Chapter 30
The days were turning far too sweet for Freen’s liking—sweeter than she had mentally prepared for. She had once drawn up clear lines in her mind: distance, boundaries, limitations. But somehow, everything now seemed to be rewinding… unraveling. All her rules were gently crumbling.
This time, Becky didn’t have to play her old tricks—no subtle glances, no fake injuries, no feigned helplessness just to draw Freen in. She didn’t have to lure Freen into conversations or fake a fall to get her attention. She didn’t have to pretend to be lost just to be found.
Because this time, it was all Freen.
If Becky ever stumbled even a bit, Freen was already there—arms wrapping around her in a protective rush, steadying her before gravity even stood a chance. If becky cough a little or sneeze? Freen would materialize from the next kitchen, armed with hot soup, medicine, and two extra cardigans—one draped on Becky’s shoulders before she could protest, and the other just in case.
When Becky began falling behind in her studies—too tangled in the chaos of album rehearsals—Freen took it upon herself to arrange everything. She’d make irin scribble down notes, record lectures, highlight important sections and everything just for becky. So much to the point that sometime freen even tutor her late into the night not wanting her to miss anything.
Also she was always there to drop Becky off at the studio, and the same arms would be there to pick her up afterward—no questions asked.
Becky didn’t know what had gotten into her. Although Freen hadn’t lost her cool composure, her quiet authority, or the mysterious air that always made Becky chase her a little harder. She was still very much the cold, composed Freen—but now wrapped in warmth that Becky had never seen this openly before.
Not that Becky was complaining. But a part of her longed for “The BackFreen era”, as she privately called it.
Because right now?
This was unmistakably the FreenBeck era. Freen was leading the story, and Becky… Becky was being doted on.
She wanted the upper hand again—wanted to poke and prod until Freen cracked a smile or narrowed her eyes in mock annoyance. But she didn’t dare push too far. Not now. Not when Freen was finally choosing her, fully, gently, and on her own terms.
So, Becky watched quietly, felt everything quietly—hoping this version of Freen would stay a little longer.
Because, honestly?
This sweetness… it was everything she ever wanted.
And Freen—no matter how much she quietly did for Becky—never found it enough.
If only she knew just how deeply she had fallen for her. She wanted to do anything that could make Becky smile, feel comfortable, feel at home—the way Freen herself felt whenever she was with her.
She knew she was playing a dangerous game with her cruel fate, but she was so sure of herself. So sure that whatever attachment she had for Becky was only a response to Becky’s affection—and nothing more.
She kept telling herself, convincing fate, that she had nothing to do with Becky. That Becky was just a clumsy, adorable little child, Anyone with a heart would care. Anyone would walk beside her, look after her, hold her hand if she tripped. And she could leave anytime she want but she will not because of something Freen liked to call “humanity.”
People call it love.
Freen called it humanity.
Wow.
Basically, She was doing it all. Feeling it all. Yet somehow, still trapped in the comfort of denial.
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The day had finally come—Jeff and Becky’s music video for Ride or Die was out. And their on-screen chemistry? It was screaming through every frame. Whether people were longtime fans or just casual viewers, everyone was losing it over the duo. Becky was over the moon, glowing with joy as the song soared to #1 across every major streaming platform, making waves throughout the music industry.
And Freen—Freen was proud too. Of course she was. She had watched Becky pour her heart and soul into the album. But with the storm of shipping agendas flooding the internet, something small and sharp began to ache in Freen’s chest. It was barely there—a subtle, almost invisible sting—but it pulsed quietly beneath her pride.
Interviews were lined up back-to-back for Jeff and Becky. Their names were trending nonstop. Shippers were at their happiest, flooding the internet with adorable edits, moments, and hashtags. Headlines declared them the new "it" couple of the music scene. And of course, the media spun their usual tales for clicks—speculative, exaggerated, sometimes ridiculous—but it didn’t stop people from eating it up.
Freen kept her composure, but something inside her was restless. The kind of restlessness that gnawed at her when no one was watching. She was genuinely happy for Becky, yes—but the thought of Jeff being the perfect guy for her, and Becky being the one who deserved someone just like him… that part? That part hurt.
Social media was a minefield of cute couple edits, romantic captions, and fan theories. Freen couldn't get them out of her head, no matter how hard she tried. She wanted to be strong, to not let it affect her. Most of all, she didn’t want Becky to see the storm quietly unraveling inside her—not now, not when Becky was shining this brightly.
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The college canteen buzzed with background chatter, trays clinking, and the occasional burst of laughter—until the big screen lit up with the latest Ride or Die interview. Freen sat with her usual trio—Nam and Kade—idly picking at her food, but her eyes were fixed on the screen the moment Becky and Jeff appeared.
The MC hosting the interview was clearly a shipper, practically glowing with excitement as they leaned in, their voice dripping with fanservice.
