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So Easy (to fall in love) pt.2

tennis player paige x former wbb player azzi

WC: 10.5 K

Hi everyone! Honestly, I didn’t think I would finish this story, but I was so positively overwhelmed by the love you showed for part one that I knew I had to write this. I hope Pt. 2 lives up to your expectations!

(P.S. This chapter is much better paced than the first one since I am finally done writing exams and no longer in a time crunch! I might even go back and edit part 1 soon!)

————————

Azzi raised her hands and pushed Paige, shoving her just a little bit harder than she actually needed to, desperately trying to hide the sudden trembling in her fingers. Paige was too close. Azzi felt like she was drowning in her; her scent, her voice, her proximity. And getting to the living room far from Paige seemed like a good way to try to float again. So Azzi started stepping away. But maybe Azzi wasn’t as desperate to be saved as she thought, because Paige easily grabbed her wrist, and Azzi let herself be pulled back into deeper waters.

“They're for you, Az,” Paige murmured. She spoke in that rare, quiet tone she only used when she stripped away all her usual dramatics and loud exclamations. It was just soft, raw, and completely pure.

Azzi felt her breath stop. She wasn’t just too close to Paige anymore; together, they were hovering right on the edge of a truth that had remained unspoken for the past few months. There was something going on between them, something more than just acquaintanceship, rehabilitation work, or friendship. Azzi liked being around Paige more than any of those labels should grant. Every Tuesday she fixed her clothes and touched up her makeup before she would head down to the clinic floor at 6.00. She stopped packing her healthy meal prep lunches so that she’d have an excuse to go out for lunch, and if she ended up eating with a certain blonde it was just purely coincidence.

But, Azzi also knew two other very important things. The first being that everyone liked being around Paige. Everyone, whether they’d admit it or not, wanted Paige’s attention. Everyone wanted to bathe in her sunlight. Even Caroline, who constantly complained about the crumbs Paige left on the physio beds, could never manage a convincing scowl when Paige smiled at her. So, Azzi had rationalized that what she was feeling was just the inevitable, unavoidable effect of the classic Paige charm. This theory was certainly supported by the second thing Azzi knew: all of her past relationships were with men, and so Azzi Fudd is definitely not a lesbian.

"Caroline told me about UConn," Paige whispered, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. "I’m so damn proud of you. I literally cried while she was telling me."

Azzi stared at her for a fraction of a second. Paige is crying, Paige Bueckers who Azzi has only seen cry once in the entirety of the past nine months is crying, is crying for Azzi.

‘Ah’ Azzi thinks, a sudden realization hitting her, ‘maybe Paige is drowning too.’

Her need for distance completely dissipates, replaced by the need to be as close as possible, to grab Paige's body and consequently give her something she can float with. She throws her arms around Paige’s neck, pulling her in so tightly she hinders her own breathing.

"Loser," she whispered into Paige’s ear, her voice thick with emotion. "Can't believe you cried" and she really can't believe that she cried or that she’s crying again.

When did this happen? When did they get close enough, when did they start caring so much? Was it in the 5 minutes they got during each of the appointments? Or was it in their shared lunches? Or maybe their more recent texting? Or maybe it was four years ago, when she met a beautiful stranger who spilled ketchup on her favourite jacket in a trashy bar.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Paige, open the door!”

The sudden, aggressive pounding on the front door shattered the silence. They broke apart instantly, blinking against the sudden rush of cool air between them.

Azzi wiped her face quickly, her heart hammering against her ribs as she looked toward the entryway. “Were you expecting someone?” Azzi asked.

————————

Paige wasn’t expecting Azzi to show up at the middle of the night (though she’s definitely not complaining that she did), and she sure as hell was not expecting Zoe to be standing outside of her door black out drunk. Or High. Well whatever sent her to the stars, she was definitely there. She looked like she could barely stand straight. For the first time since knowing her, Paige actually thought Zoe looked like she genuinely needed one of her stupid wellness retreats.

“Zoe,” Paige said, her voice dropping into a tense, but baffled tone. “What are you doing here?”

“Paige I need help” said Zoe while stumbling across the threshold, she walked past Paige and face planted directly onto the living room couch.

Paige closed the front door slowly. ‘What is my life right now?’

“Zoe what’s going on? What happened? Why are you so drunk… or high?

“My life is over…” Zoe wailed, rolling over to stare at the ceiling with wide and glassy eyes. “My dad found out about my offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. I was moving funds from the company to finance this crystal-infused matcha start up…and apparently, it’s illegal”

Paige blinked, her jaw dropping. “Illegal? Like…a tax loophole”

“Illegal like money laundering, Paige!" Zoe gasped, sitting up dramatically. “My dad didn't want to send me to jail, but he fired me. He took away my black card, froze my checking accounts, and I can't even open my penthouse doors. My code doesn’t work anymore. I just spent my last dollars on cheap tequila.”

Azzi slowly walked out of the kitchen, her arms crossed, staring at her former business partner in absolute disbelief. “Wait. You got caught money laundering?”

Zoe’s head snapped toward the kitchen, finally noticing her. “Azzi! Thank god you're here.” Instead of being shocked to see her ex-partner at her ex-girlfriend's apartment at 11:00 PM, Zoe just pointed a desperate finger at her. “Can you help me? Do I… do I have any more equity left in Revite? Anything at all?”

“The equity you sold three months ago?” Azzi deadpanned. “No, Zo. You sold it all. You signed the paperwork.”

Zoe let out a sigh, slapping her hands against her forehead. “Oh my god, this is a nightmare.” Her face suddenly turned a slight shade of green, and she gripped her stomach. “Excuse me for a second, I need to go to the bathroom and puke my guts out.”

She scrambled off the couch, running a hand over her face as she stumbled toward the hallway bathroom, slamming the door behind her. A second later, the sound of retching echoed down the hall.

Azzi stood frozen in the center of the living room. Slowly, her head turned toward Paige.

Paige was already staring back at her, her blue eyes wide, her hands hovering awkwardly at her sides. The heavy, romantic tension that had been suffocating the kitchen just five minutes ago was completely vaporized, replaced by sheer absurdity.

Azzi let out a breath, her voice a flat, stunned whisper. “I worked with a money launderer.”

Paige’s shoulders began to shake as a breathless laugh bubbled up her throat. “I dated a money launderer.”

They stared at each other for one more silent second before both of them completely lost it. Paige clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her wheezing laughs, bending over at the waist, while Azzi covered her face, her shoulders shaking with silent, hysterical laughter.

“She laundered money for matcha,” Paige hissed through her fingers, her eyes watering all over again.

“Crystal-infused matcha!” Azzi whispered back.

Azzi left shortly after. The apartment had felt too crowded, and she felt like she needed to give Paige and Zoe some space.

