Chapter 29
The morning after the night when nothing really happened—except everything changed.
Both of them had slept like they hadn’t in weeks—maybe even months. Becky wore the widest grin in her sleep, like a child who’d finally been given back her favorite toy. And Freen... Freen had the softest calm blooming in her chest, a peace that only came from finally doing something right—for Becky.
The first golden crack of morning light peeked through the window, brushing against Freen’s eyelids, gently nudging her awake. She let out a quiet yawn, stretched her arms above her head, and sat up, blinking at the unfamiliar stillness.
Across the room, on the opposite bed, lay Becky—curled up in the weirdest panda position, half her head dangling dangerously off the edge, both arms thrown above her like she was surrendering to a dream. Freen couldn't help the quiet chuckle that escaped her lips. She tilted her head, both in disbelief and affection. How is she this adorable?
Her inner voice—usually strict and unforgiving—sighed wistfully, “God, I missed this so much.”
Freen frowned at herself. Ugh, stop being soft, she scolded internally.
Quietly, she slipped off the bed, tiptoeing across the room to adjust Becky’s head before it tumbled straight off the mattress. But just as she leaned forward, her internal monitor blared in warning:
“Rule No. 1: Do not invade personal space.”
“Rule No. 1: Do not invade personal space.”
“Rule No. 1: Do not invade personal space.”
“Rule No. 1: Do not invade personal space.”
“Alright, alright!” Freen rolled her eyes and spun around, heading for the restroom instead, muttering under her breath.
But halfway there, she stopped dead in her tracks, fists clenched.
Her neck is going to ache the whole day if I leave it like that… she reasoned, her concern outweighing logic.
She turned back, stomped softly to Becky’s bedside, and hissed to her own thoughts, “So, screw Rule No. 1—as long as she doesn’t find out.”
Crouching gently, Freen slipped her palm under Becky’s head, lifting it with painstaking care, sliding a pillow underneath to tilt her neck to a safer 30-degree angle. But just as she was about to pull her hand back—
Becky stirred.
With a sigh in her sleep, she rolled toward the other side, unknowingly locking Freen’s hand beneath her head. The gap between them vanished. Freen’s face now hovered inches from Becky’s cheek—so close that, if Becky were awake, she could probably feel Freen’s breath against her skin.
Damn it, Freen cursed silently, frozen.
She stayed like that. For what felt like five full minutes.
Not because she couldn’t move—but because she didn’t want to.
There was something magnetic about the closeness. Something warm. Something terribly dangerous.
Eventually, Freen peeled herself away with all the care of a thief leaving a treasure behind, retreating to finally begin her morning run.
But her heart? It stayed right there beside Becky.
By the time Freen returned to her dorm room, her hair damp and towel slung over her shoulder, she was halfway to the restroom when a warm blend of aromas caught her mid-step—fresh coffee brewing and the unmistakable scent of... toast? Or at least something that had once aspired to be toast. She paused. Her eyes narrowed with curiosity as she turned to glance at Becky’s bed.
Empty.
Her brows lifted. No way.
The mental image of Becky attempting breakfast tugged a smirk onto her face. Freen made a quiet beeline for the kitchen, leaning against the wall just shy of the entrance. And there it was: Becky, barefoot and in her oversized sleep shirt, fumbling adorably with the toaster. One after another, the bread came out too dark, too crooked, too doomed to be saved.
Freen couldn’t help but smile—soft, amused, fond.
But then the smile faltered slightly. If Becky’s making breakfast... she must be hungry. And at this rate, she’s going to stay hungry all day.
Freen cleared her throat, dropped her soft expression, and stepped in, donning the mask of her usual calm.
Becky noticed her, of course. Her posture stiffened for a moment, but she turned back to the toast, unsure of what the boundaries really meant this time. Were they allowed to talk? Or were they supposed to exist quietly, together but apart? She said nothing, focusing instead on at least salvaging one decent piece of toast. Just one. She wanted to make Freen a sandwich—a simple welcome back gesture.
