she/her ♡ on hiatus ♡ currently hyperfixated on paige bueckers! im bi so follow at ur own discretion 🫵 @calychuchisontheside is my side blog for other random thoughts n stuff 🥳
despite being gen z, i am, in fact, not tech savvy. i don't wanna learn abt making an aesthetic writing blog either right now. bc of those, im gna be posting my works here directly in this blog. pls forgive ur resident lazy dumbass <3
posting this just in case it's needed! i believe my one-shots/drabbles (for now?) are being read so i'll try to make it easier for you if you want to keep up or simply want to reread any of my works :")
DNI: disrespectful people in general, very negative indivs (pls i need a break from the world ok its rough out here, and for many others too), those who hate on the queer community, those who are racists, and especially pedos :) one clue that says you’re one of those yet are still reading my works, you will get blocked! idc idc
latest notes:
currently hyper-hyperfixated on paige bueckers so i'm writing about her more, if you haven't noticed
requests are closed. read rules here.
im just writing for fun rn /cri/ pls dont judge me too hard
only writing fluff in general for now hehe
updates will be sporadic bc idk i jus feel like it
@calychuchisontheside is my side blog!
navigation/masterlist:
the last of us
ellie williams - tag: #calychuchis writes abt ellie w.
dazzling
college!modern!au ellie during uni hell week drabble
six months and milo
wanna be your victim
apartmentneighbor!bandmem!ellie drabble | whisper me a love song (pt. 2)
strictly professional?
let's take five!
kabedon and frustratedly in love bestfriend!ellie blurb
creep!
unexpectedly the favorite
enhypen
heeseung - tag: #calychuchis writes abt lhs
when at odds, then in sync
jay - tag: #calychuchis writes abt pjs
love personified
jake - tag: #calychuchis writes abt sjy
faking it for real
sunghoon - tag: #calychuchis writes abt psh
guardian angel
sunoo - tag: #calychuchis writes abt ksw
coming soon...
jungwon - tag: #calychuchis writes abt yjw
when tracks align
exceptions missed in plain sight
ni-ki - tag: #calychuchis writes abt nr
coming soon...
wnba
paige bueckers - tag: #calychuchis writes abt paige b.
all in, fallin' pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3
the ghost
dallaswings!friend!paige knowing you too well blurb
courtside frequencies (req)
after all the times she stayed (req)
unreleased (req)
something like falling (req)
paige x chef!reader hcs (req)
a week of you (req)
the way you look (req)
guards down (req)
home is a flower shop (req)
not nothing (req)
busy woman (unless you call tonight)
conflict of interest (req)
chasing sunsets (and you) (req)
undressed hearts (req)
when i stand beside you
other
recs - tag: #calychuchis recs (insane)
personal posts/announcements - tag: #calychuchis rambles
pairing: kinght!paige bueckers x fem!princess!oc (seraphina)
contains/warnings: medieval fantasy au, soft but also emotional distress, mutual slight pining/slow-burn, hurt/comfort, depictions of violence, mention of blood/injury/death, confinement. not proofread! let me know if i missed any warning!
word count: 5k
a/n: happy new year !! i just wanted to post something that inspired me, but this doesnt really guarantee my coming back cos im down to my last 2 semesters (will graduate this december) and i gotta lock in fr HAHAHA. theres not much romance, but i hope its still cute enough for yall <33 also the requests are still there, ill do them when im able to, most likely!! i hope you all will have a prosperous and fun year ahead!! <3
The king hurries after his daughter in slight desperation, a sight quite uncommon in the palace and must definitely not be talked about by anyone who witnesses in the vicinity.
“No, father,” she tells him curtly once again, even if it keeps falling on deaf ears. “Leave me alone. I’m doing just fine by myself.”
King Reinhold grunts as he hastens his pace even more, moving to catch his daughter by the wrist. Once he does so, he tugs gently and makes her turn back to look at him. He does his best to give his sternest look, but they both know at heart he could never be tough and cold towards his only child, no matter the situation.
“Seraphina, I beg of you,” he starts. “Please just choose a knight of your liking. It will comfort me more than anything to know there is someone by your side at all times, ready to defend you.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t want one,” she says, taking her hand back and starts marching again, “because they’ll be hovering around me all day, all night like some annoying fly I can’t swat.”
The king heaves out another deep sigh, almost resigned. “They won’t hover as much as you think. They’ll just keep you in their line of sight at all times– well, that sounds like I’m proving your point– but still! My child, I swear by the heavens, I will not bother you as long as you take one right now. The finest ones are lined up in the great hall right now, ready for your choosing.”
Seraphina halts abruptly, and the king staggers slightly to avoid bumping into her. She then turns around and meets her father’s eyes, a determined look etched across her face.
“Father, you know that I don’t need protection. I don’t need anyone.”
A silence falls for a second, both of them arriving at a similar thought. However, he shakes his head at her, disagreeing still.
“Other kingdoms grow bolder, Seraphina. I must insist you take one, or else this matter will never be left alone.”
The father and daughter lock into a staring duel, forcing the other to back down by sheer will and tenacity. When she knows that her father won’t back down on this, it’s her turn to let out a resigned sigh. She doesn’t answer him, but she does trudge towards the great hall. It earns her a satisfied hum from the king, whom she could only roll her eyes at.
It isn’t a long way to the great hall, and in under a couple of minutes, she and the king find themselves in front of six queues of knights and knightmaidens, each line with seven individuals. They stand steadfast and still, awaiting words from their rulers.
A shiver runs down Seraphina’s spine just by looking at the number of people who are under their disposal. It amazes her that she has that much power, but she herself knows that she has no interest in wielding it. At the current state of her life, all she wants is to be in solitude, kept away from the world that seems to be beating her down no matter how much she has already fallen.
“Well then,” the king says, a little chirper this time, “the Princess will now choose the loyal knight who will remain by her side to keep her away from harm at all times. As you have been briefed already, I trust you know the strict rules of prioritizing the Princess’s safety and survival above your own lives.”
“That’s quite an exaggeration, father,” she grumbles under her breath but dares not object to the king in front of his subjects. She has learned in her many years of living that men have that kind of pride that is easily shattered when countered in public.
King Reinhold sends her an encouraging smile then nods his head towards the present candidates, giving her the signal to proceed with the selection. In contrast, she gives him a small frown but steps forward nonetheless to begin.
She scans the room, left with no choice but to give in to her father’s plea. She wears a more unreadable expression now, not wanting to show any emotion and have it used against her. She swears that she’ll keep her distance from anyone. She always does.
A glimmer of shine catches her eye for a split-second, and she turns slowly towards the direction it came from. It was light that reflected off of the most golden hair she has ever seen in her entire life. Electric blue eyes immediately meet hers, and she’s rendered thoughtless for a moment, just taking in the immense purpose pooling in those orbs.
Unknowingly, Seraphina’s jaw drops ever so slightly, and before she can stop herself, she’s already pointing at the blonde knightmaiden staring straight into her soul.
“You, Dame?”
The knightmaiden immediately trudges forward, each step ringing across the great hall. She kneels before the two of them and speaks, “Paige of House Beaumont, at your service.”
Something about this knight intrigues Seraphina, but she chooses not to dwell on it for now. She simply nods at her father, reaching a silent agreement. She looks back at Paige one last time, quirking an eyebrow upward lightly, before stepping back and moving into the comfort of the shadows once more.
She’s done what’s asked of her, so she must make the most of the remaining moments of freedom she has left before her chosen one becomes a lingering shadow for the rest of her years.
Seraphina notices Paige before she can hear her. Often, the knight is a presence at her back, measured and unhurried. She’s never close enough to intrude and never far enough to disappear. By the time she reaches one of her destinations within the castle, she already knows where Paige would station herself: just one pace behind, angled slightly toward the nearest exit in case trouble arises.
Their days are what she could only describe as suboptimal. She had her expectations of having a knight on duty from sunrise to the dark of the night, but this, by far, is the worst experience yet.
Paige is not an unpleasant person in essence, she admits to herself, but the way the knight treats her irritates her throughout her entire being. Every morning, Paige presents herself at her door with the same precision and guarded look, incredibly far from the first time they met each other’s eyes. Her armor is polished, helm tucked beneath her arm, and posture rigid enough to pass for indifference. “Your Highness,” she would always greet, bowing her head, “today, I am at your service once more.”
Any other royal would mark her performance with flying colors, but it doesn’t come across that way for Seraphina. For her, the way the knight treats her makes her feel she’s back in a makeshift tower, locked away from the freedom she always seemed to be running after. Paige is like her childhood prison– just in human form now.
Even at this time, when she is within the confines of the palace grounds, sipping afternoon tea and reading in their vast garden, Paige is around the vicinity. Often, she is just a short distance away, watching the surroundings like a hawk. Once in a while, she repositions herself silently when others approach Seraphina and converse with her about some matters. She is an unwavering presence, standing guard while the princess reads, studies, and– for heaven’s sake– when she bathes.
‘To be fair, I am most vulnerable when bathing and naked,’ Seraphina says to herself, deep in thought as she processes the interactions she’s had with her sworn knight so far.
When nighttime comes, Paige comes in with the handmaiden who attends to her personally. She stands still, with eyes averted to give Seraphina the privacy she needs as the handmaiden prepares her for respite. The princess feels rather awkward, unable to gauge what her walking prison might have going on in her head, but once Paige and the servant leaves the room and Seraphina’s head sinks into the soft mattress, all her worries are deferred to the next day.
Once, Seraphina surprises her servants by greeting them first way too early, already in her daily wardrobe. She tells them there’s no need for them to attend to her for the morning, swiftly walking past, with Paige trudging closely behind.
She leads the two of them to the upper gallery, making her way near the edge, overlooking the inner bailey. She then raises her head a little then closes her eyes, feeling the first rays of the sun warm her skin.
“You can stand beside me and watch the sunrise,” she mutters to Paige, but she doesn’t open her eyes to see whether the knight does what she suggests.
Moments of silence pass, and she peeks slightly to catch a glimpse of Paige. To her pleasant surprise, she finds the lady not rigidly standing for once. In her eyes are soft emotions as they take in the colors and the scenery the sun has produced.
Seraphina smirks a little, folding her arms. “So you can relax.”
Her knightmaiden is caught off-guard, immediately turning the other way. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”
The princess chuckles. “It’s not like I’m going to report you for slacking every once in a while.” She rests a hand on Paige’s shoulder, offering the slightest of smiles. “Let’s make this a bit more bearable for the both of us. You don’t have to be so stiff, and I– well, I don’t have to have a guard an arm away at all times.”
Paige chews on her lower lip, obviously hesitant. “Can I at least be a leg away at those times then?”
She stares up at the taller girl, as if her blinking could check whether she had heard the knight right. Then, she bursts out a laugh that her mother would definitely deem not very princess-like of her. Paige evidently panics, steps backward, and kneels, hastily muttering apologies.
Seraphina clutches her stomach to stop herself from laughing, to avoid the nosy passersby who might spread whatever interpretation runs wild in their minds.
“You’re a funny one, aren’t you?” she finally manages. “I thought we wouldn’t be able to get along, but now, I feel a little differently.”
Seraphina smiles a bit more, holding out her hand for the knight to take. Paige takes it with reluctance, then stands tall, observing her master’s features.
“A leg away’s better than an arm away, Dame Paige.”
Paige’s lips press into a thin line until one edge quirks so very slightly. She shakes the princess’s hand in one firm motion. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
It was nothing worth summoning a physician for, but Paige insisted on seeing it anyway.
The two of them were just walking around the garden that slow afternoon when Seraphina had misplaced her hand and accidentally cut herself on a sharp thorn. She had winced in pain and out of surprise, but it wasn’t anything serious– nothing that wouldn’t clot and heal in no time.
Paige, on the other hand, had taken it too seriously.
“Sit,” she says, not unkindly, and she reaches for a piece of linen tucked into her belt. Seraphina obeys, more out of curiosity than necessity.
She makes her way towards the stone bench nearby and does as told while Paige kneels in front of her. The way her knight moves is precise, practiced, evident that she’s accustomed to lowering herself without making it feel like deference.
Paige takes the princess’s hand with care, turning it gently with the palm facing upwards as if it’s some artifact worth more than one’s life. Seraphina takes note of how warm her grip is through the thin glove she has not yet removed. She peels away the leather only then, slowly to avoid startling Seraphina, and begins examining the cut with a furrow of concentration that seems excessive for so small a wound.
The knight cleans it anyway. The touch is brief and efficient, yet unavoidably close. Paige’s thumb is steadying her wrist, and her breath is warm where it brushes against Seraphina’s knuckles.
The princess finds herself watching the way Paige’s brow smooths as she finishes the task she has come up with on her own. The side of her lips twitch upward in amusement as she observes the way Paige’s shoulders eased once she was satisfied.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Seraphina says, taking her hand back now.
Paige doesn’t look up. She just stands and moves a step back to give her her space.
“I do.”
The knight’s answer is immediate. Certain. It lingers in the space between them longer than the contact itself, and Seraphina wonders why that is so.
She has always been intrigued with the way their interactions go, whether it involves words or just mere eye contact. The moment they first met and stared at each other, until today’s short exchange, Paige has always been a wonder to her. She has become someone Seraphina wants to crack open and unravel the hidden mysteries– “get to know,” is how the normal person would say it.
Something that no one has ever made an effort to do with her.
“Say, Paige,” the princess begins, standing up as well and walking back towards the palace, “do you ever wish you’d been assigned elsewhere? That I didn’t pick you?”
She doesn’t look back to scrutinize the other lady’s expression, but for some reason, she feels that there is a certain honesty etched into her features in this instance.
“No, my lady,” Paige answers from behind assuredly.
Seraphina stops, caught off-guard by the sincerity of it. Paige looks at her with mild confusion.
“For a knight,” the princess turns back and says after a moment, face adorned with a small smile, “you are remarkably decisive.”
Paige blinks back at her. “It seemed a simple question.”
Seraphina’s smile widens ever more. “Most people take longer to lie.”
Something in Paige’s composure finally shifts. It may be almost imperceptible to others, but the princess doesn’t fail to notice. The tension in her shoulders eases once more, as if a weight she had been holding by habit had been lifted, just for a short breath. A quiet sound escapes her before she could catch it, a resigned yet amused chuckle. Not quite a laugh, but close enough to surprise them both.
Paige straightens at once, clearing her throat. “Apologies, Your Highness.”
Seraphina tilts her head, studying her with even more interest. “For what?”
“For forgetting myself.”
The princess regards her for a long moment, the gears turning in her head as she tries to understand her knight’s actions for the past several minutes.
“You’re allowed to exist beyond your duty, Paige,” Seraphina tells her, tone even and encouraging.
Paige hesitates. “I… I am aware.”
The princess leaves it at that and turns to start walking again, and once she looks away, the faintest hint of a smile lingers at the corner of Paige’s mouth– something finally unguarded and real.
The eerie silence wakes Seraphina up in the dead of the night.
Normally, her sleep would last uninterrupted until her attendant called her name the next morning, asking if she was ready to bathe and dress up. However, tonight, she wakes abruptly, finding the quiet that night extremely odd. The corridor beyond her chambers had gone flat, and there were no distant foot steps for at least an hour now. Even guards who were supposed to be on rotation weren’t annoying her with their too loud whispers.
She slowly gets up and fixes herself up, putting over a coat, and calls quietly, “Paige.”
Paige was already moving.
Her hand comes up– not to draw her sword, but to signal stillness. Seraphina watches her profile sharpen, attention narrowing, and posture coiling into readiness to tackle anything or anyone. Paige listens not with her ears alone, but with her whole body, the way only predators could. The way soldiers and knights survived.
Seraphina rises silently and moves towards her, heart beginning to beat harder for the person now positioning herself between the royalty and the door. Paige steps even closer, one arm extending slightly, a silent instruction to remain behind her.
The handle turns.
A masked individual moves fast once the door bursted inward, wood splintering as they lunge through the opening. Their blade is already arching toward the space where the princess’s heart would have been, had Paige not intercepted it.
Steel rings against steel.
Paige meets each blow from the assassin head-on, their swords flashing up just in time to parry the other’s attacks. Their boots slide across Seraphina’s bedroom floor as the two clash and absorb each other’s force.
The princess stumbles back, breath catching, vision narrowing to the brutal efficiency of the fight unfolding before her.
The assassin is not some common hire. Their movements were precise, economical even. Every strike is aimed not to kill Paige, but to disarm her and pass her– to reach Seraphina.
Paige notices not long after and adjusts the moment she realizes. She shifts her stance, turning defense into offense. She tries to drive the assassin back with a series of sharp, controlled strikes, forcing them away from Seraphina and back out, where noisy footsteps can already be heard rushing to the bedchamber.
Seraphina presses herself against the wall, pulse roaring in her ears. She should run right now. She should scream, or summon the guards and make them hasten their paces even more, but she couldn’t. She’s frozen, unable to tear her gaze away from her knight.
Suddenly, the assassin feints, then lunges low. Paige parries, but not cleanly enough. The blade slips past her guard, slicing into her side. Blood starts darkening the leather at her waist.
“No,” the princess breathes out, like she was the one who had been struck.
Paige did not cry out though. She just retaliates immediately, driving the assassin back again, but her movements had changed enough for the attacker to take advantage of. She’s a fraction slower, a fraction heavier, and the assassin doesn’t fail to catch it.
They press on, forcing Paige backward, step by step toward the balcony doors, and there would be nowhere left to retreat for her.
Seraphina’s chest tightens at the sight. This is wrong. This shouldn’t be happening. But it is, and it’s because of her yet again.
Paige stumbles once, and the assassin surges forward, blade raised for a killing blow.
But the princess feels something inside her snap. Her fury unfurls, and the light answers her before she could consciously reach for it. It envelopes her entire being, brilliant and blinding, with the air itself seemingly bending to her will. The radiance erupts from her in a single, devastating beam that’s too fast to even follow or process. It strikes the assassin mid-motion, shooting straight through their earthly body and instantly taking their life. They stagger for a moment until the body falls and stays limp on the ground, unbreathing.
The light fades as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a ringing silence and a scorching smell.
Seraphina sways, feeling lightheaded from using what she had been told to keep within her at all times. Paige doesn’t waste a second and is by her side, steadying her at once. The knight gives her a look, eyes still wide, but at least they don’t look like they fear her.
“You’re hurt,” she murmurs, eyeing Paige’s side that had been hit.
“It’s nothing,” Paige says automatically, even as blood soaks through her armor.
“Sit,” the princess snaps. Her fingers are already glowing faintly as she presses them to her side. The light softens, completely opposite from the harsh one emitted a while ago. Slowly, the torn flesh knits together beneath her touch.
Seraphina’s hands tremble.
“We’re going to the king and queen’s chambers,” Paige tells her decisively. “Now.”
The princess looks at her, breath still unsteady, and nods. Paige doesn’t wait for anything anymore. She slips an arm around Seraphina’s back to anchor her, and guides her toward the corridor.
The world beyond her bedchamber suddenly feels too overwhelming, and there’s a ringing in her ear that won’t go away. The torchlights flares painfully against her eyes, and every step sends a dull echo through her bones, as though the whole palace remembers what she had just done.
Guards flood the hall within moments, blades drawn, faces tight with alarm. They freeze when they see the body sprawled at the other side of the room.
“Clear the passage,” Paige orders, voice ironed flat, and they obey without question.
Seraphina keeps her gaze forward as they move. She doesn’t look back at the assassin. She knows better than to linger on corpses.
The walk to her parents’ chambers feels longer than usual, with each turn of the corridor serving as another reminder of how deeply the keep has failed her tonight– how it forced her to do something she wouldn’t have done ever since that day in her younger years. She can still feel the magic humming faintly beneath her skin, restless, seemingly displeased at having been restrained after all this time, only to be unleashed in such violence.
Paige’s presence at her side is the only thing keeping her upright.
The doors to the king and queen’s chambers are thrown open at once when the guards realize it was Seraphina approaching.
Her mother is already awake, expression sharpening the instant she sees the blood on Paige’s armor. Her father rises not long after, the lines on his face deepening as his gaze flicks from the guards, to Paige, then to his daughter.
“What happened?” the king demands.
Paige steps forward and kneels, regardless of the wound that has only just finished healing. “An assassin breached the princess’s chambers,” she reports. “They were neutralized.”
His stare falls on Seraphina. She doesn’t look away.
“There were signs of prior surveillance,” Paige continues. “This was not opportunistic. The attacker was trained– specifically to bypass palace guards.”
Silence settles, heavy and suffocating.
“And?” the queen pushes softly.
Seraphina feels her throat tighten, and her pulse begins to quicken even more. This is the moment she has been taught to avoid. She has always been taught to delay it, to keep it hidden and buried under layers of protocol and secrecy.
“She used her power,” Paige continues, although everyone in the room already knew beforehand that she was going to say that. Seraphina appreciates still that she says them not accusatorily, but that they are simply true.
Her mother closes her eyes and exhales.
“So it has come to that,” the king murmurs.
Seraphina finds some courage to step forward. “I lost control,” she admits, though the words feel inadequate even as they leave her mouth. “They were going to kill her.”
Her parents’ gaze snaps to Paige, sharp, with something dangerously close to fear.
“Leave us,” the queen orders the other guards. “All of you.”
They hesitate for a second before retreating completely, shutting the doors behind them.
The king approaches Seraphina carefully, fearing that she might shatter under any more pressure. “You did what you had to do, my child,” he tells her. “I’m sorry, but this also confirms what we fear.”
“That they’ll just keep coming,” she affirms flatly.
Paige remains kneeling, eyes lowered, but Seraphina can feel the tension radiating from her. She hates this– how Paige has been dragged into something she never asked for. She hates it even more that the truth now sits between them, unavoidably present and just… there.
“I underestimated them,” her father says apologetically. “And I underestimated how far they would go to reach you.”
He straightens, resolve hardening. “That ends tonight.”
The changes are immediate, and Seraphina isn’t surprised.
She can feel the people before she can even see them. The air is dense with lingering exhales, and there is that uneasy sense of being watched from too many angles at once. By the time she is escorted back to her double-checked chambers, the keep has transformed around her. Guards line the corridors where there had once been quiet stretches of stone. Knights and knightmaidens stand rigid near every archway, eyes forward and hands folded, making vigilance itself their posture.
Her door no longer closes behind her with privacy– it seals.
Inside, her attendants move swiftly and silently, preparing her for respite with a reverence that borders on fear. They do not even meet her eyes. Everything is simply efficient, rehearsed, and stifling.
