Angel's Tulip
Morning broke over Becky’s room like a thief, stealing the last threads of sleep. She stirred, the bed cold and empty beside her, only Fluffy’s wet nose nudging her awake, Bonbon’s snores a soft rumble at her feet. No Freen—just the sting of absence. “Fluffy, Bonbon… your daddy really went to work without saying bye to Mommy?” she murmured, her voice heavy with sadness as she scratched Fluffy’s ears. He yipped, tilting his head, while Bonbon snuffled closer, oblivious. She sighed, stroking their fur, her chest tight. She knew Freen had an early IDF shoot—work was relentless—but waking up alone on her last day cut deeper than she’d braced for. “Guess it’s just us three, huh?”
She hauled herself up, the weight of her England flight pressing like a boulder. Papa Armstrong’s cheery “Up and at ‘em, Princess! Airport time!” clashed with her sulk as Mama Rawe bustled in the kitchen, Richie tossing a playful “Don’t let those Brits tame your Thai fire, sis.” Becky managed a weak smile, but her eyes flicked to her phone—no messages, no Freen. She was honestly bummed out, sulkiness hardening into a quiet ache.
The airport was a madhouse. The fans swarmed the terminal, waving banners—“Nong Becky, come back soon!”—and clutching milk tea plushies. Becky mustered her sunshine smile, waving as her family formed a protective wall, Papa’s arm steady around her. The fans surged, voices overlapping. “Where’s P’Freen? She’s not here?” a girl asked with hopeful eyes, clutching a jasmine tea sachet like a lifeline.
Becky’s smile slipped, a saddened curve tugging her lips. “She’s at work—a shoot this morning,” she said softly, the ache seeping through despite her effort to hide it. The fans zeroed in—eagle-eyed and dramatic—gasping in unison. “No goodbye? P’Freen’s ditching her?!” “This can’t be real!” Cameras snapped her drooping expression, and Papa’s firm “Let’s go, princess” cut through as the crowd wailed.
Meanwhile Twitter ignited with shipper chaos,
• “FREEN SKIPPING THE AIRPORT GOODBYE? I’M CALLING THE POLICE AND MY THERAPIST”
• “Becky’s sad smile just yeeted my soul into next week—FREEN JAIL ERA”
• “Fluffy and Bonbon rn: ‘Daddy abandoned Mommy and now we’re orphans’” (with a crying puppy GIF)
• “WHERE IS THE HUG? THE KISS? I NEED A FREENBECKY CRUMB OR I’M RIOTING”
• “Plot twist: Freen’s shooting a sobfest MV called ‘I Let My Nong Fly Solo’”
The Armstrongs whisked Becky away, slipping into a private lounge—a sleek sanctuary behind frosted glass. She flopped into a chair, scrolling X with a deepening sulk, the shippers’ meltdown mirroring her gloom. Mama Rawe patted her hand, Richie grinned—“Buck up, sis, you’ll live without your clingy”—but their calmness felt staged, their glances too knowing.
Then the door swung open, and Freen strolled in, shoot makeup flawless, a grin splitting her face. Becky’s eyes widened, her family stifling smirks as Papa coughed into his sleeve. “You really thought you could go without giving me my goodbye hug?” Freen teased, her voice playful but edged with something raw.
“Freen!” Becky squeaked, launching into her arms, sulk dissolving as Freen caught her, their hug fierce and clinging—Freen’s hands on her waist, Becky’s face in her neck. “I thought you bailed on me babeeee!” she huffed, half-laughing, half-sniffling, thumping Freen’s back.
“As if,” Freen chuckled, cupping Becky’s face to swipe at her tears. “The director cut me loose early. No way I’m letting my Nong fly off without me sending her off.” Becky surged forward, aiming for a kiss, but Freen flushed, glancing at the family. “Becbec, they’re right here!” she hissed, shy and squirming as Richie fake-gagged.
“Oh, come on,” Becky pouted, tugging Freen’s sleeve, her grin mischievous. The family soon distracted themselves—Papa flipping through a magazine, Mama Rawe fussing with her purse, Richie texting—and Becky seized the chance, whispering, “Follow me.” She yanked Freen toward the lounge’s restroom, a giggle escaping as they slipped inside.
The door clicked shut, and Becky pinned Freen against it, her lips crashing into hers with a hungry edge. Freen gasped, melting into it, her hands sliding up Becky’s back, fingers digging in as Becky’s tongue teased hers, a soft moan humming between them. “You’re such a tease,” Freen breathed, her voice husky as Becky’s hands roamed under her shirt, brushing the warm skin of her waist. Becky nipped her lip, smirking against her mouth. “Gotta make up for this morning, babe.” Their kisses deepened, a quick, fiery tangle—Freen’s nails grazing Becky’s neck, Becky pressing herself flush, heat sparking in the tight space until a distant cough snapped them back.
They stumbled out, Freen’s cheeks flaming, lipstick smudged, Becky grinning like a cat with cream. Richie smirked, “Nice bathroom break, huh?” Mama Rawe raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly, while Papa chuckled, “Keep it quick next time.” Freen ducked her head, shy and mortified, muttering, “Oh my God, stop,” as Becky beamed, unrepentant.
The mood shifted as boarding loomed. Papa hugged Becky tight, “Make us proud, princess,” his voice thick. Mama Rawe kissed her forehead, “Come back to us soon, love.” Richie ruffled her hair, “Don’t cry too much over there, sis.” Becky nodded, tears brimming, but her eyes locked on Freen, who stepped forward, hands trembling.
Freen pulled a small ring from her pocket—a delicate band with a tulip engraved inside. “Angel’s tulip will always be with you,” she said, voice breaking as she slid it onto Becky’s finger, tears spilling. “I love you, Becbec. So much it hurts.”
Becky sobbed, clutching Freen’s hands. “I love you more. Don’t break without me, okay?” Their goodbye was a wreck—Freen pressing a desperate kiss to Becky’s temple, lingering there as their arms locked tight, her “Call me when you land” choked out as Becky’s “I’ll miss you every second” dissolved into hiccups. Mama Rawe pried them apart, “Time, Bec,” and Becky staggered through the gate, looking back with wet eyes as Freen stood frozen, waving until she vanished.
Outside, the Armstrongs emerged with Freen, fans spotting them instantly. Twitter erupted anew, shippers flipping from tantrum to tearful joy:
• “FBPFK WBK—FREEN SNUCK IN FOR THE HUG, I’M SOBBING”
• “I love their love—ring gift?I’m a puddle”
• “Becky sulky to smoochy in 0.2 secs—Freen’s the MVP” (with a heart-eyes GIF)
• “THEY MADE OUT IN THE BATHROOM? ICONS ONLY”
• “Freen crying with the fam—my heart can’t take this perfection”
• “I know they can get through this and their bond will be stronger by this separation—mark my words”
Settled in her business class seat, Becky scrolled Twitter before takeoff, her tulip ring glinting under the cabin light. The shippers’ chaos—funny, wild, emotional—washed over her, but that last tweet stuck: “their bond will be stronger by this separation.” She traced the engraving, tears pooling but hope flickering too. “We’ll be okay, babe,” she whispered, pocketing her phone as the plane hummed to life, carrying her away but not apart.