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@ferstuff535
☆》 ━━━━━━ ONE SHOTS:
Burning From The Inside Out
A recent Amazon purchase, sparked by a wild thought, leads to the best sex Paige and Azzi have ever had.
Two Fucking Weeks
Having two weeks without being able to fuck her girlfriend has never been ideal for Paige, but when she hears Azzi’s reason—or rather, sees it—two weeks doesn’t feel like torture anymore.
Day 1 of trying to reinspire @pazziwoke to finish #StatisticallySignificant
#ViewsFromSouthFarm
The Kindergarten Rulebook (and How We Broke It)
CHAPTER TEN: The Ask
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
contains: former-wnba!paige, singlemom!paige, teacher!azzi, slow burn, mutual pining, suggestive comments, slight sexual content
word count: 7.6k
fic guide
A/N: here’s chapter ten! i decided to add the part abt paige’s birthday gift last minute, so if it seems a bit random and detached from the rest of the chapter, that’s why. hope u like it!
CHAPTER TEN: The Ask
The first morning after the kiss, Paige woke up smiling.
It took her a second to remember why. Her body was still heavy with sleep, and Adeline was still snoring softly down the hall, but then it hit her all at once, like warmth spreading through her chest.
Azzi’s apartment. The couch. The quiet, deliberate kiss that had changed the air between them forever.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, like it had been summoned by the thought alone.
Azzi ✏️📚: Morning, night owl. Were you able to stay awake long enough to shower before bed?
Paige laughed quietly to herself, before rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. She typed back with one eye still closed.
Paige B.: Barely. You should be arrested for how cozy your couch is.
Those three dots appeared almost immediately.
Azzi ✏️📚: Says the woman who claims she “functions best after midnight.”
Paige grinned at that, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
Paige B.: I do. You’re the one who goes to bed like a Victorian child with a candle.
Azzi, who was sitting at her kitchen table with a mug of coffee and both dogs pressed against her legs, actually snorted at that.
She reread Paige’s name at the top of the thread. It was still Paige B., still safe enough, and felt that same flutter she’d been waking up with for weeks. It wasn’t nerves. It wasn’t guilt.
It was anticipation.
She typed back while smiling into her coffee.
Azzi ✏️📚: I’ll have you know I am a responsible adult with a job that requires energy.
Then, after a beat— after considering it and deciding she was feeling bold…
Azzi ✏️📚: Also, just wondering, what are you wearing right now?
She set her phone down immediately after sending it, her heart thudding, like she might get caught by her own dogs.
Across town, Paige’s eyebrows shot up.
She bit her lip, glancing down at herself. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt, sleep shorts, and her hair was wild.
Paige B.: Wow. Bold for someone who usually falls asleep before 10.
She let that sit for a moment. Then:
Paige B.: A sleep shirt with stains on it and old basketball shorts from college. Don’t get any ideas.
Azzi laughed again and rubbed a hand over her face.
Azzi ✏️📚: Too late.
And there it was, something suggestive again. Not innocent anymore. Not accidental. They both felt it.
—
By Saturday afternoon, the rhythm had settled into something easy.
Short check-ins throughout the morning, between cereal spills and dog walks and couch naps.
In the afternoon, Paige took Adeline to the park. She pushed her on the swings, laughed at her attempts to climb the monkey bars, and still found herself checking her phone every few minutes, like a reflex.
Azzi was at the store with a basket balanced on her hip, her phone lighting up again and again as Paige sent updates she hadn’t even really asked for. She wasn’t complaining.
Paige B.: Addy says swings are “boring now.” We’ve entered a new phase.
Azzi ✏️📚: Wow. Kindergarten really changes a kid.
Paige B.: She’s too mature for me already.
Azzi smiled at her screen, picturing it too easily.
—
That night, Paige sat cross-legged on her bed after Adeline was asleep, her hair damp from her shower, her hoodie pulled over her hands.
Azzi ✏️📚: I’m trying to stay up later like a cool person and it’s not going well.
Paige B.: I give you ten minutes.
Azzi ✏️📚: Rude.
A pause, then:
Azzi ✏️📚: What are you thinking about?
Paige stared at the screen, her pulse ticking up. It wasn’t fast, not even frantic, just aware.
Paige B.: Thinking about how you kissed me and then made me leave.
There it was. Gentle and honest, while still being careful.
Azzi swallowed, her eyes fixed on the message longer than necessary.
Azzi ✏️📚: I didn’t make you leave.
Paige B.: You absolutely did.
Azzi ✏️📚: For your safety. Didn’t want you to crash the car from exhaustion.
Paige smiled, warmth spreading low and steady throughout her body. Then, before she could reply, another message came through.
Azzi ✏️📚: You’re kind of mean, you know that?
Paige laughed softly into the quiet of her bedroom. She knew Azzi was just kidding.
Paige B.: Says the woman who flirts with me and then disappears once the sun goes down.
Azzi ✏️📚: God forbid a girl be sleepy :(
Azzi ✏️📚: You’re lucky you’re cute.
Paige’s chest tightened with something fluttery and full.
This wasn’t casual. It hadn’t been for a while.
—
By Sunday night, they were both aware of it.
The way the silence between texts didn’t feel awkward anymore. The way neither of them pretended this was about convenience or boredom. The way the kiss lingered in every exchange, unspoken but present.
Paige B.: I like this. Us talking like this.
Azzi’s reply came a moment later.
Azzi ✏️📚: Me too. A lot.
Paige set her phone down after that, her heart steady and grounded.
This wasn’t reckless. It was intentional.
And they both knew it.
—
Monday morning, the feeling still hadn’t worn off.
If anything, it had settled deeper. It was less frantic now, and more constant. Paige felt it in the way she hummed while packing Adeline’s lunchbox, in the way she checked her reflection twice before leaving the house, in the way her chest warmed every time her phone lit up with Azzi’s name.
Three days wasn’t long, but it felt like enough time for something to take root.
Paige had a pep in her step as she got herself and Adeline ready. Things were going so well for her— despite her emotionally tough week last week— and also, today was her birthday.
She didn’t have anything planned. She felt she was past that point in her life— having a party or getting gifts. She was blessed as is.
But still, she had high hopes for this next year of her life. It definitely seemed to be heading in a positive direction.
The drop-off line at Riverwood moved slowly, as it always did. Parents inched forward, their kids bounced in the back seat, and teachers stood outside with coffee cups and clipboards.
Paige spotted Azzi immediately— as always.
She had on a light sweater, her hair was down today, and her hands were tucked into the pockets of her slacks as she laughed at something another teacher said. She looked… relaxed. Comfortable. Like someone who’d slept well and woken up smiling.
Paige’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.
She shouldn’t want to kiss her again. Not here. Not now. The thought slipped in anyway, uninvited and persistent.
From the back seat, Adeline spoke up.
“There’s Ms. Fudd,” she announced, like Paige hadn’t already noticed. “She looks happy.”
“She does,” Paige agreed softly.
Azzi turned toward their car as it rolled forward, her eyes landing on the windshield and then Paige. Something in her expression shifted instantly. Not dramatic, just a subtle softening, like her shoulders loosened without her realizing it.
She stepped toward the car before any other teacher could.
Adeline squealed as soon as Ms. Fudd had gotten close. “Ms. Fudd!”
Azzi laughed as she opened the back door and unbuckled the little girl with practiced ease. “Good morning, superstar.”
Paige watched the interaction like she always did— fond and grateful— but now there was something else layered underneath it. Awareness and want. The knowledge that Azzi would look at her next.
And she did.
“Morning,” Azzi said, her voice professional and her smile warm.
Paige leaned slightly toward the open window, lowering her voice instinctively. “Hey.”
For half a second, neither of them moved.
Paige swallowed, then before she could overthink it, she said quietly, “You look really pretty today.”
Azzi froze.
It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Paige saw it. The pause, the intake of breath, the color blooming across Azzi’s cheeks.
“Thank you,” Azzi said, softer than she probably meant to. Her eyes flicked quickly down to the sidewalk. Then to the other teachers. To the world beyond this moment.
Then she straightened, that professionalism clicking back into place like a switch.
“Alright,” she said brightly, turning to Adeline, “let’s get you inside. We’ve got art today, remember? Your favorite.”
Adeline nodded enthusiastically, but not before glancing between them, slowly and thoughtfully.
Paige caught it. The way her daughter’s eyes lingered. The way her head tilted, just slightly.
Azzi held Adeline’s hand, then looked back at Paige once more, her voice steady but her eyes still warm. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
It wasn’t coded. It wasn’t hidden. It didn’t need to be.
Paige nodded. “Yeah. See you.”
Azzi squeezed Adeline’s hand once more and guided her toward the building, resuming her role seamlessly.
Paige stayed put in the drop-off line for a second longer than necessary.
—
That same day, that afternoon, while Paige waited for dismissal to begin, she caught herself replaying the kiss in her head for the 50th time since Friday night.
Her trance was interrupted as the kids and teachers spilled out of the doors. Azzi led Adeline over as always, giving Paige a smile and a wink as she opened the back door.
“Happy birthday,” Azzi said as she lifted Adeline up and placed her in her car seat.
Paige turned her body a bit at that, facing Azzi’s direction.
“Uh— thanks. How do you know about that?” She asked, her heart fluttering as Azzi buckled Adeline in, making sure she was secure.
“Addy told the entire class today,” she replied, which elicited a giggle from Adeline, who was once again— analyzing the conversation like a little detective.
Paige gave Adeline a grin. Of course she did— she thought to herself, then sat back normally in the driver’s seat, her head leaning back against the headrest.
Azzi shut the back door, then stopped by Paige’s window, leaning close, like her words were a secret.
“Should’ve told me. I would’ve gotten you something,” she said under her breath— only loud enough for Paige to hear.
Paige shook her head, but couldn’t help but feel curious. What would Azzi have gotten her?
Before she had time to reply, Azzi spoke again.
“That’s alright. I’ll just have to give you your present another time,” she breathed out, then turned around and walked away— like it was nothing. Like that comment wasn’t alluding to something that made Paige feel warmth between her thighs.
Paige’s heart was racing now. Not wildly, not uncontrollably— but in that steady and alive way that made everything feel brighter. She watched Azzi walk away, watched her crouch to talk to another student, and watched her laugh again.
From the back seat, Adeline spoke up.
“Mommy?”
“Yeah, Addy Bug?”
Adeline’s tone was casual. Curious. Not accusatory, but instead observant in the way children often are when they don’t yet know what something means, only that it’s different.
“You talk softer to Ms. Fudd than you do to other grown-ups.”
Paige blinked. Oh. She glanced at the rearview mirror and met her daughter’s blue eyes. Thoughtful, unbothered, and watching— all at once.
“Oh,” Paige said carefully. “Do I? I didn’t notice.”
Adeline shrugged. “Mhm. And Ms. Fudd smiles at you a lot.”
Paige’s chest tightened. Not with fear, but with awareness.
“Well,” she said lightly, pulling the car forward as the line moved, “Maybe I’m easy to smile at.”
Adeline seemed satisfied with that answer. For now.
As Paige drove away, she took a few deep breaths to calm down her heart— and now, thanks to her daughter, her spiraling mind.
They weren’t hiding how much they liked each other anymore. Not at all, really. They were just… containing it, or at least trying to.
—
Later that night, Paige and Adeline baked a cake together for Paige’s birthday.
It was simple, just a boxed vanilla mix with vanilla frosting and a reckless amount of rainbow sprinkles. Adeline insisted on mixing the batter herself, on cracking the eggs (badly), and begged to lick the spoon afterward. Paige let her. Some things were worth the mess.
They stuck a few crooked candles into the finished cake, turned off the kitchen lights, and Adeline sang Happy Birthday at the top of her lungs, clapping wildly when she finished.
“Happy birthday, Mommy,” she said, leaning up to press a sticky kiss to Paige’s cheek.
Paige closed her eyes for a second, letting the moment settle into her chest. These were the moments— the quiet, ordinary ones— that made everything else feel survivable.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” she said, wrapping an arm around Adeline’s shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze.
After bath time and bedtime stories, Paige had the house to herself. She showered, tugged on boxers and a soft and worn T-shirt, and turned off the lights before climbing into bed.
She checked her phone out of habit more than expectation.
Azzi hadn’t texted much that evening. Paige wasn’t upset. She knew Azzi’s nights were often swallowed by lesson plans and grading, but she still missed her. Which was ridiculous, considering they’d seen each other just hours earlier at pickup. Sue her.
She sighed, reaching over to plug her phone up and place it on the bedside table, when suddenly, her phone vibrated.
Paige turned her phone back towards herself, a smile forming on her lips when she read the name on the screen.
Miracles never cease.
Azzi ✏️📚: Sorry I haven’t been texting
Azzi ✏️📚: Been lesson planning all evening
Paige smiled at her screen, waiting to reply, because those three dots were still there, showing that Azzi was typing something else.
Azzi ✏️📚: How was your birthday?
Paige turned on her side to reply, her thumbs tapping across the keyboard.
Paige B.: No problem. I assumed you were busy with teacher duties 🤓
Paige B.: And it was good. Addy and I baked a cake. I’ve become a lot more content with simple celebrations.
She patiently waited for a reply from Azzi, the seconds feeling like hours. It was honestly unhealthy how desperate she was for attention from this woman.
Azzi ✏️📚: Ah, I see. Well, that’s unfortunate.
Paige’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Unfortunate? What did Azzi mean by that?
Just before she could reply, another text came through.
Azzi ✏️📚: I was gonna send you smth as a little birthday gift😉
Paige sat up so fast she nearly pulled a muscle.
Her mind short-circuited. Was going to? What kind of gift? Why the past tense? Was she flirting again, or was Paige just projecting because she was embarrassingly— okay, extremely— attracted to this woman?
Paige B.: Ah come on😫
Paige B.: You gotta show me now. My curiosity will drive me crazy
Across town, Azzi was relaxing in the bathtub, her eyes scanning her phone screen as Paige’s replies came through. She had her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, and her mind was thinking up some very not-appropriate-totally-risky-definitely-not-professional ideas.
Ever since the kiss, everything felt heightened. The texts. The looks. The quiet ache that had taken up residence under her ribs.
She wanted Paige. In more ways than one.