Freen moved toward the fridge. Becky’s silence didn’t go unnoticed.
To ease the tension clinging to the air, Freen spoke up while pretending to hunt for something nonexistent across every fridge shelf. “Hmm… whatever happened to basic manners? Can’t seem to find one anywhere.”
Her voice was light, teasing, and intentionally loud enough to break the ice. She grabbed some eggs and stepped beside Becky to claim a burner. Becky finally cracked a smile.
“Good morning, P’Fieeeeeen,” she sang with a playful nudge of their arms.
Freen turned, her face mock-stern. “It’s Freen. F-R-E-E-N. Not Fieeeen.”
Becky, always the quickest to catch on, widened her eyes in exaggerated innocence. “Ohhhkay, Miss President,” she teased, mimicking a dramatic salute.
That did it. Freen narrowed her eyes and picked up a wooden spatula, waving it like a warning. “What. Did. You. Just. Say?”
Becky squealed, took a few retreating steps, then dissolved into giggles as she turned back to the toaster. “Okay okayyy, my toast!”
Her face—oh, her face—was flushed a tender pink, like the sky blushing during blue hour, when the world softens under the weight of affection and sunlit dreams.
Freen rolled her eyes and quickly whipped up a classic English-style omelette, plating it with practiced ease. Becky, on her end, finally managed a half-decent toast, slathered strawberry jam onto it with giddy determination, and built the one sandwich that survived the breakfast battlefield.
At the same time, they both turned—hands full, eyes meeting.
A beat of confusion.
Then they each placed their plates on the counter in sync.
“I thought you were hungry,” Freen said first, glancing at the mess Becky had made. “And you’ve got an early class and clearly no edible plan, so I made you an omelette. Eat that instead.”
She nudged the plate toward her.
But Becky shook her head, eyes wide. “No, no! I made you this sandwich—and coffee—as a welcome back treat and peace offering maybe.”
Freen blinked, lips twitching with disbelief. “Unbelievable,” she muttered with a half-smile.
Before the awkwardness could settle in like fog, Freen grabbed the sandwich, took a single bite, then left the rest on the plate. She picked up the coffee Becky had made and walked off, calling over her shoulder, “Finish all of it.”
From the kitchen, Becky echoed in a mocking whisper, “Finish all of it,” mimicking Freen’s tone.
“I heard that,” came Freen’s voice from the couch, already deep into her emails.
Becky’s eyes flicked to the list stuck on the fridge, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. With an invisible marker, she struck through one particular rule:
Rule No. 7 – No teasing or banters needed to be cordial.
Well… so much for that one.
Amid the buzz of college life, Freen sat in the campus canteen with her usual trio—Nam and Kade—while working on her laptop. Nam and Kade, however, were on a whole different mission: teasing Freen until she finally cracked and revealed what had convinced her to come back to her dorm… and to college.
“You both are too much, you know that?” Freen snapped, half-laughing and half-annoyed.
“Yeah, yeah, blame us,” Nam rolled her eyes dramatically, “but seriously—when are you going to open up and talk the talk? We’ve been friends for almost three years, and we still barely know you.”
Before Freen could respond, Irin and Becky arrived at their table. Ever since Freen’s absence, a new dynamic had formed—Becky, Irin, Nam, Kade, and sometimes Krik, when he showed up.
“I hate that class. It’s so boring,” Irin groaned, plopping down on a chair.
“She hates finance and management” becky commented softly, eyes flicking up to meet freen’s for a brief moment as she settled across from her. And then Becky's attention shifted back to Nam and Kade. At least, that’s what it looked like.
But as their conversation flowed effortlessly, Freen found her focus slipping.
It wasn’t Irin’s high-energy rants or Kade’s theatrical antics that threw her off. It was Becky. More specifically—Becky’s off-shoulder top. The neckline was way deep for Freen's liking, and every time Becky leaned forward, Freen’s chest tightened with anxiety. Not because she was uncomfortable with skin, hell no—Kade wore bold outfits daily and it never bothered Freen. But with Becky?
