Chapter Text
By eleven at night, Thunder Dome no longer looked like a concert venue.
It looked like Freen's mind had somehow been pulled apart and rebuilt in steel, LED panels, half open cases of equipment, rolls of tape, cables crossing the floor and people moving quickly enough to make Becky tired just watching them.
She had arrived almost two hours earlier with food in one hand and her own bag hanging from her shoulder, slipping through the side entrance with the sort of familiarity that meant nobody really questioned her anymore. There had been a time when someone would have stopped her, asked for a pass, called somebody to confirm.
Now one of the staff members had merely smiled.
"N'Becky."
Becky had lifted the paper bag. "I come bearing food, so technically I'm useful."
The woman had laughed and pointed toward the stage.
Freen had been exactly where Becky expected her to be.
In the middle of everything.
She wore loose trousers, an oversized shirt, her hair pulled away from her face, one hand wrapped around a microphone while the other pointed toward something on the massive screen behind her. One moment she was listening to the musical director, the next checking a lighting cue, then walking downstage to look at the position of one of the platforms herself.
It was her concert.
Not merely a concert where her name was written across the promotional material.
Hers.
Solenn's people moved around her. Dancers waited for instructions. Technicians called numbers across the venue. Someone was discussing costume changes near the stairs. Another person came running with a tablet.
And Freen seemed to know where almost everything was supposed to be.
Becky stood there for several seconds without interrupting.
There were things about Freen that she had watched grow quietly over the years, things that were difficult to notice when you saw someone almost every day because change rarely arrived all at once.
It accumulated.
A decision here.
A risk there.
One difficult conversation survived.
One door closed.
Another opened by her own hand.
And suddenly the woman Becky had once watched nervously prepare for small stages was standing in the centre of Thunder Dome on the night before her first solo concert, discussing camera angles for a show produced under the company she had built around herself.
Becky smiled before she even realised she was doing it.
Freen spotted her eventually.
Of course she did.
She had been talking to one of the coordinators when her eyes moved past the man's shoulder and landed on Becky standing several metres away.
Her entire expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Most people probably wouldn't have noticed.
Becky always did.
The tension between Freen's brows eased first.
Then the corners of her mouth moved.
Becky lifted the food bag.
Freen mouthed, What?
Becky mouthed back, Food.
Freen's smile grew.
That was all.
No running toward each other. No interruption. No spectacle.
Freen returned to her conversation.
Becky found a chair near the side of the venue.
It had become something of a habit between them over the past few years, although neither could remember when it had properly started. Bangkok made their schedules ridiculous enough that seeing each other sometimes required creativity. If Becky finished filming first, she would appear at Solenn or at Freen's dance studio with coffee or dinner. If Freen escaped work earlier, she would find Becky at a fitting or studio and complain dramatically about how long she had been waiting despite having arrived twelve minutes earlier.
Sometimes they left together.
Sometimes one fell asleep in the other's car before deciding it made more sense to stay over.
Sometimes they kissed goodbye in a parking garage and drove in opposite directions because one of them had a 5 a.m. call time.
It wasn't romantic in the way people liked romance to look.
Most of the time it was traffic, takeaway containers, charging cables, someone's forgotten skincare, half-finished conversations and asking, Did you eat?
But Becky had long ago decided that perhaps love became most convincing when nobody was trying particularly hard to make it beautiful.
Tonight Freen came down from the stage nearly forty minutes after Becky arrived.
"You ate?"
Becky stared at her.
Freen stopped.
Then sighed. "Right. Stupid question."
"Very."
"You brought it for me."
"Yes."
"Did you eat?"
"Also yes."
Freen narrowed her eyes.
Becky narrowed hers back.
"Rebecca."
"Sarocha."
One of the dancers passing them laughed.
Becky pushed the bag into Freen's hands. "Go eat before your birthday begins with me force-feeding you rice."
"That's romantic."
"I'm incredibly romantic."
Freen leaned closer as though she might kiss her, remembered where they were, and instead bumped their shoulders together.
"Stay?"
Becky's expression softened.
"As if I'm going anywhere."
By half past eleven, Becky had stopped pretending she wasn't exhausted.
Her day had started before sunrise. There had been a fitting, a meeting, another meeting that should have been an email, several calls and nearly ninety minutes trapped in Bangkok traffic before she reached the venue.
