didn’t move.
Freen said, “Three. No way.”
Becca added, “Two. You hate romance books.”
Namtan smiled. “Wrong. Two’s true.”
She looked at Becca, a little too long. “Even the one with the vampire prince and the moody mortal girl.”
Becca flushed slightly.
“So?” Film asked, eyes narrowing.
She looked back at Film. “Yeah. Three’s the lie.” There was something in the way they looked at each other, and Becca saw it too. Though Freen was too drunk to notice.
No one said anything for a beat.
Then Film gave a thin smile. “Cool.”

She turned to Becca. “Your turn again.”
Becca hesitated, then offered:
“1. I used to write love letters I never sent.
2. I once kissed someone and instantly regretted it.
3. I’ve never thought about what it’d be like to be with someone else while in a relationship.”
Freen’s gaze sharpened.
Namtan looked like she was holding her breath.
Film sipped her drink. “Three’s the lie.”
Becca met Freen’s eyes for a second. “Yeah. It is.”
Freen didn’t look away.
Freen raised her glass slightly. “My turn again?”

“No,” Film cut in. “I want to go.”
Her smile was almost too calm.
“1. I’ve always trusted Freen.
2. I’ve never wanted anything more than a quiet life.
3. I’m not afraid to lose Namtan.”
Becca’s breath caught. Namtan couldn’t stop looking at Film
Freen gave a humorless laugh. “Three.”
Film nodded, not looking at her. “Correct.”
“Okay,” Freen said after a pause, her tone low. “Here’s one for the room.
1. I’ve wanted to be kissed by someone in this room.
2. I’ve kept something from my wife.
3. I’m completely happy.”

The silence returned with a vengeance.
Namtan’s jaw tensed. Becca’s eyes dropped to her lap.
Film whispered, “What’s the lie?”
Freen looked straight at Becca when she said, “Three.”
The silence lingered, thick and unspoken. They were all tipsy and tense now. They should have stopped playing. But suddenly Namtan clapped her hands abruptly, the sound sharp in the silence, her tipsy energy at odds with the tension in the room.

“Alright,” she flashed a drunk little smile before saying. “Before this turns into an emotional cage match, let me bring us home with the final round.”
She leaned back, arms crossed behind her head, and threw a lazy glance at the group.
“1. I once stayed up all night talking with Film about our dream lives.
2. We made a pact to get married if we’re both single by forty.
3. I’ve never thought of her as more than a friend.”
The room went still again.
Becca blinked slowly, unsure if she heard that right.
Film’s brows lifted slightly, her smile tight.
Becca watched Freen. How her jaw clenched, how she kept her eyes on the floor.
“Three’s the lie,” Freen said finally, her voice calm, too calm.

Namtan grinned like it was all harmless fun. “Correct. But hey, best friends have weird pacts, right?” She said while looking at Film.
Film didn’t respond.
Freen didn’t look at her.
Becca glanced between them, something twisting in her chest that she didn’t quite understand yet.
“I think,” Becca said softly, standing up, “We’ve had enough truth for one night.”
“Agreed,” Film said quickly, rising too. Not looking at Namtan.
Freen followed, face unreadable.
And as the group began gathering dishes and folding blankets, the tension hung behind them like a shadow. Quiet, invisible. But fully alive.

Chapter Text

The apartment had finally quieted down, the guests gone, leaving only the faint hum of rain against the windows. Film and Freen stood facing each other in the dim light, the tension from the game night still lingering heavy in the air.

“Nice game night,” Freen said, voice calm but with a sharp edge.

Film exhaled, not taking the bait. “Yeah. Intense.” She didn’t soften. “You didn’t have to say those things out loud.”

Freen looked at her, eyes tired. “Maybe I was tired of pretending everything’s fine.”

She took a step closer, voice low but firm. “We’re married, Freen. That should mean something. You don’t get to just unload your doubts on everyone else without talking to me first.”

Freen ran a hand through her hair. “It’s not that simple anymore. I’m not happy, Film. I haven’t been for a while.”

Film’s breath hitched. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because every time I try, it feels like you’re already miles away.” Freen took a step toward her. “I didn’t want to fight. I wanted to be honest.” Freen said and then added. "What about what Namtan said?" She asked Film.

"She was drunk and just messing with you," Film replied.

Film’s eyes softened, the anger giving way to something raw and vulnerable. “I’m scared too, you know. Scared we’re losing what we built.”

Freen reached for her hand, fingers intertwining. “We’re not done yet.”

A tense pause.

Then Film pulled her into a slow, searching kiss. One that spoke of apologies, needs, and silent promises. The walls between them began to crumble. While they kissed, Film whispered to Freen, “I’ll do better at giving you more attention.” Freen met her gaze and kissed her back.

They moved together toward the bedroom, the quiet rain outside matching the rhythm of their renewed connection. 

At that moment, words weren’t necessary. Just the steady, grounding presence of each other. 

Raindrops lightly kissed the pavement as Becca and Namtan walked hand in hand down the dimly lit street. The quiet around them contrasting the charged silence between them. The echo of the game night still lingered, but their intertwined fingers seemed to amplify the tension, each step feeling like it carried more weight than the last. Namtan walked a little closer than before. Their shoulders brushing now and then. 

“Tonight was… a lot,” Namtan said, glancing at Becca as they reached Becca’s apartment.  

Becca raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curling up. “You’re telling me?”

Namtan laughed, then turned to her fully. “You were incredible. I watched you fit in like you’d been around us for years. I really liked having you there.”

Becca’s heart fluttered unexpectedly, but she quickly composed herself, her expression turning serious. “Listen, Namtan…”

But Namtan cut her off, her voice firm yet soft. “I know how the game night looked, but I promise, it was just me teasing Freen. Film is only my best friend.” She paused, her eyes softening. “We’ve been together since we were babies, so sometimes it might seem like there’s more to it. But there’s nothing more between us. She really is just my BFF. I really hope you can understand that… because I can’t change my relationship with Film.”

Becca met her eyes. There was something unusually sincere in Namtan’s expression. None of the playfulness from earlier, just openness.“I’ve had so many relationships, but I’ve never felt this way with anyone… not like I do with you,” Namtan said, her voice quiet.

Becca met her gaze. Namtan smiled softly. “I like being with you, Becca.”

“I like being with you too,” Becca said softly. 

“So, we good?” Namtan asked, her voice laced with uncertainty.

Becca hesitated for a moment, the weight of the night still lingering, but she eventually nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Can I kiss you goodnight?” Namtan asked, voice a whisper against the quiet rain.

Becca nodded.

The kiss was soft, slow and careful, like both of them were afraid to break something delicate. And when they pulled apart, Namtan rested her forehead lightly against Becca’s.

“Good night,” she whispered.

“Good night,” Becca replied, heart still racing as she watched Namtan walk away, her hand lingering near her lips.

Soft, golden light filtered in through the blinds, casting quiet warmth over the bed. Film stirred first, blinking sleepily, her cheek pressed against Freen’s bare shoulder. For a long, peaceful moment, she simply breathed the familiar scent, steady heartbeat and the afterglow of making up.

Freen shifted slightly beneath her, arm wrapping instinctively around Film’s waist. Their legs were tangled, warm and close. Neither spoke at first.

“Morning,” Film finally murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Morning,” Freen echoed, brushing her lips against Film’s forehead.

It felt good. Familiar. Real. But even as they lay there, the silence wasn’t quite as soft as it used to be.

Then the first ding came. Film turned slightly, reaching for her phone on the nightstand. Freen tensed a little.

Another message popped up. Then another.

Film gave a quiet chuckle. “It’s Namtan. She’s been texting since before sunrise.”

Freen didn’t say anything, just shifted to sit up, the sheets slipping from her chest. She ran a hand through her hair, watching the light flicker on the wall.

Film clicked open her phone, fingers tapping quickly.

Freen glanced over. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Film said, distracted. “She’s just obsessed with Becca. Says she’s ‘so different’ and ‘has a spark’.”

Freen’s jaw clenched subtly. “Wow.”

“I know, right?” Film smiled, but the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes, leaving a trace of something unspoken behind the facade. “She’s already planning their next date. She’s never been like this.”

Freen stood up, stretching, back to her. "But let’s be honest, she handled the game night pretty well. If it had been one of her exes, they would have run away as soon as we started playing truth or dare." Freen said

Film hummed in agreement, still scrolling.

Another ding. Another message.

“You know,” Film said, a bit too calmly, “it’s kinda weird how invested she already is. Isn't that a bit too soon?”

Freen looked at her, sensing the edge in her tone. “You sound annoyed.”

“I’m not,” Film replied, her voice tight. “I just don’t want her to end up with regrets later, like she did with all her exes.”

Freen studied her for a moment before turning and walking toward the bathroom. “It is so  early. And I really don’t want to start the day talking about Namtan’s love life.”

Film watched Freen disappear behind the door, her own smile faltering just slightly, a pang of something unspoken tugging at her chest.

Another ding lit up the screen. Film glanced down, her heart heavy for a moment, then turned it over, silencing the sound. For now. The bathroom door clicked shut. Film sat up in bed, folding her arms over her knees. She stared at her phone, now face-down, the screen dark. The messages weren’t stopping. She could still feel the vibrations faintly against the mattress. She sighed and slipped the phone into the drawer beside her.

A few minutes later, Freen stepped out, towel-drying her hair and face calm. The kind of calm she wore like armor.

“You want breakfast?” Freen asked gently.

“Sure,” Film said. Freen pulled on a loose T-shirt and padded barefoot into the kitchen, the soft sound of her steps barely audible in the quiet.

Film followed, wrapping her robe around herself. She leaned against the counter as Freen moved around pulling plates, toasting bread, cracking eggs with practiced hands.

Film watched her quietly. There was love in her gaze but there was worry, too.

“You’re really not bothered by Namtan’s texts?” Film asked softly.

Freen shrugged, cracking another egg into the pan. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what?”

Freen paused. The sizzle of the eggs filled the silence for a second too long. "What bothers me is how much you keep worrying about Namtan’s relationships." Freen said. 

“She just... acts like Becca’s the best thing that ever happened to her,” Film finally said. “It’s just weird, that’s all.”

Freen stepped closer. “So what if she’s excited?”

“She doesn’t get like this,” Film said, almost to herself. “Not over someone she’s known for years, let alone someone she’s dated a few months.”

Freen’s voice softened, sensing the shift. “Why does that bother you?”

“It doesn’t,” Film lied again.

But the way her voice dipped quiet, sharp and unsettled betrayed her.

Freen gently turned off the stove, moving to face her fully. “Look at me.”

Film hesitated, then did.

“We’re okay, right?” Freen asked. “Last night... it wasn’t just a distraction.” Freen searched her face. “because I don’t know what we are right now, Film.”

Silence stretched between them. Then Film reached out and cupped Freen’s face.

“You’re mine,” she said quietly. “And I’m yours.”

Freen didn’t answer. But she leaned into her touch.

And just like that, the argument unraveled. The tension didn’t disappear. But it folded into something familiar. Something physical. The breakfast was forgotten. So was Namtan’s texts.

Becca stared at her phone screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. A message from Namtan had already popped up before she even finished brushing her teeth:

"Good morning, beautiful. Dream of me?"

She smiled despite herself, biting her lip. Her heart fluttered the way it always did when Namtan sent something like that. It wasn’t new. It had been a few weeks of this, dates and late-night calls, slow teasing kisses, and tender hands. But the butterflies still showed up. Every time. 

“Maybe,” she typed back. “Still thinking about that kiss.”

The reply came almost instantly.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I meant every second of it.”

Her stomach flipped. She flopped back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The softness of the moment didn’t last long though. Freen’s voice from last night snuck back into her mind. “Do you believe Namtan when she says Film is just her best friend?” “You’re the only one here who doesn’t pretend.”

The words echoed like a warning bell. She tried to shake it off. Freen didn’t even know her. . What right did she have to say that? Maybe Freen was just drunk and jealous. So she shouldn’t let Freen’s words get to her. Last night Namtan promised her that they’re just best friends. She should believe Namtan, right?

Still, it gnawed at her.

Her phone buzzed again.

Namtan : “I’m outside. Coffee and a breakfast sandwich with your name on it.”

Becca’s eyes widened. She jumped off the bed and scrambled to the window.

There she was. Namtan, in joggers and a hoodie, leaning against her car with two coffees in her hands. When she looked up and saw Becca watching, she grinned, all charm and warmth.

That smile melted Becca’s irritation like sugar in heat. Slowly breaking down the walls she’d built, leaving her feeling unexpectedly light and strangely hopeful. 

Ten minutes later, wrapped in Namtan’s hoodie and curled up on her couch, Becca took a long sip of the coffee.

“You seriously drove across town for this?”

“I seriously would have flown across the country for this,” Namtan said without missing a beat.

Becca laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I like you,” Namtan said, quieter. “That’s allowed, right?”

Becca looked at her, saw the way her dark eyes softened, how genuine the smile was. “It’s more than allowed.”

A beat of silence.

“You okay?” Namtan asked.

Becca hesitated. “Yeah. Just… last night… I’m still sorting through it.”

Namtan reached over, brushing her thumb across Becca’s cheek. “I get it. You handled it well, though. Freen can be… blunt.” Becca said nothing, choosing to keep her thoughts to herself.

Namtan added. “I know how she gets when she’s protective of Film. I didn’t think it would come out like that, but...”

“But?”

“I want this to work, Becca,” Namtan said, eyes back on hers. “I want us . But I won’t lie. Film and I come as a package. You’ll never have to compete with her, but she’s a part of my life. My family .”

Becca nodded slowly, her fingers curling around the coffee cup.

“I’m still here,” she said. “So that must mean something, right?”

Namtan leaned in, kissing her softly. “It means everything.”

They sat in silence for a few moments longer, sipping, breathing. The kind of silence that only came when two people were slowly and carefully falling into something.

After a few more minutes of comfortable silence, Namtan stretched with a soft groan, setting her empty mug down on the coffee table. “I was thinking… There’s this little bakery a couple blocks from here. They do these ridiculous almond croissants. Want to go?”

Becca blinked, surprised. “Now? We just had breakfast.”

Namtan grinned. “Unless you have a better idea.”

“No, I mean…yeah. That sounds nice.” Becca smiled, brushing her fingers through her hair. “Let me just change.”

Namtan stood and offered her a hand. “Keep the hoodie. It looks better on you anyway.”

Becca rolled her eyes but took the hand, a smile pulling at her lips as Namtan’s fingers closed around hers. The moment was brief, but it lingered.

The bakery was tucked into the corner of a quiet street. The rain from last night had left the air fresh, and the world seemed softer somehow, like it hadn’t quite woken up yet.

They sat at a small table near the window, the sunlight catching in Becca’s hair as she tore into the croissant with a kind of reverent hunger.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said, flakes of pastry falling onto her plate. “This is ridiculous.”

“I don’t mess around with pastry,” Namtan replied with mock seriousness. She leaned forward, elbow on the table, watching Becca with a lazy smile.

Becca noticed the look but didn’t comment. Instead, she asked, “So… what’s your deal?”

Namtan tilted her head. “My deal?”

“Yeah. You always seem so calm, like nothing rattles you. Do you ever freak out?”

Namtan laughed. “Oh, definitely. I just do it in private.”

“Like when?”

Namtan tapped her fingers against the coffee cup. “Hmm. When I pitch a new project. Or when I think I like someone, and I can’t tell if they feel the same way.”

Becca looked up at her then, a bite halfway to her mouth.

“Wow, that’s oddly detailed.” she said laughing.

Namtan gave her a crooked smile. “Maybe.”

Becca set the croissant down. Her heart fluttered. Not in a big, dramatic way, but in a soft, tentative one. She felt the moment stretching, tilting and turning toward something.

Before she could respond, a kid at the next table squealed, breaking the quiet spell between them. They both laughed, and the moment passed, but the feeling remained.

After breakfast, they walked slowly back toward Becca’s place, Becca still in Namtan’s borrowed hoodie, the cool breeze threading through their conversation.

“You know,” Becca said, “I don’t usually do this.”

“Do what?”

“Let people in so easily.”

Namtan didn’t respond right away. Then she said, “Maybe it’s not that you let me in easily. Maybe I was just meant to be let in.”

Becca didn’t know what to say to that. So she didn’t. She just smiled and let her shoulder brush against Namtan’s, then gently rested her head on Namtan’s shoulder as they walked the last block in silence.

It was a few days later when Becca got a text from Namtan.

Namtan: Hey, I know this is super last-minute, but I’m stuck on a project and... I kind of miss your brain. And your face. Are you free tonight?

Becca smirked at the screen before typing back.

Becca: Flattery will get you everywhere. What’s the project?

Namtan: Honestly? Kind of a mess. But I ordered your favorite pizza. That has to count for something.

When Becca arrived, the apartment smelled like melted cheese and garlic. The lights were low, fairy lights glowing faintly above the windows. On the table were two plates already set, slices of pizza still hot in the box, and a chaotic stack of notes, photos, and color palettes scattered across the floor.

“I didn’t mean to bribe you,” Namtan said as she opened the door. “But it’s from that place you love.The one with the stupidly good crust.”

Becca laughed. “You absolutely meant to bribe me. And yeah, it’s working.”

They settled on the floor, cross-legged and close, as Namtan explained the concept of the film she was busy making. “I want it to feel soft,” she said. “Like something people remember only after they’ve forgotten it for years.”

“That’s so you,” Becca said, more to herself than to Namtan.

“What do you mean?”

“You always notice the things most people miss.”

Namtan didn’t answer right away. Just gave her this look. Soft. Like she’d been hoping to hear those exact words without realizing it.

For the next hour, they worked side by side. Namtan tossed out ideas, Becca caught them and shaped them into something solid. When Becca leaned in to point at a photo reference, Namtan didn’t move away, just leaned closer too.

“You’re seriously good at this,” she said quietly. “You make everything clearer.”

Becca shrugged, but her heart was beating faster. “You make it easier.”

A moment later, Namtan’s own phone lit up. Becca caught the name on the screen: Film.

Becca’s jaw tightened for a moment. She didn’t say anything, but Namtan noticed the way her shoulders stiffened. Namtan glanced at her phone, then at Becca and without hesitation, she pressed the side button, silencing the call. “I’ll call her later,” Namtan said casually, setting her phone face-down. Becca blinked, a little surprised. “You sure?” Namtan looked at her. Really looked. “Yeah. I’m with you right now.” It wasn’t the words themselves that made Becca’s chest flutter. It was the way Namtan said them. Quiet, clear, with no room for doubt.

They went back to work, but the space between them had shifted. And somewhere between notes and cold pizza, Becca found herself watching Namtan. Not the screen, not the sketches. Just her.

The way she smiled with her whole face. The way her eyes lingered a little longer than they used to. The way she always remembered Becca’s favorite things. Like the pizza place with the crust she always raved about.

Namtan met her eyes and smiled, but this time it felt different.

“Thanks for helping me,” she said, her voice low.

“Always,” Becca whispered.

A pause.

Then, slowly, carefully, Namtan leaned in giving Becca time to pull away.

She didn’t.

Their lips met in a kiss that was less about sparks and more about softness. Warmth. A quiet yes.

When they finally pulled apart, Becca’s forehead rested lightly against Namtan’s.

She didn’t mean to fall a little more in love with her that night. But honestly, how could she not?

Chapter Text

Becca pushed her cart slowly down the aisle, staring blankly at the rows of products like they held the meaning of life. Her phone was tucked against her ear and Orm was on the other end, already in full performance mode. She could sense the beginnings of a headache creeping in. Becca cursed herself for answering. She should've known better…

“I’m still emotionally hungover from what you told me about the game night,” Orm said, chewing popcorn like it was part of the therapy. “I’ve replayed that game night like ten times in my head,” Orm said, slurping her drink. “It had more plot twists than a season finale.”

Becca groaned. “Orm.”

“Don't worry! I’ve had time to emotionally recover from it since you told me about it.” Orm said, “and by ‘recover,’ I mean I’ve rewatched it in my head like a limited series. A messy, slow-burn romantic drama where everyone needs therapy and wine.”

Becca sighed. “Why do I feel like you took notes?”

“Because I DID! I’m currently on my second rewatch of ‘Episode: The Breakdown Begins.’ Let’s start with the obvious: Namtan .”

Becca already felt her chest tighten. “Please don’t—”

“Oh, I will . Because the woman you’re dating looked you in the face and when asked if she’s in love with you, said: ‘I think I’m getting there.’ A beat of silence . ‘’WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN, BECCA?! Is she catching a train? The bus stop? An emotional breakdown? The plot?”

Becca grabbed a can of chickpeas. “Can we not?”

“Oh, we must. You can’t just drop me into a circle of unresolved tension and think I won’t analyze it like I’m writing my PhD.”

Becca muttered, “She was nervous.”

“She was vague. That’s different. ‘I think I’m getting there’ is what people say about jogging or being ready to forgive their parents. Not their relationship!”

Becca grabbed a bag of rice and shoved it into her cart. “She was just playing along.”

“Oh yeah? Was she also just playing along when she said she and Film made a marriage pact for when they’re forty? IN FRONT OF YOU AND HER WIFE?!” Orm said. “Because that one made the room go silent like someone unplugged the night.”

Becca’s stomach tensed. “She said it was years ago.”

“Mmhmm. And I once said I’d marry my dentist if I didn’t end up alone. You don’t see me bringing it up while I’m holding my girlfriend’s hand!”

Becca paused at the end of the aisle, eyes scanning the store without really seeing it. “She told me she really likes me. That it’s different with me.”

“Sure,” Orm said with a smirk in her voice. “And I like yogurt , but that doesn’t mean I don’t stare at cake.”

Becca blinked. “That… that was the worst metaphor I’ve ever heard.” Then adds. “Okay, but that wasn’t even the worst part…”

“Oh don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. Freen stepped in like a surprise final boss! ‘Do you believe Namtan when she says Film is just her best friend?’ Girl! That wasn’t a question. THAT WAS A WEAPON!”

Becca tensed. “She was just playing the game.”

“She was playing chess while the rest of you were barely playing Connect Four. And then she goes all, ‘You’re the only one here who doesn’t pretend.’ Excuse me?! Was that the game or a confession of emotional intimacy?!”

Becca grabbed a random bag of chips. “She was drunk.”

Orm snorted. “Sure. Because drunk people always stare directly into your soul and say ‘I’ve wanted to kiss someone here’ right after you admit you’ve thought about someone else while in a relationship.”

Becca winced. “Again...like I said before...she was drunk.”

“She was drunk with purpose . Drunk people cry or order fries, Becca. They don’t make existential observations about people’s souls! And THEN she said…oh God, wait for it! ‘I’ve thought about cheating’ and ‘I’ve wanted to be kissed by someone in the room’. LIKE MA’AM?! WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT?!”

“She never said who it was!” Becca rubbed her forehead

“Oh, true. It was totally about the lamp in the corner…”

“Orm…”

“I’m just saying! Between Film’s nostril flares, Namtan’s crisis, and Freen’s moody longing, that apartment needed a fire extinguisher and a therapist. maybe even a whole team of therapists on rotation!"

“We were just playing games.” Becca sighed.

“Oh please. That wasn’t ‘playing games’. That was ‘Let’s Destroy Our Relationships with Five Sips or Less.’”

“We were drunk…”

“STOP SAYING THAT!! Drunk people usually say, ‘I love chips,’ not ‘I crave emotional intimacy from someone I’m not married to!’”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m dating Namtan.” Becca sighed.

“And I support you!” Orm said. “In the same way I support those people on cooking shows who say, ‘I’ve never made this before but I’m confident.’ It’s sweet. It’s brave. It’s delusional!!!”

“This is why I shouldn’t tell you things.” Becca groaned.

Orm ignored her. “You also said, and I quote: ‘I’ve never thought about being with someone else while in a relationship’ and that was the lie?! Honey… HONEY! Are we talking about a random ex, or someone with a legal license and a wife?”

Becca bit her lip. “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” Orm said sweetly. “You just hate that I’m right.”

Becca opened her mouth to fire back, but the words died. She saw her…

A few aisles ahead.

Freen.

Standing near the eggs at the end of the aisle. The problem is...Freen was already staring RIGHT at her! 

Becca froze. Her stomach sank all the way down to her feet.

Freen blinked. Then without hesitation started walking toward her.

Becca’s heart flipped.

“Orm,” she said quickly into the phone. “I’ve gotta go.”

“What? Why?!”

Becca didn't answer.

“OH MY GOD! IT IS HER, ISN’T IT?!! GET A PICTURE. TELL HER I SAID HI. DON’T U DARE HANG U—”

Click.

By the time she slipped the phone into her pocket, Freen was just a few steps away.

“Hey,” Freen said, stopping beside her cart like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Becca tried to smile. “Hey.”

Freen’s blazer was slightly wrinkled, and her hair tied up messily like she’d just survived a long day in court. Dark circles peeked beneath tired eyes, and she carried a quiet exhaustion in her posture.

A brief beat of silence stretched between them. 

Freen’s eyes flicked briefly to the pasta in Becca’s hand. “Making something fancy?”

Becca blinked down at the bag she’d grabbed. “I wasn’t paying attention.” She set it back on the shelf without another thought.

Freen smiled faintly. “Distracted?”

“Something like that.”

“How’ve you been?” Freen asked. 

“Good. You?”

Freen nodded once. “Busy. Tired.”

“You look like it,” Becca said, then instantly regretted how it sounded. “I mean…like, in a ‘you’ve had a long day’ way. Not like…bad.”

Freen actually smiled at that, brief but real. “Thanks. I’ll take it.”

Another pause.

Then Freen’s voice shifted just slightly, still casual, but quieter, edged with curiosity. “So… how’d you find game night?”

There it was. No smile now. Just a quiet, direct question.

Becca swallowed. “It was... intense.”

“Too much?”

Becca hesitated, then shook her head. “Not too much. Just… honest.”

Freen’s gaze didn’t flinch. “Yeah. I guess it was.”

“You asked a lot of interesting questions,” Becca said half-curious.

Freen gave a small shrug. “I thought we were supposed to.”

“Some of them felt personal.”

Freen looked at her. Truly looked. “Only if they hit something.”

Becca felt her throat tighten. 

Freen’s expression softened a little. Then she glanced away for a second, like she was weighing something, then back at Becca. “I wasn’t trying to stir things up.”

Becca nodded slowly. “No. I don’t think you were.”

A beat.

“I just wanted to say… sorry. About that night.” Freen said.

Becca’s chest tightened. “You don’t have to…”

“I’m not sorry about the questions,” Freen added, quietly but clearly. “But I’m sorry about the tension. It wasn’t supposed to get that personal. Especially since it was your first time at our house”

Becca knew she meant it. Still, she threw on a smile to lighten the mood.

"You’re not sorry at all," she teased.

Freen met her eyes smiling back. “I’m not sorry for being honest.”

Becca felt something shift in her chest. “Yeah…” she said, voice quiet. “Me neither.”

The grocery aisle felt colder than it should’ve. Freen’s presence had a stillness to it. Not unfriendly, but focused. Becca found herself fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

“How’s Film?” Becca broke the silence, voice soft but direct.

Freen looked down for a second, like she was reading something on the floor. “Busy directing things like always”. Freen said, meeting her eyes again. “We haven’t really talked about the game night. Not directly. I think she’s pretending it didn’t happen.”

Becca’s grip on her cart tightened slightly. That word rang louder than it should have. It echoed something she'd been carrying since game night. Something she hadn't dared to bring up. Until now.

She looked at Freen, more direct than before.

“You said that night… ‘You’re the only one here who doesn’t pretend.’ ”

Freen’s gaze flicked toward her. She didn’t look surprised. But she didn’t say anything either.

Becca went on, voice low but steady.

“What did you mean by that?”

Freen’s shoulders lifted slightly in a small breath. “I meant exactly what I said.”

“But why me?”

Freen hesitated. She looked down at the basket in her hand for a second, like she needed to choose her words carefully. When she spoke, her voice was softer. Not defensive, just honest.

“Because everyone in that room was performing. Trying to protect something. Cover something. Even me” She looked at Becca again, eyes steady.

“But you… you didn’t pretend. You were uncomfortable. You were trying to hold it together. But you didn’t lie. You didn’t fake your way through it. You answered everything, even when it hurt.”

Becca’s throat went tight. She hadn’t expected that. Not the clarity. Not the… care in Freen’s voice.

“I wasn’t brave,” she said softly. “I was just too tired to fake it.”

Freen’s expression didn’t shift. “That’s what made it brave.”

The words settled between them, heavier than either of them acknowledged out loud.

“That night was a lot.” Becca swallowed.

Freen nodded. “Yeah. But I don’t regret it.”

Becca felt something stir in her stomach. Something she knew she shouldn’t be feeling.

“How are things with Namtan?” Freen asked.

“We’re… good.” Becca said. “But sometimes it’s hard when the person you’re with keeps reaching for someone else’s hand.”

That silence returned. There was nothing left to joke about. Only truths hanging between them, unspoken and heavy.

Freen’s voice was quieter now. “You deserve someone who only reaches for you.”

Becca didn’t look away.

“Yeah,” Becca said softly. “So do you.” 

Freen looked at her, something gentler settling in her eyes.

Becca looked away first, eyes falling to the oat milk in Freen’s basket.

“I forgot what I even came here for.”

Freen smiled, faint and real. “Me too.”

Becca glanced down at the oat milk in Freen’s basket again, like it gave her something neutral to look at. Something safer than Freen’s eyes.

Freen opened her mouth like she might say something more… but her phone buzzed.

Freen pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and her expression changed. The smile is gone. Becca noticed.

She didn’t need to ask.

FILM — CALLING

Becca looked down at her cart, her eyes dropped to a crooked stack of instant noodles, as if they'd just asked her a deep question.

Freen hesitated, then answered.

“Hey.”

Film’s voice was light, but impatient through the speaker.

“Where are you? You’ve been gone forever. Are they growing the vegetables for you out back?”

Freen gave a small, breathy laugh, but her tone was slightly off.

“I got caught up. Long line at the register.”

“Don’t forget the eggs. Or the coffee. The strong one. You said we were out.”

Freen nodded. “Yeah. Got it.”

There was a pause on the other end.“You okay?” Film asked.

Freen flicked a glance at Becca still looking down, still pretending not to listen.

“Yeah,” Freen said, clearing her throat. “Just tired. I’ll head back soon.”

“Okay. Don’t disappear. I actually need you for things. Domestic things. Like opening jars and pretending to listen.”

Freen exhaled a quiet laugh. “I’ll be there.”

The call ended. Freen slowly lowered the phone, not moving for a second.

Becca didn’t speak, but the air between them had changed. Not tense, but aware. Reminded.

Freen finally said, her voice lower again, “That was Film.”

Becca nodded without looking at her. “I figured.”

Then Becca finally looked up. “You should get going.”

Freen nodded then asked.“So…are we okay?.”

Becca smiled and said.“Of course.”

Freen gave her a long look, unreadable, maybe even reluctant before nodding once.

She turned and walked away, leaving Becca standing alone in the aisle, surrounded by the hum of cold air and everything unsaid.

They both felt something shift in that moment. Small, invisible, but undeniable.

And like they always did, they pretended it was nothing.

Chapter Text

Long before the complicated nights, jealous glances and the wreckage of things unsaid. There was only one thing that made perfect sense in both their lives: each other.

It didn’t begin with them.

It began with their mothers.

Two girls in high school uniforms who bonded over shared snacks, failed math quizzes, and a mutual hatred of their strict chemistry teacher. They grew up side by side, the kind of friendship that survived crushes, breakups, university applications and an entire decade. When they both married, they decided without question they would live near each other.

Not just near. Next door.

Matching houses. Shared fences. Two families that blurred into one over time.

It wasn’t long before both women found themselves pregnant, unexpectedly at the same time. It was treated like destiny. The babies would be best friends too.

Namtan arrived first, born in the soft blush of March. Film followed in July. Both girls were raised more like sisters than friends. Two babies who shared diapers, birthday cakes, beach trips and fought like sisters when it came to crayons and space on the swing set. It didn’t take long for the girls to follow their mothers’ lead. So where one went, the other went too.

They didn’t remember meeting. There was no beginning for them. Just always. Always together. Always nearby. They had separate houses but only one home…each other. 

To sum up, by the time they could walk, Namtan and Film were inseparable.

Same kindergarten. Same elementary school. Same awkward phases. So basically school was never something they navigated alone. They were always in the same class, always seated side-by-side because the teachers already knew better. Namtan was the one talking during lectures, making faces, getting scolded. Film was the one quietly correcting her notes afterward. Namtan would defend her in schoolyard fights without hesitation. Film would fix her collar before she got in trouble.

The only difference was that Namtan grew into herself faster. She was beautiful and knew it. Easy with her charm and flirtatious without effort. By high school, she had a new girlfriend every few months and a trail of heartbroken girls behind her. She wasn’t mean about it, just restless. She loved the rush of being wanted, but never stuck around long enough for anything real. Film rolled her eyes every time Namtan came back with a new name, a new story, a new excuse.

“Do you ever think about not flirting for five minutes?” she asked once.

“Do you ever think about letting me have fun?” Namtan grinned.

Film never said it, but sometimes, it did bother her. Back then, she didn't know why or she didn't want to say it out loud.

Film was different. Careful. Private. She kept her head down and her heart tucked away.

It wasn’t just shyness. Her trust had been broken long before she’d ever fallen in love.

Her father had cheated on her mother. Not just a one-time mistake, but a full betrayal. A second family. A second life. He left and remarried within the year. Film had stopped believing in forever after that. Stopped believing in safety.

So she didn’t date. People tried. Of course they did, but she brushed them off with polite smiles and excuses about being too busy. Her walls were high, and she had no intention of letting anyone over them.

Except Namtan. But that was different.

They were best friends. That word meant safety. Familiarity. No risk.

Until one night when the weight of it all cracked just a little.

They were sitting on the rooftop of their dorm building, legs dangling off the edge, beer can in hand. The city stretched below them like a living thing, glittering and endless.

“I think I’m going to die alone,” Film said suddenly, not looking at her.

Namtan turned, startled. “What?”

“I’m serious,” she said, laughing without humor. “I’ve never dated anyone. I’ve never even tried. I’m terrified I’ll end up like my mom. Bitter and alone because I was too scared to try.”

Namtan was quiet for a moment. Then she bumped Film’s shoulder gently with hers. “Then we’ll get married.”

Film snorted. “What?”

“If we’re both single at forty,” Namtan said, turning to her with a grin, “we’ll marry each other. Pact.”

Film raised an eyebrow. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” Namtan said, holding out her pinky. “You’re smart. Gorgeous. Stubborn as hell. It’d be a tragic waste if you ended up alone.”

Film laughed, but she hooked her pinky around hers anyway.

“Fine. But only if you stop breaking girls’ hearts every six months.”

“No promises,” Namtan teased. “But for you? Maybe.”

They didn’t speak of it again. Not for a while.

But the memory lingered. In a quiet little corner in both of their hearts. 

Film met Ethan during her time at the university.

It was at a short film project for an independent cinema competition. Film had written the script herself. Her professors loved it. They gave her a tiny budget, a tight schedule, and a crew of half-talented hopefuls.

He was the cinematographer. Clean-cut, calm, with kind eyes and a deep voice that made everything he said sound thoughtful.

He wasn’t like the others who flirted with her. He didn’t push. He listened. Asked her about her shot lists and lighting preferences. Brought her coffee without asking. Laughed at her dry jokes. Called her "Director" with a playful bow.

Namtan didn’t like him. Not even a little.

“He’s too polished,” she said one night, throwing her jacket on the couch in their shared dorm which was a small apartment. “Guys like that don’t fall for girls like you unless they want something.”

Film raised an eyebrow. “Girls like me?”

“You know what I mean,” Namtan said, already defensive. “You’re smart. Guarded. You don’t fall for fake charm.”

“He’s not fake,” Film said tightly. “He’s just... different.”

“Exactly.” Namtan muttered, shaking her head. “Not in a good way.”

But Film didn’t listen. She had already started falling. Slowly and recklessly, the way people do when they’ve never been in love before. And at first, it was good. He introduced her to people in the industry, talked about short films and music scores like they were sacred. He brought her flowers. Told her she was brilliant.

She never said the word boyfriend out loud. But it felt like maybe, just maybe, she could have something normal. Something that didn’t end in betrayal.

Until it did.

Suddenly he stopped calling as much.

Then came the cancelled plans. The delayed texts. The nights he was “too tired” to talk.

She kept telling Namtan that everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

One night, after a group film screening, she waited for him outside the theater. He was supposed to take her to dinner. She waited almost an hour.

That’s when she saw him across the street. Laughing with someone else. A girl. His arm casually slung around her shoulder. They weren’t just talking. They were also kissing.

He didn’t see her. But she saw enough.

She didn’t say anything. 

She walked back to the dorm quietly, like she was moving through fog. Her heart a hollow weight in her chest. She unlocked the door, stepped inside, and shut it behind her.

The moment she turned, her body gave out. She dropped her bag and sat on the floor, back to the wall, pulling her knees to her chest. The tears came hot and fast. Not just from betrayal. But from disappointment. From feeling stupid. From proving that her fears were right.

Namtan found her there.

She had just gotten back from a late shoot, headphones still around her neck, smelling faintly of camera gear and cheap takeout. The moment she saw her, everything in her stilled.

Namtan didn’t say anything. She just sat beside her and pulled her in. Let her cry against her shoulder until the fabric was damp.

“What did he do?” Namtan asked softly.

Film didn’t answer. Her jaw tightened, and she shook her head once, like speaking would make it worse.

“He cheated,” Film said finally, her voice flat.

Namtan closed her eyes, sighed and then asked. “Do I need to kill him?”

That earned her a short laugh. A bitter one, but it was something. 

“No,” Film muttered. “He’s not worth it.” Then she laughed bitterly, still sniffling. “You’re not great at comforting people, you know.”

“I’m better at revenge. But you told me not to kill him.” Namtan said smiling.

Film also managed a small smile.

They sat in silence again. The kind that only comes from knowing each other for so long. No need to explain what it reminded her of. What it reopened. Her mother’s heartbreak. Her father’s betrayal. The mirror of it all.

“I should’ve known,” Film whispered. “I’m not cut out for this.”

“Stop,” Namtan said, firmly. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Blame yourself. He made a choice. And it wasn’t about you.”

Film looked down at her hands. “Maybe I just attract liars.”

Namtan turned to her, gaze steady. “Then marry me.”

Film blinked. “What?”

“You remember our pact, right? If we’re single at forty…”

“We’re twenty-three.”

“So what?” Namtan said with a shrug. “It still counts.”

Film gave a tired smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

Namtan leaned in, her voice gentler now. “I’m serious. You don’t need someone who breaks you just to feel whole. You need someone who knows you already. Someone who wouldn’t dream of hurting you.”

Film met her eyes, guarded. “Are you saying that’s you?”

Namtan didn’t blink. “I’d never cheat on you. Ever.”

Something shifted in Film’s expression. Surprise, fear, something softer flickering underneath.

“You’ve dated half the girls at our university.”

“And I never promised any of them forever,” Namtan said. “But I’d promise you.”

There was a beat of stillness. 

Then Film whispered, “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.”

Film studied her for a long moment. Then her voice, smaller: “Do you want to date me?”

“I do,” Namtan said without hesitation.

“Then you have to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

Film’s voice shook, but her eyes didn’t. “Don’t you ever cheat on me Namtan. I mean it! If you ever do what my dad did to my mom, or what Ethan just did to me…” Her throat tightened. “I won’t survive it.”

Namtan reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “I promise. On everything.”

Film searched her face for the lie. But there wasn’t one. Just the girl who’d grown up next door. The one who always knew how to find her in the dark.

And for the first time, Namtan leaned in.

The kiss was slow. Tender. Not rushed like the others Namtan had given or received. This one tasted like years of friendship, of shared memories, of something fragile becoming real.

“Was that supposed to fix things?” Film asked, barely above a whisper.

“No,” Namtan said. “It was supposed to start something.”

Film looked down at her hands. Her fingers were trembling slightly, barely noticeable unless you knew her like Namtan did. “You’re serious?”

“For once, yeah.”

“I don’t want to be another girl you try and forget next month.”

“You’re not.”

“Then prove it,” Film said, looking back at her now. “Because I’ve already been broken once this week, and I’m not doing that twice.”

Namtan leaned forward again, her forehead brushing against Film’s. “You won’t have to,” she murmured. “Not with me.”

There was a pause, quiet and fragile.

Then Film asked, “But what if it doesn’t work?”

Namtan blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… us,” she said softly. “What if we try and it falls apart? What if we ruin this?”

“This?” Namtan echoed.

“Our friendship. The one thing in my life that’s never broken.”

Namtan reached for her hand. Held it gently. “Then we don’t let it.”

“That’s not always up to us.”

“Then we promise,” Namtan said, her voice steady. “Right now. No matter what happens, we don’t stop being best friends.”

Film’s eyes filled, but she smiled through it. “Are you serious about everything tonight?”

“I am.”

Film squeezed her hand. “Okay. We promise.”

Namtan nodded once. “Promise.”

They just held onto each other. Not with desperation, but with the quiet hope that maybe this could be the exception. That maybe this time, the story would end differently. 

Two people who had known each other forever, were about to try something neither of them fully understood.

They didn’t say the word relationship .

They didn’t need to.

Not yet.

But that night, they fell asleep on the same bed, fingers intertwined.

And somewhere between the quiet and the dawn, something shifted.

They didn’t tell anyone.

Not their friends. Not their parents.

It was because Film wanted to be sure. She said it gently one night, curled beside Namtan in bed, fingers tracing circles along her arm.

“I just… want this to be ours for a little while,” she’d whispered. “Before anyone else gets a say.”

It wasn’t fear, exactly. It was just… theirs.

Something private. Something fragile.
Something she wanted to protect before the world had a chance to touch it.

They told themselves they’d wait a few months, just until they were sure. Just until they understood what this really was.

At least, that’s what Film said.

Namtan didn’t like the idea. But she agreed without arguing.

She never said how she really felt about it.
And that annoyed her more than she could explain.

Because Namtan didn’t want to be a secret. 

She wanted to be a part of Film’s world. Not just in the quiet moments behind closed doors.

She wanted the world to know who she loved and who loved her back. That after all the girls who came and went, she finally had someone she didn’t want to lose.

So sometimes, late at night, when Film’s head rested on her shoulder and the silence stretched too long, she wondered if Film was ashamed of her.

If that is why they were still a secret.

The months passed.
And then more…

Six months turned into eight.
Eight blurred into twelve.

A whole year.

Birthdays came and went. Holidays, too. And still…nothing changed.

They weren’t hiding, Film insisted. They were just being careful.

But careful started to feel like denial.
Like waiting for something that might never come.

And Namtan, who never used to doubt the way Film looked at her,
was starting to question if love was supposed to feel this uncertain.

But still she kept that to herself. Like a secret tucked behind her smile.

Because it was enough, she told herself. It was enough just to have Film.

And for a while, it was.

Their relationship was quiet magic.

They didn’t go on traditional dates.
But then again, nothing about them ever had been.

Being in the same major meant they saw each other constantly. Lectures, group projects, library runs, production sets. It should’ve made things boring. Predictable.

But Namtan made sure it never was.

She left notes tucked inside Film’s textbooks, always folded, always hand-written, sometimes cheesy, sometimes devastating.
“Your face during that last lecture was the only thing keeping me awake.”
“I’d fail this class just to sit beside you again next semester.”

Film would roll her eyes, but she always kept the notes.

They’d sit next to each other in class like nothing had changed, shoulders almost touching, stealing glances when the professor’s back was turned. Namtan memorized her coffee order, even added an extra shot when she knew Film had barely slept.

Their campus was small. Everyone knew Namtan. People smiled at her, flirted with her while passing. Film pretended not to notice how Namtan always brushed them off.

