All Too Well Freenbecky Version

Becky had always hated Sundays.

They were too quiet. Too still. Like the whole world held its breath while she was left gasping for air, alone with thoughts she tried all week to outrun.

But what is she gonna do this Sunday?

When Saturday night already felt like punishment.

A whole night had passed.
And Freen still hadn’t answered.

No missed calls.
No half-typed apologies.
Not even a “seen” on her last message.

Just nothing.

And it wasn’t the silence that scared Becky—it was the weight of it. It pressed against her chest like a hand she couldn’t push away, making it hard to breathe, to think, to hope.

She knew why.

She knew.

It was Nop.

It had to be.

And it killed her—because even if she could explain everything, even if she did nothing wrong, she knew exactly how Freen must’ve felt.

Because she knew Freen.

She had seen it—the way Freen’s eyes darkened when someone lingered too long in conversation. The subtle shift in her tone when she sensed competition. The way her hand would slide around Becky’s waist just a little tighter when another person looked at her like she mattered.

Protective.
Possessive.
Fiercely loyal.

But this time, Becky couldn’t even be mad at her.

Because if the roles were reversed, she would’ve felt it too (Actually she feels it too with all freen’s co-star rumors but she trusts freen & their love the most). That sting in the chest. That ugly ache in your stomach when you realize someone else is stepping into the space you thought only you belonged to.

Still…
Still, Becky was so damn tired.

Tired of explaining.
Tired of always being the one to calm the storm.

She had given Freen her love. Her loyalty. Her everything.

Wasn’t that supposed to be enough?

She had nothing to hide—but sometimes love doesn’t care about logic. And it hurt, it hurt so much, that the one person she wanted to reach out to… was the one punishing her with silence.

She tried calling one last time, just in case Freen was finally ready to hear her voice.

Call ended.
No answer.

Becky stared at her screen, her eyes burning—not with tears, but with that hollow sting you get when you’ve cried too much to cry anymore.

Her thumb hovered over the message bar. For a moment, she thought of typing something. Anything.

“Please just talk to me.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I miss you.”
“I’m sorry.”

But she didn’t.

Because what if Freen didn’t respond to that either?

What if the silence stretched even longer?

What if… Freen was done?

The thought knocked the breath out of her. Without thinking, she threw her phone onto the bed like it had burned her, like the weight of it was too much to hold.

Then, slowly, she curled into herself. Arms wrapped tightly around her knees, head buried between them like she could make herself small enough to disappear. Her body ached with a tiredness that sleep couldn’t fix.

All she wanted was for Freen to call.
To tell her it was okay.
That she was still hers.
That nothing had changed.

But all she had was silence.

And on this empty Saturday night, Becky felt the loneliest she had ever been in her life.

_____________


Sunday mornings had always been too quiet for Becky’s liking.

But this one? This one felt cruel.

The kind of cruel that settles into your bones and makes everything heavier.

Her old bedroom in her parents’ house was cloaked in shadows—the curtains drawn, the lightbulb off, the air thick with silence. It smelled faintly of dust, old books, and something heartbreakingly nostalgic. A time before Freen. A time she didn’t want to go back to.

She hadn’t slept properly. Her eyes were puffy, her throat dry from all the words she hadn’t said, and her heart—God, her heart felt like someone had taken a knife to it and twisted.

Becky stayed curled under the blanket, a small lump in the middle of a bed that suddenly felt far too big. She ignored the dull ache behind her ribs, the way her fingers twitched every time her phone vibrated with anything but Freen.

Then came a soft knock.

“Becky?” Her mother’s voice, sweet and tentative. “I brought breakfast…”

Becky didn’t lift her head. “I’m not hungry, Mom.”

A pause. Then, retreating footsteps.

Good. She didn’t want to be seen like this—raw, messy, missing someone who hadn’t even text her good morning yet. 

She turned to the wall, curling tighter into herself like that could protect her from everything unspoken. She thought about sleeping. About escaping this ache, even just for an hour.

But fate had other plans.

Ten minutes later—another knock.

Becky groaned into her pillow. “Mom, I told you, I’m not hungr—”

A different voice cut through the door.

“But I am. And I swear, if you don’t open the damn door, I’m climbing through the balcony.”

Her breath caught.

That voice.

That voice.

Her entire body went still. A heartbeat of silence passed before she jolted upright so fast her vision blurred.

No.
No way.
Was she dreaming?

She stumbled out of bed, tripping over a discarded sweater on the floor. Her hands trembled as she reached the door, heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to break free.

She yanked the door open—

And there she was.

Freen.

Messy, tired, travel-worn… but there.

