Chapter Text
Flying over the Chao Phraya River was always the first sign of home. Freen rested her head against the aeroplane window and took in its diamond glitter, crimson-pink and orange beneath the early evening light. Three weeks abroad for work was hardly significant, but as the plane descended and the city of Bangkok grew clearer, Freen felt her coming home as a lightness in her chest, a lung-deep breath of air that she couldn't manage anywhere else but here.
On the ground, Suvarnabhumi airport was its usual hub of orderly chaos, busier even than usual as tomorrow was Wan Maha Songkran, the first day of the Songkran Festival, which meant that security was tight and the lines were long. There wasn't much Freen missed about travelling the way she used to, four, five, six years ago. Skipping security lines, though? That she definitely missed.
Finally out of customs, Freen wove her way through a small crowd to get to the baggage claim. Music filled her headphones, muting the noise and bustle of the world around her. In spaces like this, she preferred being as insular as possible. A leftover habit among way too many.
Then a voice came that made her still. Unlike the others around her, this voice filtered through the song-beat like it was searching for her. It yanked her awake. Freen looked up, across the carousel, and it seemed for a moment like she was underwater. Everything was din. Her vision converged on the woman standing not ten feet in front of her, and when the woman looked back at her, Freen flinched like a ghost had brushed her with its fingers.
They regarded one another in muted shock. Becky raised an uncertain hand. Their first greeting since...Freen couldn't remember when. Then from the corner of her eye, Freen saw her luggage had rolled past her and startled.
"Which one's yours?" Becky asked.
"The grey one," she said. "Do you mind?"
Across from her, Becky lifted her luggage off the carousel, followed by her own shortly after. She circled toward Freen who stood rooted to the spot. Becky was pale and beautifully bare-faced, her hair long and dark, like it was the last time Freen saw her. Nothing was all that different. Somehow everything was. Freen found she couldn't speak and neither, it seemed, could Becky. Instead she pulled Freen into her arms and hugged her. Freen nestled herself in Becky's neck and breathed as deeply as she could, then someone jostled her among the crowd, and suddenly the people were too many and the noises too loud. An old feeling resurfaced; she wanted Becky all to herself. Confused, she brushed it off.
"Can we have-"
"Are you free-"
Together, they exhaled a laugh of relief. Becky pulled her phone out of her bag and began typing.
"What are you doing?" Freen asked.
"Cancelling on Richie," Becky said, slipping her phone away. "Unless you aren't actually free for dinner?"
Freen made a show of consideration, pursing her lips, and Becky slapped her arm lightly with a wry smile.
"Like saying no to me was ever your strong suit."
The restaurant at Becky's hotel was even more opulent than her suite had been. Freen had left her luggage upstairs in the room and, with nothing suitable to wear in her own bag, had borrowed an elegant summer dress from Becky. As they waited to be seated, she pulled the hem of it down. To say it reached mid-thigh on her would have been extremely generous.
Becky flicked her fidgeting hand. "Stop it. You look great."
"I haven't worn anything this short in years," Freen said. "Why did you get the sleek dress pants?"
"Because you hated wearing pants. Always handsome, never beautiful, remember?"
At their table, Becky pulled out a chair for Freen and then, seeming to catch herself, blushed. Freen gave her a quizzical look as she sat down.
"Sorry," Becky said. "Habit."
Freen paused. She poured them both a glass of sparkling water. "Habit?" she asked.
Downing a gulp, Becky sighed. "I really thought we would have made it through the entrees before I told you."
"Told me what?"
A waiter appeared, handing them both menus. Freen nodded mutely as he detailed the night's specials, restless for him to leave. Becky ordered them a bottle of wine with the confidence of someone who actually understood what a bouquet was, then when eventually the waiter did leave, she sat fixated on the list of food options in front of her.
"The salmon looks good."
"Told me what?" Freen pressed.
Becky's shoulders fell, her lips pressing to a thin line. Then after a pause, she lifted her face, composed. "I date women."
Her thoughts jerked to a sudden halt. Beside her, the waiter reapproached, filling their wine glasses and setting the bottle on their table. As Becky awaited her response, Freen felt the wine beckoning her like a siren, and she took a liberal drag, coughing a little as it caught in her throat. So. Becky dated women.
"Exclusively?" Freen asked. As if it even mattered. But she couldn't think of what else to say. Her mind was fog-thick and reeling.
Becky hesitated, caution pinching at her brow. "For right now."