One time, Film was presenting a short film project, nervous and barely holding it together. She saw Namtan in the back row, holding up her ipad that said “Oscar goes to My Girl” . She nearly burst out laughing mid-sentence.

Later that night, Namtan dragged her to the editing suite and lit up the room with fairy lights. A single cupcake sat on the desk.

“Why?” Film had asked, half-laughing.

“For being brilliant,” Namtan said. “And for being mine.”

At college, they couldn’t kiss. Couldn’t touch. Couldn’t be them .

But Namtan still made it known in ways that weren’t loud, but impossible to miss.

They worked together on a short film assignment for their directing class. It was supposed to be fiction. It ended up being about two people in love who couldn’t say it out loud. Their professor called it “quietly devastating.” 

One night, Film came home exhausted. Two midterms, three deadlines and no sleep.

Namtan had turned the living room into a fort. Blankets draped over chairs, fairy lights, popcorn and instant noodles set up like a picnic on the floor. A projector with their favorite childhood movie on.

“You’re ridiculous,” Film had whispered, standing in the doorway.

“I’m romantic,” Namtan corrected. “And dangerously obsessed with you.”

And maybe she was.

Because with Film, it wasn’t the chase.
It wasn’t the thrill.
It was the quiet . 

Film wasn’t romantic. Not in the traditional sense.

She didn’t believe in grand gestures or public declarations. She wasn’t the type to buy flowers or write poems. When she loved, it wasn’t a performance.

Where Namtan expressed love in fireworks, Film was the candle that stayed burning quietly, without asking for applause.

She wasn’t the kind to gush or plan surprises. But she always noticed the little things. She’d bring Namtan an extra jacket when the weather app said it might rain. She kept a spare charger in her bag because Namtan never remembered hers. She would wait after class when Namtan got caught talking to classmates, just leaning against the wall, unreadable, but always there.

She never interrupted. She just waited.

She remembered Namtan’s schedule down to the hour. She carried painkillers in her bag because Namtan always got stress headaches before big presentations, but never remembered to pack any. She ironed their scripts before class. Highlighted both their lines during group reads, not just her own.

At home, Film would cook when Namtan forgot to eat. She’d tidy the chaos Namtan left behind without ever complaining. When Namtan got carried away with ideas, scripts, stories, editing plans. Film would sit beside her with a pen and start organizing the mess, quietly turning passion into structure.

She wasn’t romantic. But she was dependable.

And when Namtan was loud, flirty, reckless. Film never scolded her. She’d just sigh, look at her like she was a storm she knew how to survive, and say, “Are you done?” before grabbing her hand and pulling her somewhere quieter.

Namtan once said: “You don’t do anything sweet, but somehow I always feel safest with you.”

Film had just shrugged. “That’s the point.”

She wasn’t loud about love.

She didn’t need to be.

Because when Film gave you her heart, she didn’t give it halfway. She gave it the way she did everything else, with intention. With commitment. With no need to prove anything to anyone else.

So they were in sync. In love. In secret.

For almost a year, it was perfect.

Until one party….

Until one mistake…

Chapter Text

The desk light flickered softly in the corner of their shared dorm. Film sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by flashcards and crumpled notes, a messy bun perched on her head like a crown of stress. Her eyes moved quickly across the textbook, lips moving silently as she reread the same sentence for the third time.

Namtan stood in front of their shared closet, pulling on her black bomber jacket over a crisp white T-shirt. She adjusted the collar, then smoothed her black jeans and slipped on her black Vans. She checked herself in the mirror briefly, not too much, just enough to feel put together then turned to Film.

“Babe,” she said gently, “are you sure you can’t come? Just for an hour please?”

Film didn’t look up. “I really can’t. I already failed this once. I need to lock this in.”

Namtan walked over and leaned on the edge of the desk. “You’ve been studying all week. Its Friday. One hour wouldn’t kill your grade.”

“It might,” Film muttered, underlining something with too much force. “And if I fail again, I might lose the scholarship.” 

“I know,” Namtan murmured. “But you know how much I hate going alone.”

“You’ve gone alone plenty of times before…you’ll survive.” Film said, her voice soft but firm. “Besides, if I go, I’ll stress the whole time. You’ll have more fun without me.”

Fun.

Namtan bit the inside of her cheek and nodded. “Right.”

Then she gave a small exhale through her nose, trying not to sound disappointed. “Do I look okay?”

“Yeah,” Film said automatically. “You always look good.”

But she didn’t glance up. Not even for a second.

Namtan stood still. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

She crossed the room, kissed Film’s cheek a little longer than usual, but Film didn’t turn her head, didn’t pull her closer. 

“I love you,” Namtan said. Voice light. Hopeful. 

Film hummed something — maybe agreement, maybe just a breath — but didn’t look away from her notes.

Namtan lingered there for a second longer. Waiting. 

But nothing came.

She wasn’t sure Film heard her.

She stepped back, nodded to herself, and grabbed her phone from the bed.

“See you later,” she said quietly.

Film didn’t respond. Too deep in her notes to notice.

The party was in a house just off-campus. The kind of place that reeked of cheap vodka and expensive perfume. Colored lights flashed across the living room, bouncing off half-empty bottles and too-loud speakers.

Everyone was already half-drunk when Namtan walked in.

She barely stepped inside before someone called out.

“Hey! Look who decided to rise from the dead!” someone yelled from the kitchen.

“Namtan! Where’s your shadow?” One of her friends called.

“Studying,” she replied, rolling her eyes and smiling.

“She let you come alone?” another voice added. “Damn. Maybe she’s finally letting you breathe.”

More laughter.

Someone handed her a drink. She didn’t ask what it was.

“You’ve been single for, what, a year now?” a girl teased.

“She’s too hot to be single,” a guy countered. “Must be picky.”

“Or maybe her charm’s wearing off,” someone else added, grinning.

Laughter followed. Good-natured. But something in it dug under her skin.

Namtan smiled. But it was the tight kind. The kind you make when you're forcing it.

They didn’t know. No one did. About her and Film. How they kissed when no one was looking. How they slept tangled together in that narrow dorm bed more often than not. How she brushed her teeth to the rhythm of Film’s morning playlists.

They didn’t know because they weren’t allowed to.

Film was cautious. Private. Focused on college.

So Namtan played along. Let the world think she was unattached.

But tonight, she wasn’t thinking about secrecy. She was watching couples. Hands laced together, kisses stolen behind doors, a girl curled up in her girlfriend’s lap on the couch. She missed it.

God, she missed being wanted in the open.

Maybe something about the teasing or about being alone while everyone else was loud and stupid and careless made her finish her drink too fast. Someone gave her another.

Namtan smirked, taking the cup with a nod. “Maybe I just raised my standards.”

But the teasing didn’t stop.

“She’s just picky because no one’s topped her ex,” someone whispered, not quietly enough.

“No, no, she’s just waiting for Love to wear her down.”

Love, lounging on the couch like she owned the room, lifted her cup in mock salute. “I mean, I’ve been waiting for years. She’ll cave eventually.”

That made the group howl.

With a smirk, Namtan knocked back the last of her drink and disappeared into the kitchen to find another.

It wasn’t a surprise when Love ended up near her by the kitchen and leaned against the counter beside her.

“You look good tonight,” she said, voice low. “New jacket?”

Namtan gave a tired smile. “You say that every time I wear black.”

“That’s because I want you every time you wear black.”

Namtan snorted softly. “Still trying?”

Love tilted her head, eyes dark. “Haven’t given up. One day, you’ll say yes.”

“You’ve been saying that since freshman year.”

“And you’ve been dodging me since freshman year. But hey, I like the chase.”

Everyone knew Love had a thing for her. Loudly and unapologetically she flirted like it was second nature. Always asking for a date. Always laughing when Namtan declined. It was a running joke by now, but tonight… the way Love looked at her?

It felt good.

It felt visible.

Wanted.

Not hidden under textbook deadlines or whispered confessions in the dark.

"That yes must be coming by snail mail," Love added, taking a sip of her drink smiling.

“You know that’s not happening,” Namtan said, still polite. Still smiling.

Love tilted her head. “You always say that, but you never explain why.”

Namtan hesitated. “You’re great. I just… don’t feel that way.”

“You don’t have to,” Love shrugged. “We can build to it.”

Another voice from the kitchen door yelled: “Careful, Love! You might finally break her!”

The room burst into laughter again.

Namtan felt her ears burn. She smiled again, sharp and thin, and downed another cup in one go.

“I will always wait on that one yes,” Love added, taking a sip of her drink.

Namtan’s smile faltered for just a second. “Don’t hold your breath.” she said while pouring another drink.

But it wasn’t said as sharply as usual.

Love flashed that sweet smile of hers. The kind that melts hearts without trying.

The game started around midnight. Truth or Dare, the predictable kind, loud, messy and always spiraling toward something stupid. Bodies piled on the floor, half of them already tipsy, the other half hoping to be.

Namtan wasn’t going to play. She was already tipsy. Her eyes kept drifting to her phone, half-expecting Film to text her, half-wishing she’d beg her to come home. Namtan tried to sit on the edge, but someone pulled her in.

It only took a few rounds before her friend smirked and called her name.

“Namtan. Truth or dare?”

She hesitated, glass halfway to her lips. “Not interested.”

“Come on,” someone else coaxed. “You used to be fun.”

Laughter. More teasing. Someone muttered something about how she was “all talk these days.”

So she rolled her eyes and said, “Dare.”

A collective cheer went up.

Then her friend grinned and said it:

“I dare you to kiss Love.”

The noise dropped like someone hit pause.

Love looked amused but said nothing. She just raised a brow, already sipping her drink.

Namtan blinked. “Seriously?”

“I mean, she’s been begging for it since orientation,” her friend teased.

“Come on,” someone added with a smirk. “You’ve been single for a year. Might as well make it a comeback.”

Love tilted her head. “No pressure. Unless you’re scared you’ll like it.”

Namtan forced a laugh. “Pick something else.”

But they didn’t.

The crowd booed playfully.

“Oh come on, don’t back out.”

“She never backs out of dares! Don’t break your streak now!” Someone shouted. 

“Let’s see if she’s still got it!” 

Namtan kept laughing, insisting they choose another dare. But the crowd erupted, chanting her name: 'Namtan! Namtan! Namtan!'"

That hit harder than it should’ve. Like they weren’t teasing her for being single, but for being forgotten.

She glanced at her phone. Still no texts. No “miss you” from Film. No “come home.”

Everyone was waiting.

Love was waiting.

And Namtan’s pride — drunk, stupid and aching — wouldn’t let her walk away.

She turned back to Love. 

“Fine,” she said.

The room whooped.

So she stood. 

Walked over.

She leaned in. Told herself it was a joke. That it didn’t matter.

But when Love kissed her open-mouthed, firm and certain. 

The room erupted, and someone had already pulled out their phone.

Recording. 

Namtan didn't see that. 

The kiss lasted maybe five seconds. Seven at most. Enough for the room to cheer, for Love to grin like she’d won something and for Namtan to feel the heat of adrenaline mixing with regret.

She stepped back. Smiled like it meant nothing.

Laughed like she didn’t feel sick.

But the kiss lasted long enough to hurt.

Long enough to burn. 

The taste of rum and lipstick clung to her lips. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and laughed again. 

Too loud.

Too late.

The dorm hallway was dark and too quiet. Namtan leaned against the wall just outside their door, fumbling for her key. Her head buzzed, the taste of rum still bitter on her tongue. The echo of laughter from the party felt far away now. Hollow, like someone else’s memory.

When the door creaked open, the room greeted her with warmth and silence. 

She went to her bedroom. Film was curled up in bed, her textbook fallen to the floor beside her. The small desk lamp was still on, casting a soft golden glow over her face. Her hair had come loose from its bun, falling across her cheek like a curtain.

She looked peaceful.

Untouched by the mess Namtan had just come from.

Namtan’s stomach twisted.

She kicked off her shoes quietly, her black bomber jacket landing with a soft thud on the chair. She moved slowly, afraid even of the sound of her own breathing. Guilt sat like a stone on her chest. 

She kissed Love and she laughed.

And now, all she wanted was to crawl under the covers and disappear.

She padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water burn her skin. As it rushed over her body, she leaned against the cold tile, forehead pressed to the wall, eyes shut tight.

What the hell did I do?

Steam filled the small space, but it did nothing to wash away the weight pressing down on her ribs. She didn’t cry. She didn’t even sigh. She just stood there, silent, until the heat began to fade.

When she returned to the room, Film had shifted positions slightly. One hand curled under her chin, breathing deep and even.

Namtan slipped into bed beside her, careful not to wake her.

But when she slid her arm gently around Film’s waist, pulling her close, Film stirred with a soft noise and blinked her eyes open.

Namtan froze.

Film turned in her arms, still half-asleep. “Babe?” she whispered, her voice husky and quiet.

“Yeah,” Namtan whispered back. “It’s me.”

Film blinked up at her, squinting in the soft glow of the lamp. “What time is it?”

“Late.”

A pause.

“How was the party?” Film asked, barely audible.

Namtan hesitated. Her throat tightened.

“It was… fine,” she said.

Film hummed. “Did you miss me?”

“Always,” Namtan murmured. And for a moment, it was the only true thing she could cling to.

Film leaned forward, pressing a sleepy kiss to her lips. Namtan kissed her back gently, afraid of how much it still made her ache and how undeserving she felt of it now.

When they pulled apart, Film sighed and snuggled in closer.

“Love you,” she whispered.

“Love you too,” Namtan said, barely able to say it around the guilt sitting heavy on her chest.

She lay there for a long time after Film’s breathing evened out again, staring at the ceiling.

Arms wrapped around the person she loved.

Mouth still tasting like someone else.

The dorm was quiet, bathed in soft morning light filtering through the half-closed blinds. Film stirred first, the familiar ache in her neck from falling asleep hunched over her textbook reminding her where she was and what day it was.

Saturday.

Namtan’s arm was draped around her waist, her face buried in Film’s shoulder, breathing steady and deep.

Film stayed there for a moment, soaking it in. It had been a long week. She’d been short with Namtan, distant even. She knew it. And Namtan, to her credit, had asked her to come with her to the party. She’d even said she hated going alone.

You’ve gone alone plenty of times before.

Film winced at the memory of her own words.

She slowly untangled herself from the bed and padded to the small kitchen. Quietly, she started cracking eggs into a pan, frying them with leftover rice and garlic. She sliced up the last tomato they had and toasted bread on the stove the way Namtan liked it a little burnt at the edges.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Balancing the plate in one hand, she padded back toward Namtan’s bedroom. Namtan hadn’t moved, still curled on her side, face half-buried in Film’s pillow now. Her dark hair was a soft mess, and the blanket had slipped low on her shoulder.

Film knelt beside the bed and placed the plate on the small nightstand. She hesitated, then reached out and brushed a few strands of hair away from Namtan’s face.

“Babe,” she said softly, almost a whisper. “Wake up.”

Namtan stirred, brow scrunching slightly before her eyes blinked open, slow, unfocused at first. She looked at Film.

“You made breakfast?” she croaked.

Film glanced back, smiled softly. “You deserved something warm.”

Namtan sat up slowly. “You’re too good to me.”

Film shrugged. “Just wanted to say sorry I let you go alone.”

The guilt hit Namtan like a second hangover.

She tried to smile. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

But it was. And it still lived under her skin like a bruise.

They didn’t go out that weekend.

Namtan stayed in, cooking and tidying their shared dorm. She ran out once just for Film’s favorite sweet-and-salty snacks and came back in the rain without mentioning it. She massaged Film’s tense shoulders when she bent too long over her notes. Namtan had already passed this exam weeks ago. She didn’t need to be here, but she still sat across from Film, quizzing her with the flashcards they’d made together and offering her tips along the way. 

Film cleared her throat. “You haven’t gone out all weekend.”

Namtan glanced up. “Yeah. I know.”

“You usually vanish on Saturdays and Sundays. Coffee shops, movies, your friends' parties…”

Namtan smiled faintly. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “I just wanted to take care of you.”

Film looked at her — really looked at her.

Something in Namtan’s eyes flinched.

But she said nothing.

Film let it go.

She laughed more than she had all week. And each time she did, Namtan’s chest ached a little more.

The kiss replayed in her head constantly.

She hadn’t told her.

She wanted to. But every time she looked at Film — tired, determined, quietly brilliant — she told herself, Let her finish the exam first. Then I’ll say it.

Then she’ll hate me.

Monday came too fast.

Film stood by the door, checking her bag one last time. Notes. Water bottle. Calculator. Mints.

Her chest felt tight.

Today decided everything.

Behind her, Namtan hovered. Still in sleep clothes, hair messy and eyes soft with something unreadable. She didn’t have to go in today, she’d already passed this exam weeks ago. That’s why she was home.

“You’ll be okay,” Namtan said gently. “You’ve studied harder than anyone I know.”

Film nodded, lips tight.

Namtan stepped forward and cupped her jaw with both hands. “Hey,” she said, voice quieter now. “You’ve got this.”

Then she leaned in and kissed her—soft, slow, comforting. If Namtan had known it would be their last kiss, she would have made it last a little longer.

When they pulled apart, Namtan whispered, “Good luck, baby. I’ll be right here waiting for you, okay?”

Film smiled faintly. “Okay.”

“Text me the second you’re done.”

“I will.”

She reached for the door. Namtan gave her hand a final squeeze, then let go.

Film stepped out into the sun.

The sky was pale blue when Film stepped off the shuttle.

She had barely slept, but the kiss Namtan gave her at the door still warmed her lips. It had been soft, lingering. Like something real. Like a promise.

Film clung to that.

The campus was buzzing with the anxious, caffeinated energy of exam day. Students huddled around benches with flashcards and worried eyes.

Film kept her head down, her grip tight on her notes, the worn edges curled from the weekend’s studying. Every part of her ached with tension, but this exam was everything. The last shot to secure her scholarship, her future.
 

No distractions. No drama. Just focus.

Her heart was racing, but it wasn’t fear. It was the weight of what Namtan had been this weekend. Present, gentle and loving. She’d stayed home, cooked, helped her study and even skipped going out, which she never did.

This is what love is supposed to feel like, she had thought. Finally.

Because love had never been kind to her.

For Film, love had always meant being lied to first and forgotten second—her father and her first boyfriend had made sure of that.

She’d nearly stopped believing in love at all, until Namtan reminded her what it could feel like. 

Maybe the time had come for her and Namtan to reveal their relationship to everyone. She thought smiling. 

“Film!”

She looked up. Bonnie was jogging toward her. 

“You look tense,” Bonnie said.

Film managing a smile. “I’m just ready to get it over with.”

“Right? Honestly, same.”

Bonnie stood beside her. 

Then, like it was nothing, she asked, “By the way, how do you feel about the Namtan–Love thing?” Bonnie asked, smirking.

Film froze. “What thing?”

Bonnie blinked. “You didn’t see the video?”

“What video?”

Her voice came out too flat. Too quiet.

Bonnie’s smile faded. “Oh… Film, I thought you knew. I just assumed she told you since you guys are best friends and all.”

“She didn’t,” Film said, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh my God. I thought…I thought you knew.” Bonnie whispered. “I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to drop this right before your exam, I just thought…

“Show me.” Film said, her voice razor-thin.

“Film…”

“Please. Just show me.” her voice started shaking.

Bonnie hesitated, then unlocked her phone and handed it over.

The video was only a few seconds long.

A shaky video. Music thudding in the background. Laughter. People yelling.

And there she was.

Namtan, grinning, flushed.

And then Love, already leaning forward.

And then the kiss.

Longer than it should’ve been. Too familiar. Too easy.

People in the background whooped and whistled. The camera zoomed in. Love’s hand brushed against Namtan’s waist.

Namtan pulled away laughing.

The clip ended.

But something inside Film didn’t.

Film didn’t move. The screen dimmed and went dark in her hand.

“Film…”

She gave the phone back.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

Bonnie’s expression was wide-eyed with regret. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

“It’s fine,” Film said, almost too calm.

But her insides felt like glass cracking under pressure.

“I have to go.”

She turned before Bonnie could say anything else.

Her feet carried her to the exam hall on muscle memory alone. The walls seemed too white. The floor too loud beneath her shoes. She sat down and opened her water bottle with trembling fingers.

Her vision blurred. Her heart was pounding. Her stomach twisted like it knew before her brain did.

Not again.

Please, not again.

She sat in the last row. The walls felt too close. The lights too harsh.

She placed her pen on the desk.

And waited.

The exam paper landed in front of her.

The room hushed.

She picked up her pen.

But she couldn’t start.

Not when her chest was splitting open.

Not when she could still feel Namtan’s kiss from that morning and now picture the one she gave someone else two nights before.

The words were swimming. None of it made sense.

One tear slid down her cheek. Then another. She wiped them away quickly, her face like stone.

Don’t fall apart. Not now.

Scholarship first. Grief later.

She wrote her name.

She read the first question.

And started to write.

Her heart kept breaking — silent, slow, and steady — with every tick of the clock.

And she struggled not to hate the part of herself that still wanted to give Namtan a chance. That still wanted to give love a chance. Even after being cheated on twice. Three times, now. 

The apartment door closed behind her with a soft click, but nothing about Film’s chest felt soft.

She stood still for a moment, eyes fixed on the floor, hearing the faint clatter of pans from the kitchen and Namtan’s humming voice drifting through the air like nothing was wrong.

But everything was wrong.

She dropped her bag by the door and walked in slowly. Namtan turned, mid-stir, a smile blooming on her face.

“Hey, baby,” she said, bright. “You’re back early. How’d it go?”

Film just stared at her.

Then Namtan noticed her puffy eyes

Her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t tell me,” Film said quietly.

Namtan blinked. “Tell you what?”

“About the kiss.”

The color drained from Namtan’s face. The spoon slipped from her fingers and clattered against the pot. She turned off the stove in silence.

“Film…” 

“You kissed her,” Film said, voice rising. “At a party, in front of people. And you didn’t even tell me!”

“It was a dare…”

“Don’t!” Film snapped. “Don’t minimize it. You kissed someone else!.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen…”

“But it did!” Film was shouting now. “And you kept it from me. You kissed her and then came home and held me like it didn’t happen!”

“I didn’t know there was a video,” Namtan said, desperate.

“So what?” Film’s voice cracked. “If there was no video, I never would’ve known?”

“It didn’t mean anything,” Namtan choked out. “I was drunk. Everyone was teasing me, I didn’t even want to…”

“But you did it anyway!” Film screamed. “You always do this! You always let people talk you into shit and then you just laugh it off like it’s not my heart on the line!”

“I made a mistake,” Namtan shouted back. “But don’t you dare act like you’re the only one hurting here!”

Film scoffed, but the tears were already starting to fall. “Really? You’re the one hurting?”

“I am!” Namtan’s eyes were glassy now, her voice shaking. “Because I’ve spent over a year loving you in silence . Hiding. Lying to my friends. Waiting for the moment you’d finally stop pretending I don’t exist when other people are around!”

“I never pretended you didn’t exist!”

“YOU DID!” Namtan yelled. “You still do! How many times have I asked you to tell people? How many times have you said ‘after this’ or ‘after that’?”

“Because I wasn’t ready!”

“You said after your exams. Then after Christmas. Then after New Year. After your internship. After your anxiety calmed down. After your mom visited. Always after! After! after! after. It never ended!” Namtan shouted. 

“I was scared!” Film screamed. “Do you know what it’s like growing up watching your dad cheat on your mom? Do you know what it’s like getting cheated on by the first guy you trusted after that? I don’t trust easily! You of all people should have known that Namtan! And now you’ve just proven I was right not to!”

That hit like a slap.

Namtan stood completely still, tears falling, her chest rising and falling like she’d been punched.

“I waited,” she whispered. “I waited for you for so long.”

“I didn’t ask you to wait,” Film said, voice colder now. “I asked you to be honest. And you couldn’t even do that.”

A long, heavy silence.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Namtan whispered, crying.

Film’s voice was a breath. “But you did.”

Namtan’s shoulders dropped. “So did you.”

Silence stretched between them.

After a long moment, Film said, “Maybe we’re just not… meant to be like this.”

Namtan closed her eyes.

And then, in perfect, painful unison, they both said:

“Maybe we should just be best friends.”

The words landed like a blade.
And neither of them could take them back.

Film looked down, her throat tight. “We don’t tell anyone what we were. Ever.”

She hesitated, then looked up at Namtan, eyes rimmed with red.
“If you want us to stay best friends… you have to promise me. You won’t tell anyone.”

Namtan nodded, eyes closed, her voice nearly gone. “We don’t talk about it. I promise.”

The tears came quietly after that. For both of them.

And even though they were standing only feet apart, it never felt further than it did in that moment. Two people who had loved each other quietly, deeply, and finally, not enough.

Then Film turned toward the hallway, brushing away her tears with the back of her hand.

“I’m gonna pick up my stuff from your room,” she said. “I’ll move it back into mine.”

Namtan nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. She didn’t trust her voice enough to speak.

Film didn’t wait for a response.

As she disappeared down the hallway, Namtan stood in the kitchen, her arms limp at her sides. Her eyes burned. Her throat was raw. The smell of garlic and soy sauce filled the room, but suddenly it all felt suffocating.

She grabbed her keys.

And left.

The front door slammed hard enough to shake the walls.

Back in Namtan’s room, Film stood frozen in front of her things: a hoodie draped over a chair. A pair of socks on the floor. Her favorite book on Namtan’s nightstand.

She clutched them one by one, pressing them against her chest, sobs finally breaking loose.

And in the stillness of the apartment, two girls cried for what they had and for everything they couldn’t hold onto.

They both kept their promise, never mentioning it to anyone. It was the last time they ever said a word about what they’d been.

Chapter Text

The rooftop glittered under strands of golden lights, swaying slightly in the breeze. It was beautiful. The kind of beauty that begged to be photographed. Candles in glass holders, jazz humming gently in the background and the sound of clinking glasses filled the air. The city skyline stretching beyond the glass railings like a painting. A banner hung loosely over the entrance—“Cheers to 30, Namtan!”—framed by balloons and flickering fairy lights.

The place was packed. The rooftop was buzzing with people—actors, producers, sound designers, friends from college. Almost everyone here either worked with Namtan, Film, or both. Their laughter was loud, easy, the kind of effortless rhythm born from years of shared chaos on film sets and late-night wrap parties.

Becca adjusted the strap of her dress as the elevator ascended to the rooftop. Beside her, Namtan stood tall in a perfectly tailored ivory suit, her gold cufflinks catching the glow of the lights.

“I can’t believe I let you convince me to wear heels,” Becca muttered, clinging slightly to Namtan’s arm. “I already regret every step.”

“You look hot,” Namtan said smiling, leaning in to kiss her lips. “Besides, it’s my birthday. No complaints for one night and I deserve a girlfriend who suffers for aesthetics”

Becca returned the kiss. “Noted.” She said smiling.

Just before they stepped out of the elevator, Namtan turned to her with a mischievous smile. “Ready?”

“Not even slightly,” Becca said under her breath as she looked at the guests. “Why do all your friends look like magazine covers?”

“Because I only accept hot people at my parties,” Namtan said brightly. “That includes you.” Becca smiled.

The party was already in full swing by the time Becca and Namtan stepped out of the elevator. They were barely two steps in before a rush of guests swept toward them.

“Namtan!” someone called from across the rooftop. “Finally! Happy birthday!”

“You don’t look a day over twenty-five!” another teased.

“Thirty looks good on you!” someone else shouted, lifting a drink.

Namtan squeezed Becca’s hand. “See? Main character energy.”

Becca chuckled. “Obviously. You practically rented the skyline for it.”

Becca hung back slightly as Namtan hugged people, thanked them, laughed with that familiar charm that lit her up like a lighthouse.

Becca smiled, watching. But it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She wasn’t uncomfortable. But she wasn’t quite at ease either. Not tonight.

Then her gaze flicked across the rooftop and caught.

Film in a champagne silk slip dress that looked like it had been tailored directly onto her. She laughed easily at something a producer said. She looked radiant, perfectly at ease in her element.

Next to her stood Freen.

Black suit. No tie. Collar open. Her posture was still, hands in her pockets, watching everything and giving nothing away.

Becca’s breath caught for half a second. This was the first time they were all in a room together since the game night.

Well… not entirely true.

“You okay?” Namtan asked quietly.

Becca gave a light smile. “You ask me that every time we enter a room with Film in it.”

“That’s because I know my best friend, and I know my girlfriend. And one of them is emotionally allergic to boundaries.”

Becca huffed a laugh.

Namtan laughed, slipped her hand into hers again. “Come on, let’s say hi.” And pulled her straight toward them.

Film saw them first. “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up,” she smirked, stepping forward. “Birthday girl arrives fashionably late to her own party.

Namtan grinned. “Come on. I had to show up last. Drama, babe.”

Film rolled her eyes with a laugh, stepping in to hug her. She hugged Namtan tightly. Tight enough to wrinkle her suit a little, but Namtan didn’t seem to care. She laughed against Film’s shoulder, and for a moment, they looked like they belonged in each other’s orbit. “Happy birthday, idiot,” she said, kissing her cheek. “You’re officially ancient.”

Namtan laughed, squeezing her back. “You’re literally four months younger than me.”

“Still counts,” Film smirked.

“You’re ridiculous,” Namtan said, pulling back with a grin.

Freen and Becca stood there, eyes locked on the two of them, quietly observing the scene unfolding before them.

Becca glanced sideways just then and caught Freen’s eyes.

For a second, they just looked at each other. Not smiling. Not speaking. But not looking away either.

It was the first time since the supermarket.

Neither mentioned it.

Becca smiled politely as Film turned her attention to her next.

“Hey, Becca,” Film said, giving her a short but warm hug. You look amazing, by the way.”

Becca blinked but returned the hug. “Thanks. You too.”

Freen was quieter, but she stepped forward too. Her gaze flicked between Namtan and Becca, she gave Becca a brief nod first, then let her eyes settle on Namtan.

“Happy birthday,” she said to Namtan. Polite. Neutral.

“Thanks,” Namtan said.

Film scoffed under her breath. “Wow,” she muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Could’ve tried sounding less like you’re at a funeral.”

Freen’s head snapped toward her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But Film was already frowning. “Seriously? That’s it? That’s how you say happy birthday?”

Freen blinked. “What else would you like?”

“I don’t know. A compliment? A hug? Maybe not looking like you were dragged here by your legal obligations?”

Becca's gaze shifted to Namtan, who stood still, eyes locked on Film and Freen as their argument heated up.

Freen exhaled. “I showed up. That’s already a win.”

Film crossed her arms. “Wow. Don’t strain yourself.”

“Why are you starting something?” Freen asked, her voice quiet but edged.

“I’m not. I’m just asking why the hell you always have to act like being around people who love you is some kind of chore.”

Becca froze slightly, instinctively looking away. Namtan stepped in, trying to manage it with a smile that didn’t quite hold.

“Okay, wow. Let’s maybe save the couple’s therapy for after the birthday girl gets her cake?”  she said lightly.

But Film didn’t stop. “You do this every time. You show up, arms crossed, looking like you’re halfway out the door and then you act like I’m the one being dramatic when I ask why.”

“I’m not halfway out the door,” Freen said, evenly. “I’m just not performing for people.”

“Oh, right. Because saying ‘happy birthday’ with an actual smile is performing.”

Freen’s jaw twitched. “You want me to fake it so you feel better?”

“I want you to try. For once.” Film’s voice cracked, just slightly. “Not for them. For me.”

Freen’s voice didn’t change. “Would you like me to perform a monologue?”

Film stared. “Just a smile would be great.”

“I am smiling.”

“No, you're not. Your face hasn’t moved since you walked in.”

Namtan’s voice came sharp this time. “Enough.” She looked between both of them, face tight with frustration. “Not here. Not tonight.”

There was a long silence.

Freen was about to retort. Becca could see it the way her jaw ticked, just as a voice rang out behind them.

“Alright, whose idea was it to have a party this high up without parachutes?”

Becca turned, relief blooming instantly. “Orm!”

Orm strutted in, sunglasses still perched on her head even though the sun was practically gone. “I swear if one of you pushes me over this railing, you better hope my ghost’s forgiving because I will haunt you.”

Behind her was Lingling, stylish as ever, wearing a tailored blazer over wide-leg trousers, her smile warm she sighed, shaking her head with fond exasperation. “Orm, Behave.”

“No promises,” Orm grinned. “But I’ll try for you.”

Namtan lit up instantly. “Hey! You guys!” She hurried over, pulling both into a quick hug.

Lingling said with a small smile. “Happy birthday, Namtan. Thank you for having us.”

“Glad you made it,” Namtan said.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Orm winked. “Any excuse for free food, a good rooftop view, and judging strangers.”

Namtan laughed. She turned to Freen and Film. “Guys, this is Orm and Lingling. Friends of Becca’s and lately mine too.”

Orm threw a dramatic wave. “Hello. I’m Orm. I’m delightful. Also exhausting, depending on who you ask.”

Lingling chuckled. “And I’m Lingling. Less exhausting.”

Film chuckled. “You must be the famous Orm.” Offering her hand. “I’m Film.”

“That depends,” replied, shaking Film’s hand. “Famous for what?”

Film smiled. “The karaoke queen?”

“Retired. I lost my voice after a tragic incident involving Whitney Houston and three tequila shots,” Orm said solemnly. “But her legacy lives on in me.”

A wave of soft laughter passed through the group.

Orm beamed. “You must be the one whose movie I cried through and fought with my ex about.”

“I like her already,” Film said laughing.

Freen stepped forward slightly and offered both her hand. “Freen.”

“I know,” Lingling said. “Your opening statements are brutal. I’m impressed.”

Freen gave a slight smile. “You’re not bad yourself.”

“Uh oh,” Orm said. “That sounds like the beginning of a very sexy lawsuit.”

Becca nearly choked. “Orm.” The rest of the group burst into laughter.

“What? I’m just saying.” Orm quipped. “Meanwhile, I’m just here for the snacks and the gossip.”

Film laughed. “You’ll fit right in.”

Orm grinned, linking an arm through Lingling’s. “Honestly, we were worried this would be one of those influencer parties where everyone takes selfies for three hours and leaves hungry.”

“You’re safe,” Namtan laughed. “Mostly filmmakers. If anything, they’ll film you eating and then ask to do a second take.”

“Oh, perfect,” Orm nodded. “I love being background noise in someone else’s documentary.”

That drew another round of soft laughter from the group.

Lingling leaned in and kissed Becca on the cheek. “You look lovely.”

“And you look criminally good,” Becca said, eyeing the suit. “Again.”

“That’s why I date her,” Orm said solemnly. “Style and legal advice.”

The two launched into playful teasing, their banter easy and affectionate, drawing a few amused glances.

Freen actually smiled at that.

Becca let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. For a moment, it felt lighter. Easier.

But when her eyes drifted back to Film casually leaning against Namtan’s shoulder again, whispering something that made Namtan blush and smile. Becca felt it.

The night wasn’t going to stay light for long.

Whatever lightness the evening held was starting to thin.

And Freen? Freen noticed it too.

Her fingers clenched tightly at her sides. Knuckles straining as if gripping back whatever she couldn’t say.

Some things weren’t so easy to laugh off.

Namtan caught Becca and Freen’s gazes fixed on them.

She tried to steer the energy back. “Come on, let’s grab drinks. I want birthday champagne before I start aging visibly.” And took Film’s hand as they headed toward the bar.

As they turned toward the bar, Becca felt a flicker at her side. Freen’s voice, quiet, almost lost in the music.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

Becca glanced at her. “Thank you.”

They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds.

Neither of them said more.

Then they followed the group.

But the tension wasn’t gone. It was just tucked into the corners of the night, waiting.

Chapter Text

Becca wasn’t sure when the rooftop started feeling smaller. Maybe it was when Namtan laughed at something Film whispered against her ear. Maybe it was when Freen’s quiet compliment settled in her chest like an ember refusing to go out.

Namtan motioned everyone toward the marble-topped bar where a perfectly chilled bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket.

“Alright, come here, everyone. We’re starting this properly.” Her grin was wide, eyes twinkling.

She grabbed the bottle, worked the cork with practiced ease and with a satisfying pop , foam bubbled over the rim. “No party starts until this happens.”

She poured generously. First for Film, then Freen, Becca, Orm and Lingling before filling her own glass last.

Film cradled her glass, stepped forward, and cleared her throat dramatically. “Ahem.” Her gaze immediately found Namtan’s. “I’d like to make a toast.”

Namtan beamed. “Oh God. Here we go.”

Just as Film was about to speak, a sudden shriek cut through the rooftop noise.

“ WAIT! SHHH EVERYBODY! ”

Heads turned. One of their friends had snatched the mic from near the DJ booth, holding it high like it was an emergency broadcast. His face was flushed with a mix of champagne and chaotic energy.

“ Film wants to give a speech to Namtan! ” He announced, grinning wildly. “ Come on! Get over here, both of you! No hiding at the bar. Front and center! ”

The crowd immediately caught on, cheering like this was the best drama of the night. People even started clapping. A few phones were already recording.

Namtan laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. “Oh my God. Seriously?! ” But instead of protesting, she grabbed Film’s hand without thinking and tugged her forward. “Come on. Apparently, we’ve been summoned.”

Film dragged her feet for half a second but let herself be pulled. “You guys are so dead for this!” she said to their friends, laughing.

They made their way toward the open space near the DJ booth. A makeshift stage surrounded by fairy lights and towering plants. As they stepped into the glow, the crowd closed in just enough to frame them, but the core group Becca, Freen, Orm, and Lingling, stayed back at the bar, separated by a stretch of people and distance.

Becca’s grip on her champagne tightened. Orm leaned closer to lingling’s ear whispering just loud enough to cut through the rising noise. “Oh no. This is about to be... a thing. I can feel it.” 

Lingling said nothing, sipping her drink slowly like she was watching the opening scene of a courtroom disaster. 

Freen didn’t even flinch. Her gaze stayed fixed on the stage unmoving, unrelenting.

If looks could burn, the stage would’ve been ash.

Meanwhile, Namtan swung an arm around Film’s waist, laughing, holding her close like a trophy. “Alright, babe. Floor’s yours.”

Film sighed, shot her a sideways look, put her drink down, then took the mic. “You people are evil,” she said half-laughing, half-serious, before turning her eyes fully on Namtan. 

Namtan was already watching her, eyes unreadable.

For a second, it felt like they were the only two people on the rooftop.

Film smirked, but when she spoke, her voice softened into something unmistakably tender.
"To Namtan… my ride or die, my better half in chaos, the most talented, annoying, wonderful person I’ve ever known. I swear,  since the day I was born, you’ve been my greatest inspiration, my safest place, and the only person in the world who understands me without me even speaking."

She let out a quiet breath, smile softening. Namtan returned the smile.
"I hope you always know… no matter where life takes us, you’ll always be my person."

The audience’s eyes softened, and a quiet, collective sigh of fondness drifted across the rooftop.

“Is this... normal? Please say it’s normal. Actually, don’t. I don’t think I can handle the answer,” Orm whispered to Lingling. Lingling shot her a side glance before returning her gaze back to the stage.

There was a small pause before Film’s eyes flicked to Namtan again, warmer now, something quieter underneath. "I still think about that weekend in college… the one where I almost lost my scholarship over a single exam. ” 

A subtle tension passed through Namtan, but she kept her composure steady. She knew exactly which weekend Film meant. Down to the hour, the rain and the fight no one else knew about.

"You didn’t have to be there. You’d already passed it weeks before. But you stayed anyway. You sat with me the whole time, flipping through flashcards, massaging my shoulders when I was too tense to think straight. You even ran out in the rain just to buy me those stupid sweet-and-salty snacks I liked… and you never even mentioned it. You didn’t have to do any of that. But you did. You took care of me. In your own quiet way, like you always do. That… that meant more than you probably ever realized."

The warmth in Namtan’s eyes deepened as her smile slipped away, her gaze lingering lovingly on Film. 

A wave of cheers swept through the guests. But their gaze stayed fixed on each other. 

Freen, silent until now, knocked back her entire glass in one go. Then, without a word, she reached for the champagne bottle and refilled it to the brim. Becca watched her while Orm whispered in her ear. 

“Lingling owes me two thousand baht. I said something weird would happen before the first drink was finished.” 

Becca ignored her and fixed her gaze back to Namtan and Film.

Film’s voice lowered, not breaking but turning fragile for a second.
"That’s the kind of person you are. Steady. Solid. The kind of person anyone’s lucky to have in their corner. So… I hope this year gives you back even half of the care and love you’ve given to the people around you. You deserve that. More than anyone. Happy 30th, Namtan." Namtan wrapped Film in a warm, tight embrace and gently lifted her into the air, her eyes sparkling with affection as Film squirmed playfully, laughing softly in her arms. 

That made Film down her second drink and immediately pour herself another

The guests exploded into loud cheers and whistles that filled the rooftop. Clapping echoed all around as people jumped to their feet, shouting “NamtanFilm! NamtanFilm!” over and over. Smiles spread everywhere, and the energy buzzed like electricity, turning the whole crowd into one big celebration.

And then like a wave, another voice rang out.

“Namtan! Your turn!”

Another immediately followed. “Yeah, say something back!”

“Speech, speech, speech!” someone chanted, half-drunk, half-committed to the bit.

More people joined in, clapping in rhythm. “Speech! Speech! Speech!”

Namtan laughed, shaking her head, but she was clearly loving the attention. “Oh my God, seriously? You guys are the worst.”

She turned to Film, squeezing her around the waist. “Look what you started.”

Film handed her the mic with a grin. “Yeah, babe. Let’s hear it.”

Back at the bar, Becca’s stomach knotted. Freen’s lips pressed into a thin line. Orm muttered under her breath,  “I... I actually feel uncomfortable. And I’m never uncomfortable.”

Namtan tapped the mic, laughing. “Okay, okay. Fine.”

The cheers quieted just enough for Namtan to raise the mic, though laughter and a few playful whistles still echoed. She grinned, playful as always until her eyes found Film’s again. And then… everything softened.

“Okay... wow.” Her voice wobbled slightly. Just slightly, but enough that anyone listening closely would catch it. “I don’t even know how to follow that. I mean... how do you respond to someone standing in front of everyone and basically saying you’re their person?”

Her fingers tightened on Film’s waist. “I guess… the truth.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve been the most important person in my life for... as long as I can remember. You’ve been my partner in everything. My chaos. My joy. My comfort. My sanity. My... everything.”

The rooftop was quiet now. No more cheering. No more noise. Just the two of them standing there like the world had shrunk down to this stage and these words.

“And…” her voice faltered for half a second. “I’m sorry.”

Film blinked—surprised, caught—but didn’t look away.

“I’m sorry... if I ever made you sad. Or hurt you. Or...”Namtan’s voice dipped, just barely cracking. She looked down for a moment, gathering herself, then lifted her gaze back to Film’s eyes before she said “...if I ever made you cry.”

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze. And the look they shared... it was no longer playful. No longer for the audience.

It was just them.

Because they both knew exactly what Namtan meant. What memory those words pulled to the surface.

The breakup. The fight. The night that left both of them shattered. The wound only they remembered. Only they carried.

Film’s breath hitched. Her eyes shimmered, and then—silent, uninvited—few tears slipped free.

Namtan caught it immediately, wiping it gently with her thumb, her fingers cupping Film’s cheek like muscle memory. No hesitation. No awareness of the crowd. Just instinct. Just care. 

“Babe… are we at a birthday party or accidentally third-wheeling a wedding vow renewal?” Orm whispered in Ling's ear. 

Namtan kept going, voice softer but steady. “I am... so unbelievably lucky to have you by my side. To have you as my best friend. My family. My... my person. Even after what we have been through.” Her lips curved, a watery laugh slipping out. “I don’t know who I’d be without you. I don’t think I ever wanna know.”