MC: “You two look so good together! Becky, tell us—what’s Jeff really like? Does he treat you right?”
Becky giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Becky: “Oh, he’s such a gentleman. He treats me with so much care—not just me, but everyone around him. So yeah… he’s sweet.”
Freen felt it instantly—the way her heart clenched, slow and tight, like someone had wrapped it in wire. Her face, usually unreadable, faltered. Nam noticed it first. She shot a glance at Kade, then subtly nudged her, silently pointing out the shift in Freen’s demeanor. Kade’s brow furrowed. They didn’t need words—they both knew.
MC: “And Jeff? What about you—how do you see Becky? Isn’t she just the cutest?”
Jeff blushed, chuckling softly, voice barely above a whisper.
Jeff: “Yeah… she’s adorably cute. I mean—she has the whole nation wrapped around her cuteness”
He was shy, sweet, introverted—and completely unaware of how each word echoed louder in Freen’s mind than on the screen.
Freen blinked once, twice. Then she stood up abruptly, her chair scraping sharply against the floor. Without a word, she stormed out of the canteen, head down, shoulders tight.
Nam and Kade both called after her.
Nam & Kade (in unison): “Freen…”
But she was already gone.
They turned to each other, sharing a knowing look—one heavy with understanding and concern. They didn’t say it aloud, but they knew exactly what it was.
Freen rushed to her dorm room, slammed the door shut behind her, and leaned heavily against it, as if the solid wood could hold back the storm inside her. She didn’t understand the reason behind the emotional avalanche crashing through her chest—it was just pure, raw ache.
She kept whispering to herself, over and over, “Be happy for Becky. Just be happy for her.” And she was—truly, she was. Becky’s success meant everything to her. But the thought of Becky falling for Jeff… of Jeff caring for her the way Freen always had, always wanted to… that thought alone felt like something was being carved out of her chest.
It was pure pain—sharp and consuming. And though she had tasted many flavors of pain in her life, this one stung the most in its one way.
Evening settled over the dorm room when Becky barged in, glowing with excitement. This time, she didn’t hold back. Riding the high of happiness, she approached Freen, who sat at her desk, typing furiously.
“P’Freen, did you watch the MV? Did you like it? How was I?” Becky’s voice bubbled with joy.
Freen paused, looked up briefly at Becky’s lit-up face. She could see how happy, excited she was—was it maybe because of Jeff? Or was it just because of her career? Freen shook off the thought quickly and replied, “It was good. Nicely done.”
She didn’t hold eye contact for long and returned to typing.
But Becky caught the shift. Freen always had a cold tone—blunt, unreadable—but even when she tried to be rude, becky alway knew she wasn’t. And now, when Freen was trying to sound polite… Becky knew it too that she wasn’t..
“You didn’t like it?” Becky asked again, softly, hesitantly, unaware of the storm brewing in Freen’s heart.
“I said it was good. What do you want me to say?” Freen snapped—not out of anger, but from the chaos inside her. And she bit her tongue for snapping out at becky, cursing herself under her breath for it.
Becky went silent. She turned and walked off to the restroom, staying inside longer than usual. Her mind spiraled. Did I do something wrong? Am I being too much?
But when she stepped out, something unexpected caught her breath.
A huge bouquet of white roses rested on her bed, along with a neatly wrapped gift box. Freen was nowhere in sight.
Becky rushed to find the card tucked inside the bouquet.
“Don’t let me ruin your joy. I might be having a mood swing, but I promise—it’s not you.
I’m so proud of you. Keep growing, na kha 🤍
Geng mak!!
– Ice Queen”
Becky melted. She had always known that Freen wasn’t the kind to be vulnerable in spoken words. Instead, she used texts as her language of care—whether it was a sticky note on the refrigerator reminding her to eat, or a day-light message telling her to be careful around the crowd of fans. That was Freen. Quiet love. Loud in silence.
Grinning through misty eyes, she silently thanked the universe for sending Freen into her life. She couldn't fall any deeper—she was already in love beyond words. And in her bones, Becky knew: none of this joy mattered if she couldn’t share it with Freen.
But even as her heart fluttered, a weight lingered. What is it that's troubling you, P’Freen?
She couldn't stop worrying.
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As the next day unfolded, Freen wore her usual straight face, hiding every trace of what churned inside her. She didn’t let Becky catch even a glimpse of the ache she’d buried deep. Just like every morning, she made breakfast for both of them. They sat together, the clinking of cutlery filling the quiet room until Becky finally spoke.
“P’Fieen… if I ever go through something—something I can’t even put into words—and it bothers me... would you still be there to help me out, or just… hear me out?” Becky asked gently, finally pulling a card for old times’ sake.
Freen’s heart stopped for a second. Her expression cracked with worry—visible, raw. She dropped her fork and turned to Becky, fully present now.