She cared—more than she should. Her mind wouldn’t stop spinning with thoughts of wandering eyes, recording phones, and the twisted projections strangers might place on someone as soft and as Becky. And then there was her own heart, thudding far too loud for reasons she refused to name. The mere thought of it all—of her—unsettled Freen in ways she couldn’t explain, and that alone was enough to drive her mad.
Becky, on the other hand, wore her outfit with ease—confidence, even. She was unbothered by how the world might perceive her. But Freen’s clenched jaw and furious typing didn't go unnoticed. Becky had known her long enough to sense when something was off.
After lunch, as the group walked out of the canteen together, Freen abruptly turned to Becky.
“Can I have a minute? I need to talk to you,” she said, firm and authoritative.
Becky blinked, unsure but curious. “Okay…” And with that Becky gestured the rest to go on ahead, and once they were out of sight, Freen grabbed Becky by the wrist and pulled her—straight into a restroom stall.
“P’Freen?! What are you doing?!” Becky squealed in disbelief.
“What do you think you’re wearing right now, huh?” Freen snapped.
“What?” Becky frowned, confused.
Without waiting for an answer, Freen slipped off her blazer and draped it over Becky’s shoulders. “Put this on.”
“What?! I’m not wearing this,” Becky protested instantly.
“I didn’t ask,” Freen shot back, her eyes locked with Becky’s in a warning glare.
“P’Freen, it’s already hot outside! And what are people going to say if I walk out wearing your blazer?”
“Tell them you’re feeling sick. Say you borrowed it from me.” Then she added, placing her hand firmly over Becky’s mouth, “No more talking.”
The moment their skin touched, Freen froze. Her hand on Becky’s lips… her soft lips… It wasn’t intentional, but the sensation sent a jolt straight to Freen’s heart. She gulped.
Becky, too, stood motionless—her eyes searching Freen’s with a question she didn’t ask out loud. Why? And what’s with all this protectiveness?
Freen quickly dropped her hand and stepped back, letting the words spill out all at once.
“I know it looks good on you. I know you wore it for yourself. But you’re not just any student now—you’re a rising star. And this top is too revealing. One wrong angle, one bend forward, and everything shows. You have fans everywhere, Becky. People are always recording. Could you… please… for your own safety, just be a little more careful?”
As she spoke, Freen gently tugged the blazer closed, covering Becky’s exposed skin—like it was instinct.
And with that, she turned and walked away.
Becky stood still for a long moment, blinking. Who was this version of Freen? Protective. Sweet. Bossy in the softest way.
She looked down at the blazer wrapped around her like a shield, hugged it, and let out a small grin. Then, with a playful twirl and a sparkle in her eyes, she whispered to herself:
“Whatever happened to Rule No. 13—No bossing around or being stubborn with each other for personal agendas?”
Still smiling like a little kid who just got caught sneaking candy, she held the blazer close and finally walked out—carrying a piece of Freen with her.
Evening arrived, casting golden shadows in their shared room. Becky was seated on her bed, headphones around her neck as she scribbled lyrics into her notebook, quietly humming a tune. Freen, on the other hand, was in full organization mode—tidying her side of the room, adjusting the bed, straightening the closet, placing fresh flowers into a vase on the newly added side table. She was trying to replace BonBon’s empty little corner into something warm and homey again.
But just as Freen reached over to adjust the flower vase on the table, a sudden shriek pierced the room.
“Aaaahhhh!” Becky yelled, jumping off her bed with wild eyes.
Freen spun around, alarmed. “What—what happened?!”
Becky dashed behind her, gripping Freen’s shoulders tightly. “Spider! Spider! There’s a spider on my bed!”
Freen blinked. “Wait, what?”
“It was on my hand!” Becky panicked. “I flicked it off, but what if it comes back?! What if it has family?!”
Freen spotted it—a small spider sitting calmly on Becky’s pillow. She sighed. “Okay, okay, stay here,” she said, stepping forward. But Becky yanked her back with surprising strength.
