Through Loss and Love
The morning sunlight spilled through the window, warming Becky’s face as she stirred under the covers. The faint scent of coffee lingered in the air, and for a moment, everything felt calm — perfect, even.
Then came the quiet rustling of papers, the soft clink of a spoon against a mug, and the familiar hum of Freen’s voice — mumbling lines under her breath.
Becky peeked one eye open, finding Freen perched at her desk, script in hand, hair twisted into a messy bun. Her face was scrunched in concentration as she mouthed her lines.
“Babe… are you seriously practicing this early?” Becky’s voice came out groggy.
Freen’s head shot up, startled. “Crap — did I wake you?”
“No…” Becky dragged herself upright, squinting at the clock. “Wait — it’s barely eight. Why are you up?”
Freen set her script aside and walked over, crawling onto the bed and flopping down dramatically. “Because today is huge — your big game and my rehearsal.”
Becky smirked, ruffling Freen’s hair. “I thought you memorized all your lines already.”
“I did,” Freen said proudly. “But I still wanna get everything right.”
“Please,” Becky teased. “You’re amazing. You could forget half your lines and still steal the show.”
Freen chuckled, but her smile softened as she reached for Becky’s hand. “And you’re gonna crush it today too.”
“Obviously,” Becky shot back, flashing her usual cocky grin.
“Promise me something?” Freen’s fingers tightened around hers.
“Sure,” Becky said without hesitation.
“After you score,” Freen said, voice softer now, “look for me in the crowd, okay? I’ll be the one screaming my head off.”
“You always are,” Becky said with a fond smile.
It was a quiet promise — one they didn’t need to say out loud. Freen had never missed one of Becky’s games. Not once. And Becky had never missed Freen’s performances either. It was just their thing. Always there for each other — always.
Later that afternoon, Freen stood frozen in the theater’s hallway, her heart sinking as the director’s words hit her like a brick.
“You can’t miss this rehearsal,” the director said firmly. “We’re blocking the entire second act. Without you, there’s no point.”
“But I’ll come back right after Becky’s game — I can still make it in time!” Freen argued.
The director shook his head. “You’re the lead, Freen. You can’t afford to miss this.”
Freen clenched her fists by her sides. “But she’s never played a big game without me there.”
“And you’ve never skipped rehearsal either,” the director reminded her.
Freen stood there, speechless. Her chest felt tight, like someone had punched the air out of her.
“I’m sorry,” the director said, voice softer now. “But this isn’t optional.”
Becky leaned against the wall of the locker room, her fingers absently spinning the bracelet around her wrist—the one Freen had given her on their anniversary. The chatter of her teammates buzzed in the background, but her mind kept replaying that morning's conversation.
"I can't believe this is happening," Freen had said, pacing the living room. Her voice had been tight, her face pinched with frustration. "I've never missed one of your games before."
Becky, still half-dressed in her football gear, tried to smile. "Hey, it's okay. You didn’t exactly plan for your director to turn into a tyrant."
“It’s not okay,” Freen shot back. “I’ve never missed one of your games.”
“And I’ve never missed one of your performances,” Becky reminded her. “But sometimes... stuff happens.”
Freen stopped pacing and knelt in front of Becky. “I should be there.”
“I know,” Becky murmured. “But I’ll be fine. You’ve been to every other game — I know you’re still cheering for me, even if you’re not there.”
Freen didn’t answer right away. She stared at Becky’s knee, tracing an imaginary pattern with her thumb before whispering, “I hate this.”
“I know,” Becky repeated, voice softer now. She reached up, cupping Freen’s face in her hands. “But hey… it’s not like I’m gonna break my leg or anything.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Freen groaned, burying her face against Becky’s shoulder.
Becky held her close, fingers threading through Freen’s hair. “I’m gonna score just for you,” she promised.
“You better,” Freen mumbled.
“I will.”
When they finally pulled apart, Freen cupped Becky’s face and pulled her for a kiss. The kiss they shared was slow and soft, lingering longer than usual — like neither of them wanted to let go, like she was silently promising, I’m still with you, no matter what.
When they finally pulled apart, Becky’s fingers brushed Freen’s cheek. “Now go,” she whispered. “Before you’re late.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Freen said, her hand lingering at Becky’s cheek.
“I know,” Becky whispered back. “I know.”
Freen tried to smile, but her heart still felt heavy.