Film’s hand reached up, fingers wrapping lightly around Namtan’s wrist where it still rested on her cheek. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. Her eyes said everything.

A beat of silence followed. The kind so heavy it rang in Becca’s ears. In Freen’s chest. Even Orm didn’t dare breathe.

Then someone in the crowd sniffled. A few people clapped, emotional, unsure whether to cheer or cry.

And Namtan, ever the performer, pulled herself together just enough to grin, tapping the mic. “Anyway... yeah. I love you, idiot.” She pressed another kiss to Film’s cheek. Then gently reached for her glass and lifted it. “Happy birthday to me!”

“This is... so much worse than I expected.” Orm muttered to herself. 

The moment the rooftop erupted into applause, Freen didn’t wait. She tipped her glass back, draining the rest of her champagne in one sharp, practiced swallow.

She set the empty glass on the bar. Maybe a little harder than necessary then turned. “I’ll be back.” 

She didn’t wait for a reply. Without a glance back, she turned on her heel and walked off, shoulders tense, fists shoved deep into her pockets. 

Becca didn’t even blink. Her eyes stayed glued to the stage to Namtan and Film, still smiling, still wrapped up in each other, soaking in the applause and the hugs and the congratulations like they hadn’t just emotionally punched the entire rooftop.

Orm could feel the tension and wanted to ease it, but unsure how, she defaulted to what she did best. Cracking a few awkward jokes.

“Sooo... um... do we clap? Or... call a therapist?”

Her eyes flicked between Becca and Ling. No one responds, the silence thick enough to cut with a knife.

“This... feels like something I wasn’t supposed to witness. Should I leave? Should we all leave? Asking for a friend.”

Still no laughs. 

Orm, completely ignoring the vibes now, dives into wildly inappropriate:

“Do we think they accept walk-ins at couples counseling? Just curious. For... reasons.”

She laughs nervously, then doubles down:

“God’s probably watching this like, ‘Damn... even I didn’t write it like that.”

Lingling shot her a look. Not harsh. Not angry. Just one subtle, surgical side-eye of ‘Stop. Now.’

Orm shut up immediately. 

Meanwhile, Becca just stood there. Frozen. Her drink untouched, her fingers tight around the stem. Her gaze never left Namtan. The way her arm was still draped around Film’s waist, the way they leaned into each other as friends and strangers came over to tell them how “beautiful” and “sweet” their speeches were.

Becca didn’t hear the compliments. Didn’t register the crowd. All she could do was stare at Namtan’s smile, at the way her fingers brushed against Film’s back like it was second nature.

Her chest felt too tight. Like her ribs were shrinking around something she couldn’t name.

She couldn’t look away. 

Chapter Text

The last of the applause was fading. 

And just when Becca thought it was over, just when she thought she could maybe breathe again.

Namtan raised the mic to her lips once more. “Wait, wait!” she said, laughing, her eyes scanning the crowd like she was looking for someone special. “There’s one more person we need up here. I can’t do this without her.”

“Becca!” Namtan called out brightly, arm stretched out toward the bar. “Come on, babe! Don’t be shy!”

As soon as Namtan called Becca up, the rooftop shifted. Heads turned. Conversations dropped. The spotlight snapped to Becca.

Becca froze in place. Her blood turned to ice. She felt Orm and Lingling both glance at her.

And Orm... immediately lost her mind.

“Oh, sh*t,” she hissed under her breath. “Becca, blink twice if you want me to start a distraction. Do you want me to fake faint? Start a fire? Pretend to go into labor? Pull the fire alarm? Throw a drink in someone’s face? Climb onto the table and start singing Beyoncé?”

But Becca didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her throat was dry, her stomach twisted. 

Her heels clicked against the tile as she made her way toward the stage, where Namtan was holding a hand out to her with that same dazzling, open smile. 

She could feel the eyes on her. The crowd parting politely, a few people already smiling, some murmuring, Oh, that’s the girlfriend.

As she approached, she caught something strange out of the corner of her eye.

Film.

She wasn’t looking at Becca. She was scanning the edges of the crowd, her brow pinched slightly.

Searching.

She was still dabbing subtly at the corner of her eye, still glowing with the intimacy they had just shared. Something Becca could never unsee.

Namtan tugged her up gently and once Becca was next to her, she slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. 

Then Film leaned toward Becca as she stepped up beside them on the stage. Her voice was soft but tight.

“Where’s Freen?”

Becca blinked. Her chest went cold.

She turned her head, looked at Film dead-on. “How would I know?”

Film’s mouth opened slightly like she was about to explain herself, but Becca had already turned back to face the crowd.

“This,” Namtan said proudly, “is my girlfriend. The amazing, beautiful, talented woman I’m lucky enough to call mine.”

The crowd clapped politely. Someone near the back whistled. 

Becca smiled, because she had to. 

Because cameras were pointed and Namtan’s arm was warm and firm around her waist like nothing was wrong. 

Because now all eyes were on her, and the applause still echoed like a drumbeat in her ears.

But her heart wasn’t clapping.

It was collapsing…

Orm hunched slightly, eyes wide like she was watching a live crime scene. She grabbed Lingling’s wrist.

“Just give me a sign,” she whispered urgently. “A subtle nod. Morse code on my wrist. A single tear. Anything! Because I need to know that you’re seeing what I’m seeing. PLEASE tell me I’m not hallucinating the emotional damage that’s unfolding right now.”

Lingling didn’t move for a beat. Then calmly tapped on Orm’s wrist with her finger.

Orm gasped. “Oh my god. That was Morse for ‘run,’ wasn’t it?”

Lingling, smiled: “That was Morse for ‘same.’”

Orm clutched her chest. “Thank you! Thank you for validating my spiral. I was about three seconds away from faking a medical emergency just to get us out of this.”

Lingling gave a faint smile, eyes still fixed on the scene unfolding across the rooftop.

Namtan turned toward Becca with a soft smile, completely oblivious to the internal firestorm behind her eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Namtan whispered close to Becca’s ear. 

Becca nodded again, swallowing hard. Her eyes flicked past Namtan to Film.

Film, still standing just to the side, still glowing under the lights, her eyes rimmed faintly red from the single tear Namtan had wiped away. Her lips were curved into a quiet, knowing smile. The kind you wear when someone says exactly what you needed to hear. 

Film who was still looking past the crowd, still scanning, still distracted.

Still searching for Freen.

And Freen was nowhere to be found.

But all Becca could think was: This moment doesn’t belong to me. 

It never did.

People swarmed the stage. Everyone was buzzing— drunk on champagne, emotion, or both.

Becca stayed perfectly still, standing beside Namtan, who hadn’t moved her arm from around her waist. On the other side, Film stood a breath away, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they greeted friends together.

And Namtan stood between them. Smiling like this was exactly how it was supposed to be.

The first woman was older, elegant, someone who clearly had history with Namtan and Film. She clasped both of their hands, eyes misty with nostalgia.

“You know,” she said with a fond sigh, “I always thought you two would end up together.” She laughed softly, oblivious. “You just had that... thing. That connection. Still do, honestly.”

The lump in Becca’s throat tightened, but she swallowed it, refusing to break.

Namtan laughed. “Everyone used to say that!”

Film smiled politely. “We just get each other.”

No one looked at Becca.

The next guest was younger, louder, clearly a little drunk. She bounced up to them, cheeks flushed, and threw her arms briefly around Film and Namtan like they were a single unit.

“You two really are like soulmates,” she said dreamily. “It’s insane. Like, you know when people just make sense ? That’s you guys. I love it.”

She turned to Becca belatedly, with an awkward laugh. “Sorry! I mean, you too! You guys are adorable.”

Becca nodded once. Said nothing.

Then came the final blow.

A man in a fitted blazer, someone who seemed familiar with Film from work, clinked his glass gently as he spoke.

“It’s honestly refreshing,” he said, smiling right at Becca, “to see someone who isn’t threatened by this kind of bond. None of Namtan’s exes could handle it.”

Becca blinked once. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

“Seriously,” he went on, still smiling. “Being in a relationship with someone as close to their best friend as these two? That takes a lot of confidence. You’re obviously very... secure.”

The three of them laughed. Becca smiled too.

But something behind her eyes had already shut down.

And in that moment, she felt like a ghost. Standing beside the woman she was supposed to call hers, while everyone else congratulated the real love story playing out beside her.

“DJ!” Suddenly Namtan called out over the murmurs and clinking glasses, raising her champagne in the air like a queen on her throne. “Hit the music! we’re dancing tonight!”

The rooftop roared back with cheers as the beat dropped. Lights shifted into warmer pulses, and people began drifting toward the center space to dance. Movement everywhere. Laughter. Flashing phone cameras. Celebration.

Namtan turned to grab Film’s hand, ready to pull both girls into the music, but paused when she saw the look on her face.

Film wasn’t smiling.

She wasn’t moving.

Her eyes were still scanning the edge of the rooftop. Past the lights. Past the crowd.

“Hey,” Namtan asked gently, her voice barely audible above the rising music. “What’s wrong?”

Film’s brow furrowed, mouth tightening. “I can’t find Freen.”

Namtan blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been looking for her since the toast,” Film said quietly, her eyes never leaving the crowd. “She was there... and then she wasn’t.”

Becca’s stomach twisted.

Namtan turned to Becca like it was nothing. “Babe, have you seen Freen?”

Becca looked at her. 

And then, without blinking, she said, “No. Why would I?”

It came out sharper than she intended. Or maybe exactly as sharp as she intended.

Namtan blinked again, not catching the edge. “Weird. She wouldn’t just leave, would she?”

Becca didn’t answer.

Film was already pulling out her phone, dialing Freen. “She’s not picking up.”

The music thumped around them. Lights flashed. People danced. And in the middle of it all, Becca stood frozen watching the panic creep across Film’s face. 

Film’s fingers hovered anxiously over her phone, her lips pressed into a tight line. “She’s not answering. I’m going to look for her.”

Namtan took a step forward, already setting her champagne down. “I’ll come with you.”

But Film shook her head, firm and immediate. “No. It’s okay. You stay here. You and Becca should dance. I’ll be right back.”

Namtan frowned. “Film…”

“I’ve got it,” Film said quickly. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Just give me a few minutes.”

Before either of them could respond, she slipped off the stage and into the crowd, disappearing with practiced ease. Not panicked, but clearly not okay either.

Namtan sighed, half turning back to Becca with a shrug. “She’s being dramatic again. Freen’s probably just taking a call or something.”

Becca didn’t answer. Her eyes were still on the spot where Film had vanished.

“I guess it’s just us now,” Namtan said, sliding closer with a playful grin, completely unaware of the storm churning inside the woman next to her. “Wanna dance?”

Becca looked at her. 

Namtan was glowing, cheeks flushed, hair catching the light just right, still basking in the afterglow of speeches and laughter and praise. As if the night had gone exactly the way she planned.

And maybe it had.

Becca swallowed back everything she wanted to say.

And nodded.

“Sure,” she said softly.

She let Namtan take her hand and lead her onto the rooftop dance floor surrounded by lights, people and music.

But she’d never felt more alone.

The crowd on the dance floor shifted and thinned slightly as the beat changed. The DJ, spotting Namtan and Becca stepping down from the stage hand-in-hand, lifted a finger to his headphones, smirked, and made a subtle transition.

The heavy pulse faded into something soft and slow. A dreamy acoustic rhythm poured through the speakers, gentle and golden like a rooftop love scene pulled straight from a movie.

People around them sighed, swayed, paired off.

Namtan lit up. “Oh my God!” she whispered, eyes sparkling. “Did he just put on a slow song for us?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned, took both of Becca’s hands in hers, and pulled her into the center of the dance floor.

Becca followed. She didn’t resist.

But her body felt stiff, like someone else’s clothes draped over her skin.

Namtan slid her arms around Becca’s waist and swayed them gently into the music, beaming like a girl living in a dream. “This is perfect,” she whispered. “Don’t you think?”

Becca nodded and looked at her.

The way her lashes caught the light. The way her lips curved so easily. The way she moved like everything around them had gone exactly as it should.

And it hurt.

God, it hurt.

Because she was here in Namtan’s arms and yet, she’d never felt further away.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t know what she’d say if she did.

She let Namtan sway them in slow circles under the lights, warm arms pulling her close. Their cheeks brushed now and then, and soft kisses fell gently on her lips

But her eyes never softened. Her body never relaxed.

All she could do was watch her girlfriend—smiling, radiant, and utterly unaware.

And wondered how long it would take before she noticed Becca wasn’t dancing with her at all.

Just standing there.

Waiting to disappear.

The music pulsed behind her, muffled by distance and distraction, but Film wasn’t hearing it anymore.

She moved through the rooftop crowd with purpose, brows furrowed, her phone clutched tight in one hand. She kept glancing at the screen, checking again and again for a reply that still wasn’t there.

Nothing. Still.

She stopped near the bar where a few of her coworkers were gathered, laughing over some half-finished story. She interrupted gently, but there was tension in her voice.

“Hey, guys! Sorry. Have any of you seen Freen?”

They looked at each other. Shrugged.

One of them, a woman in a green silk top, tilted her head. “She was here earlier, right? I saw her by the bar maybe... twenty minutes ago?”

Film’s eyes didn’t soften. “Did she say anything?”

The woman shook her head. “No. But…” she pointed toward the far end of the rooftop, where the elevator sat tucked behind tall plants and dim lighting. “Pretty sure I saw her heading toward the elevators.”

Film’s breath caught—just a fraction—but enough.

“Alone?”

“I think so, yeah. Looked like she was leaving.”

Film gave a tight nod. “Thanks.”

She turned and started walking quickly across the rooftop, her pace sharper than before. The buzz of laughter, the slow music, and the fairy lights faded into a distant blur as she moved away from the crowd.

She reached the elevator corridor.

Empty.

The corridor was quiet, cold in contrast to the party behind her. The elevator doors sat closed, the floor indicator glowing softly: L 

Lobby.

Film stood still for a second, staring at the light.

She pressed the call button, then checked her phone again. Still nothing.

A slight crease deepened between her brows. Her thumb hovered over Freen’s name again, but she didn’t hit dial. Not yet.

She exhaled slowly, shifted her weight from one heel to the other.

Then: ding.

The doors opened.

She stepped inside the empty elevator, heart tapping louder than the music had.

As the doors closed, she hit the button for the ground floor.

Downstairs, the bar was sleek and dimly lit. Fancy enough to be quiet and intimate enough that no one asked questions. The kind of place that didn’t require explanations. Only a card and a need to forget.

Freen sat at the far end of the marble bar, one arm resting on the counter, her blazer draped over the back of the chair, shoulders tense but steady.

She stared down at her drink—half-finished whiskey, neat.

The ice had melted.

The bartender gave her space. People chatted in low, expensive murmurs behind her. Soft jazz played overhead like it was trying not to offend anyone.

But Freen wasn’t listening.

Her mind was still upstairs.

Still hearing Film’s toast.
Still seeing Namtan kiss her cheek.
Still hearing the word “soulmate” echo like a taunt.

She took another slow sip. Swallowed hard. Set the glass down with care.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she didn’t reach for it. A quiet interruption she chose to ignore

Meanwhile...

Film stepped out of the elevator and immediately scanned the lobby. Nothing. Just gold light and polished floors.

She didn’t stop. She moved through the hallway toward the side entrance, where a soft neon sign flickered: The Bar.

She stepped inside, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darker light.

It was quiet. Cool-toned. Jazz hummed low through ceiling speakers. She spotted the bar immediately.

Her heart jumped.

There—at the end of the counter—was Freen.

Alone.

Film moved toward her slowly, weaving past a few couples and a waiter balancing martinis.

She didn’t call her name. Didn’t make a scene. Just walked until she was close enough to see her profile—stoic, still, but unmistakably sad.

Freen didn’t turn.

Film made her way to the bar and dropped into the seat beside her, on the left.

Neither spoke.

Not yet.

Film sat beside her, careful not to brush too close.

Freen didn’t look up. She traced the rim of her glass with one finger, still staring ahead, eyes unfocused.

Film leaned in just enough to be heard over the low hum of jazz.

“Babe, what are you doing down here?” Her voice was quiet, not accusing—just soft. Concerned. “I looked everywhere. I got worried.”

Freen’s eyes flicked sideways. Just for a second.

Then she looked back at her drink.

“I didn’t want to cause a scene,” she said flatly. “So I left.”

Film’s brows drew together. “You didn’t cause anything.”

Freen gave a faint smile. It didn’t touch her eyes. “Didn’t I?”

Film exhaled, leaning her elbows onto the bar. She was trying. Trying to read her, trying to understand what she had missed. But Freen’s face had gone back to that impenetrable calm she wore in court. No tells. No cracks.

“Was it the speech?” Film asked, tentative now. “Or... the whole party?”

Freen said nothing.

Film continued, her voice lower. “You just... vanished. I turned around and you weren’t there. I thought maybe something happened. I thought maybe you were upset.”

That made Freen turn.

Slowly.

She looked at Film, and this time there was no pretending in her expression.

“No, Film,” she said, her voice level but brittle at the edges. “I wasn’t upset.”

She paused.

“I was humiliated.”

Film’s face fell.

“Everyone up there knew it,” Freen added. “They could see it. I’m not stupid.”

“Freen,” Film whispered. “That’s not…”

“You gave her your heart in front of a hundred people.”

Film swallowed hard. “It was just a toast…”

“Not to me!” Freen said.

That landed like a slap.

Film sat back slightly, words caught in her throat. Her chest rose and fell too fast, suddenly aware of just how much she had said on that rooftop. And what she hadn’t.

Freen turned back to her drink.

The silence stretched again. Heavy. Long.

“I just needed to not be up there,” she said finally. “I needed to not be the background of whatever that was.”

Film blinked quickly, like she was trying to fight off the sting in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said quietly.

“I know,” Freen replied. “But you did.”

Freen didn’t look at her again.

She stared into her drink like it held answers. Like if she stared long enough, she could forget the rooftop lights, the speeches, the looks. The weight of sitting next to a woman who’d just poured her heart out to someone else.

Film closed her eyes for a moment.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said again, this time more urgently. “I swear, Freen. It wasn’t about…”

Freen didn’t interrupt. Just waited.

So Film kept going.

“I was just... doing what Namtan loves. You know how she is. She’s always been obsessed with speeches and moments and dramatic crap like that. I swear, I didn’t even plan it. I just kind of got pulled up there. You saw that, right? They called us on stage! I didn’t plan any of that!" Film said, desperation creeping into her voice. Eyes glistening. 

Freen let out a slow, hollow breath through her nose. Still no reaction.

“I didn’t think it would upset you that much,” Film added, quieter now. “It was just a thing. For her. It didn’t mean anything.”

That made Freen finally turn to face her.

Her expression was still calm. Still devastatingly calm.

“You’re wrong,” Freen said, voice quiet but steady. “It meant everything.”

Film’s throat tightened.

Freen looked away again.

“Everything you said up there... how she makes you feel, how she’s your person…your safe place...” She shook her head slowly. “You said those things in front of everyone. You gave her everything I’ve been begging you to give me. Without even realizing it.”

Film’s jaw clenched. “Freen, I didn’t…”

“You told the truth,” Freen said, and this time her voice cracked, just slightly. “Just not to me.”

The silence after that was unbearable.

Film didn’t know what to say. Because there was no version of “I didn’t mean it” that didn’t sound like a lie.

“I only said those things because it’s what Namtan wanted,” she tried again, weaker this time. “It made her happy. That’s all it was.”

Freen gave a small, sad smile.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s kind of the problem.”

Film sat there, frozen. The thump of her pulse was louder than the jazz. Her eyes locked on Freen like she could hold her in place with sheer will.

“No,” she whispered, then firmer, “No! baby, please.”

Freen blinked at the word.

Film leaned in closer, her voice shaky now, almost pleading. “I wasn’t thinking. I was just trying to keep the night moving, trying to keep Namtan smiling because that’s what she does. She makes everything feel like a show, and I got caught in it. But that doesn’t mean it was real.”

Freen looked at her, her expression unreadable. “It looked real.”

“I know,” Film said quickly. “I know. But it’s not. I didn’t even realize how bad it looked until…until you were gone and I couldn’t find you. I panicked, Freen. You left, and all I could think was— what did I do? ”

Freen turned her gaze back to her glass, but her hands had stilled.

Film reached across the bar, gently touching her arm. “Baby, please. Don’t shut down on me.”

Just then, her phone buzzed on the bar beside her.

Namtan calling.

Freen saw it. They both did.

She let it ring.

The silence between the chime and the next breath was deafening.

Freen raised an eyebrow. “You gonna get that?”

Film shook her head. “No. I’m not leaving you.”

Freen let out a slow, bitter laugh. “But you didn’t leave me. You just forgot I was there.”

The phone stopped ringing.

Film leaned in further, her voice soft but firm. “I don’t want her like that. You’re the one I come home to. You’re the one I want.”

Freen’s jaw tightened. Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t let the tears fall.

“You didn’t say that up there,” she said. “You said it now, down here. Where no one can hear you.”

Film’s face crumpled slightly, her composure faltering.

“I didn’t realize how much I’d hurt you,” she whispered. “I was stupid. I didn’t see what it was doing to you. To us. But I see it now.”

Her fingers wrapped gently around Freen’s.

“Let me fix this. Please.”

Freen looked down at their hands. Her thumb barely twitched under Film’s.

She didn’t say yes.

But she didn’t pull away either.

Film reached for her again—tentative, but firmer this time.

“Baby,” she said, the word soft, intimate, cracked at the edges. “Please look at me.”

Freen didn’t move.

“I thought I was just saying what she wanted to hear. Something light. Fun. Safe.”

Freen finally turned her head, her voice low and brittle. “That wasn’t safe, Film.”

Film’s face crumpled slightly. “I know. I know that now. I messed up.”

Freen said nothing.

She reached again, this time brushing her fingers gently over Freen’s knuckles. “You matter to me more than anything. You’re not the background. You never were.”

“Then what is it?” Freen’s voice rose, just a fraction. “Because I’m watching you climb up on a rooftop and give your everything to someone else, and now I’m sitting here wondering if you even see what I’m still doing here.”

Film reached out, took Freen’s hand with both of hers.

“I see you,” she said, gently. “I do. Baby, I see you. And I’m sorry I made you feel like you were invisible tonight.”

Freen didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean in either.

Her voice was quiet now. “Then prove it.”

Film swallowed hard. Her heart was pounding, but she didn’t look away.

She stepped in closer, voice low and steady. “Okay,” she murmured. “I’ll prove it.”

Her hand cupped Freen’s face, thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. And then she kissed her—firm, intentional, no more hesitation. This time, it wasn’t soft or fleeting. It was deep, drawn out, filled with everything she’d held back for too long.

Freen didn’t move at first. But then her fingers curled around Film’s wrist, not to push her away, but to keep her there..

The world seemed to fall away—no music, no lights, no one watching. Just the heat between them, mouths moving like they were trying to memorize the taste of each other. Breathless, hungry, desperate to make up for lost time.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads touched, breaths mingling, eyes still closed.

Film's voice came out rough, almost trembling. “Do you believe me now?”

Freen didn’t say anything at first. Her chest rose and fell like she’d just come up for air. Then, slowly, she barely nodded, but it was enough.

And the next second, she was the one pulling Film in. Mouth crashing into hers with more force, more need. There was no hesitation this time. No space between them.

It was fierce, almost wild. The kind of kiss that said don’t ever do that again, and I missed you so much it hurts all at once.

Film met Freen with everything she had, arms wrapped tight around her waist, fingers digging into her back like she was afraid she’d disappear.

The kiss stretched on deep and consuming until they were both breathless, their foreheads pressed together again, noses brushing, lips still barely apart. 

The rooftop lights glowed soft gold, casting warm halos over the slow-moving couples. The music was gentle, dreamy—everything a romantic night should be.

Becca moved with Namtan in a slow, mechanical sway. Her hands rested lightly on Namtan’s shoulder and Namtan’s arms were loosely looped around her waist, their foreheads brushing once in a while.

It should’ve been perfect.

Namtan glanced toward the crowd. Her brow furrowed slightly.

“She’s been gone a while,” she said aloud, more to herself than to Becca.

Becca didn’t need to ask who she was.

Namtan gently shifted one arm away and slipped her phone from her suit pocket.

Becca watched in silence as Namtan tapped the screen and lifted the phone to her ear mid-sway.

The music kept playing. They kept moving. But Namtan’s gaze was now scanning the crowd, distracted, frowning softly.

Namtan let out a small frustrated sigh when it went to voicemail. She hung up. 

Becca's hands dropped from Namtan’s waist before she even realized she was doing it.

Namtan glanced at her, still preoccupied. “Sorry, babe. I just…I don’t know, it’s weird she’s not answering. Freen’s still not back either.”

Becca didn’t answer.

The music swelled, wrapping around them like a lie.

Finally, Namtan tucked the phone away and gave Becca a quick kiss on the lips.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asked. “Go wait with Orm and Lingling for a sec? I’m gonna go look for Film and check if Freen’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

Becca blinked.

Nodded.

Said nothing.

She watched as Namtan turned and melted into the crowd, weaving her way toward the far end of the rooftop focused, purposeful, gone.

Becca stayed frozen on the edge of the dance floor, hands hanging uselessly at her sides.

Around her, couples swayed to the music.

No one noticed the girl standing alone in the center of a love song not meant for her.

Namtan moved quickly through the rooftop crowd, weaving between groups of laughing friends and dancing bodies. Her smile had dimmed, her brows furrowed just slightly.

She tapped a girl on the shoulder. One of her coworkers who’d been chatting with Film earlier.

“Hey,” Namtan asked, breathless but casual. “Have you seen Film? She went to look for Freen and hasn’t come back.”

The girl nodded, sipping her drink. “Yeah, actually. I saw her get in the elevator a little while ago.”

Namtan gave a tight smile. “Thanks.”

She turned and walked quickly across the rooftop, the weight in her chest building faster than her pace. She wasn’t sure why she felt so unsettled. Just that something was... off.

She hit the lobby button.

Her reflection stared back at her in the metal doors. Lipstick still perfect, curls still pinned, but her smile had vanished.

The ride down felt too quiet.

When the doors opened into the lobby, she stepped out and scanned the space.

No Film.

She turned toward the bar.

The kind of place Freen would escape to. Film too, if she was chasing her.

She stepped inside and stopped.

There, at the far end of the bar. Lit only by the soft gold light above the counter, was Film.

And Freen.

Their hands were gently intertwined. Their bodies leaned close. Heads bowed toward each other like a secret was passing between them.

And then…

Film kissed her.

Softly. Slowly.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing messy.

But it was real.

Namtan stood frozen just inside the doorway, heart jolting painfully before her brain could even form a thought.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

She just watched.

It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the way Film looked at her.

Like the world had narrowed down to Freen.

Like no one else existed.

Namtan’s fingers curled at her sides.

It doesn’t mean anything.
It’s not like we’re...
She’s married to Freen.
You’re with Becca.

She told herself all of it.

And none of it helped. 

Freen’s back was to the door. She never saw what happened next.

But Film did.

Halfway through the kiss, her eyes fluttered open briefly, just instinct.

And she saw Namtan.

Frozen just inside the entrance, standing half-shadowed by a column. Her eyes wide, her mouth slightly parted.

Film’s breath caught, but she didn’t move.

She kept kissing Freen.

Her eyes stayed locked with Namtan’s.

Namtan stood there. Fists curled tightly at her sides, heart pounding, throat dry. 

After a long moment, she couldn’t look anymore. She turned and walked out the way she came. Quiet, measured, smiling only when she passed someone near the lobby.

The elevator doors closed behind her, and she stood perfectly still inside the silver box, hands clasped together in front of her.

The elevator ride up felt longer this time.

No music. No sound.

Her reflection looked pale under the sterile lighting. Eyes a little too wet. Chest a little too tight.

She blinked it all away.

The elevator dinged.

The doors opened back to the rooftop glow, and in one breath, Namtan’s face lit up like a bulb.

Big smile. Shoulders back. Charm back on.

She stepped out into the party like she hadn’t just watched something that cracked her open a little.

“Sorry!” she called toward the dance floor. “Got distracted! Did I miss anything?”

People laughed.

No one noticed.

And just like that, she was back in the light.

Pretending it didn’t hurt.

Chapter Text

Hey everyone!

Just a little note before anything else:

First of all, please be kind and respectful to each other in the comments. This is just a fanfic, and we’re all here to enjoy it together. No need to fight or argue about it 😭 let’s keep things positive and fun!

Secondly, this is actually the first fic I’ve ever written. I’m not a professional writer🥺. I’m just someone who enjoys creating stories in my free time. This is a hobby, and I’m learning as I go. So if there are mistakes or things that don’t work for everyone, I totally understandand and I TRULY do appreciate thoughtful, respectful feedback. I read your comments and take your suggestions seriously!

Now about the pacing…yes, this is a slow burn. It’s intentional. I believe that love, especially the complicated kind I’m trying to write, takes time. These characters are messy, emotional, and dealing with layers of feelings and history! I know it can feel frustrating if you want things to move faster, but I want their connection to feel real. I personally don’t think two people can fall in love overnight, so I’m taking my time with the pacing. Sure, I could make the couples fall in love and give them a happy ending in just one chapter. But I don’t think that would feel satisfying to anyone.

But if a lot of you feel differently, I’m open to change things a bit.

That said, I’m always open to hearing your thoughts, just please know I’m following a vision for the story.

Again, I’m writing this for fun. Not for validation, not for perfection, just because I love storytelling and wanted to try sharing it with you🥺. So If it’s not perfect or doesn’t meet your expectations, I’m sorry! And I’d really appreciate your thoughts in the comments. I’m doing my best and always trying to improve.

So if many of you feel differently, I’m open to making some adjustments. But I need to hear from you! Feel free to comment and let me know what you think about the pacing.

And for the fanbases! don’t worry, you’ll get your endgame! Like I said, we just have to be a little patient😅. Someone even suggested I write two different endings, so I might explore that too.🤔

Also, I truly appreciate everyone who takes the time to read and leave feedback. it means a lot to me ❤️. I hope you’ll continue reading as the story unfolds. There’s still so much to come, and I’m excited (and nervous 😅) to share it with you.

Lastly, thanks for being here, and I’m sorry if the previous chapter made you lose interest in the story. That was never my intention😭. I hope you’ll still stick around to see where it goes.❤️

Chapter Text

Becca was still standing on the dance floor. 

Alone.

The music had shifted again. Upbeat now. Brighter. But it didn’t reach her. 

Around her, people moved like she was invisible, dancing and laughing in the gold glow of rooftop lights. 

But she didn’t move.

Her eyes were still on the spot where Namtan had disappeared moments ago.

Gone to look for Film.

To check on Freen.

Leaving Becca standing here with nothing but the fading warmth of her hands and a thousand questions she didn’t dare ask.

“Okay, no offense , but you look like you just found out your wedding was double-booked with a funeral,” said a voice behind her.

Becca blinked and looked back. 

Orm.

“Come with me before someone starts slow dancing with you out of pity.” Orm said. “Also, you’re officially past the socially acceptable sad face limit. You’re starting to scare the waitstaff.”

Becca just stared at her. Suddenly she was so glad that her friends were still there. 

“Come on. Come sit with us. Let the clowns distract you.” Orm didn’t wait for an answer. She just gently looped her arm through Becca’s and guided her toward the table where Ling was already watching them with worried eyes.

Becca let her.

The table sat tucked into a quiet corner of the rooftop, surrounded by tall plants and strung fairy lights that gave it a soft, golden glow. It had chairs, with a few cushions tied to the seats, and a small spread of fancy snacks and half a bottle of wine in a bucket of melted ice.

Orm flopped into her seat next to Ling like she’d just run a marathon in heels. Becca sat across from Ling, facing her directly, with the dance floor visible just over her shoulder.

Orm slid a suspiciously pink cocktail toward her. “It’s 40% glitter, 60% sugar, and 100% questionable. Drink now, cry later.”

Becca laughed, but it caught in her chest.

Ling tilted her head, resting a hand gently on Becca’s shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it. But you don’t have to carry it alone, either.”

Becca’s eyes stung suddenly. That simple offer hit harder than it should’ve.

“I don’t know if she’s worth it anymore,” she whispered, a sob breaking free before she could catch it.

Ling went quiet. Even Orm stilled.

Becca stared at them, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

“I don’t want to overreact,” she said, her voice soft. “But I…I just… she called Film. While we were dancing. She had her arms around me, and she was calling someone else.” A single tear slipped down her cheek.

Orm handed her a napkin, her brows drawn together. “Okay, but why ?”

“She said Film was taking too long. That she was worried.”

Ling and Orm stayed quiet, just listening.

“And then she told me to go sit with you guys so she could find her.” Becca looked down at her hands. “Like I was just... something to set down for a second.”

She twisted the napkin in her hands, fingers working like they needed something to do, anything to keep her from falling apart.

“I mean, it’s not like they don’t have history,” she added quickly, too quickly. “They’re best friends. She always worries about her. It’s just…Namtan’s always been like this. She’s warm, she’s involved. She wants to make sure everyone’s okay. That’s not a bad thing.”

“No,” Lingling said gently. “It’s not.”

“But it hurts,” Becca sobbed, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “And I don’t know if that’s my fault. Or hers. Or both.”

Orm opened her mouth, then closed it again. She reached over and placed her hand gently on Becca’s. 

Orm exhaled. “You know I love a good ‘dump them’ moment, but... this doesn’t sound easy.”

Becca laughed, but it was small. Hollow.

“I keep trying to give her the benefit of the doubt,” She spoke through a shaky breath, wiping her tears away as they continued to fall. “Because she’s sweet. And thoughtful. And she makes me feel like the center of the universe... until someone else walks into the room.”

Lingling touched her hand gently. “And right now, you’re not sure if that universe includes you.”

Becca nodded.

“I love her,” she admitted. “God, I love her. But… I’m so... confused. One second I feel like I’m enough. The next, I feel like I’m just something she picked up because Film’s already taken.”

Orm took a deep breath. “Okay. Look. I’m not good at this emotional stuff. But I do know this. If someone makes you feel like you’re optional? That’s not your person.”

Lingling and Becca gave her a look, surprised.

“What?” Orm shrugged. “I read sometimes.”

Becca let out the tiniest laugh. It broke on the end.

“I don’t want to cry here,” she said, swiping at her tears with the edge of the napkin, trying to pull herself back together. 

Before they could say anything, Becca cut in with a question. “Can I ask you something?”

Orm perked up. “Always. Unless it’s about my browser history.”

Lingling gave her a look.

Becca smiled. She looked down at the napkin she was still unconsciously folding in her hands. “The speech.”

Orm frowned. “The one they gave?”

Becca nodded.

There was a pause.

Becca lifted her gaze to meet theirs. Her voice was thin but direct. “What did you think about it? Honestly.”

Orm winced like she’d been caught in a trap. “Oof.”

Lingling tilted her head slightly. “You really want to know?”

“I do,” Becca said. “Because I don’t know if it hurt because of what was said... or because of who said it.”

Orm exhaled. “Okay. If we’re being real... it was a little much.”

“A little?” Ling raised a brow.

Orm shrugged. “Okay, it was like... a lot much. Like, if someone played a dramatic piano in the background, I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

Lingling looked at Becca, gently. “You weren’t wrong to feel the way you did.”

Orm nodded slowly.

“I felt like I was third-wheeling my own relationship, ” Becca whispered. “And no one even noticed.”

Lingling leaned in, her tone low and kind. “If you want to go home, we’ll take you.”

Becca looked up, startled. “What?”

“You don’t have to stay,” Ling said simply. “We’ve got the car. Just say the word.”

Before Becca could answer, they heard Namtan’s voice floating toward them. “There she is! My drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend and her glamorous gang!”

Namtan returned like nothing had happened, smiling and glowing beneath the rooftop lights. A glass of champagne in one hand, she dropped gracefully beside Becca, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before slipping an arm around her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Becca didn’t lean in.

Namtan’s laughter faded as her eyes landed on Becca’s slightly red eyes. Her brows drew together.

“Everything okay?” Namtan asked. 

Becca forced a nod. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Namtan smiled like that was good enough.

But Becca wasn’t done.

“Did you find them?” she asked, voice low.

Namtan blinked. “Who?”

“Film and Freen.”

“Oh,” Namtan said with a light wave of her hand, like it wasn’t important. “No, I didn’t find them. I think they’re just talking. You know how they get, Freen probably needed air, and Film always follows her. They’re probably fine”

Probably.

Becca studied her.

She looked at Namtan’s face. Studied it. The too-smooth expression. The way her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes.

There was no hesitation in her voice. No crack in her smile. Just that casual Namtan way of brushing things off, smoothing the moment before it got messy.

But Becca wasn’t sure if it was carelessness… or something else.

She looked at her girlfriend and didn’t know what to say. What to believe.

Namtan reached for her champagne again. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

But Becca’s chest was tightening with questions she wasn’t sure she wanted the answers to.

Before Becca could respond, someone called out from across the rooftop. “Namtan! Group picture!”

Another voice chimed in, louder. “Come on! Birthday girl in the middle!”

Namtan lit up instantly. “You guys better be tagging me this time!”

She turned to Becca with a playful grin. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Becca nodded stiffly.

Namtan didn’t notice and pressed another quick kiss to her lips and rose, practically skipping off toward the lights and the camera flashes.

Orm and ling watched her go, then glanced back at Becca.

Becca didn’t speak.

She was still staring at the place where Namtan had been sitting.

And wondering…

If Namtan hadn’t seen anything downstairs, why did that answer feel so carefully placed?

And if she had seen something...

Why wasn’t she saying a word?

The camera flashed again, capturing Namtan in the center of the group, laughing too loud and smiling just wide enough to convince herself she meant it.

She told herself she was fine.

“Okay! Few more!” someone called out. “Do the champagne toast pose!”

She pressed closer to her friends, arms draped around her shoulders, champagne raised high. The flash snapped.  

She was radiant, smiling, flushed, her laughter blending into the rooftop air like nothing had touched her tonight.

But then…

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw them.

Freen and Film.

They’d just stepped onto the rooftop, walking side by side, quiet, composed. But there was a closeness between them now that hadn’t existed before tonight

Namtan’s glass dipped a fraction.

Her smile wavered. But she felt it slip like something cold cracking under her ribs.

Film saw her.

She was mid-step when their eyes met.

And for one small, silent moment, the party didn’t exist.

It was just them. Still. Exposed.

They were about to walk right past the group.

But then a voice shouted from behind the camera: “Film! Come join the photo!”

Film hesitated.

She looked at Freen, silently asking.

Freen gave her the smallest smile. A breath of permission. “Go ahead,” she said gently.

But just as Film turned to leave, she leaned in and kissed Freen.

Right there, in front of everyone.

Not hurried. Not unsure.

A quiet, firm kiss on the lips. Soft. Intentional.

Film pulled back, eyes still on Freen.

Freen touched Film’s arm gently, then nodded toward the tables. “Go. I’ll be over there.”

Film turned and approached the photo group, slipping through the edge of the crowd just as someone called out, “Film! Come stand with Namtan!”

Film moved beside her without a word.

Their eyes met.

Namtan’s smile was gone for a heartbeat.

Film’s, too.

She slid in beside Namtan.

The camera lifted again.

And as it counted down, Namtan looked at her.

Just for a second.

And Film looked back.

Their smiles were gone, just for that heartbeat. Just long enough for truth to flicker between them—sharp, quiet, undeniable.

Then…

Both smiled again, on cue.

Namtan’s arm moved automatically, draping around Film’s shoulder, fingers settling against the bare skin near her collarbone.

The photo snapped.

They looked perfect.

Even if neither of them felt it.

While they posed for pictures, Freen glanced at them and let out a quiet sigh. Just like that, they were back to how they’d always been — laughing, leaning into each other. As if her fight with Film about this, just minutes ago at the bar, had never happened.

She scanned the crowd, her heart still unsteady. 

But she wasn’t looking for Film anymore.

She was looking for Becca.

She didn't know why.

She saw her at a table with Ling and Orm. 

Without saying a word, she started walking toward them.

Orm was mid-story, waving a breadstick like a wand as she told Lingling and Becca about an incident with a coworker. 

Becca sat across from them, quieter, her drink mostly untouched, her eyes still a little red.

As she reached the table, she gave them all a small smile.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a little tentative. “Can I join you guys?”

“Please,” Lingling said, smiling.  

Freen gave a faint smile back and sat beside Becca.

“Where’ve you been?” Orm asked, squinting at her like a gossip columnist. “Don’t say the bar unless something dramatic happened there.”

Freen smirked. “Then I guess I was just... at the bar.”

Orm gasped. “You were dramatic. I knew it!”

They all chuckled—except for Becca, who just stared off into the distance, distracted.

Freen glanced at her.

She noticed her slightly red eyes

“Hey,” she said softly, “are you okay?”

Becca blinked at the question, caught off guard by the softness of it.

The question wasn’t loud. It wasn’t prying. It was gentle and real.

She hesitated, eyes dropping to the glass in her hand. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

But her voice was a little too careful.

And she didn’t look at Freen when she said it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Freen asked again, quieter now.

Becca shrugged lightly. “I’ve had better nights.”

Freen didn’t respond with a joke or a platitude. She just nodded.

Becca sighed. “Film was looking for you earlier.”

“She found me,” Freen said simply.

Becca narrowed her eyes, her voice edged with curiosity. “Then where is she?”

Freen hesitated for a split second. “She’s over there. Taking pictures with Namtan and some of their friends.”

Becca’s face dropped. 

Her eyes met Freen’s.

And in that quiet look — the pause, the flicker of recognition — they both understood exactly what the other was feeling.

Neither said it.

They didn’t need to.

From the side, Orm leaned in dramatically, eyes wide with curiosity, snapping her fingers to get their attention. “ Hello?! okay, the tension over here is thick. Do you two need a minute? Should Ling and I take a walk? Maybe go elope real quick and give you both some space?”

Becca laughed, a short huff through her nose.

“We are fine,” Becca said, laughing softly.

Freen let the joke pass, but her eyes drifted toward Becca.

Suddenly, the music changed and the soft opening notes of "Birds of a Feather" drifted through the party, and Orm’s face immediately lit up like she’d just spotted a pizza delivery guy.

She grabbed Ling’s arm with dramatic urgency.

“Oh my God, Ling! It’s our song,” she declared. Even though it absolutely wasn’t.

She grabbed Ling’s hand with both of hers. “Please. Dance with me. Right now. Before someone else steals me away and you regret it forever.”

Ling raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Pretty sure no one’s trying to steal you.”

Orm rolled her eyes.

“Please, you’re the human version of a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign. No one dares.”

Ling laughed, shaking her head, then stood up with a playful grin.

Ling said. “But only if you promise not to make me look bad with your moves.”

Orm laughed. “Challenge accepted. Prepare to be dazzled…or horrified.”

Ling chuckled, “I’ll bring the tissues, just in case.”

Orm pointed at Freen and Becca as she backed toward the dance floor. “No emotional breakdowns while we’re gone. Or if you do cry, save me a dramatic retelling.”

Becca gave her the ghost of a smile. Freen smirked.  

Then she spun around with exaggerated flair and led Lingling toward the dance floor, their laughter trailing behind them.

Becca watched them for a second — the way Lingling pretended to hate it, the way Orm mouthed all the lyrics like it was a Broadway audition — and something inside her loosened just a little.

Freen leaned back slightly, looking at Becca. “They’re good together.”

Becca nodded.

And then, for the first time in what felt like hours, they were alone.

Becca turned slightly, her voice quiet but clear. “You know... I’ve actually been thinking about you a lot Today.”

It took Freen off guard. She raised her eyebrows just a little. “Why?”

“I’ve been wondering how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“This,” Becca said. “Being with someone who’s... that close to Namtan. Watching it. Every day.”