She’d known exactly what she was doing earlier at pickup when she’d mentioned a birthday gift. She couldn’t leave Paige hanging now— not when the tension between them was already wound so tight.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Azzi opened her camera and lifted her arm, snapping a few photos. Some caught her face. Some didn’t. Some were modestly obscured by bubbles; others… less so.
Her pulse raced as she scrolled through them, finally selecting one.
This was a jump. A big one. They’d kissed, flirted, danced around the edges of desire, but this was undeniable. Vulnerable. Risky.
Azzi stared at the screen for a few seconds longer, then attached the photo to the thread. She double-checked the contact— Paige B., thank God— and hit send.
No caption.
She locked her phone and set it face down on the edge of the tub, exhaling sharply.
“Fuck,” she muttered to herself.
Back at Paige’s, the woman was still sitting up in her bed, back against the headboard. It had been a good few minutes since Azzi texted her.
Maybe she fell asleep, Paige thought to herself, but then, all of a sudden, a photo came through.
Paige almost fell off the edge of the bed.
It was Azzi, reclined in the bathtub, hair wet and dark against her skin, bubbles clinging to her in a way that felt both teasing and generous. Her face was fully in frame, lips parted slightly, eyes heavy-lidded and unmistakably aware of the effect she was having.
Paige’s breath hitched.
She zoomed in without thinking, starting at Azzi’s face and working her way down slowly and deliberately. Her heart pounded. Her skin felt too warm, like she couldn’t get comfortable no matter how much she shifted.
Paige swallowed thickly as she made it down Azzi’s neck, across her collarbone and shoulders. She knew what was next.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she looked at Azzi’s breasts. There was no doubt about it now: Azzi Fudd was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. It felt unfair. Cosmically cruel.
Her breath came out in slow exhales, because she was trying to keep herself from hyperventilating and passing out.
She stared at Azzi’s chest for far too long. Then, she took her time to look at Azzi’s stomach, too. Paige then realized that Azzi was pure muscle. This woman deserved to be worshipped.
Eventually, Paige remembered she was supposed to respond.
Paige B.: I’m sorry, this number cannot be reached. The owner of this phone HAS DIED
Paige B.: Are you insane? No warning or anything? Oh my God
Paige B.: Azzi. AZZI FUDD. You are gorgeous
Paige B.: Best birthday gift I’ve ever received.
Paige’s thumbs were moving across the keyboard with no end in sight. She had so much she wanted to say— so much she wanted to do. Jesus Christ.
Azzi ✏️📚: Oh wow okay
Azzi ✏️📚: You are gayer than I thought Paige Bueckers
Azzi ✏️📚: And thank you ☺️
Paige let out a breathy chuckle at Azzi’s reply, tonguing at her cheek. She wasn’t even going to argue with that.
Paige B.: If me appreciating how sexy you are makes me gay then guilty as charged. Number one dyke right here!
Paige B.: #iloveboobies
Paige B.: But seriously… you’re so beautiful. My eyes have been blessed. TYJ 🙏🏼
Azzi chuckled in the tub, warmth spreading through her chest as the messages came in. She wasn’t scared of Paige’s reaction— she’d known this would land— but she was acutely aware of how real this was becoming.
Vulnerability always was.
Azzi ✏️📚: Hehe, I just hadddd to get you something 😋
Azzi ✏️📚: And there’s more where that came from…
Paige stared at the screen, wide awake now, pulse humming.
They texted for another hour— no more pictures, just words, teasing and laughter and the slow deepening of something that already felt important. Paige fell asleep smiling, her phone warm in her hand.
She really, really liked this woman.
And somewhere across town, Azzi drifted off with the same thought echoing softly in her mind.
—
A few weeks went by.
Things were going well— really well. Too well, almost, in a way that made Azzi occasionally pause and take stock.
They still hadn’t labeled anything. Neither of them felt rushed to. Whatever this was, it was unfolding at its own pace.
The texts had deepened, though. They were openly flirtatious, occasionally dipping into something undeniably sexual. Just pictures, nothing in-person yet, but it was obvious where it was heading. Eventually. When there was time. When life— kids, teaching, rec games, mid-year benchmarks— stopped pulling them in a dozen different directions.
Until then, they took what they could get.
Quick check-ins. Winks at drop-off and pickup. The occasional late-night phone call when texting felt insufficient.
Paige liked hearing Azzi’s voice in her ear. Azzi liked knowing that.
It wasn’t until the first week of November that something happened.
It was a Wednesday morning. Math time.
Azzi had her students working quietly on a worksheet. Simple ten frames, count the objects, write the number underneath. The kind of assignment that allowed her to circulate, crouching beside desks, offering praise and gentle corrections.
She’d just finished helping a little boy fix his backwards three when she felt a small tap against her arm.
Azzi turned, smiling automatically.
“Yes, Miss Adeline?” she said warmly. “Do you need some help?”
She crouched beside her, already reaching for the paper, but Adeline didn’t hand it over.
Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her eyes bright and curious in that way kids had when they thought they were asking something very important.
“Ms. Fudd,” she said, voice clear as day, “do you have a crush on my mommy?”
Azzi froze.
Not outwardly— she was too practiced for that— but something inside her stuttered hard. The classroom noise dimmed, and it was replaced by the rush of her own heartbeat.
There were nineteen other five-year-olds in the room.
She didn’t know what to say. Not really. Not to that.
She and Paige had talked briefly about how perceptive Adeline was. Azzi knew this moment would probably come someday. She just hadn’t expected it to happen between ten frames and number lines.
She reached for the safest place she could land.
“Well,” Azzi said carefully, keeping her voice light, steady, professional, “your mommy is very special, Addy.”
She rested a reassuring hand on Adeline’s back.
Adeline beamed at that, clearly pleased with the answer, and to Ms. Fudd’s relief, didn’t press any further.
“Okay,” Azzi continued gently. “Let’s head back to your seat, yeah? I want to check your worksheet. I bet you nailed it.”
She walked Adeline back to her chair, waited until the girl was focused again, then returned to her desk to take a moment. Only then did Azzi inhale deeply.
She sat still for a moment, her hands folded, her gaze unfocused.
She wasn’t ashamed. That wasn’t it. She was shaken because this was real. Because this wasn’t just flirting anymore, or stolen moments, or late-night texts. This involved a child she cared about deeply. A child who trusted her. A child who was her student.
Azzi glanced across the room at Adeline, who was giggling at something Lucy whispered to her, pencil tapping against the desk.
The truth settled heavy and unavoidable in her chest.
This couldn’t stay unspoken. Not with a child involved. Not like this.
—
Azzi didn’t mention the situation to Paige at dismissal.
There hadn’t been time to. The pick-up line was too public and too rushed, and Adeline didn’t need to be anywhere near that conversation. So Azzi filed it away, even though it sat heavy in her chest for the rest of the afternoon.
She went home, ate dinner without tasting much of it, laid out materials for the next day, triple-checked her lesson plans, and took a shower that was warmer and longer than usual— like she was trying to rinse the nerves off her skin.
Only once the apartment felt quiet, once it felt reasonably safe to assume Paige had put Adeline in bed, she finally reached for her phone.
Azzi ✏️📚: Is Addy asleep?
The response came quickly.
Paige B.: Yeah, snoozing as we speak. Why?
Azzi stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary. This couldn’t be a text conversation.
She hit call instead and placed the phone on speaker, before setting it in her lap and leaned back against her headboard. It rang only twice before Paige answered.
“Hey,” Paige said softly. “Everything alright?”
Paige’s voice was raspy with exhaustion, low and warm in Azzi’s ear. Under different circumstances, it would’ve made her smile. Tonight, it just made her chest tighten.
Azzi cleared her throat, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her comforter as she searched for the right place to start.
“Yeah… yes,” she said calmly. “Everything’s okay. I just… I wanted to talk to you about something that happened today.”
Paige hummed quietly on the other end, attentive now. “Okay.”
Azzi took a breath before speaking.
“This morning, during math time,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “Adeline came up to me. I thought she needed help with her worksheet. She asked me if I had a crush on you.”
There was silence. Not shocked silence, and not angry silence. Just… some processing.
“Oh,” Paige finally said, exhaling through the phone. “Wow.”
“That doesn’t really surprise me,” Paige added after a beat. “She’s been… noticing things. Little comments here and there. Asking why I smile when your name comes up. Stuff like that.”
Azzi closed her eyes briefly before responding.
“I handled it as gently and neutrally as I could,” she said. “I didn’t confirm anything. I redirected her. But—” She hesitated, then pushed on. “It made something really clear to me.”
“I care about you,” Azzi said plainly. “And I care about Adeline. Like, a lot. She’s my student, Paige. And I take that very seriously.”
“I know,” Paige said quietly.
“I can’t move forward like this,” Azzi continued, not unkindly, but firmly, “without knowing she’s okay. Without knowing she understands, at least in an age-appropriate way, what’s happening. I won’t risk breaking trust. Not hers, or yours.”
Paige was quiet again, but this time there was something warm in it. Something understanding.
“I get that,” Paige said. “I really do.”
Azzi swallowed, her heart thudding a little harder now.
“I just need to know she’s okay,” Azzi said, her voice soft but unwavering, “before I let myself go any further.”
That was the line she’d been circling all evening.
Paige let out a slow breath. “Honestly? I’m glad you said something. I was already thinking I needed to talk to her. I just… didn’t know how soon.”
Azzi’s shoulders relaxed slightly. Paige didn’t seem upset, and that made her feel better about this whole thing.
“I don’t want to rush you,” Azzi said. “And I’m not going anywhere. If she’s okay with it, we can pick up where we left off. I just needed to be clear about my boundary.”
“I respect that,” Paige replied. “And for what it’s worth— thank you. For caring about her like that. I’ll talk to her, I promise.”
Azzi smiled faintly to herself. “Of course,” she said. “She’s important to me. You both are.”
The silence that followed wasn’t tense this time. It felt intentional and grounded. They weren’t in any way stopping what they had going on, they were just choosing to do this the right way.
—
Paige completely understood where Azzi was coming from.
Azzi was professional. She had limits and boundaries, and that was something Paige admired deeply. That phone call had shown Paige a lot about her. About how she was willing to put her desire on pause to make sure Adeline was okay. To make sure no trust was broken. That really mattered, a lot.
So, Paige decided to talk to Adeline the very next night, right before bed.
Adeline had been fed and bathed, and her pajamas were already on. They’d just finished a bedtime story. It was one Paige had read so many times she could recite it from memory.
Adeline scooted under her covers like she always did, cutely snuggling into her pillow. Paige, however, didn’t get up to turn off the light just yet.
“Hey, Addy Bug,” she said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently stroking her fingers through Adeline’s red hair. “Is it okay if I talk to you about something real quick before you go to sleep?”
Adeline nodded immediately, her blue eyes locking onto Paige’s. “Sure, Mommy.”
Paige took a slow breath. This was big, but it didn’t have to be heavy. She had to do this right. Not too much, but also not too little. Honest and safe.
“So,” Paige began gently, “you know how you sometimes tell me that I get really happy around Ms. Fudd?”
Adeline nodded.
“And how you’ve said that Ms. Fudd smiles at me a lot at school?”
Another nod.
“Well,” Paige continued, her voice staying warm and steady, “Ms. Fudd told me about something you asked her yesterday. About a crush.”
Adeline shifted slightly, but she didn’t look embarrassed or guilty. She just looked curious.
“I asked her if she has a crush on you, Mommy,” she said simply.
Paige smiled faintly in response. “I know. And that’s okay.”
She took a second, her thumb brushing gently across Adeline’s temple as she carefully chose her words.
“Well… Mommy likes Ms. Fudd. A lot. And Ms. Fudd likes Mommy, too.”
She paused, watching Adeline carefully, just to make sure she wasn’t overwhelmed.
Adeline’s face scrunched in thought almost immediately. “Like… like like?” she asked.
Paige nodded. “Yeah. Like like.”
That opened the floodgates.
“Do you love Ms. Fudd?”
“Is that why she smiles at you?”
“Is she gonna be my extra mommy?”
“Will you marry her?”
“Is she coming to live with us?”
Paige’s chest tightened. Not with fear, but with how big those questions were coming from such a small body. She answered the way she thought Azzi would’ve wanted her to. Gently and clearly, and without making promises she couldn’t keep.
“Mommy and Ms. Fudd care about each other,” Paige said. “And we like spending time together. Sometimes adults like other adults, and that’s okay. But nothing about our life is changing right now, alright? No one’s getting married. No one’s moving in. It’s still just you and me at home. School stays the same. Bedtime stays the same.”
She squeezed Adeline’s hand.
“I wanted to tell you because you’re important to me. And because we don’t keep secrets in our family. That didn’t feel right.”
Adeline went quiet. For a full thirty seconds, she didn’t say anything. She just stared at her blanket, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. Paige resisted every instinct to rush her.
Finally, Adeline looked up. “Well,” she said slowly, “I love Ms. Fudd. And I love you. So, if you like each other… I think that’s okay.”
Paige smiled, brushing a kiss against Adeline’s forehead. She was proud of Addy for being so emotionally open with her.
“I’m really glad you told me how you feel,” she said softly. “And just so you know, this doesn’t change how much I love you. Nothing ever will.”
Adeline nodded, already relaxing back into her pillow. “Okay.”
As Paige stood and turned off the light, she realized something settled deep in her chest. This didn’t threaten her family. Instead, it expanded it.
This was another person who cared about Adeline. Another safe place for her. Another set of hands to love her kid.
And that— Paige knew— could only ever be a good thing.
—
Paige took a shower and let the water run hotter than necessary, like she was trying to rinse the weight of the evening off her shoulders. When she finally climbed into bed, her hair damp and pulled back, she reached for her phone without even thinking about it.
She stared at Azzi’s name for a moment before typing.
Paige B.: You awake?
Azzi ✏️📚: Yeah. Wanna talk?
Instead of texting back, Paige hit the call button. It rang once.
“Hey,” Azzi answered softly.
Paige shifted onto her side, phone tucked against her ear. “Hey. I talked to Addy tonight.”
Azzi inhaled on the other end, sharp enough for Paige to hear it. “Yeah?” she asked carefully.