By the time she unlocked the door to her own place, the adrenaline had faded. She pulled out her phone, staring at the screen for a long moment before finally sending a text.

Azzi: yyou survive the criminal?

The reply came almost instantly.

Paige: barely. she threw up agaan :(

Paige: she’s stayin in the guest room. says shes gonna be here for like a muonth until she can sell her stock in some other randim company and get her footing back.

Azzi stared at the bubbles as they popped up and vanished.

Paige: az? you still awake?

Azzi didn't reply. She tossed her phone onto the nightstand, sliding into bed and staring up at the dark ceiling. The silence of her room felt deafening compared to the chaos that was Paige's apartment.

She lay there, the wheels in her mind turning relentlessly, tracking backward through the years.

It was easy to laugh at Zoe now, to joke about the crystal-infused matcha and the Cayman Islands, but as Azzi stared into the dark, a wave of reality hit her. Zoe wasn't a bad person. In fact, when Azzi was at her absolute lowest, right after her second injury at UConn, Zoe had been the only one who looked at her and saw potential. Every investor in New York had slammed the door in Azzi's face when she tried to pitch Revite. They saw a twenty-something girl with a ruined knee and a pipe dream.

But Zoe had listened. Zoe had been interested, and Zoe had signed the check that breathed life into Azzi's dream.

I owe her everything, Azzi realized, the thought sinking like a stone in her stomach. Revite wouldn't exist without Zoe. And now, Zoe was in a genuinely hard position, stripped of her family's wealth, her job, and her home.

Azzi rolled onto her side, swallowing hard. It didn't matter if Paige and Zoe were completely over. It didn't matter if they weren't in love anymore, or if Paige had been looking at Azzi with an intensity that made her knees weak. Zoe was her friend, her co-founder, the person who saved her career. Stepping into Paige's space, letting herself feel whatever was blooming between them…it just wasn't right.

And besides, she was lying to herself if she thought she even fit Paige's type.

The last person Paige Bueckers had chosen to date was Zoe Fernandez. Zoe was high-fashion, high-maintenance, and apparently, a white-collar criminal. Compared to all that, Azzi was, well, boring. She was absolutely, nothing like Zoe.

Azzi still didn't entirely understand how Paige and Zoe had come to be together in the first place, but the fact remained: Zoe was the standard. There was no way Paige could ever look at Azzi the way she had looked at a girl like Zoe.

Azzi closed her eyes, letting out a long, shaky breath into the quiet room. Her phone screen stayed dark. Azzi needed ease, questioning her sexuality, questiong her feelings for Paige, and questioning the complication of Zoe; was nowhere near easy. So she pushed her phone further from her and pulled up her blanket.

It was better this way. Whatever unsaid truth had been hovering between her and Paige in that kitchen, it had to stay unsaid. There could never really be anything between them.

————————

“I’m telling you, I’ve officially lost my goddamn mind,” Paige groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

She was sitting on the bench at the edge of the practice court, her tennis racket abandoned beside her. Across from her stood Nika, her performance coach and long-time friend. After nine grueling months of physical rehab, Paige was finally back on the court training with Nika again.

Nika crossed her arms and looked down at Paige with a mix of irritation and amusement, truly a rare combo only Nika could manage. “You’ve also lost all fucking your talent apparently, you haven't been able to hit baseline all morning, whats going on?”

“It’s Azzi,” Paige confessed, her voice muffled by her palms. She finally looked up, her blue eyes wide and frantic. “I think I scared her off, Nika. She’s being so dry. It’s been five days. Five days of one-word texts. I feel literally schizo.”

Nika raised an eyebrow. “Azzi? Rich, hot, muscle mommy, beautiful physio angel sent from the heavens, CEO, Azzi?”

“Yes! And she probably thinks I’m an actual psychopath now,” Paige cried, gesturing wildly. “She was in my apartment when Zoe showed up.”

Nika blinked. “So? Didn’t she work with Zoe, she already knows her.”

“That’s the problem! Azzi had to be around Zoe because they were business partners, but I actually chose to date her. Azzi must think my taste in women is a literal biohazard.”

Nika let out a soft snort, twisting her racket on the court floor. “To be fair, P… Zoe was a lot. Even before her whole white-collar crime era. What were you thinking?”

“I don’t even know,” Paige muttered, slumping back against the bench. She stared blankly at her sneakers, trying to rationalize a relationship that now felt like a completely different lifetime. “At the time, it just made sense. Zoe was pretty. Zoe was rich, so she had her own things going on and she didn't suffocate me by obsessing over my career or treating me like a celebrity.”

“And she didn’t want to be public either,” Paige continued, her voice dropping into a quieter, defensive tone. “Cause she was convinced she was 99% straight and didn’t want the media thinking she was lesbian. Some of the media is still somehow entirely convinced that I’m basically straight too because Zoe wanted everything completely locked down. We always just did our own thing. We barely saw each other because of my travel schedule and her weird ass life. Half the time, it didn’t even really feel like we were together anyway. It was just easy when we were in the same city; we got to fuck without having to worry about NDAs and that was it.”

Nika nodded slowly, listening intently. She had been there for the entirety of the Zoe timeline, watching from the sidelines, the relationship was just so outlandish she hadn’t really developed an opinion on it, and like Paige just sort of acted like it didn’t exist.

“I don’t know what to tell you dude…you need to find a way to talk to Azzi and remind her you aren’t crazy if she isn’t tryna make conversation on text”

“So you want me to corner her”

“Basically yeah, show up somewhere she can’t dodge you”

————————

Azzi stared at her laptop screen. For the last five days, her entire existence had boiled down to a single, brutal exercise in self-restraint: limiting her responses to Paige.

Every time her phone buzzed, a stupid, involuntary spark would catch in her chest. She’d look down, see a text from Paige about some absolute nonsense or memes. She’d count to ten, and then press down on the delete key for an embarrassing amount of time to erase the long reply she already wrote, and type a single, dry sentence instead.

Keep the boundary. She’s your ex-client. She’s Zoe’s ex. She doesn’t like you. You are probably not lesbian.

"Az, please save me," Caroline groaned, leaning dramatically against the doorframe of Azzi’s office. She was holding a stack of files in her hands, looking thoroughly miserable. "I have a date this Friday with this guy, right? But I haven't been on a date for so long dude, and I don’t want dinner to be awkward. So do you wanna go on a double date to make it less painful for your best friend, whom I know you love and care for, and often say you would do anything for"

Azzi blinked, a sudden, desperate thought flashed through her mind. Maybe if she went on a date, she wouldn't have to go through the daily humiliation ritual of overthinking about Paige.

"I'll go," Azzi said grittingly.