Flashback — Three Months Ago
The stadium lights shone down like spotlights, illuminating the field. Becky stood at the edge of the pitch, bouncing on her heels, eyes scanning the crowd.
And there she was — Freen, standing near the front row, bundled up in her oversized hoodie, a thermos of tea clutched in her hands.
The moment their eyes met, Becky felt her nerves quiet. The churning anxiety in her stomach stilled, like someone had turned the volume down on her thoughts. Freen didn’t even have to say anything — just being there, smiling like Becky was the only person in the world, was enough.
“Eyes on me,” Freen mouthed with a grin, pointing to her face.
And Becky did. Every time she felt the pressure creeping in, she’d glance toward that spot in the crowd — to Freen. Calm, steady, hers.
Later that night, when Becky scored the game-winning goal, Freen had been the loudest voice in the stadium.
End of Flashback
Becky let out a soft breath, recalling that moment — how Freen’s smile had steadied her, how her presence alone had felt like an anchor.
“You’re still thinking about it, huh?” Freen murmured, snapping Becky back to the present.
“Yeah,” Becky admitted. “You being there... it’s kinda my good luck charm.”
Freen’s lips quirked up in a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And now I’m ditching you on your big day.”
“You’re not ditching me,” Becky said firmly. “You’re killing it at rehearsal, and after that, we’ll both celebrate like winners.”
Freen huffed out a soft laugh. “I don’t know how you’re always this confident.”
“Because I’ve got you, and you have got me.” Becky shrugged like it was obvious.
Freen shook her head, unable to fight the warmth creeping up her face. “I’m proud of you,” she said softly, voice almost breaking.
Becky’s expression softened. “I know.”
Freen leaned in again, pressing her lips to Becky’s — a slow, lingering kiss that said everything she couldn’t put into words. When they finally pulled back, their foreheads rested together.
“You’ve got this,” Freen whispered.
“You better believe it.” Becky grinned, but the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed.
Freen lingered at the door longer than she should have, watching Becky tie her shoelaces and adjust her jersey. Both tried to act calm, but the air felt heavier than usual — like something wasn’t quite right.
Neither of them said it out loud, but they both felt it.
“See you after?” Freen asked one last time.
“I’ll be the one with the trophy,” Becky promised.
Freen smiled — but this time, she couldn’t shake the unease that gnawed at her chest.
______________________________________________________________________
The stadium buzzed with energy — the roar of the crowd, the sharp whistles of the referee, and the rhythmic stomp of feet pounding against metal bleachers. Becky stood on the field, her fingers clenching and unclenching by her sides.
You’ve got this, she reminded herself.
But her gaze instinctively flicked toward the empty space in the stands — the spot Freen always claimed. Freen was always there. Rain or shine, win or lose — Becky could count on that warm smile, that familiar face lighting up every time their eyes met.
Flashbacks flickered in her mind — moments burned into memory.
The finals last year... she’d been so anxious that her hands shook as she laced her cleats. But one look at Freen — cupped hands around her mouth yelling, "You’ve got this, baby!" — and her nerves melted away.
Another game, tougher than most. Becky had been exhausted, barely hanging on. Then there was Freen, hands pressed together like she was praying, whispering something — something Becky couldn’t hear but somehow felt. As if Freen was breathing strength into her from across the field. And Becky had found her second wind.
Today... today that spot was empty.
Becky swallowed hard and adjusted her jersey. You’re fine. Focus.
It’s fine. You’ve done this a hundred times before, Becky told herself. But her chest still felt tight.
The whistle blew, and the game began. For a while, things went well. Becky was sharp — weaving through defenders, sharp passes landing perfectly. But the pressure mounted, and without Freen’s steady gaze grounding her, she felt it more than usual.
The first half started well. Becky maneuvered through the field, sharp and focused. She felt the pressure building, but every time doubt crept in, she reminded herself: Freen’s proud of you. Just play.
Then the game got rough.
The opposing team was aggressive — pushing, shoving, playing rough. Becky wasn’t one to back down, but when someone slammed hard into her side, she didn’t have time to react.
She hit the ground hard, her ankle twisting painfully beneath her.
Pain shot up her leg, sharp and immediate. Becky winced, clutching her ankle.
“Hey! Ref!” one of her teammates shouted.
The coach was already by the sideline, pointing at the bench.
“You’re out,” he called.