Paige is the only constant.
She stands by her bed, helm tucked beneath her arm, posture alert but restrained. She doesn’t watch Seraphina like the others do. She watches her the way she always has: as someone real, someone who hasn’t changed in her eyes after all that has happened.
The attendants withdraw at last, and Seraphina feels like she can finally breathe. She crosses her room, stopping short of the balcony doors. The moon glistens, shining down on the melancholy atmosphere draped all over the castle.
“They’ve doubled the guard,” she mumbles.
“Yes,” Paige replies.
“There are people inside my chambers.”
“Yes.”
Seraphina closes her eyes. “I feel like an artifact being stored in some sacred hall.”
Paige pauses before saying, “I am sorry.”
That makes the princess open her eyes and look at her. “For what?”
“For the way they look at you now. For the way they will continue to look at you.” Paige frowns slightly. “It is unjust.”
Seraphina lets out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “It won’t change.”
She steps closer to her knightmaiden. The shift in distance feels enormous in a room where every other boundary has been stripped away.
“Are you afraid of me?” Seraphina asks quietly.
Paige answers immediately. “No.”
The princess searches her face, the line of her jaw, and the steadiness of her gaze. Her eyes flicker to the girl’s lips for a fraction of a second before she meets her electric blue eyes again, noticing her slightly widened pupils. “You saw what I did.”
“Yes.”
“You know what I am.”
Paige’s stare drops for a short instant as well before she brings her eyes up again. Her brows furrow slightly in quiet disagreement. “I know what you can do, Your Highness.”
It is a small distinction, but Seraphina is taken aback all the same. Something breaks open in her chest, and she lays her head against Paige.
“I never wanted this,” she mutters, words slipping past her lips before she can stop them. “I was told to keep it contained, to be careful– as if the restraint would make me less visible.” Her hands curl into fists against Paige’s leather. “And now, they want to build a fortress around me and call it protection.”
Paige is silent for a long moment. Then, she wraps her in a warm embrace, saying carefully, “You are not wrong to be angry.”
Seraphina laughs softly, surprised at her words. “Most people would tell me I should be grateful.”
“I am not most people.”
The admission settles between them. Seraphina doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans even closer, the steady warmth of Paige’s presence grounding her more effectively than any shield ever has.
For a while, they simply stand there. The keep breathes around them– stone cooling, torches burning low, the distant murmur of guards changing shifts beyond her walls.
Seraphina lifts her head at last. “You could have asked to be reassigned,” she says softly. “No one would have questioned it. Not after what took place.”
Paige’s arms loosen, but she doesn’t let go entirely. “That thought never occurred to me, Your Highness.”
She tilts her head, studying her face in the dim light. “You don’t hesitate much, do you?” she remarks with a small smile.
The knight huffs a breath that might almost be a laugh. “Only when it matters.”
Seraphina steps back slowly, turning toward the balcony again and stepping out into the cool night air. The moon hangs low, pale and watchful. She rests her hands on the stone railing, feeling the chill seep into her palms, the complete opposite of the light that shot out from them.
Paige follows, stopping half a step behind her out of habit, then correcting herself, moving to stand beside her instead.
“They will never stop. Not now, when they’ve seen that.”
“No,” Paige agrees. There’s no putty in her tone, only truth.
Seraphina exhales slowly. The light beneath her skin stirs in response, waiting for her next move.
“I spent so long believing that if I stayed alone, small enough, existing carefully, they would overlook me. As if power ignored was power undone,” she says, shaking her head lightly. “Tonight proved how wrong that was.”
She feels Paige watching her closely. She says nothing, and simply gives her the space to arrive at her own conclusion.
“I don’t want to be hidden,” Seraphina finally admits, “and I refuse to be used.” She turns to Paige fully now, moonlight catching in her hair, her eyes bright with determination. “If this power is mine, then I will learn it. Master it. So that no one can decide my fate for me again.”
Paige inclines her head, not in deference, but in respect. “Then I will stand with you. As your equal.”
Her words send a shiver through Seraphina’s body, and a warmth blooms in her chest, much more gentle and contained. The light flickers beneath her skin, no longer tied to anger or panic. It responds to the certainty and the choice she had made.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“Even when knowing what this may cost you?”
Paige nods. “I chose this the moment I swore myself to you. I am simply choosing it again.”
Seraphina swallows. “Then stay with me, will you?”
The knight’s expression softens. “I won’t go anywhere.”
Seraphina smiles at her and turns forward, overlooking the capital.
Whatever comes next will not be easy, but as she stands there, shoulder to shoulder with Paige, she knows this much with unwavering confidence: she is not some artifact, or some weapon waiting to be claimed. She is a sovereign force, and she has chosen who stands beside her when the world comes calling.
images except the dividers belong to respective creators; found in pinterest. links: https://pin.it/6oA21cmTK; https://pin.it/VyyayOQrL; https://pin.it/4wiulYFmk.
im marinating (im so deep in writers block that i went on a personal development journey and now i have too many hobbies im so overwhelmed with them idk where to start)
im sorry for disappearing on y’all 😭 im trying to make a writing comeback but its not giving, friends 😔🤚
anyways i hope you’re all doing good. and yes, im updated about the wings and pazzi !!! 🌷 tiktok algorithm is so scary 😭
hi bestiess! i closed requesting several days ago so i wont be entertaining the ones sent (or ones that will be sent) past june 30, sorry!!
classes start next month n i still have more than ten requests to fulfill until then, alongside being burned out wt writing lately, so i hope u understand if i dont do ur request 🥹🫶
It's a stormy night and readerxPaige are hooking up as always.They never spent the night with the other. But tonight is the night.. Paige has been in denial about her feelings for a long time, wanting to keep everything non-commital. It only takes a stormy night and a few drinks to open up with reader and get to really know her... realizing she wants all of her, for real.
undressed hearts
pairing: fwb!paige bueckers x fwb!fem!reader
contains/warnings: situationship dynamics, soft/emotional angst, mutual pining, confession, fwb to lovers, wine mention, non-explicit smut. not proofread! let me know if i missed any warning!
word count: 1.7k
a/n: anonnie a hella good writer ok i see ur vision and i tried to write it out HAHAHA i hope u like it!!
“Earlier than usual,” you comment skeptically as soon as Paige opens the door to her apartment.
Paige knows. She’s aware that you two don’t hook up this early, but tonight is the exception.
Tonight is the night, and she’s planned every detail out: you two will have the wonderful sex you two always have, she’ll invite you to stay and have dinner here for once, then confess everything.
Easy… right?
Well, it isn’t.
She can already imagine your reaction once she tells you how she’s been feeling. She knows you’ll question her and her intentions, even if tonight is the night she’ll be completely vulnerable and honest with anyone after a long while.
And she understands. None of her actions had given you the slightest inkling that she wants and needs every part of you. She’s been in denial for a long time, keeping things as casual as they can be– heck, this might even be what people call a “situationship” nowadays.
“Paige?” you call, putting a hand on her shoulder, and that brings her back to reality.
She blinks a couple of times, then smiles at you. “Figured we can mix it up from time to time,” she explains.
You arch an eyebrow, and her heart thuds louder, she’s afraid you could hear it. You thankfully let it go anyway, stepping further inside her unit.
The thunder growls in the distance. Paige closes the door behind you and wonders if she’s about to ruin everything, or finally get it right.
She watches as you remove your shoes and put them by the door. Your movements are easy and familiar, exemplary of how you’ve been here a hundred times. The routine is muscle memory by now: flirt, touch, undress, leave.
This time though, Paige feels like she’s seeing it all in another light. She sees how much more comfortable you are now compared to the first few times. She sees how this could’ve been your second home, and how it’s her fault that it never became one.
You pass her on your way to the living room, arms brushing lightly, and she stiffens.
She wants this so bad. She knows how she feels now, and she has to make a move before you leave her for good.
It’s always the same, and yet, not at all.
Paige kisses you like she always does: slow at first, heat and desire building between touches. But this time feels a lot more different. Even if she’s memorized how your skin feels against hers, how your lips and hers fit perfectly together, a whole new sensation has come over her, and she has to ground herself.
Maybe because she knows it’s the last time things will ever be like this– casual, unspoken feelings, full of pretend.
You fall into bed together, and the only thing Paige lets herself say is your name. It leaves her tongue over and over, soft and reverent. It’s a longshot, but she’s hoping that that alone can convey what she’s been bottling up inside.
When it’s over, you roll onto your side, moving to the other part of the bed, and let out a sigh. She watches you in the dim light as you scroll through your phone. Her eyes wander all over your body, your warm and flushed skin. Paige is quiet, breathing slow and steady, but heart pacing faster than it should.
She’s afraid to ruin the peace in the room, but she also knows she has to. Now or never.
“Hey,” Paige begins, voice low. “Storm’s getting worse. You should stay a bit.”
Your head turns to her at once, expression skeptical once again. “Since when do we do that?”
“Since tonight?” she replies sheepishly. “We already mixed it up. Might as well keep going.”
You narrow your eyes, making her stomach flip. You’re suspicious. You have always been good at reading her. It’s part of why this whole thing has been so terrifying for Paige.
You don’t pry though, and you definitely don’t leave. You sit up, pulling one of her hoodies over your head– hers, not yours, and that small detail does something to her chest.
She swallows hard and follows through, “I also made dinner.”
Your eyebrows furrow, and she’s scared you’ve figured her out now.
“You cooked?”
“I do know how,” she shoots back, smirking to hide the nerves. “Don’t look too surprised.”
You look down, tugging at the hoodie’s hem. Paige stares at your fingers and sees they’re slightly trembling.
“Alright,” you murmur. “I’ll stay.”
The wine glasses clink softly when she sets them on the table. She watches from the corner of her eyes how you move across her apartment, walking barefoot and fiddling with her spice jars like they contain clues to a version of her you haven’t met. Well, in a way, they are.
Dinner is surprisingly easy. You tease her about the overwhelming garlic taste, and she fires back that you keep coming back for seconds. The storm may be raging outside, but inside, something feels warm yet fragile.
She doesn’t know how to be like this with you, so unguarded and just real, but she’s able to imagine now. She relishes in the possibilities, in the way you lean back in your chair, completely at ease in a place that’s only been temporary to you until now.
This is what it could feel like, the thought slips easily into her mind. You being here, but not just for the night.
You’re in the middle of detailing how your day went, from a disastrous team meeting to your commute to her apartment, and she finds herself just staring at your smile instead of listening. It’s like seeing a whole new you. Now, things are much clearer as she registers the way you gesture when you’re excited or frustrated, or the way you remove the big pepper chunks from your steak.
“Are you okay?” you ask suddenly, tilting your head.
She immediately straightens. She didn’t realize she had zoned out again.
“Yeah. Just tired.” She lifts her wine glass to cover it up, taking a sip.
“Ah, sorry.” You look down on your plate guiltily. “I’ll tone it down a bit.”
“No!” she tells you quickly. “I– uh… Ugh,” she groans, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “It’s not you.” She grips the stem of her glass tightly, breathing in and out heavily. “It’s just… I’ve been lying to myself.”
She takes a sip of her wine, but it doesn’t help. If anything, it makes her a little more dazed and tightens her chest even more. She can already feel the tension between you like a second storm.
You slowly set down your fork and look at her. “What do you mean?”
She exhales again, longer and more uneven this time.
“I thought I could do this,” she gestures vaguely between the two of you, “without catching feelings. Keep things casual, non-committal. Thought I’d be fine with what we agreed on.”
The corners of your mouth pull down slightly. You’re listening, but she can tell there are a million things you want to ask her right now. Still, you let her continue talking.
“I didn’t want to lose you by wanting more, so I didn’t say anything. I didn’t let myself think about it, all the what-ifs, all the what-could-be.” She presses her hands to her temples, trying to hold everything in. “But I still do. I think about all those things. I think about you all the time.”
You keep watching her, like you’re waiting for the catch.
Paige inhales deeply again, mustering all the courage she can. “I want to know you. All of you. Not just the version that comes over when it’s late and no one wants to talk too much. I want the you that takes up space in my unit, the you that hogs my hoodies. I want all of you.” Her voice cracks. “I need you.”
Then, there’s silence.
You look down at your plate, and the crack in Paige’s heart comes immediately.
“You say all this now… but where was any of it before?”
Her heart drops even more.
You shake your head, and there’s frustration, hurt– all kinds of emotions surfacing and showing on your face.
“This is sudden, Paige. You’ve spent so long pretending this meant nothing, and now, what? I’m supposed to just fall into this and hope it doesn’t hurt worse later? I’m not here to be convenient, even though that’s pretty much all I’ve been. I have feelings, I’ve had them, and I’ve been pretending they didn’t matter because that’s what you needed.”
Every word stings her like hell because they’re true. For a second, she wants to take it all back, just rewind to when things were still under control. But she can’t.
She won’t.
“I get it,” she says quickly, desperately. “I was selfish. I thought pushing you away emotionally would keep it clean. But now, I can see you, and everything else that could happen for us. I’m not saying this to keep you around just for kicks. I’m saying it because losing you scares me more than saying something too late.”
Tears are prickling in her eyes now, but she doesn’t wipe them. For the first time, she lets you see her like this– raw, exposed, the real version of her she’s been hiding and you’ve been searching for.
“You scare the shit out of me,” Paige whispers. “I’ve never wanted anything this badly… If you let me, I want to show up. Always. Unlike all those other times. I really will.”
You sit back, silent, and she waits. She doesn’t rush anything this time because she actually wants to do things the right way– to give you time and space, now that she’s bared it all. If you have to weigh everything for hours, all the history, the hurt, the hope, she’d patiently wait.
After minutes of just staring down at your plates, you finally move. You slowly reach for her hand, and your fingers weave through her, just like how Paige thinks they’re meant to be.
“Okay,” you say quietly. “Don’t make me regret this.”
For the first time in months, Paige feels like she can finally breathe– not just because you stayed, but because she finally told the truth.
The storm outside continues to rumble, but inside, it’s warmer, safer.
images except the dividers belong to respective creators; found in pinterest. links: https://pin.it/51Yfbiq7g; https://pin.it/12BZmOL7P; https://pin.it/eysUnn6vO.
You’ve never looked at her the way you did that night, not that she noticed.
Or maybe she did, in the way she always notices everything. In the way her hand had lingered on your waist a second too long during pictures. In the way her voice had softened when she whispered how pretty you looked when no one else was listening.
Paige had shown up to prom in a sleek, black suit. The only girl in a suit. The only one who looked better than every guy there, without even trying. Her tie matched your dress, and you’d told everyone it was a coincidence. But she’d driven to five different stores with you two weeks before just to find the exact shade of cornflower blue.
“I told you it’d match,” she said, tugging at her collar in the mirror as you pinned your hair.
You’d only hummed in response, because if you said too much, she might see it. The way your hands shook a little when she got too close. The way you looked at her like she’d hung the moon and then stuck around to make sure it didn’t fall.
After prom, someone had thrown a party. You’d gone because she wanted to and she’d stayed sober because you wanted her to. Around two a.m., you’d both left, saying the music sucked and the drinks were watered down. But really, you just wanted quiet. And her.
You sat on the hood of her car in your heels for all of two minutes before slipping them off and tucking your knees up beneath your dress. She laughed at you, quiet and low, and you almost asked her to laugh like that forever. Instead, you looked up at the stars and asked, “Do you think we’ll remember this night?”
She leaned back on her elbows beside you. “I’ll remember how cold your feet were.”
You nudged her shoulder. She caught your foot when it swung toward her and wrapped her hand around your ankle. Her fingers were warm.
“Seriously,” you murmured, not daring to meet her eyes. “Do you think we’ll look back and be like… wow, we had no idea what we were doing?”
“We still won’t,” she said, softer this time. “Even when we’re old.”
You turned toward her then, and she was already looking at you. Her eyes weren’t doing that flickering thing people do when they glance between your eyes and mouth. No, Paige Bueckers was nothing if not decisive. Her gaze was steady. Unflinching.
You didn’t know how it happened exactly, if you leaned in or she did. It felt mutual. Magnetic. Your knees bumped, her hand slid from your ankle to your shin. Your nose brushed hers.
The moment hovered. Pressed in. So real you could count the freckles across her cheekbone.
And then headlights flooded the parking lot, the spell broke.
Paige flinched back. You blinked hard. Some freshman couple piled out of a car, laughing like they hadn’t just interrupted the most important almost of your life.
She coughed and stood. “I’ll drive you home.”
You nodded, wordless, and got into the passenger seat. You both stayed quiet the whole way, save for her hand resting palm-up on the console. You almost took it.
You didn’t.
—
The lake smelled like sun-warmed cedar and melted marshmallows. It smelled like summer, and endings, and the ache that comes when something is about to shift forever.
You and Paige had come with a group of friends, the last trip before everyone left for college. She’d driven the three hours with you in the passenger seat, windows down, your playlist humming over the wind. She knew every lyric. Harmonized when she thought you wouldn’t notice.
The house was her friend Claire’s. Big, quiet, tucked into the woods. You all rotated cooking shifts, took turns stealing beers from the cooler, floated on inner tubes until your skin wrinkled. You watched her like you always did, subtly, steadily, desperately trying not to be obvious.
But Paige had this way of looking at you when no one else was looking. Not just looking… seeing. And sometimes, when the light hit her just right, it felt like she was holding something back.
On the third night, you couldn’t sleep. You slipped out of bed around one a.m., barefoot and wrapped in an oversized hoodie, and padded down to the dock.
She was already there.
Sitting cross-legged, hoodie pulled over her head, hands resting on her knees. She didn’t turn when you approached, just said, “Knew you’d come out eventually.”
You lowered yourself beside her without answering. Your legs barely touched.
“I was trying to sleep,” you murmured. “But my brain doesn’t shut up lately.”
“Same,” she said. “I keep thinking… this is the last time we’ll all be together like this. Before everything changes.”
“Do you want it to change?”
She didn’t answer right away. Just looked out over the glassy water, a reflection of stars trembling on its surface.
“I want to play,” she said finally. “But I don’t want to leave this.”
You watched her profile—soft jawline, a shadow of freckles, mouth drawn tight like she was holding words back. You wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt.
“I’ll miss you,” you said, because it was safe. Because it didn’t answer anything and still meant everything.
Paige turned to face you. Her knee pressed against yours.
“I’ll miss you more.”
It sounded like a confession. Like a promise. Like the first few chords of a song you’ve heard in a dream.
She reached up and pushed your hair behind your ear. Her knuckles grazed your cheek.
It wasn’t a normal touch. It wasn’t just friendly. It felt like fire under your skin.
You froze.
She was so close now. You could count her lashes. Her breath came a little shallow, like yours. Her hand stayed there, curled against the side of your face, her thumb stroking gently beneath your cheekbone.
“You always smell like oranges,” she whispered. “Drives me crazy.”
You smiled, barely. “That’s… not the worst thing someone’s said to me.”
She laughed, nervous. And then the laughter faded. Her face shifted. Serious. Searching.
And she leaned in.
Just a breath. Just enough to make your heart stutter. Her forehead touched yours. Her hand dropped from your cheek to your knee, warm, steady.
You didn’t move.
You should’ve.
She wanted you to.
But some part of you—afraid or proud or just not ready—flinched.
You tilted your head the wrong way. She stopped. Her mouth hovered centimeters from yours.
And then she pulled back.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, getting up, brushing the back of her hand across her face. “I was—sorry.”
“Paige—”
But she was already halfway down the dock, her silhouette swallowed by shadows and silence.
You sat there a long time, alone with the moon and your cowardice.
—
You hadn’t seen her in nearly a year.
Not since that awkward goodbye at the lake house, not since she'd texted you safe drive at midnight the day you left for your college out west. You both stayed in touch, barely. A few birthday texts, a couple of liked posts, one video call over winter break that started as a joke and ended with both of you silent, neither hanging up, just staring at each other through a screen like maybe the silence could say what words couldn’t.
But summer after sophomore year came, and with it, a plan, you were flying east to visit a friend in Boston. UConn was only a couple hours away. So, you reached out.
hey. gonna be nearby. wanna catch up?
She responded instantly.
absolutely. stay with me.
Now you’re here.
The UConn campus is empty and golden in the late afternoon light. Most students are gone for the summer. Paige’s dorm is quiet, lived-in. Her shoes by the door, a hoodie slung over the back of a chair, her practice schedule pinned to the mini-fridge.
It smells like laundry detergent and something warm underneath it, her shampoo, maybe. Something you used to catch hints of when she hugged you too long.
She’s all grown up now.
Her jaw sharper, her arms stronger, her voice a little deeper when she talks. But she still looks at you the same way. Like you hung the moon.
You spend the first few hours walking campus. She shows you her favorite spot behind the practice gym where she hides after bad games. You lie on your backs under the bleachers, side by side, just like that night on the dock. This time, she doesn’t reach for you.
That night, back in her dorm, you sit on her bed while she rummages for snacks. She’s in sweatpants and a black tank top, hair pulled back loosely, curls soft around her face.
You watch her like you’ve always watched her—trying not to, failing anyway.
“You remember prom night?” she asks, tossing you a pack of peanut M&Ms.
You blink. “Random.”
“Just thinking about it,” she says, settling onto the bed beside you, her shoulder almost touching yours. “You looked good.”
You laugh. “You wore a suit. Everyone looked at you like you turned water into wine.”
She smiles. Shrugs. “I just wanted to match you.”
You go quiet for a minute. The hum of her fan the only sound between you.
“I thought you were gonna kiss me that night,” you say.
She turns her head toward you slowly. “I was.”
You meet her gaze, pulse quickening. “Why didn’t you?”
“You looked scared.”
You swallow. “I wasn’t.”
She reaches up, slowly, hand cupping your cheek, like she’s daring you to flinch again. You don’t. This time, you lean into her touch.
“I’m not scared now,” you whisper.
She moves closer.
Her hand stays on your face. Her thumb brushes over your bottom lip, and you feel her breath against your mouth. It’s soft. Hot. The kind of closeness that makes time stutter.
Her eyes flicker.
You tilt your chin up just slightly. Invitation. Surrender. Whatever she wants.
But instead of your lips, she kisses your jaw.
It’s soft. Reverent. Barely there. Like a promise she still doesn’t quite trust herself to make.
When she pulls back, her lips linger against your skin. She stays there, her forehead resting against your temple.
“I wanted to kiss you,” she murmurs. “But I didn’t want to ruin the night.”