Caroline froze, she stepped forward closer to Azzi like it was her vision deceiving her rather than her hearing, her eyebrows practically shooting into her hairline. "Wait. What?"

"I'll go with you," Azzi repeated, more sure now, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, trying to sound completely nonchalant. "It’s probably good for me to go out and about sometimes. But don’t get too excited, this will probably be the last time."

"Don't get too excited about what?"

Azzi’s heart dropped to where her ass met her desk chair.

Paige was standing right behind Caroline in the doorway, holding a tray of two iced coffees. She looked bright and beautiful.

————————

Azzi Fudd is so gay. She is so incredibly gay, specifically she is so deeply, and embarrassingly gay for Paige Bueckers.

It had been nine whole months of this torturous, slow-burn nonsense, and they still weren’t together. Ever since Paige’s rehab program technically ended last week, Azzi had been moping around the upper office all day. She didn't come down to the clinic floor anymore, she didn't help out with stretching, and worst of all, she had stopped bringing the daily iced coffees.

Caroline had watched enough "your daily $7 coffee could pay for your car down payment" financial freedom videos on TikTok to realize she had to take immediate action. She needed her daily caffeine fix subsidized by Azzi Fudd; who was her best friend, yes, but also her boss, and significantly wealthier than her.

So, Caroline had sought out the most annoying, finance-bro type guy she could find on Hinge, knowing he would certainly have an equally annoying best friend. Boom. One dinner with them, and Azzi would remember she actually completely hates men, causing her finally run into Paige’s arms.

It was a great plan, but it was going even better than expected. First of all, Caroline didn’t even have to beg Azzi much to agree to the setup. Actually, she hadn’t had to beg at all.

And now, the universe had delivered a perfect bonus: Paige was standing right here, holding coffee, looking like a deer that didn’t know it was about to be run over. Caroline’s inner demon, who definitely watched too many Spanish soap dramas, rejoiced. It was time to rub Azzi’s upcoming date all over Paige’s face, and speed up her confession.

Caroline turned around, flashing Paige a massive, innocent smile. “Oh, nothing! Just that Azzi’s letting me set her up on a blind double date with a guy this Friday!” She looked back and forth between them. “I think it’s a great idea, right? Unless... anybody has any particular reason why Azzi shouldn’t go?”

Paige’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. She looked at Azzi, her blue eyes flashing with a mix of hurt, panic, and sheer disbelief. But instead of cracking, Paige’s defense kicked right back in. She slapped a smirk onto her face, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

“Azzi should definitely go,” Paige said, her voice dripping with artificial amusement as she walked past Caroline and placed the iced coffees onto Azzi’s desk. “I mean, honestly? I think it would be hard for her ass to score a date on her own anyway.”

————————

“Nika, I need you to kill Caroline!” Paige yelled into the phone, the moment she burst through the doors of the clinic.

“I’m a performance coach, Paige, not a hitman. But honestly I could totally see that as like a true crime episode you know, like a tennis racket serial killer, but anyways what the fuck did Caroline do to you?”

“She ruined my life!” Paige groaned, dropping into her car seat and dropping her forehead to her steering wheel. “I went into the clinic. I had coffee. I was literally two seconds away from asking Azzi to grab lunch with me, and Caroline drops a fucking bomb. She set Azzi up for a double date.”

“Okay? And what did you do?”

“I panicked, Nika!” Paige cried, throwing her hands in the air. “Caroline looked right at me and asked if anyone had a reason why Azzi shouldn’t go out with some random guy. And instead of saying something normal, my stupid mouth opened and I told them Azzi should definitely go because it would be hard for her to score a date on her own.”

Nika let out a sharp crack of laughter, shaking her head. “Oh, you’re an idiot. I told you to go there to make her think you weren't a weirdo, not make her think you’re a douchebag.”

“It’s not funny!” Paige muttered, her chest heaving as the adrenaline faded into raw, heavy frustration. “I was hurt. I don’t want to see anyone but Azzi, and she’s just out here volunteering to go out with men? I’m so confused. I was so confident she liked me even if she was a little weirded out recently. She was definitely looking at me in a typa way in my kitchen? She was holding me to, like the full on lesbian U-Haul hug. I know she feels it too. So why the hell is she fucking around and playing games with me?”

Nika let out a slow breath. “Maybe she’s straight, Paige, you never know.”

“No,” Paige said instantly, her tone deadpan, dropping any trace of her usual dramatics. “She definitely isn't straight. There is zero percent chance she is straight.”

Nika raised an eyebrow, that Paige could somehow sense through the phone. “Well, does she know that?”

————————

Azzi was going to kill herself. Actually, no, she was going to kill Bradley, and then she was going to kill herself. Not in a romantic, star-crossed, Romeo-and-Juliet kind of way. More like a ‘you are actually the worst person on the planet and I am doing the global population a massive favor by removing you from it’ kind of way.

They were forty-five minutes into dinner at a ridiculously loud, overpriced restaurant that Azzi could be enjoying if Bradley had not stopped talking about his macro-nutrients once.

“See, the thing about raw egg whites in the morning,” Bradley said, leaning across the table, “is the bio-availability. If you’re not tracking your metabolic rate before your fasted cardio, Az, you’re basically wasting your time in the gym.”

“Fascinating,” Azzi deadpanned, staring at her untasted salmon like she hoped it would magically come back to life and flop on her plate to provide her with some sort of entertainment.

Across the table, Caroline was not doing any better with Bradley’s friend, Chad. Chad was currently showing Caroline a video of his personal record deadlift on his phone, making loud grunting noises right there at the restaurant table for no reason. Caroline’s face had completely lost all its usual mischief, she looked, exhausted, and deeply, deeply regretful.

Azzi kicked Caroline hard under the table. Caroline gasped, her eyes snapping up.

“Bathroom,” Azzi mouthed, her eyes shooting daggers. “Now.”

“Hey, we’re just gonna go to the bathroom for a sec,” Caroline said smoothly, practically scrambling out of the booth.

The second the heavy wooden door of the bathroom clicked shut behind them, Azzi turned around, crossing her arms. “Caroline these aren’t just finance bros, they’re finance bodybuilding bros, this is a whole nother level of douchebagness, what the hell were you thinking?"

Caroline collapsed against the marble sink, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I swear his Hinge profile said he worked in capital ventures! I didn't know they were also competitive bodybuilders, Azzi, I swear to god!”

“The man asked the waiter if the kitchen could weigh his broccoli,” Azzi hissed.

“Let’s just go back out there, pretend I got a fake text from my landlord about a pipe bursting or something, and dip. Deal?”

Azzi let out a long, defeated sigh, rubbing her forehead. “Fine. Let’s go.”

