Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun cast a honey-gold hue over Chulalongkorn’s campus, bathing the courtyard in warm light. The art faculty’s pop-up booths lined the walkway, canopies rippling from the occasional breeze. Students weaved through the stalls, chatting, laughing, haggling over prints and handmade crafts. Becky wasn’t particularly into art, but she had tagged along with her friends, letting them tug her through the makeshift marketplace while she sipped on her 100% sugar milktea.
“See, Becky. It’s not bad at all coming here. You can’t just keep saying no to fun things,” Prim teased, tugging her wrist.
“I don’t say no,” Becky countered, letting herself be pulled along.
“You just don’t say yes either,” Prim quipped back.
The group weaved through the booths, stopping occasionally to coo at cute stickers or crochet bags. When they reached a caricature stand, a small crowd had already gathered, watching as the artist effortlessly sketched exaggerated, comical versions of her subjects.
“Oh my god,” Prim gasped, nudging Becky. “She’s hot.”
Becky followed Prim’s gaze and saw her. The artist sat casually, a sketchbook balanced on her lap, pen moving with practiced ease. Long dark hair, carelessly tied back, a few loose strands falling forward. She wore a white uniform shirt like everyone else, but hers was slightly oversized, the sleeves folded to her elbows. Something about the way she sat, shoulders relaxed and one leg crossed on top of another, made her look effortlessly cool.
Every now and then, she flashed an easy, lopsided grin at the students stopping by, but her eyes held the kind of quiet intensity that made people look twice.
"Caricatures, 50 baht!" A girl called out beside the artist. "Or if you want her to make you look prettier than reality, 100 baht."
"Oi, stop that," The artist chuckled, nudging her friend with her elbow.
“Becky here wants a go!” Prim volunteered her before she could react.
“Wait—” Becky started, but the damage was done. Her friends shoved her forward, and the artist looked up, locking eyes with her. A flicker of amusement passed through those dark eyes, like she was already crafting something in her head.
"Sit," The girl said, tapping the chair in front of her with the end of her pen. Her voice was low, smooth, edged with amusement.
Becky hesitated. "I—"
"Scared I’ll make you look ugly?" The girl smirked.
Prim snickered. "Go on, Becky. Sit."
With an exhale, Becky sat down, setting her cup aside. The girl tilted her head, studying her with sharp eyes, as if memorising every curve and angle. Becky felt oddly exposed, like she was being read rather than drawn.
"Psychology, huh?" the girl mused, eyes flicking to the small gold faculty pin fastened to Becky’s shirt.
"Yeah. How’d you know?"
"Your pin." A pause. "That, and you look like the type who thinks too much."
Becky scoffed, unsure if she should feel called out or impressed. "And what type do you look like?"
"Hmm." The girl tapped her pen against her chin. "Mysterious to some?" She grinned. "Or just a girl with no sleep and too much caffeine."
Becky found herself smiling, despite herself. "Fitting."
The girl said nothing more as she bent over the sketchpad, her pen gliding smoothly over the page. Becky studied her hands, ink-stained fingertips and short nails, the faintest tan line where a ring used to be. She wondered if she always drew like this—with her entire focus locked on her subject, as if nothing else existed.
"Almost done," the girl murmured.
Becky, who had been sneaking glances at the sketch, frowned. "Wait, why are my eyes so—"
"Big?" The girl grinned, twirling her pen between her fingers before flipping the sketchpad around.
The caricature was ridiculous. Her face exaggerated tenfold, her eyes round like an anime character’s, mouth a tiny surprised ‘o’. Becky groaned. "You did me dirty."
"Nah," the girl said, laughing. "I made you twice fold cuter."
Something about the way she said it—casual, teasing, but with just the faintest hint of sincerity—made Becky’s stomach flip.
Prim leaned over, giggling. "Oh, this is gold. We’re keeping it."
"It’s thirty baht," the girl said. "Discounted, since you sat so still."
Becky fished out the money, handing it over. As their fingers brushed, she felt another shift, something fleeting yet electric. The girl tapped the paper twice before sliding it into a plastic sleeve. "Take care of it, Nong…?"
"Becky." She uttered, stuffing it into her tote bag. "Thank you, Phi…?"
“Freen.”
Freen . Becky turned the name over in her head, strangely fitting. Before she could respond, Prim already called her over from the next booth, and just like that, the moment dissolved.
=
The bass reverberated through Freen’s chest, a steady, pounding rhythm that matched the pulse of the strobe lights overhead. The air inside Beam was thick—humid with sweat, tinged with the bite of liquor and the sharpness of designer perfume. The club was packed, bodies pressed together in a sea of movement, the dance floor alive with silhouettes swaying and shifting under the neon glow. It was a scene Freen was familiar with, yet never entirely fond of.
She liked bars more. The low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the occasional wry exchange between strangers—that was her kind of atmosphere. But once in a while, she found herself here, dragged into the chaos by her friends. It wasn’t so bad. With the right amount of alcohol, even the deafening music and the writhing crowd became tolerable.