Freen didn’t answer right away.

Becca went on, her voice low. “I mean, I get jealous. And I don’t even have half the history you two do. But you...you’ve been with Film for years. You see them together all the time. You know how intense they are. And still...you stay.”

Freen exhaled, soft and almost bitter. “Admiring that makes it sound a lot braver than it feels.”

Becca looked at her, eyes gentle. “Still. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I don’t know,” Freen said finally. “I used to think it didn’t bother me. Or that I could handle it. But lately...” She hesitated, then met Becca’s gaze. “Lately, I’m not sure I’m handling anything.”

Becca held the eye contact, unblinking and unwavering.

Then Freen shrugged slightly, her fingers tightening around the edge of her seat. “I guess... I just got used to telling myself it was harmless. That it didn’t mean anything. That I meant more.”

She paused, voice catching a little.

“But tonight, I’m not sure I believe that anymore.”

Becca’s breath caught in her throat.

Their eyes met, and for a moment — the pain, the recognition, the parallel experience — was overwhelming.

They were both in love with people who kept giving parts of themselves away.

And neither of them knew what to do with what was left. 

Freen looked away for a second, watching the shadows shift across the rooftop as the music moved into the final chorus.

Then she spoke.

Soft. Steady.

“It wasn’t just you,” she said.

Becca turned toward her. “What do you mean?”

“The speech,” Freen said. “Film’s toast.”

Becca swallowed. “Yeah?”

Freen exhaled like she’d been holding it in all night. “It didn’t feel like a toast.”

Becca’s eyebrows lifted, just a little.

“It felt like a confession,” Freen continued. “Like something she was finally saying out loud, and I wasn’t supposed to hear it.”

She paused. Looked at Becca.

“I just stood there, smiling like everyone else. And inside I kept thinking— this isn’t for me. ”

Becca’s lips parted. “Freen…”

Freen shook her head, but it wasn’t bitter. Just tired. “I think that was the worst part. How many times I’ve told myself they’re just close. That it’s harmless. But tonight… she meant it. Every word of it.”

She looked down at her hands again.

“And none of them were about me.”

The silence after that felt like truth settling.

Becca didn’t reach for her. Didn’t offer comfort she couldn’t promise.

She just sat beside her. Still. With her.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like either of them were alone. 

Becca smiled at that. 

Then she said softly, “You’re easier to talk to than I expected.”

Freen let out a quiet laugh. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

“I mean it,” Becca said. “You don’t try to fix things. You just... sit in it with me.”

Freen met her eyes. “That’s because I know exactly how it feels.”

Freen’s tone was careful, neutral  but not cold. She was trying not to let it sting.

Becca’s lips parted like she might say something else, but then from the dance floor, Orm’s voice cut through the moment:

“I LOVE YOU TILL THE DAY THAT I DIE!” she howled, completely off-key and absolutely shameless.

Orm threw her arms in the air and belted it out like she was performing at a sold-out concert.

Everyone burst out laughing.

Orm just bowed dramatically. “You’re welcome for the free show!”

Becca turned her head, watching them and she laughed.

For the first time that night, it was real. Full of joy. The kind that reached her eyes and softened everything.

But Freen….

Freen didn’t look at them.

Freen didn’t laugh.

She was too busy looking at Becca.

She was still watching Becca.

Not just watching her, but also studying her.

The way her smile reached her eyes when she forgot to guard it. The sound of her laugh. The way her hand brushed her own knee as she tried to catch her breath.

It was the kind of smile people didn’t show unless they felt safe.

Then Freen’s gaze dropped — slow, unintentional. At least, that’s what she’d tell herself.

To her lips.

And when Becca turned back, she caught it.

Freen didn’t look away fast enough.

Becca’s breath hitched. 

Sharp enough to feel.

Quiet enough to ignore if she needed to.

She didn’t say anything.

Neither did Freen.

The space between them suddenly felt charged.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

But something had undeniably shifted — and neither could pretend they hadn’t felt it.

It wasn’t heavy.

It wasn’t even tense.

It was just... new.

And it was only just beginning.

If you ask Freen, she’d blame it on the drink she had at the bar.

But deep down, she knew that wasn’t it.

Something lighter had slipped into her chest

Something she hadn’t felt in a while…

“What?” Becca asked, the corners of her mouth twitching, suddenly self-conscious.

Freen held her gaze a second longer.

Then said, softly, “You have a really beautiful smile.”

Becca blinked. Her breath caught again.

“I mean it,” Freen added, voice low. “You should smile more. When you do… it’s like you forget you’re holding everything in.”

Becca didn’t know what to say. 

Her heartbeat had picked up, just enough to feel in her chest and throat.

Freen wasn’t being charming.

She wasn’t performing.

She was just… saying it.

And that made it worse. 

Or better. 

Or something in between.

“I don’t smile that much lately” Becca said quietly, eyes dropping.

Freen tilted her head. “Maybe not around the right people.”

That made Becca look up again.

And Freen’s eyes were still there, still soft, still completely on her lips.

Becca didn’t say anything.

She couldn’t.

Because in that moment, she wasn’t just seen. 

She was understood.

And that was infinitely more dangerous. 

Becca had been quiet for a while, but her eyes never left Freen.

Finally, she spoke.

“Freen?”

Freen lifted her gaze from Becca’s lips to meet her eyes. “Yeah?”

"Freen… you once said I’m the only one who doesn’t pretend. Can you do the same? Just this once… don’t pretend. Answer one question for me," Becca asked, her voice soft and pleading.

That caught Freen’s attention. She turned more fully toward her, one brow raised. “Wow. Is this a confession setup? Should I be worried?”

Becca didn’t smile.

“I’m serious.”

Freen blinked. “Okay…”

“But I need you to really be honest with me,” Becca added quickly. “Like… really honest. Otherwise, just don’t answer.”

Freen watched her carefully, a flicker of worry behind her composed expression.

“Promise me,” Becca said softly. “Promise you won’t lie to make it easier.”

The air between them tightened.

Freen looked at her, the joke slipping from her face. “Alright. I promise.”

Becca breathed in slowly, as if she’d been holding her breath without even realizing it.

"Have they...?" she exhaled, covering her face with both hands, clearly frustrated.

Freen’s eyes softened, already knowing what Becca was about to ask, but she stayed quiet—waiting, hoping it wasn’t what was on her mind.

Then Becca asked, carefully, “Have they… have they ever been in a relationship?” Her eyes locked onto Freen’s, steady and searching.

The words landed like a pin dropped in a cathedral.

Freen froze.

Her eyes didn’t blink — just stayed locked on Becca’s like she was suddenly trying to read a language she didn’t speak.

She didn’t answer.

Not right away.

She just stared.

And Becca held her gaze.

Something in Freen’s face shifted. Not shock — not really — but something deeper. Recognition. A weight she hadn’t expected to be called out on.

She looked down.

Then back up.

Like she was deciding.

How much do I say?

How much can I admit without unraveling everything?

And Becca?

Becca held her gaze—steady and patient on the surface, but if you looked closer, you could see the quiet tension beneath.

The way her eyes flickered with the unspoken question, the silent plea, like she was dying to hear Freen’s answer but unwilling to rush her.

Freen’s lips parted...

Chapter Text

“Have they… ever been in a relationship?” Becca asked, her eyes locked onto Freen’s, steady and searching.
Something in Freen’s face shifted. Not shock, but something deeper. Recognition. A weight she hadn’t expected to be called out on.
Becca held her gaze—steady and patient on the surface, but if you looked closer, you could see the quiet tension beneath.
The way her eyes flickered with the unspoken question, the silent plea, like she was dying to hear Freen’s answer but unwilling to rush her.
The question hung there like smoke.
Freen’s lips parted.
But before she could speak…

“There you are!” came Namtan’s voice, bright and unbothered.
Freen flinched.
Namtan and Film had arrived, walking up to the table with drinks in hand, laughing. Their energy loud and warm like nothing in the world had shifted.
Freen’s face snapped back into place like a mask sliding on. Calm. Blank.
Becca didn’t look at either of them.
She just looked at Freen, still waiting, still watching her.
And in Freen’s eyes, there was one unspoken sentence stuck behind her promise.
But she didn’t say it.

Film noticed the way Becca’s gaze lingered on Freen and the way Freen sat, tense and unreadable. She sat across from Freen, while Namtan took the seat opposite Becca.
“God, they took so many pictures,” Namtan said cheerfully.
Becca turned to Namtan and offered a small, strained smile.
The air around the table had shifted entirely.
Whatever had been lingering between Becca and Freen just moments ago had vanished.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Namtan said cheerfully, pressing a light kiss against Becca’s lips. “Thought maybe you ran off with Orm and Ling.”
Becca gave a small shrug. “I was just… waiting for you here.”

Film reached across the table and gently placed her hand over Freen’s.
“Babe, are you okay?” she asked softly.
Becca’s eyes dropped to their joined hands, something unreadable flickering across her face.
Freen nodded. “Yeah,” she said, forcing a small smile as she gave Film’s hand a quick squeeze.
But Film wasn’t convinced. The smile didn’t reach her eyes and the squeeze felt more like a performance than comfort.
Becca's eyes turned on the dance floor, but her mind was somewhere else entirely.
Still on the answer she didn’t get.

Before the silence could stretch too far, a man in a black dress shirt and name tag approached the table with a clipboard in hand — the manager.
“Excuse me, miss Namtan,” he said with a warm smile. “The cake is ready. Just let me know when you’d like us to bring it out.”
Namtan lit up. “Ooh, yes! Let’s do it now. I want to make a wish while the night still feels perfect.”
The manager gave a slight bow and walked off.

The manager had barely walked away when Namtan stood up, brushing invisible wrinkles from her suit like she was about to perform on stage.
She reached down without hesitation and laced her fingers through Becca’s, tugging her gently up with her. “Come on, babe. You’re cutting that cake with me.”
Becca followed, legs a little slower than her smile, her fingers curling instinctively around Namtan’s hand.
Beside them, Film stood too, then reached for Freen’s hand and looped her arm around it loosely. The kind of gesture that once might’ve felt natural.
Now, it just felt… practiced.
Freen didn’t pull away.
But her eyes flicked to Becca’s for the briefest second as they walked. Quiet acknowledgement passing between them.

The music faded out as they reached the small platform. A mic stood waiting, and the DJ, already smiling, leaned in and offered it to Namtan without a word.
Namtan took it like she was made for it.
She turned to face the rooftop crowd.
“Everyone!” she called out, voice cutting through the rooftop hum.
The music faded, the chatter quieted.
“It is time for the most important part of the evening,” Namtan announced, lifting her free hand dramatically, “which is, of course me eating sugar in front of all of you while you sing badly and pretend to be excited for me.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
“Everyone better sing! I expect full volume and off-key harmonies, some dramatic candle-blowing photos and at least one person crying.”
More laughter.
Becca watched her, expression unreadable.

From the crowd near the back, Orm leaned into Lingling, her eyes on the stage.
“I swear,” Orm whispered, “if this turns into drama, I’m grabbing the cake and jumping off the roof.”
Lingling huffed a quiet laugh. “Please don’t. We need at least one couple to survive tonight.”
“Exactly,” Orm said, smiling. “We’re the control group.”
“Also, thank you all for coming up here tonight, to celebrate another year of me getting wiser, or at least better at pretending to be,” Namtan teased, waving at the crowd. “Now, let’s bring out the cake before I start crying from all this love.”
Up front, the DJ gave a nod, and the rooftop lights shifted slightly as two staff members began wheeling out the cake.
The servers carried the cake carefully onto the rooftop, and everyone’s attention turned to it. The cake looked like it was made for a movie director’s special night. Three tall layers covered in smooth white frosting. On top, there was a small edible film reel and a little clapboard, both painted in shiny gold. Around the sides, soft pink and deep red sugar flowers gently spilled down like a quiet waterfall. Tiny golden stars dotted the bottom tier, sparkling softly under the lights.
Candles flickered on top, their small flames glowing warmly in the evening air.
“Oh wow, that’s gorgeous!” guests exclaimed. “Look at that Cake!”
Becca stood right beside Namtan, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Namtan’s smile was wide and happy, but Becca’s was forced. Her eyes didn’t quite shine the same way.
In front of them, Freen and Film stood with the rest of the guests.
Film had her arm lightly around Freen’s.
Freen she just watched Becca.
Still somewhere else entirely.

As the DJ lowered the music and cued “Happy Birthday,” voices rose together in celebration. Namtan’s eyes twinkled as she sang with heartfelt joy.
But Becca’s gaze kept flicking sideways, catching the way Namtan’s eyes lingered on Film, who sang with an excitement so genuine and carefree it made the moment feel charged with something unspoken.
Freen noticed too. The subtle exchange between her wife and Namtan, and her smile tightened just enough for only Becca to see.
Becca forced her lips into a smile again, trying to blend in with the chorus, though a quiet tension hummed beneath the surface.

As the last notes of the birthday song faded, the guests cheered, “Make a wish! Make a wish!”
Namtan leaned forward toward the flickering candles, a playful smile curling on her lips. Her eyes briefly flicked to Becca standing right beside her—there was a softness in that glance, a silent connection.
But then, almost like a current pulling her gaze away, Namtan’s eyes locked with Film’s across the crowd. Film’s smile was wide and bright, full of excitement and something unspoken.
Namtan held that look for a moment longer before she leaned in and blew out the candles in one smooth breath.
Becca felt a quick sting in her chest, and Freen’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. Neither of them said a word or let it show, but in that quiet exchange of glances between them, the frustration was clear.

As the last candle flickered out and the cheers faded into soft laughter, someone called out, “Cut the cake!”
Namtan turned to the table, picking up the knife with a grin. “Alright, alright! Time for cake, finally.”
She glanced at Becca beside her and gently tugged her hand. “Come on, babe, help me cut it.”

Becca’s expression softened for a second as she stepped forward, her hand resting lightly on Namtan’s over the knife. But just as they were about to slice into the cake, Namtan suddenly looked up.“Wait! Film, come cut it with us too!” she called brightly. “You were basically the co-director of this party anyway.”
There was a little laugh from the crowd, and Film stepped forward without hesitation, joining them with an easy, glowing smile.
Freen’s gaze stayed fixed on Film, her arms crossed lightly over her chest. She didn’t say anything. She bit down on her lower lip, holding back the words that threatened to slip out.
Becca’s fingers froze slightly on the knife, but she didn’t pull away. She kept her smile in place, though it didn’t hide the quiet flicker of discomfort behind her eyes.
She didn’t pull away.
But her eyes did.
They moved past Namtan and Film, scanning the crowd for a second before landing on Freen.
Freen was already looking at her.
Their eyes met across the cake table—just for a second—a quiet, wordless understanding passing between them.

At the edge of the group, Orm leaned in toward Lingling, whispering. “Should I jump in too? We can make it a group project. Nothing says ‘celebration’ like a four-person cake cutting.”
Ling, eyes still fixed on the stage, said quietly, “Look at Becca. She is not okay.”
“I know!” Orm snapped, then softened. “And it’s driving me crazy that I can’t do anything for her.”

The three women stood shoulder to shoulder now, posing for photos as guests cheered again. Namtan looked radiant in the middle, laughing as she guided the knife down with Becca and Film’s hands still touching hers.
The knife slid smoothly through the soft layers, the thick white frosting giving way to rich chocolate and a hint of strawberry. Namtan let out a small cheer as she lifted the first slice on her plate, Namtan scooped up a bite with her fork, the frosting thick and soft, a bit of strawberry tucked underneath.
“First piece for my girl,” she said, holding out the fork playfully to Becca.
Becca leaned in, lips parting slightly as Namtan fed her the bite. She chewed slowly, managing a smile even as something sat heavy in her chest.
But before Becca could say anything, Namtan was already cutting another forkful and turning to the other side.
“Now you,” she grinned, turning to Film.
“And this one’s for Film,” offering the same to Film with a teasing grin. “For being my unofficial party planner-slash-personal cheerleader.”
Film laughed, taking the cake without hesitation. “Obviously. Someone had to make sure you didn’t go overboard on glitter.”
Their fingers brushed for a second. Namtan laughed, cheeks flushed, and Becca’s grip tightened slightly on her fork.
Across the way, Freen’s expression was unreadable. She watched as Film took a bite of the cake, joking with Namtan, her voice rising above the light music and chatter.
Then Namtan finally cut herself a small slice.
“To turning thirty and still being the drama queen,” she said with a wink, lifting her plate.
Guests laughed and cheered, raising glasses.
Namtan took a bite, licking a little frosting off the corner of her lip.

Then, without missing a beat, Film stepped in close and wrapped her arms around Namtan.
“Happy birthday, bestie!” she said warmly, pressing a soft kiss to Namtan’s cheek.
Namtan chuckled and hugged her back tightly, fingers resting lightly on Film’s waist.
Becca’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
Then Namtan turned back toward her, expectant and glowing.
Becca stepped in, looping her arms gently around Namtan’s shoulders. “Happy birthday,” she said softly, and Namtan leaned in to kiss her. Just a quick press to the lips.
Namtan smiled against her, resting her forehead briefly on Becca’s before pulling back.
From across the small circle of guests, Freen watched.
She didn’t blink. Her eyes stayed on Becca, tracking every tiny shift in her expression, every little thing she wasn’t saying out loud.

As the laughter began to settle, a couple of waiters stepped in gently.
“Excuse us,” one of them said politely, taking the remaining cake with practiced hands. “We’ll slice and serve it to everyone.”
Namtan gave them a nod. “Perfect, thank you.”
Becca took a small step back, watching the plates disappear toward the long table where drinks and snacks were being refreshed.

Then, as if nothing else mattered, Namtan turned to her again with a playful gleam in her eye.
“Dance with me?”
Becca blinked. “Now?”
“Why not?” Namtan laughed, already tugging her toward the middle of the rooftop where the soft glow of string lights formed a warm circle.
The DJ, catching the mood, slowed the music into something smoother—low and romantic. A gentle beat pulsed beneath a soft melody as the night air wrapped around them.
Becca hesitated, then let herself be pulled in.
Namtan placed her hands on Becca’s waist, swaying to the rhythm. Becca rested hers on Namtan’s shoulders, letting her eyes close for a brief moment. The world felt still. But not peaceful. Just… paused.
Then, a few steps away, Film’s voice rose up lightly.
“Come on, babe. Let’s dance too.”
Freen didn’t protest. She let Film take her hand, and soon the two of them joined the dance floor too.
More guests began to filter into the open space, pairs forming naturally.

The music slowed to a soft, gentle rhythm. Namtan held Becca close, their bodies moving smoothly in time with the beat. Freen and Film did the same a few feet away, their arms wrapped around each other.
As they swayed, Becca’s eyes found Freen’s across the small space between them. Their gazes locked. Intense, quiet, and full of unspoken words. Neither looked away as the song carried them gently.
Slowly, their positions shifted. Where they had been facing each other, now their backs pressed together, still moving in rhythm but no longer eye to eye.
At that same moment, Namtan and Film, also shifting in their dance, turned without breaking the beat and their eyes met.
But theirs were different. No smile, no warmth. Just a deep, steady gaze that spoke volumes without a single word.
The rooftop lights flickered softly over them as the two couples held their positions. Becca and Freen standing back to back, and Namtan and Film facing each other, eyes locked.
The silence between those looks was heavy, charged with everything left unsaid.

Orm leaned back slightly, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she watched Namtan and Becca swaying together under the lights, their movements easy and in sync. For once, no tension, no raised voices, just laughter and music in the air.
“Finally, some peace,” Orm murmured, almost to herself.
Beside her, Ling didn’t take her eyes off the dance floor. She reached for Orm’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“The night’s not over yet, my love,” she said, her voice low.
Orm sighed. “I know… but I’m going to enjoy this while it lasts.”

After a few more slow dances and laughter fading into comfortable chatter, one of their friends grinned and stepped toward the DJ booth, grabbing the mic with a playful sparkle in his eyes.
“Alright, everyone! Time to switch gears,” he announced, his voice cutting through the gentle music. “We made a Kahoot quiz for Namtan! Think you know her? Let’s find out!”
A ripple of excitement spread through the crowd. Guests murmured eagerly and the DJ lowered the music to a soft background beat.
The game was about to start, but no one knew just how much more would be revealed in the next few rounds.

After the announcement, the crowd buzzed with excitement, phones already out and ready. But Freen stayed near the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed loosely. Film spotted her hesitation and offered a gentle smile.
“Come on, babe. Join us. It’ll be fun.”
Freen shook her head softly, eyes avoiding the phone screens lighting up around them. “I think I’ll just watch.”
Film nodded without pushing. “Alright, if you say so.”
Meanwhile, Namtan pulled her phone from her pocket and held it out to Becca, who hesitated.
“Babe, you have to play. Come on!” Namtan urged, her smile both inviting and insistent.
Becca took the phone, her fingers trembling just a little as she accepted it.
“Alright,” she whispered.
Near the bar, Orm leaned toward. “Becca looks like she’s calculating her life choices already.”
Ling followed her gaze. “Poor Becca. She didn’t sign up for this.”

The quiz began with a cheerful chime, the first question flashing brightly on the rooftop screen.
“What’s Namtan’s secret favorite snack?”
A few guests laughed aloud at the options, but Film didn’t hesitate. Her thumb tapped the right answer before anyone else had even finished reading.
Her name jumped to the top of the leaderboard: FILM 🥇
The next question came.
“What was Namtan’s first work?”
Becca hovered between two options. Film, again, answered immediately. Correct.
A chorus of playful groans followed.
“Again?” someone teased.
Becca pressed her lips together, trying to smile. On the leaderboard, Film’s name remained firmly in #1. No one else even came close.
Next question:
“What’s Namtan’s go-to karaoke song?”

Film picked it with the same casual speed, her phone barely visible as she moved.
Another round of groans. “Come on, leave some questions for the rest of us!”
Film just grinned, cool and unbothered. “Sorry,” she said, without sounding sorry at all.
Freen watched from the side, quiet, her arms crossed. Her jaw tensed.
“What’s the weirdest gift Namtan ever got?”

Film answer was correct. Again.
“Okay, okay!” someone laughed. “She’s clearly Namtan's wikipedia.”
Film’s stayed at the top, glowing gold.
And then came the kicker:
“Who is Namtan’s favourite person?”
Becca froze.
Freen stared at the screen.
Film tapped her answer instantly.
The board lit up with a ding! — FILM: Correct. Still #1.
Namtan smiled unconsciously.
Across the crowd, Freen’s eyes flicked to Becca, who happened to be glancing back.
Film had all the answers.
And somehow, that stung more than either of them expected.

After a few more rounds of Kahoot, the final Kahoot question buzzed out, and the leaderboard exploded onto the screen.
🥇 1st Place: FILM
The rooftop burst into laughter and applause. But no one seemed the least bit surprised.
The friend on the mic chuckled, shaking his head. “And the winner is… obviously… Film! Is anyone shocked? Because I’m not!”
“Boooo!” some guests shouted jokingly.
Film kept laughing, pride written all over her face.

Orm threw her hands up. “That woman’s brain is a certified hard drive. I demand a rematch!”
“Even if you played with Google open, she’d still beat you.” Ling said.

But the jokes faded into background noise as Namtan raised her voice from the middle of the crowd, grinning ear to ear.
“She needs a prize!” she shouted and then marched toward Film.
Before anyone could react, Namtan threw her arms around Film and hugged her tightly, lifting her clean off the ground. Her hands slid under Film’s thighs, scooping her up from below like they’d done it a hundred times before. Film let out a surprised squeal and a giggle, wrapping her arms around Namtan’s neck, utterly comfortable.
“You’re such a nerd!” Namtan laughed, holding her up as if she weighed nothing, before planting a firm kiss on the top of her head.
The crowd aww’d and laughed.

Next to Film, Freen’s jaw clenched. Hard. Her arms stayed at her sides, fingers curling in. Her eyes flicked toward Namtan’s hands still resting under Film’s thighs then back to their faces, close, too close.
Film laughed, totally at ease.
“Put me down before you dislocate something,” Film teased breathlessly.
“You’re light! Shut up and accept my affection,” Namtan replied, grinning.
As Namtan spun Film once before finally setting her down, the crowd laughed and clapped again.
Orm leaned toward Ling, eyes still on them.
“Babe?” Orm whispered, leaning in close. “If I see you hug someone else like that, you’ll be walking home barefoot, with a fork in your thigh.”
Ling snorted. “Okay…yeah. That’s fair.”
Orm nodded, dead serious

As Namtan lifted Film off the ground, holding her with ease, her hands firm beneath Film’s thighs. Film laughed freely, head tilted back, arms wrapped around Namtan’s neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Becca didn’t laugh.
She watched eyes fixed and smile frozen as Namtan kissed the top of Film’s head, lingering like it meant more than it should.

But Becca just stood there. Still. Quiet.
And something inside her shifted.
She didn't cry.
She didn’t even frown.
She just watched, and in that second, she made a decision.
Maybe not the whole decision.
But the first part of one.
A whisper in her mind that said: I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t matter.
She didn’t say a word.
Just looked away.
And across the space, Freen was already looking at her.
They didn’t speak. But their eyes held the same quiet ache.

Surprisingly, the rest of the night passed without more drama.
The cake had been eaten. The music played on. People danced, drank, and laughed like nothing heavy had ever hung in the air.
But Becca didn’t even try to smile anymore.
Not fake. Not forced. Just… still.
She moved when she had to. Spoke when addressed.
But the warmth in her eyes had long faded.
Of course, everyone caught it. Everyone except Namtan.

By the gift table, Namtan knelt slightly, unwrapping one box with a grin, her voice light as she read the note aloud.
Becca stood beside her, unmoving, hands clasped in front of her. She didn’t reach for anything. Didn’t laugh. Just watched.
Not the gifts. Not the notes. Just Namtan.
Orm and Ling made their way over to say goodnight.
“Thanks for coming, guys,” Namtan said, pulling them both into a quick hug. “It meant a lot and also thanks for the gift.”
“Of course,” Ling said warmly. “Happy birthday again.”
Then Orm gaze drifted to Becca, who stood stiffly beside Namtan.
“Hey, Becca,” Orm said gently. “Do you want a ride? We’re heading that way…”
Before Becca could respond, Namtan cut in quickly, throwing an arm around her.
“Aw, no need! I brought her here in a limo, I’m taking her back in one too,” she said with a playful grin. “Birthday girl privileges.”
She gave Becca’s shoulder a squeeze, like the moment was cute.
Becca didn’t even smile.
Orm tilted her head, eyebrows raised.
“Okay, flex. But like… the emotional damage still won’t fit in the trunk.”
Ling gave her a light elbow.
For a moment, Namtan was speechless, the surprise evident in her eyes.
Orm gave Becca a long, knowing look before gently hugging her. “Goodnight, love you.”
Becca hugged her back. “Night, love you too.”

As Orm and Ling disappeared from view, Namtan turned to Becca, still wearing that surprised smile.
“What did Orm mean by that?” she asked, brow furrowing slightly. “The emotional damage in the trunk thing?”
Becca didn’t even look at her.
She kept her gaze on the gifts, her voice flat.
“I don’t know.”
That was all she said.
No smile. No shrug. No teasing.
Just emptiness, wrapped in polite calm.
Namtan’s smile faltered.
She looked at Becca’s profile for the first time all night.
The quiet tension in her jaw. The dullness in her eyes. The stillness.
Something about it made Namtan pause, just long enough to start asking, “Babe, are you…”
But she didn’t get to finish.

“Hey,” came a voice behind them.
Freen and Film had approached.
“Just so you know, Freen was the one who chose our gift,” Film said with a grin. “So if it’s terrible, I’m officially innocent.”
Namtan laughed, shaking her head.
“I still haven’t figured out which one’s yours,” she said, glancing toward Freen. “So? What did you get me?”
“Just a perfume….hope you like it.” Freen said, her voice even, her face unreadable.
She didn’t offer a smile, didn’t look away. Just stood there, calm and composed, like it didn’t matter.

“You got me a perfume too?!” Namtan asked, brows raised in surprise.
Then she turned to Becca, eyes widening with realization.
“Becca got me a perfume too.”
The words hung in the air for a beat.

Freen and Becca’s eyes met, brief, sharp, and impossible to ignore.
“Are you guys trying to tell me something?” Namtan asked, grinning as she looked around.
“Do I smell that bad?” She turned to Film for backup.
Film laughed, wrapping an arm around her.
“You smell the best. They’re just jealous.”
Freen, still calm, added with a small shrug,
“Great minds think alike.”
She said it simply, but her eyes flicked briefly to Becca.
But Becca didn’t say anything.
She just stood there, gaze steady, lips pressed into a quiet line.
Freen caught the stillness in Becca’s face and felt a quiet pang of sadness for her. Like she was watching someone hold back more than they wanted to.
Film noticed the change in Becca’s expression too but didn’t say anything.

“Okay, we are heading out,” Film said. “Happy birthday again, partner.”
As Film stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Namtan, pulling her into a warm, familiar hug, Freen’s eyes drifted away from them and settled on Becca’s lips for a brief moment.
The sight made something quick and sharp flutter in Becca’s chest.
Before she could think twice, Freen moved forward and gently hugged Becca.
Her hand slid smoothly around Becca’s waist, holding her a moment longer than necessary.
Becca’s heart beat faster—unexpected, uneven—her body tense but wanting to hold on just a little longer.
“Goodnight,” Freen whispered softly in her ear.
“Night,” Becca replied quietly.

Film noticed their hug. Her smile faded, disappearing in an instant. She looked at them quietly, then carefully put her smile back on and wrapped Becca in a quick hug. “Goodnight,” she said softly.
Becca only nodded in return. No smile, no emotion.
Film felt it. Something unspoken hanging between them.
Freen, standing beside Film but slightly apart, gave Namtan a simple nod and a soft, “Goodnight.”
Namtan smiled at them. “Thanks for coming, both of you.”
The difference in their goodnights wasn’t lost on anyone paying attention.
And everything went back to polite goodnights and practiced smiles.

But the crack had been made.
And Film had seen it.
Even if she didn’t quite know what to do with it yet.
The group slowly dispersed into the night, leaving Becca’s heart still pounding quietly in the silence.

Chapter Text

The taxi hummed softly as it rolled through the dim, quiet streets of the city. Streetlights passed in rhythm across Freen’s face, casting streaks of gold and shadow across her distant expression. She sat rigid, her eyes locked on the window, watching the blur of buildings slide by, her thoughts louder than the city outside.
Just three things, circling like a chant in her head:

Becca’s eyes. Becca’s laugh. Becca’s lips.

Eyes.
Laugh.
Lips.

Eyes.
Laugh.
Lips...

Film, meanwhile, had her head gently resting on Freen’s shoulder, curled into her side like it was the most natural place in the world. Her phone screen lit up her face, thumb scrolling idly through the photos and videos from the party.
“Oh my god,” Film giggled softly. “Look at this one of Nam lifting me. I look like a koala.”

Freen didn’t react.
Eyes.
Laugh.
Lips.

Film clicked into another story, rewatching a clip of the Kahoot results. Her name, clear as day, sitting at the top of the leaderboard. Everyone was cheering.
Freen’s jaw clenched.
She barely noticed Film moving beside her until the phone was in her line of sight.
“Look,” Film said, holding up the screen.
Freen didn’t even blink. Her eyes stayed on the glass, on the blur outside.
“I was there,” she said, her voice flat. “I don’t need to see it twice.”
“I just wanted to share it with you… That’s all,” Film said, her voice softer now, tinged with something fragile.

Freen didn’t respond. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the hum of the car and the rush of the city slipping by.
Freen didn’t move, but her mind was racing again. Becca’s lips. Her voice. That hug. The way she looked so hurt, so tired. But still managed to say goodnight with warmth. The softness in her lips when Freen had stared too long.
And somewhere deep in her chest, guilt twisted like a hook.
She had watched Becca break tonight, piece by piece.
And all she could do… was stare.

What are you doing, Freen?!
Why are you thinking about her so much?!
And what did you think that hug was?!

“Freen?” Film’s voice pulled her slightly out of it.
“Hm?”
Film sighed and finally set her phone down in her lap. Her head still rested on Freen’s shoulder, but her gaze drifted upward, studying Freen’s face.
“Are we okay?” she asked softly.
Freen nodded without turning. “Yeah.”
Film tilted her head slightly, searching for more in Freen’s expression. She didn’t find it.

A beat passed, then she gave a small grin and said, “Remember what we said the other night?” She nudged Freen’s side playfully. “How we haven’t had real alone time in forever?”
Freen blinked, finally glancing down at her. “Yeah.”
Film grinned wider. “So… when we get home, should we take a bath together?” She lifted an eyebrow, the familiar flirtation in her voice. “Maybe… something more?” She winked.
Freen’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not if you keep checking your Instagram every two seconds. You’re being tagged in everything.”
Film pouted, just for a second, then tilted the phone slightly toward Freen.
“Fine. Look. I’m turning it off.”
She pressed the side button, the screen went dark and with an exaggerated little sigh, she dropped it into her purse.
“Happy now?” she asked, flashing a deliberately cute smile.
Freen gave a soft hum, unreadable.

Film shifted closer, curling into Freen’s side with ease, and whispered, “You have all my attention now.” Her smirk returned as she leaned in and pressed a kiss to Freen’s lips. Slow, sweet, but purposeful.
Freen kissed her back, but it wasn’t full. Not like before.
Because part of her mind was still at the party.
Still wondering if Becca had made it home.
Still hearing her voice when she asked her a question.

They stepped into their dim apartment, the city lights still glowing through the windows behind them. As the door closed with a soft click, Film didn’t waste a second. She turned and kissed Freen again, deeper this time, more demanding.
Freen let herself respond, her hands settling briefly on Film’s waist. But her mind already felt somewhere else.
Film smiled against her lips, tugging her closer as she murmured, “Come here…” She grabbed Freen’s tie and walked backward, leading her down the hallway to their bedroom. Her fingers worked quickly, loosening the tie and slipping it from Freen’s neck. Her lips brushed along Freen’s jawline as she whispered, “You looked so good in this tonight.”
She pulled off the blazer next, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. Then her fingers unfastened the top buttons of Freen’s shirt as they entered the bedroom.
Freen didn’t resist, but she didn’t help either.

With a playful push, Film eased Freen back onto the bed, and Freen let herself fall, landing on the soft mattress with a quiet sigh.
“Stay there,” Film said with a wink, her voice low and teasing. “I’ll get the bath ready.”
She disappeared into the ensuite bathroom, humming something as water started to run.
Freen lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her shirt was half-open, her belt still fastened, her body loose but her thoughts racing.

Becca’s voice played again in her head.
The way she looked tonight. Quiet, distant and clearly hurting.
The way she had watched her, the way their hug lingered.
The feel of her waist under Freen’s hand.
The look in her eyes.
Her pouty lips.
Freen closed her own eyes and groaned softly. “Stop.”
She brought her hands up and pressed them over her face, fingers threading into her hair.
“This is wrong,” she whispered into the quiet. “I shouldn’t be thinking about her.”
But she was.
And even now, while Film was in the other room, drawing a bath for the two of them, Becca was the only person stuck in her mind.

The sound of water running stopped, and a few moments later, Film stepped out from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes soft and playful as she leaned against the doorway.
“It’s ready,” she said, voice low. “You better not have moved.”
Freen didn’t answer. She sat up slowly, brushing her hands down her thighs and trying to mask the storm still swirling in her chest. Film approached with a smile, her fingers slipping under the fabric of Freen’s open shirt and gently easing it off her shoulders.
Piece by piece, they undressed each other in silence. Freen’s mind stayed quiet on the outside, but inside, she couldn’t stop seeing Becca’s eyes again. Sad, disappointed, so full of something unspoken.

Film laced her fingers with Freen’s and led her into the bathroom. The warm steam wrapped around them, scented with something floral and calming. The tub was filled, lit by the soft flicker of a candle Film must have set out quickly.
They sank into the water together, skin brushing skin, legs intertwined. Film leaned back against Freen’s chest, her head tilting to the side as she let out a content sigh.
“This feels good, doesn’t it?” She murmured, her fingers trailing softly along Freen’s arm. “Just us. No more party. No more guests. No Namtan.”

After a pause, she added quietly,

“No Becca.”

Freen’s eyes were closed, her head resting against the tub. The last word made her breath catch slightly. She snapped her eyes open but quickly regained control, masking the flicker of something beneath.
She didn’t say a word.
Film turned her face up toward her. “You’re quiet again,” she said softly, almost teasing. “I thought I had all your attention now.”
Freen pressed a small kiss to Film’s shoulder, but her eyes didn’t smile. “Yeah,” she said. “You do.”
But even as she held Film close, her heart was somewhere else.

Becca’s eyes.
Becca’s laugh.
Becca’s lips.

Outside, the limo waited, sleek and gleaming under the streetlights.
Namtan reached out, opening the door for Becca with a soft smile.
“After you, my lady,” she said, her voice warm but gentle.
Becca stepped inside, the quiet luxury wrapping around her like a soft cocoon.
Namtan slid in beside her and the door closed behind them with a smooth thud.
The driver started the engine, and the limo began to glide through the city streets, the world outside blurred by tinted windows.
Namtan leaned her head gently on Becca’s shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment.
Becca’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly but didn’t move away.
Namtan smiled gently, unaware of the war raging inside Becca’s mind. The ache, the confusion and the weight of things left unspoken.
Becca’s gaze was fixed outside the window.
Unseen and unheard, the storm in Becca’s mind churned quietly beneath her calm exterior.

Namtan shifted slightly, keeping her head resting on Becca’s shoulder before looking at her with a gentle smile.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly.
Becca didn’t turn to look at her. She simply gave a quiet, “Yes.”
“Did you have fun tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Are you tired?”
“Yes.”

Namtan’s smile faltered as she caught the edge in Becca’s voice.
The way she avoided meeting her eyes.
“Do you want to talk about anything?”
Becca shook her head ever so slightly. “No.”
Namtan shifted, lifting her head from Becca’s shoulder.
“Babe, is something wrong? You can tell me,” she said gently.
Becca kept staring out the window, jaw tightening.
She forced herself to answer quietly, “No.”
Namtan pressed a little more, voice soft but persistent.
“Are you sure? You seem upset.”
Becca’s fingers curled into a fist on her lap. The quiet in her chest twisted into something sharper, anger bubbling just beneath the surface.
“I said I’m fine!” she snapped, turning briefly to glance at Namtan before shifting her gaze back to the window.

Namtan’s eyes softened, but the hurt was unmistakable.
She hadn’t expected Becca’s quiet frustration to flare up so suddenly.
“I’m sorry,” Namtan said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She shifted back, resting her head again on Becca’s shoulder, careful not to crowd her.
“I just want you to know I’m here. Whenever you want to talk... or not talk.”
The limo moved on through the dark streets, the city lights painting fleeting patterns on their faces.
Namtan’s hand lightly brushed Becca’s, a silent promise, even if Becca wasn’t ready to reach back.
For now, she would wait.

Becca kept her eyes on the passing blur of streetlights, her lips pressed into a firm line. The weight of the night pressing down on her chest.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the window, but her mind had drifted far.
Reliving every moment.
The laughter. The speech. The glances. The games.
But beneath it all. An ache she couldn’t shake.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Freen.
How Freen’s eyes had lingered on her lips.
How her hand had slid around her waist during the hug.

What was Freen trying to do?
Was it intentional? A moment of weakness? Or something deeper, something dangerous?
Becca’s jaw clenched. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to fall into it again.

She replayed the hug again and again, the closeness, the way her heart raced.
But also the way Freen hadn’t answer her question.
Why?!
It was all too much for Becca. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts spinning and now a headache was beginning to bloom behind her eyes.

The limo slowed to a stop in front of Becca’s apartment building. The low hum of the engine cutting into the silence between them.
Becca got out first, clutching her jacket tighter around herself. Even though the summer night wasn’t cold.
Behind her, Namtan told the driver he could go, because she’d stay.
But Becca cut her off without turning around.

“No, you wouldn’t.”

Namtan froze, stunned by the quiet finality in her voice. She turned to look at Becca, eyes wide with shock.

“Babe?”

Because Becca didn’t move.
She stood there, key in hand, frozen in place.

“You’re not coming up tonight.”

A pause.
“What?”

Becca’s gaze didn’t falter. “I said, you’re not staying here tonight.”

A beat of silence passed before Namtan let out a small, confused laugh. Then she pushed the door and stepped out of the car.
Becca took a few steps back, giving her room.
“Wait…what are you talking about?” Namtan asked, her voice shaky with disbelief. “We came together. I brought my stuff. I thought we…”

“You thought wrong,” Becca snapped, her voice sharper now. “You should go home.”

A heavy pause settled in the air.

“You’re seriously not letting me come up?” Namtan asked, half laughing like it was some kind of joke. “Babe, come on. We just had my birthday party. You’ve been quiet all night and now you're what? Kicking me out?”

Becca let out a breath. “I’m not kicking you out, Namtan. I’m just saying… I need space.”
“For what?” Namtan’s voice rose slightly. “What did I do so wrong tonight that you can’t even stand to be around me?”
Becca's eyes flicked to hers, tired and stung. “That’s exactly it. You don’t even know.”

Namtan groaned, rubbing her forehead. “Please don’t do that vague emotional puzzle thing right now. Just tell me what I did.”
Becca’s voice rose, thick with pain and anger.

“I watched you spend the whole night making me feel like a side character at your own birthday.
I stood next to you while you searched the crowd for her.
When you blew out the candles, you locked eyes with her, not me.
When you called her up to cut the cake, you didn’t even glance at me first.
You kissed her head. You lifted her like she was the love of your life.
You even gave her a whole damn speech!”

“OH MY GOD! NOT THIS AGAIN!” Namtan snapped, eyes wide with frustration. “I was just having fun. She’s my best friend! Don’t twist it like this!”

“You call her your best friend, but you always treat her like something else.”
“You’re being unfair!” Namtan growled.

“No!” Becca shot back “What’s unfair is how I’ve had to swallow it, hour after hour, pretending I’m okay with how you look at her like she is yours.”
“She's not mine, Becca!” She spat.

Becca raised her hands, exasperated. “Then why do you act like she is? Why does she know every answer on your birthday quiz? Why do you talk about her like she's your soulmate in front of me? Why do you always find her in a crowd, even when I’m right there, holding your hand?”

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way, but you’re reading too much into this!” Namtan said.
Becca shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks, her voice trembling. “I don’t think I am. I think I’ve been ignoring what’s obvious because I wanted this to work. I wanted us to work.”

Namtan stepped closer, voice cracking now. “We can work. You just need to trust me.”
“I’ve been trying!” Becca snapped, frustration spilling over. “But I don’t want to keep begging for scraps of your attention. I’m also tired, Namtan... I’ve tried. I’ve really tried my best. But I can't compete with Film.” Becca added.

Namtan's whole face tensed. “What the hell are you talking about? You don’t need to compete with anyone.”
Becca stepped back, like she needed distance to keep herself upright. “Do you even remember what you said about her in your speech? Because I do.”
“That’s not fair.” Namtan clenched her jaw, shaking her head in disbelief.
“You can’t tell the world that Film is your person and expect me to just stand there smiling like it didn’t gut me.” Becca shot back, voice breaking slightly.
“She is my person,” Namtan snapped before she could stop herself. “She always has been. But that doesn’t mean…”
Becca flinched.
Namtan stopped.
“Exactly.” Becca’s voice was a whisper.

“So what, you're breaking up with me because I gave a dumb speech and hugged my best friend?” Namtan’s voice cracked as she stared at Becca, eyes welling with tears.
“I don’t know,” Becca whispered, wiping away her tears.
Namtan’s breath hitched.