“What happened? Did someone bother you? Did any fan cross the line? Was it something from the critics? Tell me—what is it?” Freen’s voice was firm, concern dripping from every word.
Becky gave a small smile. “Just answer yes or no.”
Freen blinked. “Do you even doubt that?”
“Words, please. Yes or no?” Becky pressed.
“Obviously... I mean—yes. Now spill. Give me names,” Freen demanded, fully serious now.
But Becky didn’t answer with a complaint. Instead, she leaned forward, held Freen’s gaze with steady warmth, and said clearly, “I do too.”
Freen furrowed her brows. “What?”
“I mean... I’m also here for you,” Becky said, voice soft but sure. “If anything troubles you… just know that I’m here. I always will be.”
Freen stared into Becky’s eyes, caught off guard by the sincerity, the calm, the quiet promise in them. Her lips parted to say something… but even she didn’t know what it was. So she just hummed, a soft “Hmm,” and looked down again.
And just like that, she picked up her fork and resumed eating.
That’s how their day began—quiet, intimate, with something heavy unsaid, and something beautiful understood.
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Back at the studio, Becky was supposed to be tied up with recording until 9 PM. But today, by some rare stroke of luck, the team wrapped up early. At 7 PM, she was already packing up her things, mentally preparing to surprise Freen. She knew Freen would still be busy, likely deep in meetings, but just being home before her felt exciting.
While she was texting Freen, Jeff appeared beside her. “Let’s go. I’ll drop you off,” he offered casually.
“Oh—no need, P’Jeff, I’ll manage,” Becky replied quickly, her fingers already halfway through typing her message.
“Why wait around when it's just a half-hour trip? You’ll be with P’Freen sooner,” Jeff reasoned, a friendly smile on his face.
Becky hesitated. Something in her gut twitched, some quiet resistance. But logic won over intuition. “Ohkee,” she said with a polite nod.
By 7:30 PM, Becky was back at the dorm. Freen wasn’t there yet, so she dropped her a message:
“I'm home, P’Freen. P’Jeff dropped me since we got free so early.”
Meanwhile, Freen sat in a high-stakes meeting for the upcoming Paris Fashion Week. Her brand had to make an impact this season—but for her, it wasn’t about stress anymore. If it worked, it worked. If not, she wouldn’t bleed herself dry for validation. She had learned to protect her peace.
That peace cracked the moment her phone buzzed with Becky’s message.
She read it.
"P'Jeff dropped me."
Her eyes froze.
The warmth drained from her face as the name Jeff echoed like a trigger shot in her mind. She clenched her fist under the table, nails digging into her palm. A sharp sting—barely enough to distract her from the sting inside. That old demon—insecurity—woke up with a vengeance.
“Is something really growing between them? Could Becky be falling for Jeff?”
Before she could gather herself, her phone lit up again— clearly Freen’s fate knew no mercy at all.
This time with a flood of notifications from her college’s bulletin page. Dozens. Too many. And then, the headline burned through her screen:
"New IT Couple? Jeff and Becky caught kissing in his car after studio hours."
Freen’s breath hitched.
The thumbnail of the photo—blurry but damning—showed Jeff and Becky in his car. The angle was terrible, but it told a cruel story. Their heads leaned toward each other, close enough to be interpreted as a kiss. Freen, hands trembling, zoomed in. The clothes were the same Becky wore today. The figure, no doubt, was Jeff. But it didn’t look like a kiss—or maybe……
Becky’s head was tilted back, barely visible. Jeff’s back was turned. It could be anything. Anything.
But not to the anonymous photographer who’d sold the photo. The caption quoted him: "They were definitely making out. It was steamy. I watched it all."
The words seared through Freen’s heart.
She stood abruptly, chair screeching against the floor, eyes wide, throat dry, blood roaring in her ears. Her team looked up from the table in confusion, calling after her, but she was already halfway to the door.
She didn’t care.
She didn’t care about Paris. About the brand. About the meeting.
All she cared about was one thing—
Becky.
And the possibility that she was losing her.
Her hands gripped the wheel tightly as she sped back to the dorm, knuckles white, jaw locked, heart caving under the pressure of jealousy, fear, and something darker—the feeling of not being enough. Jeff had what she didn’t—freedom. The ability to show Becky affection in public, without fear. Maybe even words. That thought clawed at her, more than anything.
Meanwhile, Becky was pacing in the dorm room, heart pounding, unable to sit still. She had already explained everything to her friends, even to her parents. The photo meant nothing. Jeff was helping her because something had gotten into her eye. That’s all it was.
But one person still didn’t know the truth—Freen.
And Freen hadn’t replied to her message.
Becky felt it in her bones—a storm was coming. Something heavy. Something emotional. The air felt thicker. She didn’t know what exactly was going on in Freen’s heart, but whatever it was, it had started long before this photo.
And now, it was about to erupt.