“Yeah,” Paige said. “I told her about you and I. About us.”
There was another pause, which was longer this time. “And?” Azzi asked.
Paige smiled into her pillow. “She was confused. Asked about one hundred questions. She thought you might become her extra mom.”
Azzi let out a soft and nervous laugh. “That tracks.”
“But,” Paige continued, her voice gentler now, “she’s okay with it. She said she loves you, and she loves me… so she thinks it’s a good thing.”
There was silence on the line, then a slow, relieved exhale. “Thank you,” Azzi said quietly. “I didn’t realize how tense I was until just now.”
Paige nodded, even though Azzi couldn’t see her. “Me too. I didn’t love the idea of hiding something from her. She’s too perceptive. And… she’s my whole world.”
“I know,” Azzi said. “That’s why I was so adamant about it. I couldn’t move forward if she wasn’t okay. It didn’t feel right.”
Paige swallowed. “I feel a lot more at peace now. Like— whatever this becomes, it’s not a secret. She’s not shut out.”
“Paige,” Azzi said softly, “you handled that so well. Seriously. You’re a really good mom.”
Paige’s chest tightened at that. She blinked rapidly, staring up at the ceiling. “That means a lot, Azzi. Especially coming from you. And for what it’s worth? You’re a really good teacher.”
Azzi laughed quietly. “High praise.”
They sat in the shared silence for a moment, and it felt lighter now.
“I’m really glad you called,” Azzi said.
“Me too,” Paige replied. “It feels like we’re doing this the right way.”
“Yeah,” Azzi agreed. “It does.”
Paige ended the call a few minutes later, her phone warm in her hand, her heart even warmer.
When she finally set it down and closed her eyes, she realized something had shifted. So many shifts lately.
This wasn’t rushed, and it wasn’t forced. It was just aligned.
—
They’d planned it on Friday evening.
Not formally and not with any big declaration. It was just a phone call that stretched longer than either of them meant it to. Paige had been half-curled on her couch while Azzi paced her apartment, the dogs circling her ankles. Adeline had chimed in too— popped her head into the conversation long enough to ask if Ms. Fudd liked board games and if she could bring some books from class.
By the end of the call, it was settled. Saturday night, after dinner, nothing fancy, just a cozy night and some time together.
Azzi stood outside Paige’s door at exactly six forty-five, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket like she needed somewhere to put the nerves. She’d changed outfits twice before leaving. She abandoned the idea of looking nice and landed on something comfortable instead— soft joggers, a long-sleeve shirt, and sneakers she could slip off easily.
This somehow felt heavier than a date.
She knocked once and the door opened almost immediately.
Paige stood there in worn sweatpants and a hoodie, hair pulled back loosely, her face natural in a way that made Azzi’s chest tighten. This was Paige at home, like, completely unguarded.
“Hey,” Paige said, smiling like she’d been waiting all day.
“Hey,” Azzi replied, her voice softer than she meant for it to be.
Before anything else could happen, a small blur appeared at Paige’s side.
“Ms. Fudd!” Adeline squealed, already bouncing on her toes.
Azzi laughed, the sound easing something in her chest. “Hi, Addy.”
Adeline took her hand without hesitation and tugged her inside like this was already routine. Azzi let herself be pulled and kicked her shoes off at the door. Her nerves melted into something gentler as she stepped into Paige and Adeline’s space.
The house felt lived-in and warm. There were toys tucked neatly into corners, a faint vanilla smell in the air, and a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. It didn’t feel staged at all. It felt so real.
Paige locked the door behind them and watched Azzi take it all in. She fits here, Paige thought, surprised by how immediate and steady the feeling was. Not in a way that felt rushed, but instead, just… natural.
Adeline was already in pajamas. She was freshly bathed, and her hair was still slightly damp at the ends.
They started with some reading, because Adeline insisted.
Paige went and got a book from Adeline’s room. It was something familiar and well-loved, her voice warm and easy as Adeline followed along from memory more than anything else. Azzi watched from the other end of the couch, smiling softly, already sensing where this was going.
“Okay,” Azzi said when Paige closed the cover, “my turn. But Addy, you’re helping me with this one. You’ve read it before. It’s from school.”
Adeline perked up immediately. This book was a level up from the first, but it was still colorful and inviting, just with more words. Sight words sprinkled through the pages, and it contained short sentences that required attention.
Adeline leaned into Azzi’s side, the book balanced between them. Azzi didn’t rush her one bit. She ran a finger under the first line, slow and steady.
“Take your time,” Azzi murmured. “You’ve got it. Just like we do in class.”
Adeline sounded out the first few words confidently, then stumbled on a longer one. She paused, brow furrowing.
“The m-mouse loves to… to eat… to eat…”
Paige’s instinct was to jump in. She almost did. But she caught Azzi’s eye, and Azzi gave the smallest shake of her head, patient and encouraging.
“Look at the beginning,” Azzi prompted gently. “Remember, we talked about these. That’s a digraph. What sound does c and h when they are beside each other?”
Adeline tried again, slower this time. She worked through it, letter by letter, until the word finally clicked.
Her face lit up. “Oh! Cheese!”
“Yes!” Azzi said, genuinely delighted. “You did that all by yourself.”
Paige felt something bloom in her chest.
They kept going. Adeline struggled here and there— hesitated, corrected herself, asked for help— but she stayed focused. Every time she faltered, Azzi met her exactly where she was, never pushing, but never rescuing, either.
When they finished the book, Azzi glanced up at Paige, her eyes bright.
“She’s been working really hard on this,” she said quietly. “She doesn’t give up anymore. Even when it’s tricky.”
Paige nodded, reaching over to gently rub her daughter’s back in encouragement. Adeline had become such a strong reader in kindergarten so far, and that was a big thanks to Ms. Fudd.
Adeline beamed, clearly soaking in the praise, then insisted they read one more book.
After books came a board game. Something simple, brightly colored, with rules Adeline mostly made up as she went. Azzi followed them without question, laughing when she lost, and cheering dramatically when Adeline won.
Paige watched it all with a strange, steady calm settling in her chest. This wasn’t performative. Azzi wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She wasn’t overthinking her presence or holding herself at a distance. She was just… here.
They decided to wind down after that by watching a movie. It was something short and familiar, one Adeline had watched a dozen times. They all ended up on the couch, Adeline in the middle, Paige’s arm draped behind her, and Azzi’s shoulder pressed lightly against Paige’s.
Azzi was aware of everything. The weight of Adeline leaning into her side, the quiet closeness of Paige beside her, the way this felt domestic in a way she hadn’t fully prepared for.
It scared her a little, but it thrilled her more.
By the time the movie ended, Adeline’s head was drooping.
Paige looked at Azzi, whispering a “I’ll be right back,” before standing up and scooping an almost-asleep Adeline into her arms.
Azzi waited on the couch, her hands folded loosely in her lap, listening to the muffled sounds of bedtime. Water running, a quiet voice, and a door closing gently.
When Paige came back after a little bit of time, she sat down next to Azzi on the couch again, but closer this time.
“She told me she wants you to come over again next weekend,” Paige said, chuckling softly. “We may have created a monster.”
Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut momentarily, then she shook her head. “No monster is that cute.”
They talked for a bit about how well things had gone, how Adeline seemed to enjoy it, and how things felt right. Neither of them felt like they were balancing on the edge of something fragile anymore.
—
They cuddled for 30 minutes or so, softly talking to each other. They had a different movie on now, but they weren’t really paying attention to it. Both of them were more focused on each other.
Paige’s fingers traced idle patterns along Azzi’s forearm, while Azzi’s thumb brushed slow circles against Paige’s hip. It was easy and comfortable. Neither person was rushing, but both were aware of exactly how close they were.
Their eyes kept meeting, and eventually, Azzi tilted her head slightly. Her gaze dropped, not all the way, just enough for Paige to notice. Paige’s breath hitched before she could stop it.
“Hey,” Paige murmured, her voice barely louder than a thought.
That was all it took.
They leaned in at the same time, the kiss soft at first. It was familiar already, like the last kiss they’d been circling for weeks. It deepened slowly, the kind of kiss that wasn’t about urgency— but intention.
Paige had her hands on the sides of Azzi’s neck, her thumbs brushing against the warm skin just below her ears. Azzi’s hands were on Paige’s sides, gripping tighter when Paige sighed against her mouth.
Paige felt lightheaded in the best way. She kissed like someone who had missed this. Like someone who had waited.
After about five minutes of soft exhales and slight moans and lip nibbles, Azzi pulled back.
Paige’s eyes opened, her cheeks flushed, her lips wet with spit. She let herself look at Azzi— really look at her, and she wanted to kiss her again. Right now.
Azzi was beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed too, her eyes were dilated, and her lips were swollen from the kiss.
“Is everything okay?” Paige asked, her voice slightly raspy.
Azzi nodded, reaching out to grab one of Paige’s hands. She gently played with her fingers, her voice just as strained when she responded.
“Yes, more than okay,” she whispered, clearing her throat before speaking again. “I just don’t… I don’t wanna overwhelm Adeline.”
Paige opened her mouth— half a protest already forming— but Azzi kept going, her thumb brushing over Paige’s knuckles.
“I don’t want to rush something that matters. Not that I didn’t enjoy making out with you— because I very much did,” she clarified, which made a smile form on both of their faces, “I just… we both know where that was going. Tonight’s not the night.”
Paige one hundred percent agreed. Even if her body was screaming at her to take this woman to her bedroom right now, Adeline was still present. They didn’t have to speed through this. Stopping wasn’t rejection, it was care.
“You’re right,” Paige replied, her free hand reaching over to gently cup Azzi’s cheek. She didn’t say anything for a second, but then spoke up again.
“Didn’t know you were such a make-out pro,” Paige teased— to which Azzi rolled her eyes.
“You flatter me, Bueckers,” Azzi said softly as she leaned in, nuzzling her face into Paige’s shoulder, arms wrapping around her again— for comfort this time.
—
Azzi didn’t linger when it was time to go.
Not because she wanted to leave, but because this mattered enough to leave well.
Paige walked her to the door, standing close in that quiet and domestic space where the night had settled into something calm. Paige squeezed Azzi’s hand once, a silent thank you, and Azzi squeezed back, the message returned in full.
“Drive safe,” Paige murmured as she pressed a light peck to Azzi’s cheek.
“I will,” Azzi said, smiling. “I’ll text you once I’m settled.”
Paige nodded, watching as Azzi stepped out into the cool night air. The porch light caught her just long enough before the front door closed.
—
In the car, Azzi let herself breathe.
Her hands rested easy on the steering wheel as she pulled away, her chest still warm. Not from adrenaline, not from desire alone, but from something steadier.
The night had gone better than she’d allowed herself to hope.
Adeline had been comfortable. Happy, even. Paige had been thoughtful, open, and grounded in a way that only made Azzi admire her more. There had been laughter, ease, and intention threaded through every moment.
No hiding, no rushing. Just… right.
Azzi realized she wasn’t replaying the kiss in her head the way she usually would.
She was replaying the way Paige looked when Adeline leaned against her on the couch. The way Paige listened. The way Paige chose care without resentment.
That mattered more.
—
By the time Azzi got home, showered, and changed into pajamas, the night had settled into quiet.
Her screen lit up first.
Paige B.: Home safe?
Azzi smiled before typing back.
Azzi ✏️📚: Yeah. Showered and still smiling :)
Azzi ✏️📚: Thank you for inviting me over.
Paige B.: Thank you for coming. And… thank you for caring so much.
Azzi stared at that message for a second longer than necessary.
Azzi ✏️📚: I care about you.
Azzi ✏️📚: And Addy.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then—
Paige B.: I know. That’s why this feels good. Not scary.
Azzi leaned back against her pillows, her phone now resting over her heart.
The desire was still there. It was quiet and patient, yet very much alive. Something stronger laid beneath it.
Trust that was deepened, care that was proven, and a relationship that was no longer hovering in possibility.
Azzi fell asleep knowing this wasn’t something that needed to be rushed.
It was something worth building.
The Kindergarten Rulebook (and How We Broke It)
CHAPTER NINE: Anniversaries
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
contains: former-wnba!paige, singlemom!paige, teacher!azzi, slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, injury grief, suggestive comments
word count: 7k
fic guide
A/N: i did not plan for this to be over 4k words… oops. i honestly think the remaining chapters will all be longer than i intend for them to be. sry if there are typos, i proofread this so fast bc I’m abt to have to leave for work. anyways, i think u all are gonna like this one :)
CHAPTER NINE: Anniversaries
Paige had never been so excited to wake up at 6:30 in the morning.
She noticed it immediately— the absence of dread, the way her body moved without resistance as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Even the pale, early light spilling through the curtains felt gentler than usual.
Adeline was excited too, springing out of bed faster than Paige had ever seen her move on a school morning.
“Is it a school day?” she asked, already halfway to the bathroom, hair sticking up in every direction.
Paige laughed softly. “It is.”
Adeline grinned. “Good.”
That alone felt like a small miracle.
Paige moved through their usual routine on autopilot— helping Adeline get dressed, pouring her cereal, packing her lunchbox and backpack at the kitchen counter. She slid the drawing from fall break carefully into Adeline’s folder, smoothing the paper once, like it mattered. Like it carried weight.
Adeline sat at the table, mumbling something through a mouthful of Froot Loops about being happy to see Ms. Fudd after the quote-unquote five hundred year long break.
Paige smiled to herself as she zipped the backpack closed.
While she was slinging it over her shoulder, her phone buzzed against the marble countertop.
Her heart jumped before she even looked.
Azzi ✏️📚: Make sure I’m the one who gets Adeline out of the car this morning :)
Azzi ✏️📚: Don’t let any of the other teachers do it
Paige let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. Of course she would say that.
She’s excited to see us, Paige realized, warmth blooming in her chest. The thought settled there easily.
Yeah, they’d been texting nonstop all throughout fall break. Paige had learned so much more about Azzi in that short span of time. She had learned about her family, her college experience, why she chose kindergarten over any other grade. About her dogs. Her favorite comfort movies. The way she needed quiet after long weeks.
Paige had shared more too, which still surprised her. She’d told Azzi about Adeline starting out as a foster placement. About coaching at the rec center. About how her life didn’t look the way she’d once imagined it would, and how she was trying to be okay with that now.