Your hands are fists in the comforter. You’re not sure whether to cry or scream.
“You wouldn’t have ruined anything.”
She pulls back, searching your face.
But the moment passes. The window closes. You both know it.
She lays back on the bed beside you, her hand slipping into yours like it’s nothing.
Like you’re still pretending.
—
Paige invited you in early November. She did it casually, in a voice message that started with “Don’t laugh at me” and ended with “You should just come. Stay the whole week.”
You said yes before she finished talking.
You flew in two days before Christmas Eve, suitcase full of sweaters you never wear in California, nerves tucked somewhere between your curling iron and a bag of gifts. You hadn’t seen her since summer. Since the almost. Since that night in her dorm where she kissed your jaw and held your hand like it was a stand-in for your heart.
Now, you’re in her childhood home in Minnesota, standing in the kitchen while her mom rolls sugar cookies and her little cousins chase each other around the island. There’s Christmas music playing from a speaker on the counter and the scent of pine and cinnamon in the air. The whole house feels like a Hallmark movie.
Paige walks in with snow melting in her hair, brushing it from her hoodie. Her cheeks are red from the cold. She finds you with her eyes first, always. She tugs you toward the living room like she doesn’t even think about it.
You spend the evening on the couch beside her, legs tangled under a blanket while Home Alone plays in the background. She laughs into your shoulder, and her hand keeps finding your knee, her thigh pressed against yours like it's second nature.
It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s beautiful. Her family is everywhere—cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings, all talking over one another, offering you cocoa, asking about school. You belong here. You know it in your bones.
Later, after dessert, after the little ones are in pajamas and the grown-ups are settling in for a midnight game of charades, you sneak away.
You need air.
You find yourself in the hallway by the front door, your hands shoved into your cardigan pockets, staring out the frosted window at the yard blanketed in snow. The silence is a gift. It fills the space between your ribs.
Then you feel it—her presence before she speaks.
“You disappeared on me,” Paige says softly behind you.
You turn. She's in sweatpants now, hoodie pushed up to her forearms, her hair down and messy. Her eyes are so blue they make your throat catch.
“Needed a breather,” you say. She steps closer. Just one step. You nod to the window. “I forgot how quiet snow makes everything.”
She hums, not looking away from you.
And that’s when you notice it. Above your heads. Dangling on a thumbtack on the archway between the foyer and the hall. A sprig of mistletoe. Crooked. Old. Probably plastic.
You glance up. Then back at her.
She notices. Freezes.
It’s like the air shifts. The moment thickens. Time condenses.
She stares at you.
You stare back.
Neither of you move.
Her breath hitches, so quiet, you might’ve imagined it. Her eyes flick down to your mouth, just once.
You don’t look away.
Your heart’s in your throat. You take one step forward, close enough to feel the heat coming off her chest.
Her hand grazes your wrist.
And that’s when the door bursts open.
“PAIGE! MOM SAID TO GET THE HOT COCOA FROM THE BASEMENT—oh my god are you guys under the mistletoe?”
Her younger cousin. Maybe eleven. Grinning like he’s cracked some code.
You both jump back like teenagers caught making out behind a gym. You laugh—awkward and strangled. Paige mutters something about the basement and disappears down the stairs.
You press your back to the wall and close your eyes.
Another almost.
Another breath held, and let go too soon.
—
The music is low and the lighting too warm, all gold shimmer and champagne laughter in a private rooftop lounge in Brooklyn. The draft ended hours ago, but Paige is still glowing—eyes red, she changed into plaid slacks and a white button up, top button undone like she’s finally allowing herself to breathe.
Number one pick. Dallas Wings.
You watched her walk across that stage in a suit darker than midnight, camera flashes swallowing her whole. She looked tall. Calm. Untouchable. You clapped so hard your hands hurt. You didn’t cry until she smiled. That Paige Bueckers smile—the quiet, chest-softening one, like she’s not sure she deserves it all.
Now you’re here, standing in a corner of the rooftop with a drink you haven’t touched, watching her float between coaches, executives, old teammates, sponsors. She makes it look easy. Like she’s always belonged in this world.
But she still looks for you.
She spots you from across the room and excuses herself mid-conversation. She tugs at her cuffs as she walks toward you, a nervous habit she’s had since you were sixteen.
“Hi,” she says softly.
You smile, small and tired. “Hi, superstar.”
She snorts. “Don’t.”
“You are, though.”
“Only if you’re here to see it.”
There it is again—that thing in her voice. That weight. That quiet, aching center of her that never goes away when she talks to you.
You glance away. “Big night.”
She nods. “Feels weird.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” she says, stepping closer. “Like… everyone’s around me but I don’t really hear anyone.” You meet her eyes. She adds, “Except you.”
And maybe it’s the champagne. Or the fact that she looks unfair in that outfit with her chain glinting in the city light. Maybe it’s that you spent the whole night watching her succeed and all you could think about was how badly you wish you could have just… held her hand when she sat back down.
She takes another step. You can smell her cologne now. Clean and soft and steady.
“You look beautiful,” she says. It lands somewhere below your ribs.
You whisper, “You too.”
She exhales. Then, slowly, like she’s asking without asking, she reaches for your hand.
You hesitate. Just long enough. Just sharp enough. She notices. Your fingers twitch. But you don’t take hers.
Instead, you pull your hand away and wrap it around your glass.
And Paige—God, Paige—her whole face shifts. It’s not anger. It’s not even disappointment. It’s heartbreak in real time. The kind that doesn’t show up loud, but quiet. Immediate. Total.
She steps back.
You say nothing. Because what would you say?
Because if you said I wanted to, you’d have to explain why you didn’t.
Because if you said I’m scared, she’d believe you—and forgive you—and wait. Again.
Because if you said I love you, you’d never be able to take it back.
So instead you just smile like everything’s fine.
She nods, like she believes it.
And then someone calls her name, and she’s whisked away again, swallowed back up by everyone who gets to love her in public.
You lean on the balcony railing and stare out at the New York skyline, wondering how long you can keep almost touching her before the weight of it breaks you in half.
—
Dallas hums beneath your feet. The city, the people, the leftover adrenaline from watching her drop twenty-eight in regulation, glide across the court like gravity never applied. You’d sat courtside for the first time since the draft, invited by her, reluctantly accepted by you. You couldn’t keep your eyes off her.
Not when she hit the pull-up three at the buzzer.
Not when her jaw clenched during the national anthem.
Not when she looked up mid-game and found you without even trying.
It’s hours later now. You didn’t mean to follow her home. You told yourself you’d just go back to your hotel, maybe text her something brief and supportive. Something careful. But then she found you in the tunnel after press, hair still damp, jersey swapped for sweats, and said, “Come over. Please.”
So here you are. Outside her apartment. In the hallway you’ve never seen. A hallway that could be in any city, in any life, in any version of the two of you where you hadn’t let the last five years go quiet.
She unlocks the door without a word. You step inside. It’s dim. Her kitchen smells faintly like coffee. Her shoes are by the door. You stand awkwardly in the silence, hands at your sides like you’re fifteen again.
She doesn’t ask if you want water. Doesn’t turn on the lights.
She just turns to face you and it’s all over her.
Tension like a storm surge. Like a held breath. Like every single almost dragging behind you both like tin cans off the bumper of a just-married car.
You take her in slowly. The way her chest rises, like she’s forcing herself to stay calm. The way her hands flex at her sides. The shadows across her jaw, sharper now. She’s taller than you remember.
“You didn’t pull away this time,” she says. Her voice is low. Measured.
You blink. “What?”
“After the game,” she says. “You stayed.”
You swallow. “I didn’t want to.”
She tilts her head. “Didn’t want to stay?”
“Didn’t want to leave.”
She nods once, slowly, like she’s weighing something that’s been heavy for years.
“You always leave.”
It’s not an accusation. It’s just… true.
You nod. “I know.” The silence between you crackles. “I didn’t come here to—”
“I know,” she cuts in, stepping forward.
You tense. Not from fear. From sheer velocity of want.
“But I need to ask you something,” she says. “And I need you to really answer.”
You brace yourself.
“Have you ever wanted me?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s the clearest thing you’ve ever heard.
You could lie. You could dodge. You could do what you’ve always done, hide behind the timing, the friendship, the thousand versions of not yet you’ve built like armor.
But instead, you step forward too.
“Every single version of you.”
Her jaw tightens. She’s close now. Closer than the night at prom. Closer than the dock. Closer than the jaw kiss, the mistletoe, the draft party. Her breath hits your lips when she exhales.
“So why didn’t you ever—?”
“Because I thought,” you say, your voice trembling, “that if I kissed you and lost you, I wouldn’t know how to survive it.” Her eyes go soft for the first time all night. You step closer. “But it turns out… not kissing you hurts just as much.”
She exhales sharply. Like your words knocked something loose.
You’re chest to chest now. Her hand brushes your waist—just barely. Your hands hover at her collar, not touching yet.
You don’t move.
She doesn’t either.
The moment is a wire stretched so tight it could snap at any second. And still, neither of you moves.
Because after all this time, even now—neither of you knows if the next breath will be another almost.
Or finally.
—
You see her across the room before she sees you.
It’s a private New Year’s Eve party, tucked in a penthouse loft just a few blocks off Times Square. Industry people everywhere—agents, teammates, stylists, execs. People who have somewhere to be, someone to impress, someone watching.
You weren’t supposed to come.
You weren’t even supposed to be in the city. But a flight rerouted, a friend insisted, and then there was her name in conversation, tossed casually like it hadn’t once held you in place through five years of silence and tension and ache.
Now you’re here.
And she’s here.
Paige stands near the floor to ceiling windows, lit by city light and the champagne fizz of countdown anticipation. Her hair’s slicked back into a low bun, a black satin suit hugging her frame like it was made to. She’s taller than you remember, or maybe it’s the shoes, or the fact that every time she looks out at the skyline, she stands like she owns it.
She hasn’t seen you yet.
You should leave.
You should turn around before you ruin her night with your history.
But your feet don’t move. Because your heart already has. It moved the moment you saw her. Like it always does.
And then, she turns.
Her eyes land on yours.
And everything in the room, in the city, in the entire electric sky, drops away.
You see it in her face, the same breathless flicker of disbelief. Like maybe you’re a hallucination. Like maybe this time, you’re not real.
You are.
You cross the room slowly. Carefully. Like you’ve done this before in dreams. Like maybe if you step wrong, the spell will shatter.
She watches you come.
Her eyes are wide, her lips parted. When you stop in front of her, it’s close. Too close. The kind of close that would be rude if it wasn’t inevitable.
“You came,” she says, like she doesn’t trust it.
You nod, barely. “You look…”
“You always say that,” she whispers.
You laugh under your breath. “Because it’s always true.”
She looks like she might cry. Or kiss you. Or both.
You glance at the clock on the wall. Eleven fifty-nine. The room buzzes around you with the countdown, but no one else exists. Not really.
Not after five years of almosts.
Not after prom night and a lake dock and her dorm and mistletoe and draft night and the way she stared at you in her apartment like maybe she couldn’t take it anymore.
You’re the one who speaks next. “Why didn’t you move that night?”
Her eyes flicker. “Because I wanted you to move first.”
“Why?”
She exhales. “Because I needed to know it was real. That you were finally ready.”
You nod slowly. And then, gently, “I am.”
The countdown echoes louder around you.
Ten.
Her hand grazes your hip.
Nine.
Yours finds the lapel of her suit jacket.
Eight.
She leans in an inch, trembling.
Seven.
You don’t pull away.
Six.
She swallows hard.
Five.
Her eyes flick down to your mouth.
Four.
Yours flick up to hers.
Three.
Her thumb strokes your waist like it might anchor her.
Two.
She whispers, “Please don’t almost me again.”
One.
And finally… finally, you don’t.
You kiss her.
You kiss her like the world is ending and beginning at once. Like the last five years all existed just to lead here. Like every almost was a chapter and this is the story finally breaking open. Her hands slide around your back, pulling you in like she can’t believe it’s happening. You gasp into her mouth, and she swallows it, and you let her. Let her take whatever you’ve got left.
Fireworks explode outside.
People cheer.
You don’t notice.
You’re too busy memorizing the way her mouth feels against yours, how her body curls around you like home, how she kisses you like she’s starving and relieved and terrified and alive all at once.
When you pull back, you’re breathless. Both of you.
She presses her forehead to yours, chest heaving. “You came back.”
You nod against her. “I never really left.”
She closes her eyes.
You kiss her again.
And this time—this time—it’s not almost.
It’s everything.
The windows are fogged with the breath of dawn, the skyline blurred into pastel streaks of orange. Somewhere far below, New York is waking—horns honking, heels clicking, coffee brewing. But up here, in Paige’s hotel room, it’s quiet.
Not silent. Not completely.
You can hear her breath.
It ghosts against your shoulder as she stirs beside you, still half-asleep. Her arm is heavy around your waist, her nose buried behind your neck like she’s trying to memorize how you smell before the world gets loud again.
You’ve barely slept.
Not because you were up all night—not in that way. No, last night wasn’t frantic or rushed or skin against skin just for the sake of catching up. It was… slow. Earnest. Careful in a way only people who have waited this long can be.
She kissed you like she couldn’t believe you were real.
You held her like you couldn’t risk her slipping away again.
And then, in the quiet hours after midnight, you lay tangled in her bed fully clothed, your bodies pressed together under the covers, her hand resting on your stomach, your fingers curled into the sleeve of her hoodie like a tether.
You’d talked until you couldn’t anymore. About prom. About the dock. The kiss on your jaw. The draft. Her apartment. Everything you never let yourself say.
Now, sunlight cuts across the hardwood floor, and Paige shifts behind you, her voice thick with sleep.
“You’re still here.”
You smile, eyes still closed. “I’m still here.”
She nuzzles your shoulder. “Good.”
You roll onto your back and look at her. Her eyes are still sleepy, lids heavy. Her hair is a mess and her voice is scratchy and she’s never looked more beautiful in her life.
“You know,” she says, brushing your knuckles with hers, “I spent so long telling myself I was fine with being your almost.”
You blink up at her. “Why?”
She shrugs, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “Because some part of me thought that was better than not having you at all.”
You reach for her hand. “Don’t ever settle for almost again. Not with me.”
She intertwines her fingers with yours. “I won’t.”
She leans in slowly, gives you a kiss so soft it feels like a secret. Her thumb traces the edge of your jaw when she pulls back.
“I want everything,” she whispers.
“You have it.”
And she does.
She has it all.
Every part of you she’s ever reached for—your smile, your silence, your fear, your longing, your kiss—is hers now.
And when she lays her head on your chest, arm draped across your stomach, breath syncing to yours, you realize you’ve never felt more certain of anything in your life.
Heyy, i love your work! Can I request one where the UConn team is on a vacation somewhere tropical and reader is Paige’s vacay crush? Maybe they’re like staying in the same hotel and P notices her there or they just randomly see each other on a beach? Paige’s team and reader’s friends eventually meet and do activities like beach volley...- slow burn + friends to lovers + P never saw reader as a friend from the first moment (lol)
chasing sunsets (and you)
pairing: uconn!paige bueckers x localtourist!reader
contains/warnings: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers (vacation crush turned to smth more HAHA), kinda slow burn, mutual pining, teasing, filipino culture/setting. not proofread! let me know if i missed any warning!
word count: 7.9k (or 8k??)
a/n: hi i'm back after spending the weekend with my partner <3 just want to thank everyone for your support and compliments for my works aaa i saw them all and im so overwhelmed (shoutout to @iluvbuckets u made me cry im so honored ure too sweet). thank you as well to anonnie who requested this! although it’s not as slow-burn-y as i think you hoped it to be, i hope the pacing still makes sense and gives you the feels T^T
on the other hand, im slowing down a bit (idk doe im also so spontaneous so there's no telling when the next update will be HAHAHA) on writing bcos i feel a little burned out. i want to take my time to find inspiration for each request i have yet to write. i hope you all understand <3
other important notes:
- setting is gonna be boracay (PH) cos i was just there a couple of weeks ago HAHAHA try to envision it through how i experienced it yayy
- let's pretend their schedules, with the championship, draft etc, aren't packed ANYWAYS this is fiction, people!! <3
After a tough win that led to them claiming the natty, the UConn Women’s Basketball Team finds themselves being flown to one of the most known tropical islands for a well-deserved vacation, sponsored by none other than their university.
They haven’t had a break like this in months– scratch that, years. Between grueling practices and chasing titles, they’ve barely had time to breathe. So when they were given the green light for a team building trip after that long season, nobody hesitates: the beach calls!
It isn’t just any beach either. After days of anticipation, they finally land on Boracay Island, a tropical postcard that’s finally coming to life for them. Sure, it’s going to be (technically) a team building activity, but everyone knows it’s also a chance to soak in some sun, get sand between their toes, and live a little outside the gym and the court.
The flight was hella long, but they could care less. Every second spent in that metal cage in the air was worth it now that they get to feel the salty breeze and the warm rays of the sun in this tropical country.
Boracay is, to say the least, vibrant. It’s buzzing with energy and excitement from tourists and locals alike. No one’s frowning, and how could they, when the view and beach are gorgeous? Restaurant staff, vendors, and guides simultaneously approach them brightly, convincing them to avail their products and services.
The team’s hotel sits at Station 3, away from the loudest parts of the island, but close enough to everything that mattered. The moment they walk in, they’re greeted with polite but wide smiles and even wider glasses of something cold and sweet. Complimentary drinks and towels to wipe their faces upon arrival? The whole team’s going nuts.
“Okay, I’m never going back,” KK mutters as she clinks her glass against Paige’s.
Paige hums in agreement, sipping on her drink. It’s a blend of something green and yellow, colors she doesn’t like on her meals, but this? She doesn’t mind it going straight to her stomach. The juice is otherworldly good.
When the lone manager who accompanied them finishes up with registration and check-in, KK and Paige are given the keycards to their room. The rest of the team then go straight into the main area, to be greeted by a long pool. When they look up, they see the balconies of the rooms lined up in rows and columns, with some of the hotel guests peeking curiously over at their group.
Paige feels like a child going on her first out-of-town trip. She’s not a stranger to good accommodations, but being in a whole other country and experiencing unique hospitality are setting the bar so high right now. She reckons she won’t be able to like another hotel if it isn’t anything close to this.
They file into the elevators in batches, with KK and Paige going in the same batch together since they’re rooming together. When they get to the door, they find their luggage already waiting for them.
“This is crazy,” Ice says from behind them, as Azzi, Sarah, and Jana come out of the elevator. Their rooms are all on the same floor, and Paige smiles, relieved at the familiarity.
She puts a keycard against the door lock, assigning herself as the official keeper of it because she deems herself the more responsible one between her and KK. The latter can argue, but she’s too busy looking out of the common area to take a picture of the view below.
“Guys, why don’t we check out the beach in, like, 30 minutes?” Jana suggests, sparkles in her eyes. “I don’t know… I just can’t wait to get out there. Anyone feel me?”
The rest gives her nods and approving hums. With that, they all quickly go into their rooms and unpack.
The thirty minutes they agreed on passed in a blur of changing into beach fits, putting on sunscreen, and frantic assembling of essentials in smaller bags. Paige and KK don’t even bother to fix their hair– the goal is to get to the beach. They can save Instagram-ready looks for later.
The group pours out of the hotel lobby, stepping onto the fine, sun-warmed white sand of Boracay. As they reach the beachfront, it’s like another world opens up.
The sand is impossibly soft– the kind that gives away beneath their feet because of how powdery it is. It clings so lightly to their skin. The azure waters stretch far and endless, impossibly clear and glowing with different shades of blue. It’s high tide too, and just a few more steps would soak their feet.
There’s music drifting from nearby restaurants, upbeat and relaxed. In-between those establishments are small stores with vendors hanging out by the front, offering their products to passersby. People are literally everywhere, but instead of feeling crowded, the place gives off life.
Paige takes a long breath in.
This is what it feels like to have a life outside of balling. Getting her senses hit with the salty and warm air, and laughter from different groups of tourists are all she needs right now. The sun might be too bright to remove her shades, but she doesn’t miss scanning every part of the shoreline, drinking it in, not wanting to forget a single detail.
“Why don’t we walk the beach?” Ice speaks up, kicking off some sand from her sandals. “Maybe we can check out Station 2. That’s the next one to ours, right?”
“Yep,” Kaitlyn says. “Station 2’s kinda like the party zone, I think. We should go all ‘round the place and come back up.”
“Yeah. Kill time ‘til dinner,” Azzi adds.
“Let’s do it,” Paige agrees, adjusting her ponytail and starting to walk.
The group spreads out in a loose line. Some of them are stopping at stalls, checking out the handmade accessories, while others are talking in pairs as they make their way down the beach.
Paige, KK, Azzi and Sarah are all together, walking and looking around as they move forward.
She notices that there are different activities that can be done at the beach, and confirms it when a local comes up to them and asks if they want to book with him for those activities. They politely decline and keep moving.
Paige observes the different kinds of boats out in the ocean. There are what people call the crystal kayaks, while some teenagers are out in the sun and on their paddleboards, steering away from groups of people swimming in the small waves.
She’s smiling, taking everything in the way a first-time tourist would. But then, her smile drops, and her mouth begins forming a small ‘o’ shape instead.
She sees you.
You’re across the sand, walking near the beach-front restaurants with a small group of friends. There’s a soft breeze catching the hem of your skirt. Your sunglasses are perched on your nose as you glance up at the cafe menu. Something about you leaves Paige tongue-tied. From the way you carry yourself, cheery but relaxed, to the way you laugh at something your friend says, all sunshine and ease. She can keep listing things, she thinks to herself.
Before she realizes, she’s already doing a full double take.
“Yo.” KK nudges her. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Paige says quickly, finally removing her eyes on your figure. She moves on, pretending to be interested in the Japanese food sign posted a meters feet ahead.
But her mind lingers.
It’s probably nothing. Vacation crushes are normal, right? You see someone ridiculously attractive, your brain short-circuits a little, and then you never see them again. A quick flicker, a passing face, then they’re gone just as fast.
But still… she hopes not.
They’re going to be here for four days and three nights. That’s long enough… right?
Like any other breakfast buffets in the Philippines, the dining hall is packed. For some reason, both Filipinos and foreigners find the need to be early, and Paige can hear some of them say it’s for them to not miss out on how much food they can get.
They do know what a buffet means… right?