They walked back out into the dimly lit, chaotic restaurant corridor. Azzi was so busy mentally rehearsing the excuse they came up with in the bathroom that she didn't notice the freshly mopped tile right near the kitchen doors. There was no yellow caution sign.

Her foot hit the slick sheen of water that probably had some remnants of soap left which made it extremely slippery.

Snap.

A sudden, agonizing burst of white-hot pain shot straight up her left leg. Azzi’s eyes widened, a sharp gasp catching in her throat as her balance completely vanished. She barely caught the edge of a nearby service station with her hand before she landed completely on the ground, her right ankle rolling completely inward.

“Oh, nice,” Caroline whispered, immediately leaning down and grabbing Azzi’s arm. She was smiling, keeping her voice low for the passing waiters. “Commit to the bit, I love it. Tell them you think you broke it so we can leave right now.”

Azzi was hyperventilating, the color completely draining from her face as she clutched the edge of the station tighter. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead. “Caroline,” she choked out, her voice raw and strained. “I’m not acting. I really can’t walk. I can't move it.”

Caroline’s smile dropped instantly. Her eyes darted to Azzi’s foot, which was already beginning to visibly swell against her flats. “Oh shit. Oh, shit. Okay. Okay, don't move.”

After settling her on a nearby chair, Caroline scrambled back to the dining room, and came back with the most logical, but equally disgusting solution. Bradley and Chad loomed over Azzi, both looking like handsome squidward in a tight polo shirt.

“We got a downed athlete!” Bradley announced loudly, causing three tables of diners to turn around. He looked down at Azzi with intense, professional seriousness. “We need to transport her to a vehicle immediately. Chad, remember we have to preserve our posture.”

“Right,” Chad grunted, stepping into position. “Can’t strain the erector spinae. Friday is lower-body hypertrophy day.”

Before Azzi could even open her mouth to protest, the two bodybuilders hoisted her up between them. Because they were terrified of compromising their lifting form or throwing out their lower backs (which was impossible since they were built like Dwayne the Rock Johnson), they refused to just carry her like normal human beings. Instead, they lifted her completely flat like a starfish over their heads, holding Azzi like the finale lift from Dirty Dancing.

Azzi was suspended six feet in the air, floating above the restaurant, staring helplessly at the ceiling tiles while Bradley and Chad power-walked her past the bar.

“Keep your core tight, Az!” Bradley yelled up at her. “Don’t let your pelvis tilt!”

From five feet behind them, a distinct CLICK-FLASH went off.

Azzi snapped her head around, horrified. Caroline was walking backwards toward the exit, her phone held high, a look of guilt mixed with comedic disbelief on her face as she captured the entire moment on camera.

“Caroline, I will fire you!” Azzi screamed from the ceiling. “I swear to god, delete that right now!”

“It’s for the clinical file!” Caroline yelled back, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. “It's medical documentation!”

When they finally got back to Azzi’s apartment, Azzi was lying flat on her living room couch, biting down on a throw pillow to keep from crying.

Caroline’s playful demeanor was entirely gone. She was in full Lead Physical Therapist mode, her hands gentle but incredibly precise as she carefully handled Azzi’s foot.

“Well?” Azzi wheezed, pulling the pillow away from her face. “Give it to me straight, doc.”

Caroline let out a long, sympathetic breath, sitting back on her heels. “It’s bad, Az. You have a Grade 3 ankle sprain.”

————————

It was now the next day. Azzi was trapped on her bed, staring blindly at the wall, desperately needing the glasses she had left on her desk at the office. The contacts she wore to her date last night were her last.

She absolutely refused to call Caroline. Caroline started looking so guilty last night after she fully processed what happened to Azzi, and it was suffocating; she had spent hours pacing around the living room, aggressively fluffing Azzi’s pillows and apologizing. Plus, Azzi literally could not look at her face without vividly visualizing Bradley, Chad, and the Dirty Dancing lift. The trauma was too fresh.

And it wasn’t like she needed an excuse to call Paige, but Paige really was the only other person besides Caroline who had the security code for her personal office.

Azzi opened FaceTime. The phone buzzed once before Paige’s face filled the screen.

“Hey,” Azzi muttered.

Paige squinted at the screen. “You look rough.” She didn’t say it in a mean way, just honestly, just noticing.

“You look ugly,” Azzi said meanly, her defenses immediately flaring up.

Click.

Paige hung up.

Azzi let out an irritated breath, rolling her eyes as she immediately hit the FaceTime button again. Paige answered on the third ring, her expression completely blank now.

“I need you to do something for me,” Azzi said, getting straight to the point.

Paige leaned back against her chair's headrest, feigning deep thought. “Hmm… let me think about it… yeah, no.”

“Why are you being mean?”

“I’m not being mean.”

“Yes, you are,” Azzi insisted, frowning.

“Because…” Paige started, stopping herself before the words could completely leave her mouth. She couldn't exactly admit out loud that she was still feeling sour and wallowing in self-pity over the whole blind date situation. She cleared her throat, shifting her gaze away from the camera. “Whatever. What do you need me to do?”

“I left my glasses at the office. Can you pick them up for me and drop them off at my house?”

Paige let out a dramatic, breathy laugh, her blue eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Yeah, for sure, definitely. Also, on the way, do you want me to fly to France and pick up a soufflé for you, too?... Why the fuck can’t you get your own glasses?”

Without a word, Azzi flipped her camera and slowly tilted her phone camera downward, panning past her sweatpants to reveal her right leg that was purple and swollen around her ankle.

“Because of this.”

Paige’s entire demeanor shifted in a millisecond. She leaned so close to her camera Azzi saw her forehead in high definition. “What the fuck did you do to your leg?”

“Grade 3 ankle sprain, and back up from the camera please” Azzi said, reversing the camera back to her face. “Can you get my glasses or not?”

“Yeah. I’ll grab them.”

Exactly twenty minutes later, Azzi was sitting on her couch when a loud, thud-thud-bang started, it sounded like it was coming from downstairs directly below her, near her living room wall. Right where the window was.

Azzi stared at her bedroom door in disbelief. No. Paige wouldn’t.

Thud.

Yes, Paige definitely would.

Azzi picked up her phone. The moment Paige picked up her call, Azzi started. “So, I heard someone aggressively banging at my window. That isn’t you, right? I should probably be calling the police, right?”

“What the fuck, don’t call the police!” Paige’s voice came through the speaker, sounding completely out of breath. “Of course it’s me. I’m trying to get in!”

“Why didn’t you just call me to ask where the spare key was?” Azzi asked, rubbing her temples.

“Bro, are you a fucking grandma? Why would you have a spare key outside your house?” Paige yelled over the wind.

“Because I don’t want dumbasses climbing through my window! Get down before you get hurt. I didn’t fix your leg for nine months just for you to get injured doing idiotic shit.”