Well, she had told her a little bit about that.
She hadn’t told her everything. Not about the extent of her injury, not beyond the surface-level truth Azzi already knew. Not yet. She didn’t want to trauma dump. She wanted this to stay light. Wanted to deserve how good it felt.
They listened to the Tangled soundtrack the entire drive to Riverwood. Paige didn’t even mind it today. Adeline danced in her car seat, kicking her legs and singing loudly and off-key.
Paige realized that she was smiling.
She was third in line at drop-off, which was unusual. She might’ve driven a little faster than necessary. Oops.
When the teachers came out of the building, Paige’s pulse picked up instantly.
Azzi was wearing a light purple sweater and white cargo pants, hair styled into neat French braids. She looked relaxed. Comfortable. Like she wasn’t hiding behind classroom armor today.
Paige’s breath caught.
Azzi found Paige’s car immediately.
She hadn’t meant to scan the line so obviously, but there it was. That familiar grey car. That familiar feeling in her chest.
Another teacher started toward Paige’s window. Before Paige could even process it, Azzi was already moving.
“I’ve got this one,” she said quickly, flashing a smile at the other teacher as she veered off course.
Paige rolled her window down just as Azzi opened Adeline’s door.
“Ms. Fudd!” Adeline squealed, legs kicking wildly as Azzi unbuckled her. “I missed you!”
Paige bit her lip, resisting the urge to say me too out loud.
“She’s been talking about you all morning,” Paige said, twisting in her seat to watch them. “Well— honestly? All week.”
Azzi laughed, genuine and bright, carefully lifting Adeline down onto the pavement. “Yeah?” she asked, eyes soft. “I missed you too, Addy.”
She glanced down at the backpack, then back up at Paige. “You brought the drawing, right?”
Hope crept into her tone despite herself.
Adeline nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! Mommy put it in my folder.”
Azzi helped Adeline slip her arms through the straps, and a sparkle showed up in her brown eyes.
She looked up at Paige then— really looked at her— and smiled so wide her dimples showed.
“Ah,” Azzi said lightly, still speaking to Adeline but very much not. “Mommy’s always on it, huh?”
She winked. Paige short-circuited.
Heat rushed to her face, her heart slamming so hard she felt it in her throat. She stared back, utterly useless, managing only the ghost of a smile as Azzi shut the car door.
God, she’s so cute when she’s flustered, Azzi thought, biting back a grin as she took Adeline’s hand.
“Have a good day, Addy,” Paige called, voice a little too loud. “Love you, baby!”
Adeline waved enthusiastically as she was led toward the building.
Azzi glanced back once, just long enough to murmur, “Talk to you later,” under her breath.
Paige nodded, gripping the steering wheel like it might save her.
When Adeline disappeared inside and Azzi moved on to the next car, Paige pulled away from the curb, her chest buzzing.
She felt warm. Lit up. A little unhinged.
If this was how drop-off was going to feel now— if this was what liking someone out loud did to her— Paige wasn’t sure she’d survive the rest of the school year.
But God, she wanted to try.
—
The week moved forward.
Texting between them continued, but it wasn’t the same as it had been during fall break. Messages came slower now, and the replies were spaced out by hours instead of minutes. Azzi couldn’t really text during the school day, and Paige understood that. Truly, she did.
Still, she felt the absence.
They were relegated mostly to evenings, small windows of time carved out between dinner and bedtime routines. And Azzi usually went to sleep early— which, again, Paige couldn’t fault her for. Anyone responsible for twenty five-year-olds all day deserved the rest.
Even so, Paige missed the constant thread of conversation they’d had during fall break. Missed the way her phone had felt alive in her hands.
They still talked. It just required more patience now.
Evening check-ins became a kind of ritual. Azzi would text once she was home, usually with some commentary on the chaos of kindergarten life.
Paige B.: How was your day?
Azzi ✏️📚: Oh, it was amazing. Splendid, even.
Azzi ✏️📚: Just kidding. One of my students projectile vomited all over the canvas at the art center 🤢
Paige snorted, shaking her head as she typed back.
Paige B.: Addy told me. With lots of detail.
Paige B.: She said it was lime green 😐
Azzi ✏️📚: Oh my God. You cannot make this shit up 🤣
Those moments grounded her. Gave her something to look forward to at the end of the day. Paige found herself timing things. Waiting until Adeline was asleep, until the house was quiet, until she could give Azzi her full attention.
And on the other end…
Azzi felt it too.
The shift. The restraint. The way she had to consciously put her phone down during the day, even when she wanted to reach for it.
She’d catch herself mid-lesson, thinking about something Paige had said the night before. Wondering what she was doing. Whether she was smiling at her phone the way Azzi was.
But there were boundaries. Always boundaries. She reminded herself of that often.
Paige was grateful for the conversations they did have. Grateful for every shared laugh, every emoji, every lingering goodnight. She told herself that wanting more didn’t mean she was owed it.
By Friday afternoon, with Adeline at school and the house quiet, Paige stood in front of the calendar hanging on the fridge, scanning the week ahead.
Her eyes moved absently at first. Nothing on Monday the 13th, rec team game on Tuesday the 14th—
And then she stopped.
Wednesday. The 15th.
October 15th.
The date seemed to darken on the page, like it carried weight the others didn’t.
Five years ago, on October 15th, Paige had been told she would never play professional basketball again. Ever.
She stared at it longer than she meant to, her chest tightening until it felt difficult to breathe.
How did it sneak up on me like this? she wondered.
Usually, the dread started earlier— late September, sometimes even before that. But this year, it had been quieter. Muted. Getting to know Azzi had distracted her in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
Paige pressed her palm against the fridge door, grounding herself.
She wasn’t sure if this anniversary would ever get easier. Her birthday was coming up too, on the 20th, but that didn’t bring much comfort anymore. It felt like another reminder of time passing without the life she’d imagined.
The nights leading up to it were rough.
Sleep came in fragments. Paige tossed and turned, mind cycling through old memories she’d tried to bury. The sound of sneakers squeaking on hardwood. The smell of a gym. The certainty she’d once had.
She woke up tired. Irritable. Hollow.
The weekend passed in a blur of pretending. She took Adeline to the park. They baked muffins. She smiled when she was supposed to. Laughed when it was expected.
She didn’t let Adeline notice.
She didn’t let Azzi notice either, at least not fully. She kept her texts light. Normal. Answered questions without elaboration.
Azzi noticed anyway.
She noticed the slight delay in Paige’s responses. The way her jokes didn’t land quite as hard. The way Paige stopped initiating conversation as often.
Something’s off, Azzi thought more than once, phone warm in her hand as she debated asking outright.
But she didn’t. Not yet.
—
Monday came and went.
Tuesday evening found Paige at the rec center gym, the familiar hum of voices and sneakers echoing off the walls.
Adeline sat on the bench near midcourt, legs swinging back and forth as she clutched a plastic crate filled with water bottles and a neatly folded stack of towels. She took her job very seriously— jumping up every time a player ran toward the bench, offering water like it was a sacred duty.
“Water break!” she announced at one point, entirely unprompted.
One of the kids grinned and high-fived her on the way past. Paige felt a flicker of warmth in her chest at the sight. Adeline loved being here. Loved being part of something.
Paige paced the sideline, clipboard tucked under her arm. She clapped when the team made good plays, called out encouragement, corrected positioning when needed. From the outside, she probably looked fine. Focused, engaged, and present.
But inside, it was harder.
Watching the game always did this to her. The rhythm of it. The speed. The instinctive way her body wanted to move with the play, even as she stayed rooted to the floor.
They won, by a comfortable margin, actually. Parents clapped from the bleachers, and the kids cheered, pulling each other into clumsy group hugs. Adeline ran out onto the court the second the final buzzer sounded, towel in hand.
“You won!” she yelled, beaming up at Paige. “They won again!”
Paige crouched down and pulled her into a hug, breathing in the familiar scent of strawberry shampoo and gym air. “They did,” she said softly. “They played great.”
Adeline nodded seriously, then handed her a water bottle like she was sealing the moment. Paige laughed despite herself and took it.
The drive home was quiet.
Adeline kicked her feet in the backseat, humming to herself at first, then falling silent as the streetlights blurred past the windows. Paige kept both hands on the steering wheel, eyes forward, thoughts heavy.
After a few minutes, a small voice piped up.
“Mommy?”
“Yeah, Addy?”
There was a pause. “Are you sad?”
Paige’s grip tightened just slightly.
She glanced at Adeline in the rearview mirror, catching her daughter’s concerned expression— brows knit together, eyes thoughtful in that way that always caught Paige off guard.
“I’m okay,” Paige said gently.
Adeline didn’t look convinced. “You don’t look okay,” she said, carefully choosing her words. “You just look… quiet.”
Paige swallowed.
“I’m just tired, baby,” she replied after a moment. “That’s all.”
Adeline considered that, then nodded, apparently satisfied. “Okay,” she said. “You can be tired. I’ll help you.”
Paige smiled despite the ache in her chest. “Thank you,” she said softly.
When they got home, Paige made Adeline some nuggets, gave her a bath, then tucked her into bed, lingering beside her just a little longer than usual as she brushed her hair back and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you more,” Adeline murmured sleepily.
Paige knew that wasn’t true, but she let it stand.
Later, alone in her room, she laid on her back staring at the ceiling, phone resting on her chest. A message from Azzi sat unread in her notifications, and for a moment, Paige just breathed.
Tomorrow was October 15th.
She turned onto her side, finally opening the text.
Azzi ✏️📚: How’d the game go?
Paige hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
She could tell her. She wanted to tell her. But the words felt too big for tonight.
Paige B.: We won. Addy was the best water girl there ever was 😊
Azzi ✏️📚: I believe that completely. She takes her responsibilities very seriously
Paige smiled faintly at that.
Paige set her phone on the nightstand and turned off the lamp, exhaustion settling deep in her bones. Sleep came slowly.
Tomorrow would come whether she was ready or not.
And she wasn’t sure she ever would be.
—
As soon as Paige woke up the next morning, she felt like shit.
It sat heavy in her chest before she even opened her eyes. It was an ache that wasn’t physical, but familiar. The kind of dread that didn’t need explanation. Her body already knew what day it was.
October 15th.
She lay there for a few extra seconds, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the house. Adeline was still asleep. The world hadn’t started moving yet, and for a brief moment, Paige considered staying still with it. Letting the day pass without her participation.
But she couldn’t. She never could.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, joints stiff more from memory than age. As she pulled on clothes, the flashbacks came uninvited.
The physical therapy room— too bright, too sterile. The smell of disinfectant and rubber mats. Her knee braced, swollen, aching in a way that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with fear.
Her rehab team sitting across from her, careful with their words. Too careful.
You’ve been so positive during your recovery, Paige.
Your work ethic has been incredible.
You’ve done everything right.
She remembered how hopeful she’d been in that moment. How she’d clung to their praise like it was a lifeline.
But then—
Unfortunately, we can’t clear you to play again.
She could still hear it. The way the room had gone quiet after. The way her ears rang, like she’d just taken a hard hit to the head. Her future collapsing in on itself so quickly it almost felt like whiplash.
Her career hadn’t even really begun. Not the way she’d imagined. And suddenly, it was over.
Paige pressed her lips together and pushed the memory away as she went to wake Adeline.
She went through the motions. Smiled when she was supposed to. Brushed her hair, tied her shoes, poured her some cereal. She hugged Adeline more than usual— longer and tighter. Not because Adeline needed it, but because Paige did.
Adeline didn’t mind at all.
Paige was distant, despite her efforts not to be. Her body was there, but her mind lagged behind, caught somewhere between who she used to be and who she’d become. Thankfully, Adeline didn’t seem to notice. The little girl was still half-asleep, her usual sharp perception dulled by morning grogginess.
They talked in the car about lunch and specials.
“Where do you go today?” Paige asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.
“Music!” Adeline squeaked, already bouncing in her seat.
Paige smiled, genuine this time. Hearing that excitement— seeing it— helped, even if only briefly.
Azzi didn’t get Adeline out of the car that morning. Another teacher explained she was inside making last-minute copies.
Surprisingly, Paige felt relieved.
She didn’t want to face Azzi today. Not when she felt this raw. Not when she knew Azzi would read her like an open book and gently ask questions Paige wasn’t ready to answer.
After dropping Adeline off, Paige went home and let the day stretch endlessly in front of her.
She did nothing. And everything.
She watched TV without absorbing any of it. Forced herself to eat half a sandwich. Sat on the couch staring at the wall. Time passed slowly, painfully, like it was taunting her.
Eventually, she gave in and opened her camera roll.
Old photos. Old videos.
Her in a jersey that still felt like a second skin. Sweat-slicked hair pulled back tight. Her body strong, sure, hers. Clips of layups, defensive stops, free throws— her ritual shoulder shrug and deep breath before every shot.
God, she missed it.
She was allowed to miss it, right?
She loved her life now. She loved Adeline— more than anything. That little girl had saved her in ways Paige still didn’t have words for. She loved coaching. Loved the relationships she’d built. And without the injury, she never would’ve met Azzi.
Good had come from the loss, but that didn’t erase it.
By the time she left to pick Adeline up, the grief felt thick, suffocating.
She thought about Azzi the entire drive to Riverwood. She knew she wouldn’t dodge her at pickup. And she knew Azzi would see her— really see her.
When Paige pulled into the dismissal line, she rolled down her window and drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, nerves buzzing under her skin.
Ten minutes later, the kindergarteners spilled out— laughing, squealing, spotting familiar cars.
Paige’s heart lifted at the sight of Adeline’s smile. That part never failed.
Azzi looked beautiful, too, effortlessly so— and the sight of her still caused a flutter in Paige’s chest, even on a day like this.
Azzi led Adeline toward the car, and immediately, she noticed.
The glossy eyes. The shadows beneath them. The way Paige’s posture sagged, like she was barely holding herself upright.
Days of short texts. Dry responses. And now this.
Azzi didn’t put Adeline into the backseat.
“Hi, Paige,” she said softly, using that gentle tone she reserved just for her. “Adeline had a wonderful day.”
Paige nodded, forcing a thumbs-up. “That’s good. Proud of you, Addy Bug.”
