Two Months Without You

The next month zipped by in a haze of deadlines, coffee runs, and fleeting touches. Becky and Freen barely had a second to catch their breath, let alone linger on the countdown. Work at IDF—their agency, led by the warm and understanding CEO Saint—had kicked into overdrive: Becky wrestling with law school readings and internship prep for England, Freen lost in a whirlwind of photoshoots and brand gigs. It was madness, but it was their madness, and they held it close like a shield.

Freen poured her restless energy into keeping Becky fed, barging into her study nook with takeout bags and a stubborn grin. “You’re not surviving England without some fuel,” she’d say, pressing a fried dumpling to Becky’s lips, her fingers brushing them just long enough to make Becky’s cheeks flush. Becky would grumble, chewing with exaggerated annoyance, then sip the milk tea Freen had bought her—extra boba, her weakness—her eyes softening.

Freen sipped her jasmine tea, smirking over the rim. “Yours is basically dessert. This—” she tapped her cup—“is sophisticated.”
“Sophisticated like your sulking?” Becky shot back, leaning in to steal a sip of Freen’s tea, giggling as Freen swatted her away.
“Get your own!” Freen huffed, but her laugh bubbled up, and she tugged Becky closer by the hoodie strings, their knees knocking.
Becky was hell-bent on cramming two months of love into four weeks. She’d sneak into Freen’s dressing room with quick, flirty kisses, or drag her out for late-night street food after slogging through case law. “Gotta make it up to you before I’m drowning in legal briefs,” she’d tease, her hand slipping under Freen’s hoodie to trace warm skin, grinning at the shiver it drew.

Freen didn’t complain—she melted into it—but work was her shield. If she paused, her mind raced to Becky’s internship in England. Two months without her chaos, her warmth, her milk tea giggles. So she kept moving, tweaking shoot details or rehearsing lines, anything to dodge the ache.
Word spread fast after Becky told Saint. As IDF’s CEO, he’d listened with a gentle smile—“Proud of you, Nong Becky. Send me the dates, and take care”—then, with his usual warmth, shared it with their team. Nam and Heng, their good friends, co-workers, and most importantly, resident clowns, swooped in like hawks.

“Two months without your nong blanket, Freen?” Heng grinned, leaning against the break room counter as Freen stirred her jasmine tea with extra sass.
Nam smirked, tossing a napkin at Freen’s head. “She’s gonna cry into Becky’s hoodies every night. I’m calling it now.”
Freen glared, swatting it back. “I’m not clingy. I’ll be fine.”
“Sure, sure,” Heng said, winking at Becky as she walked in, law textbook under one arm, milk tea—courtesy of Freen—in hand. “That’s why you’re feeding her like she’s off to starve.”

Becky laughed, sliding an arm around Freen’s waist, fingers brushing bare skin above her jeans. “She’s just scared I’ll waste away without her buns.”
“Buns?” Nam’s eyebrows shot up. “Which ones?”
“Nam!” Freen groaned, shoving her as Becky snorted, nearly spilling her milk tea.
Heng doubled over. “Freen’s gonna miss all of you, Bec. Better stock up on jasmine tea and alcohol to cope.”
“Shut it,” Freen muttered, but her hand found Becky’s under the table, squeezing tight.
The teasing was relentless—Nam and Heng took every chance to poke fun, from fake sniffles whenever Becky left the room to dramatic reenactments of Freen pining—but it was light, familiar, the kind of ribbing that came from years of friendship. Still, a week later, Nam pulled Becky aside during a rare quiet moment in the studio.

“Hey,” Nam said, voice low. “I’m worried about her.”
Becky frowned, clutching her milk tea tighter. “Freen? She’s been okay, right? Busy, but okay.”
Nam sighed, glancing across the room where Freen laughed with Heng, her eyes weary. “She’s keeping it together, yeah. But I’ve seen her through your little trips before, Bec. Three days, and she’s a mess. Two months? That’s… a lot. She’s not saying it, but I can tell it’s eating at her.”
Becky’s chest tightened, guilt seeping in. She’d been so wrapped up in law prep and Freen’s warmth that she hadn’t caught the shadows under her eyes, the way her smiles faded fast. “I didn’t realize…”
“She’s tough,” Nam said, softening. “But she’s stupidly attached to you. Just… keep an eye on her, okay?”
Becky nodded, swallowing hard. “Can you look out for her while I’m gone? Please? I know she’ll say she’s fine, but I’m worried she won’t let it show if she’s not.”
“Absolutely,” Nam cut in, squeezing Becky’s shoulder. “I’ve got her back. Always have. You focus on killing it in England.”
Becky smiled, relieved. “Thanks, Nam. You’re the best.”
“I know,” Nam quipped, tossing her hair dramatically. “Now go kiss your girl before she sulks herself into a coma.”