“No! No way! Please stay with me, P’Freen! It touched me—I felt it! What if it climbs again?”
Freen rolled her eyes but laced her fingers tightly with Becky’s. “Seriously, are you five?”
Becky clung closer. “A traumatized five, yes.”
Still holding Becky’s hand with one hand, Freen grabbed a rolled-up floor mat with the other. The spider began crawling across the wall.
“Okay, on three,” Freen muttered.
Becky squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t watch.”
“Good,” Freen replied. Then—bam!—she smacked the mat against the wall. The spider dropped instantly.
Becky jumped a little. “Ewwwwww,” she cringed, her face twisted in horror.
Freen closed her eyes and mumbled under her breath, “It’s okay… I donate blood. This doesn’t count as a sin, right?”
Becky, still clutching Freen’s hand tightly, refused to budge. “No way I’m going back to that bed. What if it had eggs? What if it had a mission? I’m not risking my life tonight.”
Freen let out a tired sigh. “Becky, come on. It’s fine now. We’ll call room service tomorrow for a deep cleaning, but for now—it’s all good.”
“No, I’m not going. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” Becky declared, her grip tightening as she leaned closer, face set in dramatic resistance.
Freen looked at her in disbelief. “Becky…”
“No, P’Freen,” Becky repeated, puffing her cheeks and widening her eyes in that ridiculous Sinchan-style pout that made it impossible to stay mad at her.
Freen groaned. “Fine then, sleep on the couch. Why should I care?” she snapped, trying to sound indifferent as she yanked her hand away.
But the moment their fingers unlaced, both of them felt it—that instant, quiet absence of warmth. A strange silence hung in the air, the kind that made hearts shift just a little without warning.
Without saying another word, Becky flopped onto the couch, curling up dramatically with a cushion as her shield. Freen, stealing one last glance, picked up her laptop and settled onto her bed with a sigh, pretending to focus—though neither of them could really ignore the shortening of their distance that now echoed in that small room.
After a while, Becky drifted off—her head lolling to one side, fingers still loosely gripping a pen, the ink trailing off into a sleepy scrawl across the open notebook balanced on her lap. Her lashes fluttered slightly, breath soft and even, like a lullaby the room had quietly surrendered to.
Freen watched from the bed, her lips curling into an affectionate smirk.
“She can sleep anytime, anywhere, and in any position,” she mused.
Then came the teasing murmur from her inner devilish mischievous voice, playful and knowing.
“Well… want to break some more rules?”
Freen huffed softly, pushing the covers aside as she slid off the bed. Her bare feet met the cool floor with a quiet thud. Crossing the room, she approached Becky—now half-slouched on the couch like a page in a forgotten storybook.
She gently closed the notebook, its faint rustle almost like a whisper of paper sighing, and placed it aside on the table. Then, with a tenderness she barely allowed herself, Freen leaned down and brushed Becky’s arm.
“Bec…” she called, voice hushed, careful not to startle.
Nothing.
“Becbec,” she tried again, nudging her gently.
A slight twitch. Becky stirred, blinked open one eye, then slipped right back into slumber like a stone sinking into still water.
“Becky,” Freen said again, a little louder but still soft, the name floating in the dim air like a breath.
“Whatt…” Becky squealed groggily, muffled, eyes barely open.
“Sleep properly,” Freen coaxed, her voice brushing against the quiet like a lullaby.
“Uhmmm…” came the sleepy hum as Becky curled even tighter into the couch, tucking herself into a smaller knot, the fabric of her oversized sweatshirt bunching under her chin.
Freen let out a quiet sigh, the kind that carried both affection and defeat.
“Becky, I’m serious. Sleep on the bed.”
A pause. Then, barely audible through the haze of sleep—
“No… there are spiders,” Becky mumbled, her voice muffled in the couch cushions, like a child narrating a half-remembered dream.
Freen blinked once. Then exhaled again, slower this time.
“Then come sleep on my bed,” she offered, resignation tinged with softness.