Azzi stilled.
She looked down at Adeline, then back at Paige, her decision already forming.
Azzi felt it settle in her chest all at once.
This wasn’t exhaustion. This wasn’t a bad day or a passing mood. She had spent years learning how to read people, how to spot when a child was overwhelmed, when a parent was holding it together by a thread. Paige had been quieter all week. Distant in her texts. Careful with her words. And now, standing in front of her, she looked like someone carrying something heavy and old.
Azzi had grown fond of Paige without meaning to. The way she loved her daughter so fiercely. The way she tried— always tried. Somewhere along the line, that fondness had shifted into care. Real care. The kind that didn’t sit right with walking away.
She knew she should keep things simple. Professional. Safe.
But she also knew she couldn’t leave Paige alone with whatever this was.
“Actually,” she said quietly, stepping back from the car with Adeline still in hand, “park and come to my room.”
Paige froze.
She finally met Azzi’s eyes, really looked at her. “Pardon?” she asked, her voice strained.
“Park and come inside,” Azzi repeated, gesturing toward the lot. “C’mon, sweetheart,” she said to Adeline, squeezing her shoulder. “Mommy’s going to come get you.”
Paige watched them walk back toward the building, Azzi murmuring something to another teacher as they disappeared inside.
She exhaled shakily.
She’d known this would happen.
Because Azzi noticed.
Because Azzi cared.
And because once Paige stepped into that classroom—
She wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold herself together anymore.
—
Azzi led Adeline back inside the building, her hand warm around the little girl’s as the dismissal noise faded behind them.
She considered keeping Adeline with her, letting her sit quietly in the corner with a book or a toy, but something told her Paige wouldn’t want that. Whatever was going on with her felt too heavy, too personal, to unpack in front of a five-year-old. Azzi trusted that instinct.
She took Adeline across the hall instead, to Mrs. Wilson’s classroom. It was familiar territory, another kindergarten room, warm and colorful, with bins of crayons already set out and a cartoon paused on the SmartBoard.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Azzi said, crouching slightly so she was eye level with her. “Mrs. Wilson is going to let you color and watch Super Why for a little bit, okay?”
Adeline nodded easily, already reaching for the crayons. “Okay.”
“After I talk to your mom, I’ll come get you,” Azzi added, smoothing a hand down Adeline’s back. “You’ll just stay here until then.”
“Okay,” Adeline repeated, completely unbothered now, her attention fixed on the paper in front of her.
Azzi straightened and mouthed a quiet thank you to Mrs. Wilson, who gave her a knowing smile in return. Then she slipped back into the hallway and returned to her classroom.
A few minutes later, Paige came in.
Azzi stood immediately, her chair scraping softly against the floor as she crossed the room and closed the door behind her. The click of it shutting felt heavier than usual— like it sealed them into something private.
Paige looked… wrecked.
Her hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her sweatpants. Her shoulders were rounded inward, protective. Her eyes, which usually were bright and expressive, looked dull and glassy, like she was holding something back with sheer willpower alone.
Something in Azzi’s chest tightened painfully.
She pulled out a chair at one of the student tables and gestured for Paige to sit, then took the seat beside her— close, familiar. The same configuration as the parent-teacher conference. The first time Paige had really let herself be seen.
Paige sat, but she didn’t relax. Her hands twisted together in her lap, her fingers worrying at each other as she stared down at the tabletop like it held answers she couldn’t say out loud.
She didn’t look at Azzi.
Not once.
And Azzi knew, with absolute certainty, that whatever was wrong wasn’t something small.
She angled her body slightly toward Paige, close enough to be felt without being overwhelming, her forearm resting on the table near Paige’s hands. It was the same posture she used with her students when something was wrong— open, grounded, and steady. She kept her voice low.
“Hey,” Azzi said gently. “Talk to me.”
Paige swallowed, her jaw tightening. “It’s… it’s nothing,” she murmured, too quickly. “I’m fine. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry for making this a thing.”
Azzi didn’t buy it for a second.
She tilted her head, studying Paige’s face. The way her shoulders were curled inward, the way she was bracing like she expected to be corrected or dismissed. Something in Azzi’s chest pulled tight.
“Paige,” she said softly, but firmly. “This isn’t nothing.”
Paige let out a humorless breath, her fingers twisting together. “I just… I’m tired. That’s all.”
Azzi nodded once, acknowledging the attempt. Then she reached out and rested two fingers lightly against Paige’s forearm. Not gripping. Not demanding. Just there.
“Okay, but it’s more than that,” Azzi said. “You look like you’re carrying something.”
That did it.
Paige’s breath hitched. She stared at the table for a long moment, like she was trying to decide whether she could survive saying it out loud. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. Fragile.
“It’s today,” she said. “October fifteenth.”
Azzi didn’t interrupt. She didn’t ask what that meant. She waited.
“Five years ago today,” Paige continued, her voice tightening, “was the day I found out my career was over.”
Azzi felt the weight of that land, heavy and sudden.
Paige drew in a shaky breath. “You know I tore my ACL. I told you that part. But… it wasn’t even some dramatic play. I didn’t get taken out on a stretcher. I just—” She shook her head, disbelief still there after all this time. “I hyperextended my leg. One wrong step. I was carried off the court. I had no idea that would be the last time.”
Azzi’s fingers curled slightly against Paige’s arm instinctively.
“I had surgery,” Paige went on. “And rehab. And everyone kept telling me how well I was doing. How strong I was. How positive. I believed them. I really did.” Her laugh cracked, soft and bitter. “I thought if I just worked hard enough, I’d get back.”
She finally looked up at Azzi then, her blue eyes glassy. “And then they sat me down and told me my knee would heal, but my career wouldn’t. That it wasn’t safe. That it wasn’t worth the risk. Just like that.”
Azzi felt something hot and protective flare in her chest.
“My whole future disappeared in one conversation,” Paige whispered. “Everything I’d worked for. Everything I thought I was.”
She scrubbed at her face with the heel of her hand, frustrated with herself. “So yeah. Every year around this time, I get like this. I try not to. I really do. But it’s like my body remembers before my brain can stop it.”
Her voice dropped even lower. “That’s why I’ve been… off. With texting. I didn’t want to dump this on you. I’m sorry.”
Azzi shook her head immediately. “Don’t apologize.”
She shifted closer, her knee now lightly brushing Paige’s. She didn’t pull away.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Azzi said, her voice steady, certain. “And you’re not dumping anything on me.”
Paige sniffed, a tear finally slipping free. “It’s stupid. I have a good life. I know that. I love my daughter. I love coaching. I just—” Her shoulders trembled. “I hate that it still hurts.”
“It’s not stupid,” Azzi said quietly. “It makes sense.”
She squeezed Paige’s arm, grounding. “You lost something that mattered. Of course it still hurts.”
Paige let out a shaky exhale, like she’d been holding her breath for years. She nodded once. Then twice.
Azzi stayed with her. Didn’t try to reframe it. Didn’t offer platitudes or silver linings. She just stayed, her presence solid and unwavering.
In that moment, Azzi realized something with startling clarity.
She didn’t just want to be the safe person Paige talked to at school. She didn’t just want to be the one who noticed. She wanted to be there— in the messy, inconvenient, deeply human ways. The ways that crossed into vulnerability and care and risk.
Paige shifted suddenly, turning toward her.
“Can I—” she started, then stopped. Her voice broke. “Can I hug you?”
Azzi didn’t hesitate. She opened her arms.
Paige leaned into her, slow at first, then fully, her forehead pressing into Azzi’s shoulder as her arms wrapped tight around her middle. Azzi’s arms came around Paige’s back, firm and sure, holding her like she wasn’t something fragile to be handled carefully— but something real.
Important.
Azzi closed her eyes and held on.
—
Azzi hugged Paige for as long as the woman would let her.
She kept her arms firm but gentle, one hand pressed flat between Paige’s shoulder blades, the other moving slowly up and down her back. She counted Paige’s breaths without meaning to. Felt the way they gradually evened out. She made herself a quiet promise not to let go first— not because she was afraid of letting Paige go, but because Paige deserved to control when the comfort ended.
The classroom was silent around them, save for the faint hum of the lights overhead and the distant noise of the rest of the building winding down.
After a minute— maybe two—Paige shifted.
Azzi loosened her hold immediately, stepping back just enough to give Paige space. When she caught sight of her face, her chest sank.
Paige’s eyes were rimmed red, glossy with unshed tears. Her jaw was tight, like she was holding herself together by force. She looked drained in a way Azzi recognized. Like someone who had been carrying something heavy for far too long without setting it down.
Azzi wanted to ease her. Ground her. Make it stop hurting, even though she knew she couldn’t.
“Thank you,” Azzi said softly, her voice careful, “for trusting me with that.”
Paige nodded, swallowing thickly.
“And… don’t be so hard on yourself for grieving it,” Azzi continued. “A career-ending injury is a huge loss. It’s not just a job. It’s an identity. It makes sense that it still hurts, even years later.”
Paige crossed her arms over her chest before nodding again, her eyes fixed somewhere just past Azzi’s shoulder. She looked like she wanted to say something, like her words were sitting right there, but she didn’t quite know how to arrange them yet.
Azzi let the silence stretch. She watched Paige closely, the way her shoulders were still tense, the way her body hadn’t fully come back down. The grief was still there, thick and heavy, radiating off her in waves.
And something in Azzi shifted.
This wasn’t the kind of hurt you just sent someone home with.
“You should come over,” Azzi said suddenly.
The words slipped out before she could overthink them. They weren’t rushed or loud, but clear.
The second they were out in the air between them, Azzi knew exactly what she was doing.
It was a risk. A line. Maybe several lines. She’d already crossed one when she gave Paige her number, another every time she lingered too long at pickup, another with that hug.
Still, she didn’t regret it.
Paige’s head snapped toward her, surprise written plainly across her face. She straightened a little in her chair, her brows furrowing.
“What?” she asked, her voice rough.
“You should come over,” Azzi repeated, steadier this time. “To my apartment.”
Paige blinked.
Azzi exhaled softly, realizing she needed to clarify. She needed to make sure Paige didn’t feel pushed.
“Not tonight,” she added quickly. “But… maybe this Friday? We could just… hang out. Watch something. Order food. Talk, if you want. Or not talk. I just—” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t think you should be alone with all of this.”
She didn’t call it a date. It wasn’t a date.
It sounded dangerously close to one, just the two of them, in Azzi’s space, at night… but that wasn’t how she framed it. This wasn’t about labels or intentions she wasn’t ready to name out loud.
It was about showing up.
Paige didn’t answer right away.
Her surprise softened into something else. Something like relief. Like someone had just offered to take a weight off her shoulders she hadn’t realized she was still carrying.
When she finally looked back at Azzi, she nodded.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Okay. That… sounds like a good idea.”
There it was— small, tentative, but real.
Azzi caught the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of Paige’s mouth. She didn’t comment on it. Didn’t need to. The moment was fragile enough as it was.
“Cool,” Azzi said, making a small tsk sound, half-nervous, half-amused, as they both just looked at each other, like they were standing on the edge of something new and unnamed.
“I’ll text you my address before the week’s out,” she added.
Paige nodded again, her shoulders noticeably looser now, her body finally starting to settle.
They both knew what this was, or at least what it might become. They didn’t have to say it out loud to feel the shift.
Azzi knew she was crossing a line. She also knew she didn’t care.
She had crossed it willingly— intentionally— and she would do it again if it meant being there for Paige in the ways that mattered.
She was choosing Paige anyway.
—
Paige had overprepared.
She’d texted her friend twice to confirm. Once to confirm confirm, and then again to apologize for being annoying about it. She wanted Adeline at home. She wanted her fed, bathed, and tucked into her own bed at a reasonable hour. Paige didn’t know how late she’d be at Azzi’s, and that uncertainty alone made her stomach flip.
In the bedroom, Paige stood in front of her closet and immediately panicked.
This isn’t a date, she reminded herself.
She’d pulled out khakis first. Then a sweater. Then paused, stared at her reflection, and groaned softly.
Who was she kidding?
She shoved everything back and reached instead for sweatpants and her softest hoodie— the gray one Adeline liked because it was “extra cozy.” She twisted her hair into a low bun, checked that she looked presentable but not trying, and decided that was as good as it was going to get.
“Mommy’s just hanging out with a friend,” Paige told Adeline as she pulled her sneakers on by the door. “I’ll be home later, okay?”
She felt bad for lying to Adeline, but dropping the bomb that mommy is hanging out with your teacher— at her apartment isn’t something she could just say without explanation. She would have to plan that conversation later.
Adeline nodded, unfazed, already deep into a conversation about a coloring book. Paige kissed the top of her head anyway. Lingering. Longer than usual.
On the drive over, Paige betrayed herself completely.
Love songs. All of them. The kind she usually skipped because they hit too close to the bone. Tonight, she let them play, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel, laughing at herself for it.
Get a grip, Bueckers, she thought. You’re just hanging out.
Still, her chest felt light. Nervous. Open.
Azzi’s apartment was smaller than Paige expected, but warm. Lived-in. Soft lighting spilled out into the hallway when Azzi opened the door.
Paige barely had time to say hi before she was being enthusiastically greeted by two dogs.
“Oh my god,” Paige laughed, instinctively crouching down as one immediately shoved her nose into Paige’s thigh while the other wagged so hard her whole body shook. “Hi. Hi, hello—”
“Nola, Maggie, manners,” Azzi said, though she was smiling. “They don’t usually do this.”
“Clearly I’ve been chosen,” Paige said, scratching behind Nola’s ears.
Azzi looked…comfortable. Sweatpants, an oversized tee, no makeup. Her hair loose and a little messy. It settled something in Paige instantly.
They ordered Chinese takeout, way too much of it, and ate straight from the containers at Azzi’s small kitchen table until they were both full and a little groggy.
“I regret nothing,” Paige said, leaning back in her chair.
“Same,” Azzi replied. “This is optimal decision-making.”
They migrated to the couch, turned the lights off, then put on a movie— mostly for background noise. Paige kicked her shoes off. Maggie claimed her feet. Nola curled up between them like she’d been waiting for this moment her whole life.
Conversation flowed easily.