“Fine! Where's the key?”

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek, a highly specific, evil thought forming in her brain. “It’s underneath the second big stone from the porch. Wait… actually, maybe the fifth one. But it could also be the seventh. Actually, maybe eleven or thirteen, too.”

“Wow. Thanks for such a specific answer,” Paige muttered sarcastically.

Azzi hung up the phone with a satisfied click, leaning back into her pillows.

Outside, Paige let out a heavy sigh, looking down at the landscaped path of large stones lining Azzi’s front walkway. She dropped and squatted down, looking at the rocks.

Paige decided to trust her gut. She skipped the second stone entirely and went straight for the fifth one, tipping the heavy rock over. Nothing but dirt. She frowned, moving back to the second. Empty. She crawled on her knees to the seventh, then the eleventh, aggressively lifting them up, her fingers getting completely coated in dark, damp soil.

She was currently digging around the base of the thirteenth stone, a streak of dirt wiped across the front of her pristine white t-shirt, when a voice broke the quiet afternoon air.

“Hey, Paige.”

Paige snapped her head around, still on all fours. Standing on the sidewalk was Miranda, Azzi’s next-door neighbor. And right beside Miranda was Cookie; the extremely small, chihuahua that Azzi frequently dog-sits. Cookie immediately let out a high-pitched, annoying bark. Paige hated Cookie because the dog was single-handedly responsible for at least four canceled hangouts over the past year, and even when she would convince Azzi that she would just come over and help her dogsit, Cookie was always fighting Paige for Azzi’s attention. Honestly, she didn’t even know how the dog managed to compete (and often win against her), chihuahuas were objectively ugly, and the spawn of the devil.

Paige gritted out a smile. “Hey, Miranda!”

Miranda blinked, looking at Paige’s mud-stained hands and knees. “Whatcha doing there?”

“I was… checking the structural integrity of the soil for the stones,” Paige lied smoothly, slapping her hand against the dirt. “Yeah. There’s a lot of… integrity here.”

“Ohh.”

“Yeah,” Paige sighed, standing up and wiping her hands on her pants. “Um, actually, Azzi is in a pickle. She’s stuck inside with a really bad ankle sprain, and I’m trying to get in, but I couldn’t find the spare key.”

“Ohhh, the spare key!” Miranda smiled warmly, clapping her hands together. “I actually picked it up a while ago to put her delivery inside when she went to Connecticut. I totally forgot to give it back! Here, let me just grab it from my kitchen.”

Paige froze.

What was the chance Azzi Fudd knew exactly where that key was and had done this entirely on purpose.

Miranda hurried back a minute later, dropping the silver key into Paige’s palm. “I hope Azzi’s okay!”

“Yeah… she will be,” Paige muttered, her voice dripping with incoming vengeance, before she remembered something, “Hey, Miranda?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t happen to remember… which stone the key was under before you took it? Just so I know where to put it back when I'm done.”

Miranda tapped her chin. “Ahh, it was the fifth one.”

She had been right. Her gut had been completely right. Paige knew Azzi.

“Perfect. Thanks, Miranda,” Paige smiled tightly, turning toward the front door.

Azzi was lying on her bed, her injured leg propped up on a pillow. The second Paige walked into her line of sight, Azzi’s eyes darted straight to the massive, dark soil stain spreading across the front of Paige’s white shirt. Azzi’s lips twitched violently, her cheeks flaring as she fought back a massive, victorious smile.

“The key wasn’t under the stones,” Paige said, her voice dangerously calm as she stopped at the edge of the bed. “But I ran into Miranda. She said she had the key.”

Azzi’s fake-innocent eyes widened. “Ohhh, right. I completely forgot she took it.”

“Yeah, right…” Paige deadpanned, tossing the glasses case directly onto Azzi’s stomach. “You’re such a bitch.”

“Hey! I’m injured,” Azzi protested, snatching the glasses and placing them securely on her nose. She looked up at Paige through the lenses, her dark eyes gleaming. “You have to be courteous to the patient.”

“Where was the courtesy when I was injured?” Paige countered, crossing her arms.

“Well, you’re the one who calls me a princess,” Azzi smirked, leaning back into her pillows with absolute satisfaction. “So I deserve special treatment.”

“Whatever, bro,” Paige muttered, slumping down into the armchair across from the bed, she didn’t want soil to get on Azzi’s sheets. “How did the princess even break her back…or, I guess, her ankle…then?”

Azzi’s smirk instantly vanished. Her face went entirely blank. Slowly, she turned her head away from Paige, burying her mouth and nose directly into the plush fabric of her throw pillow, letting out a muffled, incoherent grumble.

“What?” Paige asked, leaning forward, her blue eyes narrowing. “I couldn’t hear you while you were eating the pillow.”

Azzi pulled her face out of the pillow just enough to look at her, her voice flat and stubborn. “I said, I’m not telling you.”

“Ohh, okay then,” Paige said, getting up from the chair, taking two short strides and snatching the glasses off of Azzi’s face. “You don’t get your glasses.”

“What?” Azzi’s head snapped up.

“What, what?” Paige mocked.

“Bro, just give them to me.”

“Okay, just tell me how you got hurt.”

Azzi glared at her through her now blurry vision. “Why do you care?”

“I ended my photo shoot early to pick up your damn glasses,” Paige pointed a dirt-stained finger at her, “the least you can do is tell me how the fuck you fucked up your leg.”

Azzi let out a long, defeated groan, burying her face in the pillow one last time before rolling over to face the room. “It was on the stupid double date.”

Paige’s chest tightened, a sour, bitter taste flooding her mouth. The double date. She immediately pictured some ultra-pretentious, candlelight dinner at a place that required a suit jacket. She imagined Azzi wearing heels since that’s the reason she probably fell. Paige hated this random dude even more now. In fact, she immediately started plotting petty revenge. Maybe she’d pull the classic unlimited pizza ordering prank on his apartment. But then again free pizza isn’t really a punishment. ‘What if I order fifty pizzas to his house, and instead of getting mad, he donates them all to a homeless shelter? Then Azzi’ll think he’s like the male version of Mother Teresa, and they’ll get married and make heterosexual, non-IVF babies, and I’ll jump off a cliff.’

Paige forcefully shook the thoughts out of her head, keeping her face blank as she waited for Azzi to continue.

“The two guys Caroline set us up with, Bradley and Chad, they were so annoying,” Azzi said, her voice dripping with exhaustion. “Caroline and I went to the bathroom, and we were talking about how to get out of the mess. When I got out, I slipped and twisted it. Caroline thought the fall was part of my grand plan to get away from them, but then she realized I actually fell.” Azzi’s lips twitched, a look of pure, lingering trauma crossing her face. “And then… Bradley and Chad picked me up by my legs and shoulders and literally hauled me over their heads to carry me to the car, cause they didn’t want to hurt their erector spinae.”

