One More Night, My Fighter
The final days before Becky’s flight to England were a frantic blur of tying up loose ends. IDF buzzed like a beehive—Saint’s gentle “Take care, Nong Becky, and nail that internship” barely audible over the chaos of fittings, script reads, and last-minute shoots. Becky juggled it all, her law books shoved into a bag between takes, her milk tea—Freen’s daily gift—sloshing as she darted from set to set. Freen hovered nearby, a quiet storm of energy, snapping candids of Becky mid-laugh or sneaking dumplings onto her plate during breaks. “You’re not leaving underfed,” she’d grumble, smirking as Becky rolled her eyes.
“I’m fine, babe,” Becky shot back, but her grin softened as she chewed, leaning into Freen’s shoulder during a rare pause. “You’re gonna miss bossing me around, huh?”
Freen huffed, sipping her jasmine tea. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive over there.”
Two days before departure, Becky hauled her half-packed suitcase to Freen’s house, crashing there to soak up every second. Mama Nun—Freen’s mom, a warm, loving woman with a smile that crinkled her eyes—greeted her at the door with a hug that smelled of lemongrass and home. “Nong Becky, you’re too skinny! Come, I made khao soi.” Becky melted into the embrace, laughing.
“Mama Nun, you’re gonna spoil me more than Freen does,” she teased, earning a playful swat from Freen.
“She’s got competition now,” Freen said, but her eyes glowed as she watched them, a quiet pride in her mom’s affection for her girl.
Then came Fluffy, Freen’s long-haired dachshund, a wriggling blur of fur and love. He barreled into Becky’s legs, yipping and pawing at her shins, his clingy streak in full force. “Fluffyyyy!” Becky cooed, dropping to her knees to scoop him up. He licked her face, tail whipping like a metronome, and she giggled, tumbling onto the floor as he burrowed into her chest. “You’re gonna miss me, huh, baby?”
Freen leaned against the wall, smirking. “He’s gonna cry harder than me when you’re gone.”
“Doubt it,” Becky quipped, wrestling Fluffy into a hug as he nipped at her fingers, his energy matching hers. They rolled across the rug, a tangle of laughter and fur, until Freen joined in, tickling Becky’s sides while Fluffy barked in delight.
The following evening, Freen suggested a private park nearby—a hidden spot with shady trees and open grass, perfect for their little trio. Mama Nun packed a picnic, waving them off with a knowing smile. “Enjoy, my girls. And Fluffy too!” Fluffy bolted ahead on his leash, dragging Becky as she squealed, Freen jogging to keep up, her heart swelling at the sight. They unleashed him, and he tore across the field, Becky chasing after with reckless glee—two bundles of chaos tumbling in the dirt. Freen tossed a ball, watching Fluffy leap into Becky’s arms, both of them collapsing in a heap of giggles.
“You’re gonna tire him out before I leave!” Freen called, but she sank onto the grass beside them, snapping photos on her phone—Becky’s hair wild, Fluffy’s tongue lolling, a perfect “family” moment she wanted to freeze forever. She pulled Becky close, kissing her temple. “I’m keeping this one.”
“Good,” Becky murmured, nuzzling her back, Fluffy sprawled across their laps. “We’re a package deal.”
That night, sleep eluded them. They curled up in Freen’s bed, the room dim save for a sliver of moonlight, Fluffy snoring at their feet. The countdown loomed—an oppressive weight neither could shake. Becky traced Freen’s jaw, her fingers trembling. “I don’t wanna sleep. Feels like I’m wasting time.”
Freen’s breath hitched, her eyes glassy. “Me neither. Two days, Becbec…” She pulled Becky closer, their legs tangling under the sheets, and kissed her—a slow, aching press of lips that deepened with every second they clung to. “I’m gonna miss you so much it hurts.”
“Me too, babe,” Becky whispered, her voice cracking as she kissed Freen back, hands sliding up her back, desperate to memorize every inch. The kisses grew urgent, a quiet storm of need, and Freen rolled them over, pinning Becky beneath her with a tenderness that belied the fire in her eyes.
Their breaths mingled, heavy and warm, as Freen’s lips trailed down Becky’s neck, soft but deliberate, drawing a shiver that rippled through them both. “You’re mine,” she murmured against Becky’s collarbone, her hands slipping under Becky’s shirt to splay across her stomach, fingers brushing the edge of her ribs. Becky arched into the touch, a soft gasp escaping as Freen’s kisses dipped lower, grazing the curve of her chest through the fabric.