Hoodie too big, bun loose and falling apart, eyes swollen and red-rimmed like she’d been crying halfway across the city. Her backpack hung off one shoulder like it barely mattered, like she’d dropped everything to be here.

Becky stared for half a second.

Then launched herself forward.

Their bodies collided in a breathless crash. Freen let out a surprised grunt, stumbling back a step but catching her without hesitation. Arms wrapped tight around Becky’s waist like she was afraid to ever let go again.

“You’re here,” Becky whispered, her voice cracking on the second word, like even saying it hurt.

“I’m here,” Freen breathed into her hair. “I had to be.”

And that was it. That was all it took.

The dam broke.

Becky squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in Freen’s neck, breathing her in—vanilla and sweat and airport air. She clutched at the fabric of Freen’s hoodie like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“I thought—” Becky began, voice shaky, “I thought you were done.”

Freen pulled back just enough to bring their foreheads together. Her thumbs brushed Becky’s cheeks, wiping away tears she didn’t remember shedding.

“I was scared,” Freen admitted, eyes searching hers. "I was… I don’t know. Mad? Jealous? Stupid?"

Becky gave a wet, breathy laugh. "All of the above."

Freen chuckled softly. "Yeah."

They stayed like that—foreheads pressed, breaths mingling, hearts thudding too loud in the silence.

Then Becky murmured, so softly it almost disappeared into the air between them, “Kiss me.”

And Freen…Freen didn’t wait.

She cupped Becky’s face and kissed her with everything she had. Months of longing poured into a single moment. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate.

Messy. Fierce. All-consuming.

It was the kind of kiss that says I missed you, I’m sorry, Don’t you ever leave me like that again.

Freen’s hands trembled against Becky’s cheeks. Becky’s fingers curled into the back of Freen’s hoodie, pulling her closer, deeper, until there was no space left between them—only heat, only breath, only hearts crashing together like waves against a shore that had waited too long.

Becky felt the ache in her chest melt into something warm and solid. Something that said this is real. This is still yours.

And for the first time in weeks, the silence didn’t feel cruel.

Because now, it was filled—with shaky laughs, whispered apologies, and the sound of two souls finally finding their way back home.

Outside the door, the world continued like nothing happened.

But in that room—dim, messy, still full of heartbreak—

Love won again or maybe for now.

Sunday melted away like honey—slow, golden, and sweet.

Neither of them cared about the passing time.

After breakfast (which, unsurprisingly, both of them never actually ate), they found themselves tangled in Becky’s bed, limbs entwined, heads nestled against each other, soaking in the rare closeness they had been deprived of for far too long.

Freen lay on her back, one arm tucked under Becky’s shoulders, the other lazily running through Becky’s hair. Becky, curled up against Freen’s side, traced slow circles on Freen’s stomach through her hoodie, her fingers grazing soft fabric and warm skin underneath.

Neither of them spoke much—words weren’t necessary when the language of touch was enough.

A soft sigh. A quiet hum. A brush of fingers against a cheek.

"I missed this," Becky murmured after a long stretch of silence.

Freen smiled, pressing a kiss to Becky’s forehead. "Missed you."

Becky pouted, nudging Freen’s side. "Took you long enough to come back."

Freen rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow to look at Becky properly. "Excuse me? Are you complaining?"

Becky huffed dramatically. "Yes, because one and a half months, Babe. Do you even realize how many lonely nights that is?"

Freen smirked. "I mean, you did have your bestie, Nop, to keep you company—"

Becky smacked Freen’s arm, making her burst into laughter. "I knew you were gonna bring that up."

Freen only grinned wider. "How could I not? I find out some guy is answering your phone and calling himself your bestie? I was ready to jump on a plane and throw hands."

Becky rolled her eyes, but there was an undeniable warmth in her chest. "He’s just a friend. And I only let him in because he was persistent—not because I wanted to."

Freen let out an exaggerated gasp. "Oh, so persistence does work on you, huh?"

Becky blinked, realizing her mistake.

Freen smirked. "Noted."

"Babe—no—"

"Babe, yes."

Before Becky could protest further, Freen attacked, rolling on top of her and pinning her down effortlessly.

"Take it back," Freen demanded, straddling Becky’s waist and holding her wrists down.

Becky, ever the troublemaker, smirked up at her. "Make me."

Freen narrowed her eyes. "Oh, you really wanna play that game?"

And before Becky could react, Freen launched into her ultimate weapon—merciless tickles.

Becky screamed, kicking and thrashing beneath her. "FREEN—STOP—YOU DEVIL—"

Freen laughed, dodging Becky’s weak attempts at fighting back. "Say I’m your favorite person in the whole world, and I might consider stopping."

Becky, breathless from laughter, gasped out, "You’re—not—my favorite person—"

Freen tickled harder.