For right now, Becky dated women. Freen let the new reality of that sink in. Becky dated women, which meant she liked women. That was fine. Plenty of her girl friends liked women. Plenty of her male friends like men. She owned her own fashion line for god's sake, of course she had friends who weren't straight. This wasn't different. This absolutely wasn't different.
"I can see you spiralling," Becky said.
"I'm not spiralling," Freen said.
"You're spiralling. I told you I date women. Exclusively for right now. Now you're spiralling."
Chastised, Freen went quiet. She gulped again at her wine, scrounging for a few more seconds to gather herself, and her brain snagged like a broken record on the same three words.
"You like women," she said.
"I like women," Becky said. Her voice was soft. Steady.
"You go on dates with women and pull out their chairs for them."
Becky huffed a small laugh. "Sometimes." She shrugged. "It depends on the woman."
Slowly, whatever knot had been coiling in her gut began to unwind. Freen watched the tension ebb from Becky, too, and a gust of shame swept through her.
"I'm sorry," she said, reaching for Becky's hand.
Becky turned her palm up. "I'm sorry, too."
"What for? I was the one who spiralled."
"Shouldn't I be?" Becky asked, uneasy. She seemed genuinely puzzled. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Sometimes I think I should be."
They shared a look; guarded, and guilty. At once Freen felt an urge to press and an urge to flee. Her stomach fluttered. Then the waiter came again to take their orders. Becky pulled her hand back, and the moment - if there ever even was one - was gone.
Over the course of dinner, Freen learnt a few new things about her once closest friend: that Becky had been made partner in an entertainment law firm after four years of gruellingly long hours, that she had joined a small local improv team in London to learn how to take herself less seriously, and that while she did indeed date women, she didn't currently have a girlfriend. In turn, Freen told Becky about her product line turned small fashion label, and how she and her team were starting to branch out of the Thai market.
"Oh, I'm aware," Becky said. She waited for the doors of the elevator to close, then pulled down the waistband of her pants to reveal the underwear beneath.
They were Freen's. That 'FC' logo sitting beneath Becky's navel was hers. Her heart jumped at the tiny glimpse of it.
"Wow," she breathed.
The elevator dinged. Still non-plussed, Freen followed Becky into her suite. The door clicked shut and Becky flopped down onto the king sized-bed, arms spread-eagled wide. Then, seemingly unhappy with that choice, she walked into the bathroom, spent a minute rifling through the drawers by the sound of it, and re-entered the main room to pick up the phone. Freen listened to her request bubble bath from downstairs, something Freen found both excessive and impressive; Becky never used to ask for things on her own.
"Why are you looking at me weird?" Becky asked as she put the receiver down.
"You're different," Freen said, shrugging. "I mean, you're you. Just different."
"Are we still on me dating women?"
"No," Freen said quickly, "that's not what I-"
"I'm kidding." Becky laughed. "It's been five years. I grew up."
Had it really been five years? To Freen it felt like less. Or maybe more. Somehow Becky was both ever-present and a lifetime ago. Suddenly Freen felt a space beneath her ribs that wasn't there before, a hollowness she couldn't name. The need to crush Becky in a hug consumed her, and she rushed forward. Becky caught her, stumbling back before she found her feet for both of them and hugged Freen back just as tight. For the second time that day Freen felt her chest expand, and it was like she was back on that plane, descending through cloud cover to find her river and her city waiting for her.
A knock came from the door. Becky answered it, then walked to the bathroom with the bubble bath in hand. Freen heard water begin to run and felt a cold drip of disappointment. Dinner was over. Their night, she supposed, was too.
When Becky emerged, Freen had changed back into her own clothes.
"I thought we could" - Becky glanced to Freen's clothes, to her hand resting on the handle of her luggage - "Oh."
Freen watched the skittish way Becky wiped her hands on her pants. "You thought we could what?" she asked.
"Nothing," Becky said. "You definitely have, like, an actual life here. Probably a house with a bed to sleep in and everything. I don't know why I thought..."
Freen filled in the blank. She dropped her voice to a low tease. "That we could have a sleepover?"
Becky huffed and glanced away. "Invitation rescinded."
"Too late," Freen said, dropping her handbag to the floor with a thud. Her dogs could stay with Mae another night. "Since I'm staying, can I steal a shower after your bath?"
Somehow, Becky looked even more embarrassed. It only took a second for Freen to twig, and an old warmth spread through her.