Azzi reached for her phone, tapping the screen a few times before turning it toward Paige. “Caroline took a picture.”

Paige stared at the screen. There was Azzi, looking completely miserable, floating six feet in the air, held up by two men who looked like actual brick walls.

The silence lasted for exactly one second before Paige completely lost it. She fell back into the armchair, howling with laughter, her feet kicking out as she clutched her stomach. “Oh my god! No way! No fucking way, Az!”

“It wasn't funny!” Azzi yelled, though her own cheeks were flushing red. “I was a human barbell, Paige… and stop rubbing dirt all over my chair!”

After a solid two minutes of breathless wheezing, Paige finally wiped a tear from her eye and calmed down. She looked at Azzi, her expression softening as her stomach rumbled, reminding her of the time.

“Did you eat?” Paige asked.

“No, not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t put weight on it for the next week,” Azzi muttered, gesturing to the ice pack. “So I can’t cook right now. And I can’t exactly carry delivery up and down the stairs on my own.”

Paige frowned. “So were you just planning on starving today?”

“No, Carol’s gonna come in like two hours after she finishes work and she’ll bring me food.”

Paige wanted to say, ‘you should’ve called me, I’d bring you food on time for as long as you’d need me to.’

“It’s already two o’clock,” Paige said, standing up and grabbing her car keys out of her pocket. “I’ll go grab food. What do you want?”

Azzi blinked, and then blinked again, and then “hmmmm’d” for at least five minutes, but Paige knew better than to interrupt her; Azzi was the most indecisive person she knew. Finally, “Hmmm. Maybe that Thai place on Kenmare?”

“Kk. You want the fried rice, right?”

“Yeah, the green curry one.”

Paige made a face like she smelled rotten eggs, while heading toward the door. “Of course you’d order the greenest option.”

“Wait before you go, grab some clothes from my closet and change, you’re so dirty”

Thirty minutes later, the front door clicked open again. Paige marched back into the house wearing Azzi’s white shirt and grey sweatpants, the spicy aroma of Thai food trailing behind her. She walked into the bedroom, setting the takeout containers on the nightstand.

But as Paige started opening the lids, she noticed Azzi had a strange, conflicted look of hesitation on her face.

“What?” Paige asked, pausing. “What is it? Are you not craving this anymore? Because I can go get something else, it’s just going to take more time. So can you please try to have a few bites of this so you aren't starving by the time I come back?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Azzi said softly, looking around the bedroom. “It’s just… I’ve been in bed all day. It would be nice to sit on the couch, or literally anywhere else. And I guess I also don’t want to risk dropping food all over my bedsheets.”

“Yeah, shit, sorry…” Paige blinked, rubbing the back of her neck. “I totally forgot about that. For sure, let’s eat on the couch.”

“Okay,” Azzi said, shifting her weight. “Can you pass me my crutches?”

Paige let out a soft snort and puffed out her chest, stepping up to the side of the bed. “Bro, you don't need crutches when you have me.”

Before Azzi could protest, Paige crouched down on the floor right next to the mattress, turning her back to Azzi and tapping her own shoulders. “Ok, hop on.”

Azzi stared at the broad expanse of Paige’s shoulders, her heart doing a sudden, dangerous patter against her ribs. “Paige, you can’t carry me. I’m heavier than you.”

“Bruh, don’t worry, I’m fine,” Paige laughed, shaking her head. “Plus, I’ve been bulking and I’ve gained like twenty pounds, so that’s like… at least fifteen pounds of pure muscle. Come on, get on.”

Paige was an idiot. But Azzi still hesitated for a fraction of a second. The smell of the food was amazing, her ankle throbbed, and Paige was right there, solid and steady. Slowly, Azzi shifted forward, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck and crawling onto her back.

Paige gripped the back of Azzi’s thighs, locking her in place, and stood up with a grunt.

“You good?” Paige asked softly, her head tilted slightly back toward Azzi.

Azzi buried her face slightly into the crook of Paige’s neck. “Hmmm,” Azzi murmured, tightening her grip just a little bit more.

Holy shit, Paige was holding Azzi.

This was probably the closest they had ever been. Azzi was radiating heat where her chest pressed firmly against Paige’s back, and she felt even warmer where Paige gripped the backs of her thighs. Being this close, Azzi's signature coconut-vanilla scent washed over Paige. It was the exact same fragrance Paige caught hints of whenever they walked close together, the same perfume she had asked to take home from her photoshoot last month and may or may not have been spraying on her own pillow every night before going to sleep.

A sudden thought hit Paige: if she could sleep next to the real Azzi, she would never need to spray her pillow again. She could have the real thing right beside her, the authentic warmth that her pillowcase could never replicate, because the perfume was only perfect when it was on Azzi's skin.

Paige mentally shook herself. She needed to lock in. She absolutely could not drop her right now, especially if she ever wanted the opportunity to carry her like this again.

Paige rose up, and in that instant, Azzi remembered something she often forgot: Paige was a professional athlete. Paige was six-foot-one of lean muscle. Paige was strong. Really strong.

Azzi felt Paige’s back muscles contract beneath her chest, heard the low, quiet grunt that came from deep within Paige’s torso, and felt the sudden, firm pressure of Paige's fingers gripping her thighs. Azzi felt butterflies, but this time she let the feeling happen. She was already tired and exhausted with her injury, and being against Paige like this was the comfort she had unknowingly been looking for since she fell. So no, she didn't tighten her stomach like she normally did when she felt like this around Paige, hoping to stop the movement of whatever was fluttering inside of her. Instead, she found herself wishing her staircase had an infinite number of steps, just so she could stay close to Paige like this a little longer.

So much for trying to get rid of her feelings.

When they reached the end of the staircase, Azzi noticed a suitcase by the front door.

“What’s that?” Azzi asked, nodding her head toward the entryway.

“It’s a surprise for later,” Paige murmured, carefully pivoting toward the living room. “First, let’s get you comfy on the couch and fed.”

True to her word, Paige set her down with surprising gentleness and laid out the food. But when Paige proudly pulled a container of plain chicken tenders out of the takeout bag, Azzi just stared at them, baffled. Paige was such a kid. She watched everything on her iPad, drank hot chocolate instead of coffee, and somehow managed to order chicken tenders from literally any restaurant she visited, regardless of the cuisine.

Azzi decided to intervene. She scooped up a massive portion of her own food. “Paige, if you don’t try new things, you won’t know if you like them. Come on, take a bite.”

“Bruh, I don’t want any of that green stuff,” Paige complained, turning her nose up.

“Paige!” Azzi glared at her with full authority.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know you were my Mom.”