Namtan ran a hand through her hair, tears already streaming down her face. “Baby, come on. You know you’re the one I’m with.”
Becca snapped. “Then why does it feel like SHE is the one you’re choosing every time?!”
“Because I’m comfortable with her!” Namtan blurted. “She knows all my stuff! She gets me.”
That was the final blow.

“I tried to get you. I tried to be enough…” Becca’s voice cracked, tears slipping down her cheeks. “But I see it now... I never had a chance.”

“Becca, please...” Namtan whispered, desperate.

Becca took a deep breath, voice soft but final. “I’m sorry I’m doing this on your birthday. But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be in this triangle.”
Namtan froze, a sob escaping her lips.
She reached out, but Becca didn’t take her hand.
Becca let out a bitter laugh. “I’m sorry, okay? I really am. I didn’t want to ruin your birthday…”
“Then don’t!” Namtan pleaded, eyes wide and desperate.

But Becca stood firm, heart breaking but decision final. “I’m sorry, Namtan. I love you, but I can’t keep being second place to someone you claim is just a friend.”

“Becca, please, I know you’re hurt. But this isn’t what you think. Film is married. She’s married to Freen.” Namtan tried.
Becca flinched like she’d been slapped.

“Oh, so that’s supposed to make me feel better?” she snapped, voice shaking.

Namtan blinked, thrown off. “What? I just mean—”

“You just mean what, Namtan?” Becca stepped toward her, her chest heaving now. “That if she wasn’t married to Freen, you’d be with her instead?!” she shouted.
“What? No! babe! that’s not..I didn’t mean it like that!” Namtan said, raising her hands. “I’m just trying to explain.”
“No, you’re trying to excuse everything,” Becca said, voice cracking.

The street echoed with their voices.

Namtan reached for Becca’s hand again, desperate. “Please… just give me one more chance,” she begged, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I’ll do better. I swear I will.”

Becca stared at her, her chest tight, her face wet with angry tears. “Another chance?” Her voice was quiet, but sharp. “And what would be different?”
Namtan opened her mouth. But nothing came out. Just a trembling breath. Her eyes searched Becca’s face like the answer might be there, hiding in her expression. But it wasn’t.
Becca tilted her head, her voice laced with both pain and disbelief. “Exactly. You don’t even know, do you?”
“I’ll..” Namtan choked. “I’ll change. I’ll stop whatever it is you want me to stop. I’ll fix it. Just…”
“You can’t fix what you don’t even understand,” Becca said, scoffing softly as she wiped at her face. “You don’t get it. And I’m tired of begging to be seen.”
Namtan shook her head, her cries breaking into hiccups. “Don’t leave me. Please, Becca…”

But Becca was already backing away, her voice steady now even as her body trembled. “Goodbye, Namtan.”

She turned without looking back, walking toward the building entrance. Her steps echoed quietly in the silence that followed.
Namtan stood frozen on the steps, crying into her palms. She didn’t chase after her. She couldn’t. Not when her legs suddenly felt like stone, and her chest like it had been ripped wide open.
Becca reached the glass doors of the lobby and paused just for a second. Her hand hovered at the handle. She didn’t look back.
And then she disappeared inside, leaving Namtan alone under the dim light. Shoulders shaking. Her birthday ending not with kisses or warmth. But with the cold truth that she had pushed the woman she loved too far.

The soft hum of the idling limo brought her back to herself.
She blinked, dragged a hand under her nose, and stumbled down the steps toward the car. She slid in without a word, collapsing into the leather seat, her limbs heavy and shaking.
She reached into her pocket with trembling fingers, pulling out her phone.
She tapped Film’s contact.
The phone rang once. Twice.
Then went straight to voicemail.
Namtan let out a shaky breath and tried again. Same result.
Her jaw clenched, fresh tears threatening again.
“Where to now, miss?” the driver asked gently, turning over his shoulder.
Namtan stared at her phone for another second, her thumb hesitating. Then she looked up, voice hoarse but clear.
“Drive me to Film’s place,” she said.
The driver gave a polite nod and pulled away from the curb, the city lights beginning to blur in Namtan’s wet eyes.
She leaned back against the cold leather, curling her fingers into her lap. Her mind kept playing it all on loop. Becca’s voice breaking, the word “goodbye,” and the silence that followed.
Her voice cracked in the empty car. “She left me…”
And then she pressed her forehead against the tinted window, watching the world rush by as they sped toward the only person she thought she could run to.
Film.
Whether she realized it or not. That choice said more than she ever could.

Becca closed the apartment door behind her with a dull click, the silence of her home wrapping around her like a heavy blanket. The moment the lock slid into place, her knees almost buckled.
She didn’t bother turning on the lights.
She walked straight to her bedroom, each step slower than the last. Her heels were kicked off carelessly at the doorway, her earrings dropped on the nightstand with trembling fingers. Her jacket fell to the floor.
She didn’t wash her face. She didn’t even change out of her dress.
She crawled into bed, pulling the blanket over her body like armor, curling on her side as her head hit the pillow. At first, she just stared into the dark.
And then it all came crashing down.
The sound of her own breath hitching was the first sign. Then came the tears, spilling quietly and without pause, soaking the pillow beneath her cheek.
Becca didn’t try to stop it.
She bit her lip hard, a silent cry shaking through her chest, and let the pain out in waves anger, humiliation, hurt, confusion. She buried her face into the covers as her sobs grew heavier, the weight of the entire night pressing into her bones.
She had tried.
She had smiled, danced, laughed when she didn’t want to. She watched them gaze at each other like no one else was in the room and she had done everything not to fall apart right there in front of everyone.
She pressed her face into the pillow, breathing unevenly, until the tears broke into choked sobs that shook her whole body. Her chest ached tight and raw and aching with every breath. It wasn’t just sadness. It was betrayal. Frustration. Exhaustion.

Then there was Freen.
Freen’s hug. Her hand around her waist. The way her eyes lingered on Becca’s lips.
“What were you trying to do?” Becca whispered into the darkness, her voice hoarse and broken.
She didn’t know if she was asking Freen or herself.
And yet, she never answered the one question Becca needed the truth to.

“Have they ever dated?”
Freen had looked at her with hesitation… and said nothing.
Why didn’t she answer?
Was she protecting Film? Or protecting Becca?
Or was there more than she wanted to admit?
All she knew was that her heart hurt more than it should, and not just because of Namtan.
She let the tears fall freely now, soaking into the fabric beneath her cheek, her heart breaking for everything she had already lost

After their bath and drying their hair, Film and Freen slipped quietly into their bedroom. They lay tangled in the soft sheets, bodies pressed close, lips meeting in slow, tender kisses that deepened with each passing moment. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in this fragile bubble.

Suddenly, the sharp ring of the apartment bell shattered the moment. Both jumped, eyes wide with surprise, their bodies tense as the sound echoed through the quiet room.

“Who the hell is this at this hour?!” Freen asked, fumbling for her phone in the dim light.

Freen grabbed her phone and opened the security camera app. Film leaned over her shoulder and gasped softly when she saw who was waiting downstairs.

It was Namtan, tears streaming down her face, standing helpless and crying.

The moment Film saw Namtan’s tear-streaked face on the screen, she didn’t hesitate.
Without a word, she quickly reached over Freen’s shoulder and pressed “open” on her phone. Freen watched, stunned and silent.

She threw the blanket off and sprang out of bed like it was on fire, scrambled for her silk robe draped over the chair and slipped it on with rushed, shaky hands. The fabric was a little sheer, hanging loosely as she tied it around her waist.

“You’re not seriously going to face her like that, right?” Freen asked.

But Film didn’t spare her a glance.
She flung the bedroom door open, then closed it quickly behind her as she disappeared down the hallway.

Freen sat upright, motionless for a second, her chest rising and falling. Her fingers clenched around the sheets.
Then slowly, she lay back against the pillows again, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her jaw tightened as the silence pressed in.
She knew who would be at the door.
She knew who Film was running to.
And she hated that it still made her heart sink.

Film paced barefoot up and down the hallway, wrapped hastily in her robe, the dim apartment light casting a soft glow on her anxious face. She hovered near the front door, arms folded tightly at first. But then her fingers fidgeted, restless, unsure. She began chewing at the edge of her thumbnail, her brows furrowed.
Why was Namtan crying like that?
What could’ve happened?
Her mind raced. Had something gone wrong with Becca? Was there a fight? An accident? Something worse?
The soft hum of the apartment felt too quiet now, too still. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, staring at the door as if she could will the bell to ring faster. Her teeth grazed the edge of her finger again. Still nothing.
“Hurry up, Nam,” she muttered under her breath, her other hand gripping the doorknob, ready to pull it open the second she heard anything.

The elevator gave a soft ding.
Film flinched and stepped forward, hand flying to the knob just as footsteps padded down the hallway. The moment the doorbell rang, she flung it open. Only to find Namtan standing there.

Namtan stepped into the apartment without a word. Her eyes were glassy and wet, lips trembling as she walked past Film like she couldn’t even register where she was. Film quietly closed the door behind her, leaning back against it with wide eyes, chest rising and falling.

“What happened?” she asked gently, voice almost trembling with the weight of possibilities.
Namtan turned around slowly, her face collapsing. “Becca…” Her voice cracked. “Becca left me.”

Before Film could respond, Namtan stumbled forward and threw her arms around her, burying her face in Film’s neck. She sobbed loud, unfiltered, chest-wracking sobs that made Film’s knees weaken from the sound alone.
Film wrapped her arms around her instinctively. Her lips parted to say something. But then she saw Freen.
At the end of the hallway, Freen stood in the shadows, now fully dressed in a T-shirt and jogger pajamas. She was frozen in place, her eyes on the two of them.

Film’s gaze met hers, and something unreadable flickered between them.
In that exact moment, a memory surfaced.
Becca and Freen sitting alone at the table, tension thick in the air.
And then the hug.

Freen didn’t say anything. She just blinked once, then turned around and walked back into the bedroom, the soft sound of the door closing behind her echoing faintly through the silence.

Film swallowed hard, eyes flicking back down to Namtan’s trembling figure in her arms. Her hand gently rubbed up and down her back.
“I’m here,” she whispered, though her voice didn’t feel like it belonged to her anymore.

Chapter Text

Freen stood silently in the hallway, only half-hidden in the shadows, when she saw Namtan walk through the door and break. Her voice cracked as she cried out, “Becca left me,” and crumbled into Film’s arms like her legs couldn’t carry the weight of the words.
Freen froze.
She didn’t understand it.
Didn’t expect it.
But the moment she heard those words, a strange, awful thing bloomed in her chest.
Relief.
It was so swift and overwhelming, she actually stiffened with guilt. She blinked hard, trying to push it down, push it away. But there it was settling in her bones like the hush after a storm. Like some part of her had been waiting for this without ever daring to admit it.
And that’s when Film looked up.
Her arms were wrapped tightly around Namtan, holding her together, but her eyes... her eyes were locked on Freen.
Freen’s breath caught.
She could feel her gaze settle. Heavy. Questioning. Almost searching.
And in that second, Freen’s heart thundered with panic. She couldn’t let Film see her. Not like this. Not standing there with something that looked too calm on her face. Not when her wife’s best friend had just collapsed in tears in her arms.
Not when the truth was... she didn’t want Namtan to be okay. Not yet.
Because Becca had left her.
And somewhere, buried deep in Freen’s chest, that felt like something dangerous. Something selfish. Something hers.

She looked away first.
Turned quickly and quietly, stepping back into the bedroom with stiff limbs, her mind racing faster than her pulse. She closed the door behind her with a careful hand, then stood there, frozen, staring at nothing.
The silence in the bedroom felt too loud.
Freen didn’t sit. Didn’t move. She just stood by the door for a long moment, her jaw clenched, one hand still wrapped around the doorknob like it anchored her.
She hated how her heart had steadied when she heard the words: “Becca left me.”
Hated how her chest felt lighter. Like something had been lifted.
She hated the smile on her face, because for once, it wasn’t forced.

But suddenly, the relief that had quietly settled in her chest began to shift. A new feeling crept in unexpected, unwelcome.
Worry.
Not because her wife was practically naked, hugging her best friend in the living room. That thought should’ve stung. It should’ve cut like glass, but it didn’t.
No. That wasn’t it.
It was Becca.
Her mind had wandered there without permission, without warning.
Was Becca crying too?
Was she curled up somewhere, her face buried in her arms, trying to hold herself together the way Namtan couldn’t?
Was anyone with her?
Freen swallowed hard.
Was Orm there? Comforting her like Film was comforting Namtan? Saying all the right things, holding her hand, listening?
Or was she alone?
What if no one’s with her right now?
That thought sank in like a weight tied to Freen’s ribs. Her chest tightened, and the faintest smile that had started to play at the corners of her lips vanished completely.
She pictured Becca’s eyes, rimmed red. Her lips parted like they always did when she tried to hold back tears but couldn’t. The crease between her brows. The way her voice trembled when she was angry or hurt.

Before she could think herself out of it, Freen moved, almost instinctively. She walked to the bed, her bare feet brushing softly against the floor, and sat on her side without a sound. Her hands moved on their own, picking up her phone from the nightstand.
Her heart was pounding again, for an entirely different reason.
She unlocked the screen, her thumb hovering over the familiar app before she tapped it.
Instagram.
The homepage was flooded with images and videos from the party. Clinking glasses. Laughter frozen mid-frame. Beaming smiles and twirling lights from the rooftop. It all looked so polished, so beautiful. And yet none of it felt real. Not to her. Not anymore.
She ignored it all.

Instead, she went to the search bar.
But she didn’t need to type anything.
The name she wanted was already there. Right beneath the bar, where the app remembered her most frequent searches.

Becca Armstrong.

Thank God her Instagram account was public.

It was embarrassing, really, how many times she’d done this. She didn’t even want to know how many times she’d searched that name in the past few months. How many nights she had scrolled through Becca’s photos one by one, as if trying to memorize the exact shade of her eyes, the curve of her smile, the warmth she radiated even through a screen.
Freen had never followed her. She told herself that was a boundary. That was restraint.
But she checked the page constantly.
Thank God her Instagram account was public.
She had gone through them one by one, more times than she’d ever admit. At night, between meetings, after arguments with Film or whenever the weight of her own feelings felt too loud, she’d go there and look. Just… look.
She’d linger on the candid ones. The ones that didn’t feel posed. Becca laughing in a cafe. Becca with wind in her hair, blurry from motion. A messy drawing she posted late one night. A caption that hinted at something deeper, something sadder.
Freen always stared too long at those.
Every time Freen visited the profile, she told herself it was just to check in. Just curiosity. Nothing more.
But tonight… she wasn’t going to scroll again.
Not this time.

This time, for the first time, she was going to do something else.
Her finger hovered over the message button for a second—just a second—before she tapped it.
A blank screen appeared, waiting. Empty. Quiet.
She stared at the blinking cursor, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
She didn’t know what to say.
Her thumbs hesitated, hovering over the keyboard.
What was she even supposed to say?
She didn’t know. She only knew she had to say something.
Because for the first time, she wasn’t sure if Becca had anyone beside her.
And Freen couldn’t stand the thought of her feeling that alone.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed the first sentence.
"I heard what happened. I hope you're okay."
She hesitated. Her thumb hovered.
Then: send.
Her stomach clenched.
She waited a moment, then started typing again.
"You probably don’t want to hear from me, but I just… wanted to check if you’re alright."
Her lips parted, breath caught.
She hit send again.
And then the last one came. The one she didn’t plan, the one that felt more honest than she meant to be.
"I’m sorry if this is out of place, but if you need anything, I’m here."
She pressed send quickly this time. Like if she didn’t do it fast, she’d never do it at all.
After that, she dropped the phone gently on the blanket beside her and leaned back against the headboard. Her eyes closed as she exhaled shakily.
There was nothing else she could do now.

Becca was still in bed, curled beneath the blanket like it could protect her from the wreckage of the night. Her face was damp and her eyes raw.
She had stopped crying, but not because she felt any better, she stopped just because she was tired. Her chest still ached, and every few minutes, fresh tears threatened to return. But now, she was just lying there in a numb, heavy silence.
But then…
Ding.
She ignored it.
Ding.
Still nothing.
Ding.
Her brow furrowed faintly.
Something about the timing. The rhythm.
Slowly, Becca reached over and pulled her purse onto the bed. She unzipped it without urgency.
Because she wasn’t expecting anything. Maybe a concerned text from Orm. Maybe a useless app notification.
But when she finally turned the screen on, her heart stuttered.
There it was.

srchafreen sent you a message.

Her breath caught.
She stared at the screen like it might vanish. Her thumb hovered, unsure. The world felt suddenly quieter.
Then without giving herself time to second guess she tapped it open.
Three lines appeared, one after the other, like soft footsteps breaking through silence:
"I heard what happened. I hope you're okay."
"You probably don’t want to hear from me, but I just… wanted to check if you’re alright."
"I’m sorry if this is out of place, but if you need anything, I’m here."
Her heart stopped.
She sat there, phone resting in her hands, as the messages glowed softly in the dark.
The first two messages didn’t move her. Not immediately. She had felt numb to everything, even pity.
But the third one?
That quiet offer “if you need anything, I’m here.” Something about it cracked her open.
She didn’t cry. Not yet.
She just felt something. For the first time in hours.
She just let herself feel it.
That someone had thought of her tonight.
And that it was Freen.
Becca stared at the screen for a long time, not replying. Not even moving.

Freen hadn’t moved from the bed.
She sat on the bed like she was waiting for something to crash. The room felt too quiet, too still.
Like the calm before a storm she had willingly summoned.
Still no reply.
Her chest tightened. That sick, sinking feeling in her stomach crept higher, rising up her throat like bile. The weight of what she’d just done was slowly sinking in, and her calm exterior began to fray.
She sat up straighter.
What had she just done?
She blinked, once, twice. Her fingers twitched, as if maybe they could rewind time. Undo it. Erase it before it was seen.
What if Becca shows Namtan?
What if she thinks I’m trying to ruin them?
What if she blocks me before I can explain anything?
What if she tells Film?
Freen's chest rose and fell faster. She wiped her palms on her jogger. A thought hit her like a slap.
What if she thinks I’ve been watching her all along? Like some creep?
What if she thinks I’m obsessed with her?
“Oh my god,” she whispered, grabbing the phone, already regretting everything.
She considered deleting the messages, unsending them, maybe even blocking Becca first.
Like that would erase her mistake.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, about to tap into the options.
Ding.
A notification slid across the top of the screen.

"How did you know?!"
Freen stared.
Not angry.
Not confused.
Just… curious.
She read it again. And again.
How did you know?
Her breathing slowed. Her fingers steadied.
She tapped into the message box and typed without overthinking. Just the truth.
“Because my wife is trying to comfort her right now.”
Send.
There. It was out.

Becca sat curled under the blanket. Her phone lay next to her pillow, still lit up from the last message.
"Because my wife is trying to comfort her right now."
Becca read it once.
Then again.
And again.
She let out a hollow laugh. One that shook her shoulders and echoed painfully in the small room.
Shaking her head, she muttered to herself, “Unbelievable.”
Tears streamed again, hot and bitter. She wiped them angrily, but they kept coming. Her chest tightened.
She genuinely thought the worst was already behind her.
Thought she had exhausted every possible way of being hurt by Namtan that night.
But she was wrong.

Here it was again. A fresh sting. A new crack in a heart that already felt shattered.
“She ran to her, didn’t she?” Becca whispered, almost to herself. “Cried to her… like I never even mattered.”
Her hand went to her mouth, trying to stop the sound that came out next. A mix between a sob and a strangled laugh.
“Again,” she whispered bitterly. “She betrays me again.”
She shut her eyes tightly, gripping the phone so hard her fingers turned white. The weight of it all hit her like a wave.
Film comforting her. Namtan running to her. Freen watching it happen from the shadows.
It felt like the party never ended. Like it was still going. Just darker now, quieter.
And somehow, even more painful.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then she started typing.
“I can't believe after everything we had tonight, she still ran to Film.”

The phone vibrated in Freen’s hand. She opened the message.
She didn’t hesitate this time.
“Welcome to my world.”
Her thumb hovered a second. Then she added:
“Between the two of us, we deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for patience.”
She hit send with a soft sigh.

Becca actually snorted.
“You know what the worst part is?”
Freen saw the typing bubbles pop up again almost immediately.
She waited.
“I wasn’t even planning to break up with her tonight.”
Freen blinked.
“I just needed space. That's all. A little space to breathe.”
Another pause.
“But she kept giving me these stupid excuses. silly ones. smiling like none of it mattered. And I just… snapped.”
Freen stared at the screen. Her chest tightened. Her fingers moved slowly now.
“Yeah. That sounds like her. A clown at the circus of emotional damage. Always juggling bad timing and worse explanations.”
Then she added, “I once watched her avoid an argument by offering snacks.”
There was a beat of silence.
“It worked.”

Another laugh escaped Becca's lips. Through the heartache, it was the first thing that didn’t sting.
A second notification lit up.
Freen:
“Film was yelling at her for showing up late to a party. Namtan pulled a bag of mini Oreos out of her purse mid-fight and handed them over like she was negotiating a hostage release.”
Becca sniffled, then let out an unwilling laugh. Her voice cracked around it, but the sound was real.
Becca:
“Shut up. You’re lying.”
Freen:
“I swear on my legal license. Film even paused, grabbed the bag, and mumbled ‘these are the good kind’ before storming off.”
Becca covered her mouth, shaking her head as tears continued to fall, this time mixed with disbelief and reluctant amusement.
Becca:
“She offered me a lollipop once after an argument. Said it was strawberry flavored. ‘Your favorite,’ she said. I nearly threw it at her.”
Freen:
“She’s a manipulative snack witch. No one’s safe.”
Becca:
“I should be mad. I am mad. But now I just want a bag of Oreos.”
Freen:
“Oreos won’t fix it. But they sure help you cry slower.”

Becca smiled bitterly, hugging her knees to her chest as she stared at the messages.
It wasn’t healing. Not yet. But somehow, it hurt a little less.
After a minute of silence, another notification lit up Freen’s phone.
Becca:
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
Freen’s fingers froze above the keyboard.
She stared at the message, heart thudding in her chest.
She tried to play it cool.
Freen:
“Which one?”
There was barely a pause before Becca answered.
Becca:
“You know which one.”
Freen sighed, tilting her head back against the headboard.
Of course she knew. The same question Becca had asked during the party.

She typed slowly.
Freen:
“You guys broke up. Do you still wanna know?”
Becca:
“Yes.”
Freen didn’t answer right away. She stared at her phone, then set it down on her chest for a second, covering her face with her hand.
Then she picked it up again and typed:
Freen:
“You told me to be honest, so I’m gonna be honest. I don’t have the right answer for that. But when I do... trust me, you’ll be the first one to know.”

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Her heart thudded a little louder than before.
Becca:
“You promise?”
There was a pause on the other end.
And then:
Freen:
“I promise.”
A breath escaped Becca’s lips. Not quite a sigh. Not quite relief either.
Another message blinked in.
Freen:
“But it goes both ways. If you find your answer before I do… you have to tell me.”
Becca read it once. Then again.
Her reply came slower this time, but steady:
Becca:
“Okay. I promise.”
With that, she lowered the phone gently onto the mattress. Her eyes were puffy and tired, but the ache in her chest had quieted a little.
Across the city, Freen was still holding her phone like it might slip away if she let go. When Becca’s promise came through, she allowed herself to exhale. Then she set the phone aside and sank deeper into the pillows.
Two people, lying in separate rooms, wrapped in questions and memories and new threads neither of them could quite name.
They didn’t have the answers yet.
But now, at least, they weren’t alone in the waiting.

Just outside the bedroom door, Namtan and Film remained locked in a quiet embrace. Their arms held tight, as if clinging to the last fragments of comfort they could find in each other.
Namtan pulled away from Film’s embrace with a shaky breath, wiping her face with both hands. Her eyes were red and swollen, but her mouth was set now, determined in a dazed kind of way.
Without saying a word, she turned and made her way toward the kitchen. Film followed silently, her robe slipping from her shoulders. She nervously tugged the belt tighter. She didn’t ask where Namtan was going.
She already knew.

Namtan opened the cabinet above the sink like she’d done it a hundred times before, like it was muscle memory from all the nights they’d spent together. Her fingers wrapped around the neck of the whiskey bottle and pulled it out with a kind of desperation. She didn’t bother with a glass. She unscrewed the cap and brought it straight to her lips.
Film stood by the doorway, leaning against the frame. She didn’t say anything. Just watched.
Watched the way Namtan’s shoulders tensed as the burn hit her throat. Watched the way her jaw clenched. Watched the way she wiped at her face again, but more carelessly now—more angry than broken.
Film crossed her arms tightly but stayed quiet. There was nothing she could say yet. Not until Namtan wanted to talk.
The kitchen filled with a heavy silence that wasn’t new between them.

Suddenly, Namtan walked out of the kitchen, whiskey bottle still in hand, and made her way toward the living room like her feet weighed a thousand pounds. Film followed silently, her brows furrowed as she trailed just a step behind.
As they entered the dim space, Film reached for the switch and flicked on the lights.
The brightness hit Namtan like a slap. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Can you please keep them off?” she muttered, her voice hoarse.
Film didn’t question it. She immediately reached back and flicked the lights off again.
The room went dark, but the moonlight spilling through the windows still let them see each other.

Namtan dropped herself onto the couch with a heavy sigh and took another swig from the bottle.
Namtan didn’t look at her. Her eyes were fixed ahead, unfocused, swimming with thoughts. The bottle dangled loosely in her hand, and her breathing was still uneven, catching every few seconds like she was holding something in.
Film stood for a moment, watching her, then padded over quietly and settled down beside Namtan on the couch, the silence heavy in the darkened room.
Slowly, she reached out and began to rub Namtan’s back in gentle, soothing circles.
“What happened, Nam? Tell me.” Her voice was soft but steady.

Namtan took another slow sip from the whiskey bottle, then sighed deeply before she began.
“It’s Becca… After the party, everything just fell apart. I tried to explain, tried to make her see… but she was so hurt. She listed every little thing…how I lifted you, the quiz, my speech, the cake... Everything! I thought I was being silly, but it hurt her more than I realized.”
She paused, eyes flickering with pain.
“She said she felt like she was competing with you. Like I cared more about you than her. And every time I gave a silly excuse, it made her angrier.”
Namtan’s voice cracked as tears welled up.
“I begged her to stay, to give us another chance, but she didn’t want to hear it.”
She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to do, Film. I don’t want to lose her.”
Film reached out gently, placing her hand on Namtan’s cheek, softly wiping away the tears. Namtan held Film’s hand tightly, silently grateful. Without realizing it, she pressed a light kiss to Film’s hand.
Film’s breath caught sharply at the unexpected tenderness, but Namtan’s eyes were closed, unaware.
Film’s gaze softened, and she gave Namtan’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
“We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this.”

Namtan blinked, about to speak, but her eyes drifted down caught on the sheer fabric of Film’s robe, slightly open, revealing more than usual. Her breath hitched involuntarily.
The fabric had loosened slightly, the tie not quite secured, and Namtan’s gaze, unguarded and hazy from alcohol, lingered for a second too long on the soft curve of Film’s exposed chest.
Film noticed.
Her breath caught, a flush creeping up her neck to her cheeks. She didn’t say anything, didn’t meet Namtan’s eyes. Just quickly pulled her robe tighter and secured the knot with trembling fingers, turning her face away.
Silence stretched for a beat too long.

Namtan’s gaze flicked to the delicate contours visible beneath Film’s robe again. She was practically naked underneath. A flicker of something unreadable passed through Namtan’s eyes.
“Is Freen awake?” she asked quietly.
Film, still sitting beside her with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, didn’t look at her. She simply gave a small nod.
Namtan pressed her lips together, her throat tightening. She took a long, aching sip from the bottle.
Namtan scoffed softly. “Did I interrupt something?”
Film stayed silent.
Namtan took another long, steady sip from the whiskey bottle, then set it down with a soft clink.
Then, with a shaky laugh that didn’t quite sound like one, she muttered,“I’m gonna leave.”
She tried to stand, but Film turned sharply toward her. “No! You’re not going anywhere like this!”

Film stood up quickly and gently took Namtan’s arm to steady her.
“You can’t walk out drunk and broken in the middle of the night. Come on.” Her voice was softer now, but firm. “You need to lie down.”
Supporting Namtan carefully, Film guided her away from the whiskey, the memories and whatever Namtan had just seen in her robe.

She led Namtan slowly through the apartment, one arm gently wrapped around her waist, the other steadying her by the wrist. Namtan wasn’t resisting. But she was heavy, her feet dragging a little, her head slightly bowed as if she’d finally let herself feel the weight of everything.
They reached the guest room.
Film pushed the door open with her hip and guided her to sit on the edge of the bed.
Namtan sat with a sigh, leaning her elbows on her knees, rubbing her face with both hands.
Film crouched in front of her, brushing a bit of hair behind Namtan’s ear. “Do you want me to get you something? Water?”
Namtan shook her head slowly. Her voice was quiet, hoarse. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Film said, almost whispering.
They stared at each other for a moment. Something passed between them. History, heartbreak and familiarity.
Then Film looked away first. “Do you want me to run you a bath?” she asked gently. “It might help you relax.”
Namtan shook her head. “I can’t be bothered,” she muttered. “I’ll even sleep like this.”

Film’s brow furrowed in concern. Without another word, she began to gently undress Namtan, peeling off her suit jacket and then the rest, her fingers deft and careful.
As Film leaned down to help Namtan undress, her robe slipped slightly, giving Namtan the perfect view of her chest. Namtan’s eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and something more.
Namtan kept watching her.
Not just watching, but also devouring her with her eyes like prey caught unaware. Her gaze trailed from Film’s exposed neck down to her chest, lingering far too long.

When Film noticed , she quickly clutched her robe tighter across her chest.
Namtan scoffed softly, a teasing edge to her voice. “Why are you so shy? It’s not like I haven’t seen… or touched… them before.”
Film’s eyes widened in shock, and she whispered sharply, “Namtan!” then, glancing nervously toward the door, she froze. Afraid Freen might be standing there. But the hallway was empty. Relieved, she turned back to Namtan, heart still racing.

“Want me to get you one of Freen’s pajamas?” she asked softly, eyes still avoiding Namtan’s.
Namtan didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were still locked on Film, her lips curled ever so slightly with that same tired, half-bitter smile. Finally, she shook her head slowly.
“I don’t want your wife’s clothes,” she murmured, voice low and rough. “You know well how I like to sleep.”
Film closed her eyes, her jaw tightening for a moment, her breath caught in a sigh she didn’t want Namtan to hear.
She swallowed, then turned slightly away. Still not looking at her.
“Get in bed, Namtan,” she said, quiet but firm. A trace of exasperation, a trace of fatigue, but mostly concern.
Namtan didn’t argue.
She slipped under the sheets in just her underwear, her eyes on the ceiling now. A tear-streaked laugh escaped her lips.
“I can’t believe that the only two times I’ve truly loved someone… they both dumped me. Guess that’s karma for being a heartbreaker back in college,” she said quietly, voice heavy with pain.
Film froze for a moment, the weight of those words sinking in. Then she tried to offer some comfort. “Maybe she’s just angry right now. You two will be fine tomorrow.”
Namtan scoffed, the bitterness clear. “I doubt it.”

Film hesitated, arms folding loosely across her chest as she took a small step closer to the bed.
“Namtan,” she said gently, voice almost too soft to be heard. “Becca will come around. It was probably too much for her tonight, but… she’ll come around. Don’t lose hope.”
Namtan didn’t answer at first. She just stared at the ceiling, eyes glassy with exhaustion and too many unspoken things.
Then, quietly, with a voice so flat it felt like a drop of cold water sliding down the back, she asked, “And what if she doesn’t?”

Film tried a smile, but it faltered on her lips. “Well… Becca’s not the last single woman on earth. You’ll probably find someone else by next month. You will survive.”
That was when Namtan turned her head, finally meeting Film’s eyes. Her expression was tired, bitter. “Of course…If I survived you,” she whispered, “then I’ll definitely survive this.”

Film froze. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. For a second, something flickered in her eyes.
Regret, maybe, or guilt.
But she quickly turned her head, glancing out into the hallway. She took a cautious step toward the door and slowly peeked her head out, eyes scanning for Freen, half-expecting to see her standing there like a ghost.
But the hallway was empty. Silent.
Film let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Then quietly, carefully shut the door. The latch clicked into place, sealing them inside the dim room.
When she turned back around, Namtan hadn’t moved. She was still watching her, her expression unreadable. Like she was daring Film to say something, or maybe just waiting for her to finally admit something neither of them ever had the courage to.
"Go to sleep, Namtan. You’re so drunk right now, you don’t even know what you’re saying."

Namtan smiled, even though something inside her ached.
Then she shifted quietly beneath the sheets, the rustle of fabric soft in the room. The weight of everything pressed down on her as she turned onto her side, facing the wall. Film walked over without a word and gently pulled the blanket up to Namtan’s shoulder, tucking it around her like muscle memory.
Film was about to step away when she heard Namtan’s voice, small and vulnerable.
“Can you… stay for a bit?”

Film froze.
“Just for a minute,” Namtan added quickly. “Can you… cuddle me?”
Film didn’t answer right away. She stood still, one hand on the edge of the bed, eyes focused on the folds in the blanket, trying not to look at Namtan.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said gently, almost apologetically, shaking her head.
But Namtan turned to look at her now, eyes glassy, pleading. “Please, Film… just for a minute. I feel like I’m falling apart.”
Film’s expression softened. Her resistance cracking under the weight of the years they’d shared and the way Namtan’s voice trembled. She inhaled slowly, hesitated, then nodded once.
“Only for a minute.”

She climbed into the bed carefully, laying on her side with her back to Namtan at first. But Namtan didn’t wait. She reached forward, sliding her arm gently around Film’s waist, pulling herself close, burying her face into the back of Film’s shoulder.
Her touch wasn’t desperate. Just quietly aching.
Film closed her eyes. The warmth of Namtan’s arm around her, the scent of her perfume still lingering on her skin. It all brought back a weight she hadn’t prepared for.
Neither of them said another word.

Namtan’s hand, once resting innocently on Film’s waist, began to shift slowly. She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Film’s bare shoulder. Her lips lingered there, the touch feather-light, almost reverent. Then her hand glided across the curve of Film’s belly, fingertips drawing a line up toward the swell of her breasts.
Film’s breath hitched.
“Stop,” she whispered, catching Namtan’s wrist before it could reach farther.
But Namtan didn’t pull back. Her other hand moved down, past Film’s waist fingers sliding toward the tie of the robe.
“Don’t, you are so drunk.” Film said again, this time firmer, catching the second hand too. Both of Namtan’s wrists now held between her own.
Film turned her head over her shoulder, and their eyes met.

Namtan was already watching her.
There was a pause. Thick and suspended before Namtan leaned forward, closing the space between them, lips parting as she tilted her head toward Film’s.
But Film pulled away sharply.
She sat up quickly, getting off the bed in one motion, her robe shifting slightly. She didn’t say anything at first. Just turned away and yanked the robe’s belt tight around her waist, knotting it fast and with trembling hands.
Still facing the door, she muttered, “Goodnight, Namtan.”
Her voice was low, flat.
She didn’t look back as she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Namtan let out a long, shaky sigh as the door clicked shut behind Film. The room fell into a heavy silence, the kind that made every breath feel louder than it should.
She dragged her hands down her face, pressing her palms into her eyes as if that could undo the last five minutes. Rewind the moment, soften the rejection, erase the heat still lingering on her fingertips.
She wasn’t sure if the alcohol was at fault or if deep down, it was really just her.
"Stupid," she muttered into her hands, voice muffled, cracked. "Fucking stupid."
She dropped her arms to her sides, staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide and stinging. The shadows above seemed to shift with her thoughts. Chaotic, spiraling, filled with faces and moments she couldn’t control.
Everything she’d lost or never really had.
She turned on her side and curled in on herself, tears quietly soaking into the pillow. Sleep, however, felt impossibly far.

Chapter Text

Film stood just outside the guestroom door, her back pressed hard against the wall. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. Eyes squeezed shut, she tilted her head back against the cool surface, trying to ground herself. But it wasn’t working.

Her heart was pounding loud, frantic and relentless. She lifted a trembling hand and placed it over her chest, as if she could calm it, as if she could will it to stop responding to something she wasn’t supposed to feel anymore.

“Don’t,” she whispered, barely audible.

Her lips parted again, breath shaky.

“Don’t…”

She repeated it like a mantra, voice breaking softer each time.

“Don’t, don’t…”

She whispered to herself, again and again, like a warning, a prayer, a command she wasn’t sure she could follow.

But the ghost of Namtan’s touch was still on her skin. The heat of her breath still lingered by her neck. And somewhere between guilt and want, something clenched tightly in her chest.

She lifted a trembling hand to her lips, where Freen had kissed her an hour ago.

“Shit…” she breathed, voice cracking.

Film opened her eyes slowly, staring ahead at nothing, her mind racing. Becca had just left Namtan. Namtan had just tried to kiss her. 

And Freen…

Freen was down the hall, asleep in their bed…trusting her.

Film pressed her hand flat against the wall, grounding herself. She swallowed hard. Her voice dropped into a whisper again. Barely audible, broken.

“What am I doing?”

Then, without another word, she pushed herself off the wall and walked silently toward the kitchen. Her steps unsteady, her throat tight.

She padded barefoot down the quiet hallway, her robe cinched tight around her, as if the knot alone could keep her from falling apart. 

She made her way into the kitchen. Her steps were slow, cautious, like her body wasn’t sure if it was ready to move forward or if it should turn around and sprint back. Her hands were shaking slightly, but she kept them at her sides, willing herself to stay calm.

In the kitchen, she moved on autopilot. She opened the cupboard, took down a glass, and filled it with water from the filtered tap. The sound of the water was the only noise in the apartment. A soft rush that seemed louder in the stillness. She drank it slowly, her throat dry, her breaths shallow. The cool liquid grounded her just enough to stop the swirl of heat that had climbed up her neck and cheeks minutes earlier. 

But not the tension pressing against her chest.

Still holding the glass, she leaned against the edge of the counter, staring at the kitchen wall like it might have answers.

Namtan’s voice echoed in her mind again. Quiet but clear, impossibly clear. 

“If I survived you, then I’ll definitely survive this.”

Film shut her eyes.

Her grip on the glass tightened.

That sentence shouldn't have meant anything anymore. It shouldn't still sting. But somehow it did. Maybe because of the way Namtan had said it, like a fact, not an accusation. Like she’d meant it.

Film drew in another breath, quieter this time, placed the glass down, and eased herself off the counter like she didn’t trust her legs to hold steady.

Then she made her way back to her bedroom.

She walked slowly back through the hallway. Each step heavier than the last. Her bare feet made almost no sound against the floor, and the quiet only seemed to grow louder the closer she got to her room.

She stopped outside the door.

Her fingers rested on the handle, but she didn’t turn it right away.

A part of her wanted to go back to the guest room, to Namtan. Just to check. Just to say something, anything, instead of letting that moment be the last thing between them tonight. Another part of her, the one still painfully loyal, wanted to stay away from that room forever. 

But eventually, she pushed the door open and stepped into the dark.

When Film quietly opened the bedroom door, she expected stillness. Darkness. The soft, even breaths of Freen already lost in sleep.

But the moment the door opened, her breath caught.

Freen was awake.

She was sitting upright in bed, her body tucked neatly under the blankets, back resting against the headboard. The faint glow of her phone lit her face, her eyes downcast, unfocused—somewhere far away.

She wasn’t scrolling, just staring distant and distracted. Until the sound of the door caught her attention.

Their eyes met.

Freen blinked once, then slowly turned off her phone and set it on the nightstand beside her without a word. 

Film stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind her, letting the quiet settle again. Her bare feet padded softly across the floor as she made her way to Freen’s side of the bed. She lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress, the robe wrapped tightly around her body. 

She glanced at Freen, her voice a gentle murmur.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said. “Why are you awake?”

Freen’s eyes lingered on her for a long moment, unreadable in the dim light. Then she offered a small shrug beneath the blankets.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said softly.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was careful.

Like they were both trying to feel out where the other had been not physically, but emotionally. While they were apart in the same house.

Freen’s gaze lingered on Film for a beat longer before she quietly asked, “Where’s Namtan?”

Film sighed, her shoulders rising and falling beneath the robe. “She’s in the guest room,” she said, her voice tired. “She drank too much. I didn’t want her to go home like that.”

Freen nodded, tucking the blanket a little tighter around her legs. “What happened?” she asked.

There was a pause.

Film turned to look at her, her eyes sharper than they’d been a moment ago. “Becca broke up with her.”

"I heard that. But why?" she asked, the question heavier than it should’ve been.

Film didn’t look away. Her voice was low, edged with something Freen couldn’t quite place. “I don’t know,” she said slowly, eyes narrowing. “You tell me.”

Freen’s expression changed instantly. 

Her whole body went still, eyes wide, blinking like she hadn’t expected to be pulled into this. But the shock was fleeting. She caught herself, mask sliding into place with practiced ease.

“Excuse me?!” Freen said, her voice rising just a bit.

Film didn’t flinch. She just kept looking at her

“You heard me,” Film said, voice quiet but firm, with an edge Freen had only heard a few times before. Always when something cut too deep to say out loud. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” Freen snapped, pushing the blanket off her legs and sitting up straighter against the headboard. “So go ahead say it! Don’t dance around it!”

Film’s voice was quieter now, but the tension behind it was unmistakable. “What were you two talking about alone at the party?” she asked. “What did you say to her, Freen?”

Freen’s brows furrowed, her mouth falling open in disbelief. “Oh, so now you’re blaming me?! Now this is my fault?!” she said, getting out of bed and stepping in front of Film. “You and Namtan have been wrapped around each other the whole night, making everyone uncomfortable including us. But I say two words to Becca and suddenly I’m the problem?! That’s rich coming from you!”

Film’s face didn’t move, but something in her eyes flickered. “So you admit something happened.”

“I admit,” Freen said, biting the words, “that I talked to a woman who was about to cry in the middle of a rooftop full of people. You want to know what I said? I told her I saw her. That she wasn’t crazy. That she was allowed to feel how she felt. Because I felt the same!”

Film’s jaw tightened. “Keep your voice down…”

Freen cut in, eyes narrowing. “You don’t get to come in here, looking for someone to pin this on, just because Becca finally got tired of being second to your little act.”

Film’s lips parted, as if to fire back, but for a second—just a second—she said nothing. The silence between them grew razor-sharp.

Freen leaned forward slightly. “You think I wanted this to happen? You think I planned for her to fall out of love with Namtan?”

Film stayed silent, her gaze locked on Freen.

“Since we’re on the topic, let’s talk about how you practically ran to her naked when she came crying,” Freen said to Film fuming.

Film replied, “I’m not naked, I have a robe on.”

Freen shot back, “Which is all see-through!”

“I hope she liked the view!” Freen added with a smirk.

Film sighed. “She was practically crying. She didn’t even notice what I was wearing.”

Freen fake-laughed. “Well, I guess Victoria’s Secret needs to do a better job making robes, since Namtan didn’t even notice you in it.”

Film’s expression flickered for the first time and she looked away. But she wasn’t done. She turned back after a moment, her voice low. “What was the hug about then?”

Freen blinked. “What?”

“At the party,” Film said slowly. “You hugged her. You , of all people, hugged Becca. Out of nowhere. You don’t hug anyone.” She shook her head, voice tightening. “So what the hell was that about huh?”

“So what are you saying?” Freen asked, smirking. “That a hug means I’m in love with her? Are you jealous?”

“I’m saying it wasn’t just a hug,” Film snapped. 

Freen’s eyes flared. “Oh, but it’s okay when you touch Namtan constantly? When you grab her hand or tuck her hair behind her ear or whisper in her ear in front of your wife?!”

Film’s jaw clenched. “It’s not the same.”