Still, she refused to leave.
She sat tucked near the side while Freen completed one final run-through.
At some point, Freen was discussing an entrance cue with a coordinator when she glanced toward Becky again.
Her sentence stopped halfway.
The coordinator followed her gaze.
Becky was asleep.
Or attempting to be.
Her arms were folded loosely across herself, her head dropping forward every few seconds before jerking back slightly. The angle of her neck looked painful even from the stage.
Freen stared for a moment.
Then handed the coordinator whatever she had been holding.
"I'll be back."
She crossed the venue, crouching in front of Becky.
"Becc."
Nothing.
Freen touched her knee.
"Baby."
Becky's eyes opened immediately.
Freen smiled.
"Hi."
Becky blinked at her. "I'm awake."
"You were sleeping."
"I was thinking."
"With your mouth open?"
Becky covered her mouth instantly.
Freen laughed.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
Unfortunately, Becky couldn't argue with that.
Freen reached up and rubbed gently beneath her jaw.
"Go sleep properly."
"No."
"Becky."
"I want to stay."
"And I want you to have a functioning neck tomorrow."
Becky glanced toward the stage. "How much longer?"
"Maybe an hour."
That was exactly what she needed.
She straightened.
"Fine."
Freen looked suspicious at the sudden agreement.
"Why did that work?"
"Because I'm mature."
"You're planning something."
"Go back to work."
"Becky."
She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss against Freen's forehead while nobody nearby was paying attention.
"Go."
Freen stared at her another second before standing.
"There's a dressing room behind stage left. My things are already there."
"I know."
Another suspicious look.
Becky smiled sweetly.
Freen pointed two fingers toward her own eyes and then toward Becky.
"I'm watching you."
"Very intimidating."
The moment the dressing-room door closed, Becky became considerably less sleepy.
She checked her phone.
11:37.
Twenty-three minutes.
Perfect.
The little cake had been waiting in the staff refrigerator since she'd arrived.
It wasn't the elaborate one she planned to give Freen after the concert. That cake belonged to tomorrow's celebration, photographs, staff and everything else.
This one was tiny.
Almost ridiculously tiny.
Just enough for two people.
Becky retrieved it with help from Freen's PA and carried it back carefully, along with a single candle she had hidden in her bag.
"You'll send her at midnight?"
The PA smiled knowingly.
"Exactly midnight."
"Tell her what?"
"Anything believable."
The woman considered it.
"I'll say you accidentally left something important."
Becky frowned. "That sounds suspicious."
"She already knows you're suspicious."
Fair.
At 11:52, Becky sat cross-legged on the dressing-room sofa with her phone.
She opened Instagram.
The video had been prepared days ago.
Choosing it had taken longer than she would ever admit.
There were too many memories.
Some public.
Some never seen by anyone except them.
Years compressed into seconds.
Freen laughing.
Freen turning toward the camera.
Freen pretending to be annoyed.
Freen beside her somewhere far from Thailand.
Freen younger.
Freen now.
Becky watched it once more.
11:58.
Her thumb hovered.
11:59.
She watched the numbers change.
00:00.
August 8.
Post.
"There," Becky whispered.
The internet could have the first public wish.
The rest belonged to her.
Freen opened the dressing-room door four minutes later.
"What did you—"
The room was dark.
Except for one small candle.
Becky stood behind it.
Freen stopped.
For one second, the woman who could stand before thousands of people seemed completely caught off guard by one tiny flame.
Becky smiled.
"Happy birthday."
Freen's eyes immediately softened.
"Oh."
"Come."
Freen closed the door behind herself.
Becky lifted the cake.
"Twenty-eight."
"Why is the cake so small?"
"Because tomorrow there'll be enough cake to feed half of Bangkok."
"True."
"This one is mine."
Freen looked at her.
Becky corrected herself.
"Ours."
"Better."
She stepped closer.
The little flame illuminated Freen's tired face, and Becky felt something inside her squeeze painfully because tomorrow everyone would see the polished version—makeup, lights, costumes, confidence, the enormous stage.
Becky got this one.
The woman who had been rehearsing for hours.
The woman whose shoulders were tired.
The woman who was probably terrified despite claiming otherwise.