“Fine. If you want to act like a kid, you’re going to get treated like a kid,” Azzi deadpanned. She gathered a generous amount of rice onto her spoon and leveled it at Paige’s face. “Here comes the choo-choo train, bitch.”

Before Paige could duck, Azzi clamped her left hand firmly around Paige’s jaw and shoved the spoon straight into her mouth.

Paige’s eyes widened in sheer shock. She sputtered, fighting back a cough as she aggressively forced herself to swallow the bite. But surprise, surprise, it didn’t taste bad at all. In fact, it was pretty good.

“You mean the choke-choke train!” Paige gasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her blue eyes watering. “What the fuck, Azzi?”

“It was good, wasn’t it?”

“It was okay, I guess,” Paige muttered. She chewed thoughtfully for a second before her face suddenly lit up, her eyes snapping back to Azzi. “Wait, Azzi! I just realized something!”

“What?”

“It’s called a ‘choo-choo train’ because they want the person to chew-chew!” Paige pointed excitedly at her own mouth, making exaggerated, chomping motions. “Get it? Chew-chew?!”

Azzi blinked, “Oh, shit. I actually never thought of that.”

“I know.” Paige instantly puffing out her chest, using a ridiculously posh, sophisticated British accent. “You must admit, I am quite the intellectual.”

Azzi couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. Deciding to humor her, she cleared her throat and tried to reply with her absolute best, equally terrible British impression. “You truly are a scholar, Ms. Madison Bueckers. And with that massive intellect of yours, would you please offer me the reason as to why there is a suitcase currently residing at my front entrance?”

“Ahh, a fascinating query!” Paige countered smoothly, gesturing with her chicken tender. “You see, while I was out procuring our edibles –our nibbles, if you will–” Azzi snorted loudly into her rice “I realized just how entirely helpless you are. Quite comparable to a sad, shivering little dog on the street, really. And that thought ruffled my feathers entirely the wrong way. How could I leave a lady in such distress? Thus, I halted my journey, sped back to my own estate, and hastily packed my belongings. All so that I might temporarily lodge with you at your home.”

Azzi completely dropped the accent, her jaw hitting the floor. “WHAT?”

Paige’s theatrical posture melted instantly. She dropped her gaze to her lap, her normal voice returning as she nervously rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m gonna move in for the week. You know... so I can help you. Look after you.”

Azzi stared at her, her face blanking into a deadpan expression. “Look after me? Paige, I wouldn’t even trust you to take care of a plant.”

“Bro, what? I helped you look after Miranda’s dog like ten billion times. And I’m literally the only reason Cookie is still breathing after you tried to straight-up murder her!” Paige sneered.

Azzi opened her mouth to argue, but stopped herself because, unfortunately, it was completely true. Paige was good with Cookie, and she was also entirely responsible for saving Azzi from a lawsuit. A few weeks ago, Azzi had been eating a double-chocolate muffin, and Cookie had been staring up at her with such longing, pathetic puppy eyes that Azzi had actually broken off a piece to give to her, completely forgetting that dogs couldn’t eat chocolate. Paige had literally swatted it out of her hand mid-air before it could hit the floor.

For however childish Paige could be, she was also incredibly dependable. She was responsible.

Azzi watched her as she attacked another chicken tender, and a quiet wave of appreciation hit her. Paige had shown up to her grueling rehab appointments every single day with a massive smile on her face, entirely intent on keeping everyone else’s spirits up. Azzi knew the sheer volume of pressure Paige was under. She knew how ruthlessly the media prodded into her personal life, and she knew exactly how devastating it was to suffer a career-threatening injury right at your absolute peak.

But Paige always smiled.

Sometimes, Azzi wondered if little Paige had smiled like that, too, back when the basketball was taken from her hands and replaced with a tennis racket. Or, more accurately, when little Paige had voluntarily dropped the basketball and picked up the racket, because even as a kid, she already understood what she had to do. Not just for herself, but because of what she owed her family.

It was in quiet moments like these that Azzi was sharply reminded that Paige was older than her. That one singular year between them suddenly felt like a decade. Sometimes, Paige just seemed so entirely solid. So strong, so steady, so dependable.

Azzi looked at her and felt a sudden, distinct pang of regret that Paige had ended up in an individual sport. It was a genuine shame she had never gotten to play basketball, or any team sport, really. Because Paige would have made the absolute best captain. She would have been the best teammate, the exact kind of player every single person would want in their corner when the game was on the line. Azzi wanted her in her corner. She wanted Paige here, living with her. But then she remembered.

“Isn’t Zoe living with you right now?” Azzi asked, her voice dropping as she looked up at Paige. “You can’t just leave your own apartment and move in here.”

“Bro, I don’t even talk to Zoe,” Paige countered instantly, waving a hand dismissively. “I don’t even see her most days. She just stays locked in the guest room, and all I hear is her aggressively yelling on the phone about auctioning off her vintage Chanel bags. Honestly, this is probably good for me, too. I was starting to feel suffocated in my own place.”

Azzi searched Paige’s face, looking for any sign of hesitation, but found none. She let out a long, slow sigh, the last of her defenses officially crumbling.

“Ok, fine. We can be roommates, I guess,” Azzi grumbled, though she couldn't completely stop the tiny bit of relief from seeping into her tone. She pointed a finger at Paige. “But you have to stop bringing up Miranda's dog. You literally promised you wouldn't.” As she spoke, Azzi instinctively glanced around her own living room, shifting her eyes toward the corners of the ceiling as if hidden cameras were recording them, waiting for a reality TV crew to pop out from behind the curtains and incriminate her for the muffin incident.

Seven days later

Living with Paige for the past seven days in one word has been easy.

Paige was a surprisingly good cook. Azzi couldn't help but think back to their first morning together when Paige had asked her how she liked her eggs. Now, eggs were a deeply sacred subject to Azzi; her daily morning omelette was easily one of the things she looked forward to the most, but she had long since accepted that absolutely nobody could replicate the exact, hyper-specific way she liked it.

So, her expectations had been low on that first day when she sat on the kitchen counter, and carefully talked Paige through the steps.

But on the second morning, Azzi woke up to the savory, buttery aroma of vegetables. She called out for Paige, who jogged upstairs and carefully carried her down to the kitchen. When Azzi took her first bite of the omelette, she froze. It was good. Like, really good. There was a perfect ratio of vegetables, everything was diced to the exact right size, and not a single edge of the egg was overcooked.

When a baffled Azzi asked her how she made it so perfectly, Paige had just rubbed the back of her neck, sheepishly admitting it was actually her third attempt of the morning, and that she had forcefully choked down the first two burnt trials so they wouldn't go to waste.