“No,” Becky hissed, forcing herself to stand. Her ankle protested fiercely, but she masked the pain. “I’m good.”
“You’re limping,” the coach snapped.
“I’m fine.” Becky adjusted her socks to cover the swelling. “We’re down by two. I can’t sit out now.”
The coach’s expression tightened. “Becky—”
“I got this.”
The pain followed her with every step, but Becky gritted her teeth and pushed through.
Minutes dragged by like hours. Her ankle throbbed, each pivot sending sharp stabs through her leg. She kept her face neutral, pretending the ache wasn’t building — pretending it wasn’t slowing her down.
Just hold on a little longer...
Then she saw the gap. A sliver of space in the defense — one chance to turn things around.
Now or never.
Ignoring her body’s screams, Becky bolted. The sharp jolt in her ankle made her stumble — just enough to throw her off. The ball slipped past her reach, and the next thing she knew, she was on the ground again, pain burning up her leg.
The whistle blew. Game over.
Becky barely registered the scoreboard. Her teammates muttered things she couldn’t quite hear — words about tough breaks and bad calls — but none of it mattered.
She limped off the field in a daze, every ache in her body drowned out by the crushing weight in her chest.
If I’d just played better... If I wasn’t so slow... If I wasn’t injured...
Her eyes drifted back to the stands — to that empty spot. The absence of Freen’s smile, her calming gaze, made Becky’s chest tighten.
I let them down... I let her down.
The locker room was filled with low chatter and the occasional clang of metal lockers slamming shut. Becky sat on the bench, her head down, fingers loosely laced together. Her ankle throbbed — swollen and angry — but she barely felt it. The ache in her chest drowned everything else out.
“Beck?” Emma’s voice was soft as she crouched beside her. “How’s the ankle?”
“I’m good,” Becky muttered.
“Good?” Alice’s voice chimed in from behind, incredulous. “You could barely walk off the field.”
“I said I’m fine,” Becky snapped, sharper than intended. She kept her gaze on the floor, unable to meet their concerned eyes.
Emma and Alice exchanged a look. They knew this version of Becky — the one that shut down after a loss, walling herself off like she could somehow outpace the disappointment if she stayed quiet enough.
“Hey,” Emma tried again, gentler this time. “It’s not your fault.”
Becky’s fingers tightened.
“We were all there,” Alice added. “They played dirty — you shouldn’t have even—”
“I should’ve been better,” Becky interrupted. Her voice wavered, but she forced it steady. “I should’ve played stronger.”
“Beck—”
“I’m fine.” She stood abruptly, wincing as her ankle protested beneath her weight. Ignoring the pain, she grabbed her duffel bag and limped out of the locker room without another word.
“Becky, wait!”
She didn’t. Their voices faded behind her as she forced herself down the hallway — each step heavy, slow.
By the time she reached her dorm, her ankle was screaming, but she barely noticed. She shut the door behind her, locking it. The silence swallowed her whole.
Becky dropped her bag on the floor and sank onto her bed. She stared at her phone on the nightstand, the screen dark.
Freen must be done by now...
Her fingers twitched, hovering over the phone — but she didn’t reach for it.
What was she supposed to say?
‘Hey, I lost. I played like crap. Also, I might’ve made my ankle worse because I was too stubborn to sit out.’
No. Freen would comfort her — remind her it wasn’t her fault, tell her she was proud no matter what.
And Becky didn’t want that. Not right now.
I don’t deserve it.
She turned her phone face down, ignoring the gnawing ache in her chest. Curling into herself, she shut her eyes — but sleep didn’t come.
All she could hear was the echo of that final whistle. All she could see was that empty spot in the stands.
________________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile, back at the theater
The theater buzzed with energy — the rustle of costumes, murmured conversations, and the steady hum of the crowd beyond the curtains. The air smelled faintly of old wood and stage makeup, a scent that usually grounded Freen before a performance.
But tonight, she felt like she wasn’t even there.
Backstage, Freen paced relentlessly, her fingers twisting and untwisting her necklace. Her mind kept drifting — imagining Becky stretching on the field, lacing her cleats, flashing that determined grin she always gave before kickoff. Is she warmed up enough? Are they playing dirty again? What if she...
“You’re gonna wear out the floor,” Nam teased, stepping beside her. She nudged Freen’s arm with her elbow, offering a smile.