She stifles a yawn and shifts her weight to the other foot, clutching her empty plate like a lifeline. She’d give anything to be horizontal right now, in that comfy, impossibly fluffy bed, with the AC blasting. But she can’t really go against Geno, who was so adamant on having a 7 AM breakfast. When Coach says “7 AM,” it’s 7 AM on the dot or else he’s giving you endless drills out in the sun and sand.
Azzi is standing beside her, squinting at the crowd. “Can’t believe you’re up early for this.”
Paige lets out a sigh. “My craving for their garlic rice won.”
KK, behind them, makes a skeptical noise. “There’s no way we’re finding enough seats for us. Can’t we just bounce and come back after the rush dies down?”
Paige is about to agree, despite her Geno-related fears, when something– someone– catches her eye.
You’re lingering at the other end of the buffet table, plate in hand, looking mildly overwhelmed by the food options and people rushing to get in line. You have those sleepy eyes on, like someone had woken you up at this ungodly hour too for the breakfast buffet. Your hair is tied up loosely, like you couldn’t be bothered to brush it properly. You had a baggy shirt on, some sweatpants to pair it with, and had no makeup. It’s the kind of soft, lazy glow that only a few people could have in this world.
Paige’s stomach does a weird little flip.
Vacation crushes are normal; they happen. You see someone pretty and assume they’re a fantasy that comes true for the few days you’re there, then forget about them by the end of the trip. But this one has an inexplicable chokehold on Paige that she wishes you’re a vacation crush she’ll see again back at home (somehow).
“We’re staying,” she announces suddenly, eyes still glued on you.
KK blinks. “What???”
She turns to look at her teammate, trying to be less obvious. “We’re eating now. We don’t want to be late for team building, anyway.”
Azzi eyes her suspiciously. “You just said yesterday that you’d rather eat sand than do icebreakers before 9 AM.”
“Yeah, but… bacon,” Paige replies lamely, and starts walking before they can protest some more.
The team scatters reluctantly into the crowd, breaking off in twos and threes to hunt down food or claim tables. She ends up alone though, near where you are, intentionally weaving her way to the bacon station.
You’re already reaching for the tongs, arm extended, just as she steps up beside you.
Her hand brushes yours, and you both pause, eyes meeting in half-surprise.
“Oh, sorry,” you tell her, offering her a polite half-smile and moving to the side slightly. “You go ahead.”
Pretty and nice? Paige swears she’s fallen head over heels now.
“No, no, it’s okay,” she replies quickly. “You go ahead. There’s enough for–”
Right then and there, a lady swoops in from behind you both and takes half the tray of warm, sizzling bacon. Paige blinks, disbelieving and finally understanding everyone else's urgency this early in the morning. That was some vulture shit.
“There was enough for us,” you correct with a giggle.
“Barely survived that ambush,” Paige says with a grin. “Here.” She takes the tongs herself, grabbing a handful of bacon and putting them on your plate. “Take them before they disappear again. You saw them first, anyway.”
You glance at her empty plate. “That’s very noble of you.”
“I know. I’m basically a hero.”
You chuckle at her silliness. “Defender of breakfast meats, are ya?”
Paige lets out a laugh– a real one, unlike the short and polite ones she’s had to give to the media the last few months. It feels refreshing, and it definitely draws her to you even more.
You fall into step beside her as you both move down the line. Paige grabs her garlic rice, meats (of course), a couple of fruits, and a sad attempt at a vegetable she feels would balance her meal. You get a couple of waffles doused in syrup, some eggs and corned beef, and a mango.
She observes you a little as you both make your way to the drinks station. You seem like a chill person, very comfortable in your own skin. She gets the vibe that you’re not the type to overshare, but you’re still open enough for a good conversation that doesn’t give room for awkward silence.
Once the two of you finish, you look around the hall, and she does the same.
“Damn. Not a seat in sight.”
Paige peers over the heads of families and couples. “Same. My team ditched me.”
“Your team?” you ask, tilting your head a little in curiosity.
She nods with a smile. “Came here for a vacation with my basketball team. We’re from America.”
“Ah.” You give her a smile. “Welcome to the Philippines.” Then, you point toward a small square table near the windows, where two chairs sit unclaimed. “By the way, there are some seats there. Wanna join me?”
“Sure!” She doesn’t hesitate at all, relief blooming in her chest. “I’ll take this as a way of you repaying me for my noble bacon sacrifice.”
You shake your head, a small smile still on your lips. “You’re so silly.”
The two of you sit, plates landing on the table with a soft clatter. The morning sun shines through the glass and paints your skin gold, making your face glow just a bit more too, and Paige has to look down at her food to stop herself from staring.
“So,” you start, slicing a small piece off your waffle, “what brings your whole team to Boracay... uh...?”
"Paige," she supplies then grins. “Team building that I’d rather call vacation. I think we earned it, since we did win the national championship. After the trust falls and other games they’ll force us into, we’re gonna make the most out of this trip.”
You nod in agreement. “You’ll have a blast. There are tons to do here in Boracay. Just avoid being pressured by the locals who offer those activities though. Make sure you find one that has the best value.”
“Thanks for the advice... um...?”
"Y/n."
"Y/n. Hi," Paige repeats and chuckles. “We’re just gonna have to survive our coach telling us to dig deeper while we try to paddleboard– then, we’re good to go.”
You laugh in response. It’s genuine and soft. It’s a sound that makes her sit up a little straighter in attention.
“What about you?” Paige asks. “Just here to chill?”
You shrug slightly. “Pretty much. Needed a break from studies and work. I saved up enough, and I have my friends, so I dragged them into doing nothing but relaxing and eating in the next four days.”
Paige perks up at once after hearing you’ll be here for the next four days too. The possibility of running into you and even hanging out makes her tingle with anticipation on the inside.
“That sounds like a dream.”
You smile at her, and her stomach does another flip– a bigger one, this time, now that you’re this close.
“Exactly. Though I didn’t think I’d need hand-to-hand combat skills to get bacon,” you reply, scrunching your nose a little.
“Lucky for you, you had a hero nearby,” Paige says in fake smugness, leaning back back and giving you a thumbs up.
You roll your eyes, but it’s not a condescending one. You’re trying to hold back a larger smile forming on your lips, and you're failing miserably. Paige relishes in the fact that she’s making her vacation crush beam like that.
Everything about this breakfast with you feels easy. The conversation is flowing like you two have known each other for a long time now, even though you’ve only just met. She thought she’d be a bumbling mess in front of you, but things went way better than she expected, especially from herself.
Paige watches as you sip your coffee, your eyes crinkling as you react to the taste. She notices the curve of your nose, the seashell necklace around your neck, as well as the way your fingers lightly tap an upbeat rhythm on the table as you revel in the taste of your food.
Her chest tightens at how adorable every inch of you is.
It may be dumb– this is a vacation, and you’re someone who’ll vanish into the sea of strangers by lunch. But still, she hopes that’s not the case. She hopes you won’t be just a story she tells her teammates as they hang out in some cafe with a beachfront view.
She so hopes she sees you again. Maybe by the pool, maybe by the inhouse bar later, or maybe even at some yacht party her teammates are already planning to join by the end of the week.
God, I sound like a romcom protagonist, she thinks, inwardly cringing at herself.
Still, it’s hard not to wonder what it would be like to be on the sand, sitting side-by-side with you as you two talk about random things. She can’t help the images her mind keeps conjuring of walking around the famous D’Mall with you, trying out food stalls once every few feet.
Before she can say anything else, notification pings begin ringing one after another from her phone. She reads through them and finds out Geno wants them at the lobby in fifteen. She sighs, dragging her gaze back to you.
“Duty calls?” you smile knowingly.
Paige visibly frowns. “Unfortunately. I’d really rather stay here and talk more about your intense opinions on Philippine hotels’ breakfast buffets.”
You stick out your tongue playfully. “They’re credible opinions. I’m a good judge of food and service!”
She grins, backing away from the table. “I’ll concede to your expertise, ma’am.”
“Good. you’ll live longer that way.”
Paige hangs back a little, then asks despite self-doubt, “I’ll see you around?”
You raise your coffee cup. “I sure hope so, Paige.”
Paige leaves the room, feeling all warm and hopeful. Even if it’s just for four days, she’s going to make the most out of the hope that bloomed from your response.
The sun is blazing that afternoon in Boracay, heating up the stretch of white sand and teal waters. It’s picture-perfect– some of them have even taken their own photos of the scenery– like it’s some Pinterest board that’s become a physical place right before the UConn team.
However, Paige doesn’t really have the energy to be awestruck right now– not after an entire morning of team building activities that ranged from fun and simple icebreakers, to full-on problem-solving exercises under the scorching heat. Between balancing coconut husks on their heads and answering speed trivia about each other, she’s pretty sure they all learned a lot by now.
Still, despite the full-body ache settling into her limbs, she feels good. Her body is screaming at her to take a break in their cool hotel room, but she can’t help but stay with the team and run around and throw sand towards each other like idiots.
This is the type of tired she’d kill to feel sometimes back in Storrs. She wants this kind that comes from laughing too much, sweating under the sun, and not thinking about anything except the moment in front of her, with her friends.
“You good?” Aubrey asks from behind her, slinging an arm around her shoulders.
Paige nods with a wide smile. “Yeah. It was so fun. Who knew team building could make us this sore, though?”
They all begin heading toward the wide beachfront area where a net is already set up in the sand.
“That last activity almost made me pass out,” KK groans out loud, trailing behind them. “I honestly just signed up for the beach drinks and pics for the ‘gram, not… all this,” she gestures vaguely.
Paige just laughs at her. “It’s character development, girlypop.”
They reach the volleyball setup and start splitting off into teams. Someone’s blasting a summer playlist from a portable speaker nearby, the beat loud and infectious. She couldn’t feel more thankful for the energy the music is providing.
Her gaze naturally drifts past her teammates afterwards, and that’s when she sees you again.
You’re standing some meters away with your friend group, all of you barefoot in the sand. You’re all chatting animatedly while occasionally glancing towards the commotion they’re making.
Paige runs her eyes from your head down to your toes. You’re in a loose, oversized button-up that’s thrown over your swimsuit. She watches closely as you tug your hair into a bun while you squint at their setup.
“Uh-oh,” Azzi teases quietly beside her, nudging Paige with a knowing grin. “Target locked.”
“I’m literally just looking,” Paige defends herself, though she can feel even more heat rise in her cheeks. It isn’t any good for her– she gets red all too easily.
“Sure,” KK snorts. “The way you’re eyeing her’s kinda creepy. Turn it down a notch. You’re not being subtle.”
Paige rolls her eyes at them, but she can’t help but feel warmer, being caught like that.
She’s said to herself many times that vacation crushes don’t mean anything, that you’re just someone she finds so damn attractive, then she’ll forget about you after the trip’s over. But still, after the whole thing at the buffet earlier? The banter over the bacon and your cute arguments as you defended your favorite hotels? She’s replayed everything more than once today in her head.
Now, you’re here again, like fate is pushing the two of you towards one another. Even right now, while she’s considering whether it’s too forward to approach and invite you, you’re already walking to her with a bright smile as you recognize her.
“Hi,” you greet, walking up to her group with your hands shoved casually in your pockets. Your voice is smooth and lightly amused, like you can’t believe you met her again either. “Any chance you guys need a few more players?”
KK clears her throat beside Paige, and the latter lightly smacks her arm.
Paige nods, and with a voice slightly higher than normal (that earns her a chuckle from her friends), she replies, “Uh, yeah… For sure. We could use a few people.”
Your friends shuffle over behind you, and not a minute later, the game turns into a mix of new faces and old teammates. You and Paige, of course, end up on the same side of the net.
The first few rounds are chaotic but fun at the same time. You’re surprisingly good. You’re quick on your feet, your reception is better than average, and you're definitely a little more competitive than you first let on. You cheer when someone on your side makes a good hit, throw light shade when Paige or a friend messes up, and you really don’t hold back when a point’s on the line. Everyone is amused– you’re surely the life of the game.
“Woah,” Paige says with a laugh after you dive to save a rogue ball. “Remind me to never be on the opposing team.”
You smirk, brushing sand off your knees. “I appreciate your admission of defeat.”
“Oh? You’re on now,” she fires back with the same glint in her eyes.
“We’re literally teammates!”
There’s real, unmistakable chemistry between the two of you. Her teammates begin picking up on it too. Every time the ball’s in your court, it feels like a mini highlight reel of both athleticism and you two connecting in small, charged ways. Everyone can see it, from the way you pass the ball to her midair, to your high-fives that linger just a second too long.
By the time the final point is scored, both of you are breathless and flushed, exchanging a look that says it all: that you really want to hang out and do this again next time.
“You’re crazy skilled,” Paige tells you as the others start walking back to the beach loungers. “You play volleyball?”
You laugh. “Highschool and a little in college. Some schools have it for PE,” you explain. “You’re pretty good too. I guess that’s why you’re a star athlete for your uni, huh?”
Paige tries to play it cool, but the way you compliment her makes her jump a teeny bit. It’s teasing and light, but still meant genuinely. It’s not reverent either, unlike back in her basketball world.
“You know… I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was,” you quip. And then, after a pause, you ask, “Same time tomorrow?”
Paige’s breath hitches– it’s so slight that you don’t notice, but it happens, still. You’re inviting her to hang out and play again, or do something else, tomorrow. That has to mean you’re interested, right?
“Definitely,” she replies quickly, beaming now.
Your friends call you over, and you give her a final smile before turning around and disappearing into the crowd by the stalls.
Paige watches until she can’t see you anymore.
Later in the evening, after having dinner as a team in a restaurant, the UConn players slowly filter back into their rooms, all exhausted but happy. Azzi, KK, Ice, and Paige end up in one room, flopped across the two beds with ice packs pressed to their knees and shoulders.
Paige tosses a towel over her face and groans. “I feel like I’ve been carrying a shit ton the whole day.”
“You mean like your entire team during the problem-solving activity?” Ice fires back immediately.
“Hey,” Paige sits up, “I carried our team emotionally. That was a heavy burden.”
“'Emotionally?'” KK snorts from the other bed, where she’s laying with her upper half on while the lower hangs. “You were the very definition of panic and frustration during the coconut balancing thing.”
Paige sticks out her tongue, with the image of you doing that to her back at the breakfast buffet briefly flashing in front of her eyes. She then retorts, “I take pride in precision and coordination.”
“Okay, Miss ‘Vacation is for building leadership and camaraderie,’” Azzi says, grinning as she snatches the towel off Paige and flings it away.
“Shut up.” Paige laughs, getting the towel back then throwing it at her.
Her muscles are aching, but in a good way. Her shoulders, arms– every part of her– may feel so sore, and she’s pretty sure she has a mild sunburn blooming on the top of her back, but despite all that, there’s a good looseness in her chest.
She can get used to this: no videos to watch to review her performance, no post-game press, and no freezing winter mornings. Just the sun, sand, her team, and…
“Okay but also,” KK begins, her voice laced with false innocence as she stretches, “you definitely weren’t thinking about camaraderie during the volleyball game.”
“Oh god,” Paige mutters. She already knows where this is going. She stands up, attempting to walk out the room right now, but Ice and Azzi catch her arms and pull her back down onto the bed.
Ice perks up, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “That was some Disney movie-level chemistry. The sparks were sparking. I felt them to the bone.”
Paige rolls her eyes. “Not y’all reading into a friendly game,” she counters, but her voice has that familiar inflection that means she’s already flustered.
Azzi lifts her head to smirk. “You were all, ‘I got it!’ and diving into the sand, giving it your all to impress her with your hustle. And when you high-fived, you both stare at your hands like there’s something on them that we can’t see.”
“I did not stare at her hand like that,” Paige says with a scandalized gasp.
“You did,” KK confirms with a triumphant grin.
Paige groans and lets her head fall back into the mattress. “Why are y’all being like thiiis?” she says, dragging the last word.
“Because it’s cuuute,” Azzi says, imitating her. “And because you’re so obvious. Please, you practically lit up the moment you saw her walking up with her friends.”
“Okay, well–” Paige sits back up again, ready to defend herself, even if a traitorous smile is already twitching at the corner of her mouth. “We did kind of meet this morning. At breakfast.”
“I knew it!” Azzi exclaims. “What happened?”
Paige shrugs, but it’s a bit too tense. She’s very aware of how warm her face feels and likely looks now. “Nothing major. We just both reached for the bacon at the same time… banter here and there. We also talked about hotel breakfast quality– she has very intense opinions, it’s cute.”
All three gasp at the information.
She rolls her eyes at them, but continues, “I don’t know. It was funny– she’s a pretty funny gal. She made me laugh at 7:30 AM, which never happens.”
“She made you laugh in the morning.” KK smacks her arm this time. “You don’t exactly love mornings.”
“I know,” Paige mutters in agreement.
It’s weird, she thinks, how a ten-minute interaction over buffet trays and morning meals left her thinking about you for the rest of the day, but it’s what she’s stuck with now. But is it really weird and stupid if it seemed like the universe played matchmaker and made you meet again? (And even made you have quality time together?)
Again, vacation crushes are normal. It’s easy to fall for anyone when the sun and the rest give them this most beautiful glow. You’re likely just someone she’ll never see again after all this, and that would be okay. But that didn’t explain why she scanned the beach every other minute just in case she’d see you again. It doesn’t explain why her stomach kept flipping around when you approached their group first instead of her having to work up the nerve.
“She’s chill…” Paige mutters unconvincingly. “I thought she’d be like, cute, then that’s it. But then… she’s also nice, makes talking so easy– and damn, she’s witty. It makes me wanna spar with her just for fun.”
KK wiggles her eyebrows. “Spar, huh?”
“Oh my god,” Paige groans, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at her.
Ice and Azzi practically cackle. “She means emotionally! The banter!”
“Exactly!” Paige throws her arms up in the air, exasperated, but she’s smiling too much now to be taken seriously by the rest. “It’s just– it was unexpected, okay? I come to these team trips with the sole expectation of messing around with y’all, post some pics, get a tan, whatever. I wasn’t expecting to meet someone like that.”
There’s a beat of silence in the room, like they’re all thinking of something thoughtful to say to that.
“You both actually had chemistry back there,” Azzi says with a smile, offering a soft pat on her shoulders. “Not just the flirty kind, either. You played well together, you had banters that good old friends, or lovers– if you like that better– have.”
Paige nods, more quiet now. “Yeah. I felt that too.”
She doesn’t add how much she’s been thinking about your smile and your laugh over and over again. She doesn’t share how in awe she was of you after seeing how you seem so confident and chill, even around a stranger, let alone a foreigner, like her. But she knows they have an idea about how she’s feeling towards her vacation crush.
“Think you’ll see her again?” Azzi asks, nudging her lightly.”
“She said ‘same time tomorrow,’” Paige replies with a shy smile.
“Guess you better stretch early,” Ice tells her, as she and KK both flop back dramatically on the bed.
Outside, the night life in Boracay buzzes as hard as Paige’s heart inside.
She hopes that it’s not just the sun and the salt getting to her. She hopes that whatever this is turning out to be is something real.
After Paige and KK shuffle back to their shared room, Paige immediately drops onto her own bed, feeling lighter than she has in months. The lightness sits well in her chest– kind of like the type when you just get back home from a swimming trip with your family, and you can still feel the water around you.
Her arms are flung out like she’s making a snow angel in the white sheets, and hair still damp from the shower. She still feels warm from all the laughing earlier, drunk in the sun, the teasing, and whatever feeling it is that builds every time she thinks about you.
“Yo, be honest,” KK says again, kicking off her slides and stretching out on the opposite bed, “are you crushing, or, like, crushing crushing?”
Paige flips, smushing her face onto the bed. “Please don’t make me say it out loud,” she replies, voice muffled.
KK laughs. “So that’s a yes.”
“It is,” Paige grunts in defeat. “I really thought I was just gonna vibe and beat y’all in the activities. T’wasn’t in my plan to crush so hard on another tourist.”
“Yeah, and you aren’t slick either,” KK adds. “You’ve been glowing all day.”
“I’m just sunburned.”
“And smitten.”
Paige throws a pillow at her, and KK bats it away easily.
“I just… I don’t know.” Paige sighs. “I barely know her, but the second we met and started talking, it felt like we’ve already known each other for years. You get?”
KK hums in affirmation. “Not in a romantic way, but sure. That’s how I felt with y’all, coming into the team.”
“Right?” Paige sits up slowly, hugging her knees. Her voice lowers, “And I know it’s just a vacation thing– like, I’m so aware, okay? But it doesn’t feel like it’s something small or random or that it’s just casual flirting. When we were talking, when we were playing together, being around her was just so easy. I just wanted to keep things going forever because of how nice it felt to be around her.”
Her teammate raises an eyebrow at her. “So… you wanna get to know her and… maybe date?”
Her shoulders slump. “Sounds wild, I know, but yeah. I want to know what she’s like when it’s just us two in a quiet place. I want to know who she is, what she prefers, her pet peeves– everything. I like being around her, I liked myself when I’m with her even if those were just a few minutes of our lives.” She looks at KK with a pout. “Should’ve asked for her socials, dang it.”
KK watches her silently, eyes soft after everything she just confessed to her. Paige stays silent for a minute, getting up and going to the balcony to look over the pool. Then, she freezes.
Paige has spotted you sitting alone by the jacuzzi, feet dipped in the water. All of a sudden, Paige doesn’t want to wait until tomorrow. She wants to go down there and meet with you again, sit with you under the star-filled night sky, and talk until the staff tell you that the pool’s closed and that you both have to cut your evening quality time short.
She’s already changed into her hoodie and sweatpants, but she doesn’t care. She’s striding back into the room to rummage through her luggage, picking out a sports bra, some tank top and swimming shorts.
“What are you doing?” KK asks incredulously as she recognizes the garments in her hands. “Are you going to swim in the pool now?”
“Yeah.” Paige tries to sound casual, even as her heart thrums in a quick rhythm. “I just… feel like swimming.”
“But I thought we’re gonna do that tomorrow with the team?”
“We are,” she replies from inside the bathroom, putting on her swimming clothes. “But I need to clear my head tonight. I can’t sleep yet, so might as well do some laps or something.”
She can already imagine KK’s skeptical and suspicious look. “It’s not like you to voluntarily do laps while on vacation. What is going on?”
“I’m turning over a new leaf,” she shouts with a grin. She doesn’t look back to check KK’s reaction, as she’s already slipping her slides on and grabbing a towel. “Bye!”
