The dragonflies tattoist - Freenbecky ☆𝆬

Epilogue

Freen Sarocha Chankimha was never late for work, which is why it surprised everyone to see her walk through the doors of the tattoo shop on her day off.

"Freen!" Danai, her boss, greeted her with a cheerful wave.

"You're the one I was looking for," Freen said with a small smile, making her way toward him.

"Is something wrong?"

She met his gaze, steady and sure, before saying something he never expected.

"I want you to tattoo me."

_____

Danai led her to her private workspace, the one with the graffiti wall where people used to dance among the painted letters.

'Funny how things change in just a couple of years,' she thought, taking in all the updates to his designs.

Zayn no longer lounged on an "M" with his old bandmates; now, he dangled from an "N." Little Heidi had been added to the mural, and May was no longer drawn as a child but as a grown woman. Even the dragon and the unicorn weren't kissing anymore.

"Is this for her?" Danai asked gently as he began sketching the design.

"It is," she admitted softly. "I finally found a reason to get one." Her lips curved into a bittersweet smile.

"It's been tough, hasn't it? I mean, two years ago she—"

"Can we not talk about it?" Freen interrupted, her voice tinged with sorrow. The memories still hurt too much.

Danai nodded in understanding.

Half an hour later, the tattoo artist who had always been a blank canvas finally felt the bite of the needle against her skin.

_____

Freen Sarocha Chankimha stepped out of the tattoo shop and slid into the car that was now hers. The interior was a little messy, but she didn't mind.

The chaos made her feel like she still had a small piece of Rebecca Armstrong with her.

Driving at a slow pace, she made her way to a place she never thought she'd revisit. She pressed the elevator button, and before she knew it, she was standing in front of the door to apartment 13-D.

She glanced at the identical doors around her, wondering if the people behind them had lived stories as passionate and heartbreaking as hers with Rebecca Armstrong.

Did apartment 13-B hold a happy ending? Or was 13-A just beginning its descent into hell?

Stepping inside, her slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the nearly empty space.

When she turned on the light, she found what she expected: stacks of sealed boxes, a thin layer of dust hanging in the air, and an almost-bare apartment.

She walked into what used to be Rebecca Armstrong's bedroom and picked up a box labeled 'Important Things.'  It was heavier than she anticipated, and it took her a few tries to lift it.

Making her way back down the elevator, she set the box in her car with a sigh. There was still more to retrieve.

Back inside, she headed for the room where Becky had once painted her, nude and vulnerable—the same room where Freen had first noticed the scar on Becky's wrist. She grabbed another box, smaller this time, labeled 'Books.'

As she carried it out, the sound of Becky's old books shifting and knocking against each other filled the air. Another sigh escaped her lips.

The thought of selling the apartment brought her some relief; it held so many painful memories. But she couldn't deny that she would miss it too—there had been good moments here, as fleeting as they were.