“Always yours,” Becky breathed, tugging Freen back up to capture her lips, her own hands roaming—up Freen’s sides, under her hoodie, tracing the familiar planes of her back. The room spun as they pressed closer, skin against skin, a slow dance of heat and whispers. Freen’s fingers found Becky’s hips, gripping tight as she rocked against her, their rhythm a silent promise. “I love you,” Freen gasped into her ear, her voice raw, and Becky’s reply was a choked “Love you more,” her nails digging into Freen’s shoulders as they moved together, lost in the tide.
It was tender, fierce—a collision of love and longing that left them trembling, breathless, wrapped in each other as the world faded. They clung afterward, sweat-damp and sated, trading soft kisses and murmured reassurances—“We’ll be okay,” “You’re my everything”—until exhaustion finally pulled them under, Fluffy’s snores a gentle anchor.
The night before Becky’s flight, the Armstrong mansion buzzed with warmth and bittersweet chatter. Papa Armstrong, a sharp-eyed businessman, grilled skewers in the backyard, his booming “Princess, you’ll come back and take over my empire!” met with Mama Rawe’s laughter as she set out mango sticky rice. “She’ll be too busy missing us, love.” Richie, Becky’s big brother, slung an arm around her, grinning. “Don’t let those fancy English tea parties dull your Thai spice, lil’ sis.”
Freen and Mama Nun arrived, arms laden with dishes, and the families melded seamlessly—years of shared meals knitting them tight. Bonbon, Becky’s Frenchie, waddled over to Freen, yipping until she scooped him up. “Hey, little boy,” Freen cooed, letting him lick her chin as she spun him around, his stubby legs kicking. “Daddy’s gonna miss you too.” Fluffy toddled over, nudging Bonbon with a playful growl, and the “brothers” tumbled into a clumsy wrestle, Fluffy’s long ears flopping as Bonbon barked back, their bond a burst of chaos that had everyone laughing.
“Look at them go,” Becky said, scooping Fluffy up as Freen cradled Bonbon, both dogs licking their faces in tandem. “They’re gonna stage a revolt when I leave.”
“They’ll storm England together,” Freen teased, nuzzling Bonbon’s snout as Fluffy pawed at her arm for attention.
Dinner was loud—Papa Armstrong teasing Freen’s jasmine tea obsession, Mama Nun urging Becky to “Eat more, Nong, you’re too thin!”—but the mood dipped as the reality sank in. Mama Rawe squeezed Freen’s hand across the table. “Stay strong, Freen. She’ll be back before you know it.” Papa nodded, gruff but kind. “You’re family, kid. We’re counting on you to hold the fort.” Mama Nun chimed in, her voice soft. “We’ll all miss her, but you most of all, Freen. Keep your chin up, okay?” Richie clapped Freen’s shoulder, grinning. “You’ve got this, clingy.”
Later, at Becky’s place, Freen settled in for the last night, Fluffy and Bonbon sprawled across the bed like furry sentinels. The silence was thick, suffocating—tomorrow’s flight a blade poised to strike. Becky’s resolve shattered first, her face buried in Freen’s chest as sobs shook her. “I can’t do this, Freen. Two months—it’s too much. I’m not strong enough.” Her voice broke, the weight of leaving crashing down, overwhelming her.
Freen’s heart twisted, tears pooling as she fought to keep steady. She tilted Becky’s chin up, brushing her cheeks with trembling thumbs. “Hey, look at me. You’re the strongest person I know, Becbec. You’ve got this—I swear you do.” Her voice cracked, but she pressed on, kissing Becky’s forehead, then her tear-streaked eyes. “I’m the one who’s a mess without you, okay? But we’re gonna make it. One day at a time.”
Becky clung tighter, her breath hitching. “I don’t wanna leave you. Or our boys.”
“You’re not leaving us,” Freen whispered, her own tears slipping free despite her fight. “You’re just… borrowing England for a bit. I’ll be here, me and these two troublemakers, waiting with your milk tea stash.” She forced a shaky smirk, kissing Becky’s lips softly, tasting salt and love. “You’re my fighter, babe. Always.”
“And you’re my rock,” Becky murmured, nuzzling into her neck, their arms locking tight as if they could defy time. “Better not find some English rose when I’m gone,” she teased weakly, her voice thick with tears but laced with a flicker of play.
Freen chuckled through her sob, pulling Becky closer. “Only rose I need’s right here, crying all over me.” She kissed her nose, then her cheek, Bonbon snuffling closer to wedge between them, Fluffy’s tail thumping softly. “Sleep tight, Becbec. We’ve got one more morning to hog you.” They held on, a tangle of limbs and fur, the ache of goodbye softened by the goofy snores of their boys, a cute lifeline in the storm.