She makes it out of the room without another word, her whole body buzzing in anticipation and restlessness. She doesn’t even know if you’re still out there despite how fast she changed, but she’s going to take her chance. If you’re not, then she can always tell KK she changed her mind again about the pool.
You’re there though, and she’s the first one you see through the hallway as you look up from the jacuzzi. A smile visibly and slowly starts to form on your face as you raise a hand and wave at her.
“Didn’t think we’d meet again so soon,” you chirp.
She shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Didn’t think I’d come out this late, but here I am.”
You shift over once she’s by your side, and she sits down, dipping her feet into the water as well. A peaceful silence stretches between you, and Paige waits for the right time to speak up.
“I was hoping I’d see you again,” she admits once she’s fought off the nerves.
You turn your head towards her a little, caught off-guard. “Really?”
She nods. “It’s kinda weird. I usually don’t do this– meet someone and feel like I want and need to keep talking to them”
You give her a smile. “Then I guess we’re both out of character this week.”
Paige lets out a small laugh, more relieved this time.
“I’m Paige,” she lets you know again, afraid you’re going to forget her.
“I remember. And I’m y/n,” you say with a chuckle. “We met over breakfast buffet bacon and dove in the sand for a volleyball point out of extreme competitiveness.”
“Guilty,” she replies with a grin.
Just like that, the conversion easily builds again, slowly but surely blowing up Paige’s mind.
She asks about the nature of your studies and work, you tell her about your love-hate relationship with the job you found in the middle of taking a master's degree. You ask her what she does before going into games, and she gives you three artists to add to your playlist to “set the mood.” You tell her you can’t cook to save your life, and she offers to make you a mean breakfast she claims will give the hotel a run for their money.
Things with you seem so easy, and she doesn’t understand why. She wonders if you feel the same way, or if she’s just imagining the way you glance at her mouth when she talks. When she catches you once though, and you don’t look away, hope begins to bloom wildly in her chest.
“I’m really glad I came down,” she tells you when the conversation starts winding down. Her voice is almost drowned out by the bubbling water against your legs, but you seem to have heard it anyway.
“Yeah?” you tease with a shy smile.
“Yeah.” She hesitates for a moment. “I was scared I made everything up in my head earlier. That being with a new person could be this easy.”
“You weren’t,” you assure, looking at her intently.
Something shifts in the air. She feels it in every part of her, but most especially in the way her heart is thrashing wildly in her ribcage now.
“I want to see you again,” she declares, but her voice is still barely above a whisper. “Not just in an ‘I-happen-to-be-here’ way, but maybe tomorrow at sunset… I heard it’s one of the best views here.”
You nod, smile widening. “Okay. I’ll be at the lobby at 5:30 PM.”
Upstairs, hidden behind the corner of the balcony, KK squints down into the pool area where Paige and her vacation crush are sitting with their heads close and shoulders brushing.
She grins, muttering to herself, ‘Ah. So that’s why,’ before quietly going back in and shutting the curtains.
Below, Paige leans back on her palms, eyes patterns in the sky. Her hand grazes yours, not by accident this time, and you don’t pull away.
If this is what vacation crushes feel like, she never wants the week to end.
Paige checks her phone for the fourth time in two minutes.
5:59 PM.
Sunset’s supposed to hit past 6 PM, according to the websites she’s searched on, and the sky’s already beginning to change colors from gold to a warm and soft orange blush. She’s sitting on one of the lobby’s couches, playing with the hem of the button-up she’s thrown over her swimsuit. She ignores the way her groupchat with the team is blowing up with all kinds of messages, ranging from supportive ones to those that tease her lightly for having a vacation crush.
Her heart’s currently tap-dancing in her chest, excited and impatient to spend some time with you after she miraculously succeeded in asking you out to walk by the beach. She’s desperate to not mess this up, if you consider this a date (because she does).
She doesn’t want to mess any of this up because she feels like she’s in some sort of fairytale unfolding so unrealistically out of sheer hope and desire. Something about you and the way you leaned into her as you exchanged jokes and stories last night left her in a daze, and she’s determined not to cut the fantasy short. It’s real, and it’s happening, anyway.
She wiggles her toes a little, tucks her hair behind one ear, then looks up at the faint sound of running feet from within the hotel. Then, she sees you, and her brain forgets how to process anything.
You’re in a sundress, the flowy and floral kind that’s been trending on Tiktok. Your hair is a little tussled, likely from rushing to be at the lobby on time, but Paige thinks it’s styled perfectly for the occasion. A camera hangs around your neck, swaying slightly as you walk quickly towards her.
A pink flush is across your face, and she wonders if you ran here, or if you’re just as flustered as she is.
Behind you, your friends are clearly trying not to giggle as they disappear back up into the hotel. One of them gives a very obvious thumbs up before slipping away, and you shake your head before turning back to her.
“Hey,” you say, a little breathless. “Sorry I’m late. There was a… wardrobe crisis.”
Paige could care less about that wardrobe crisis.
“You look amazing,” she breathes out, looking at you from top to bottom.
You smile at her, shy and grateful, and it feels like she’s been struck straight to the heart with cupid’s arrow.
“I figured I should dress nice. I mean… it’s the sunset, right?” you tell her, half-teasing.
“It’s lucky,” Paige replies with a scrunched up nose. “I heard if you spend it with someone cool and charming, the rest of your year’s gonna go well.”
“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow and smirk at her. “That a fact or what?”
“Definitely a fact.” She grins at you. “Aren’t ya glad you’re gonna do just that?”
“I’m honored, then.”
The two of you start walking, slides and sandals against the now-cooler sand. It squishes slightly underneath you, now that it isn’t high tide anymore and the water’s retreated further back. You two move closer to where the small waves are crashing, letting the water nip at your ankles from time to time.
It’s easy again, no matter how many times Paige feels and thinks it. It’s like slipping into a calm current that lets you float effortlessly and in peace.
You ask her about Minnesota and Connecticut climates, and she asks you about your favorite beach memory. You tease her for nearly tripping over a lone rock buried in the sand, and she argues that you in your dress distracts her too much to pay attention to the ground. She successfully makes you quiet with that, pumping her fist in the air in victory.
You laugh at her, and god, she can keep listening to that. She feels she could brave a thousand sunburns just to hear it again and again.
You stop walking after a while, somewhere a bit too far from where you started, with more people around now. Boats with triangular sails line the horizon, occasionally covering the orange-painted sky.
You adjust the camera around your neck, fingers brushing over the buttons instinctively. Paige watches, heart skipping.
“You want photos?” she immediately asks, stepping closer.
You look up at her with pursed lips. “Yeah. My friends and I were supposed to take some earlier, but they kind of… shoved me out the door and told me to have fun and get married,” you say with a blush, then roll your eyes to try and cover it up.
Paige smiles, blushing a little too. “Guess I owe them one.”
You stick out your tongue, but hand over the camera and walk a couple of feet away. The light hits you perfectly at that moment, and Paige fumbles for the shutter button.
She manages to take some shots of you smiling, then one where you’re looking out at the sea with the wind weakly tugging at your dress, and another where you’re squinting because you’re laughing at something she said.
Paige is done for, she’s sure. She doesn’t know how much more her heart can handle at this point.
She lowers the camera, completely stunned. “You’re unreal.”
You tilt your head, unsure. “Like… alien-level weird...?”
“No.” Paige lets out a soft laugh. “Like, every-photographer’s-dream type of unreal. If I ever quit basketball, I’m taking a picture of you every single day to build my portfolio because you’re the subject people can’t reject, you know?”
“Shut up.” You look away, another shy smile on your lips.
She’s about to say something else when a man walks up to the two of you, clearly a local and maybe in his forties. He waves at you with a wide grin.
“Picture together?” he offers, gesturing at the camera. “Sunset’s perfect now.”
You look at Paige, startled. Paige stares back, the corner of her mouth twitching up. Neither of you says anything for a second, until she shrugs and says, “Sure. Why not, right?”
You huff out a laugh, gesturing for the man to take the camera before saying something to him in the local language. You two get into position together, side-by-side, and she tries not to think hard about how natural it feels to have her shoulders brush yours, with the sun hugging the two of you closer to each other.
“Okay, ready,” the man says. “Smile! Look happier and get closer. You don’t look like a couple!”
He snaps a few shots. She can feel you grow tense for a second at what he said, but then relax just as quickly. Neither of you correct his assumption.
When he gives you back the camera and thanks you for the tip you handed over, Paige doesn’t move away. Instead, she moves closer, leaving only a few inches in-between you.
“This is a good one,” she whispers as you two peer at the camera, stopping at a certain photo. Paige’s hand is on your waist, and the two of you are closer than ever in it.
You look up at her, faces too close yet neither of you are backing away.
“Why’s that?” you ask softly with a small smile.
She looks at you, and things finally click into place inside her chest.
“Because I’m going to remember how it felt,” she says, voice low, “and I think I want more of it.”
Your breath catches just slightly.
Paige watches as your smile widens, and something in her steadies.
Vacation or not, this isn’t temporary to her anymore.
images except the dividers belong to respective creators; found in pinterest. links: https://pin.it/bvmYRxyyA; https://pin.it/1tfNYKPhE; https://pin.it/7SgQ9D6O0.
hiii can i request paige x reader playing against each other for the first time in the w, it’s very much anticipated because they’ve been a power couple on and off the court in college and they also got drafted 1st & 2nd
conflict of interest
pairing: dallaswings!paige bueckers x wnba!fem!reader
contains/warnings: fluff, established relationship, healthy competition/rivalry. not proofread! let me know if i missed any warning!
word count: 2.4k
a/n: twitter will always be twitter to me sorry lmao HAHAHA i hope u like this anon, thank u for requesting!!
Sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting long rays of gold across the tiled floor of your shared bedroom with Paige. You’re currently still sprawled on the bed, one arm draped lazily across your girlfriend’s stomach while hers is underneath your head, bringing your frame closer to hers. The TV is playing softly in the background– some sports segment you put up as background noise.
That time of the day, you’re usually still deep in sleep, dreaming of winning consecutive championships in the W, but today, every bit of your body is wide awake. It’s the Monday, the one that kicks off your first week in the league, and your first game just so happens to be tomorrow against Paige.
Paige’s name has always followed yours since college, and vice versa. She was the first overall pick, and you went second in the draft. Some people say it could’ve gone either way, others say it couldn’t have. Regardless, you two made it past college together, and now, here, tangled up in bed with her while scrolling through Twitter debates over who’s going to cook more.
Your timeline’s a literal mess. Memes, analyses that somehow make sense, wild takes, and delulu fan edits are scattered all over. There’s even a video of your old college clips that transition into a dramatic face-off edit, captioned with, ‘from lovers to rivals.’ That makes you snort.
“Listen to this,” you tell her as you spot another headline. “‘First overall pick Paige Bueckers set to face second pick and girlfriend l/n in what may be the most emotionally complex debut in W history.’”
Paige lets out a low, raspy chuckle, evidently still half-asleep. “They make it sound like we’re gonna scuffle then makeout to make up.”
“I can makeout with you in public.” You snicker. “I don’t know if you can though.”
Paige shifts slightly beside you, her fingers now brushing up and down your upper arm in slow, absentminded strokes. “Babe. You literally can’t go five seconds without flirting. It’s not even noon.”
You grin, putting your face against her chest snugly. “‘M just setting the tone for tomorrow,” you say, voice muffled against her shirt.
“Oh, are ya?” she challenges, tilting her head until her lips graze your face. “From what I remember though, the last scrimmage we ran, I had you clamped.”
You lift your head abruptly, shooting a mock glare. “That’s a lie, Bueckers, and you know it.”
Paige hums, eyes still soft with sleep, but her lips are twitching up. She knows exactly how to provoke you.
“You barely got past me on that last possession.”
“Only because you yanked on my jersey!” you accuse, moving to sit up now and point a finger at her. “Flagrant one. I should’ve challenged it.”
She laughs again, quiet and throaty, but lets it go. She never intentionally gets under your skin too much. Paige is a sweet girlfriend, through and through.
You settle back down beside her, cuddling up, but now, there’s something buzzing in your chest.
You’ve always been competitive– and you mean, always– but being up against Paige tomorrow, on the court, in front of a sold-out arena and national audience? That’s different and very real. It ignites a whole other feeling that makes you all giddy in excitement and nervousness at the same time.
“You know…” you start slowly as you scroll past another clip of the two of you on some sports reel in IG. “We’ve never actually played against each other, like, for real.”
Paige hums in thought. “In a game-game, right?”
You nod. “Yeah. Only in camps, national team stuff, practice runs in college. But this? It’s gonna be different from all those.”
She doesn’t reply right away. You glance up and see her looking up at the ceiling. Her brows are relaxed, but her lips are pulled into a contemplative line, thinking your words over and over.
“Do you think it’s gonna feel weird?”
You purse your lips, pondering, before answering, “Only a little. And in a good way. I don’t know– I think I’m excited to go up against you.”
“Oh-ho-ho. Planning to humble me in front of the whole nation and my family?”
You raise a brow. “Planning? Babe, you know I will.”
Paige lets out a fake gasp. “You’re really confident for someone who’s about to get hit with my signature stepback and perfect middy’s.”
You grin. “And you’re really confident for someone who’s never guarded me when it matters.”
There it is. Something’s shifted now– that familiar, motivated competition that’s always existed between you, even before the league, and even before college turned into late-night hotel room confessions. But with the the two of you now in the W, it’s layered with even more: history, anticipation, and maybe ego.
She leans in, a little smug grin on her face, eyes locked on yours. “Okay then. You and me. Tomorrow. First to get a stop and score on the other wins.”
You narrow your eyes at her, feeling your pulse quicken already. “Winner gets bragging rights and won’t pay for the next date.” You smirk. “And loser has to wear the other’s jersey for a whole week.”
Her mouth parts slightly. “Even if your team wins but I outscore you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” you say, shrugging. “Winner takes it all.”
“Damn,” Paige mutters. “You really want me in your team’s colors that bad.”
You roll onto your back, spreading your arms and legs out on the bed. “I just think you’d look good in my number, babe.”
Her laugh echoes against the walls, and something about that familiar sound makes your stomach flip.
You know that even with all the teasing and playfulness, tomorrow means a lot more for you two. It’s not about the predictions, or stats, but it’s about showing up and exhibiting the effort you’ve put in all this time.
And you’re going to show the world just what you’re made of, even if it is against your girlfriend.
By the time you stepped into the venue, something in you started tingling.
Everything is comparable to a UConn championship night that’s been magnified thrice in intensity. The noise is there, the lights are blinding upon entrance, and the tension, you can practically taste in the air. The atmosphere contrived to flick a switch in you– to make you a more focused, sharper, and definitely hungrier player tonight.
You keep your headphones on in the locker room, letting the bass-heavy beat of your pregame playlist drown out anything that can distract you. You’re aware of the cameras already rolling outside, and of social media that’s eager to catch a moment between you and Paige. But you aren’t thinking too much about that.
In your mind, all that’s resonating is the need and want to prove yourself– not just as a top draft pick, or as Paige’s equally-talented girlfriend, but as someone who actually deserves to play in the league. You want to be seen and known for who you think you are: a damn good player who can change the rhythm of a game with a single possession.
And of course, you want to beat Paige. Never out of spite, but more so because, well, she’s Paige Bueckers. If there’s anyone you want to impress more than your family, the people, and yourself, it’s her.
You open your phone one last time before heading out for warmups and pregame interviews. The livestream is already on, and analysts are already deep into it.
“...defensive matchups will be key tonight. Especially with y/n l/n and Paige Bueckers on opposite sides. They know their games better than anyone else on the court right now.”
A strange feeling comes over you as you hear your name leave from the known analyst’s mouth. It still doesn’t feel real, hearing it like that on TV. You swallow down the lump forming in your throat. I can do this. I want to do this.
One of the commentators let out a chuckle. “They’re gonna be guarding each other tonight, most likely. Talk about conflict of interest.”
A smile makes its way to your lips.
If only they knew.
Your heart is pounding more than you’d like to admit.
You expected to be a starter for the regular season, but you never really thought it would be this much pressure, now that you’re actually on the court, with tip-off about to start.
Your eyes meet Paige’s, and you wonder if she’s feeling what you’re feeling. But she only sends you a small, reassuring smile, and everything else fades away. Suddenly, you’re able to tune out the crowd, the cameras, and the expectations. It’s just you and her now.
‘Ready?’ she mouths from the opposite side.
You give her a stiff nod, squaring your shoulders.
Then, the whistle blew.
Paige scored the first basket– of course, she did. It was a smooth fadeaway just outside the elbow, a classic move. She jogs back down the court with that smug little grin as you get into a better position.
“Called it,” she murmurs as she passes you.
You shake your head, trying not to smile. “Game’s not over, Bueckers.”
The truth is, you love guarding her, no matter how hard it can be at times. It’s like trying to solve a puzzle you already know the edges of, but the pieces keep rearranging on their own mid-play. If you were to describe her as concisely as you can, you’d say she’s fast and unpredictable.
But you know you are, too. For every move she makes, you always have an answer.
The two of you are just at it tonight. You’d be able to get a stepback three in, but then she’ll get a steal from you or another teammate. She makes a no-look pass that you’re sure will be included in the highlight reels, so you reply with a tight but flawless jumper.
There was a play in the second quarter where you drove hard to the basket and absorbed a foul, but you hit the floor pretty hard in exchange. Before a teammate could even offer a hand, Paige was already crouched next to you.
“You good, babe?” she asked, worry evident in her body language.
You blinked up at her, slightly winded, but still kinda good to go. “I’m fine.”
A frown started forming on her face. “You sure? That was nasty.”
Her voice was laced with concern, and despite the sting in your ribs, you couldn’t help but smirk at her and say, “Stop being cute. I’m trying to beat you right now.”
She laughed before helping me up back there. “You’re impossible.”
After that, it’s not too long until the second quarter started winding down.
You’re both still on the court, completely locked in despite feeling your legs burning and jersey clinging to your back with sweat. She gets the ball just outside the arc, eyes scanning the court for someone to pass to, but you’re right there in front of her within a second, mirroring every movement.
She tries to fake you out, drives left. You bite, but not too hard. When she spins, you’re already there, hand up in her face. She goes up under pressure, and it rims out.
You’re quick to get the board, and then you’re pushing the ball up the court with a few dribbles. The lane is open just enough, so you don't hold back– one crossover, a behind-the-back, and a slight step-in from the elbow. Then, it’s your turn to rise for a mid-range shot.
It goes in cleanly.
The swish is buried under the sound of the crowd roaring. Some are cheering your name wildly while others can’t believe you just pulled that on your girlfriend.
As you jog back, trying to calm the rush of adrenaline all throughout your body, your eyes meet hers across the court. She’s still holding her defensive stance, like her body hasn’t fully caught up to the outcome yet.
She blinks. Then she smirks.
You grin at her, knowing that you did it. You got the stop, and you scored, and it wasn’t luck or coincidence. It was doing what you’ve always known you could do.
Now, no matter how the rest of the game plays out, you already know you’ve proved something– to her, to yourself, and to everyone else.
In the final minutes, your team managed to pull ahead of the Dallas Wings. A clutch three from one of the vets cemented the lead, and when the final buzzer sounded, relief and awe altogether washed over you.
You aren’t named MVP, but all people can talk about is you and your performance tonight. Reporters pulled you to the side to keep throwing you praise on your defense and crucial shots. Being told that you complemented your team so well, on your first official night with them, means everything to you.
You smooth your jersey down and try to stop smiling too much, but it’s no use– you’ve never felt more alive.
One of the PR people walks up beside you and mutters in your ear, “Hey, Bueckers is coming too. Media wants a joint interview.”
Sure enough, Paige is being half-dragged your way by her own media handler. There’s a faint smirk playing on her lips, and you return it, excited to be with her and maybe tease her too.
She settles on the space next to you, brushing your arm deliberately. “Can’t even get a minute to sulk in peace,” she whispers, but her eyes are twinkling.
You chuckle at that. “Sorry. I did kinda break your ankles out there.”
The first reporter doesn’t waste any time. “You two went head-to-head most of the night. What was it like playing against each other for the first time in the WNBA?”
You raise an eyebrow at Paige, silently offering her the floor first.
She sighs dramatically. “It was exhausting– emotionally, physically, even spiritually.” Then she breaks into a grin. “But also kinda great. She’s annoying to guard, but I really enjoyed playing against her.”
You let out a soft laugh. “I can dwell on that compliment for years.”
Paige hums. “Just wait ‘til the next time.”
Another question comes– something about strategy and preparation– but your pinky fingers find each other and link quietly. She squeezes once, subtle and grounding.
When the interview wraps up and the cameras finally pull away, Paige leans in, close enough so that only you can hear. “You were incredible.”
You tilt your head towards her, still a little breathless. “You’re not mad I scored on you?”
“I’m mad you didn’t blow me a kiss after,” she teases, then leans in further, brushing a soft kiss over your temple as casually as if you two were alone.
You laugh, heart even fuller now. “Next game.”
This is certainly not a bad way to start your professional career.
images except the dividers belong to respective creators; found in pinterest. links: https://pin.it/vsdAEFyn7; https://pin.it/26I7KnlWV; https://pin.it/3aJkkNNcu.
🧩 How to Outline Without Feeling Like You’re Dying
(a non-suffering writer’s guide to structure, sanity, and staying mildly hydrated)
Hey besties. Let’s talk outlines. Specifically: how to do them without crawling into the floorboards and screaming like a Victorian ghost.
If just hearing the word “outline” sends your brain into chaos-mode, welcome. You’re not broken, you’re just a writer whose process has been hijacked by Very Serious Advice™ that doesn’t fit you. You don’t need to build a military-grade beat sheet. You don’t need a sixteen-tab spreadsheet. You don’t need to suffer to be legitimate. You just need a structure that feels like it’s helping you, not haunting you.
So. Here’s how to outline your book without losing your soul (or all your serotonin).
—
🍓 1. Stop thinking of it as “outlining.”
That word is cursed. Try “story sketch.” “Narrative roadmap.” “Planning soup.” Whatever gets your brain to chill out. The goal here is to understand your story, not architect it to death.
Outlining isn’t predicting everything. It’s just building a scaffold so your plot doesn't fall over mid-draft.
—
🧠 2. Find your plot skeleton.
There are lots of plot structures floating around: 3-Act. Save the Cat. Hero’s Journey. Take what helps, ignore the rest.