She hooked her hands gently under Becky’s arms and lifted—half-dragging, half-guiding her toward the bed. Becky stumbled forward like a marionette on sleepy strings, barely awake, barely aware. Freen helped her sit, then nudged her until she laid down properly, her body sinking into the mattress like it had been waiting for this invitation all along.
Freen adjusted the blanket with practiced care, the fabric whispering as it settled over Becky’s frame. But just as she was about to pull away, fingers—small, warm, and desperate—wrapped around her wrist.
“Please stay, P’Freen… the entire family of spiders is hunting me…”
Becky mumbled it in her sleep, the fear absurd but heartbreakingly sincere, as though her subconscious clung to Freen like a safe harbor in a storm.
Freen’s chest ached.
“Bec… you gotta be kidding me.”
She tried to pull her hand back, but Becky clung tighter, shifting again—rolling over and dragging Freen down into the bed with her, just like she had that morning. Freen landed beside her with a quiet gasp, face half-buried in the pillow.
“Please, P’Freen… you always leave…”
It was a throwaway line, murmured in the fog of sleep. But for Freen, it echoed like thunder. It wasn’t about spiders. Not really. It was about something deeper—something that had once shattered the space between them.
The memory flickered: the last time she had walked away. The hurt she had left behind.
A scream built quietly inside her, all her rules flaring up like red lights in her chest. But then—Becky’s hand, trembling slightly, held hers again. Tight. Like it meant something. Like she still feared being left behind.
Freen understood.
The fear.
The trauma.
That deep, gnawing ache that the past might happen all over again.
So this time… she let it slide.
Becky shifted, her body inching closer, wrapping Freen’s arm around her like a seatbelt snapping into place. It was warm. Soft. Terrifying.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Freen whispered into the hush, even as her inner voice screamed back—
“Rules. Rules. RULES.”
But she silenced it. Gently.
She nudged her nose into Becky’s hair, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and notebooks and something so achingly Becky, it made her heart clench. Becky had left no room between them—physically or otherwise.
Becky, asleep, completely unaware.
Freen, catastrophically aware, gave in anyway.
“Maybe just for the last time,” she told herself.
And her inner voice smirked,
“We’ll see… oh, it’s going to be so much fun. Just wait and watch.”
With a soft roll of her eyes, Freen finally allowed them to close. Wrapped in the fragile warmth of this impossible moment, she gave in.
Just for now.
They both fell asleep like that—
Freen spooning Becky, and Becky holding Freen like her life depended on it.
All thanks to one ridiculous spider.
And it was only Day One of Freen’s return—both to the room, and to Becky’s life.
She was already down bad.
Already breaking every rule she’d made to protect them both.
Honestly… no one could save her now.
She might be sleeping on the bed,
But for Becky?
She’s always on the floor.
And if you’re wondering why Freen was not panicking, why she wasn’t unraveling under the weight of her cursed fate—
It’s because she was trying.
Trying her best to hold back the panic.
To cage the trauma.
To silence the voice that warned her she’d ruin everything.
All because this time, she just wanted to treat Becky right.
Becky—who had always loved her so selflessly, so entirely.
And if there was one thing Freen could offer in return, it was this:
To be gentle.
To stay.
To care quietly from afar.
This time, she wouldn’t let Becky wither away because of her fear.
Yes, Freen had a long list of rules.
And yes, even though she was breaking every single one of them ;)
But she was aware, catastrophically aware
Of her fate.
Of her limits.
Of the delicate boundaries that they still need to maintain.
But for now, let's just let the moment have its way with them :)
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P.s I hope this chapter wraps around your heart like a warm hug.
I specially curated it for you all—with just enough softness to soothe, but don’t get too comfortable yet.
We’re still wading through the calm before the emotional storm.
A little messy angst is on the way… because let’s be real—how else will they fall head-over-heels, hopelessly, ridiculously in love?
So bear with me, my fellow angst lovers and love-starved souls. ;)
It’s only going to get more deliciously complicated from here.