“Yeah?” Freen said bitterly. “Because you always have an excuse. She’s your best friend, right?! She’s been around forever. You didn’t mean to flirt. But when I hug someone once , suddenly I’m the villain?!”

Film laughed. Cold. Unbelieving. Eyes tearing up.“You’re deflecting again.”

“No, I’m calling bullshit.”

A weighted silence settled in the room. Film stood from the bed, her steps slow as she moved closer to Freen. 

“What was the hug about, Freen? Really?” Film asked, her voice breaking.

Guilt twisted in Freen’s chest the moment she heard the break in Film’s voice.

Then she opened her mouth, closed it, then rubbed a hand over her face. “She was breaking down because of what you and Namtan were doing in front of everyone. I didn’t even think about it. I just… I just hugged her.” She said, quieter this time

“That’s not like you.” Film said, shaking her head. 

“I know it’s not like me,” Freen said quietly. “But you weren’t the one looking into her eyes. You weren’t the one who saw her break down in front of everyone.”

“She looked like she needed it,” Freen added, softer now. “And I don’t know, maybe I needed it too.”

Film’s face flinched at that. “You don’t get to play the hero here.”

“I’m not trying to be a hero.”

Film’s voice was lower now. Softer. “You’ve spent our entire relationship keeping people at a distance. You flinch when I touch you sometimes. And yet, when it’s Becca…”

“Don’t start,” Freen tensed, interrupting before Film could continue.

“No, I’m serious,” Film scoffed. “You never hug anyone. When your own mother hugs you, you go stiff like a statue! You’ve known Namtan for years and maybe hugged her twice, and one of those was on our wedding night.”

“Yeah?!” Freen snapped again, voice sharp now. “Well, maybe that’s because you hug her enough for both of us!”

T hat landed like a slap. 

Film took a step back. “So that’s what this is.”

Freen looked down, suddenly exhausted. “I don’t know what this is.” She rubbed her face with both hands.

Film’s hands trembled uncontrollably at her sides. “You’re not just jealous of Namtan. You’re furious. Furious at me. Furious because you hate how much I love her.”

Freen whispered, “No. I can’t stand the way you forgot how to love me .” Her hands wrapped tightly around herself now.

The words made Film’s tears fall freely down her cheeks. She reached out to step forward and hug Freen, but Freen stepped back and shook her head. That hurt Film more.

Film’s jaw clenched, her voice breaking. “I thought at the bar we agreed we were okay,” she said quietly. 

Freen let out a dry scoff, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah. And then we go up to the roof and it’s like we never even had that conversation. Like nothing changed.”

Film threw her arms up. “What did I do? Namtan dragged me to the mess, Freen. I didn’t plan that. I didn't ask to cut the cake. I didn’t make the game and I definitely didn’t know she’d carry me around like a damn trophy!”

“Oh, right,” Freen cut in, her voice sharp now. “Poor you. Just an innocent bystander. No say in anything. Namtan just dragged you everywhere.”

Film stared at her.

Freen scoffed again, shaking her head. “Sorry for falsely accusing you, my bad. Namtan had a gun to your head, huh? Of course you couldn’t possibly say no to her. Of course you had no choice but to make a birthday speech about how she’s your other half, while your actual wife stood across the room watching.”

Film blinked, her lips parting. The sarcasm in Freen’s voice had turned to something bitter, something vulnerable, something wounded.

“That’s not fair,” Film said, voice trembling just slightly.

“No, what’s not fair is you acting like I’m the problem for feeling something,” Freen snapped. “You’re the one who stood up and told a room full of people you’d die without her. You’re the one who let Becca sit through that entire night like she was invisible. Actually, both speeches were enough,” Freen snapped. “Enough for Becca to break down. Enough for her to leave. And enough for me to wonder what the hell I’m even doing anymore.”

Film’s breath caught like she’d been struck.

Her lips parted, but no words came. Her eyes widened, glassy with disbelief and then more tears fell. Her face crumpled slightly, like she’d been holding everything in by a thread that just snapped.

She looked terrified.

Terrified of what Freen had just said. Of what it might mean.

The ache in her chest swelled so suddenly it took her breath away. She opened her mouth again, finally ready to say something, anything, to plead, to explain, to promise…

But before she could get a single word out, Freen cut in, her voice lower now, controlled, tired.

“We’re both so tired.”

That stopped Film in place, breath still trembling, her shoulders caving slightly.

Freen didn’t look away, but her eyes no longer burned. They were dim now. Dull with exhaustion.

“We should get some sleep,” she said, still firm, still holding the line between them. “Before we start saying things we might regret in the morning.”

She didn’t wait for Film’s response.

Instead, she stepped past her and made her way to the bed. The soft rustle of the blanket accompanied her movement, but just before she climbed in, she paused.

She looked back.

Film hadn’t moved. Her back still turned, shoulders trembling slightly, her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest.

“Film?” Freen’s voice broke the silence again. Calmer now, but no less serious.

Film turned slowly, wiping the last of the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her chin was slightly raised, waiting.

Freen looked at her. “You better keep yourself out of their relationship,” she said. “I don’t want you involved.”

Film scoffed bitterly, arms folded. “You saying that makes me want to get more involved, to be honest.”

“Film,” Freen warned, sharp.

But Film ignored the warning. “Why don’t you want them to get back together?”

Freen’s face didn’t move for a beat. Then: “I don’t care if they do or don’t. I just want you out of it.”

Film narrowed her eyes. “Why?” she asked. 

Something flickered in Freen’s jaw. Her hands clenched briefly at her sides before she forced her tone steady. “Because if they don’t work out,” she said, “I don’t want Namtan blaming you for it.”

Film stared at her, clearly not convinced. The answer sounded half-truthful at best, like it was hiding behind something else. Something Freen didn’t want to say out loud.

Freen held her ground anyway. “Promise me,” she said, this time more quietly. “Just… stay out of it.”

Film stared at her for a moment longer. Then she sighed, the tension in her shoulders dropping, not in surrender. But in pure exhaustion.

“Okay,” she said, barely above a whisper.

She turned and disappeared into the bathroom. The door clicked softly behind her.

Inside, the light flickered on.

Water ran.

And Freen stood alone in the darkened room, listening to the sound of Film washing her face. Like maybe she could scrub off the entire night if she just stayed under the cold water long enough.

Freen finally climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up without a word. She was too drained to think, and sleep took her almost instantly.

Film stepped out of the bathroom, the soft click of the door breaking the stillness of the room. She moved quietly, her feet brushing against the cool floor as she made her way to her side of the bed.

Freen was already under the blanket, her back to Film, her breathing even and steady.

She slid into bed beside her, the sheets rustling gently. For a moment, she just lay there on her back, eyes locked on the ceiling, its pale surface glowing faintly in the dark.

Her heart was loud.

Her mind louder.

They were fighting again.

Her heart reckless, stubborn and aching still wanted Namtan. Still chased that high, that chaos, that impossible connection that had always left her a little unsteady but breathless. Her heart didn’t care about logic. Her heart remembered laughter and nights they couldn’t stop touching, remembered shared secrets and the thrill of being seen, completely.

But her mind?

Her mind wanted Freen.

Freen, who never made her beg to be understood. Freen, who could read her silences better than anyone else. Freen, who didn’t always say the right things but at least tried. Who showed up, even when it hurt.

She turned her head slightly, looking at Freen’s back. The gentle rise and fall of it. The way her hair spilled across the pillow. There was a time, not long ago, when that sight would’ve brought her peace. Tonight, it just made the ache sharper.

She loved Freen.

God, she loved her.

But she loved Namtan too.

Different loves. Different wounds.

And for the first time, Film admitted something to herself. 

Something she hadn’t had the courage to face before tonight.

Freen was the safe choice.

Safe didn’t mean easy. Safe didn’t mean perfect. But it meant steady. It meant someone who wouldn’t leave her dangling, someone who wouldn’t crush her heart one moment and kiss her breathless the next. Freen wouldn’t hurt her.

Right?

Right?!

Tonight was the first night jealousy crept in. Seeing Freen with Becca sparked something raw, and it cut deeper than she ever expected

She didn't like that. 

Film’s throat tightened.

Because something deep inside her, something quiet and cold and honest, told her this: If nothing changed… if they kept going like this… she would lose Freen too.

And maybe, just maybe, she deserved to.

She stared at Freen in the dark, her chest rising and falling a little too quickly now.

And in that silence, something in her shifted.

She made a decision. Fully aware it would spark another fight. But she did it anyway.

A decision that didn’t bring relief or peace. One that just settled in her chest like a weight she’d carry alone for now.

Her eyes drifted back to the ceiling. She blinked slowly, the tears too tired to fall again.

She couldn’t sleep.

Not really.

Not until she figured out who she really wanted. 

The morning light poured in gently through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the guest room floor. Namtan sat up slowly, her temples pulsing with a dull ache. Not only from alcohol, but also from everything else.

The events of the night before flashed in her mind like scenes from a movie she didn’t want to watch again.

Becca’s voice.

Her tears.

Being dumped.

And film….

She stared at the neat folds of the guest bed, untouched except for the dent where she’d tossed and turned all night. Her mouth was dry. Her body heavy.

She reached for her shirt and pants, dressing in silence. As she buttoned up her shirt, her thoughts drifted back to Film’s face from the night before. The way she pulled away. The way she left. The things she didn’t say. The way Namtan had pushed too far and ruined everything again.

She exhaled and rubbed her face, jaw tightening.

Stupid.

After straightening the bed as quietly as she could, Namtan shrugged on her suit jacket and stepped into the hallway. She figured they were still asleep. It was early, and the apartment was quiet.

But as she neared the kitchen, she heard it. Soft clinking, the faint hiss of something on the stove, and the low hum of someone. She recognized the voice.

She slowed.

From her position at the kitchen, she saw Film standing at the stove, her back turned, stirring something absentmindedly. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, like she hadn’t fully shaken off the weight of the night.

Namtan stepped forward, her voice cautious.

“Good morning.”

Film flinched.

Not dramatically. But enough to show that she hadn’t heard Namtan coming. That her mind was somewhere else. She turned halfway, blinking, and then gave her a small, tired smile.

“Good morning.”

They just stood there for a second, eyes on each other. The weight of everything left unsaid between them sat heavy in the air.

Namtan backed away, watching Film carefully before glancing at the bedroom door across the hall. Still closed. Still silent.

She turned back to Film, ready to speak. But froze when she saw her. 

One hand raised, index finger pressed to her lips, eyes wide. A quiet command.

Don’t!

Don’t ask anything.

Don’t say anything. 

Film’s eyes didn’t plead. They warned.

So Namtan said nothing. She closed her mouth and gave a short nod and walked back to the kitchen without another glance.

Film turned back to the stove.

And just like that, the air between them was quiet again. But full of things that hadn’t gone away.

Namtan eased herself down onto one of the kitchen stools, the quiet creak echoing softly in the still morning air.

Film glanced over her shoulder, her voice low but steady. “Did you sleep well?”

Namtan nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I did. Thank you.”

There was a pause, then Namtan asked, “You… sleep well?”

Film’s eyes flickered away for a moment, just a hint of something behind her calm mask. “Yes,” she said simply.

Namtan didn’t believe her. She knew Film’s habits. How sometimes cooking was her way to calm nerves. The soft sounds from the stove just moments ago hadn’t been random.

Her gaze dropped to the kitchen table, where a small bottle sat waiting.

Film nodded toward it. “I left some hangover pills for you. Thought you might need them.”

Namtan reached out and picked up the bottle, twisting the cap off carefully. “Thank you,” she said quietly, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Film offered a faint, tired smile but didn’t say anything else.

Namtan set the hangover pills bottle down with a small clink, then rubbed her temple. “Wish those pills could help with my relationship too,” she muttered under her breath.

Film turned off the stove, wiped her hands on a dish towel, and walked over to her. A soft smile played on her lips, more thoughtful than amused.

“I was thinking about it last night,” Film said, her voice light. “I know you’re terrible at apologizing—like, truly hopeless—so I’ve decided… I’m going to help you get Becca back.”

Namtan’s head shot up, eyes wide and shining. “Really?!”

Film nodded, still smiling, but something about it was smaller, more reserved than usual.

Namtan didn’t seem to notice. She jumped up from the stool, arms flying around Film as she lifted her off the ground in a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the bestbest friend ever! Like, you’re the queen of bestfriends!”

Film laughed, her eyes fluttering shut as she let the warmth of the moment wrap around her. She hugged Namtan back, chest pressed to hers, her cheek brushing her shoulder.

But when she opened her eyes again, her breath caught.

Freen was standing in the hallway just outside the kitchen doorway.

She stood completely still, expression unreadable, arms relaxed by her sides, hands tucked into her joggers pockets, watching them.

Namtan still hadn’t noticed. “You’re really saving my life right now, you know that?”

Film’s eyes stayed locked on Freen.

Film froze in Namtan’s embrace, her smile fading like the last traces of a dream. Her arms loosened around Namtan, gently pulling back and going back to the stove.

“Jesus, babe, you scared me,” she said, trying to inject some lightness into her voice. “Good morning.”

Freen didn’t answer right away. She was already moving across the room, her footsteps soft but sure. Her voice came out calm as she opened the fridge door.

“Good morning,” Freen said flatly, eyes on the shelves. “What’s the matter with you two? You were hugging when I went to bed, and you’re still hugging when I wake up?”

She bent slightly to peer deeper into the fridge, her back to them now, rummaging for water or just a moment to breathe after what she have seen.

Film blinked. A quick glance back at Namtan showed she wasn’t picking up on the shift. But Film could feel it, unmistakable, the sharpness behind the casual tone, the cold distance wrapped in warmth.

Namtan smiled as she looked between them, oblivious to the hurricane she was about to trigger. “True, but the hug reasons were different,” she said cheerfully. “Last night it was like, ‘sorry for your breakup,’ and now it was a ‘thank you hug’ for helping me get my girlfriend back.”

The moment those words left her mouth, everything in the room shifted.

Freen froze.

Her eyes, previously calm and flat, snapped up wide, disbelieving, and already burning. The water bottle in her hand stiffened under her grip, knuckles whitening. She didn’t blink, her eyes locking onto Film, who was already staring back, her shoulders stiffening the moment their eyes met.

Film’s breath caught in her throat. She could feel Freen’s eyes drilling into her.

Even Namtan noticed. “Uh…” she trailed off, her playful smile faltering as she glanced between them. “What’s going on?”

Freen’s voice came out low, calm only by force. “Can I talk to you for a second?” she asked, eyes still on Film, her jaw tight enough to crack.  

Her tone left no room for refusal.

Film swallowed. “Yes.”

She stepped away from the stove just as Freen let the fridge door slam shut, the echo snapping through the kitchen like a warning shot.

“Wait…what’s this about?” Namtan called after them, frowning.

Freen didn’t even look back. “It’s private.”

But when Film walked past Namtan to follow Freen, Namtan caught her arm.

“Is this about me and Becca? Freen, if it is…”

Freen turned, eyes landing on Namtan’s hand wrapped around Film’s arm and rage surged up before she could stop it. She saw red.

“IT’S NOT ABOUT YOU, NAMTAN!” Freen roared, fury erupting from her chest like a damn breaking. Her fists were clenched, jaw tight, voice like a whip. “THIS IS BETWEEN ME AND MY WIFE! STAY OUT OF IT!”

Namtan and Film froze. They had never seen Freen this angry. Never seen so much emotion on her face before.

Freen was waiting for Film to follow her.

But Film didn’t.

She stood still. Then spoke.

“Yes, it is.” she said softly, looking at Namtan. “It is about you and Becca.”

If Freen’s eyes had been weapons, Film would be in pieces. 

The look she gave could’ve burned through steel.

Film looked down, then back at Namtan. Her voice was measured, but her hands were clenched at her sides. “She’s mad because I promised her something last night. And I broke that promise.”

Namtan blinked. “What promise?”

“I told her I’d stay out of it,” Film said. “I told her I wouldn’t get involved with you and Becca anymore. That I wouldn’t play mediator. Or fixer.”

Namtan frowned looking at both of them. “Why?!”

Film hesitated, then said it: “Because Freen thinks if you and Becca don’t work out… you’ll blame me for helping you get back together.”

Namtan blinked. “That’s not true.”

Namtan scoffed, trying to break the tension. “There’s no way that would happen, Freen. Seriously. That’s not even possible.”

Namtan tried to laugh it off. “Come on. I’d never be mad at this cute face.” She nudged Film’s arm.

But Film didn’t move or laugh. She kept holding Freen’s gaze. 

She couldn’t.

Because Freen’s face—her whole body—was screaming without words:

You broke something.

Namtan blinked, trying to shake off the heaviness in the room. “I swear!”

When the air refused to lighten, Namtan’s eyes flicked between them, frustration edging her voice. “Look… this was about me getting mad at Film, right? I assure you that will never happen, okay? So please…let’s all just relax. Unless there’s something else you guys aren’t telling me.”

Freen’s eyes never left Film’s. Finally, she spoke quietly, “No. That’s the only reason.”

Namtan clapped her hands together with a forced grin. “Great! Can we have breakfast now, please?”

Freen gave a short nod but shook her head. “You guys enjoy. I’m gonna go for a walk first.”

She turned and headed toward the bedroom to change.

Film hesitated but didn’t dare follow Freen inside. She knew better than to push when Freen was that angry.

Freen entered the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her. The sound echoed down the hall like a gunshot.

Her breath came out fast and uneven. She stood in the middle of the room for a moment, fists clenched, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

Then she turned sharply to the nightstand.

Yanking her phone from the charger, Freen unlocked it with a swipe and opened Instagram.
Not to scroll.
Not to distract herself.
But with a purpose.

She reached down and unplugged her phone from the charger. Opening Instagram, her thumb hovered for a second before she typed out a message:

“ Can we please meet up? ”

She hit send without waiting for a reply, then began to change out of her clothes, her mind racing.

Becca was still in bed, the silence of her apartment a sharp contrast to the chaos of the night before. She had been scrolling half-heartedly through her phone, trying to distract herself from the knot of emotions still twisting inside her.

Her eyes flicked to the screen as a new Instagram notification popped up: Freen sent you a message. 

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. No! her mind whispered sharply. Why would you want to meet? After everything? After how tangled and messy it all is?

But her heart beat faster, already answering before her brain could catch up. Yes.

Taking a deep breath, she typed carefully, “Yes. When and where?”

Chapter Text

Freen slipped into a plain white shirt and pulled on a pair of jeans. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears too fast and too loud. But for once, she didn’t try to slow it down.

She needed to get out.

She grabbed a pair of socks and slipped her phone into her pocket. Her steps were quick, deliberate, like if she didn’t move fast enough, the weight of everything might catch up to her.

She opened her bedroom door.

Out in the hallway, Namtan and Film stood close together, their voices hushed. Freen couldn’t make out what they were saying . They both turned the moment the door creaked open.

Namtan straightened.

Film's eyes widened.

She walked right past them, down the hall without pausing, her expression unreadable. Her focus was on the front door,on her sneakers on the floor, on anything but the two people behind her.

“Freen,” Film called after her, voice cracking. “Babe, please don’t go.”

She didn’t stop. She crouched by the door, grabbed her socks and began slipping them on.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” Film continued, moving closer. Her voice had changed. Now less sharp, more panicked. “Please, can we just talk?”

Freen ignored her.

“You're mad, I get it," Film said, her voice cracking. “And maybe I deserve it. But I’m asking you please not to leave right now. Not like this.”

Still nothing. Freen shoved one foot into her sneaker, then the other. Her hair fell forward over her face, a curtain between her and the woman begging beside her.

“I’m serious, Freen. Please.” Film’s voice broke entirely now. “Don’t just walk out like this. Don’t shut me out.”

Freen glanced at her once. 

Film stood there, arms crossed tightly, like she was trying to hold herself together. Her expression was crumpling beneath the weight of something she couldn't say aloud. She looked like she was trying to be strong and apologetic at the same time. But failing at both.

Freen grabbed her black jacket from the hook by the door and shrugged it on. She reached for her keys from the bowl on the shelf.

Suddenly, behind her, she heard it. Film crying.

Film reached for her arm, desperate now. “Please babe! Don’t go! Don’t walk out angry. Just let’s talk, really talk. Let’s fix this please!”

Freen stared down at Film’s hand on her arm. For a second, she almost didn’t move. But then she gently pulled her arm away.

She reached for the doorknob.

"Freen!" Film shouted, crying.

Freen’s hand tightened on the doorknob. Before she opened it, she turned and looked at Film.

It was only a second.

But it was enough.

Her eyes weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. They said everything her mouth didn’t.

You broke something.

Then, without another word, Freen opened the front door and stepped outside.

She didn’t close it softly.

The door slammed shut behind her, rattling the frame.

Film flinched at the sound.

She stood frozen for a breath, two, then crumpled. Her back hit the wall and she let her body slide down to the floor. Her knees drew in. Her arms wrapped around herself. And then she just broke.

Tears spilled without warning, and her shoulders shook as silent sobs overtook her. The kind of crying that comes not just from sadness, but from the shock of it, of something slipping out of your hands before you even realized you were holding it.

Namtan rushed to her, kneeling beside her with wide, confused eyes.

“Hey….hey,” she whispered, pulling Film into her arms. “What’s going on?”

Film buried her face in Namtan’s shoulder, unable to answer. Her fingers clutched weakly at the fabric of Namtan’s shirt.

“Film, talk to me,” Namtan said again, stroking her hair. “Why is she so angry? Did something happen between you two?”

Still nothing. Just the quiet, broken sound of Film crying.

Namtan’s arms tightened around her, concern overtaking her frustration. “I don’t understand. Please just tell me what’s going on. Is there anything I can do? Anything at all to help you feel better?”

Film shook her head slowly, her voice muffled against Namtan’s shoulder. “The only thing you need to focus on right now is Becca.”

Namtan pulled back slightly, confused. “What? What do you mean?”

“You have to get back to her,” Film said, her voice cracking as more tears slipped down. “You have to do things right with her.”

Namtan blinked, her brows knitting together. “Film, what are you talking about?”

But Film only cried harder, her breath hitching, and then she clutched Namtan’s arms.
“Please, Namtan,” she whispered, voice desperate. “Please.”

Namtan’s heart clenched. She cupped Film’s face gently, wiping at the tears with her thumbs.
“Okay, okay,” she said softly. “Just… please stop crying.”

Namtan rested her chin on top of Film’s head, her voice barely above a whisper now. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever this is... whatever’s going on. I promise you’re not alone.”

Film nodded, barely, and clutched tighter to Namtan’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping her from breaking.

Namtan wanted to ask more, to understand. But she was too afraid the answer might change everything. So she just held her tighter, waiting for the storm to pass.

The apartment door clicked shut behind Freen, and she didn’t look back.

She walked down the quiet hallway, her sneakers muffled against the floor. Her heart was still beating too fast, too loud, like her body hadn’t caught up to the silence around her. She pressed the elevator button and waited.

When the doors opened, she stepped in and leaned back against the wall, finally letting out a long, shaky breath. Then she pressed the garage button, and watched the numbers blink down one by one.

She pulled out her phone.

“Can we meet at that café where we once met? The one near the flower shop? ”

She stared at the message for a second, then added:

“I’ll be there in half an hour. ”

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, then slid the phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

As the elevator began its slow descent, her eyes lifted to the mirror inside. Her reflection stared back at her. Tight jaw, guarded eyes and lips pressed into a line.

“What are you doing, Freen?” she whispered under her breath, just loud enough for herself.

Her gaze didn’t waver.

"You’re playing with fire. That’s exactly what you’re doing." She answered back.

The elevator chimed as it reached the ground floor.

Freen sighed, straightened her posture and stepped out into the garage.

Becca sat slouched on her couch. The morning light was too bright. Her eyes were still a little bit puffy. Her heart still hadn’t figured out what emotion to land on. 

A half-cold cup of coffee rested on the table. She had barely taken two sips before her phone interrupted her morning routine.

“I broke up with her,” she said, voice flat. Her phone was pressed to her ear.

There was a pause on the other end.

“YOU WHAT?!” Orm’s voice came through, loud and unbelieving.

“I broke up with Namtan.” Becca said again, voice low. 

Another pause.

“ON HER BIRTHDAY?! ” Orm nearly shrieked.

Becca rubbed her forehead. “It wasn’t like I planned it…”

“You broke up with her on her birthday , Becca! What did you do, hand her a slice of cake with a breakup speech like ‘make a wish but not with me?!’”

Becca groaned. “Orm…”

“No, wait! Did you hand her a card that said ‘Happy 30th, enjoy your thirties but without me ?!’”

Becca tried not to laugh. “It wasn't my intent….” 

But Orm cut her off.

“OH MY GOD! This is even better than the finale of that lawyer drama Lingling made me watch! I need popcorn ASAP babe!” Orm shouted off the phone, “Becca dumped Namtan last night, ON HER BIRTHDAY!”

Becca winced. “Please don’t make it a group chat announcement.”

“Too late. She’s already pretending she’s not excited.” Orm said, smirking.

In the background, Becca heard Lingling’s voice faintly. “Tell her I’m proud of her but also…DAMN.”

“Okay, but seriously, when we left the party, you guys were still okay… kinda. So what happened? Did she say something? Did she lift Film again? Or start making weird poems about their friendship?” Orm asked.

Becca opened her mouth to answer, but then her phone buzzed.

Ping.

A message lit up the screen. From Freen.

Can we meet at that café where we once met? The one near the flower shop?
I’ll be there in half an hour.

Becca’s breath hitched. She stared at the message, reading it twice.

“Wait, who was that?” Orm asked quickly, catching the pause. “Becca…. Who just texted you? ”

Becca hesitated. “Freen.”

“ Freen?... FREEN! ” Orm repeated, voice getting louder. “Becca! Why is Freen texting you?!”

“I don’t… really know. She just texted me saying she wanted to meet.” Becca hesitated.

“Oh no, no, no, babe…where?”

“She just said to meet her at the café from last time.” 

Orm gasped. “Next to the flower shop café?! Oh no . That place has soft lighting and expensive cake. That’s a confessional vibe, Becca! What did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Becca said, her voice rising with stress.

“We are coming too,” Orm continued. “Ling and I are putting our bras on.”

“ Do I have to go? ” Ling asked from the background.

“Yes, Ling! Emergency sapphic surveillance mission!”

Becca laughed despite herself. “I’m not being spied on while having a possibly emotionally complicated meeting.”

Orm gasped again, dramatically. “So it is complicated?! Is she bringing a lawyer? Wait. She is the lawyer.”

“I’m hanging up,” Becca said, smiling.

“I’m serious, Becca! You can not break up with Namtan on her birthday , then go meet Freen who, by the way, is married to Namtan’s soulmate or weird emotional partner or whatever and NOT let me witness this! I’m invested! I have rights!”

“Rights?”

“Ling!” Orm shouted. “Get dressed! We’re going full lesbian detective mode.”

“Can I just keep my gym clothes on?” Ling asked.

“No way! This is a brunch crisis, not the gym for God's sake!”

“You guys are not allowed to come!” Becca said, standing from the couch and heading to her bedroom to get dressed.

“Why not?!” Orm shouted. 

“Because if you come and spy on me I’ll never hear the end of it!”

“You’re right. But I’ll also never forgive myself if I don’t find out what’s happening between you two. This is classic lesbian chaos and I NEED to be there!.”

Becca rolled her eyes.

“I’ll sit in the corner. I’ll wear a hat. Ling will wear fake glasses. You won’t even know we’re there.”

“Please stop volunteering me for things.” Ling said. 

“Orm…” Becca groaned. 

“What if she confesses something huge? What if she asks you to run away with her? Or tells you Film cheated? Or wants a divorce lawyer?! I can’t stay home not knowing how this ends!” Orm panicked. 

Becca groaned loudly. “Fine! But stay away from us, and seriously don’t let her catch the sight of you!”

Orm lit up like she’d won a prize.

“YES! SEE?! This is why we’re best friends! We support each other’s chaotic decisions without question. Loyalty over logic, blind support over basic sense. We ride into emotional danger with zero planning and maximum enthusiasm. Bad ideas? Questionable choices? Emotional messes? That’s our entire brand. This right here is what friendship looks like: no boundaries, poor judgment, and matching trauma. We thrive on it and I LOVE IT! And don’t worry, we’ll be so stealthy, even the security cameras won’t see us.” Orm said giggling. 

Becca groaned and ended the call. 

She stared down at Freen’s message again. Then, with a sigh, she texted back:

“Okay. I’ll see you there.”

Then she started to change her clothes, preparing herself for what was to come.

Freen sat by the window, sunlight crawling in slants across the small booth. She had already ordered a cup of coffee for herself, matcha for Becca, and a shared breakfast plate. The clink of ceramic cups, the low hum of conversations, and the hiss of the espresso machine surrounded her like background noise she couldn’t process.

Her leg bounced relentlessly under the table. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, her eyes darting between the door and her untouched coffee.

What are you doing here?

She wrapped both hands around her cup to ground herself, but it didn’t work. Her fingers felt cold.

Why did you ask her to meet? What are you going to tell her?

A shaky breath left her lips. She looked down at the cup, then at the empty space across from her. Her heart pounded like it wanted to leap out of her chest and run all the way home.

She leaned back, her arms folding tight across her chest.

“You’re so stupid,” she muttered under her breath, her voice low and bitter.

Then she closed her eyes and sighed, head tilting back as she tried to swallow the knot in her throat.

Because the truth was, she didn’t know what she wanted from this.

Becca was coming. And Freen didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.

The soft chime above the café door rang, and Freen’s eyes shot up before she could stop herself.

There she was.

Becca stepped in, her hair slightly wind-swept, cheeks tinged pink from the morning air. She spotted Freen and walked toward her with that familiar, effortless grace.

Without saying anything at first, Becca slid smoothly into the booth across from her, the leather seat sighing under her weight. She set her bag down beside her and looked up.

“Good morning,” she said softly, a small smile playing on her lips.

Freen sat up straighter. “Morning.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Becca added. “The taxi took longer than I thought.”

Freen shook her head quickly. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” She hesitated, then added with a curious smile, “Wait…why don’t you have a car?”

Becca gave a small laugh, “Because I still haven’t managed to get my license. I’m not exactly... great at driving.”

Freen smiled then glanced at the cups and plates on the table and added, “I hope you don’t mind… I already ordered for us.”

Becca’s gaze dropped to the table, her eyes flicking over the matcha latte in front of her and the plate of soft eggs, toast, and fruit.

She raised an eyebrow. “How did you know these are my favorites?”

Freen blinked. “I… uh…” Her throat tightened a little. “I think I saw it on your Instagram once?”

Becca smirked. “So you do stalk me.”

“What? No!” Freen’s voice jumped half a pitch as she straightened again, hands flying up in defense. “I didn’t mean it like…. I just remembered…. I wasn’t trying to….”

Becca laughed, biting her lip. “Relax. I’m joking.”

Freen blinked, then finally cracked a shy, breathy laugh. But her leg was still bouncing under the table, even faster now.

Becca reached for her matcha, smiling behind the rim. “But still… good memory.”

Freen looked down at her own coffee, cheeks warming. “Thanks,” she said, barely above a whisper.

The space between them settled into a quiet hum. Unspoken, delicate, and full of everything neither of them was ready to say.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the café humming around them with quiet morning energy. But to them, it felt like they were the only ones there.

Freen took a bite of toast, though she barely tasted it. Her fingers fidgeted with her fork.

She tried not to think too hard about anything. Especially not why she’d asked Becca to meet.

After a few more seconds, she set her fork down and cleared her throat. “How… how are you doing?”

Becca glanced up from her plate, like she hadn’t expected the question to come so soon.

“I’m okay, I guess,” she admitted, her voice soft but steady. “It’s weird… it all happened so fast, but I’m still trying to process everything.”

Freen nodded absently, eyes fixed on her own half-eaten breakfast. Her leg was bouncing again under the table, harder than before.

Becca watched her for a moment, then tilted her head slightly. “What about you?”

“I’m…” Freen hesitated. Her eyes darted to the window, anywhere but Becca. “I’m fine,” she mumbled, nodding along with her own answer like she was trying to convince herself too. “I’m fine.”

But Becca saw right through it.

She looked down, catching the way Freen’s thigh was moving restlessly under the table. Then, calmly and without a word, Becca slid her hand beneath the table and gently placed it on Freen’s leg.

Freen froze.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her leg stopped moving. Instantly.

But it wasn’t just the contact. It was what it felt like. Warm. Grounding. Too intimate for something so casual. Her skin buzzed under Becca’s palm, like her whole body suddenly remembered it was alive.

Freen looked up, startled, eyes locking with Becca’s.

Becca was already watching her. Her gaze steady, unreadable, but not unkind. She didn’t move her hand.

“What did they do,” she asked softly, “that made you so uncomfortable?”

Freen’s mouth opened like she might answer. But nothing came out.

Because that touch, that question, that look …

She had no idea how to answer honestly without unraveling everything.

Becca's hand remained resting on Freen’s leg, warm and steady.

Freen’s heart pounded in her chest like it was trying to escape.

Becca held her gaze, then tilted her head slightly, voice calm but searching.

“What happened last night?” she asked. “When Namtan came to your place.”

Freen blinked.

The question registered, but the words didn’t fully land, because all she could focus on was the fact that Becca’s hand was still there, still touching her, still making her pulse spike in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever.

She swallowed hard.

“I….uh…” she began, voice barely above a whisper.

Freen’s heart was pounding. Her hand hovered just above Becca’s, her fingers practically trembling with the urge to touch. Becca’s hand was still resting on her leg, warm and steady and sending every nerve in Freen’s body into overdrive.

She was just about to place her hand over Becca’s when…. 

“Soooo… this is awkward.”

Both women jolted.

Orm was suddenly just there, leaning dramatically against the edge of their table, chin in her hand like she’d been eavesdropping for twenty minutes straight.

Becca’s eyes snapped to her in absolute horror. “Orm!?”

“Hi, bestie!” Orm said to Becca, grinning.

“How did you do that?!” Freen asked, still in shock.

“I have many talents,” Orm said, flashing a smug smile. “Invisibility. Drama detection. Appearing at the worst possible moment.” She pointed at Freen. “That one’s my favorite.”

Becca closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose like a woman holding back a scream. 

She shot Orm a wide-eyed, telepathic stare across the café as she approached. The kind that screamed,“I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY.”

Orm stared back with a grin that replied, “I NEVER LISTEN.”

Becca raised her brows sharply, “Seriously?”

Orm shrugged dramatically, “You think I was gonna miss this?”

Freen’s eyes shifted between them, trying to make sense of the looks they were giving each other.

Becca tilted her head like she was about to throw her napkin at her.

Ling arrived just behind her girlfriend, whispering to Becca with a small guilty smile. “I tried to convince her to sit in the back. I even bribed her with pastries.”

“She thinks pastries fix everything,” Orm said, then put a hand to her chest. “But how could I? My best friend just broke up. I couldn’t possibly leave her alone in such a delicate emotional state. Right, Freen? ”

Freen looked at her, trying not to laugh. She smirked. “Oh, totally. The compassion is overwhelming.”

Becca stared daggers across the table.

Orm ignored them. “Anyway,” she said brightly, looking at their plates, “you guys didn’t even wait for us? Rude. But fine. I get it. I don’t like waiting either when I’m hungry.”

She turned to Ling. “Let’s go order. And no one talks until I get back.” She pointed two fingers at her own eyes, then at Becca and Freen. “I want every juicy detail, and I WILL know if you skip parts.”

As Orm and Ling disappeared toward the counter, Orm was still tossing dramatic glances over her shoulder. Becca sank into her seat with a sigh and rubbed her temples.

“I was on the phone with her this morning,” she mumbled. “I told her I was meeting you. She insisted on coming. I asked her to stay away. Specifically. Stay. Away.”

She slowly lifted her head, shooting Freen a half-apologetic, half-defeated look. “And then she just appeared, from under the table like a chaotic groundhog”

Freen chuckled, a real smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Honestly? It was kind of impressive.”

Becca narrowed her eyes. “Don’t encourage her. Next time she’ll show up in the ceiling vents.”

Freen laughed again, soft and surprised. “I mean it though. Don’t worry. I don’t mind them at all.”

Becca blinked. “You sure?”

Freen nodded, sipping from her cup. “I like them. They’re... chaotic. But good-hearted.”

Becca gave a skeptical hum, still watching the direction Orm had disappeared to.

“She’s gonna ask a hundred questions when she comes back.”

“I can handle it,” Freen said, smiling over her mug. “Please. I’ve been yelled at by judges. This is practically a spa day.”

Becca laughed, finally relaxing. “Okay, fair. But if she starts grilling us again, I’m leaving.”

“Duly noted,” Freen said with a smirk.

There was a brief pause. They looked at each other. Really looked.

And for a second, the café noise faded around them again.

Orm and Ling returned to the table carrying their breakfast like they were entering a battlefield. Orm had a smug smile plastered on her face, while Ling followed closely behind, already shaking her head in silent apology.

Before anyone could say a word, Orm stopped in front of the table and pointed squarely at Becca.

“You! slide out. Go sit next to Freen.”

Becca raised a brow. “Why? I am sitting just fine here.”

Orm set her tray down like it was part of a negotiation. “You heard me. Slide out. I need that seat. It’s an emergency.”

Becca stared at her. “What kind of emergency requires rearranging seating ?”

Orm put her hand on her heart. “I’m ovulating.”

Collective groans echoed around the table.

“Oh my god,” Becca muttered.

“Orm!” Ling gasped, already turning pink.

“It’s the truth!” Orm said proudly, “My body’s in peak reproductive mode and I need to be physically near my girlfriend or my womb gets mad. It’s science, Becca. Move it.”

Ling looked like she wanted to crawl under the table, red-faced, muttered, “I tried to stop her, I really tried, I swear.”

“No she didn’t,” Orm said, smirking. “She begged me to come closer. With her eyes.”

Becca slid out of her seat with dramatic slowness, grabbing her mug and phone like she was being evicted. “I specifically asked you to not come,” she said under her breath as she moved around the table.

Orm grinned and replied without words, just a raised eyebrow and a knowing look that said ‘I do what I want.’

Becca rolled her eyes hard and plopped down next to Freen, who tried to keep a straight face but failed. “Hey,” she said softly, biting back a smile.

“Hey,” Becca replied, giving her a half-hearted glare. “Don’t look at me like that. I had no choice.”

“I don’t mind,” Freen whispered, still smiling. “This is highly entertaining.”

Meanwhile, Orm was already wrapping herself around Ling like a blanket. “Look at us, sitting side by side. Hormonal harmony achieved.”

Ling was visibly red. “If I disappear from public life, it’s because of this exact moment. ”

Orm kissed her temple hard. “Say what you want, but I know you’re happy.”

Becca shook her head and looked at Freen. “I am so sorry.”

Freen smiled. “I’m not.”

Just as everyone was settling in, Freen’s phone buzzed on the table beside her coffee cup. The screen lit up with a name: Film.

Freen’s eyes lingered on it for a second too long before she calmly tapped the side button to silence the vibration and slid the phone a little further away from her coffee cup. She didn’t flip it. Just silenced it. Becca saw everything. The name, the pause and the tension in Freen’s jaw. But she didn’t say a word. She just sipped her drink and looked away, pretending not to notice.

Then Orm clapped her hands together like she was starting a performance. “Okay! Now that the hormonal seating arrangements have been settled” she glanced lovingly at Ling, who gave her an exasperated smile, “what did I miss?”

Becca didn’t skip a beat. She set her cup down and said, “Oh, nothing. You’ve been here the whole time.”

Orm narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do me like that.”

Becca just smirked and took another bite of toast.

Orm turned dramatically toward Freen. “Fine. Freen. My legal friend. What did I miss?”

Freen glanced at her sideways and said, deadpan, “Nothing.”

Orm gave them both a slow, deliberate side-eye.

There was a beat of silence then Orm pointed her croissant at them like a mic. “Y’all are lucky I didn’t walk in five minutes earlier. I’d have caught the drama mid-drip .”

Becca rolled her eyes. “There was no drama.”

Orm looked between them. “Yeah, okay. And I’m emotionally stable.”

They all laughed again. But a subtle buzz from Freen’s phone on the table caught her eye. Film was still calling, her name brightly displayed on the screen, ringing quietly but unanswered.

After they finished their food, Orm leaned back with a mischievous grin. “Hey, since it’s Sunday and we all have work tomorrow, why don’t we do something fun together? Like… a game?”

Freen and Becca instantly tensed, exchanging a quick glance that screamed no games. The infamous game night still fresh in their minds.

Orm noticed immediately. “No, no, not that mentally damaging game!” she said, waving her hands. “I mean something fun and easy. Like bowling!”

Becca relaxed a little and smiled. “Bowling sounds good.”

Freen nodded, a small smile breaking through. “Yeah, I’m in.”

Ling spoke up with a smile. “There’s a bowling place just around the corner. We could go there!”

Everyone nodded in agreement, eager for a change of pace. They started gathering their things, chatting lightly as they moved toward the door.

As Freen reached for her phone, she froze. Seven missed calls from Film stared back at her. Without a word, she slipped the phone into her pocket, choosing to ignore it for now.

Outside, walking toward the bowling alley, Becca’s phone buzzed suddenly she glanced down to see Namtan’s name flashing on the screen. She hesitated a moment, then answered.

“Hey,” Becca said cautiously, keeping her voice steady.

“Hey,” Namtan replied softly. “How are you doing?”

Becca swallowed and gave a short, clipped answer. “I’m okay.”

“Good, good,” Namtan replied softly. “I just wanted to check in, see how you’re holding up.”

Becca swallowed hard.

Namtan continued, her tone light but caring, “Can I come by? I’d love to see you, even if just for a little while.”

Becca glanced around, careful to keep her voice low. “I’m not home right now.”

Freen, walking beside her, subtly leaned closer, trying to catch the conversation without being obvious. Orm and Ling continued ahead, chatting and laughing.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Namtan said with a little chuckle, like it wasn’t a big deal. “No rush. Just whenever you’re ready.”

Becca could hear the genuine kindness in her voice.

“So, when do you think you might be back?” Namtan asked softly.

Becca hesitated. “I don’t know exactly… maybe later tonight.”

“That’s fine,” Namtan said warmly. “Just text me when you get home, okay? I want to make sure you’re alright.”

There was a brief silence.

“You know, if you ever want to talk… anything at all, I’m here,” Namtan said gently. “No pressure, no expectations. Just me, listening.”

Becca bit her lip, feeling a mixture of emotions. “Thanks, Namtan.”

“Of course,” Namtan replied with a sweet smile in her voice. “You’re important to me, Becca. Always.”

Becca took a shaky breath. “Yeah… I know.”

“Alright, I won’t keep you,” Namtan said softly. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” Becca promised.

“Talk soon,” Namtan said, then the line went quiet.

After Becca hung up the call, she slowly lowered the phone from her ear. Her eyes drifted to the side, and there was Freen already looking at her.

But the moment Becca turned her head, Freen quickly snapped her gaze forward, pretending to admire the sidewalk like it had suddenly become interesting.

Before Becca could say anything, Orm’s voice rang out ahead of them. “We’ve arrived, people! Prepare to be humbled.”

They stepped into the bowling alley, the sound of crashing pins and 2000s pop music filling the space. After buying a lane, they headed to the benches and began unlacing their shoes.

“Okay, okay,” Orm clapped her hands, clearly thriving in her natural habitat of chaos. “Let’s make it interesting. Two teams. Losers buy dinner. No excuses, no takebacks.”

“I’m in,” Ling said, stretching her arms like she was warming up for the Olympics.

“Same,” said Freen, calmly slipping off her shoes.

“Sure,” Becca said. “How are we splitting?”

Orm didn’t even blink. “Ling and I versus you and Freen.”

Becca paused, one shoe halfway on. “Wait, why not me and you versus them?”

