Chapter Text
The air was thick with excitement—the kind that buzzed under the skin and made every breath feel like it vibrated in your chest. CentralWorld was alive with color and sound, rainbow flags fluttering in the wind, lights dancing like stars across the grand stage, and a crowd that moved like a single entity of celebration, love, and anticipation. Pride CTW was reaching its crescendo, and among all the stunning performers, the energy surrounding Freen Sarocha and Becky Armstrong's upcoming appearance was electrifying.
Backstage was a controlled chaos. Staff rushed with clipboards and headsets, last-minute checks were being called out, and glitter trailed from the costumes like stardust. In the middle of it all stood Freen and Becky, side by side, grounding each other in a storm of nerves and lights.
Freen, radiant beyond compare, was a vision in her futuristic silver corset, the design arcing out into brilliant, wing-like iridescent spikes that refracted light like crystal shards. The skirt that hugged her hips flared into asymmetrical white fringe, each movement adding to the illusion that she floated rather than walked. Her glittery ankle boots sparkled beneath the hem, and her long, dark hair curled effortlessly down her back. She looked like something from a legend—untouchable, dazzling, and divine.
Beside her, Becky was equally spellbinding. Her shimmering pink dress bloomed with intricate rosettes that glistened like dew-kissed petals. The bodice, sculpted with metallic precision, hugged her form with elegance and poise. Her hair was pulled back gracefully, revealing statement earrings that caught the light with every subtle movement. Lace-patterned boots reached her knees, adding a layer of softness to her otherwise commanding presence. There was something both royal and wild in her demeanor—someone born to be seen, but never underestimated.
As they waited for their cue, laughter bubbled between them like a secret language. Freen pointed animatedly as she recounted a funny mishap that had just happened backstage, and Becky giggled, her whole expression lighting up. The two stood side by side, angled slightly toward each other, effortlessly in sync. Though they weren't touching, their connection was unmistakable—an invisible tether woven from shared smiles, knowing glances, and the joy of simply existing together in that vibrant space. Becky scanned the bustling scene around them every now and then, but her gaze always returned to Freen, drawn to the way she laughed so freely, so fully, in that bubble of warmth and glittering light.
And then the moment twisted.
It started as a blur. A flurry of motion at the periphery of the controlled backstage space. One of the guards caught it—someone breaking the boundary. A woman, weaving through like she belonged there. The guard began to move, taking a step forward—but then he paused. Maybe it was uncertainty, maybe hesitation. But that single beat of inaction changed everything.
The woman didn't stop. She surged forward, aiming directly at Freen.
Freen didn't see her. Becky didn't either.
The sound of rapid footsteps cracked against the concrete, then a rush of breath.
And suddenly, she was there.
Too close.
Hands grabbed Freen tightly. Her shoulders jerked in surprise, her entire body freezing. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her head turned instinctively to Becky, seeking her out with wide, frightened eyes.
Just a moment.
And then the woman wrenched her around—spun her whole body 180 degrees in a rough, invasive motion. It wasn't an embrace. It wasn't a fan's hug. It was something aggressive. Unfiltered. Violating.
The world tilted. Time fractured.
But Becky didn't.
She exploded forward like a bolt of lightning. Her body moved on pure instinct, faster than security, faster than thought. Before anyone else could even process the violation happening before them, Becky was between them.
Her hand met the woman's shoulder with a strength that came from somewhere primal. Her body collided with the woman's, her hand slamming into the intruder's shoulder with a strength that came from somewhere primal. She shoved her back, teeth clenched, posture rigid with fury. The look in her eyes was unmistakable—wild, protective, and completely unapologetic.
She placed herself between Freen and the fan like a shield. Her stance was solid, unshakable, her expression burning with pure protective rage.
Her jaw was tight, her eyes sharp and unflinching. The people around them could practically feel the heat rolling off of her in waves.
Touch her again and I will destroy you.
Her entire stance screamed it.
She was ready to fight anyone, anything. She would've taken on a crowd. An army. She would've fought the earth itself if it meant keeping Freen safe.
Living up to her Armstrong surname.
Security finally descended, pulling the woman away as she shrieked something unintelligible, her face paling under the weight of what she'd done. Orders crackled over radios. More guards swarmed the area.
But Becky didn't flinch. She was already facing Freen, hands trembling as she gently touched her hand, grounding her back into herself.