"Make a wish."
Freen closed her eyes.
Becky watched.
Ten seconds passed.
Then fifteen.
"That's a long wish."
Freen opened one eye. "I'm twenty-eight. I need more things."
Becky laughed.
"Greedy."
Freen finally blew out the candle.
Darkness swallowed them for half a second before Becky switched on the small lamp beside the sofa.
"Happy birthday, P'Freen."
Something shifted in Freen's expression at the softer voice.
"Thank you."
"No." Becky placed the cake carefully on the table. "Properly."
She stepped toward her.
Freen's hands came naturally to Becky's waist.
Becky rested hers around Freen's neck.
For a moment neither moved.
There were years between them inside that silence.
Birthdays in front of crowds.
Birthday wishes shouted into microphones.
Flowers on stages.
Surprises.
Videos.
Fans screaming whenever one walked toward the other.
And then there was this.
No audience.
No cameras.
A half-prepared dressing room at midnight.
Becky brushed her thumb gently beneath Freen's ear.
"I'm proud of you."
Freen swallowed.
"Don't."
"What?"
"Make me cry tonight. I need my face tomorrow."
"You'll cry tomorrow anyway."
"I absolutely won't."
Becky gave her a look.
They both knew that was a lie.
Freen's forehead dropped against hers.
"Nervous?" Becky asked.
A pause.
"Very."
It was so quietly said Becky almost missed it.
She kissed Freen's cheek.
Then the other.
Then the corner of her mouth.
"You built this."
"That's why I'm nervous."
"You'll be brilliant."
"You have to say that."
"I don't."
Freen looked at her.
Becky smiled.
"I've told you when you were terrible before."
Freen gasped.
"You have."
"See?"
"Terrible girlfriend."
"Extremely useful girlfriend."
That word sat between them only for a second before Freen kissed her.
Slowly.
Nothing urgent.
Just familiar.
Becky's fingers slipped into the hair at the back of Freen's neck while Freen drew her closer until there was no space left between them.
When they separated, Freen kissed her again almost immediately.
"Twenty-eight kisses?" Becky murmured.
Freen considered it.
"That sounds reasonable."
"We have work tomorrow."
"Twenty-eight isn't that many."
"You're impossible."
"You started it."
Becky laughed against her mouth.
They didn't reach twenty-eight.
Or perhaps they did.
Neither bothered counting.
They left Thunder Dome long after midnight.
Freen drove because she insisted she wasn't tired.
Becky lasted eleven minutes before falling asleep against the passenger window.
When they finally reached home, neither discussed whose home it technically was.
That distinction had become increasingly meaningless.
Shoes disappeared near the door.
Freen showered first.
Becky washed her face while nearly asleep.
By the time she crawled into bed, Freen was already beneath the duvet scrolling through birthday messages.
"People are awake," Freen murmured.
"Unfortunately."
"Your post..."
"Sleep."
Freen looked at her.
Becky reached over, took the phone from her hand and placed it face-down on the bedside table.
"Tomorrow."
"It's already tomorrow."
"Don't become technical on your birthday."
Freen smiled.
Becky turned away to settle down.
Three seconds later an arm wrapped around her waist.
She smiled into the pillow.
Freen pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades.
Then another against the back of her neck.
Becky turned inside the embrace.
"Thought you were tired."
"I am."
"Then sleep."
Freen kissed her.
Becky kissed her back.
The second kiss lasted longer.
The third made Becky forget what point she had been trying to prove.
Eventually laughter disappeared into kisses and kisses into the quiet intimacy of two people who knew each other well enough not to rush anything.
Much later, when the room had fallen dark and still, Becky lay with her cheek against Freen's chest while Freen's fingers traced absent patterns over her back.
"Twenty eight," Becky whispered.
"Hm?"
"How does it feel?"
Freen thought about it.
"Ask me tomorrow."
Becky smiled.
"Okay."
Freen's lips brushed her hair.
"Stay tomorrow?"
Becky lifted her head.
"Whole concert."
"No disappearing?"
"Not for one second."
Freen looked satisfied.
"Good."
Becky settled against her again.
What she didn't tell Freen was that tomorrow she intended to do something far more difficult than appearing onstage.
She intended to stay exactly where she belonged.
And let Freen have every single light.