Paige talked about basketball— about loving it and resenting it and missing it all at once. About coaching and how it still hurt sometimes, even on good days. Azzi listened without interrupting, offering small, thoughtful comments that made Paige feel seen instead of dissected.
Azzi talked about teaching. About kids who made her laugh. About how tired she was all the time and how much she still loved it anyway. Paige found herself watching Azzi talk more than listening. She watched her hands, her expressions, the way she smiled when she talked about the dogs.
At some point, the movie became irrelevant.
Silence settled in. It wasn’t awkward, not heavy. Just…different.
Paige shifted slightly on the couch, aware suddenly of how close they were. Of the warmth at her side. Of Azzi’s arm resting behind her, not touching, but close enough to feel.
“I’m really glad you came,” Azzi said quietly.
Paige turned her head.
Their eyes met.
Something shifted. Paige felt it in her chest first, then everywhere else. Her gaze dropped, just briefly— to Azzi’s mouth. She saw Azzi notice.
Time slowed.
Neither of them moved right away. It felt earned— this pause. Like the space mattered as much as what came next.
Paige leaned in first. Just barely. Azzi met her halfway.
The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was a little desperate, though. It was warm and slow and sure— deeper than a peck, but overall gentle. Paige felt Azzi’s hand rest lightly at her waist, grounding, steady.
When they pulled back, it was at the same time. They both laughed softly, breathless and stunned.
“Well,” Paige said, smiling in that goofy, flirty way she couldn’t quite suppress, “that definitely wasn’t in the movie.”
Azzi laughed, ducking her head. “Yeah. Plot twist.”
They didn’t kiss again right away, but they didn’t move apart either.
And Paige knew with absolute certainty that this was something serious. This was the beginning of something that would only keep unfolding from here.
—
They stayed like that.
Curled together on the couch, the movie long forgotten, the dogs shifting occasionally at their feet. Paige wasn’t sure how much time passed. Ten minutes. Thirty. Maybe more. She didn’t check. She didn’t want to.
They weren’t really holding hands— not officially. But Paige’s fingers kept drifting, brushing against Azzi’s knuckles, catching lightly on her pinky. Sometimes Azzi’s hand shifted in response, her thumb grazing Paige’s skin like it was unconscious. Like it was allowed.
They stayed quiet for a bit. Both of them were pretending to watch the movie. After some time, Paige swallowed, then spoke before she could talk herself out of it.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” she said softly.
Azzi turned her head just enough to look at her. “Yeah?”
Paige nodded, her fingers still tracing idle shapes against Azzi’s hand. “Since meet the teacher night,” she admitted. “I didn’t know what to do with it then. I told myself it was just…admiration. Or gratitude. Or something harmless.”
Azzi’s jaw tightened just a little, not in discomfort— more like understanding. “I knew it wasn’t harmless,” she said quietly.
Paige looked up at her, surprised.
“I felt it that night,” Azzi continued. “I remember thinking I needed to be careful. That it would pass if I just…kept things professional.” She shook her head, a small, self-aware smile tugging at her mouth. “It didn’t.”
Paige’s chest fluttered.
“So yeah,” Azzi added, softer now, her thumb brushing Paige’s knuckle, more deliberate this time. “I’ve been thinking about it too. Longer than I probably should have.”
They looked at each other— their eyes locked. It grounded them both.
Paige rested her head against Azzi’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing. Her body felt loose in a way it hadn’t in a long time. Not fixed. Not solved. Just…quiet.
At some point, Azzi glanced at the clock on the TV screen.
10:58.
“You should probably head out soon,” she said softly, not moving. “It’s getting late.”
Paige hummed in acknowledgment, her voice low. “Yeah. Probably.”
Neither of them made any effort to separate.
Paige stayed another few minutes anyway, memorizing the feeling. Azzi’s warmth, the ease, the fact that she felt safe enough to want to stay.
Eventually, she stood. Reluctantly. The dogs protested. Nola let out a dramatic sigh. Maggie followed Paige toward the door like she might change her mind.
“Traitors,” Azzi muttered affectionately, scratching their heads before walking Paige to the door.
The moment stretched there. Hesitant and awkward in the sweetest way. Paige shoved her hands into her hoodie sleeves, suddenly unsure what the right move was.
They decided on a hug.
It was warm and lingering, Azzi’s arms were solid around her, Paige’s forehead brushed her shoulder. Paige pulled back first, then hesitated.
Azzi did the same.
They both smiled, a little shy. And then, almost at the same time, they leaned in.
The kiss was gentle. Deliberate. No rush, no uncertainty. Just a soft press of lips that said this is real. That they were choosing this, whatever this was becoming.
When Paige finally stepped back, she felt lighter. Like something heavy had shifted off her chest. Not gone, but loosened.
“Text me when you get home,” Azzi said.
“Of course,” Paige replied.
—
The drive home felt different.
The same streets. The same turns. But Paige’s chest felt open instead of tight. She let the music play again, this time softer, humming along without really thinking about it.
She wasn’t healed.
She still missed basketball. Still carried that loss in her bones. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like standing still.
Professional basketball was her past. It always would be. And that was okay.
This, whatever was beginning with Azzi, it felt like motion. Like possibility.
When Paige got home, her friend was curled up on the couch, half-asleep.
“Thank you again,” Paige whispered, and she meant it more than she could say.
She peeked into Adeline’s room before heading to bed. Her daughter was sprawled sideways, her hair messy, breathing deep and even. Paige stood there for a moment, letting the sight settle her completely.
After a quick shower, Paige climbed into bed, skin warm, mind buzzing in that quiet, post-something way.
She grabbed her phone.
Paige B.: Almost fell asleep on my drive home.
Paige B.: Maybe I should just sleepover next time
The reply came quicker than she expected.
Azzi ✏️📚: Don’t get ahead of yourself, Bueckers ;)
Paige laughed softly to herself, setting her phone down.
Tonight had been just what she needed.
The Kindergarten Rulebook (and How We Broke It)
CHAPTER EIGHT: Threads
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
contains: former-wnba!paige, singlemom!paige, teacher!azzi, injury grief, slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort
word count: 4.2k
fic guide
A/N: happy opening day of the unrivaled season! i caught myself smiling at my phone at times while I was writing this lol. i decided to make some of this chapter azzi-centric, and kind of dive into her past a bit. lmk what u think!
CHAPTER EIGHT: Threads
Paige sat in the car for at least fifteen minutes after the conference ended, her engine still off, her keys resting uselessly in the cupholder.
Her brain was going a mile a minute.
Azzi saying her name— soft, deliberate, like it belonged in her mouth. The way Azzi’s hand had moved up her back, slow and grounding, before settling on her shoulder. The way she’d listened. Really listened. And then— like the universe deciding to be cruel and generous all at once —the fact that she had Azzi’s fucking number sitting in her phone right now.
Wow. Dreams really do come true, Paige thought, letting out a shaky laugh as she leaned her head back against the headrest. She closed her eyes and took a few steadying breaths, trying to calm the frantic thump of her heart.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
Her thumb hovered for a second before she opened her contacts. There it was. The number. The name Azzi had typed in herself.
Ms. Fudd.
Paige huffed softly through her nose, equal parts fond and nervous. Of course Azzi had put herself in like that. Professional to the end. She stared at the name for a long moment, chewing on her bottom lip as she weighed the implications of what she was about to do.
It felt silly. It felt dangerous. It felt like a small, quiet rebellion.
She tapped Edit.
Changed the name to Azzi ✏️📚
Paige exhaled, something loosening in her chest as she hit save. She shook her head at herself, half-smiling.
“I shouldn’t want this,” she murmured to the empty car. “But I do.”
And that was the truth of it. Wanting something— someone— like this felt rare now. After her injury, desire had gone dormant. Not just romantic desire, but desire for life. For movement. For risk. For the version of herself who used to chase things without fear of falling.
Losing her career had taken more than just her body. It had taken her sense of self, her confidence, her momentum. She’d spent so long rebuilding that she’d forgotten what it felt like to be pulled forward instead of cautiously standing still.
This— whatever this was— felt like motion again.
She glanced at the contact one last time, thumb brushing the screen as if committing it to memory, then locked her phone and slipped it back into her pocket with a slow breath.
Not yet, she told herself. But soon.
—
Azzi coasted through her final parent conferences of the day on muscle memory alone.
She smiled, nodded, reviewed data, reassured concerns. She talked about reading levels and social growth and classroom routines with the same warmth and professionalism she always did, but beneath it all, her thoughts kept drifting.
Back to Paige.
Just because she had a crush didn’t mean she got to slack off. She owed every family the same care and attention. So she stayed present, stayed focused, stayed Azzi Fudd, Kindergarten Teacher until the last parent finally stood, thanked her, and walked out.
Only then did she let herself breathe.
She slid the final data folder into the drawer beside her desk and began the familiar end-of-day routine: wiping down the student table, pushing in chairs, shutting down the classroom computers. The room felt quieter than usual without the buzz of children or the low murmur of parents.
Fall break stretched ahead of her. An entire week of silence, rest, and recovery.
As she packed her bag, Paige’s face kept resurfacing in her mind. The way her voice had wavered. The way she’d tried to laugh through the fear. The raw honesty of her vulnerability.
Azzi felt something warm settle in her chest. That same warmth that appeared every time she thought of Paige.
She’d been honored by it. Truly. Paige wasn’t someone who opened up easily, that much had been clear. The fact that she’d trusted Azzi with something so personal felt… intimate, in a way Azzi hadn’t been prepared for.
She walked to the door, pausing for a final glance around her classroom. Everything looked in order. Safe. Ready to be left behind for a week.
She reached up and flicked off the lights.
And then it hit her again.
Paige had her number.
“Oh God,” Azzi muttered under her breath as she stepped into the hallway, locking the door behind her. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”
She knew the rules. Knew the risks. Knew how carefully she’d built her professional life, brick by brick.
But regret?
No. Not even a little.
She tightened her grip on her phone as she walked toward the exit, her eyes dropping to the lock screen like it might light up any second. Like Paige’s name might appear there if she wanted it badly enough.
When would she text? Would she text? Would it really be about school, or something else entirely?
Azzi slipped the phone into her purse, heart thudding softly with anticipation as she stepped outside.
Time for a week off.
—
Fall break began quietly.
Azzi woke to the soft pressure of Nola’s chin on her mattress and the faint sound of Maggie’s tail thumping against the wall. Sunlight filtered through the blinds in pale stripes, warm but gentle. The kind of morning that didn’t ask anything of her.
She laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the slow rhythm of her dogs’ breathing. No bells. No schedules. No tiny voices calling her name from across the room.
She exhaled.
This was why she loved sleeping in and not having to wake up at 6 in the morning. Teaching kindergarten took something out of her every single day. She gave her patience, her attention, her emotional regulation, her calm. Fall break always felt like being handed herself back.
She eventually rolled onto her side, reaching down to scratch behind Maggie’s ears. “Good morning, ladies,” she murmured, voice still rough with sleep.
They followed her into the kitchen as she made coffee, nails clicking softly against the tile. Her apartment felt lived-in but sparse— plants on the windowsill, lesson planners stacked neatly on the counter, a single framed photo of her and her family at her college graduation.
Professional. Orderly. Safe.
Azzi leaned against the counter as the coffee brewed, her mind drifting somewhere expected.
Paige.
The way her voice had cracked in the classroom. The way she’d tried to apologize for crying, like she hadn’t been allowed softness. The way Azzi’s hand had moved before she’d even thought about it.
She closed her eyes briefly.
This was why it was hard.
Professionalism wasn’t just a preference for Azzi, it was armor.
Four years ago, when she’d just started teaching, she’d been reckless in a way only twenty-four-year-olds could afford to be. Fresh out of college with her Masters. Newly hired. Thrilled to be taken seriously. That was when she’d met Amber.
Amber taught fourth grade on another hall. She was another first-year teacher, all confidence and sharp humor and easy smiles. They’d started with lingering glances in staff meetings, shared jokes in the copy room. Then coffee after work. Then texting, which was innocent at first, and then not so much.
It had felt exhilarating. Like permission.
They told themselves it was fine. They were equals. Same school, different grades. Adults making adult choices.
Until it wasn’t fine anymore.
Other teachers noticed. A look held too long. A laugh that didn’t belong in a professional setting. Whispers that followed them into the hallway. And then Amber panicked.
Azzi still remembered the way Amber’s hands had shaken when she said it. I can’t do this. I don’t want to be known for this. I don’t want to lose credibility before I even have it.
Within a month, Amber had resigned. Took a job in another state. Left behind nothing but an empty classroom and a quiet lesson Azzi never forgot.
It hadn’t been a scandal. But it could have been.
And Azzi had learned something then— how fragile respect could be. How quickly perception turned into narrative. How easily something personal could become something damaging.
Since then, she’d been careful. Meticulous. Untouchable.
Teaching was sacred to her.
Not just because it was her job, but because it had saved her.
She’d known she was queer around thirteen. Not in a dramatic, world-ending way— just a quiet certainty that settled in her chest and never left. Her parents had been accepting. Kind. Loving.
But Azzi hadn’t been kind to herself.
She’d policed every crush. Every thought. Told herself maybe it meant she wasn’t as good as she thought. That she had to earn her place through excellence. Through restraint.
Teaching became that place. A space where she knew the rules. Where love was structured and appropriate and safe. Where her care had purpose and boundaries.
And now—
Paige.
Azzi felt it in her body, not just her head. The awareness when Paige leaned close. The warmth in her chest when Paige smiled at her. The way her pulse quickened at the thought of Paige texting her.
This wasn’t abstract. This wasn’t a harmless crush.
She wanted Paige. The sound of her laugh. The steadiness of her presence. The softness she only showed when she was tired or vulnerable.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Azzi’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest before she even looked.
It was a notification from a group chat. One with her fellow Kindergarten teachers. Nothing more.
She let out a quiet, humorless laugh and poured her coffee, her hands steady despite the adrenaline that was coursing through her. Paige could text her at any moment. That was the truth she couldn’t escape.
She took her mug to the couch, Nola curling into her side as Maggie flopped dramatically at her feet. Azzi stared out the window, the world moving slowly beyond the glass.
She wasn’t scared of Paige.
She was scared of what wanting her meant.