"Is that bubble bath for me?" she asked.
Becky rolled her eyes and shoved Freen, cackling, cheeks full of her smile, into the bathroom.
Mid-spring in Thailand heralded the blistering heat of the hot season, before the rains began. Despite that, the bath had been filled with water just shy of scalding, exactly as Freen liked it. The lights were dimmed, and the scent of vanilla beans and cinnamon shrouded her in a cozy sweetness. Bubbles covered the entirety of the water's surface in tiny mountain ranges. Freen inhaled and blew through them, watching the white foam pieces float down like falling snow. Unable to help herself, Freen laughed. This was the most pampered she had been in years. It felt good. It felt better than good.
"Freen," Becky called out. "Your mum is calling you."
Freen hesitated. She felt a rush of uncertainty, an impulse.
"Can you bring my phone here?" she called back.
A vacant pause passed, then the door to the bathroom wedged open and Becky slipped through. Eyes averted, Becky handed her the phone. It was a brief conversation - plans for the festival tomorrow, updated caring arrangements for her dogs. She hung up and handed the phone back to Becky, who turned to leave.
"Wait," Freen said. She steeled her nerve. "Will you stay?"
Becky met her eyes. There was a question there she didn't voice.
"I missed you," Freen said.
Still dressed in her semi-formal wear, Becky sat down on the tiles with her back to the bath. Freen watched her unzip her heeled boots, flexing and stretching her feet. Her toenails were painted pastel pink.
Becky turned to her, resting her head on the edge of the bath. Her eyes were deep. A little sad. "I missed you, too."
It was rare, now that her art was so wrapped up in her work, for Freen to feel inspired to draw. Watching Becky now, her fingers itched. She catalogued every detail of Becky's face - the smoothness of her skin, the flyaway hairs at her ears, curling from the room's humidity. Her peach-pink lips, which looked so full. So soft.
"Freen?"
Freen darted her gaze higher. Part of her felt caught, a deer in headlights poised to run. Another part of her felt reckless. Becky would be back in London this time next week.
"Why were you sorry?" Freen asked, turning toward Becky in the bath. "Over dinner, when you said you were sorry for liking women."
Freen felt the breath of Becky's sigh against her hand, which peeked over the edge of the bath. Some internal debate transpired then in Becky, the corner of her mouth drawing to a pinch.
"Do you really need me to say it?" Becky asked.
"I don't need you to say it," Freen said, "but I think I want you to."
The words hung in the misting air of the hotel bathroom. Becky searched her face. Her voice, when eventually she spoke, held a quiet acceptance, an even quieter tremble.
"I was sorry because of all this guilt I felt," Becky said. "Knowing how I feel now, and then looking back, and understanding how I felt then."
It was a rock thrown into a lake. Waters rippled and churned as they looked at one another, and even as those words settled beneath the surface, something between them had fundamentally changed. Freen hadn't felt the same back then. Maybe she hadn't let herself. Tonight she hoped that didn't matter. She felt something now.
"Would you like to get in the bath?" Freen asked.
Becky looked stunned, and for a moment, Freen wished she could suck the question back into her mouth. The implication of it felt suddenly too bold. Becky might have felt something once but five years was such a long time, and Freen had no experience with women. No idea what she was doing.
"Do you want to take that offer back?" Becky asked.
Freen flushed; her anxiety had always been an open book to Becky. Without giving herself a chance for second guessing, Freen scooted back in the bath and crossed her legs, giving space for Becky at the other end.
Becky stood slowly. Freen watched her lithe fingers slide the first few buttons free of her dress shirt.
"Are you going to watch me undress?" Becky asked.
Freen couldn't tell if Becky wanted her answer to be a yes or a no. Either way, Freen closed her eyes until she felt Becky climb into the bath and the water rise up her chest. Becky had tied her hair in a loose bun. Her neck and shoulders were bare, and Freen let herself linger on the curve of her collarbones, the small expanse of visible skin. Beneath the water and bubbles, their knees touched.
"This doesn't have to be anything more than a bath," Becky said.
Freen swallowed. There seemed a world of possibility in this bath and in the brown eyes before her, sharp with a desire Freen had only seen directed at her by men. But where sometimes she felt compelled to be small beneath that look, now she felt invited in. Propelled. She leant forward, heart in her throat, and waited.
Becky took her face in her palms. Traced her cheekbones and jawline petal-soft and patient; inquisitive, as if Becky were taking the measure of her want.