It was the same for the rest of the week. Paige consistently woke Azzi up with breakfast. Then, the second she came home from her grueling tennis practices with Nika, she immediately whipped up a lunch for Azzi that managed to be both healthy and taste even better than what Azzi usually made for herself. Caroline always brought over dinner for the both of them because she still felt guilty about the injury. Azzi found herself missing Paige’s flavours whenever she ate dinner. Paige cleaned up every single dish without being asked, while Azzi, her assistant, sat next to her on the counter to dry the dishes with a towel and stack them beside her so Paige could put everything away.

Most importantly, Azzi found that she could be entirely, brutally honest with Paige whenever she needed help moving around. Experiencing a disabling injury usually made Azzi feel incredibly anxious, but with Paige, it never felt like being trapped in the window seat of an airplane, where you'd rather suffer in silence and dehydrate yourself just to avoid bothering the strangers sitting next to you to get to the bathroom. Azzi never felt like an inconvenience. Because Paige, in all her steady, attentive care, never made her feel like one.

They were equals. Regardless of the fact that, at the moment, one of them needed significantly more help than the other, throughout the entire time they had known each other, it always felt like they stood on completely even ground.

Azzi had recently started to notice how naturally this balance appeared in their everyday lives. Every afternoon, when Paige would finally stumble back into the apartment after a grueling training session, Azzi would be waiting right there on the couch for her. The second Paige was out of the shower, Azzi would pat the cushion in front of her so as to signal Paige to sit down so Azzi could massage her. So what if her ankle was completely messed up? Her arms and hands still worked perfectly, and nobody on the planet knew the specific mechanics of Paige’s body, or her lingering injuries, better than Azzi.

They were equals at night, too. After dinner, they would settle onto the couch together. Paige would be locked into a show or a basketball game on her iPad or the TV, while Azzi sat beside her, lost in a book. Without a single word ever being exchanged between them, the volume of the screen always seemed to exist at a magical, perfect equilibrium: just loud enough for Paige to enjoy, but quiet enough to respect Azzi’s reading.

They were equals in their care, and their love for each other. Azzi knew now with absolute certainty that this feeling was completely un-platonic for her, but she still couldn’t fully decipher Paige. The mere thought that Paige might turn around and do all of this, the burnt omelets, the carrying, the endless, gentle attentiveness, for any regular schmegular Joe or Nancy made Azzi want to physically vomit.

But Azzi wasn't the only one spiraling. Earlier that afternoon at the indoor courts, Nika had watched Paige stretch out a tight shoulder and offered to help.

“If you want, I can massage your shoulder,” Nika had said.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Paige had replied instantly, not even thinking. “If it really hurts, Azzi’ll just massage it later.”

Nika had just rolled her eyes, letting out a loud snort. “Bro, you are so whipped. But fine, I won’t keep your gay ass away from your wife. It’s your last day with her, after all.”

“Bro, why are you saying it like one of us is going to die?” Paige had snapped back defensively.

But inside, Paige did feel like she was going to die. The seven days were officially over. What if Azzi expected her to just pack her suitcase, load up her car, and quietly go back to her own apartment?

Later that evening, the reality of the timeline finally crashed into the living room. Azzi was sitting behind Paige on the couch, her thumbs digging firm, precise circles into Paige's shoulder blades.

“Carol came by to check on me while you were at practice,” Azzi mentioned casually, her fingers working through a knot.

Underneath her, Paige’s entire back locked up, her muscles tightening up and undoing all of Azzi’s hard work. “Oh, yeah? What’d she say?”

“She said I’m good to start putting full weight on it now.”

Paige could have played it safe. She could have said, 'Oh, okay, I guess I'll head home tomorrow then.' But Paige wasn't about to let Azzi go. She didn’t want to live away from her, and frankly, she didn't think Azzi wanted to live away from her either.

She was helplessly, entirely in love with Azzi Fudd. And she wasn't blind, she had seen the way Azzi looked at her while they were brushing their teeth together in the bathroom last night. She had felt the heavy, breathless silence in the room as Azzi’s eyes slowly traced the lines of her body, lingering on the veins in her forearms, moving up to her collarbone, and dropping to her abs since Paige was just wearing a sports bra. Azzi wanted her. Paige knew it. So, fuck it.

Paige relaxed her shoulders under Azzi’s hands, and in a casual, but sure voice said, “Good. Then you can finally start helping me with washing the dishes instead of freeloading off me, and taking advantage of the fact that I’m in love with you.”

Azzi’s thumbs froze mid-press on Paige’s shoulder blades.

For a second, the living room went entirely still. Azzi’s brain scrambled to process what Paige had just said, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of Paige's shirt. Helping with the dishes. Not 'glad you're healed, I'll go pack my shit.' Not 'let me know if you need anything else before I head out.'

Paige wasn't leaving.

A sudden, overwhelming rush of relief flooded Azzi’s chest, so intense it almost made her dizzy. And then Azzi processed the rest of her words: Paige loved Azzi.

Paige loved Azzi.

Well of course Paige loved Azzi.

But Paige was in love with Azzi.

Paige loves Azzi, and Azzi finally knows exactly how.

She gave a hard, intentional shove directly into the knot on Paige's left shoulder, eliciting a sharp gasp from the blonde in front of her.

“Freeloading?” Azzi echoed, her voice dropping into a flat but watery scoff. “Excuse me? I am a renowned medical entrepreneur providing you with elite, luxury-tier physical therapy on a daily basis, Madison. Do you have any idea what my hourly rate is?”

She shifted her weight on the couch, leaning forward so her breath brushed right past Paige’s ear.

“If we’re tallying up the invoice for the last four days, you actually owe me about four thousand dollars. So, if anything, you're the one freeloading off of me and taking advantage of how in love with you I am by using my couch as a physio bed.” She slapped Paige’s shoulder lightly. “But fine. If you want your princess to break her back doing chores, I guess I can wash the dishes. But I am absolutely not touching the pans you burn your test-omelettes in.”

Paige slowly turned around on the cushion, her eyes wide, glassy, and fixed entirely on Azzi's face.

“You love me,” Paige said, her voice cracking slightly as a few tears threatened to spill over her lower lashes. “Not just like me. You’re in love with me.”

Azzi looked at her, the playful armor completely dissolving as she felt her own chest swell. She let out a soft, breathless laugh.

“What did you expect?” Azzi whispered, reaching out to wipe a stray tear from Paige's cheek. “You made it so easy to (fall in love).”

————————

Paige and Azzi fell a lot. Paige had fallen right on her face, incredibly embarrassingly, the very first day she met Azzi. Paige had fallen again when her knee blew out. And Azzi had fallen on a terrible double date, all because she was desperately trying to get over Paige.

But this time, they fell together. And this time, falling felt a whole lot more like flying.

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