Orm tilted her head and grinned like the devil himself. “Again, because I’m ovulating and I need to stay close to my mate.”

Freen snorted. “Oh my god.”

Ling turned bright red and dropped her head into her palm. “Orm, please.”

Becca slapped her hands over her ears. “Why did I even ask?”

“You brought this upon yourself,” Freen teased, smirking as she tied her laces.

Becca groaned. “Yes, yes, I accept responsibility for the trauma. I’m sorry, Freen. I’m so sorry, Lingling, deeply and sincerely.”

Orm gave her a thumbs-up, smirking. “We forgive you. But mostly because I’m feeling generous. It must be the hormones.”

Ling was crimson. “Can we please just go bowling before I die of secondhand embarrassment?”

Orm held up a peace sign. “Bowling and bonding, baby. Let’s go.”

They all laughed, even Freen. Though her eyes drifted to Becca a moment longer than necessary, just enough for Becca to notice before looking away.

They had barely gotten started when Freen sent her first ball sailing down the lane clean, smooth, confident. The pins exploded on impact. Strike.

Becca clapped enthusiastically. “Okay, okay! I see you!”

Becca was up next. She lined up her shot, did a little hop, and released.

The ball veered dramatically to the left, gently kissing the gutter.

Silence.

Becca turned around with her hands up. “It felt right when I let go.”

Orm snorted. “Felt wrong to everyone else, Beccy.”

Freen chuckled softly, already reaching for the score screen. “Don’t worry, I got us.”

They were ahead, thanks mostly to Freen’s laser-focused consistency. Becca managed a spare on her next turn, barely. Meanwhile, Ling and Orm lagged behind… until the moment everything changed.

Becca grinned across the lane and called to Orm, teasing her, smirking. “You better get your wallet ready. I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu tonight.”

Orm narrowed her eyes. “Oh really?”

Freen chuckled. “Bec, you're talking big for someone who just bowled a graceful three.”

Becca shrugged. “It’s called strategy. I boost morale, you do the hard work.”

Orm pointed a dramatic finger at Ling, who was up next.

“Alright, babe,” Orm called from behind. “If you get a strike, I’ll give you a full-body massage tonight. With the good oil. The expensive one I hide from you.”

Ling blinked. “Really?!”

“Dead serious. I’ll even warm it up.”

Freen and Becca exchanged amused glances.

Ling shrugged, rolled her shoulders back, and threw the ball. The lane lit up with ten pins flying in all directions.

“STRIKE?!” Becca leaned forward. “How did she…?”

Freen narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know. Her form looked like she was tossing a teddy bear.”

Orm clapped like a maniac. “YESSS! Oil time!”

Next frame. Orm upped the ante.

“Okay, next deal babe. You score another strike, I’ll wear that sheer lace thing you like. For a whole week .”

Ling’s eyebrows shot up. “The one ?”

Orm gave a slow, mischievous nod.

Ling's eyes locked on the pins like a laser. She walked up, spun the ball and made another strike.

“What is happening?” Freen whispered.

Becca stared in disbelief. “Is she even aiming?!”

Round after round, the pattern repeated. Every time Orm made a ridiculous promise, Ling delivered another impossible strike.

“If you get another strike, I’ll handwrite 20 reasons why I’m obsessed with you on glitter paper!”

STRIKE.

“If you land this, I’ll post a selfie of us with the caption: my queen, my world, my tax exemption.”

STRIKE.

Becca leaned toward Freen and whispered, “She's been possessed.”

Freen replied, “By the spirit of a very motivated girlfriend.”

Orm leaned back, she pointed at the scoreboard like a game show host. “Well, well, well, look at the score now” she said, grinning like the cat who’d just knocked over every vase in the house. “Who’s paying for dinner now?”

Her smirk was pure satisfaction. The same one Becca had worn earlier. Becca narrowed her eyes and pointed at her. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, I’m thriving ,” Orm said, stretching her arms behind her head. “Revenge has never been so...strike-filled.”

Becca rolled her eyes but grabbed her ball. It was her turn again. She stood at the lane, focused or trying to be.

Freen stood up beside her. “Alright,” she said quietly, hands behind her back. “I’m going to motivate you now. Just like Orm.”

Orm, already halfway to them, immediately perked up. “Oh? Oh? Let’s hear it, lawyer lady. What’s your grand seductive prize?”

Freen cleared her throat, face completely straight. “Becca… if you score a strike right now… I will… I’ll give you a free legal consultation.”

Becca blinked. 

Orm burst out laughing. “Wow, Freen. That’s the sexiest offer I’ve ever heard.”

Freen glared at her, then turned back to Becca. “It’s valuable! Hourly rate and everything.”

Becca tried to hold in her laugh as she approached the lane. She lined up, took a breath, and… gutter ball.

Orm nearly passed out from laughing. “The justice system has failed you!”

Becca groaned loudly and walked back to grab another ball.

“Okay,” Freen tried again, stepping closer. “If you get this one, I’ll teach you how to drive a car.”

Becca paused, glancing at her.

Then Orm said, “Becca had five driving instructors. None of them lasted more than two weeks.”

Freen smiled and looked at Becca. “Good thing I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Orm leaned in, nudging Freen. “You sure? You might want to get a helmet before you get in a car with her.”

Freen ignored her.

Becca’s lips curled into a quiet smile, eyes softening.

Orm grinned. “Oooohhh Becca. You better score this girl. I don’t think there’ll be anyone else with that much patience to teach you how to drive.”

Becca took a deep breath, then took aim again and…… missed.

She let out a groan, dramatically dropping her arms. “I’m never getting my license.”

Freen winced.

Orm clapped loudly. “Amazing. She’s consistent. I love that.”

Ling just giggled behind them, already holding her last ball.

It was the last round but Orm wasn’t holding back. “Okay babe, one more strike and I’ll sing you a love song in the middle of this bowling alley and backup dancers if I can find any.”

Ling nearly tripped over herself from laughing but rolled again….another strike. 

Orm let out a shout and jumped into her arms, wrapping her up in a hug before kissing her hard and proud, right on the lips.

Becca groaned, sliding back into her seat. “That’s cheating. Emotional bribery!”

Freen looked at the score screen. “We are crushed.”

“ You did great,” Becca said, patting her shoulder. “I’m just… here for the vibe.”

“Lucky me,” Freen teased, smiling.

Becca rolled her eyes and slapped her arm playfully.

Freen’s phone started vibrating in her pocket. She pulled it out, glanced at the screen. Film .

Becca saw it too.

Without a word, Freen slipped the phone back into her pocket, her eyes never leaving Becca’s.

Ling and Orm finally made their way back to where Becca and Freen were slumped in defeat on the bench, their shoes half untied, their pride somewhere in the gutter. 

Orm leaned back, arms crossed with a grin so smug it could win a trophy. She pointed at the scoreboard again. “Look at that, folks. The mighty Freen and Becca are suddenly in last place. And it’s all thanks to... Becca’s bowling skills!”

Becca groaned, “I don’t want to talk about it. I was under too much pressure!”

“Oh, you were under something,” Orm teased. “Definitely not coordination.”

Ling chuckled softly, sitting beside Orm. “You did your best.”

Becca looked at her. “Thank you, Lingling. See? That’s how you comfort someone after they ruin your lead.”

Orm poked her girlfriend. “Yeah, but we don’t need comfort, ‘cause we won. ”

Freen grinned at that. “To be fair, you won because you bribed your teammate with massages and lingerie.”

Orm proudly shrugged. “Motivation is a skill. Some use logic. I use lust.”

They all burst out laughing, even Becca, who leaned back looking at Freen and muttered, “Next time, we bring bribes too.”

Orm grinned wide. “Now that I want to see.”

They all laughed together and started getting ready to leave. 

As they stepped outside the bowling alley, Becca’s eyes caught a brightly lit sign just a few steps away.

“Hey,” she said, pointing with a grin, “there’s a karaoke place right there. Let’s do karaoke before dinner. It’s still early for dinner anyways!”

Orm’s face lit up. “Yes! Finally, a chance for me to embarrass myself again with my off-key singing.”

Ling laughed. “I’m in.”

Freen hesitated but smiled. “I’m in, but no promises I’ll actually sing.”

Before she could finish, Becca grabbed Freen’s hand with a playful tug. The sudden contact sent a jolt through Freen, her heart skipping a beat, pounding faster as heat spread through her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was nerves or something else, but she didn’t pull away.

“You definitely will,” Becca said, her eyes sparkling, already starting to drag Freen toward the entrance.

Freen laughed, breath catching for a second, and allowed herself to be pulled along, the quickened beat of her heart echoing the excitement and something more building between them.

Orm grabbed the mic first, grinning mischievously. “Alright, everyone, get ready for Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter!” She launched into the catchy pop tune, dancing around the small room with full energy. Her slightly off-key but enthusiastic singing had everyone laughing and clapping along.

When she finished with a dramatic flourish, Becca didn’t waste a second. “Now, our turn! Orm, let’s do a duet.” The music switched and the opening notes of Umbrella by Rihanna filled the room. Becca’s smooth voice blended perfectly with Orm’s as they sang together, sometimes teasing, sometimes playful, and always full of fun. 

Next, Orm invited Ling to the stage, Ling's nerves fading away when Orm joined her for Die With a Smile . Their voices surprisingly harmonized well, and they both laughed through the fun but challenging parts. The song ended, and Ling smiled shyly before leaning in to kiss Orm lovingly.

When it was Becca’s turn to sing alone, she chose Run Away With Me by Carly Rae Jepsen. Her voice was soft yet confident, carrying a mix of longing and hope that filled the room.

Freen, sitting nearby, couldn’t take her eyes off Becca. She found her so pretty, so radiant under the soft lights, and the way Becca’s voice soared made her heart beat faster and faster, her breath catching without her realizing.

When Becca finished, she opened her eyes and looked toward Freen with a gentle smile.

“Come on,” Becca said softly, “just one song with me?”

Freen shook her head shyly, but before she could retreat, Orm and Ling began chanting, “Freen! Freen! Freen!”

Becca called sweetly from the stage, “I’ll sing with you, I promise.”

Then she added, “Please?” in a voice so cute even Freen couldn’t resist.

Freen’s heart thumped again as she looked at Becca’s warm eyes, then at the eager faces of the others. Slowly, she stood up, ready to join in.

They all clapped and cheered as Freen stepped onto the stage, her nervousness slightly easing with their support. Becca handed her the tablet, grinning warmly. “Which song do you want us to sing?”

Freen glanced at the screen, biting her lip. “I don’t know many songs…”

Becca smiled reassuringly. “That’s okay, just pick something you like.”

After a few moments of scrolling, Freen’s thumb hovered over a song: Beginning Middle End by Leah Nobel. Becca’s eyes lit up as she noticed the choice and smiled at Freen. “I know this one! If you do too, we can totally do it together.”

Caught off guard by Becca’s smile, Freen nodded, feeling a flutter in her chest. Becca selected the song, and the music started playing.

Sometimes, you get what you've always been wishing for
And most times, it's not on your deadline, but that's alright
I was worn out and jaded from trying on people to love
But you fit so well

When they ask why I can never explain
But a symphony played when you told me your name
And I took that as a sign

Here, Becca sang most of the lines, her voice soft and steady, filling the room. Freen joined in only with a few words here and there, mostly watching Becca, her eyes fixed on her, quietly singing along.

(Then came the chorus.)

Will you be my beginning, my middle, my end?
Will you be my beginning, my middle, my end?
Will you be my beginning, my middle, my end?
Will you be mine?

At that moment, Freen stood quietly beside Becca, watching her with tender, loving eyes. Becca, focused on singing, smiled warmly at Freen, trying to encourage her to join in. But when Becca started singing this part, something shifted in Freen. It was as if Becca wasn’t just singing the song. She was singing it to her. Freen looked at Becca with a tenderness she couldn’t hide, and the butterflies in her stomach, the ones she thought had long settled, stirred and danced again, filling her with a quiet, sudden hope.

Before the next part started, Becca laughed and called out, “Freen, don’t just stand there! Sing with me! Help me out!” Her playful teasing filled the room, making Freen smile and finally step forward to join her on the mic. 

So on the next part, Freen began singing softly alongside Becca, a shy smile playing on her lips. But her eyes never left Becca’s face. She was completely captivated, lost in the moment and in her.

Sometimes, it's hard to see what the future holds
And most times, it feels like a steep climb, and that's alright
There's magic in details, the tender small gestures of love
And the way they all add up
When they ask why I can never explain
But a symphony played when you told me your name
And it sounded like a sign

While they sang, Orm nudged Ling with a laugh. “That’s my girl! Took Freen right out of her shell.”

Ling, however, kept watching Becca and Freen with a worried look. Orm noticed and teased, “Babe, why so serious? You look like you’re at a funeral. Are we even watching the same thing?”

Ling glanced at Orm and said with a serious tone, “This is not good, Orm. Something is shifting between those two. That’s… not good at all.”

Orm’s smile faded, and she turned her full attention back to the stage, eyes narrowing as she watched the pair sing together.

When the next part of the song came, Freen didn’t hold back anymore. She sang with all her heart, her voice rich and clear, filling the room with emotion. At one point, she reached out and gently took Becca’s hand, their fingers intertwining naturally. Her eyes never left Becca’s face, shining with something deep and unspoken.

As she sang…

Will you be my beginning, my middle, my end?
Will you be my beginning, my middle, my end?
Will you be my beginning, my middle, my end?
Will you be mine?
Five years later and I'm still yours
Ten years later and I'm still yours
Fifty years later and I'm still your beginning and middle and end...

Freen leaned in slightly, her voice softening, almost like a tender confession. She gently brushed a stray hair behind Becca’s ear, her touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Her smile was warm but vulnerable, and the room seemed to hold its breath as the two sang in perfect harmony, hearts beating quietly but fiercely in sync.

Then they reached this last part

Will you be my beginning, my middle, my end?
Will you be my beginning, my middle, my end?
Will you be my beginning, my middle, my end?
Will you be mine?

As Freen sang this last part, her voice started trembling just a little with feelings, she squeezed Becca’s hand gently, like a silent promise. Her eyes glistened under the dim lights, full of warmth and something fragile yet fierce.

When she sang the last line, Freen’s voice softened, almost like a question whispered just for Becca. Her eyes locked onto Becca’s, full of hope and something raw and tender. For a heartbeat, it felt like time slowed down. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, connected by the music and the unspoken promises wrapped within those words. Freen’s hand tightened gently around Becca’s, grounding herself and silently asking, Will you be mine?

Chapter Text

When the song ended, the room echoed with the final note and Becca turned to Freen, beaming. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled with playful pride. "You did it! Seriously, I'm so proud of you," she said with a huge grin.

Freen smiled back softly, still holding Becca’s hand loosely in hers, her heart hammering so loud it almost drowned out everything else. She didn’t say anything.

She couldn’t.

Her throat felt tight and her chest ached in a way she wasn’t ready to examine. 

Becca had no idea. 

No idea what she just had done.

Back on the couch, Ling sat rigidly, hands clasped in front of her like she was in a courtroom, her eyes locked on Freen like she was trying to decipher a witness under oath. Her face gave nothing away, but something in her stare was quietly shattering.

Orm, who was usually cracking jokes or making some cheeky comment, sat unusually still beside her. She glanced from Ling to the stage, then back again, a small line forming between her brows.

“Babe…” Orm murmured, her voice low, unsure.

Ling didn’t respond, not at first. She kept her gaze fixed on the two women still standing too close on the stage, caught in their own little world.

“Tell me I’m imagining this,” she finally said, barely above a whisper.

Orm tried to laugh, tried to shake it off like she always did. “Maybe it’s just the karaoke magic?” she offered, her tone light, but it fell flat. Her usual charm wasn’t there.

Because deep down, they both saw it.

And it was definitely not just the karaoke.

Becca, still glowing from the performance, turned her head and caught sight of Orm and Ling staring at them intensely. Too intensely. Her smile faltered just slightly. “Why are they looking at us like that?” she thought.

Freen followed her gaze and the moment her eyes met Orm’s, then Ling’s, something in her shifted. Her fingers uncurled from Becca’s hand almost instinctively, and she took half a step back. Her smile faded, replaced with a flash of self-consciousness, like someone had just flipped a light on in a room she didn’t want anyone to see.

Becca, confused, looked between Orm and Ling. Trying to brush it off, she raised her microphone and asked, “What?”

The speaker let out a high-pitched screech of feedback that was so piercing, the entire room flinched.

Everyone jumped.

“Aghh!” Orm slapped her hands over her ears dramatically. 

“Sorry,” Becca said automatically right into the mic again. Another squeal rang out, somehow worse than the first.

“ SOMEONE PLEASEEEE GET THAT MIC OFF HER! ” Orm shouted, half-laughing, half-in-pain, hands still glued to the sides of her head. “ I’m losing hearing in both ears and my will to live! ”

Becca winced, then carefully placed the microphone back on its stand like it was a fragile weapon she wasn’t allowed to touch again “No one breath near it,” she muttered and made her way back to the couch.

Freen did the same and followed quietly, her face calm again, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. They both sank into the soft cushions, the buzz of adrenaline still in their limbs.

“So…” Becca said, turning to the others with a grin, “how did we do?”

Orm raised her brows, took a dramatic pause and said, “As always, you were like Taylor Swift up there.”

Becca lit up.

“Apart from the ending, where you almost made us deaf,” Orm added dryly.

Becca let out a playful groan. “I said I'm sorry!”

They all burst into chuckles. Becca covered her face, laughing. “That mic was out for blood, I swear!”

Still chuckling, she looked over at Freen. “How’d you find Freen?” she asked Orm, nodding toward the quiet girl beside her.

Orm tilted her head thoughtfully. “Hmm. Freen’s like those singers who go on world tours but barely sing a word. They just hold the mic out and expect the fans to sing everything.”

She smirked and added, “So in this situation, Becca… you’re the fan.”

Laughter broke out again, Freen smiling despite herself.

Ling, still watching closely, joined in. “She’s more like Justin Timberlake.”

“No way, babe,” Orm said, turning to her with a face. “At least Justin Timberlake dances. Freen just stood there… staring at Becca like SHE was the damn concert!”

The laughter hit again. 

But Freen’s smile faltered. She looked down, fingers playing with the edge of a cushion, quiet again.

Becca noticed. “Well, I don’t care what you guys think,” she said warmly. “I’m proud of Freen. At least she didn’t leave me hanging up there. She could’ve said no…but she didn’t.”

Freen lifted her gaze to her, surprised, but the moment her eyes met Becca’s, she smiled softly, sweetly. That smile that was only for her.

Across from them, Ling and Orm exchanged a glance.

Ling’s eyes said, See what I was talking about?

And Orm’s slight nod, followed by the tightening of her jaw, quietly said, You were right.

Freen's smile lingered for a second longer then her gaze flickered, almost involuntarily, down to Becca’s lips. 

It was just a second. 

But it was enough to make her heart skip a beat.

She didn’t even realize she was staring until Orm’s voice pulled her back to reality. 

“Okay, losers! ” Orm declared with a wide grin. “We’re hungry. And you guys owe us dinner, remember? That bet? You gotta feed me now.”

Becca laughed. “Fine, fine. Where do you guys wanna eat?”

The group looked around at each other. Ling shrugged. Then Freen cleared her throat and said, “I don’t mind… but since we lost, I think Ling and Orm should have the right to choose.”

Orm grinned like she’d just won the lottery. “I’m craving Italian. Let’s go to that Italian place. The one with the brick oven and the tiramisu that makes me weep.”

Becca chuckled. “Deal. But we’ll need to drive, right?”

“Yeah,” Ling confirmed. “It’s too far to walk.”

“Perfect,” Becca said. “Let’s go before Orm starts crying about tiramisu.”

“Too late,” Orm fake-sniffled dramatically.

They all laughed as they grabbed their things and headed out. 

They walked toward the garage where Ling’s and Freen’s cars were parked. 

When they reached the garage, Orm turned to Freen with casual cheer. “Freen, do you know the address of the restaurant?”

Before Freen could answer, Becca jumped in, “No need, I’ll give her the directions.”

But Orm quickly cut in, shaking her head. “No, no. You’re coming with us. ”

Becca blinked. “Huh? Why?”

Even Freen furrowed her brows.

Orm shot them both a sweet but suspiciously tight-lipped smile. “I need to ask you something, Becca. And it can’t wait.”

Ling nodded as she looked at Becca. 

Becca opened her mouth to argue, but before she could get a word out, Freen spoke up. “It’s okay. I know where the restaurant is. You can go with them.”

Becca hesitated, her eyes flicking between Freen and Orm, but Freen offered a small, reassuring smile.

“I’ll see you guys there,” she said simply, then turned and walked to her car.

Becca stood there for a second longer, watching Freen leave. Then Orm slung an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward Ling’s car. “Come on, superstar. Let’s talk.”

Freen slid into the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut gently behind her. The click echoed through the quiet garage. She sat still for a moment, gripping the wheel, heart still racing. 

Not from the drive, but from the stage… from her.

She let out a shaky breath and leaned back in her seat, tilting her head against the headrest. Her eyes fluttered closed.

After a beat, she sat up and looked at herself in the rearview mirror.

“What’s happening to you…” she whispered, barely recognizing the look in her own eyes.

She didn’t even try to fix the expression. There was no point.

Her hand moved automatically to her phone. She turned on the screen, expecting to search for the restaurant’s address, But her heart dropped the moment the screen lit up.

15 missed calls. 

All from Film.

Her chest tightened.

The notifications were also stacking on top of each other:

Freen, why don’t you pick up?
Freen, pick up please!
At least just text… let me know you’re safe!!!
Please babe, I’m starting to get worried.

Each message hit like a dull thud. Familiar. Heavy.

She stared at the screen, thumb hesitating… then she typed out:

I'm okay. Don’t wait up.

She sent it. 

Freen blinked hard, shoved the guilt somewhere deep, and pulled up the restaurant’s address. The navigation voice chirped to life, too chipper for the mood.

As she started the car and began driving out of the garage, the weight of Film’s messages sat quietly beside her. But her mind had already drifted somewhere else.

To the karaoke room.
To Becca’s smile.
To the sound of her voice singing Will you be mine?
To the way their hands fit, fingers brushing.
To the soft laugh that made something flutter in Freen’s chest she thought had long stopped working.

She tried to shake it off, grip tightening on the wheel.

But no matter how fast she drove, the sound of Becca’s voice stayed with her.

And somehow, that scared her more than anything.

As Ling guided the car smoothly out of the garage, the low hum of the engine filled the silence. Orm lounged comfortably in the passenger seat, scrolling through the music on her phone. 

Becca, sitting behind Orm, leaned forward. “So… what did you guys want to ask me?”

Ling opened her mouth ready to say something but before a single syllable came out, Orm slapped a hand dramatically onto Ling’s thigh.

“Babe, focus on the road,” she said smoothly. “You already drive like it’s Mario Kart when you're not emotional. Let me handle this.”

Ling shot her a side glance but didn’t argue. Becca raised an eyebrow.

Orm twisted slightly in her seat to face Becca, her grin spreading like she was about to drop the juiciest gossip of the year. “So...What’s going on between you and Freen?”

Becca blinked, confused. “Huh?”

Orm gave her a look. “Don’t ‘huh’ me. You heard me. That duet? The hand holding? The heart eyes ? I was five seconds away from handing out wedding invitations!”

Becca let out a sharp laugh. “Orm, you’re being ridiculous…”

“I’m being observant ,” Orm cut in, pointing a finger at her like a lawyer making a closing argument. “That was not just ‘let’s sing for fun’ energy. That was K-drama slow burn episode fifteen energy. That was ‘we almost kissed in the rain but then the credits rolled’ energy!”

Ling, still staring at the road, muttered, “She’s not wrong.”

Becca's eyes flicked between them, confusion creeping in.

Orm leaned closer. “So? Spill. Should we start planning your stage name? Freenbecky? Beckyfreen? Reencca? Wait, wait…Frecca? Oh god, that one sounds like a Scandinavian furniture brand. Never mind, cancel that!”

Becca sat up straighter, brows drawn. Her voice rose slightly. “What are you talking about? We were just singing. It was karaoke. We only sang one song!”

Orm raised an eyebrow. “Oh please. That wasn’t karaoke babe. One song that looked like a proposal. Girl, she was singing with her soul and was looking at you like you were a dessert.”

Becca let out a short, disbelieving laugh, her irritation starting to show. “Orm, seriously. Freen is married. And I’m with Namtan.”

Orm shot her a look. “But you and Namtan broke up.”

Becca frowned, frustrated. “It’s… not official yet.”

Ling, quiet until now, added, “Still... the way Freen was looking at you…”

Becca scoffed and cut in, her voice sharper than intended. “She wasn’t looking at me like anything. She’s just going through something. Maybe she was thankful I was there when she needed to get out of her head.”

Orm raised an eyebrow. “Something happened between her and Film?”

Becca looked out the window, her expression tightening. “And Namtan, I think. But I don’t know, because SOMEONE” she looked pointedly at Orm “decided to show up RIGHT when she was about to tell me.”

Orm’s brows lifted at Becca’s tone, and guilt began to creep in. “Hey, hey. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to push. I just didn’t want to leave you alone today. I knew about the breakup… I figured you might need some backup.”

Becca’s eyes softened, and she sighed. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Orm gave her a gentle smile. “We’re just worried about you, Bec. That’s all. We only want what’s best for you. You know that right?”

Ling nodded silently in agreement, her eyes catching Becca’s briefly in the rearview mirror.

Becca nodded and then added. “There’s nothing going on between Freen and me, okay?” Becca said firmly.

Orm didn’t argue. She just said gently, “Okay… but just be careful, alright? Don’t give her any mixed signals. You’ve already had enough chaos in your life.”

Becca, still looking out the window, let out another sigh. “I won’t.”

Orm caught the tension still sitting on Becca’s face and decided it was time to lighten the mood. So she said, “Also…not to alarm you or anything, but Film kinda terrifies me. So maybe don’t mess with her wife, yeah?”

Becca blinked in surprise then let out a small laugh. “I won’t.”

Orm grinned, satisfied, and reached her hand toward Becca. Without hesitation, Becca took it.

“I love you so much, sis,” Orm said, giving her fingers a soft, reassuring squeeze.

Becca’s laugh melted into something tender. “I love you too.”

Orm gave one last squeeze, then faced forward again, sinking back into the seat with a smile.

Ling was stopped at a red light, so she glanced over at Orm, who was already looking at her.

They didn’t say a word, but their eyes said too much.

Silence wrapped around them as the car glided down the road, headlights carving a path through the night toward the restaurant.

But Becca’s mind still didn't.

What if Ling and Orm were right?

What if Freen was falling for her?

She thought about the way Freen’s eyes lingered. How she looked at her on stage, how she reached for her hand like she didn’t want to let go. How she glanced down at her lips…

Becca scoffed to herself under her breath and shook her head.

“No way,” she muttered with a nervous laugh. “That’s… impossible.”

The brick-lined exterior of the restaurant glowed warmly in the night. Lights strung across the entryway like a promise of comfort and good food. The scent of roasted garlic and fresh herbs wafted through the air, cutting through the late evening chill.

Becca stepped out of Ling’s car and immediately spotted Freen.

She was standing just outside the entrance, one hand in her jacket, the other holding her phone loosely by her side. Her posture was casual, but her eyes were scanning the sidewalk with a quiet intensity. As soon as she saw them, her face changed. 

The armor was back.

That expression Freen wore like a uniform, the one she slipped on when she didn’t want anyone to see what was really going on inside her. Blank and quiet.

Freen straightened, her eyes lingering on Becca a second too long before glancing at Orm and Ling. “Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey,” Orm returned, voice light but not quite carefree.

Ling gave a small nod of greeting as they walked up. Then she muttered, “I’ll go see if there’s a table,” and slipped into the restaurant.

“Have you been waiting long?” Becca, catching Freen’s gaze again, asked. 

“Not really,” Freen said, completely emotionless. “I parked a few minutes before you.”

Becca nodded slowly, not sure what to say to that. There was something off about Freen now, and Becca felt it. The warmth she used to carry before was just… gone.

The silence stretched again, not quite comfortable, not quite uncomfortable either.

Orm stood between them, glanced around at the suddenly stiff silence, and let out a short laugh that didn’t quite land. “Okay, wow. This silence is louder than my student loan debt.”

No one reacted.

She blinked. “Right. Cool. Love that for me.”

Orm took a slow, exaggerated step backward. “I’m gonna go inside now before the awkward silence physically knocks me out.”

She gave them both an exaggerated thumbs up, then spun on her heel and marched toward the restaurant doors, muttering to herself, “Honestly, I deserve a medal for surviving that.”

The glass door swung shut behind her, and just like that, it was quiet again.

Freen stepped aside to let Becca go ahead, but Becca paused beside her for a moment. She glanced up.

“You okay?” she asked, voice low.

Freen hesitated. “Yeah,” she said, with a small shrug. “I’m fine.”

But Becca didn’t let go just yet. Her brows pulled slightly together. “You don’t look fine.”

Freen looked down for a moment, like she was trying to pick the right words off the pavement. “About earlier,” she said carefully, “I didn’t mean to make things weird. If I did.”

Becca shook her head and smiled. “You didn’t. I actually had fun”

Freen’s eyes met hers again, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.

At that moment Becca remembered Orm’s words. “Don’t give her any mixed signals.”

“Besides, it was just… a song.” Becca said quickly.

Freen’s eyes flicked up to hers. The armor back again. “Right. Just a song.”

Then the restaurant door opened behind them, and Orm leaned out dramatically. “GUYS! We got a table! AND the waitress said if we order four tiramisus, the fifth one is free, and if THAT’S not fate, I don’t know what is!” With that, she disappeared back inside.

Becca blinked and laughed. “We should go in.”

Freen nodded, quietly, then stepped aside to let Becca enter first.

As she followed her in, her phone buzzed again.

A new message from Film.

Babe, Where are you?

Freen stared at it,  just for a moment.

Then she slipped her phone back into her pocket  and stepped into the restaurant. 

Into the warmth, into the noise, into whatever this was becoming.

The host led them through the cozy bustle of the restaurant, weaving between tables until they reached one dead center in the room. Classic. Right in the spotlight.

Freen slid into one of the chairs first, her usual quiet presence settling into the space like a gentle wave. 

Becca followed, taking the seat next to her without thinking.

But the moment her butt hit the cushion, Orm froze behind her like she’d just witnessed a personal betrayal. She stood across the table, arms crossed, her mouth twisted into an exaggerated scowl.

Becca caught the look and raised her brows. “What? What did I do now?”

Orm pointed at her with the slow, dramatic flair of a soap opera villain. “So NOW you wanna sit next to JUSTIN , huh?!”

Ling nearly choked on her own breath, and Freen’s head snapped toward Orm with wide, startled eyes. Becca blinked then burst out laughing.

Then she leaned back, smirking. “Please! You made it crystal clear you wanted to be as physically close as legally allowed to your ‘mate,’ so I didn’t dare to even think about it.”

The entire table cracked up. Ling actually snorted. Orm threw her hands in the air. “Unbelievable! I’m going to have to talk about this in therapy.”

Even the stoic, always watching Freen let out a sudden laugh

Becca glanced at her, surprised and a little proud.

“See?” Orm said, pointing triumphantly at Freen. “Even Justin’s laughing. We broke her.”

“Don’t call me that,” Freen said, still smiling.

Orm grinned, satisfied, and flopped into the seat next to Ling. “Fine. You can be Freenlake.”

Ling muttered, smiling. “God help us, we only just got here.”

Becca grinned into her menu. “Better buckle up.”

Once they’d all finally sat down and stopped bickering about seating arrangements, the group turned their attention to the menus.

“Okay,” Orm said, flipping hers open dramatically. “I’m starving. If I don’t eat carbs in the next ten minutes, I might start chewing on the napkin.”

“Please don’t,” Ling murmured without looking up. “We’re already getting stared at. Don’t add napkin consumption to the list.”

They each placed their orders, with Orm asking the server if they had “emotional support garlic bread,” which earned her a slow blink and a reply with a straight-faced, “I’ll check with the kitchen.”

“Great. Add two, please,” Orm said brightly.

After the server left, the table finally relaxed.

They sipped their drinks and settled into an easy rhythm of small talk, laughter, and a few too-loud reactions that made nearby tables glance over.

Becca was mid-sip when Orm leaned forward with a look that screamed I have something chaotic to confess.

"Okay, I need to tell you guys what happened last Friday," Orm said like she was starting a TED Talk. "Becca, brace yourself, because you were indirectly involved."

Becca raised an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be framed for something?”

Orm grinned. “Because you work with me. That’s already suspicious.”

Becca sighed, smiling. 

Orm looked around the table. “So, you know how I’ve been losing my mind over the new intern?”

Becca gave her a side-eye. “You say that about every intern.”

“Right, but this one actually deserves it,” Orm said. “On Friday morning, she asked me if we print emails!”

Becca snorted. “ What? ”

Orm leaned forward, clearly relishing the chaos. “She turned to me with full sincerity and asked, ‘Should I print the email before I forward it to the client?’”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Becca blinked. “Wait… why?!”

“Exactly,” Orm said, arms flailing. “Like forwarding was too digital for her and she needed a hard copy to spiritually approve it.”

Ling groaned. Freen let out a small laugh behind her glass. 

“Oh god,” Becca said, “Please tell me you didn’t say anything inappropriate."

Orm threw her hands up. “I didn’t! I held it in like a professional!”

“That’s very good of you! I’m actually proud that, for once, you stayed professional,” Becca said to Orm, smiling pleasantly surprised.

“Me too!” Orm said, excited. “But remember how I was secretly emailing Ling during that painfully boring meeting?”

Becca nodded. 

“I was trying to send her this very detailed rant about our new intern,” Orm continued. “Like, full breakdown. I literally wrote, ‘If this intern breathes near the printer again, I’m going to lose my last brain cells.’”

Becca laughed, already wincing. “Please tell me that’s not where this is going.”

Orm nodded solemnly. “I sent it to Linda… OUR BOSS LINDA!!!”

The table collectively gasped.

Well, except for Ling, who already knew the story.

There was a moment of stunned silence, then all four of them burst out laughing.

“What did your boss say?” Freen asked, already bracing.

Orm shrugged. “She replied with: ‘Thanks for the feedback. We’ll discuss it in your next review.’ Honestly, I don’t know if I’m fired or promoted.”

Even Freen was laughing now. Head tilted back slightly, one hand covering her mouth as her eyes crinkled with genuine amusement. It wasn’t just a polite chuckle this time. It was real, full-bodied laughter, the kind that escaped before she could stop it.

Becca noticed. She didn’t know why it struck her so deeply, why she suddenly couldn’t look away. Maybe it was the sound, or the ease of it. Or maybe it was just rare seeing Freen like this. Whatever it was, it lingered with her longer than it should have. But before anyone could catch her staring, she shifted her gaze back to Orm. 

“You’re a menace,” Becca said, wiping her eyes.

“I swear,” Orm said, placing a hand over her heart, “I basically submitted evidence to HR against myself. But if I don’t get fired, I better get a raise for morale-boosting services.”

Ling rolled her eyes. “You bring chaos and potential lawsuits.”

Orm grinned, leaned toward Ling teasingly and said. “Thats why I keep you around, my love.  For emotional support AND court support. You're basically my ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card.”

Ling shook her head, smiling and blushing slightly, caught off guard by Orm’s teasing but clearly amused.

That made the group erupt in laughter once more.

At that exact moment, Freen noticed how she was laughing. Freely, carelessly, like the world had never touched her. It made her pause. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this light. For a second, it stunned her, because she was sure that version of herself had disappeared long ago. Her gaze drifted to the three people surrounding her, their voices overlapping, their energy effortless. And just like that, it hit her. Maybe her old self wasn’t gone after all. Maybe it had just been waiting. Waiting for the right people to bring her back. Maybe there was still hope for her after all.

The laughter faded into soft giggles and the sound of plates arriving nearby. The food would be out soon. For now, it was good, normal. No tension, no weirdness. Just a group of friends at a table and disaster stories keeping things afloat.

By the time their dinner plates were cleared, the table had settled into that warm, sleepy lull that followed good food and good company. Conversation slowed, the kind that curled at the edges with contentment.

Then came dessert.

Just as the server had promised, she returned balancing a tray with five glass dishes of tiramisu.

“Special tonight,” she said with a grin. “Buy four, get one free. Enjoy.”

She set the tray down and walked off without another word, leaving behind five perfectly layered tiramisus and a very quiet table.

Everyone reached for one without hesitation. Everyone except Orm, who paused dramatically before choosing.

The fifth dessert remained untouched, sitting innocently in the middle of the table like a prize in a game no one else wanted to play.

Several minutes passed, spoons clinking softly, light chatter drifting between bites. Until, finally, Becca pushed her empty dish away with a groan. “Okay, I’m officially done. I can’t even look at another bite.”

“Same,” Freen agreed, wiping her mouth delicately. “My stomach’s filing a complaint.”

Orm had cleaned her dish with impressive efficiency and was now quietly, not so subtly, staring at the untouched fifth dessert in the middle of the table.

Ling caught her looking and smirked.

“You want that one too?” she asked sweetly, chin resting on her hand. “That’s so interesting. Because I was just thinking maybe I wanted it.”

Orm narrowed her eyes. “You literally said you were full five minutes ago.”

“Full of dinner,” Ling replied, casually. 

Orm sat up straighter. “You know what? Let’s arm wrestle for it.”

“Come on, you know I’ll win,” Ling teased, smirking.

“That’s... probably true,” Orm muttered, pouting. 

Then Freen, still calmly dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin, said, “Well…in my opinion, Orm should have it. She gave Ling the boost when we were bowling, remember?”

Orm froze. Her face lit up like she'd just won a game show.

“Oh my god, you’re so right!” She snatched the plate so fast it was halfway gone before anyone could blink. “You’re officially my favorite person at this table,” she said to Freen, pointing her spoon at her.

Ling raised a brow, smirking. “Even more than me?”

Orm nodded mid-bite. “For now.”

Ling rolled her eyes, grinning as Orm practically inhaled the tiramisu.

“You're lucky you're cute,” she muttered. “Or I’d fight you for it.”

“You had your shot,” Orm replied, mouth full. “Freen backed me. The law has spoken.”

The group laughed again, full and warm. 

Orm, victorious and armed with the fifth tiramisu, dug in with dramatic flair. But after just a few bites, she paused, scooped up a generous spoonful, and turned to Ling with a grin.

“Alright, my love. Open up. This is the taste of victory.”

Ling rolled her eyes but leaned in anyway. “If this is because you feel guilty for eating the last one…”

“It’s because I feel generous, ” Orm corrected, feeding her a bite like they were in a cheesy romcom. “Also, a little smug. But mostly generous.”

Ling laughed, half-mocking, half-sweet, and leaned in for another bite.

Across the table, Becca and Freen watched them quietly. 

Then Becca turned to Freen, catching her gaze.

“You just made her whole day, you know,” Becca said, smiling gently. 

Freen blinked, like she hadn’t expected her to speak. Then she smiled too, a quiet curve of her lips. “Yeah… maybe.”

But instead of holding eye contact, her gaze slipped down to Becca’s mouth, right where that smile lived.

Then she caught herself and looked back up quickly. Too quickly.

Becca noticed.

But she didn’t say anything. 

The moment had barely settled between them when Becca’s phone buzzed on the table.

She glanced down. 

Namtan.

Freen saw it too. 

The air thinned a little as she quietly picked it up and pressed it to her ear. “Hey.”

Freen looked away, focusing intently on her half-finished water glass.

“Not yet,” Becca said softly into the phone. “I’m still out.”

There was a pause. Her voice dropped a touch as she added, “Yeah. I’ll call you when I get home.”

That was all. Short, flat. She hung up and set the phone screen-down on the table.

Freen’s shoulders stiffened. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ice in her glass, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. The part of her—the old self—that had started to rise to the surface a minute ago slipped back down, retreating to the deepest place it had hidden for so long. The thought made her sad, but she kept her stoic face firmly in place.

Orm raised an eyebrow. “Oh wow,” she said. “She can’t wait to make it up with you. That girl’s nothing if not consistent.”

Becca didn’t respond. She just exhaled through her nose and offered the smallest shrug, eyes fixed on the table.

A tense beat passed.

Then Freen cleared her throat, her voice even but clipped. “If you guys are done… should I ask for the bill?”

There was a round of silent nods, no objections.

She raised a hand and caught the server’s eye.

A few minutes later, the check arrived in a neat little folder. Before Becca tried to reach for it, Freen already slid it toward herself.

Becca leaned over slightly. “Hey, let's split it.”

Freen shook her head with a small smile. “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

Becca hesitated, but the softness in Freen’s voice made it hard to argue. She sat back, watching as Freen reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her wallet.

She slid her card into the folder and handed it to the server, but just before it was taken, she stopped. “Wait! Actually, is it possible to pay in cash instead?”

The server nodded. “Of course.”

Freen tucked her card back into her wallet and unzipped the billfold section, pulling out a few crisp notes. She counted quietly, precise and focused.

Everyone else had gone back to chatting. Orm trying to recall what time she was supposed to wake up for work tomorrow, and Becca teased her about always forgetting.

No one seemed to think much of the switch.

Except for Ling.

She watched Freen for a moment, eyes narrowing just slightly.

But she didn’t say anything.

She just gave a small smile when Freen looked up. Freen smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach all the way.

After the bill was settled, everyone stood up to leave. 

As they stepped outside the restaurant, jackets on and the night air settling around them, Becca subtly opened her phone and started searching for a taxi.

Freen caught it immediately. “You don’t need to do that,” Freen said, already pulling out her keys. “I’ll drive you home.”

Becca looked up, a bit surprised, but before she could answer, Ling stepped in, her voice calm but clearly protective. “It’s alright, we will take her.”

Becca quickly tried to wave them both off. “It’s okay, really. My place is in the opposite direction. A taxi makes more sense. I don’t want to make your night longer.”

Freen kept her tone light but steady. “I don’t mind. I asked you to come out today. So, it’s the least I can do.”

Ling opened her mouth, clearly about to push back, when Orm stepped in between them. “Oh my god,” she said. “Why does this suddenly feel like a custody hearing? You’re both lawyers. You can argue about this for hours, but Bec and I don't have energy for that!” 

Everyone blinked.

Orm pointed between Freen and Ling. “If you keep standing here arguing, Becca’s probably gonna walk home just to avoid the drama.”

That earned a soft laugh from Becca, and even Freen cracked the hint of a grin. But Ling kept her face perfectly straight.

Orm continued, looking at Ling. “Also babe, you can either let Freen take her, or you can listen to me snore in the backseat for 30 minutes. Choose wisely.”

Ling finally exhaled, then smiled and looked at Freen. “Fine.”

Becca gave Ling a grateful look and tucked her phone away.

They all exchanged quick goodbyes under the soft glow of the parking lot lights. Becca leaned in to hug Orm tightly.

“Text me when you’re home,” Orm said, patting her on the back. “And see you tomorrow. Bright and early. Ugh.”

Becca gave a quiet laugh. “Okay, I will. Get some sleep.”

Ling gave a gentle hug to Becca and turned to Freen. “Drive safe.”

“Goodnight,” Freen said simply.

With that, Ling and Orm made their way to their own car. 

Freen turned to Becca. “This way.”

They walked side by side across the lot, the silence between them oddly familiar now. When they reached Freen’s car, she opened the passenger door without a word, stepping aside to let Becca in.

Becca glanced at her, offering a soft, almost grateful smile.

But Freen didn’t return it. Her face remained composed. Guarded, even.

Becca hesitated for a moment, then got in.

The door shut gently behind her, the sound light but final.