"Are you okay? Freen, are you okay?"
"I... I'm okay," Freen whispered, her voice hollow. "Just... shocked."
Becky's thumbs gently stroked Freen's hand, grounding her. The storm in her eyes softened, but didn't leave.
"You're safe," she whispered. "I promise. I've got you."
Behind them, the stage director was calling time—they had to go on.
Freen swallowed hard and gave a shaky nod.
They went on stage like nothing had happened.
But everything had.
They sang with power, their voices rising above the lights and the music, echoing into the crowd that screamed their names. But Becky never left Freen's side. Her presence remained steady, watchful. She adjusted her choreography to keep just a touch closer. Her gaze scanned the audience in between lines. Every time Freen turned away, Becky's eyes locked onto her again like a tether.
After the last song, after the applause, after the fanmeet, when they were back in the van, Freen leaned into Becky's side, her cheek resting against her shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
"You won't be," Becky promised without hesitation.
-------
Becky's apartment felt like sanctuary.
It was modest, warm with dim lighting, soft pillows scattered across the couch, filled with warm tones and personal touches. Shelves lined with books and vinyl records, soft lights strung around the windows. Freen had been here countless times, but tonight, it felt different. It felt like the only place where the world couldn't touch her. Here, Freen finally let her armor fall.
Becky guided her in with gentle hands, helped her out of her outfit, and replaced it with one of her oversized shirts—soft lavender, hanging just above Freen's knees. She made tea, wrapped Freen in a plush blanket, and joined her on the couch without a word.
Freen sat quietly, both hands wrapped around her mug, eyes staring into the steam.
"It felt like I wasn't... real," she finally said. "Like it wasn't my body anymore. Nothing really happened, but..."
Becky immediately moved closer, took Freen's hand in hers, and held it firmly.
"Don't say that. It wasn't nothing. Someone put their hands on you without your permission. That's not okay. Not ever," Becky said softly. "You were violated. And I hate that I didn't see it sooner."
Freen shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. "But you did. You got to me faster than anyone."
Becky pulled her in, wrapping both arms around her, anchoring her to the present. Freen didn't resist. She leaned in fully, letting herself be held. Becky's embrace was solid, warm, and unyielding. She smelled like rain and the faint trace of stage makeup, and somehow that grounded her.
"Because you're mine to protect," she whispered into Freen's hair. "Always."
"You're allowed to be shaken. You're allowed to feel this. I'll be here until you're okay. Longer, if you want."
Freen clung to her, forehead buried in Becky's neck. "Thank you."
They sat like that for hours, the world slowly fading around them. Becky never moved far, her hand ran in slow circles along Freen's back. The rhythm calmed her, soothed her nerves frayed raw by the incident. Freen could still feel the stranger's grip—tight, cold—but now, she also felt Becky's warmth, her strength, her presence.
She whispered little things, barely audible. "You're safe now." "I'm here." "It's okay to feel it."
Eventually, Freen's breathing evened out. The shakes slowed.
But when Becky stood to go get her a fresh glass of water, Freen's hand caught her wrist.
"Stay. Please."
Becky nodded without a word.
-----
After a while, they moved to the bedroom together. Becky climbed in beside her, keeping to her side until Freen reached for her again.
"I don't want to feel alone."
"You're not," Becky whispered, pressing their foreheads together. "You never are."
They lay facing each other in the low glow of the bedside lamp. Becky tucked a strand of hair behind Freen's ear, her thumb tracing her cheekbone.
"Tonight was terrifying," Becky said softly. "But you were incredible. You didn't fall apart. You kept going. That's brave, Freen. But even the bravest people need someone to fall apart with."
Freen's lips trembled. "If you hadn't been there..."
"But I was," Becky interrupted gently. "And I will be. Always."
Tears finally slid down Freen's cheeks, but she didn't wipe them away. Becky kissed each one instead.
"You make me feel safe," Freen whispered.
Becky pulled her close again, arms around her securely. "That's all I ever want."
The silence was full of understanding. Outside, the city buzzed and sparkled, but inside, wrapped in each other's arms, it was peaceful. Safe.
Freen drifted off to sleep listening to the rhythm of Becky's heartbeat.
And Becky stayed awake a little longer, just to make sure the world didn't try anything else.
And in that silence, wrapped in arms that promised protection, Freen felt safe and loved.