Of what lines could blur if she wasn’t vigilant. Of what it would cost if she let herself be human instead of careful.
Azzi took a slow sip of her coffee.
I just have to be careful, she told herself.
She wasn’t sure anymore who she was trying to convince.
—
It was Sunday afternoon.
Barely forty-eight hours since Paige had last seen Azzi.
She felt like she was going a little insane.
The house was quiet in that particular fall-break way. No alarms to chase, no rush out the door. The windows were open just enough to let in cool air, the kind that smelled faintly like leaves and distant rain. Paige should have been enjoying it. Instead, her thoughts kept circling back to one thing.
Azzi Fudd.
She tried to distract herself. Folded laundry that didn’t need folding yet. Cleaned the kitchen twice. Opened her phone, locked it, opened it again. Every road led back to the same place.
Paige had opened a new chat with Azzi’s number more times than she cared to admit. Her thumb hovered over the screen like it was something dangerous. Something that might bite her if she touched it wrong.
She didn’t know what to say.
If she texted, it should probably be school-related. That would be smart. Safe. But she didn’t want safe. She wanted real. She wanted something that didn’t end after a polite response. She wanted something that could breathe.
The realization startled her.
She was pulled out of her thoughts by a small and excited voice from the kitchen table.
“Mommy, come look!”
Adeline had been coloring quietly for a while, her tongue poking out in concentration, the crayons scattered across the table like confetti. Paige had been half-paying attention, assuming it would be another drawing of the two of them together— something sweet and familiar. There were already dozens taped to the fridge.
She stood and walked over, resting a hand gently on Adeline’s back.
“Let’s see what my little artist made today,” Paige said softly.
She leaned in— and stopped.
It wasn’t her.
It was Adeline, yes. Standing in front of a school building. But next to Adeline, definitely not her.
Paige’s breath caught.
“Is that… Ms. Fudd?” she asked, pointing lightly at the second figure.
Adeline nodded enthusiastically, pride shining in her eyes. “Mhm! I drew it for her.”
Something warm and achy bloomed in Paige’s chest. Adeline didn’t draw people casually. When she gave someone her crayons, it meant something. It meant trust.
And the drawing— God, it was good. For a five-year-old, it was impressive. Adeline had captured herself perfectly: red hair, blue eyes, freckles scattered across her cheeks. And Azzi—
Azzi had dark curls. Brown eyes. Even her skin tone was there, shaded carefully, thoughtfully.
Before she could say anything, Adeline kept going.
“Ms. Fudd helps me when I’m sad,” she said matter-of-factly, eyes still on the paper. “She always looks out for me. I want to give this to her when I go back to school.”
Paige melted.
Not all at once— slowly, painfully, in a way that felt like longing rather than joy. The kind of feeling that pressed in behind her ribs and stayed there.
“You should absolutely give it to her, Addy,” Paige said, her voice steady despite the way her chest tightened. “She’s going to love it.”
And then, the thought came.
Clear. Bright. Impossible to ignore.
An excuse.
Her heart started to race.
“Hey,” Paige said carefully, already pulling her phone from her pocket. “Can I take a picture of it?”
Adeline nodded immediately. “Yeah!”
“You can still give her the real one next week,” Paige added, angling the paper toward the light. “But this way she can see it early.”
Adeline grinned like this was the best idea she’d ever heard.
Paige snapped the photo. She made sure Adeline was in it too, smiling proudly beside her artwork. Then she opened her phone again, this time with intention.
Azzi ✏️📚
The name stared back at her.
She selected the photo and hesitated over the keyboard.
Someone’s missing you (she’s not the only one).
Paige deleted it instantly, heart pounding. Absolutely not. Too much. Too fast.
She typed again.
Hey— I hope this is okay. Adeline drew this for you. Thought you’d like to see it.
Simple. Justified. True.
Her finger hovered for half a second longer. Long enough to doubt herself. Long enough to feel the weight of what she was doing.
Then she pressed the little blue arrow.
Delivered.
Paige set her phone face-down on the table like it might burn her if she looked at it too long.
Now we wait.
She glanced down at Adeline, who was already reaching for another crayon, perfectly content, unaware she’d just nudged her mother one step closer to something that felt terrifying and hopeful all at once.
Paige exhaled.
No taking it back now.
—
Azzi was sitting at her kitchen table, doing her best to ignore the way Nola and Maggie hovered near her knees, both hopeful and dramatic, as she ate a grilled chicken salad.
Her phone buzzed against the surface.
She froze mid-chew.
Azzi had promised herself she wouldn’t do this anymore. No jumping. No hoping. The last forty-eight hours had trained her not to expect anything, because every notification had been a letdown. Spam emails. Group chats. Weather alerts.
She exhaled, set her fork down deliberately, and reached for her phone.
The screen lit up.
A number she didn’t have saved yet.
Her stomach flipped before her brain could catch up.
Oh.
She opened the message, her breath hitching when the photo loaded. It was Adeline, beaming beside a drawing. That drawing style, it was unmistakable. Azzi smiled without even meaning to. She zoomed in and took in every detail.
The school building. The two figures holding hands. The way Adeline had captured her curls, her skin tone, her eyes.
She saved the photo immediately. No hesitation. This one was getting printed. Laminated, even. Going straight onto the classroom wall.
Then she tapped and held the image, reacting with a heart before she could overthink it.
Well, this just made my day :)
She sent it, then stared at the screen, her pulse quickening. Her thumb hovered.
She shouldn’t double text.
She absolutely double texted.
Let Miss Adeline know I can’t wait to see her next week.
Azzi set her phone down and leaned back in her chair, rubbing a hand over her face.
God. She was enjoying this far too much.
She picked the phone back up and added the number to her contacts, pausing at the name field longer than necessary.
Ms. Bueckers felt too stiff.
Paige Bueckers felt like she was lying to herself.
She typed Paige B. and saved it before she could spiral.
—
Paige was stretched out on the couch, Adeline curled beside her with a small bowl of Cheez-Its balanced on her stomach. Moana played in the background, but Paige’s attention was fixed elsewhere.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She sat up so fast she startled Adeline, but the little girl quickly focused back on the movie.
Paige was already reading.
The heart reaction. The smiley face. The words made my day.
Her chest fluttered.
“She loves your drawing,” Paige said aloud, smiling down at her daughter. “She misses you.”
“I know,” Adeline replied confidently, eyes never leaving the screen.
Paige snorted softly and looked back at her phone.
She typed carefully.
She can’t wait to see you either.
Sent.
She stared at it, then sighed, fingers moving again before she could stop herself.
Her mom is excited to see you too 😅
The moment the message sent, Paige pressed her lips together and exhaled.
Too much? Maybe. But it was honest.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Paige’s heart kicked.
—
Azzi read the second message twice.
Then a third time.
Her lips curved into a slow smile she didn’t bother suppressing.
I’ll take that as a compliment, she typed back.
I hope you’re both enjoying fall break.
Paige replied faster this time.
We are! Adeline has been coloring nonstop. I’m not sure my fridge can handle much more artwork.
Azzi laughed quietly, Maggie lifting her head at the sound.
That sounds about right. She’s very committed to her craft.
Paige sent a laughing emoji. Then another message followed.
Do you ever actually stop working? Or are you secretly lesson-planning even now?
Azzi hesitated, then decided honesty felt better.
I told myself I wouldn’t… but yes. Guilty.
I don’t really know how to turn my brain off.
I get that, Paige replied.
I’m trying to learn how to slow down again.
Something about again stuck with Azzi.
They talked through the afternoon. Small things at first— dogs, favorite fall foods, how Adeline insisted on wearing mismatched socks. Somewhere along the line, the tone shifted.
Paige B.: Do you always eat salads like an adult or was tonight a special occasion?
Azzi ✏️📚: Rude. I had soup yesterday.
Paige B.: Wow. Balanced queen.
Emojis crept in. Teasing softened into warmth.
By the time evening settled in, both of them were in bed— lights dim, their phones glowing in the dark.
Azzi ✏️📚: I should probably sleep.
Paige B.: Me too. Probably.
Azzi ✏️📚: but I don’t really want to.
Paige smiled into her pillow.
Paige B.: Me neither 😊
Their phones rested inches from their faces, the conversation drifting far from school, from drawings, from excuses.
Neither of them said it out loud yet.
But both of them knew.
This wasn’t just school-related anymore. It never was.
—
Fall break stretched in a way Paige hadn’t expected.
The days were full— pleasant, even. Mornings at the park while the air still held that early fall chill. Afternoons at the public library for story time, Adeline sitting cross-legged on the rug while Paige leaned against a shelf, her arms folded as she watched her daughter’s face light up at every turn of the page.
She was present. She always was.
But her phone never left her pocket.
It buzzed while Adeline climbed the jungle gym, Paige glancing down instinctively before forcing herself to look back up. It buzzed while they waited in line for apple cider at a small stand near the park. It buzzed during quiet moments at home, when Adeline colored at the table and Paige pretended not to be watching the screen light up from across the room.
Azzi.
Always Azzi.
Paige knew that this was fine. That she could be a good mom and still want something for herself. That checking her messages didn’t mean she wasn’t present, it just meant she was human.
Still, she felt it. That strange dual awareness. One hand holding Adeline’s. The other itching for her phone.
—
Azzi noticed it in herself, too.
She walked Nola and Maggie longer than usual, looping the same quiet streets near her house while her phone rested warm in her hand. She went to the grocery store and forgot half the things on her list because she was mid-text. She let a pot of soup simmer too long because she’d gotten distracted smiling at her screen.
She had never been like this.
Not with Amber. Not with anyone.
Teaching had always taken so much of her emotional energy that by the time she got home, she wanted silence. Space. Stillness. But now? Now her brain felt louder when Paige wasn’t there, buzzing with unfinished thoughts and unsent messages.
They texted through the days in fragments.
Paige B.: Addy just insisted on picking out her own outfit. I didn’t intervene.
Azzi ✏️📚: That’s brave of you 🤣
Paige B.: She’s wearing stripes with polka dots.
Azzi ✏️📚: Iconic. Honestly.
Inside jokes formed quickly, slipping into place like they’d always been there.
When Paige sent a picture of Adeline’s mismatched socks, Azzi replied with “Fashion risk-taker. I respect it.”
When Azzi complained about Maggie stealing her spot on the couch, Paige shot back “She knows what she wants. Relatable.”
The tone softened. Warmed. Stretched.
By the fourth day of fall break, Paige caught herself smiling at her phone while sitting on a park bench, Adeline playing tag with another kid nearby.
Paige B.: Is it weird that it feels like I haven’t seen you in forever?
Azzi ✏️📚: Not weird. I was literally thinking the same thing.
Paige’s chest tightened at that.
—
The nights were worse.
Adeline fell asleep easily after busy days, her body worn out in that way only kids manage. Paige would tuck her in, linger longer than necessary like always, then retreat to the living room with a blanket and her phone.
That’s when the texts changed.
Azzi✏️📚: Are you still up?
Paige B.: Yeah. You?
Azzi ✏️📚: Supposed to be sleeping. Clearly failing.
The conversations deepened, and they chose their words more carefully. Pauses stretched longer, but somehow felt heavier instead of empty.
Paige B.: What are you doing right now?
Azzi ✏️📚: Lying in bed. My dogs are taking up way too much space.
Paige B.: Sounds crowded.
Azzi ✏️📚: It is. But not unpleasant.
Paige swallowed, fingers hovering.
Paige B.: I can picture it.
That earned her a pause on the other end. Long enough that Paige wondered if she’d pushed too far.
Then, an image popped up, and Paige’s heart nearly stopped.
It was a selfie of Azzi in bed, being cuddled by Maggie and Nola. Her hair was down, splayed across the pillow, and it was still a bit damp from a shower. She had no makeup on, and this was the first time Paige had seen her bare-faced.
Paige suddenly felt jealous of Azzi’s dogs.
—
Azzi rolled onto her side, phone glowing against the dark of her bedroom. Nola’s back was pressed against her legs, Maggie’s head tucked under her arm. She stared at Paige’s name on the screen, feeling something warm and restless settle in her chest.
This wasn’t just flirting anymore.
It was anticipation. Familiarity. Want.
She caught herself typing things she shouldn’t. Things that went beyond teasing.
I keep thinking about the way you looked the other day.
I wonder what you’re like when you’re not holding everything together.
She deleted them all.
Not yet.
Instead, she typed:
I really like talking to you.
She hesitated, then hit send before she could overthink it.
—
Paige was in bed, the covers pulled up to her waist, staring at the ceiling when the message came through.
She read it once.
Then again.
Her heart did that strange, light ache thing— like recognition.
I like talking to you too. A lot.
There it was. Simple. Honest. Enough.
The line between them didn’t vanish in that moment, but it thinned. Softened. Became something you could step over without quite realizing it.
They kept texting until their eyes grew heavy and their phones slipped closer to the pillows beside them.
Fall break still had days left.
But neither of them were counting the time the same way anymore.
They were counting messages. Pauses. Heartbeats.
And both of them knew— without saying it out loud— that whatever this was, it wasn’t something they could tuck back into neat little boxes.
The line was still there.
Barely.
The Kindergarten Rulebook (and How We Broke It)
CHAPTER SEVEN: Conferences
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
contains: former-wnba!paige, singlemom!paige, teacher!azzi, slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, injury grief
word count: 4.6k
fic guide
A/N: i can’t be the only one who got flashbacks to asw last night lmfaooo. anyways, here’s chapter seven. this one had me feeling all types of emotions while i was writing it, ngl. let me know what you think!
CHAPTER SEVEN: Conferences
“I’ll pick you up later, okay, sweetheart?” Paige whispered as she hugged Adeline tight.
Adeline nodded, already half-turned toward the living room, where the other girl was arranging toys on the rug. She waved without much ceremony— secure, unbothered, trusting. That part still amazed Paige.
Adeline was staying with friends of Paige’s— a kind, steady couple she’d met last year when she coached their daughter at the rec center. They were the sort of people who remembered Adeline’s favorite snacks and always asked how kindergarten was going. Paige didn’t take that kind of trust lightly. But Adeline adored their daughter, and she’d asked, bright-eyed and hopeful, if she could stay the whole afternoon.
Once Paige was sure everything was settled, she stepped back outside and slid into her car.