If all else fails, try this dirt-simple one I use when my brain is mush:
Act I: What’s the problem?
Act II: Why can’t we fix it?
Act III: What finally makes us change?
Ending: What does that change cost?
You don’t need to fill in every detail. You just need to know what’s driving your character, what’s blocking them, and what choices will change them.
—
🛒 3. Make a “scene bucket list.”
Before you start plotting in order, write down a list of scenes you know you want: key vibes, emotional beats, dramatic reveals, whatever.
These are your anchors. Even if you don’t know where they go yet, they’re proof your story already exists, it just needs connecting tissue.
Bonus: when you inevitably get stuck later, one of these might be the scene that pulls you back in.
—
🧩 4. Start with 5 key scenes. That’s it.
Here’s a minimalist approach that won’t kill your momentum:
Opening (what sucks about their world?)
Catalyst (what throws them off course?)
Midpoint (what makes them confront themselves?)
Climax (what breaks or remakes them?)
Ending (what’s changed?)
Plot the spaces between those after you’ve nailed these. Think of it like nailing down corners of a poster before smoothing the rest.
You’re not “doing it wrong” if you start messy. A messy start is a start.
—
🔧 5. Use the outline to ask questions, not just answer them.
Every section of your outline should provoke a question that the scene must answer.
Instead of:
— “Chapter 5: Sarah finds a journal.”
Try:
— “Chapter 5: What truth does Sarah find that complicates her next move?”
This makes your story active, not just a list of stuff that happens. Outlines aren’t just there to record, they’re tools for curiosity.
—
🪤 6. Beware of the Perfectionist Trap™.
You will not get the entire plot perfect before you write. Don’t stall your momentum waiting for a divine lightning bolt of Clarity. You get clarity by writing.
Think of your outline as a map drawn in pencil, not ink. It’s allowed to evolve. It should evolve.
You’re not building a museum exhibit. You’re making a prototype.
—
🧼 7. Clean up after you start drafting.
Here’s the secret: the first draft will teach you what the story’s actually about. You can go back and revise the outline to fit that. It’s not wasted work, it’s evolving scaffolding.
You don’t have to build the house before you live in it. You can live in the mess while you figure out where the kitchen goes.
—
🛟 8. If you’re a discovery writer, hybrid it.
A lot of “pantsers” aren’t anti-outline, they’re just anti-stiff-outline. That’s fair.
Try using “signposts,” not full scenes:
Here’s a secret someone’s hiding.
Here’s the emotional breakdown scene.
Here’s a betrayal. Maybe not sure by who yet.
Let the plot breathe. Let the characters argue with your outline. That tension is where the fun happens.
—
🪴 TL;DR but emotionally:
You don’t need a flawless outline to write a good book. You just need a loose net of ideas, a couple of emotional anchors, and the willingness to pivot when your story teaches you something new.
Outlines should support you, not suffocate you.
Let yourself try. Let it be imperfect. That’s where the good stuff lives.
Go forth and outline like a gently chaotic legend 🧃
—
written with snacks in hand by
Rin T. @ thewriteadviceforwriters 🍓🧠✍️
Sometimes the problem isn’t your plot. It’s your first 5 pages. Fix it here →
🖤 Free eBook: 5 Opening Pages Mistakes to Stop Making:
✦ A free (and actually helpful) guide to leveling up your first 10 pages ✦If you're unsure whether your opening is ✨doing enough✨ to hook re
i love busy woman (unless you call tonight) sheesh it is so well written and the pacing is so good ugh
also kinda weird compliment, but i love the title 🤭 i love that style/formatting smmm idk what it is about it but i always feel giddy seeing the parentheses
hi omg thank you for taking time to tell me im gna CRY fr 🥹🫶 didnt expect it to be liked tbh cos i felt it was one of my badly-written ones but i stand corrected?? 😭😭 and the title, i jus lifted it off the lyrics of the song and added the parentheses, im glad it kinda worked HAHAHA
thank you again omg im shy ur comment n compliments mean the world to me 🥹💓
pairing: dallaswings!paige bueckers x corporate!fem!reader
summary: you were a busy woman with color-coded spreadsheets and calendars– no time for feelings! until a missed connection at gate 18 starts haunting the corners of your mind, at least.
contains/warnings: slow burn-ish, missed connections/chance encounter, very soft angst, mutual yearning, reunion, fluff. not proofread! let me know if i missed any warning!
word count: 4.1k
a/n (pls read): okay so i know i have tons of requests but i feel so uninspired to write them lately (i think im burnt out from writing besties) so i tried finding something that would inspire me to get my mojo back and ig here it is?? my peace offering to anonnies hahahaha im sorry T^T i hope this will do until my next request update!!
now playing: Busy Woman by Sabrina Carpenter
This day could not get any worse.
Well, that’s what you’re hoping for at least.
You’re currently slumped in an airport seat with the posture of someone who’s been awake for too long and is running on 6 cups of caffeine. The voice of the flight attendant crackles through the megaphone, and you brace yourself like it might to tell you something new, something you’re desperate to happen.
It doesn’t.
“...Flight 5001 to New York has been delayed again due to weather. We appreciate your patience…”
You shut the noise out after that.
As a matter of fact, you don’t feel any bit of patience in your body. You feel like crying, smushing your face into your carry-on.
Your phone is at 9%, and unfortunately for you, the powerbank in your bag is pretty much drained too. Your laptop is dead while your data’s running low, meaning you can’t finish the report due for tomorrow’s meeting. Even the overpriced granola bar you’ve packed is gone, eaten too early out of anxiety. What makes this worse is that you’re alone– your coworkers are on different flights, and as fate would have it, theirs didn’t get delayed.
You seriously wonder what on earth you did for you to deserve this. It’s not like you’re a bad person, and you’re a responsible citizen who doesn’t miss out on paying taxes and other fees. You CLAYGO, try to cut down on things that can harm the environment– you’re a model employee, for goodness’ sake! And yet, those who slack off don’t have it worse than you do.
A frustrated huff leaves you again, and you push your head back against the cold metal seat. The ceiling lights are flickering above you like even the airport’s tired of trying too.
At this point, you’ve reread the same three emails on your phone over and over again because, well, they’re the only thing you can look at. You can’t scroll through social media since you’re data’s one reel away from disappearing on you, and there’s only so much people-watching you can do before the boredom returns to existential dread.
“You look like you’re about to have a full breakdown any minute from now.”
The voice cuts through your internal spiral, light and amused.
You turn your head to the right and see the person, clad all over in gray clothing. Their legs are stretched out, the hood of their jacket pulled all the way over their head. You didn’t even notice them sitting beside you.
She glances at you from beneath the hood, and you see a small grin and unmistakable blue eyes. The face is slightly familiar, and you stare a second too long to be able to piece her identity together.
It’s Paige Bueckers.
You’re not big on sports– heck, you’re hardly updated with the competitions and leagues of the sport you play– but you’ve heard of her name once or twice from the media. You’re aware that she’s a basketball superstar, arguably one of the most famous players of her generation.
You have no time to fangirl over a celebrity you barely watched though, and you’re pretty much too irritated to ask for an autograph you’d probably regret not getting in the future. That’s why, before you could stop yourself, you’re already haughtily answering her, “That’s because I am.”
Paige Bueckers is silenced, obviously stunned with your tone. You expect her to call you out for it, and maybe even move seats, far away from you. But instead, she laughs after a minute of contemplation and scrutinizing you.
“I get ya,” she says, grin widening now, like she’s even more amused with your attitude. “This is actually a cursed gate, Gate 18. Every time I fly through here, there’s a delay.”
You tilt your head to the side slightly, curious about her and how she responded.
“Then why keep flying through here?”
She only shrugs. “I’m pretty stubborn.”
That makes you laugh, catching her and you yourself off-guard. The tension in your chest finally cracks just enough to let some air and relief through you. You lean back again, facing the ceiling.
You can hear the thunder rumbling from a distance, but you’re focused on the surprisingly comfortable silence that has settled between the two of you.
Then, Paige leans over, offering her phone. You look at her inquisitively, and she asks you, “Is there anything you need? Like hotspot or music?” She gives you a small smile. “I promise I got good taste in music.”
You stare at her for a hot minute, then glance down at the phone. “...Hotspot and a powerbank would save my ass right now,” you mumble, almost embarrassed. “Only if it’s not gonna cost you much, though.”
Paige rummages through her own carry-on then hands you both a powerbank and her phone. She taps a few times then flips it so the screen with the QR code is facing you. “Knock yourself out. Unlimited everything.”
Your eyebrow jumps at that, but a smile is tugging the corners of your lips, pretty much entertained with this celebrity stranger.
“Okay, flex.”
She only smirks at you as you take the powerbank and scan the code. “Perks of the job.”
Your phone is connected not too long after, and relief washes all over you. Notifications start rolling in again– all the emails, personal messages, and a few missed calls. You swipe them away and head straight to another application to continue editing your presentation.
As silence settles back in, Paige takes another look at your direction, casual but as interested as a young kid peering into adult matters. “Big meeting soon?”
You let out a sigh and nod at her. “Yeah, tomorrow morning. Can’t miss it unless I wanna deal with a crapstorm and possibly a penalty from the boss.”
Paige whistles, the sound low. “Oof. That serious?”
“Yeah.” You put your phone down, realizing it’s kind of rude to not look at her while she’s talking to you. You twist your body towards her direction and fix your sitting posture, and finally see Paige face-to-face.
Damn. She’s kinda cute.
“You good?” she asks, but there’s a lazy, playful grin on her face now, likely realizing how she shut you up with just the sight of her face.
You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “Yes, I’m good. And yes, it’s that serious. I head a big and crucial department in the company, and we’ve been prepping for this for months. It’s an important pitch to some people higher up the food chain, and if I’m not there– well, I don’t exactly trust all the others to know by heart, the way that I do.”
She nods slowly, and she’s speaking in a softer tone now, “This delay really can screw everything over.”
“Exactly.”
You let the weight of that hang in the air. It’s not even just the flight that’s messing with everything right now. This delay symbolizes many other things, from your efforts being wasted, to a system that’s seemingly rigged against you no matter how hard you work your ass off.
Paige stretches out her legs again. She’s resting her chin on her shoulder now as she’s watching you. “You talk about this like it’s life or death.”
You shrug, even if it’s hardly something to shrug about. “It kind of feels that way sometimes.” Then, after a pause, you add, “Damn. Saying that out loud makes me feel pathetic.”
She shakes her head immediately. “Nah, you’re not pathetic. You’re just… really entangled in it. Like, it’s your baby, or something… Am I making sense?”
You chuckle at her attempt. “Somehow.”
“What do you actually do, by the way?” she asks. “What’s your day-to-day?”
You try to explain with less jargon and give the condensed version of your monotonous life. You tell her about coming up with monthly strategies, describe your weekly deliverables, and tons of emails you have to respond to. You mention a funny anecdote about managing teams that does the job of making your harsh task sound light to an outsider.
Paige doesn’t look bored, so that maybe tells you being a storyteller isn't out of the box if you ever get fired after tomorrow. She’s listening closely, eyebrows slightly knitted in concentration as she tries to understand your foreign world.
When you finish, she simply says, “That sounds really exhausting.”
You huff. “‘Cos it is.”
She offers you a crooked smile. “You ever think about quitting and running away to sell fruit shakes somewhere in a beach, east of the country?”
“Every Friday, around four pm, maybe.”
Paige laughs, and it’s not a mocking one, just bright and understanding. “Let me guess: that’s when the fourth back-to-back meeting for the day finishes, and your soul finally leaves your body?”
“You do get it,” you quip with a smile.
She lets out another laugh. “Yeah, I do. I have media meetings, PR stuff, and brand sessions where they try to tell me who I’m supposed to be. Unfortunately, it’s not just playing games and putting on my favorite sneakers.”
You soften at that.
You expected her to be some untouchable personality– someone who’d never understand why you’re barely holding it together after a flight delay. But Paige Bueckers is more than just any other celebrity, apparently. She’s here, in front of you, opening up enough to let you know how human she is as well.
She ends up opening Netflix on her iPad, to a comfort sitcom that you instantly recognize the moment the intro sequence plays. It’s been months since you last watched an episode, and you’re honestly grateful– it couldn’t have come at a better time.
Paige offers an earbud with an expectant look and waits for you to take it. And you do.
The show starts playing between you, and your slide deck is completely forgotten on the side. She shifts beside you, slumping more against the bench and stretching her legs out in front. You mirror the movement without realizing, and the two of you unknowingly look like a lazy couple, just waiting the storm out in a second-rate airport.
It’s easy, in a way that nothing else has been today.
At some point– after the second episode, maybe– she nudges a slightly squashed protein bar toward you, the wrapper half-opened. You take it without comment, breaking off a piece and chewing slowly. The taste is bland, but the kind gesture and your rumbling stomach sure make it tastier.
Time stops dragging momentarily.
The storm outside still rumbles occasionally, but with how you are right now with this nice stranger, the sound has faded into the background minutes ago. Your phone is clutched loosely in your hand, and you’re supposed to be answering those emails or reviewing your personal script for tomorrow’s meeting. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to care.
Your head falls ever so slightly as you watch the screen, and a slow ache begins forming behind your eyes. It doesn’t register until now how worn out you actually are. The next thing you know, you’re blinking slower than usual, your head dipping gently once in a while.
You straighten yourself quickly, cheeks burning, when you catch yourself swaying more to your right, where she’s seated. “Sorry,” you mutter, suddenly too aware of how close the two of you have become.
Paige doesn’t flinch. She just gives you another amused smile. “You’re good,” she tells you, voice low. “You can sleep if you want.”
You shake your head in refusal. “Won’t be able to get up if I do.”
She hums softly in agreement, straightening in her seat now too. “I get that.”
Silence settles between the two of you again, but there’s something held in it, like the air is holding its breath for what’s next to come.
Then, the speakers above you crackles again, this time more harsh and intrusive than you last remember it being.
“Flight 5001 to New York is now boarding. Again, flight 5001 to New York is now boarding.”
The both of you flinch slightly at the announcement, pulled back into reality as if someone had yanked the curtain open on you. You two look at each other, not really saying anything else yet. You’re just unplugging the earbud and your cord from her powerbank, before handing them back. She takes it wordlessly as well, and your breath hitches at the very slight contact between your fingers.
It’s not much, nothing too electric, but you feel it anyway.
You then stand, adjust your coat and shoulder your bag. Paige stands too, slower, more relaxed. She stretches her arms over her head and lets them fall back to her sides with a soft exhale.
Then, you two pause, continuing to stare at each other as if that could convey everything you want to tell her, ask her, right now.
Paige’s gaze lands on your phone, like she’s considering asking for something– your number, your socials, anything.
But nothing is said. Nothing is asked.
She just gives you a soft, shy smile– the kind that makes something stir in your stomach wildly. You can only offer one in return.
Paige lifts her hand in a wave, and you do the same before stepping toward your gate.
There are no promises and no expectations between the two of you. There’s just the warm and content feeling of being in a safe bubble for a short moment, before going back to your fast-paced worlds.
As you walk away, you don’t look back, but you still think about her the whole way to your seat. And even when the plane lifts off and the city begins to shrink beneath you, the weight of her gaze follows you into the sky.
It’s been a some weeks since the incident at the airport.
It’s long enough so that the ache of a missed connection can dull to a certain point, but still not enough for you to forget about it entirely.
You didn’t expect to think about her after that flight, much less still be thinking about her until now, after a whole month has passed.
But you do. Not constantly– just in the quiet pockets of each day. Even when the world keeps moving, and your schedule is more packed than ever, you somehow have moments wherein your mind lingers in Paige-related scenarios and thoughts.
You think about her when you’re driving to and from work and the local sports radio is on. She’s stuck in your brain as soon as anyone in the breakroom mentions basketball passing. When you’re alone in yet another hotel room, scrolling mindlessly through channels, you still end up at ESPN, watching some WNBA game that doesn’t have her team playing.
Your memory of Paige as your head almost rested on her shoulder is soft, almost out of focus, but you’re sure it happened. It’s real enough to you that sometimes, you still remember how her laugh sounded when you grumbled about your flight and the things going on at work.
But, oh well, life goes on.
Your inbox continues to be a mess, and your calendar is packed with meetings again. You pretty much slid back into your routine with ease, often pretending that the airport thing never happened. It makes things easier too, to just think of it as a strange blip in your very controlled and linear life. She was a passing moment, you just insist when your mind finds the image of her smile again.
But sometimes, when the nights are quiet and the hotel room feels cold and unfamiliar, you wonder… Does she ever think of you too?
And in those moments, the ache returns– small, persistent, and harder to ignore.
You arrive in San Francisco with a full itinerary and no time to entertain anything else besides work.
The company you’re consulting for has flown you in with barely any breathing room. The moment you get to your hotel, you only have 30 minutes before you’re about to be thrown into back-to-back meetings, presentations, and dinners by your assistant.
Once Day 2 finishes, your hotel room is more of a crash pad than a space for reflection and rest.
“I hate this fucking job,” is all you can mutter under your breath once you exit the hotel and go to a nearby convenience store, hoping to find a fulfilling ready-to-eat meal.
You don’t even notice at first.
You’re walking through the aisle, checking your phone with one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. There’s a familiar hum of white noise– your clacking heels, low conversation, ding of the bell above the store’s doors. Then, a voice– sharp, bright, and extremely familiar– cuts through that.
“Are you stalking me, or is this just fate again?”
You freeze.
When you glance up, you almost drop everything you’re holding. Right in front of you is Paige Bueckers, again, standing at the other end of the aisle. She’s wearing a simple t-shirt and sweats, and that same lopsided grin that lives so rent-free in your brain.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you breathe out, but your lips are already curling upward.
Paige starts walking towards you, arms slightly raised like she’s as surprised as you are.
“We’re playing against Golden State tomorrow. I figured you’d show up again somehow. You clearly have a thing for airports and cities I’m in.”
You scoff softly, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “I’m here for work, genius. And I’m not stalking you!”
“Yet.”
You let out a laugh, a quiet and incredulous sound. Of all places, of all times, this is where you run into her again, but somehow, it feels just right– for you two to be standing in front of each other again.
Before you can say anything else, Paige tilts her head a little and asks, “You free tomorrow night? You should come to the game.”
You hesitate. If she just knew how much of a mess your schedule is: you have a report to finalize, hundreds of backlogged emails labeled with “[URGENT],” then there’s that client dinner to attend. Everything about your life right now screams ‘no’ to anything else besides work.
But… is this really the life you’d like to live? Paige Bueckers is literally here, with you, offering you to come watch her play. She’s looking at you like that rainy night at the airport, full of interest and anticipation.
“Seriously,” she follows up, “I can get you a ticket. Good seat. No pressure, but…” she shrugs, “it’d be cool to see you there at the sidelines.”
The part of you that’s usually so good at saying no folds.
“Okay,” you say, then blink, in disbelief that you had actually said that.
You don’t know what you’re doing. You barely know here. But you also remember how you both easily slipped into a warm conversation. You remember how the silence between you that night was anything but comforting.
After some terrible acting through the phone about your stomach being botched, your assistant finally let you go with a warning and hung up to reschedule your meetings for the next day.
You show up to the game twenty minutes early, wearing your work clothes and a cap just in case the jumbotron catches your face and a coworker happens to be watching.
You feel like a fish out of water, surrounded by fans in jerseys and sneakers, incredibly knowledgeable about the players and their sport. Some have their own foam fingers, and others are holding handmade signs. The energy in the arena is incredibly exhilarating that even a non-sports fan like you can’t help but clap and cheer at the athletes doing their warm ups.
You sink into your seat, hands curled around a cup of overpriced soda, your large tote bag wedged awkwardly between your feet.
You didn’t expect that Paige would get you courtside seats. You weren’t even entirely sure where Paige said she’d leave the ticket until a hotel staff delivered it himself right at your doorstep.
Now, here you are, pretending to be someone who knows what the stats the courtside reporters are currently talking about mean. You truly tried to listen and understand so that you’d at least have an idea, going into the game, but after a solid three-minute time period, you’re now just mindlessly watching the people in the arena while counting the minutes until the game starts.
Then, you see Paige.
She’s at the far end of the court with the rest of the Dallas Wings during pregame drills, with her hair tied up, jersey slightly untucked. Focus is etched across her face like any other athlete on the court, but when her eyes scan the stands and land on you, she breaks out of it.
She doesn’t wave or call attention to herself. She only gives you the briefest nod, and a small, almost imperceptible smile. It makes you feel like you two are in on something no one else knows, and it immediately disarms you.
The game starts with a burst of movement and noise soon after, and before you can fully process that small exchange, the crowd roars to life. The arena transforms into something even more electric than it already was during the warmups.
You don’t expect to enjoy the game as much as you do– honestly, you thought you’d be zoning out after the first quarter and politely check emails from under the seat. But truly, it’s impossible not to get swept up in the energy and the rhythm of it all.
You cheer when the crowd cheers. You gasp when someone lands what you assume is a hard foul. You flinch when Paige hits the floor once, then find yourself watching her more than any other player on the court.
It’s only then you realize for yourself that Paige is a damn good player. Even if you’re no analyst, you can easily tell that she’s quicker on her feet than the rest, and the gears in her head are always turning for possible plays to call out. She makes it look effortless, and now that you’re watching her, something loosens in your chest.
It’s refreshing to be in another kind of chaos– a refreshing one. You don’t appreciate until now how much you needed to be out of consecutive in-person and Zoom meetings, tight schedules, and endless tasks to accomplish. That, once in a while, being immersed in the thrill of a game and the hum of a crowd, can make all the difference.
By the time the buzzer sounds and the Wings seal their win, your throat is actually sore from yelling, and you’ve completely forgotten about your emails.
As the team huddles at the sides and fans slowly file out, a man in a dark t-shirt approaches you. He doesn’t look like security, but definitely someone official.
“Miss y/n?” he greets politely, glancing at your lanyard. “Miss Paige Bueckers asked if you could come with me.”
You blink a couple of times, unsure if you heard it right, but you follow the man anyway.
He guides you down a corridor behind the bleachers, through a maze of side doors and restricted access signs, until finally, you’re waiting in a private lounge.
As you wait alone on the couch, there’s an itch at the back of your mind that tells you to check your phone and see what your tomorrow looks like. It tells you to respond to that calendar reminder you snoozed earlier, but you don’t. Instead, you wait in silence, subconsciously expecting in excitement.