Freen barely managed a chuckle. “I’m just... I can’t stop thinking about—”
“Becky?” Nam finished knowingly.
Freen sighed, tugging her necklace again. “She hasn’t texted.”
“She’s probably still busy,” Nam reassured her. “You know how intense those games get.”
Title appeared with a script in hand, raising a brow. “C’mon, Freen. Let’s run some lines — you’re gonna spiral if you keep pacing like that.”
Freen tried. She really did. But as Title read his part, her gaze kept flicking back to her phone on the makeup table. No new messages. The empty screen gnawed at her nerves.
“She’s fine,” Title said, noticing her distraction. “Becky’s tough.”
Yeah... but even Becky has limits...
When it was finally her cue, Freen stepped onstage and forced her mind to focus. She delivered her lines, but her words felt hollow. Each cheer from the audience made her stomach twist — was that Becky's team scoring? Or losing? The sounds blurred together, her thoughts racing.
Halfway through the second act, Freen fumbled a line — something she never did. Nam had to subtly guide her back on track, her gentle glance grounding Freen just enough to continue.
By the time her final scene arrived — a heartfelt monologue about fighting for love — Freen’s emotions spilled out more than she intended. Her voice wavered, her chest tight. The words didn’t feel like part of the script anymore; they felt real.
Please be okay... please...
When the curtain fell, everyone erupted in applause — but Freen barely heard it. She muttered a breathless “Thanks” to her director, yanked off her mic, and bolted backstage.
“Freen, wait!” Nam called after her.
But Freen wasn’t listening. She was already pushing through the crowded hallway, still in her costume, her dress slightly crooked, her lipstick smudged, and her hair stiff with hairspray. None of it mattered.
Her fingers trembled as she checked her phone again. Still nothing. That’s not like Becky at all.
That gnawing fear tightened its grip. Becky always texted. Win or lose, she always texted.
Freen’s heart pounded as she rushed out of the theater and toward Becky’s dorm, her legs moving faster than she thought possible.
Freen’s heart was racing by the time she reached Becky’s dorm. She barely remembered sprinting across campus, only that her legs didn’t move fast enough. She banged on the door, breathless.
“Becky?” Her voice wavered, panic creeping in. She knocked again, harder. “Becks, open up!”
Finally, the door creaked open — and Freen’s stomach dropped.
Becky stood there, leaning heavily against the frame. Her face was pale, her eyes puffy, and her hair was a tangled mess. The oversized hoodie she wore swallowed her small frame, but what caught Freen’s attention was the way Becky shifted her weight — the limp. The unmistakable wince as she moved.
“You’re hurt…” Freen breathed, her voice breaking.
“It’s nothing,” Becky mumbled, forcing a weak smile. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Freen shot back, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. Her eyes darted to Becky’s swollen ankle, barely concealed beneath the fabric of her joggers. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked, thick with frustration and guilt.
Becky gave a small shrug, dropping her gaze. “Didn’t wanna ruin your rehearsal.” Her attempt at sounding casual barely held together.
Freen exhaled sharply, her chest tightening. “Baby…”
“It’s not a big deal,” Becky tried again, but her voice was weaker now, shakier.
Freen stepped closer, her expression softening. “Yes, it is.” Her hand reached out, fingers brushing Becky’s arm. “You’re more important.”
For a moment, Becky didn’t move. Her stubborn walls — the ones she always built after a bad game — threatened to hold firm. But Freen’s hand was warm, grounding her in a way no one else could.
“I didn’t play well,” Becky muttered. Her voice barely above a whisper now. “I... I should’ve been stronger.”
Freen swallowed hard, her heart aching at the way Becky’s face crumpled — the frustration, the guilt, the exhaustion all bleeding through.
“I should’ve been there,” Freen whispered.
Becky shook her head. “That’s not your fault.”
But Freen’s mind flashed back — to every game where Becky had looked for her in the crowd, locking eyes just before kickoff. Their silent ritual. Becky never said it out loud, but Freen knew — knew that those moments anchored her. That quiet reassurance had always been Becky’s lifeline.
“You didn’t have me there today,” Freen murmured, her fingers curling gently around Becky’s fingers.
“I still messed up,” Becky choked out. Her voice cracked, and suddenly, her face crumpled. The walls she’d tried so hard to hold up finally caved in.