Becky shrieked. "OKAY! OKAY! You are my favorite person, you evil woman!"

Freen grinned triumphantly, stopping her attack and collapsing beside Becky, both of them breathless and tangled together once more.

Silence settled again, but this time, it was filled with soft giggles and heaving breaths.

Then, Freen nudged Becky’s cheek with her nose. "Say it properly."

Becky groaned, turning her face away. "You’re so annoying—"

Freen caught her chin, turning her back. "Say it."

Becky huffed but smiled. "Fine." She cupped Freen’s face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, and whispered, "You are my favorite person in the whole world, Miss Freen Chankimha."

Freen’s teasing expression softened instantly.

Her fingers ghosted over Becky’s jaw, tracing her features like she was memorizing them all over again.

"Good," Freen whispered, leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss to Becky’s lips.

Becky melted into it, fingers curling into Freen’s hoodie, pulling her closer as their kisses turned softer, deeper, slower.

It was a kind of love that didn’t need urgency.

A kind of love that knew, even after months apart, they were still here.

At some point, the soft golden afternoon light faded into the deep blue of evening, but neither of them noticed.

They had spent the entire day in bed, talking about nothing and everything. While Becky's parents left them alone in the house knowing they both need this time to heal all their distances. 

Hours passed, yet neither of them had the energy or the will to sleep.

At some point, Becky’s stomach grumbled, and Freen shot her a smug look.

"I told you to eat breakfast."

Becky groaned, rolling onto her side. "I wasn’t hungry then."

"And now?"

"Still not hungry."

Freen scoffed. "Your stomach literally just told me otherwise."

Becky buried her face in a pillow. "Go away."

Freen smirked, slipping out of bed. "Nope. I’m making you something."

Becky peeked up. "You? Cooking?"

Freen gasped in mock offense. "I do know how to cook, thank you very much."

Becky stretched, following her. "If you call burning toast cooking."

Freen shot her a glare. "I was going to make something nice for you, but now I’m reconsidering."

Becky grinned, looping her arms around Freen’s waist from behind. "I take it back. Cook for me, chef."

Freen chuckled, tilting her head to press a kiss against Becky’s temple before dragging her toward the kitchen.

The dim glow of the refrigerator bathed the kitchen in soft light as Freen rummaged through it, looking for something edible. Becky, still half-draped over Freen’s back, yawned dramatically.

"You're so slow," she mumbled, pressing her forehead against Freen’s shoulder.

"Patience, woman," Freen replied, pulling out a bowl of packed pasta.

Becky gasped. "You brought me my fav pasta from my fav restaurant while you were on your way here?"

Freen smirked, popping it into the microwave. "Of course. Do you even know how much I love you?"

Becky’s heart clenched, but she played it off with a dramatic sigh. "Finally, some proof."

Freen laughed, then turned toward Becky with a teasing glint in her eyes. "You wanna dance while we wait?"

Becky blinked. "What?"

Freen took her hands, pulling her close. "Come on. A little midnight slow dancing."

Becky narrowed her eyes. "You’re just trying to distract me from the fact that you probably burned the pasta."

Freen rolled her eyes. "Shut up and dance with me."

Becky giggled as Freen twirled her around the kitchen, their bare feet sliding against the cool tile. It was ridiculous, it was unnecessary—but it was them.

Freen hummed a random melody, swaying Becky gently from side to side. "See? I’m the best girlfriend ever."

Becky scoffed. "Debatable."

Freen pouted. "You wound me, babe."

Becky only laughed, pressing a kiss to the corner of Freen’s mouth. "You’ll survive."

After their impromptu kitchen dance, Becky grabbed the warm pasta and, like a child, sat down on the steps leading to the living room. Freen raised a brow.

"We have chairs, you know?"

Becky patted the space next to her. "This is more fun."

Freen chuckled, sitting beside her. Becky took a bite and groaned in delight.

"Okay, fine. You’re the best girlfriend ever."

Freen smirked. "Told you."

They sat there, side by side, sharing bites of pasta and exchanging playful nudges. For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed, like they were just them—before the distance, before the missed calls, before the doubt.

But even in this warmth, the elephant in the room lingered.

Freen hadn’t asked properly about Nop. Becky hadn’t explained. Neither freen told Becky about her going back to shoot again by next evening's flight. 

They were choosing not to bring it up, choosing to let this night be about love and not about the cracks forming between them.

Because right now, in this quiet, glowing moment, they weren’t two people on the verge of falling apart.

They were just Freen and Becky.

And for tonight, that was enough.

🎶 Cause there we are again in the middle of the night

We're dancin' 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light

Down the stairs, I was there

I remember it all too well…. 🎶