Paige steps out after several more minutes of waiting, towel slung over her shoulders and hair still damp from a shower. Your breath catches the way it did back in the airport, when you had your first good look at her.
“Hi,” she says, eyes lighting up in a way that feels impossibly familiar, like no time has passed at all. “I’m glad you’re here.”
You smile back, trying to ignore how fast your pulse is racing right now. “You said you’d get me a ticket. Kinda rude not to show up.”
Paige laughs, the same soft and warm laugh that has your stomach churning with butterflies.
“Fair,” she replies, grinning widely now.
There’s a moment, one that’s long enough for something to stretch between you again, one like back at the airport. You still don’t really know her, not the way people normally get to know each other, but you know– you feel– the connection is here, stubborn and real.
“So,” she begins, glancing at the hallway behind her like there’s a question she’s debating. “I was thinking… If you’re free, maybe we could grab some dinner? Or lunch out tomorrow? Just us… to, y’know, actually talk more.”
You open your mouth, ready to say something responsible– something about an early morning meeting or missed deliverable– but it never makes it past your lips.
Because if Paige Bueckers wants to be penciled into your calendar, you’ll move things around.
You’re a busy woman, unless she calls you tonight.
images except the dividers belong to respective creators; found in pinterest. links: https://pin.it/32YJOmUAL; https://pin.it/4pWvwbvb0; https://pin.it/2lvozRh5b.
Sooo i was thinking... a fic based on the song Acquainted by The Weeknd ?? X Paige. Like the song it's her point of view..
Cause they warned me 'bout your type girl
I've been ducking left and right
Baby, you're no good
Think I fell for you, I fell for you, I fell for you...
// You got me touchin' on your body
To say that we're in love is dangerous
But girl, I'm so glad we're acquainted
not nothing
pairing: uconn!paige bueckers x uconn!fem!reader
contains/warnings (pls read): misunderstood reader, judgmental community, drinking as crash out/breaking down/vice, slow burn, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, emotional distress/breakdowns, dysfunctional family dynamics, implied mental health struggles, hard to understand relationship with p??? not proofread. let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 9.6k
a/n: alternatively titled “acquainted” HAHAHAH this is certainly a first trying to work with this kind of plotline and style too nsjdnsj i hope my interpretation makes sense or matches yours, and that it turned out to be some good :””) and if there's any problem with this, let me know bcos im not entirely sure if it's too much, or bad, and i just did my best to tone down negative and serious themes and not romanticize them bc i do know they're real, difficult topics/situations too. i'll immediately edit or even take down (sorry anon) if needed!
extra important notes:
- let's pretend their dorm rooms are like an apartment/condo unit with two rooms within it for privacy and plot purposes wippee
- flashbacks are italicized!
It’s around four in the morning, and Paige is pretty much sure no reasonable human being would be that up around their dorm, snooping around to get a wind of their personal lives.
With a relieved exhale, she watches as you leave their second home as stealthily as you can, putting your hoodie all the way over your head to hide your identity as she walks you out the lobby with the same get-up. After you disappear into the road several meters ahead, she then breathes like she’s been holding her breath throughout the whole ordeal.
Paige goes back up to their floor and enters the shared unit. She thinks she’s off the hook, but right before she can slip into her own room, she’s pulled back by the sleeve of her hoodie. Then, she meets the eyes of a very serious Jana El Alfy in a mom posture, complete with stern hands on her hips.
She lets out a sigh. She can’t really get out of this one, so she only raises her hands up in mock surrender.
“Okay, you got me,” Paige mumbles, avoiding her teammate’s glare.
She hears Jana breathe out heavily. “C’mon, Paige. Everyone talked about this with you. She’s not good for you.”
She only gives Jana an incredulous look, starting to move back into her room.
“Need I remind you of the very important points you’re throwing out the window right now?” Jana follows up, tugging her back. Paige groans out loud, but doesn’t say anything back, so she continues, “One: she’s up to no good. It’s obvious she’s not looking for something real with you. Two: a delinquent, a rule-breaker. She’s not exactly the model type that you are.”
Paige shrugs her off. She knows Jana’s got you all wrong, but for some reason, she doesn’t defend you. Well, it’s true you’re so much more than that, but what can she do when you also live up to the reputation?
“It’s nothing serious in the first place, Jana,” she tells her, trying to calm her down. “You guys really don’t have anything to worry about. I promise.”
Jana just stares, not very convinced, but Paige isn’t looking to convince her or anyone about the matter. She only gives her one last wave before going inside her room and plopping down onto her bed.
Now that she’s in the privacy of her bedroom, she whips out her phone at once and checks your conversation with her. She doesn’t like to admit it to anyone, but she always looks forward to your updates, whether you’re out in god-knows-where, or if you got back safely from her dorm.
The anticipated update arrives not too long after, and it’s a selfie of you in a nearby bar with one of your friends– someone she’s always been jealous of. Her mind immediately wanders off, pondering over whether you’re sending the same updates to anyone else too, if there’s another person who knows the real you.
Out of one-sided spite, Paige decides not to reply besides with a cold thumbs up.
Your weird little friendship with Paige Bueckers started back when you both were living in a single community in Minnesota. To say the least, it’s not what the community expected from a good, overachieving sports girl like her.
You couldn’t blame the town.
You aren’t really known for being a good girl like her. Unlike the children your age, you don’t have a good relationship with your family. You’re growing up with your brother, neglected by those who are supposed to nourish and support you. As a result, like any other kid who lacked attention from their parents, you cause all kinds of trouble for them to look your way. You’re always out in the neighborhood, pranking whoever you want to– maybe just for the fun of it, but mostly just to be noticed.
All of those didn’t work. Until now, they haven’t attracted the attention you need from your parents.
It did attract Paige Bueckers’ though.
Meeting and forming some kind of connection with her was one weird set of circumstances.
You remember how deliberate Paige was in walking up to you and confronting you when you were teasing one of the girls from another block. She had grabbed your wrist tightly and pulled you into a faraway corner in the park, demanding what was your deal.
“What’s your deal?” was what you stupidly retaliated with. “Mind your own business.”
“I won’t when you’re hurting others,” she quickly replied back then, challenging you to take another step back into the center of the park where all the other kids were watching it go down between the two of you.
You remember young Paige’s haughty snicker as she continued, “If you want friends, you can just approach them nicely, y’know.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I wanted one?”
“Duh. Your actions, obviously.”
You found yourself at a loss for words with how sassily Paige dealt with you back then. But unlike other people, adults and children alike, Paige didn’t leave you alone there. Instead, she took your hand and shook it, saying, “I’m Paige. I want to be your friend.”
You looked at her like she had grown another head, but eventually, you slowly shook her hand back.
You didn’t say anything back to her after that introduction, but you do recall that from then on, you became an inseparable pair until college.
Paige Bueckers. The weird one who didn’t shun you away.
Paige finally replies to you after letting the sunrise pass.
Paige: keep safe
Paige: same time next week?
Now, it’s your turn to give her a thumbs up.
Paige clicks her tongue, but a small smile is already dancing along her lips. She then tosses her phone aside and gets up to get ready for morning practice.
When she gets out, Jana is already in her warm up gear, gym bag waiting on the couch. A small frown immediately forms on her face.
“Paige, I’m serious about what I said, okay?” she pushes again. “Is it really just nothing to you and to her?”
Paige sighs. Talking about this first thing in the morning isn’t really her cup of tea. However, she does know that Jana only means well, even if it is misplaced. You’re a good person. People just don’t bother to know that about you. She already does.
“No romance or whatever,” Paige raises her hand, as if making an oath to her friend. “And y/n thinks the same way about this. Don’t worry too much.”
No romance or whatever, she says out loud, but her throat tightens at the lie.
Her teammates echo the same concerns once the two of them get to Werth. The team gathers around her and offers their one-sided opinion, not even letting a word out of her.
And she lets them.
It’s always the same thing when someone from the team catches her with you. She’s kind of tired, but she doesn’t know why she doesn’t shoot them down. Maybe it’s easier this way– if no one believes it’s real, then maybe she won’t have to admit that it is.
“She’s no good, Paige,” Allie reminds her for the nth time. “She’s not going to love you the way you want. And don’t even lie to us about that.”
But Paige has seen the quiet ways you take care of others, even if they don’t reciprocate. She sees your softest moments that no one else gets to see.
And yet…
“I don’t want her to love me,” Paige snaps back, and the conversation ends at that.
Paige blinks at the text she just received from you.
Y/n: ey flunked another stat exam
She doesn’t understand how you flunked another test in that subject when she’s been teaching you the same lessons over and over, pounding it in your stubborn little head after your weekly sessions. She figures your private activities would clear your head, but apparently, with your failing scores, they’ve only made it more muddled.
Paige decides that no, this can’t keep happening anymore. She can’t keep cutting you some slack just because you’re having a hard time giving a fuck about your life and the world. If you aren’t going to take the reins, then she’ll step in and temporarily drive you to some decent future.
Paige: come over. i oughta smack some sense into you. im tutoring you again before you find yourself taking stat removals for the second consecutive semester
Y/n: hohoho r u sure ure not just looking for a good time with me?
Paige: no
You may have the gall to kid around right now, but Paige likes to take your future more seriously than you do. She’s no parent, but she’s a damn good friend, and she won’t let you ruin your life– not if she can help it.
Paige: come over right now or else
She sends the text then locks her phone, not even bothering to have a digital banter with you. You tend to change the subject so easily when that happens, and she’s not about to fall into your trap today.
Paige gets up from the comfort of her bed and begins setting up her medium-sized desk table for yet another tutoring session. She prepares your favorite juice ahead of time, as well as some candies you mentioned you wanted to try back when you were on a call with her while grocery shopping.
She’s in the middle of cooking you up some grilled cheese sandwich when Jana, Caroline, and Allie walk into the unit, and pause mid-laugh.
“Thought you were gonna go out with Azzi in a while?” Jana questions at once, dropping her arms that were previously looped with the other two’s.
Paige doesn’t look at them. “Said let’s resched. I’m having y/n over since she needs help with Stat.”
“You’re blowing off Azzi for her?” Caroline asks with a disbelieving tone. She doesn’t blame the surprise because everyone else knows how important Azzi is to her too.
“She agreed we’d resched. I didn’t lie to her either. I don’t know what the problem is,” Paige replies nonchalantly, but she’s holding back her tongue. She doesn’t like getting into fights with her precious teammates, but she also doesn’t understand why they’re always giving her such a hard time whenever you’re involved with her.
Silence settles in the atmosphere after Paige speaks. It’s like everyone is trying to read each other’s minds to avoid saying the wrong thing aloud. She feels bad because she’s never been this snappy towards them, but when they insinuate things about you like that, it hurts her too.
After several more minutes of quiet, besides the hushed whispers between the three other girls, three solid knocks sound through the unit. Jana looks at Paige pointedly, but goes to the door anyway and opens it for the unmistakable guest.
You look up with wide eyes from under the hood of your jacket when it swings open, obviously not prepared for the company of four. Your gaze lowers, like you’re too ashamed to make eye contact with any of them.
Paige takes the sandwiches she made the two of you, leaves some for the others, then tugs you by the hand into her room. She ignores the way Jana, Caroline, and Allie follow her with their eyes, silently screaming about why the hell does she keep letting you in her life like that.
Paige doesn’t know fully, but she knows enough.
Once in the room, she silently urges you to get comfortable on the desk she set up for you. She grabs a small mint candy and offers it, as if in consolation for how her teammates were not being so subtle with their apprehension.
You take it with a small smile and pop it into your mouth.
“Such a bad influence, I am,” you say with a lazy grin, but Paige knows it’s nothing real. She knows not one bit of that sentence, you meant lightly.
“You’re not anything bad,” she counters. Paige sets up the iPad and a notebook in front of you. “And you’ll definitely be better if you listen well and apply them to your exams.”
That looks like it eases you, finally, as you let out a long, frustrated groan. Paige smirks and ruffles your hair.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” you mutter under your breath. She catches it, but decides to not say anything to it.
Since Stat is a general subject she’s already taken, it’s easy for Paige to break down the material for you. She’s in her element– something the general public doesn’t get to witness except you– and she explains away with quiet focus. Once in a while, she checks to see if you’re still paying attention, repeating things she knows you struggle with. You’re half-pretending to listen, but she can tell you’re watching her more than the iPad.
It’s during one of those lulls, when she’s tracing something out with the pen, when the moment shifts.
Your eyes are lingering on her, and before you could stop yourself, your hand reaches up to gently brush a strand of hair out of her face.
Paige freezes, realizing how close you two are now. Your hand is staying still against her cheek, and she’s suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
You lean in a little more that you almost kiss her, but you catch yourself, retreating before anything else happens. She watches you as you turn away, letting out an awkward laugh while rubbing the back of your neck like you always do when you’re nervous.
“Sorry. Got distracted for a bit.”
Paige can only force a smile. “You’re always distracted,” she manages to joke, but something in her churns uncomfortably.
It’s just your second year at UConn, but you can’t count how many rumors about you have been started by random people who barely made an effort to get acquainted with you.
You don’t even know how this latest one started, but you’re back fighting for yourself in a disciplinary meeting for this month because someone named Samantha had spread an especially vicious rumor about you. Apparently, you slept with one of your married professors to get a passing grade in Psych last semester. That’s also why you supposedly haven’t been kicked out of your program despite the academic warnings.
It actually was just a small joke that you usually brushed off with a snobby expression on your face like you didn’t care (but you honestly did on the inside). However, screenshots began circulating. They were obviously faked messages with vague “witness” statements that captioned a blurry photo of you and a faculty member who once offered to mentor you through your academic struggles.
The narrative spread like wildfire though, especially because you’ve never been the type to explain yourself to strangers. People started calling you names, side-eyeing you in the hallways and treating you like a walking scandal. Now, your name is tangled in that mess, wrongfully and very destructively.
You were dragged into this room full of higher ups when you couldn’t take the taunting anymore and beat someone up. Even though the girl whose nose you broke deserved it, you’re sitting in front of these grumpy, no-sense adults anyway as they investigate and deliberate about your case.
You honestly don’t know where to go from here. You’re tired even if you barely got a word out because you know older people like these ones won't listen to you. They’ll only listen when investments and other fundings are threatened, but you don’t have that kind of power over them, do you?
But Paige, UConn golden girl and top recruit, kind of does.
The admins are in the middle of arguing with one another when the door bursts open to reveal her, fuming, seething.
She must have heard the news about what happened to you and marched straight to this room to break some status quo. It makes you want to giggle just a little bit.
Everything that happens next is a blur. Paige is talking over everyone else about how your situation is absolutely absurd and that they aren’t thinking straight. She denies the rumors herself and vouches for you wholeheartedly before whipping out some papers and distributing a piece per person. You figure that it must be some kind of evidence she’s printed out just to defend you because, well, it’s not sensible to barge in here without backing it up with proof.
Paige goes on to explain, looking like a whole ass lawyer defending you like her salary is on the line. After a few more convincing arguments, she manages to sway the majority, and they collectively decide to let you go with just a warning. You still don’t deserve that, you feel, but you and Paige are going to take what you can get out of this charade of hers.
Paige takes your hand as soon as you finish signing some NDAs (they probably don’t want to be exposed for having been threatened by a lanky young lady). She leads you outside the building then stops to stare down those curiously looking over to the two of you.
“Y’all better stop talking shit, or else y’all are gonna get it!” she yells to no one specific, but the message gets across to everyone in the vicinity.
After that little stunt, she then pulls you along again until the two of you reach the privacy of their training facility. She leaves you alone on the benches, and you wait awkwardly while she discusses things with her team and Geno Auriemma. You can overhear them, how her teammates are questioning why she’s doing all that for someone she isn’t dating. You force yourself to stop listening after that, not really ready to hear her answer.
Later that night, when the two of you are sitting on some random bench in the campus, you confront her about the whole thing.
“No need to read into it,” is all she tells you. “I was just pissed about how things were handled.”
But she doesn’t look you in the eye when she explains.
Paige stares longingly at you as you sleep peacefully on her bed that night. She doesn’t get why, but she likes looking at you like this– unguarded, quiet, like the world hasn’t made a chewing gum out of your poor, small frame.
Paige knows that you’re someone who’s deeply misunderstood by people who haven’t even heard you introduce yourself to them. They take one look, hear one story, and that’s already enough for them. But she knows you, and she revels in the fact that only she knows you that well. She’s seen you at your worst and stayed regardless. She knows the way you care, knows what makes you happy, and definitely knows what makes you sad and shut down. She knows when you’re lying about being okay. And she willingly sits in selfishness if it means being the only one to know all these things.
But she doesn’t know yet if this can be called love.
You both don’t have a mutual understanding of what to call this, except that you’re two good friends who casually do girlfriend things despite the lack of that certain label.
The noise also still gets to her sometimes– the comments from her teammates, from classmates, from anyone who thought they had a reasonable opinion of you when that’s the furthest thing from the truth. She can still catch herself sometimes, wondering if she should believe them, if they see something she can’t.
But then, she looks at you again, curled into a fetal position right now, so snug, and she knows that none of that matters.
She doesn’t know what she wants this to become. She’s not brave enough yet to name it, nor is she able to ask for more. So for now, she’ll have to settle with being acquainted with you this way, pretending that’s all she needs.
It’s a lazy Saturday night for Paige today. She’s finished all her schoolworks, and because of the heavy thunderstorm, training has been canceled and rescheduled to the upcoming days.
Currently, she’s lounging around in her and Jana’s living room, scrolling through Instagram because she’s got nothing better to do. Her teammates and friends are out in some gathering she didn’t have the energy to attend to, while you’re probably deep under the covers with this cold weather.
She taps on one of the profile pictures, ready to scroll through different stories. Some of the people she’s following are back with their families, some are still out with friends, and others are surprisingly in a bar, partying.
She stops clicking, though, and long presses to stay on one particular story. Right in the spotlight in some frat party, she assumes, is none other than y/n l/n. In the middle of this crazy weather, you’re in some house getting drunk and dancing on a table, with other people taking a video of your shenanigans.
An annoyed huff leaves Paige as she gets up almost immediately to put on a hoodie and a new pair of sweatpants. She snatches an umbrella from a rack and leaves the dorm as fast as she can.
Paige is practically marching towards the frat house despite the nasty weather. She doesn’t care about anything else, other than getting you out there and in a place warmer and with less people filming you.
She can’t believe that you’re doing this, even if, for others, it’s just on brand for you. She knows that you’re better than that, and you also prefer to be a homebody. She doesn’t understand what’s gotten into your head, especially that she had gone out of her way to straighten you out academically.
Most of all, she can’t comprehend why you’re living up to others’ negative expectations of yourself. You didn’t have to keep up with your image, but for some reason, you’re still doing it.
She wonders what she’s doing or not doing that can’t keep you out of your bad habits. She often thinks she does enough to help you academically, socially, however else, but you don’t complement her efforts enough. If you did, you wouldn’t be out in a random house doing god-knows-what with god-knows-who.
When Paige finally reaches the frat house, she’s quick to look around to find you. Thankfully, you’re pretty easy to spot as the life of the party. Not thankfully, she arrives at you making out with someone she can’t particularly appreciate.
Paige is kind of furious, but she tries not to let it show. She just walks up to you, pushes your head away from the girl, then pulls you out of the house despite your protests. She only lets go when you two are out in the lawn, getting drizzled all over with pouring rain.
“What the hell are you doing out in some random house, getting drunk again?” Paige snaps, throwing the umbrella on the ground in frustration. Her voice cuts through the dull bass of the party behind you. “Are you trying to get suspended again? Or do you just not give a shit anymore?”
Your eyebrows furrow, mirroring the frustration on her face now. “Why do you care?” you say with gritted teeth. “Since when did you start babysitting?”
Paige steps closer, chest heaving. “Since forever! Since you decided to be a pain in the ass at every turn. Since you’ve been doing everything in your power to wreck yourself for no reason!”
You laugh bitterly. “I wasn’t aware being twenty and kissing someone at a party meant I needed saving, Paige.”
“It’s not about that,” she says, and she can feel her jaw tighten at that. “I just… Why are you doing this to yourself? I’ve been trying to help you, pulling you out of messes, and you still go back to those ways.” She means to keep going, to keep being angry, but her voice cracks when she adds, “And then you go and make out with some stranger like it’s nothing.”
You stare at her, obviously caught off-guard. You don’t say anything for a second until you speak softly, “Is that what this is really about? Me kissing someone?”
“I didn’t say that,” Paige suddenly snaps. She feels she’s been caught, but she’s not going to surrender to it– to you– that easily.
“But it’s what pissed you off most,” you say, louder this time. “You couldn’t care less about the drinking and everything else— I’ve been doing that for years. But it’s different all of a sudden because I kissed someone who isn’t you.”
Paige opens her mouth, then closes it. She sees you watch her closely, how her face shifts, how she fumbles for words.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have followed you here,” you mutter, voice low but sharp.
That makes her freeze. “What?” she says, stunned and confused as to what you could possibly mean.
You only shake your head, breathing in deeply like you’re about to lay it down on her.
And you will.
You look at UConn’s website, contemplating your options right now.
UConn was never supposed to be one of them, and yet, you’re here, checking out their undergrad applications.
You know why. It can only be because of Paige Bueckers.
Even if you have your eyes set on other universities that have the programs you want, or those that are incredibly nearer, you want to try UConn.
It’s stupid, and it’s definitely something for yourself, but you can’t help it. You want to stay with Paige because she’s the only person who’s ever really seen the real you– not the versions that strangers try to push onto you. Some may call it a terrible attachment, but so what if it is? Is it really that bad that you don’t want to let her go?
You didn’t think so.
So, when the time comes for you to make your decision, you’re not surprised when you decline your priority university’s offer and confirm with UConn. It’s a decision made mostly by your emotions, but you reason that you wouldn’t go through with this if it isn’t a calculated risk.
You arrive at UConn weeks later with more doubts than luggage, and an ever-present whisper at the back of your mind asking if this was worth it.
It’s settled in you more now, that it might actually be a naive decision. You’re starting to list reasons as to why you’ve just made one of the worst decisions ever in your life– that you’re just scared of starting over somewhere she isn’t, and that you’re too wrapped up in the familiarity that comes with being understood by Paige.
But when you meet Paige in a cafeteria during your first day in college, all the noise goes down the drain.
She spots you before you can even find a seat and walks over to you before pulling you into a hug like no distance can ever come between you two.
“Can’t believe you’re here,” she tells you, grinning, when she pulls back.