A month after their late-night confession on Freen’s bed, Becky went live on TikTok from her cluttered desk, law books stacked high, Freen’s latest milk tea beside her. “Hey mami, honey, and faenja,” she chirped, waving with her sunshine smile on her face. “Big update—I’m off to England in a month for a law internship. Two months away, but I’ll be back! I am gonna miss you guys so much, don’t forget Nong Bec when she’s away ka.”

The chat ignited like a wildfire—“LAWYER BECKY LET’S GO!”—but the Freenbecky shippers hijacked it in seconds. “Freen’s gonna cry without her milk tea soulmate!” “Jasmine tea widow era begins!” Memes flooded in on X: Freen pouting with “Me when my lawyer wife ditches me,” edits of them cuddling captioned “2 months apart? Endgame’s trembling!” A vocal faction begged, “Take Freen with you!” while others theorized, “She’s gonna take fluffy and sneak into Bec’s suitcase, watch.” The chaos peaked with a viral edit of Freen sipping tea alone, overlaid with dramatic violin music and “Freenbecky separation arc hurts my soul.”
Becky giggled, scrolling through the TL on her other phone, her cheeks flushing. “You guys are chaos,” she said, biting her lip at a shipper comment: “Freen’s already packing jasmine tea to survive.”

Back at her place, Freen was curled up on the couch, scrolling X with a deepening frown. The fandom’s teasing had spilled over—memes of her sulking, edits of her clinging to Becky with captions like “Me when Becky picks law over me.” It was harmless, she knew, but it stung anyway. She tossed her phone aside, crossing her arms.
Becky found her like that an hour later, slipping through the door with takeout bags and a sheepish grin. “Hey, babe. Saw you went offline—everything okay?”

Freen scowled, pulling her knees to her chest. “The fans think I’m some lovesick puppy who can’t survive without you.”
Becky set the bags down, crawling onto the couch beside her. “Well, you are my lovesick puppy,” she teased, nudging Freen’s knee. When Freen didn’t budge, Becky softened, cupping her face. “Come on, they’re just playing. You know how they are.”
Freen sighed, leaning into Becky’s touch despite herself. “I know. It’s just… it’s real now. You’re leaving in a month, and everyone’s acting like I’m gonna fall apart.”

Becky’s heart clenched. She shifted closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Freen’s forehead, then her nose, then her lips, soft and lingering. “You’re not gonna fall apart. You’re strong, babe. And I’m not disappearing—I’ll be all over your phone, annoying you with calls and texts.”
Freen’s lips twitched, a reluctant smile breaking through. “You better. I’m not above hunting you down in England.”
“Oh, I’d love to see you try,” Becky grinned, kissing her again, deeper this time, her hands sliding up Freen’s back to pull her closer. Freen melted into it, her fingers tangling in Becky’s hair, and for a moment, the looming separation faded.

They broke apart, breathless, foreheads pressed together. “I’m still mad at the fandom,” Freen mumbled, but her pout was more playful now.
Becky laughed, brushing her lips against Freen’s cheek. “I’ll fight them for you. One kiss at a time.” She punctuated it with a peck to Freen’s jaw, then her neck, earning a giggle.
“Stop, you’re ridiculous,” Freen said, shoving her lightly, but she tugged Becky back into her arms anyway, kissing her soundly. “You’re mine, okay? No matter where you go.”
“Always,” Becky murmured, nuzzling into her. “We’ve got this, babe. One month left to make a mess of each other, then I’ll be back before you can blink.”
Freen smirked, her hands tightening on Becky’s waist. “Better make it count, then.”
“Oh, I plan to,” Becky purred, diving in for another kiss, all heat and promise, as the countdown ticked on.