The car moved steadily through the late-night streets, the glow of passing streetlights casting fleeting shadows across Freen’s face. She kept her eyes on the road, one hand resting loosely on the wheel, the other on her thigh.

Becca finally spoke, her voice low. “You didn’t have to drive me. I could’ve gotten a taxi.”

Freen kept her eyes on the road. “It’s the least I can do.”

Becca turned slightly in her seat to face her more. “I just... I don’t know if I actually helped you tonight. You never told me what happened. So I guess I’m not sure what I was even supposed to be helping with.”

Freen stayed quiet for a beat. Then, without taking her eyes off the road, she said simply, “You helped.”

Becca held her gaze, waiting for more.

Finally, she asked again, “So... what happened last night?”

Freen’s grip on the steering wheel shifted slightly. Then gave a faint exhale. “Not much to tell.”

Becca tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Freen.”

A beat. Then another.

Finally, Freen said, “Namtan showed up. At our place. Crying.”

Becca’s breath caught. Her voice came out smaller. “Because of me.”

Freen nodded once. “Yeah.”

Becca looked down at her hands. “I didn’t mean for it to be a breakup. I just needed some space, but she didn’t even understand that. And I couldn’t keep quiet anymore.”

“I know,” Freen said, finally glancing at her. “You don’t have to explain.”

There was silence again. 

Then Becca asked. “So... what did she say?”

Freen hesitated, then shrugged. “Not much. Just that you left. That she didn’t see it coming. Film sat with her. Talked her down. Held her while she cried.”

Becca’s throat tightened. “And you?”

“I texted you,” Freen said, almost too flatly.

Becca kept listening, her eyes still fixed on Freen.

Then Freen gave a tight smile, eyes still on the road. “It wasn't the first awkward night in that apartment. Probably won’t be the last.”

Becca didn’t know what to say to that.

After a few more moments, Freen added, quieter, “But you helped. Tonight.”

Becca blinked. “How?”

“You made me laugh,” Freen said, and there was the barest hint of something warm behind it. “And I didn’t feel like a background character for a while.”

Becca looked at her, studying her profile in the dim light.
“You know… you’re really good at acting like everything’s fine.”

Freen let out a dry breath. “Yeah. I’ve had practice.”

Becca glanced out the window. At one point, her eyes drifted back toward the dashboard… and something caught her attention.

Freen wasn’t using maps. No phone propped up, no audio cues, no glancing at directions. She was just… driving. Turning smoothly at all the right intersections like she’d done this a hundred times.

Becca blinked, trying to recall. Freen had only driven her home once before.

She almost said something, almost. But she let it go. Maybe Freen just had a good memory. Or maybe she’d looked it up ahead of time.

Either way, Becca kept her thoughts to herself.

Instead, she shifted the conversation. “Can I ask you something?”

Freen’s grip on the wheel didn’t change, but Becca noticed the subtle flick of her eyes.

“Sure.”

“How did you and Film meet?” Becca asked lightly, then followed it up without hesitation. “And how did you get the blessing of Namtan , of all people, to date her best friend? I mean… considering how close they are.”

She felt the way Freen’s shoulders stiffened just slightly, her jaw tightening before she spoke.

“It’s a long story,” Freen said, not unkindly, but final. “I’ll tell you another time.” She gave Becca a quick glance before returning her eyes to the road.

Becca met her with a quiet “Okay.” 

Accepting it. No pressure. Just space. 

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

They pulled up in front of Becca’s apartment. The engine quieted as Freen turned it off, but she didn’t move. She just sat there, hands resting loosely on the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead.

“Thanks for the ride,” Becca said softly, unclipping her seatbelt.

Freen gave a small nod, still avoiding Becca’s gaze and looking straight ahead. “My offer still stands.”

Becca turned to her, confused. “Which one?”

Freen glanced at her then. “Teaching you how to drive.”

Becca let out a small breath of a smile. “But we lost the game.”

Freen shrugged. “I don’t care.”

The corners of Becca’s mouth tugged upward again. But when she looked closer at Freen, something felt off. She wasn’t smiling back. She wasn’t teasing. Just… staring. Neutral. Still.

Becca’s smile faded slightly. “Did I… did I do something wrong? At the restaurant?” she asked, carefully. “Because it feels like I did.”

Freen didn’t respond. Her gaze dropped back down to her lap. But to Becca, that was enough. 

Becca gave a slow nod, lips pressing together. “Thanks for the ride. Goodnight.”

She reached for the door, started to turn. But Freen’s hand caught hers gently.

Becca froze, breath caught halfway. She didn’t turn around yet. Neither of them said anything.

Becca looked down at Freen’s hand holding hers, warm and steady, then slowly turned to meet her eyes.

Freen’s voice came out low, almost hesitant. “Can you do something for me?”

Becca blinked, heart quickening. “What is it?”

Freen gently let go of her hand and took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. Then she met Becca’s gaze again, steady and serious.

“Please don’t go back to Namtan.”

Chapter Text

“Please don’t go back to Namtan.”

Becca’s breath hitched. The words hit her like cold water thrown across her face.

She blinked, trying to process what she just heard.

A quiet, startled breath left her lips, and for a second she thought she misheard her. “What?”

She stared at Freen, who didn’t elaborate, didn’t repeat herself. Just looked back at her with that same calm exterior, but the smallest storm behind her eyes.

She suddenly couldn’t tell if her pulse was racing out of anger… or something else.

“What did you just say?!” Her voice was sharper this time, pitched higher.

Freen’s eyes left Becca, staring straight ahead through the car’s windshield.

“Say something!” Becca’s voice cracked, half-pleading, half-angry. “You don’t get to throw that at me like a grenade and then just… wait for it to explode!”

Freen’s fingers fidgeted slightly on her lap and her voice, when it came out, was almost a whisper.
“I think they had something.”

Becca blinked. Her heart seemed to stop for a second then kick back up, thudding loud in her chest. “Do you have a proof?”
Freen’s mouth pressed into a line still avoiding her gaze. “No. I don’t.”

Becca let out a bitter laugh, then scoffed loudly, shaking her head as if trying to physically shake off what she was hearing. “Unbelievable. You’re just guessing? Based on what? Some vibe? A hunch?”
Freen didn't answer.
Becca’s chest tightened. “When we first met, you told me they weren’t cheating.” she said, her words picking up speed. “And last night, I asked if they’d ever dated, and you said you didn’t know. So why tell me this now, Freen?”

Freen was quiet for a long moment, her hand tightening just slightly on the steering wheel even though the car was parked. “Because…” She stopped, exhaling slowly through her nose. “Because I’ve been watching. And I’ve been wrong before about what I thought I could handle.”

Becca shook her head, anger simmering under her skin. “That’s not an answer. That’s you dodging.”
“It’s the only answer I have right now.” Freen’s tone was steady, but there was something under it. Not quite regret, not quite confession. “You asked me before if it bothered me, the way they are. I said I’d learned to live with it. But maybe that was a lie. Maybe I just… didn’t want to admit I notice the things no one else says out loud.”

Becca leaned back, crossing her arms. “So you’re what? Warning me? Trying to make me paranoid?”
“I’m trying to tell you,” Freen said, finally meeting her eyes again, “that going back to her… after everything… might be the start of you pretending you’re okay with something you’re not. And I don’t want to see you do that.”

Becca’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know me well enough to decide what I can or can’t handle.”

“Maybe not. But I’ve been where you are. I know how fast pretending turns into living with something that slowly eats at you.” Freen said.
Becca’s voice rose again, breaking over the words. “You don’t get to compare me to you.”

“I’m not comparing,” Freen said, softer now but still maddeningly controlled. “I’m telling you what happens when you keep swallowing the same hurt over and over again.”

Becca’s hands curled into fists in her lap. “You should’ve thought about that before you told me they weren’t cheating. Before you let me believe that I could trust what you say.”
“I know….” Freen said, almost in a whisper. Her gaze didn’t drop this time. “I know this is not fair. I just… I had to say it.”

“Why?”
Freen blinked at her. “Because… I don’t want you to go back to someone who keeps hurting you.”
Becca let out a dry, humorless laugh and looked at her lap. “That’s funny coming from you.”
Freen sighed, her gaze dropping to her lap for a moment before she finally looked at Becca. “I think you deserve better. Namtan’s not good enough for you.”

Becca’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I see. And I suppose you are?” Her tone dripped with mockery.

Freen’s gaze didn’t waver. “Everyone except for Namtan.” She let a beat pass, the air thick between them, before adding quietly, “And me.”

Becca sat back, her pulse loud in her ears.

“God, Freen,” Becca muttered after a long pause. “You can't do that… You can’t… just drop accusations about my girlfriend—ex, or whatever— and not even back them up!”

Freen’s eyes were full of something she clearly wanted to say but didn’t.

And Becca noticed.

“Unless…” Becca looked at her carefully now, anger in her chest fighting with a sharper emotion, doubt. “Is there something you saw? Something you know? Or are you just hoping I stay away from her for your own reasons?”
Freen swallowed, then forced her gaze forward again.

She didn’t speak this time.

Becca let out a short, bitter laugh. “Right. That’s what I thought.”

The silence between them was thick. Becca grabbed her bag and pushed the door open. Before leaving, she crouched just enough to look at Freen. “Go back to your wife, Freen.” Freen’s head snapped toward her, but before she could get a word out, Becca had already closed the door and was walking toward her building.
Inside the car, Freen didn’t move, her eyes fixed on Becca until the lobby swallowed her whole. Only then she released a long, uneven breath. The kind that tastes like regret. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened until her knuckles ached, and she pressed her forehead against the leather. “Idiot… idiot…IDIOT!” The last one came out in a growl. “Why couldn’t you just keep your damn mouth shut?!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Becca’s breath was shallow as she stepped into the elevator, her body trembling with a mix of anger, confusion and something deeper she couldn’t quite name. The tight knot in her chest refused to loosen, each emotion pulling her in a different direction.
When the elevator dinged at her floor, she stepped out and started walking toward her door. But then she looked up and froze.
There, sitting on the floor by her door, was Namtan. A huge bouquet of flowers rested on her lap. Their eyes met and Namtan slowly stood, holding the flowers carefully as she waited for Becca to come closer.

Becca inched forward, cautious. “What are you doing here?” Her gaze darted over her shoulder, nerves flickering in her eyes.

Namtan noticed that.

“I was waiting for you.” Namtan said with an apologetic smile on her lips.

“Why?”

“Can I come inside for a bit?”

Becca shook her head. “No. It’s late.”

Namtan nodded and shifted the bouquet slightly in her hands. “I just wanted to give you these.” She held out the flowers gently. “I know I upset you yesterday, and this isn’t nearly enough, but I couldn’t go another night knowing you were angry with me. I really wanted to see you and give you these.”
Becca hesitated, then nodded, accepting the bouquet. The petals felt delicate in her hands, a fragile peace offering.

“How long have you been waiting?” Becca asked quietly.

Namtan’s eyes flickered with vulnerability. “Since the last time I called you.”

Becca’s breath caught. “You’ve been sitting here for an hour?”

Namtan nodded, her expression earnest.

Then Namtan took a small step closer, her eyes soft and heavy with regret. She swallowed hard, as if gathering the courage to speak the words that had been weighing on her chest for too long. “Becca, you’re worth every second of the wait,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper but steady. “I’m so sorry for everything. For the mistakes I made, for the times I hurt you, and for making you feel like breaking up was the only choice you had.”

Her gaze never wavered as she reached out slowly, her fingers trembling just slightly as she brushed a stray lock of hair behind Becca’s ear. The simple touch was filled with tenderness, a silent plea for forgiveness. “I never wanted to lose you,” she said softly. “I know I messed up…more than I ever want to admit…but I’m ready to do whatever it takes to make things right, if you’ll let me.”

Her eyes searched Becca’s, hopeful but vulnerable. “You mean more to me than I’ve ever been able to say. Even after just one day apart, I realize how much you’re a part of me, how much I need you.”

She swallowed again, fighting back the rawness in her throat. “Please… just tell me there’s a chance to fix this, to rebuild what we had. I’m willing to fight for us, no matter what it takes. Because losing you, even just for a day, showed me just how much you mean to me.”
Becca took a step forward and walked toward her door. She paused, then turned to look at Namtan, whose back was now facing the elevator.
“Please… don’t answer me now. Just promise me you’ll think about it. I’m willing to wait. No matter how long it takes for you to trust me again.”

Becca was about to answer when the elevator doors slid open with a sudden ding, and Freen stepped out.

Namtan had her back to the elevator, unaware of Freen’s presence. As soon as Freen spotted Becca and Namtan together, she quickly slipped back inside, pressing herself against the side of the elevator, hiding from view.

Becca’s face went pale, her breath catching at the unexpected sight.

Namtan sensed the change instantly and spun around, eyes sharp, searching for whoever had just emerged. But all she found was the empty elevator car, the doors hanging open like a silent trap.
She was about to head for the elevator when Becca’s hand closed lightly around her arm, holding her in place.

“Why don’t we talk inside for a bit?” Becca suggested softly.
Namtan nodded, offering a small, uncertain smile, but her eyes stayed fixed on the elevator.
Becca quickly searched through her bag for her keys, stealing a glance at Namtan’s tense expression. Finding the keys, she unlocked the door and stepped inside first, holding it open for Namtan.

Namtan followed, casting one last lingering look at the elevator just as the doors slid shut, hiding the secret inside.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Becca left, Freen didn’t rush home right away. She stayed seated for a long moment, the weight of how things had ended with Becca pressing heavily on her chest. The silence around her felt suffocating, filling the space with all the words left unsaid and the tension that now lingered between them.
She debated whether she should just go home and try to let the night pass, hoping for a chance to make things right later. But she didn’t want to leave things like this unfinished, unresolved. The guilt gnawed at her relentlessly, twisting in her gut like a storm she couldn’t calm.

But then she hesitated. How would she even get past the front door?
Just as the conflict inside her reached a breaking point, it was as if fate was giving her a sign. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a small group of people gathering near the building’s exit, chatting and laughing as they prepared to leave. If she was going to get inside without buzzing anyone, this was her only chance.

Heart pounding, she got out of her car quickly, walking with purpose toward the entrance. The people stepped out just as she reached the door and before it could close, she slipped inside.
Another problem hit her immediately. She didn’t know which apartment Becca lived in. Her eyes scanned the row of mailboxes until she spotted it: Becca Armstrong — 512. Fifth floor, apartment twelve. A small smile tugged at her lips, and without wasting time, she made her way to the elevator, pressing the button with a quiet resolve.

When the elevator reached the fifth floor, the doors slid open and Freen froze.
Right there, just a few steps away, were Becca’s wide, shocked eyes… and Namtan’s back facing her. Panic surged through her. Without thinking, she stepped back inside the elevator and pressed herself flat against the side panel, eyes squeezing shut as if that could make her invisible.

Her heart pounded so violently it felt like it might echo in the small space.
Suddenly, the air seemed to shift—quiet, heavy, as if the world had gone mute. Then she heard Becca’s voice, steady but tinged with a flicker of nervousness, cutting through the stillness.
“Why don’t we talk inside for a bit?”
The elevator doors began to close, mercifully shielding her from the scene outside. Just as the gap narrowed, Freen jabbed the button for the lobby, desperate to get away before anything exploded.

When the elevator doors opened in the lobby, Freen wasted no time.
She strode out quickly, her steps echoing against the tiled floor. The cool evening air hit her as she crossed the parking lot, heading straight for her car. But just as she was about to open the door, her eyes caught something a few rows over.
Namtan’s car.
Her pulse skipped. She yanked her own door open and slid into the driver’s seat, shutting it behind her like she was sealing herself away from danger.
Then unexpectedly she started laughing. Soft at first, then breathier, almost disbelieving. The adrenaline buzzing through her veins felt intoxicating.
The thrill of that moment—of being so close to chaos and slipping away—was unlike anything she’d experienced in years. It made her feel… alive.
She was about to shift into drive when her phone buzzed.

A new Instagram message.

From Becca.

"Are you crazy?!!! What the hell were you doing here?!!! Go home before this turns into something worse!!!"

That message pulled a deeper smile from her. She read it again and again before finally typing a reply, then drove away.

The warmth of her smile refusing to fade.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Becca closed the door behind them and flicked on the lights, the warm glow filling the apartment. Her chest tightened as her heart throbbed wildly. Thoughts of what might have happened if Namtan had seen Freen swirled in her mind, sending a ripple of unease through her.

She moved toward the kitchen, Namtan close behind. She headed straight for the kitchen, Namtan quietly following. The silence between them felt heavy.

“That was weird,” Namtan said softly, breaking the quiet.

Becca paused, turning to look at her. “What was weird?”

“The elevator… it was empty.”

Becca let out a soft laugh, brushing it off. “Oh, that happens all the time. The building’s elevator act up sometimes.”

Namtan didn’t seem fully convinced, her brow furrowed in thought. Becca caught the look and quickly changed the subject. “Would you mind putting the flowers in the vase? I’m gonna text Orm to let her know I’m home before she starts to worry. The vase is in the left cupboard.”
Namtan nodded and took the bouquet from her, moving to open the cupboard. Becca slipped her phone out of her bag and started typing a quick message to Freen, her eyes flickering back and forth between the screen and Namtan. She wanted to send the text quickly but couldn’t tear her gaze away from Namtan’s careful hands arranging the flowers. The way she hesitated slightly, as if trying to get it just right.

Becca’s breath caught the moment she read the message she got from Freen.

“What the hell was I doing there? Risking it all… You make me do things I’ve never done before.”

For a second, she just stared at the words, her mind blank. A jolt of shock went through her, but underneath it was something else—something warm, restless, and impossible to name. Her chest tightened, and she felt the air around her shift, heavier somehow.
She couldn’t explain the swirl inside her—part disbelief, part… something far more dangerous. It was as if the ground had tilted under her feet, and she was left standing there, phone in hand, wondering why her heart felt both heavy and light at the same time.

Becca’s breath was still uneven when…

“Becca!”

She startled, snapping her phone shut and looking up. “Yes?”

“I called you few times,” Namtan said, watching her closely.

“Sorry… what did you say?”

“Were you with Orm?”

“Yes, and Ling. We spent the day together,” Becca replied quickly.

Namtan held her gaze for a long moment before saying, “That’s good. Did you guys have fun?”

Becca just nodded. “What about you? What did you do?”

“Nothing. I was just home.”

Becca nodded again, but inside, she knew exactly where Namtan had really been.

Namtan took a slow step closer, her presence filling the small space between them. Becca instinctively raised a hand, stopping her before she could get too close.
“It’s getting late,” Becca said softly but firmly. “You should leave.”

Namtan froze for a moment, the faintest flicker of hurt crossing her face before she nodded. “Alright.” She hesitated, her voice quieter when she asked, “Will you give me another chance?”

Becca’s hand dropped to her side. “You told me to think about it, right?”

A small, hopeful smile tugged at Namtan’s lips. “Yeah. But… if the answer is yes, you can tell me now.”

Becca didn’t smile back. Her voice was steady but heavy. “You really hurt me, Namtan. I need time to think about us. I hope you can respect that.”

The light in Namtan’s eyes dimmed, but she nodded slowly. “Just know… I will always love you.”

Becca only gave a small nod in return, the words she might have once said back now stuck somewhere deep in her chest.

Namtan leaned down slowly, giving Becca the chance to pull away. When she didn’t, Namtan pressed a warm kiss to her left cheek. Becca’s eyes fluttered shut, her breath catching, but she said nothing. Namtan stepped back just slightly, watching her for a moment longer before pulling away completely.

Namtan’s lips parted like she wanted to say something, but instead she forced a small smile and whispered, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Becca replied, her tone polite but distant, as she walked her to the door.

Namtan stepped out into the hall, glancing back at her one last time before heading toward the elevator.

After Becca closed the door, she stayed there, her back pressed to the wood, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt. Eyes closed, she let out a long, unsteady sigh that seemed to drain the air from her lungs.

“Becca,” she whispered to herself, the words barely audible. “What the hell are you doing?”

The silence of the apartment pressed in, and for a moment, she didn’t know if she meant the question about Namtan… or about someone else she struggled to ignore.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As Freen drove home, with a smile tugged at her lips. She replayed the day’s events in her mind—the laughter, the tension, the moments with Becca. For a fleeting moment, she felt light, hopeful, imagining how Becca would probably argue with her about showing up at her apartment unannounced. That thought made her chuckle softly.

But then, the memory of Becca inviting Namtan inside hit her like a cold wave. The smile vanished almost instantly, replaced by a tight knot in her chest. Her fingers clenched harder around the steering wheel, the smooth road blurring beneath her vision. Doubt and jealousy gnawed at her, twisting the warmth she’d felt moments ago into something sharp and uneasy.

“Please… don’t,” she whispered, the words barely holding together.

She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t her place to care, but the hollow ache blooming in her chest made the lie feel heavier with every mile.

When Freen got home, she moved as quietly as she could, careful not to make too much noise. The house was dark, and she hoped Film was already asleep.
But just as she gently closed the front door behind her, she heard the soft creak of Film’s office door opening. Film stepped out into the hallway, her presence instantly filling the space.
A sharp headache began creeping up Freen’s temples, heavy and unwelcome.

Film stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching Freen as she stepped inside. “Where have you been?” she asked, voice calm but firm.

“Just around,” Freen replied quickly, avoiding eye contact. “Nowhere special.”

Film raised an eyebrow. “With who?”

“Alone,” Freen said, a little too quickly.

Film didn’t move. “Let me prepare you something to eat.”

Freen shook her head. “I already ate.”

Film’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What did you eat?”

“A sandwich from a vendor,” Freen answered, trying to sound casual.

“How did you pay?” Film pressed, folding her arms tighter.

Freen let out an annoyed huff, knowing exactly where this was going. “Have you been stalking my bank account again?” she snapped.

Film shrugged. “Maybe. Just making sure my wife is okay and alive. Why didn’t you pay with your card?”

Freen’s annoyance flared. “Film, I really have no mood for this nonsense right now.”

Film stepped closer, voice low but intense. “And you think I do? I’ve been sick with worry all day. The way you left…I called you so many times and you didn’t pick up.”

Freen hung her jacket, then started pulling off her sneakers before walking toward their bedroom without looking back.

“I told you, I was fine. Also I asked you not to wait up.”

Film followed, voice pleading, “How can I not worry about my own wife?”

Freen let out a sharp huff, turning briefly to glare. “I thought your hands were busy with Namtan.”

Film’s voice rose, cutting through the tension. “I don’t care about her! I care about you!”

Freen’s voice dripped with mockery. “Oh, babe, be careful what you say. Otherwise your bestie might get hurt.”

Film’s anger cracked through, eyes fierce. “Freen, what’s happening to you?! Why are you like this?!”

Freen met her gaze, cool and sharp. “Like what?”

Film’s voice broke, tears shining in her eyes. “Like a heartless person!”

That hit a nerve. Freen shouted, “You both turned me into this!”

Film’s defenses crumbled. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she reached out, trying to close the distance, but Freen pulled away, ignoring her completely.

Freen’s eyes narrowed. “So, did you help her come up with a plan to get Becca back?”

Film’s voice sharpened, angry. “Is this all about Becca?”

Freen’s tone was cold. “I asked you one thing, and you didn’t respect my wishes.”

Film took a hesitant step closer, her voice cracking as she forced the words out. “Look me in the eye and tell me there’s nothing going on between you and Becca. Then I’ll gladly stop helping Namtan with her.”

The silence that settled was so heavy it felt like a weight pressing down on their chests.

Freen avoided her gaze and turned toward the wardrobe. She began changing into pajamas, the silence between them thick and heavy. Film’s tears fell freely as she watched her, then she whispered, “Freen… please, answer me.”

Freen met her eyes briefly, then walked past. “I’m going to bed. Don’t have enough energy for this.”

Film watched quietly as Freen put her phone on the charger and slipped into bed, ignoring the tears streaming down Film’s face.

“I hope you’re happy,” Film said softly, her voice breaking, “knowing just how badly you’re hurting your own wife right now.”

With that, she turned and left the room, the door closing gently behind her.

Freen lay still for a moment, the weight of Film’s words sinking deep into her chest, bringing with it a sharp pang of guilt. She sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. She knew she’d only made things worse by not answering that question. Why hadn’t she said the truth? There was nothing going on between them, right? Right, Freen?

But deep down, she knew she had already crossed a line with Becca today.

It was true that Film had hurt her, but she wasn’t exactly an angel either. She’d lied about everything she did today and that weighed on her just as heavily.

Then a voice inside her whispered, remember what you and Film have in common. That only made her feel worse. She had to stop this nonsense with Becca. Especially after the rejection earlier. She had to stop thinking about Becca. 

Suddenly, exhaustion hit her hard. She decided to leave Film alone for the night and go to sleep, promising herself she’d try to make things better tomorrow.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Film returned to her office, her footsteps weighed down by sorrow. She wiped at the tears glistening on her cheeks before picking up her phone, her fingers shaking slightly as she typed. “What happened with Becca?”

As she waited, she paced the room, wiping away the relentless tears that kept streaming down her face.

After a few minutes, Namtan replied: “She didn’t forgive me.”

Film sighed bitterly then typed. “Of course she wouldn’t! She’s not stupid!”

“But did you catch her when she got home?” Film added.

“Yes,” Namtan replied.

“Was she alone?”

“Yes.”

Film’s brow furrowed. “Did she say where she was?”

Namtan answered, “With Ling and Orm.”

“Only them?” Film asked, suspicion creeping in.

Namtan sounded confused, “Yeah, that’s what she said. Who else would it be?”

Film didn’t respond immediately. After pacing a few more hurried steps, her mind racing and phone clenched tightly in her hand, she finally typed the question. “What’s her address?”

Namtan paused, her thumbs hovering uncertainly over the screen before finally typing. “Why?”

Film’s message popped up almost instantly, the words flashing on the screen, “Just tell me!”

After Namtan sent Becca’s address, she messaged Film, “What’s happening Film?! Why do I feel like you’re keeping something from me? Do I need to worry?”
Film didn’t reply. Instead, she dove straight into her investigation. She typed Becca’s address into the map and saw how far it was from her own place.

She turned back to Namtan’s messages and asked, “What time did Becca get home?”

“I don’t know, again, why are you asking such questions?!” Namtan texted back.

“Try to think,” Film pressed. “Tell me what time you think it was.”

“I guess around 9:15, maybe 9:30. Can you please tell me what's wrong?” Namtan replied

Film went back to the map app on her phone, studying the route from Becca’s apartment to her own place. It should take about 30 minutes under normal conditions. But Freen was home around 10:20. Almost an hour later.
Could there have been heavy traffic? Maybe Freen was just taking it slow? She also had to park in the garage and take the elevator up.
She thought that was really close. There was a big chance they were together.

But the more Film tried to rationalize, the more uneasy she became. The uncertainty clawed at her, twisting into a painful knot in her chest. Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks as she tried to hold herself together.

Losing her grip, she sank into her desk chair. Her breath hitched and tears blurred her vision. She wiped them away hastily, but more kept coming, hot and relentless.

The old fear returned, scared again that history might be repeating itself, that she was being cheated on. Again.

The pain of that memory mixed with the uncertainty now, twisting inside her like a storm.
Namtan started calling her, but Film couldn’t bring herself to answer. The silence around her felt deafening and she was overwhelmed by a heavy loneliness, desperate for answers she didn’t have.

After her tears finally dried, Film took a deep breath and reached for her phone. Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed out a message to Namtan, her mind racing with plans she hoped would help untangle the mess they were caught in.

“Listen, this is what you should do tomorrow,” she wrote carefully, outlining a few steps she thought might bring clarity. She paused, reading the plan again, wondering if it was enough or too much. Then she hit send.

For about half an hour, she stayed in her office, pacing slowly, wiping at the tears that still threatened to fall. The weight of uncertainty and fear pressed heavily on her chest, but she forced herself to focus on the next day, on the possibility of some resolution.

Eventually, she left her office and headed toward the bedroom. The house was quiet except for the soft, steady breathing coming from their room. Freen was asleep. Film felt a pang in her heart watching her, so peaceful and unaware of the turmoil swirling around them both.

She stepped into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, hoping to wash away the exhaustion and the sadness. She brushed her teeth slowly, each movement deliberate as if grounding herself in the mundane to escape the chaos inside her.

Returning to the bedroom, she eased herself into bed, careful not to wake Freen. The faint, rhythmic snores confirmed Freen’s deep sleep and for a brief moment, a small, tired smile flickered on Film’s lips. That quiet sound of contentment reminded her of why she fought so hard to hold onto what they had, even as her own heart ached.

But the pain didn’t stay away for long. It crept back in like a shadow, dulling the brief smile until it disappeared completely. Film lay there staring at Freen’s sleeping form, a mix of love, fear and confusion swirling inside her.

She wanted to believe things could be fixed, that trust could be rebuilt, but the doubt lingered, heavy and relentless.

As the night deepened, Film kept watching Freen, silently promising herself she wouldn’t give up. No matter how hard it got.

Fate had brought them together and she wasn’t about to let go of them easily, even if it hurt her.

She tried to convince herself that none of them had cheated, that they were just going through a rough patch, a test phase they’d get through soon.

Just like they always did.

While she lay there watching Freen sleep, Film’s eyes drifted to Freen’s mobile phone resting on the nightstand beside her.

Suddenly, two voices clashed inside her mind.

One urged: Get that phone now! Find out everything!.

The other warned: Don’t! If she wakes up, it’s over! You know how Freen gets when you start digging!

Her heart pounded as the internal battle raged, the temptation to reach out and check the phone fighting against the fear of shattering whatever fragile peace they still had.

For a moment, Film froze, torn between the desperate need for answers and the risk of losing Freen forever.

The phone sat there quietly, but to Film, it was the center of everything.

Hope and danger all at once.

Desperation and pain have a way of making you do things you never thought possible….and that’s what pushed Film to finally make her move.

She slipped out of bed with the utmost care, moving as slowly as possible. Every step was deliberate, measured. She didn’t want to make a sound, not even the faintest breath. She held her breath at times, trying to control the rapid pounding of her heart that threatened to betray her with every beat.

The room was cloaked in darkness, shadows stretching long across the floor, but Film’s eyes stayed fixed on Freen’s peaceful, sleeping form. Her chest rose and fell gently, completely unaware of the storm quietly unfolding beside her.

With trembling fingers, Film inched closer to the nightstand, muscles tense, mind screaming at her to stop, yet compelled to know. The silence around her felt suffocating, every second stretched endlessly, each heartbeat pounding in her ears like a drum.

She hovered over the phone, her breath shallow and fragile, eyes darting between the device and Freen’s sleeping face.

One wrong move.

One sudden noise.

And everything would shatter.

Slowly, agonizingly, she reached out, trembling fingertips brushing the cold surface of the phone. She picked it up carefully, keeping it still attached to the charger. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath with her.

As Film’s finger pressed the first number on the keypad, the soft tap suddenly echoed loudly in the stillness of the room.

Her heart jumped. Too loud, too sharp in the quiet night.

Instinctively, she flipped the phone’s silent switch, plunging it into silence before glancing back at Freen.

The steady rise and fall of Freen’s breath reassured her; she was still asleep.

Taking a slow, steady breath to calm herself, Film continued typing the rest of the passcode, each digit pressed with trembling precision. But just as she entered the final number, something on the screen made her freeze.

Her eyes widening in shock, her breath catching in her throat.

The room seemed to close in around her, the silence now heavy with something unspeakable.

Chapter Text

Film crouched low, knees bending with slow precision, every joint stiff from the effort of moving silently. In this position, her face was level with the edge of the mattress, close enough to see the steady rise and fall of Freen’s chest. She could hear the faint sound of her breathing over the blood rushing in her own ears.

Her hand crept forward, fingers stretching toward the phone. 

She didn’t dare stand. Standing felt too risky, too noticeable. So she stayed low, balanced awkwardly on the balls of her feet as she reached. Her fingers brushed the cool edge of the phone, the smooth metal frame pressing into her skin. She hesitated, glancing at Freen again. 

Slowly, she wrapped her hand around the phone and lifted it from the nightstand.

The passcode screen waited for her.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the first number. The second her fingertip pressed the glass, the quiet tap of the virtual key felt deafening to her ears. 

Panic flared. Too loud. 

She quickly slid the small switch on the phone’s side, putting it into silent mode, the muted click barely audible but somehow reassuring.

She exhaled slowly through her nose, glancing up again to make sure Freen hadn’t stirred. Still asleep. Still peaceful.

In Film’s hand, Freen’s phone felt impossibly small and fragile, almost like it could shatter if handled too roughly.

She typed in the four numbers of the passcode without thinking, her mind racing faster than her fingers.

But as her thumb pressed the last key, the phone buzzed sharply against her palm. 

The numbers she had typed vanished from the screen, leaving nothing but an empty space, mocking her. 

Her stomach twisted. She swallowed hard and stole a glance at Freen, whose breathing remained steady and untroubled in sleep. 

Film looked back at the phone, biting her lower lip.

She frowned.

Maybe her hand had trembled, maybe she’d hit the wrong number. She took a breath, tried again, pressing each digit carefully, but the same cold rejection appeared. 

Her chest tightened. This didn’t make sense. 

She swallowed hard, panic scraping at the edges of her chest. She blinked, forcing her vision to clear, her fingers trembling as though they belonged to someone else. 

She knew the code. She knew it. Freen had always used her mother’s birth year. It was supposed to be unchanging, something sacred. She had typed it countless times before without a second thought.

She swallowed again, forcing herself to calm down. Glancing at Freen, who was still breathing softly, lost in deep sleep, Film gripped the phone a little tighter. 

She fixed her eyes on the screen again. Then squared her shoulders, taking a slow, deliberate breath. 

This time, she focused. Every tap of her finger was measured, almost ritualistic. Four numbers—simple, yet weighty. She could feel her own heartbeat in her fingertips as she pressed each digit until…

Another buzz.

Her mouth went dry.

Film closed her eyes. She didn’t need to try again anymore. She understood.

Her heart sank, her chest tightened and for the first time her control faltered. A few hot tears escaped, sliding silently down her cheeks. She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare make a sound.All she could do was stare at the screen, stubbornly refusing to give her access,

It was like the air was sucked out of the room. A sharp ache spread in her chest. She closed her eyes, not from fatigue, but to stop the sting of tears. Her fingers were curled around the phone until her knuckles whitened as if she could force the truth out of it. 

There was no mistake this time. She knew what it meant.

Freen had changed her passcode.

And she hadn’t told her.

At that moment Film realized, with devastating clarity, this change was a message. 

A locked door between them she hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to open.

The phone screen went dark in her hand, while her insides burned, leaving Film staring at her own faint reflection in the black glass. Her chest rose and fell quickly, though she was trying to make no sound, like her own breath might betray her.

She placed the phone back on the nightstand with slow, deliberate care, the quiet tap of it against the wood feeling louder than it should. Her hand lingered there for a moment, fingers splayed, trembling. Not from fear anymore, but from the fury now boiling in her veins.

She stayed crouched there. Her jaw locked so tight it hurt. She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, each beat louder than the last. It wasn’t just disbelief anymore. It was rage. Silent, shaking rage that clawed its way up her throat until she almost couldn’t swallow.

Her gaze drifted to Freen. Peaceful. Asleep. Oblivious. The faint snore she’d found endearing minutes ago was now unbearable. Each peaceful breath Freen took only twisted the knife deeper. She wanted to rip the blanket off, she wanted to scream her name, shake her awake, demand answers until the truth spilled out. She wanted to hear her stammer, to watch her scramble for an explanation. 

Film’s jaw ached from how tightly she clenched it. She could feel her nails digging into her palms, sharp enough to leave marks, as her fists curled tight by her sides. Her heart hammered so hard it almost hurt and the sound of it filled her head along with a flood of thoughts she didn’t want but couldn’t stop. Thoughts like grabbing Freen’s phone and hurling it through the window, hearing it shatter on the pavement below. That image made her fingers twitch.

Tears welled, but they didn’t fall quietly. They burned their way down her cheeks, hot and fast, her breath trembling as she fought to stay silent. Each drop carried the same questions pounding in her head: Why did you change it? Why didn’t you tell me? What are you hiding from me?!

Her breath shuddered, her throat tight as she swallowed back the scream clawing to get out.

Her vision blurred, but she didn’t look away from Freen. She couldn’t. 

The anger and the pain tangled together until she didn’t know which one was making her shake harder. 

And at that moment, it wasn't the locked phone that hurt the most.

It was knowing Freen had locked her out, too. Just like the others before Freen did. 

After what felt like an eternity crouching there in the shadows, the ache in her knees finally pulled her back to herself. Film straightened slowly, her movements no longer careful, no longer concerned about the possibility of waking Freen. The air felt heavier now, each breath thick in her chest and the part of her that had been tiptoeing, holding her breath moments ago, was gone.

She walked around the bed at a normal pace this time, each step deliberate, the faint rustle under her bare feet no longer muted. If Freen woke now…good. 

Let her wake.

Let her see the anger in Film’s eyes. 

Let her feel even a fraction of this weight.

When she reached her side of the bed, she didn’t slip under the covers gently the way she usually did. She pulled the blanket aside in one smooth motion, slid in, and settled without a second thought for the sleeping figure behind her.

Her body turned automatically toward the window, her back a firm, silent barrier between them. The pale moonlight spilled through the curtains, faintly illuminating the outline of her face, the glint of tears still clinging to her lashes.

She closed her eyes. Not because sleep was anywhere near her, but because it was the only way to keep more tears from falling as fast. It didn’t work. The hot, steady stream still slid down her cheeks, soaking into the pillow. 

Behind her, Freen shifted faintly in her sleep, one soft exhale escaping into the darkness. The sound made Film’s eyes press tighter shut. She wanted to shut out the whole world.

Suddenly, a memory flickered through Film’s mind. Her therapist’s words from years ago. “Sometimes, you’re a bit too stubborn and impulsive,” the voice had said gently. “You don’t always give people the chance to explain, and it ends up causing arguments and problems you could have easily avoided if you had just let them speak.”  

The memory stung, but it also felt like a lifeline.

Maybe she should do what her therapist asked her. She told herself to stop thinking, to stop spiraling into questions that had no answers. She told herself not to be rational tonight, not to dig through explanations or excuses. 

Maybe—just maybe—there was a reason why Freen had changed her passcode. A reason that didn’t have to hurt, a reason that could make sense if she just tried hard enough to believe it. Maybe there was something she wasn’t seeing yet. 

She wanted to give her that chance, wanted to hold on to at least a thread of faith in her wife.

But no matter how much she repeated it in her mind, the ache in her chest remained. It wasn’t just a dull throb. It was a sharp, insistent weight pressing down on her ribs, squeezing her lungs with every breath, twisting in her stomach, tugging at her heart until it felt bruised. Her arms ached from how tightly she had curled them against herself, her fists still balled as if she could somehow hold the pain in place. The quiet of the room, once comforting, now felt suffocating. Every small sound, the faint snore, the creak of the floorboards, the hum of the city outside was amplified, reminding her of the distance between them, the barrier Freen had created without explanation.

Only when exhaustion finally dragged her down did her sobs fade, her damp lashes growing heavy, pulling her at last into a fragile, uneasy sleep.

The sharp trill of Freen’s alarm cut through the quiet morning, pulling her from the depths of sleep. She stirred, groaning softly, fumbling to silence the alarm, before rolling to her side only to find the bed half-empty. 

Film’s side of the bed was untouched now, the pillow still faintly indented where her head had rested, but no warmth remained. Freen sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Maybe she had an early filming today, she thought, trying to dismiss the sudden tightness in her chest.

Dragging herself out of bed, she padded toward the bathroom, her bare feet soft against the floor. The sound of running water and the crisp splash as she washed her face filled the silence. She leaned over the sink for a moment, droplets trickling down her cheeks, staring at her own reflection with tired eyes.

She exhaled, then drifted into the wardrobe room, flicking on the warm overhead light. The neat rows of suits and dresses greeted her, familiar yet demanding. She sighed, fingers brushing along the fabrics until she stopped at a deep green suit, structured and sharp. After a pause, she tugged it off the hanger.

As she was getting dressed, her lips parted without realizing. A melody escaped her smiling lips, hushed at first, then gradually blooming into the still air.

"Will you be mine… begging, my middle, my end?"

The words lingered, echoing in the quiet room. It was the same song she had sung with Becca the night before. The duet that had made Orm and Ling exchange knowing glances, the moment she hadn’t been able to stop stealing glances at Becca’s face as their voices joined together.

Now, alone, the lyrics clung to her like a secret. Freen buttoned her shirt with deliberate slowness, her voice soft but steady, carrying the weight of memory. 

She stood there, half-dressed, half-lost in thought, the words of the song spilling quietly from her mouth an unspoken reminder of a night she couldn’t seem to forget.

She smoothed the lapels of her suit and lifted her eyes to the mirror.

Her breath caught.

Film was there.

She stood silently in the doorway between their wardrobe room and the bedroom. Her eyes were locked directly on Freen, unreadable, but carrying the weight of something sharp. For a second, Freen’s heart leapt to her throat.

“Oh god, babe, goodmorning,” Freen let out a small laugh, trying to ease the sudden spike in her chest. She pressed a hand lightly to her sternum as if to calm her racing pulse. “I didn’t hear you coming. I thought you already left.”

But Film didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile.

“Goodmorning, you were singing,” she said flatly, her voice thin but steady. “That’s why you didn’t hear me.” Her eyes flickered toward the mirror again, as if measuring every inch of Freen’s reflection. “Which song was that?”

Freen blinked, her throat tightening. “Oh, um…just something I heard on the radio,” she answered quickly, too quickly, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve as though it demanded urgent attention.

But when she finally glanced at Film directly, she noticed it. The shadow over her face. The sadness she carried in her eyes, heavy and quiet. It was obvious that she had cried. It stung Freen, twisting something inside her. Her mind flashed back to their argument the night before, and she thought this was still about that. Film hadn’t let it go.

“Babe, I…” Freen began, reaching for words she wasn’t even sure she had.

But Film cut her off before she could find them. Her tone was clipped, carefully held together, the way it always was when she was trying not to break.

“I made breakfast,” she said simply. Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned and left the doorway, her footsteps soft but leaving behind a silence that felt impossibly loud.

Freen remained standing in front of the mirror, the silence in the room pressing down on her. Film’s words short, restrained, still echoed in her chest and for the first time that morning, her smile from moments earlier felt cruel.

She felt bad. Deep down, she knew she was hurting Film. Every time she drifted too far, every time her mind wandered where it shouldn’t, Film felt it. Freen could see it on her sad face, in the way her voice held back tears.

Becca.

Her name bloomed in her mind like a forbidden secret.

She had to forget her. She must forget her.

But Becca was beautiful. That wasn’t something Freen could deny. The kind of beauty that made her chest tighten whenever she looked too long. Becca was lovely, gentle, sweet in ways that snuck up on her when she wasn’t paying attention. And then there was her smile. Bright, effortless, the kind that stayed with you even after she was gone. Her lips are soft, curved and distracting. 

How many times had Freen caught herself staring for a second too long?

Her breath hitched, and she shut her eyes tight.

No. 

No. 

Freen. Stop it!

She forced the thoughts back, clenching her fists until her knuckles went white. Becca was not hers. Becca could never be hers. She belonged to someone else. 

And Freen…

Freen was married. To Film. To the woman standing in the kitchen right now, making breakfast for her despite the ache in her heart.

Her reflection stared back at her, looking guilty, ashamed and lost.

Freen sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on her shoes, her thoughts circling back to Film. She knew her wife. Knew her habits and her little tells. Film only cooked breakfast like this when something was weighing heavy on her heart, when stress clawed at her so much that she needed her hands busy, needed the distraction of chopping, frying, mixing.

The realization made Freen’s chest cave in with guilt. She was the reason Film was stressed. She was the reason that sadness had been etched into her wife’s face earlier.

She had to do something.