How to be loved

74 - A door creaking open

How to be loved

74 – A door creaking open


Author's Note

Hey everyone,

Did you miss this story? Because I've definitely missed it—more than I can say. 💛

First of all—thank you so much for your patience, and I'm really sorry for disappearing for so long. Well, life kind of took over... I've been neck-deep in work (still am, honestly), and it left me completely drained. So I made the tough call to park this story—and writing altogether for a bit—because I never want to give you something half-baked or written just to tick a box.

But today... we're back. A brand new chapter is here, and I truly hope it's worth the wait. Thank you for holding space for this story and for me. Your support, even in silence, means more than you know.

Now go dive in—and tell me what you think after, okay? —I've missed hearing from you too. 💬

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The sun was only beginning to stretch her golden fingers through the windows when Freen stirred, blinking sleep from her eyes. The room was still cloaked in the quiet blue of dawn, the world outside not quite awake. She shifted slowly, careful not to rouse the figure curled beside her.

Becky lay tucked into the covers, one arm draped loosely over the sheets, her lips parted ever so slightly, breathing soft and even. But Freen remembered clearly—before she'd fully woken—hearing her name whispered in a tone that made her heart skip. Sleep-slurred, needy, and followed by little sighs and murmured words that had made her cheeks warm and her smile grow.

She knew exactly what kind of dream Becky had been having.

And now? Now, Freen was in an unreasonably good mood.

She tiptoed out of bed and padded into the kitchen in nothing but one of Becky's old hoodies—just long enough to cover the tops of her thighs, sleeves swallowing her hands. With her hair in a loose bun and sleep still clinging to her eyes, she moved through the quiet house like a melody, soft and unhurried.

She set to work humming under her breath, pulling out ingredients with care. Eggs, butter, lemon, English muffins, crisp bacon, cheese. A little treat. Becky's favorite: bacon sandwich and eggs Benedict. Because someone deserved to be spoiled after such an enthusiastic dream.

What Freen didn't know—what she had absolutely no clue about—was that someone was already watching her.

Becky stood frozen at the edge of the kitchen doorway, barely breathing. Her hair was a messy cloud, one sock missing, the neckline of Freen's t-shirt slipping off her shoulder. She looked utterly undone, not just from sleep—but from her.

Her girlfriend, standing there in the warm glow of early morning, humming as she made breakfast, dancing just slightly to whatever rhythm was playing in her head. The hoodie hung off her like a dream. Legs bare. Hair messy. Happy. Soft.

Becky bit her lip, leaning against the wall like she wasn't watching the literal embodiment of a fantasy come to life. And after the dream she'd just had? This felt like an encore performance.

Her cheeks were already flushed, a low thrum of heat curling in her stomach. But she stayed silent, just drinking her in—every motion, every sway, the way the morning light wrapped around her like it belonged there.

It was only when a spoon clattered against the counter that Freen finally looked over her shoulder—and jumped a little, eyes widening in surprise.

"Oh my god—" she gasped, hand on her chest. "Becky! You scared me!"