One More Time (FreenBecky)

Freen's POV:

When I opened my eyes, everything was blurry—white lights, the steady rhythm of a beeping machine, a faint scent of antiseptic. For a few seconds, I didn't even know where I was. My body felt heavy, strange. I tried to move my arm, but something tugged. Wires. Tubes. Everywhere.

Then I saw them—Saint, Mom, and Dad—all standing close. Mom's eyes were red, and Saint looked like he hadn't slept at all.

"Where... where am I?" My voice came out weak, rough, almost foreign. "What happened?"

Saint immediately stepped closer. "Freen... slowly, okay? You're in the hospital." His tone was calm but his eyes gave him away—anger, fear, guilt, all at once. "Someone hit you. A car. It wasn't an accident, Freen. They were waiting." His jaw tightened. "But never mind that now. I'll find who did this."

Mom's hand trembled as she brushed my hair off my forehead. "Oh my baby... look at you."

"Mom," I whispered, trying to smile. "I'm fine."

Dad shook his head firmly. "You are not fine. Don't move too much."

I sighed softly, the pain settling deeper in my chest—not just from the wound, but from everything. "Where's... Becky?"

Saint hesitated, glancing at Mom before saying quietly, "She was here all night. Maybe she's outside right now."

Something in my chest tightened at her name. Becky...

Mom placed her hand gently on my shoulder. "Enough talking, Freen. Rest, please. Stop thinking about work, or anything else. Just rest."

I looked at her, at Saint, at Dad—and then finally closed my eyes again. Trying to breathe normal. The machines kept beeping, slow and steady.

For once, I let myself obey.
No work. No thoughts.
Just silence.
But even in that silence, all I could see was Becky's face.

The smell of hospital food was bland, but it was better than the metallic taste in my mouth. I forced myself to eat, one spoon at a time, the porridge warm but tasteless. Mom kept watching me like I might break at any second, while Dad quietly read something on his phone just to distract himself.

Not too long after, there was a knock. The door opened and Irin stepped inside, a stack of folders in her arms. Her expression softened when she saw me.

"Boss... you fine?"

I nodded slowly. "I am. Just a few scratches and a broken ego."

She let out a nervous laugh. "Everything at the office is under control, boss. Don't worry about it. And Mr. Saint—here's all the files. CCTV footage and everything the police requested. They already have a copy too."

Saint took the folder from her, his face serious. "Thanks, Irin. You did well."

I looked at all of them—my parents, Saint, Irin—and I could feel the heaviness in the room. Too many worried faces. Too much noise around me when all I wanted was quiet.

"Mom, Dad," I said softly. "Please... go home. I'm fine. Really. Look at you both, you haven't rested."

Mom frowned immediately. "We're not leaving you here alone, Freen."

"Mom," I smiled gently, "you need to rest. I'm not going anywhere."

Saint stepped in to back me up. "Freen's right, Mom, Dad. Go home for a few hours. I'll stay."