Perfectly Arranged

-58- At least, At last.

[at least, at last]

Third Person's pov

The air crackled with unspoken tension. Freen's hand, still warm from Becky's, rested lightly on Becky's arm.  Freen's breath hitched, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

Freen, who wanted to get her phone from the sink, reached for it and then suddenly their eyes met. The mutual feeling that is shocking that almost a kid will flatter. Freen, who has the initiative over everything stares at the girl. They didn't notice how close their face was to each other. 

Becky's breath caught in her throat; she was completely captivated, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.  She felt a dizzying pull, a magnetic force drawing her closer.  

"Freen..." she breathed, the word a shaky whisper.

Their faces were inches apart, the scent of Freen's perfume, a delicate blend of jasmine and vanilla, filling Becky's senses.  

Then, the door swung open with a jarring crash, shattering the fragile intimacy. Prim stood in the doorway, her face a mask of shocked disbelief, her eyes wide and brimming with a complex mix of hurt, betrayal, and anger.  Behind her, the guards stood rigidly, their faces impassive, while Bright followed, his expression unreadable. 

The silence after the door crashed open was thick with unspoken accusations.  Prim's eyes, blazing with a mixture of hurt and anger, were fixed on Freen and Becky.  Finally, she found her voice, the words clipped and sharp. 

This is kinda dejavu for Freen and Becky, it happens before as well. Them, almost getting caught without even doing something, and being seen by Prim and accusing them about something they didn't do. The difference is, there are so many conflicts now, unlike before that Freen's sure she's not liking this girl beside her. 

"Freen," Prim said, her voice trembling slightly, making Freen brush her thoughts.  "What is the meaning of this? " 

Freen, her face pale, pulled her hand away from Becky.  She looked at Prim, her eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and fear.

"Prim," Freen began, her voice soft, "There's... there's an explanation."

"An explanation?" Prim scoffed, her voice rising. "I think I've seen quite enough.  You were about to kiss her, weren't you?"  Her voice was laced with bitter disappointment.

"It's not what it looks like," Freen insisted, her voice strained.  "It's complicated."

Prim's shoulders slumped slightly, the anger momentarily replaced by a deep sadness.  "Complicated?  Is that what you're calling this?  You're sneaking around, almost kissing each other, and you call it complicated?"  A single tear traced a path down her cheek. 

Freen stepped forward, reaching out a hand hesitantly.  "Prim, please. Let me explain.  It's not as simple as it seems."  The words hung in the air, a fragile plea against the weight of Prim's hurt.