"Do you want to talk?" Becky asked.
"Yes," Freen said, dizzy with the scent of cherry-violet wine. Fingers grazed her lips. They might have been butterflies, dancing on her skin. "No," she said.
Becky's mouth curled up at that. "Do you want to go slow?"
A noise slipped from Freen. Heat crawled up her neck and the air between them thickened; Freen ached to bridge the distance and found no reason not to.
The water moved in her wake, splashing over the edge of the tub.
Becky.
Becky was impossibly soft, her taste sweet and familiar. Freen had forgotten how easily their noses fit against each other. It was a kiss of deja vu; they had done this before, yet Freen felt its newness like the first sprouting of a sapling. The greatest difference was in Becky's hands, which grasped her neck and waist with gentle certainty, drawing her in. Becky deepened the kiss, and Freen felt the whisper-brush of her tongue like the strike of a match.
"I think I missed this," Freen murmured.
Becky pulled back and stared at her, long and probing. Their kiss went unresumed; Becky was waiting for something. Wanting something. With a thunder-drum in her chest, Freen guided Becky to straighten her legs and climbed into her lap. She pulled Becky close, the rake of her fingers messing the bun of Becky's hair, then let her weight settle onto Becky. Heard her gasp.
"Show me what else I missed," Freen said.
Hands clenched her hips, and the glancing fear that she had overstepped was thrown aside as Becky surged upward. Everything then was new; a fast acceleration of touches and sounds and lessons Freen didn't expect to learn: that the forced tilt of her head by a gentle fist could make her squirm, that there could be reverence in firmness and that Becky, so breath-taking and sure, could touch her to trembling at just her thighs, her neck, her breasts. This was the arrival of something she never knew to wait for, and the touch between her legs when it came was luminous. Freen buckled into Becky, clutching her arm. She felt the flex of muscle, a deep and deeper press, and shook with a need so vast and foreign that panic threatened to slice through it. Ribs netted her breath.
Becky found her gaze, solid as the ground, vibrant as the glitter of the Chao Phraya River.
"Let go," Becky said. "I've got you."
Freen did let go, and crumbled forward, safe in the hands that held her.
Outside the hotel window was a cool and deep blue sky, its eastern edge glowing with the burnt orange of first light. Freen lay half strewn across Becky, the sheets tangled around their bare legs.
"The sun will be up soon," Freen murmured.
Groaning, Becky rolled on top of Freen and pulled the sheet up to their necks. Freen wrapped Becky in her arms. She was bone-deep tired and achingly sore, and she wanted nothing more than to sink into the mattress and sleep with Becky as her blanket. But then, Becky would be leaving in just a few days; sleeping felt like an unforgiveable waste.
"Freen?"
"Mm?"
There was a momentary pause, then Becky found her hand, sliding their fingers together.
"Do you think...if we didn't live on opposite sides of the world..."
Freen felt a brutal pang in her gut. She didn't think at all. She knew. Ten hours again with Becky, like this, and she simply knew. Tears pricked at her eyes.
"Your firm," Freen said. Her voice wobbled.
Becky nodded. "Your work. Your family."
They fell silent. Freen tried to keep her chest from shaking. She felt a drop of wetness on her shoulder where Becky was burrowed, and her heart sank deeper.
"Maybe we shouldn't have-"
"Can we just" - Becky shot upright, brushing the tears from her cheeks - "Can we just try anyway?"
Freen froze, her throat clogged and tight.
"I know it's crazy," Becky said. "But I have spent the last ten years of my life working my ass off and making money and under-sleeping and honestly I have so much stuff I could puke. But I don't have this." She set her hand on Freen's sternum, grasping. "I want this."
Freen let out a held breath. "I could-"
"Plus its Songkran," Becky said, gesturing wildly to the bathroom. "We had first-time bath sex the day before the literal water festival of the New Year. I don't know religion but I'm pretty sure that's a sign, or like, a smiteable offence if we don't follow through."
"You know as Buddhists we aren't really about the whole smiting thing."
Becky shrugged. The wind had left her sails. Freen took in the sight of her; the tangled mess of her hair, the laboured rise and fall of her chest which shone gold and pink with the rising sun. The hunger of Freen's heart led her.
"Yes," she said.
Becky's eyes went wide. Her voice was small. "Yes?"
Freen grinned, pulling Becky down so that their noses touched, their lips brushed.
"Yes," she whispered.