“You didn’t,” Freen said softly, stepping closer. “You kept going… even when it hurt. That’s not messing up, Baby. That’s brave.”
Becky’s breath hitched — she stepped closer and threw herself in Freen’s arms, burying her face against Freen’s shoulder.
Freen wrapped her arms around her tightly, holding her close. “I’m here, love,” she whispered into Becky’s hair. “I’ve got you.”
Freen guided Becky carefully to the couch, her arm firmly wrapped around her waist, steadying her every step. Becky barely said a word, biting back winces as her swollen ankle throbbed. Once she was settled, Freen knelt in front of her, gently lifting Becky’s foot and propping it on a pillow.
“You’re supposed to keep it elevated,” Freen muttered, her voice soft but firm.
“You’re fussing,” Becky mumbled, trying to sound playful, but her voice lacked its usual energy.
“I’m caring,” Freen corrected, smoothing Becky’s sock down to reveal her bruised ankle. Her fingers barely grazed the swollen skin, but Becky still hissed in pain. Freen flinched, guilt washing over her again. “I should’ve been there…”
Becky shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”
But Freen’s mind couldn’t stop replaying it — the empty spot in the bleachers, the way Becky would always find her in the crowd, smile when their eyes met, and somehow play better afterward. Becky’s fingers had always tapped her wrist twice before kickoff — a quiet little “love you” signal just for Freen.
“You didn’t have me there today,” Freen said quietly, her gaze still on Becky’s ankle. “And... it showed.”
Becky’s breath hitched, her defenses crumbling again. “I thought I could handle it,” she whispered. “I thought... if I just kept pushing, I could turn things around. But I kept... messing up.” Her voice cracked. “I let everyone down.”
“You didn’t.” Freen’s voice was gentle, but certain. She shifted closer, reaching for Becky’s hand. “You don’t always have to carry the whole team on your shoulders.”
Becky let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around Freen’s. “But that’s just it... I do. They rely on me.” She blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “And when you weren’t there…” Her voice broke completely. “It just felt... wrong.”
Freen’s chest tightened. “Oh, baby…” She moved closer, pulling Becky into her arms. Becky didn’t fight it — instead, she sank into Freen’s embrace like she’d been holding her breath all night.
“I was scared,” Becky admitted, her voice muffled against Freen’s shoulder. “Not because I needed you to win, but... because you’re my safe place. And when I couldn’t see you out there...” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t know how to breathe.”
“I know,” Freen whispered, pressing a kiss to Becky’s temple. “I know, baby... I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”
Becky clutched Freen’s shirt tightly, her tears finally spilling over. Freen didn’t say anything else — she just held her, one hand rubbing slow circles on Becky’s back, the other tangled in her hair.
“You played your heart out,” Freen murmured after a while. “I’m so proud of you — win or lose.”
Becky sniffled, wiping her face. “I didn’t feel very strong today.”
“Well,” Freen smiled faintly, “I know my girlfriend — she’s the toughest person I know.”
That finally drew a small, watery laugh from Becky. “Says the girl who cries over animal rescue videos.”
Freen grinned. “Tough and soft — it’s called balance.”
They stayed like that for a while — quiet, close. Eventually, Freen got up to grab some painkillers and a glass of water. When she returned, she settled beside Becky again, tucking a blanket around them both.
“You know…” Freen started softly. “I couldn’t focus either.”
Becky glanced at her. “What?”
“During the play,” Freen admitted, her voice low. “I kept thinking about you. Kept checking my phone every chance I got.” She shook her head. “I just... I should’ve been there.”
“You couldn’t,” Becky said gently. “Your play mattered too.”
“Not as much as you,” Freen whispered, brushing Becky’s hair back before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
Becky’s body finally relaxed — her muscles no longer tense with frustration or guilt. Freen shifted, her arm curling protectively around Becky’s waist.
As Becky’s eyes began to drift closed, she murmured, “Promise you’ll never miss another game?”
Freen smiled, pressing another kiss to her temple. “Only if you promise you’ll never scare me like this again.”
Becky chuckled sleepily. “No promises.”
Freen laughed softly, holding her a little closer. “Love you, my troublemaker.”
“Love you too,” Becky whispered, her voice fading.
For the first time that night, Becky felt calm — her thoughts no longer racing, her heart no longer heavy. And as Freen held her, breathing steady and warm against her hair, she felt safe — like everything was finally right again.
___