You smile back, small and real. “Yeah. Me neither.”
“I’m real’ glad to have you around,” Paige says, and you know you genuinely are, too.
Right at that moment, you know that anything else doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how reckless your decision was. It doesn’t matter that you picked an academic future that made sure a person would still be in it because Paige isn’t just a person. Paige is your person, the one who saw you through it all when no one else even bothered to look.
So what if it’s naive? So what if it’s messy? You’d take that risk again and again if it meant keeping even a piece of what you have with Paige, and of what she’s given you by being your friend.
“Y/n, what do you mean?” Paige asks, feeling her heart break a little more the longer you go silent.
You draw in a shaky breath. “I came to UConn only for you, Paige.”
Paige’s mind goes blank. Several questions are starting to form in her mind, but all she can really ask is, ‘What?’ again. She doesn’t know yet how to react to you confessing something that would weigh her down for the rest of her life.
She’s so hoping you mean something else, but by the look on your face, it’s exactly what you just said.
“I followed you here, Paige,” you confess, refusing to make eye contact. “I had other options, better programs, and campuses that are closer to that wretched house. I could’ve had a life that didn’t revolve around you, but…” You pause, clenching your fists. “I picked UConn. I picked you. And for a while, I thought it was enough for me– and don't get me wrong, I take responsibility for that decision! But, I don’t know… our relationship became whatever this is, and I know I’m just waiting for nothing and…”
Paige’s eyebrows furrow. “You never said–” she begins, but you cut her off.
“Would it have mattered if I did?” you shoot back instantly. “Honestly, do you even care if I’m in your life as much as I care about being in yours?”
She sees how frustrated you are now, holding back your tongue when you can say even worse things that would hit like a punch to her gut. But Paige is as frustrated as you are.
“I do care!” she snaps, curling her hands into fists now, too. “I care so much that it’s ruining me!”
“If it’s ruining you, why do you keep dragging me back into your life?!” you answer back quickly, voice raising now. “You have no idea how hard it is, and I’m just… I’m doing my best to move on and untable myself from you.”
The rain is soaking through your clothes now, but neither of you notice nor care anymore. This is what everything’s been building up to, and you both know it. Things have to be confronted now.
“You want the truth?” you continue, louder now. “It feels like you only want me around when it's convenient. It feels like I’m some emotional support pet you call for when things get hard, or when it’s the right time for you. And I hate that I keep playing the part so willingly because I–”
“That’s not fair!” Paige says, her voice rising with yours.
You push her by her shoulders, and she stumbles backward just slightly. “No. What’s not fair is that you keep making me think holding onto you is worth it while you act like none of it matters!”
“I care!” she screams back. This is the first time she’s ever been in an argument like this with you, and the first time she’s ever yelled at you. She’s afraid it will be the last, but she can’t help but counter what you’re saying or else you’ll keep having the wrong idea.
The intention is different from what comes out though.
“You never take responsibility for anything!” Paige blurts out before she can think. “You don’t take responsibility for yourself, for what you do, and especially for what you feel and what you make me feel!”
The both of you fall silent after that. It’s heavy, full with rage you’re both trying to keep inside.
The tension stretches– one minute, then two, then the next, it snaps.
You crash into each other, hands in hair, teeth clashing, mouths desperate. It’s not soft, and it’s definitely not sweet. It’s filled with anger and soaked in everything neither of you have said for years– a kiss born from frustration and defeatism.
It doesn’t fix anything.
You’re the one who pulls away first, breathing hard, lips swollen. You stare at her like you don’t recognize her or yourself, and Paige feels the same.
Then, you turn and walk away from her wordlessly.
Nothing is left, except Paige, frozen in the rain, alone with the chaos you both just unraveled even more from that heavy confrontation.
The day that follows is even worse.
People have been up in Paige’s business more than they usually have, to the point that even professors are pulling her aside before or after class. She doesn’t know how much more she can take, and it’s not even past noon yet.
Someone had spread a photo of you and Paige last Saturday. Thanks to the high-tech gadgets of the modern era, the pictures circulating clearly show the two of you, lips locked, brows knit together due to the intense emotions and confrontation you both just had.
Paige doesn’t know what she should feel, except for one thing– worry. She’s worried mostly for you. She could care less if it mars her reputation, but she knows it’s going to worsen yours. She’s already caught wind of how people are going up to your face, questioning your behavior and mostly attacking you for trying to mess with golden girl Paige Bueckers.
She wants to do something about it, but is completely clueless on how to rectify your situation because she can’t approach you in the first place. It’s not like last time when you allowed her to pull you closer to her while she tells off people who did you wrong. Now, she’s pretty sure you won’t even let her in a 1-meter radius.
What she can do, though, is clarify things to anyone who asks.
Even if it’s taking every ounce of energy she has, even if she’s about to be late in her next class, she’ll take time and effort to explain. She’ll tell everyone who comes up to her that you don’t mean any harm, that you two only had a misunderstanding, and most importantly, that you’re someone to her.
Some listen, but most don’t, and Paige can’t tell which is worse.
Even her teammates are acting weird. They don’t say anything explicitly, but she catches the way they pause mid-sentence when she walks into the gym, or how they glance between each other nervously whenever your name comes up. Azzi and KK try to lighten the mood, or ask if Paige wants to talk about it, but she herself just shakes her head and moves away every time.
She can’t talk about it– not when the story spreading around is so far from the truth, or that it’s breaking every part of her.
What makes things even harder is that she hasn’t seen you since that night. She’s heard that you’ve been skipping your classes, and she doesn’t doubt you’re intentionally avoiding common areas. It’s like you’ve vanished without really leaving.
Paige goes home to Minnesota for a quick break the weekend after, hoping to clear her own head. Instead of the peace and quiet she’s been hoping to have, she receives another ambush from her father the second she goes down the living room.
“Alright,” he starts, coffee mug in hand and leaning against the counter like he’s been waiting all morning. “What’s going on with you and that kid everyone keeps talking about?”
Paige doesn’t answer right away. She just stares at her phone screen, blank and locked, just like how she’s been the past week. Notifications are piling up, mostly from her friends, others from people who only wanted to gossip. Not a single one from you, unfortunately.
“I don’t know,” she eventually says. “I really don’t, dad.”
Her dad raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never not known what you wanted before.”
Something inside her snaps, but she holds it in. “It’s not about what I want, dad. It’s about what I’ve already ruined.”
She presses her palms against her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed. “I miss y/n so bad, and I can’t fix it. I like to think I did everything for her, but I just made it worse. Now everyone’s treating her like some villain for being close to me. What makes it even worse is that I know she’s hurting, but I also know I’m the last person she’ll let in right now.”
Bob sighs. He places his mug down and steps closer, before resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If y/n means that much to you, then you’ll find a way.”
“It’s not that simple,” she tells him unconvincingly, and they don’t say anything else to each other after that. They just let the silence envelope them as Paige thinks about his advice over and over.
She may not know how to describe things anymore, but she does know that she wants to go to you and make sure you’re alright, no matter how you’ll receive her.
“You better stop seeing that Paige kid, I’m warning you, y/n,” your mother snarls, nudging your arm harshly once she barges into your room. “People are shit-talking us, and I’m having none of that! Stay in this room for the rest of your life, for all I care– far away from anyone in the neighborhood.”
You only let out a heavy sigh once she goes out your room, slamming the door loudly behind her.
You’re sad, not really expecting people to separate you like this from Paige. But you reflect on it, still, because they’re all right. You wonder to yourself why you should keep involving Paige in the mess that you are. She’s got a bright future ahead of her, is supported by loved ones and strangers alike. She doesn’t need a nobody hanging around her, ruining her image for her.
“Alright, then,” you mumble to yourself, curling into a ball on the floor. A single tear falls down your cheek, but you’re quick to wipe it off.
That’s when you start going out, faking an ID to get into the clubs in your city.
If you can’t have the fun with Paige that you feel like you deserve, then you’re going to have to find it elsewhere to fill that growing void in your chest.
The days pass in a blur.
You stop replying to anyone’s messages, stop going to class, and stop caring altogether. You got better at slipping out late at night, molding into the crowds in that one bar that was a ride away. Without thinking much about your actions, you casually slip into the arms of strangers you don’t care about and who don’t care about you. At least for those nights, you feel something louder than the emptiness clawing at your chest.
You dance, you drink, you lose yourself in the noise that drowns out the voice in your head that keeps saying you’re no good to anyone.
Your parents know later on, of course.
They pull you aside one morning, with your breath still smelling like alcohol and head still throbbing, but surprisingly, they don’t yell. They don’t ask why. Your mom just crosses her arms, gives you one long look, and says, “As long as you’re done with that Bueckers girl, we’re fine.”
And that makes it feel like all the things you’ve done to cover up the pain were worthless. You should’ve believed that they were capable of treating you like that, but it still stings– that they’d rather watch you unravel than let you be with someone who made you feel seen for once.
It decides for you easily.
You keep going to parties, don’t mind getting detention for sleeping through lectures. You don’t mind what’s been going on with you anymore– it’s hard to give a fuck when no one really worries for you.
It’s around two in the morning when you stumble up the front steps of your house, top too thin for the cold air. Your head is buzzing from all the drinks you’ve had, but somehow, the figure you see on your doorstep makes you sober up at once.
Paige is sitting there, blonde hair tucked into a beanie, legs pulled up to her chest.
She stands the moment you’re within arm’s reach, worry carved into every corner of her face. You try to say something, some reason as to why you’re coming home from a party you’re not legally allowed to attend, but your tongue is frozen.
Paige doesn’t say anything either. She just unzips her jacket and wraps it around you. She crouches down in front of you, and you take it as a signal to hop on for a piggy back.
The walk to her house is quiet, and you don’t even remember when you were able to doze off from the exhaustion. You simply wake up in her room, the familiar warmth surrounding your body.
You’re now dressed in a hoodie that smells like her, a pair of sweatpants that are too big, and socks that have definitely helped with the cold and pain from being out in some heels.
Paige is sitting on the floor, back against the wall. She gives you a small smile when she notices that you’re finally awake.
“You good?”
Your lips tremble. “I didn’t mean to disappear and be like this.”
All she replies with is, “I know.”
Paige doesn’t reprimand you. In fact, she looks like she empathizes with you.
“Everyone’s telling me to stay away from you,” you say, barely above a whisper.
She stands up at that, walks towards the bed, and you scooch over to give her some space. Paige settles beside you, bringing your head gently onto her lap before running her fingers through your hair. “Don’t listen to them,” she tells you. “They don’t know nothin’ ‘bout us like we do.”
You stare at her face, and you feel something in you feel lighter. The ache in your chest has finally softened upon hearing her say that to you.
People can try pulling you apart, but one thing’s for sure, for now, at least: Paige will stay.
Paige goes back to the dorms a day earlier than she originally planned.
She ignores people’s curious eyes on her, ignores Jana’s silent plea to not do anything stupid, and ignores how people give her looks when they see her waiting in the lobby of your dorm.
She doesn’t care about anything else right now except knowing how you are, and seeing how you’re holding up. She misses you so much– it’s a different kind of pain. She has a word for it now, but she doesn’t dare admit it to anyone, not even herself.
You do meet her, and it’s in the wee hours and you’re coming back from somewhere you clearly got drunk.
Paige doesn’t say anything. She’s aware what kind of hurt you’re going through, and she’s not about to make it worse for you. Instead, she picks you up, looping an arm under your legs and around your shivering body despite your protests.
She carries you all the way to your dorm room even if students and staff are shooting her judgmental glances. She opens the door then places you carefully on your couch.
Paige takes care of you the way she always has, the way she did whenever you crashed out and came home from bars night after night. She just knows you by heart already, and knows that all you need right now is someone to care.
And she does.
She goes around your dorm room wordlessly, boiling a soup and preparing some water to cleanse the alcohol out of your system. She assists you through everything, helping you get up when you’re slurping in the soup, and helping you lie down when you’ve finished.
Then, after everything else, she watches you as you stare blankly at the ceiling. There are tears falling from your eyes, but she can’t find the courage to wipe them off just yet, knowing that it’s mostly because of her that you’re suffering like this again.
“I’m sorry,” you suddenly mumble. She didn’t expect it. “I’m sorry for ruining your lift. I’m sorry for always being the wrong part of the formula of your career and social life,” you say, eyes closed, unable to stop your sobbing now.
And at once, she’s by your side.
Paige helps you up, sits herself on the couch, and lets your head rest on her lap as you cry it out. Her heart is breaking at every weep that wracks through your body.
“You didn’t ruin anything, sweet thing,” she assures you, holding your hand tightly. “You’re all I need, the only real thing in it.”
It feels like what happened last night in your dorm was a fever dream, even if Paige knows it truly happened.
She remembers every second: the way your head rested against her shoulder, the way your voice cracked when you finally confided in her, and the way she felt like she could breathe again just by being next to you.
But now, another day has come, which means she’s going to have to deal with tons of people interrogating her like a damn criminal again.
It’s been like this for days. People aren’t letting up when hounding her in the halls like you both committed some unspeakable crime.
She’s just tired from everything. Lately, she’s just been dragging herself to her classes. People can’t read body language, apparently, because they still remain to be all up in her business, asking questions about you.
She keeps brushing them off– until today.
She doesn’t mean it (or maybe she does), but she snaps at one smug freshman today. It doesn’t make her feel bad because she’s been emotionally frayed, and yet the young boy still pushes, not getting the hint. His tone is laced with judgment, like he knows better than you or her.
“We’re not together, okay?!” she basically barks at him. “But even if she’s not who people want for me, even if she’s reckless and complicated, she’s who I want!”
The hallway falls into a stunned silence.
Paige Bueckers has snapped right at that moment.
It gets awkward for that boy as he decides to finally leave her alone, and Paige just makes a beeline to her dorm and shuts down in her own room.
By the time she slams the door to her room shut, her hands are shaking and she’s heaving in and out.
She’s not one to break down often, but lately, it’s been happening more than she wants to admit. Ever since that confrontation, and even more so since she saw you unravel last night and held you through it, she’s been lifting the weight of the world on her shoulders. You haven’t even reached out, haven’t met with her still.
Paige doesn’t know what else to do except curling into herself on the floor.
“What the hell do I do?” she whispers, at her breaking point now. “I love you. God, I really do.
A knock breaks the quiet not long after, and she freezes, afraid she’s been caught crying.
Paige drags herself back up, opens the door slightly to see her bestfriend holding a brown paper bag of take out. Azzi has a small, worried smile on her face as she speaks, “I heard. Figured you needed someone.”
She nods, letting the other girl in.
The room is quiet for a while, besides the rustling of wrappers and the occasional sniffle from Paige. Azzi is sat on the chair of her study table, observing her bestfriend, holding her hand like she’s a fragile kid who might lose it any second now.
Then, she asks, “Why don’t you just tell her?
Paige stares down at her lap. “Because… if she doesn’t feel the same, that’s it. I lose her completely.” She lets out a sigh and continues, “I haven’t seen her ever since last night, when I went to her dorm to take care of her. I don’t know how to approach this– it might come off weird to her because what if she thinks there’s no relationship to fix in the first place?”
Azzi doesn’t rush to fill the silence. She just squeezes her hand.
“You won’t know unless you try, Paige,” she tells her. “But if she meant half the things she said to you that night… I think she’s just as scared as you are.”
You’ve missed a lot of classes now, but you don’t really care. None of this feels real anymore.
The only productive thing you’ve done in the past few weeks is file for a transfer to another university because, heck, you’re not happy anymore. You’re thinking sensibly now– you need a fresh start, away from all the mess and complexity. And somewhere without her.
You’re wallowing on your own in your dorm room when someone knocks on the door. You’re not really expecting your roommate because the girl’s always with her boyfriend.
You’re scared it’s the one person you’re not ready to see face-to-face, but relief washes all over you when you open to see your older brother.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, completely confused by his sudden appearance.
He just shrugs though, and gives you that lopsided smile he’s always had since you were kids. “You weren’t answering my texts. Had a feeling you need someone.”
Right then and there, you just break down.
You crumple into his arms, and he’s quick to catch you into a hug. He may stumble, but he holds you still, so tightly. It’s like it’s the only thing that can hold you together now.
You’ve never really had a close relationship with your whole family– they never gave a fuck about you even when you’re so far away from them– but somehow, he’s here. Your brother is checking on you even if he doesn’t have a single idea about what happened to you since the last holiday you came home.
“I’ve got you, sis,” he mumbles, patting your head as he leads you back to your bed and lets you curl closer.
You cry harder. You don’t even know what hurts more: seeing family for the first time in months, or realizing how little love you’ve been shown in all the places that should’ve been your safe place.
When your sobs finally quiet, the two of you are seated on your bed. Your brother hands you tissues, your water bottle, and looks at you like he has a million questions to ask. But the only one that leaves him is, “Wanna talk about it?
You shake your head at first. “It’s just about some girl.”
He smirks a little, leaning against the headboard. “A girl, huh? The one from before? Back at home?”
You don’t answer, and he just takes that as a yes.
“The popular one who does basketball, right?”
You nod. “Paige.”
There’s a long pause, and he’s thinking deeply about the next thing he’ll tell. He comes up with something that strikes you hard: “Why are you still crying over someone who’s only half in?”
You flinch at that. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Well, isn’t it true?”
You want to argue, but you say nothing, partly because you don’t have the energy, and mostly because you fear he’s right.
Your brother only watches you, waiting for a response.
“Even half of her… is more than I’ve ever had from anyone, y’know.”
That silences him. You watch the guilt settle across his face.
It’s always been a sensitive topic. While he’s been trying to show up for you more since taking a job and moving out, he’s always expressed how he regretted not being a better sibling to you through his actions. You don’t completely blame him, especially that he’s not that older, nor is it his responsibility, but you also admitted he’s made you feel bad in more ways than one back then.
He doesn’t say anything for a while, and you don’t make him.
Eventually, he exhales. “I didn’t know you felt that alone.”
You shrug, trying not to tear up again. “I’ve always felt that alone.”
Silence again.
“I think I love her,” you confess quietly. “I think I have since the moment she walked into my life like I was someone worth knowing.”
Your brother runs a hand through his hair. “Then why don’t you tell her?”
A humorless laugh escapes you. “Paige doesn’t do people like me. She’s golden, adored by all. She’s meant for greatness. She’ll realize it eventually– how much I hold her back– and when she does, she’ll leave. Just like how it’s meant to be. Just like how everyone else has.”
He doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to fix it and say anything sickly positive either. He just scoots closer to you and pulls you into another hug.
An hour passes by, and there's another knock on the door, soft but urgent.
You and your brother look at each other as your heart thrums louder by the second.
You know who it is, this time.
“Are you gonna get that?” he asks you. “Are you ready?”
You exhale heavily. You’re really not, but you nod anyway and tell him, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
You get up, and your feet are heavy, like they’re doing their best to make you turn back around. Feelings of panic and nervousness are rushing through you, but you know there’s no other way around this. You open the door to your dorm, and it reveals Paige.
She has her hands on her knees, obviously flushed, like she ran here straight from somewhere important. Her hair’s a little messy, breathing completely uneven, and her eyes look like they haven’t gotten enough rest in days.
“I just…” she says, and she barely manages to get the words out, “I needed to see you again. Be near you.” A lone tear leaves her eye. “I have to tell you that I’ve loved you this whole time, that you’re not some acquaintance I call up for convenience. I just didn’t know how to solve the puzzle of us without losing you completely.”
Your breath catches. You don’t really say anything, just glance back at your brother and tell him you’ll be back. He nods, moving toward the door and pretending to not be affected.
“Take your time,” he tells you, and you and Paige are off, leaving your dorm for a walk in the cold evening air.
The silence is thick between you. You don’t really have a plan or a destination in mind besides inviting her out in the streets of the campus.
Paige is the first to break the quiet.
“Can you say something? Or anything? Please?”
You swallow hard before obliging. “I filed for a transfer.”
Paige stops in her tracks, surprised. “What? Why?”
You stop a few steps ahead of her, but you don’t look back to meet her gaze. “Because I’m tired, Paige. I want a fresh start.” You chuckle, but it doesn’t have humor in it. “It’s gonna be good for us. I’m finally gonna leave you alone, and you can have the unmessy life you deserve once I’m out of it.”
Another long silence wraps the both of you. Paige is processing everything you’ve just said, and when you glance back, you can see the panic in her eyes.
She finally speaks up after a while. “Do you think leaving fixes things?” She goes up to you, taking your hands in hers. You still don’t make eye contact. “You don’t have to protect me by leaving. I’ll handle it– I’ll handle anything– I just want you with me no matter what.”
You stare at the ground, trying to stop the tears from falling again. “It’s also not about what you want, but what I need now, Paige.”
“But we’re almost graduating,” she tries again. “I don’t want you to throw that away because I’ve been acting stupid and haven’t been honest with you– and I know I gave you a hard time, I just…”
The rest of her rambling doesn’t register in your mind as you think about what she first said.
You’re right about wanting to protect yourself. It’s valid to feel like transferring is the only option you have left when everything else hurts too much. You’re only human, right?
But Paige is also right about another thing: you’re almost at the finish line, just a couple of semesters away from being able to rebuild. It would be a waste if you transfer now.
Maybe you are being impulsive and spontaneous. As much as leaving sounds like a clean slate… maybe it’s just running too.
You don’t say anything even after she’s finished what she had to say. You look at her for a moment, and see that her face is vulnerable, racked with guilt. You’ve never seen her this unguarded before.
Then, you exhale shakily. “Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll try.”
Paige’s eyes widen, but soften just as fast. A slow smile tugs at the corners of her mouth– tentative, but real.
“We’ll try,” she tells you. “We’ll start over. Together.”
You still look unsure, until she holds her hand out to you and says, “Hi, I’m Paige,” with a sheepish smile. “I think I’m in love with you.”
“You’re such an idiot.”
“Maybe.” Her smile widens more now. “But I’m your idiot. Always been. As cliche as that sounds.”
You don’t hesitate this time. You finally step closer to her and let her envelope you in those familiar, safe arms. She holds you like she never wants to let go.
The puzzle of you both isn’t solved, but for once, it’s not falling apart either.
Not tonight.
Not with her arms around you and the world finally fades into a peaceful stillness around you.
images except the dividers belong to respective creators; found in pinterest. links: https://pin.it/6pWIDqpYD; https://pin.it/1W4tBYDS2; https://pin.it/g9oh3j9TO.