She leaned against the bar, one arm resting lazily over the counter, swirling the remnants of whiskey in her glass. The ice clinked against the sides as she watched the scene before her, half-amused, half-detached. Engfa was already on the dance floor, her hands resting low on the waist of some girl— Charlotte , if she remembered correctly. The two had been playing this game for weeks now, circling each other with the kind of reckless flirtation that neither confirmed nor denied anything.
Freen shook her head, taking another sip of her drink. This was exactly why she preferred to stay on the edges, observing rather than participating. Situationships were messy. But then again, weren’t they all guilty of it in one way or another?
Just as she was considering retreating to the smoking area for some air, a familiar figure caught her eye.
That half-farang from a couple days back.
Becky .
She was standing a few feet away, laughing at something her friend said, fingers wrapped around a bottle of beer, her cheeks flushed a little warmer than they had been at the pop-up booth. Gone was the structured uniform from the other day, replaced by something softer—her hair cascading past her shoulders, dark eyes glimmering under the lights.
The sight was almost amusing—two different settings, yet she still carried the same charm, just slightly altered under the dim, smoky glow of the club.
Her lips quirked upward.
Well. What were the odds?
Becky hadn’t noticed her yet, too busy letting her friends drag her towards the dance floor. But the moment came soon enough—dark eyes flicking in her direction, widening just slightly.
“Oh,” Becky said, stopping short. “It’s you.”
Freen tilted her head, smirk deepening. “It’s me. I didn’t take you for a club girl.”
Becky shrugged, swirling the remnants of her drink. “I could say the same about you.”
“Peer pressure,” Freen admitted, taking a sip of her own whiskey. “And you?”
“My friends insisted.” Becky rolled her eyes, but there was fondness in her voice. “I don’t usually—”
Before Becky could finish, Engfa and Charlotte materialised beside them, their arms slung around each other like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You two know each other?” Charlotte asked Becky, brows raising in amusement.
“Not really,” Becky said at the same time Freen muttered, “Kind of.”
“Huh?” Engfa snorted. “That’s cute. Anyway, Freen, can you come and dance?! You’re just standing here looking all mysterious and broody.”
“I’m not broody.” Freen deadpanned, making Engfa cackle.
Becky’s friend, Charlotte, sauntered up as well, giving Becky a teasing nudge. “Come on girl, let’s shake some ass.”
And just like that, they were pulled along, the two of them slipping into the fray of the dance floor. Freen had never been one to resist the current for long, so she let herself be taken in, moving fluidly to the beat, feeling the slight buzz from her drinks settle into her bones.
They danced—not quite together, but not entirely apart either. There were moments when Becky’s hand brushed hers, when their eyes met just a second too long, when Freen caught herself smiling at the way Becky scrunched her nose after an especially awful remix.
But after a while, it became too much. The heat, the noise, the press of too many bodies. Freen tapped Becky’s wrist and leaned in to say, “I need air.”
Becky nodded, relieved. “Me too.”
They slipped through the crowd, past the long bar and out the side door leading to the smoking area. The air was still warm, but at least it was breathable. A few people lingered outside, laughing, talking, but it was quieter here—comparatively.
Freen leaned against the railing, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, whatever the DJ is putting on right now is definitely not it.”
Becky sighed, stepping beside her. “God, I thought I was the only one.”
Freen smirked. “You looked like you were enjoying it though.”
“Not really,” Becky admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s alright in short bursts, I guess. But I’d rather be somewhere else on a Saturday night like this.”
Freen hummed in agreement, watching the street lights blur slightly in the distance. “I prefer bars.”
“Yeah?” Becky turned to her. “What’s your go-to?”
“Depends,” Freen mused. “If I want to chill, somewhere like Tropic City . If I want decent music, maybe Rabbit Hole . But clubs?” She shook her head. “Not unless someone drags me.”
Becky chuckled. “Maybe next time, I’ll find you at a bar instead.”
Freen raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing, letting the words hang between them.
Moments later, their peace was interrupted when Charlotte and Engfa stumbled out of the club, wrapped around each other in a way that made it clear they were calling it a night—together.
Freen chuckled knowingly. “Guess that’s our cue.”
Becky glanced back inside, where the rest of their friends were still dancing. “Almost 2 AM,” she noted. “They’ll probably be at it for another hour.”
“Not my problem,” Freen said. “You heading back?”
“Yeah,” Becky sighed. “I’m gonna order a Grab.”
Freen nodded, fishing her phone from her pocket. “I’m taking the motor taxi.”
Becky raised an eyebrow. “Risky.”
Freen grinned. “Efficient.”
Becky shook her head, but smiled anyway. “See you around, Phi Freen.”
Freen took a step back. She hesitated for just a beat, eyes flicking over Becky’s face, as if considering something. Then, she tilted her head. “See you around na… babyface .”
Becky scoffed, but Freen caught the way her dimples appeared anyway, the way her fingers tightened ever so slightly around her phone.
Later that night, when the noise had settled and the city buzzed softer, her phone lit up.
@beccca__: followed you .
Freen smirked, clicking onto the profile.
She hovered for a second, then hit follow back.
Then, without thinking much of it, she tapped onto Becky’s story.
And just like that, the game began.