She sat there for a second before starting the engine.
Paige rarely did things by herself. Adeline was her constant companion— her shadow, her anchor. The backseat felt too empty, the silence louder than usual. No small voice narrating the drive. No dropped toy under the seat. Just Paige, her thoughts, and the soft hum of the engine as she pulled away from the curb.
The drive to Riverwood was short and familiar. Muscle memory took over— turn here, stop there— but her chest felt tight anyway. She told herself it was just nerves. Parent-teacher conferences always carried weight. They made everything feel official. Evaluated.
When she arrived, the parking lot was quiet in a way schools never were during regular hours. A handful of cars sat scattered across the lot— teachers, staff, maybe a few parents like her— but there were no backpacks bouncing against legs, no shrieks of laughter, no crossing guards ushering families along. The stillness pressed in, calm and unsettling all at once.
Paige parked, turned off the car, and exhaled.
Inside, she buzzed at the entrance and waited while the office checked the cameras. The door unlocked with a soft click, and she stepped into the building, her footsteps echoing faintly as she headed down the hall.
The school felt different without kids in it. Too neat. Too quiet. Paige slowed as she passed the bulletin boards, letting herself actually look this time. Crayon drawings. Construction-paper pumpkins. A crooked paper leaf with Adeline’s name written carefully along the stem.
Her stomach flipped.
She felt anxious, but not in the way she’d expected. Not dread. Not fear.
She knew, suddenly and clearly, that it had nothing to do with Adeline’s grades or behavior.
It’s about being alone with Azzi.
The thought landed with uncomfortable honesty.
Paige stopped in front of a darkened classroom window and caught her reflection. She smoothed her hands down the front of her shirt, tugged at the hem like it might suddenly sit wrong, then reached up to adjust her ponytail. She took a slow breath, grounding herself the way she’d learned to after her injury. Inhale, count, exhale.
Get it together.
As she continued down the kindergarten hallway, she passed other classrooms where conferences were already underway. Parents sat across from teachers at small desks, leaning forward, voices low. It struck her then, this wasn’t a quick pickup conversation or a passing exchange in a crowded hallway.
This was one-on-one.
After Friday night, after the thoughts she let herself get carried away with— everything felt sharper. More charged. Like she was stepping into something she didn’t have a solid name for yet.
This is professional, she reminded herself. This is about Adeline. Not yourself.
Her heart picked up speed anyway as she neared Room 5B.
She slowed just outside the doorway, took one more steadying breath, and stepped forward.
—
Azzi was sitting at her desk and working on her computer as she waited for Paige to arrive for the parent-teacher conference.
To be honest, she was a little nervous about this one. The energy between the two of them lately had gotten so strong, it was to the point where it couldn’t be pushed to the side anymore. Especially not after the other night.
When Azzi heard movement at her door, she looked up immediately. Her face softened in a way Paige hadn’t seen in the pickup line. Less practiced. Less public.
“Hi, Paige,” Azzi said, standing up from her rolling chair. She said her name like it was familiar. Like it belonged there.
Paige felt it settle low in her chest. “Hi,” she replied, smiling back before she could stop herself.
Azzi gestured toward the small student table near the windows. “Why don’t we sit over here?”
Paige nodded and followed, aware of the quiet in the room. The absence of backpacks and chatter, the hum of the lights overhead. This classroom felt different without children in it. Smaller. More intimate.
Azzi pulled out a chair and sat down beside her instead of across.
Paige noticed immediately.
The chairs were close. Too close to pretend it was accidental. Their knees weren’t touching, but they weren’t far from it. Paige sat carefully, like any movement might tip something delicate out of balance.
“Thank you for coming in,” Azzi said, turning slightly toward her. “I know it’s hard to find childcare, especially during the day.”
“Yeah,” Paige said. “But I appreciate you making the time for me. Really.”
Azzi smiled at that, something warm and unguarded flickering across her face.
Up close, Paige noticed things she hadn’t before. Azzi’s hair was looser than usual. It was still neat, but not pulled back as tightly. A few curly strands framed her face. She was wearing a soft sweater instead of her usual structured layers, and Paige realized she looked more like Azzi today, rather than Ms. Fudd.
“Did you have trouble finding someone?” Azzi asked, breaking Paige out of her thoughts.
“No,” Paige said. “A friend’s got her for a few hours. Addy sees it as a playdate, so she’s thrilled.”
Azzi laughed quietly. “That sounds about right.”
There was a brief pause. It wasn’t awkward. Paige shifted slightly in her chair, then immediately wished she hadn’t. Her knee had brushed Azzi’s. She almost moved away, but Azzi didn’t say anything, so she stayed put.
“So,” Paige said, trying for casual and landing somewhere just left of it. “I promise I’m not one of those parents who shows up with a notebook and a list of demands.”
Azzi’s eyebrow lifted. “Is that a promise or a warning?”
Paige grinned. “More like reassurance. I left my clipboard at home.”
Azzi laughed— actually laughed. It surprised Paige how much sound came out of her, how her shoulders shook just a little. It didn’t feel like polite amusement. It felt like she genuinely found Paige funny.
Paige felt a spark of triumph she absolutely should not have. She wanted to make Azzi laugh again. And again, and again, and again.
“Well,” Azzi said once she’d recovered, “I appreciate that. Though I have to say, you don’t strike me as the clipboard type.”
“Oh?” Paige tilted her head with a raise of her eyebrows and a teasing inflection in her voice. “What type do I strike you as?”
Azzi hesitated— just a beat too long, then smiled. “The very attentive type. The emotionally-aware type.”
Paige’s throat tightened. She nodded, suddenly more aware of how much she was leaning toward her.
Was Paige just reading too much into this, or was Azzi hinting at something else, there? She swallowed thickly, before mustering up the courage to respond.
“I try to be,” she said softly.
Another pause. You could cut the tension with a knife.
Azzi cleared her throat and reached for a folder on the table, her movement subtle but intentional, like she was grounding herself. Getting back on track.
“Okay,” she said, tone shifting just enough to signal what came next. “Why don’t we talk about how Adeline’s been doing?”
Paige nodded, straightening in her chair, even as part of her wished they could stay right here a little longer— balanced in that in-between space where nothing had crossed a line yet, but something very clearly wanted to.
—
Azzi had done this about half a dozen times already today.
She knew the rhythm of it by heart— the way parents leaned forward when they cared, the way they tensed when they were afraid of hearing something they couldn’t fix. She knew how to translate numbers into reassurance, how to frame growth without pressure. She was good at this. It mattered to her that she was.
Still, sitting beside Paige felt different.
Azzi opened Adeline’s folder and laid it out neatly on the table between them. Color-coded charts, assessment sheets, short notes she’d written to herself over the semester. She angled the pages so Paige could see clearly, her arm brushing the edge of Paige’s sleeve as she did.
“Okay,” Azzi said gently. “Let’s start with academics.”
She pointed to the first sheet. “These are her sight words. She came into the year recognizing about a quarter of them. Now she’s consistently identifying a little over half without prompting.”
Azzi watched Paige’s eyes track her finger as it moved down the list. Paige nodded slowly, absorbing every word like it mattered. Like it mattered to her.
“She especially loves reading them out loud,” Azzi continued. “She’ll volunteer during group time, even when she’s not one hundred percent sure she will get it right. That confidence is a big deal at this age.”
Paige smiled at that, small and proud. Azzi felt a familiar warmth bloom in her chest. This was the part she loved. Seeing parents realize their kids were doing better than they thought.
“She’s also doing really well with early math,” Azzi said, turning the page. “Simple addition and subtraction under ten. She uses manipulatives really thoughtfully. She always counts carefully and double-checks herself.”
Azzi glanced at Paige as she spoke. Paige’s attention never wavered. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap now, knuckles just barely white.
“She doesn’t rush,” Azzi added. “She wants to get it right.”
Paige exhaled a quiet breath, like she’d been holding it.
“And socially,” Azzi said, letting her tone soften further, “Adeline is… really special.”
That got Paige’s attention. She looked up fully now.
“As you know, her and Lucy were already close, but she’s formed a few more close friendships,” Azzi went on. “She’s gentle. Observant. If another child is upset, she notices immediately.”
Azzi flipped to a page with short notes. “There was a moment last week where one of her classmates was crying during centers because they couldn’t finish a puzzle. Adeline stopped what she was doing, sat next to them, and said, ‘It’s okay, we can do it together.’”
Paige’s mouth parted slightly.
“She feels things deeply,” Azzi said, quieter now. “And she cares when other kids are sad. That kind of empathy isn’t something you can teach directly. It’s modeled.”
Azzi felt the weight of that sentence as soon as it left her mouth. She had told Paige this before— that emotional-awareness like that doesn’t come from nothing, but she knew it sunk in deeper when clear examples and moments were described.
She watched Paige swallow. Her eyes had gone glossy, though she was trying to blink it away. Azzi slowed instinctively— her voice, her movements, everything. The same way she did when a child was on the edge of tears.
“She talks about you a lot,” Azzi added, carefully. “Casually and comfortably. You come up during drawings, during play, during stories.”
Paige let out a shaky little laugh. “That sounds like her.”
Azzi smiled. “It tells me she feels very secure in your presence. That she knows you’re there. Even when you’re not.”
Paige nodded, but she didn’t speak. Her hand came up to rest against her mouth, fingers pressing lightly beneath her nose as if she needed the grounding.
Azzi felt something pull tight in her chest.
She pointed back to the folder, grounding herself in the data again. “Overall, Adeline is right where she should be. Academically and emotionally. In some areas, she’s even ahead.”
Azzi spoke steadily, but her awareness stayed fixed on Paige. On the way her shoulders had drawn in slightly. On the faint tremor in her breath.
Paige watched Azzi as she talked— not just the papers. Azzi could feel it. Paige’s eyes traced the movement of her hands as she pointed things out, the confidence in her gestures, the ease with which she explained things that might have overwhelmed someone else.
Azzi realized, suddenly, that Paige wasn’t just listening.
She was trusting her.
Azzi lowered her voice without meaning to. “You’re doing a really good job, Paige.”
That did it.
Paige’s eyes filled immediately. She turned her face slightly away, like she didn’t want Azzi to see it, but it was too late. Azzi had already clocked it, that flash of vulnerability breaking through composure.
Azzi didn’t rush to fill the silence. She waited. Let it breathe.
She reached for a tissue box on the table and slid it gently toward Paige, not touching her, but close enough to be felt. An offering, not an intrusion.
Paige took a tissue, dabbing quickly at her eyes. “Sorry,” she said softly. “I just-“
Azzi shook her head. “You don’t need to apologize.”
Her tone was calm and open. The same tone she used when a child felt overwhelmed.
Paige nodded, taking another steadying breath. Her gaze dropped to the table, to the papers, to anything but Azzi’s face.
Azzi stayed quiet, present, and grounded.
She could feel it. That moment before someone cracked open. The delicate edge where words finally found their way out.
—
Paige had felt her resolve start to crumble the moment Azzi began talking about Adeline.
Not just the academics— though that alone made her chest swell, but the way Azzi spoke about her as a whole person. Hearing that her little girl was excelling socially, that she was kind and thoughtful and emotionally attuned, felt like someone had reached into Paige’s chest and pressed gently on something already bruised.
Her heart clenched when Azzi talked about Adeline’s empathy. About how she noticed when other kids were sad. About the puzzle. How Adeline had stopped what she was doing just to sit beside another child and help.
That image alone nearly undid her.
Because Paige saw it so clearly. Adeline’s small hands. Her serious face. That quiet instinct to comfort, to fix, to make things better. It wasn’t lost on Paige that those traits didn’t come from nowhere.
She’d been holding it together, barely, until Azzi told her she was doing a good job.
The words hit her square in the chest.
Azzi had such a way with them. She didn’t toss praise around carelessly; she placed it deliberately, like she understood the weight it carried. Like she knew Paige would feel it. And she’d framed it gently, intentionally, in a way that felt earned rather than obligatory.
Paige’s eyes burned immediately.
She dabbed at her cheeks, then her eyes, willing herself to get a grip. This was a parent-teacher conference, for god’s sake. Not a therapy session. She hadn’t come here to unravel.
For a brief moment, embarrassment flared— hot and sharp. She hated crying in front of people. Hated feeling exposed. But then she glanced up and caught Azzi’s expression.
Soft. Steady. Not uncomfortable. Not impatient.
Something in Paige loosened.
The words spilled out before she could stop them.
“It just… it feels really good to hear she’s doing well,” Paige said, her voice rough, like it had scraped against something on the way out. “I get worried sometimes that I’m going to mess things up. That I already have.”
She swallowed hard, staring down at the edge of the table. “I feel like maybe I did her a disservice by adopting her as a single parent,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t ever want her to feel otherized. Or like she’s missing something. Or someone.”
The fear sat heavy and familiar in her chest.
Paige risked a glance up. Azzi was still and attentive, her entire focus trained on Paige like there was nowhere else she needed to be. No rushing. No interrupting.
That made it easier to keep going.
“And then there’s my injury,” Paige continued, her voice dropping. She hadn’t planned on saying this. Hadn’t planned on sharing any of it. “You don’t know about that, but-“
She exhaled shakily. “I tore my ACL a while back. Ripped my knee to shreds. It ended my career. Took away everything I thought my life was going to be.”
She laughed softly, humorless. “Once I knew I couldn’t play again at that level, I… lost control for a while. I didn’t recognize myself. And sometimes I still get scared that I’ll slip back into that place.”
Her fingers curled slightly against her palm, grounding herself. “What if Adeline feels that loss too?” she whispered. “Even though she wasn’t in my life yet. She’s so perceptive. She notices everything. I worry she knows what goes through my head, even when I try so hard to shield her from it.”
Another tear escaped, trailing down her cheek.
Azzi didn’t say anything right away. She didn’t rush to fix it or fill the space with platitudes. She just nodded slowly, her eyes warm and intent, absorbing every word.
Paige let out a shaky breath and shook her head with a small, self-conscious laugh. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I’m oversharing. You didn’t ask to hear any of this.”
She shrugged, as if trying to minimize the weight of everything she’d just said.
Azzi shook her head immediately.
“Stop apologizing,” she said gently, her hands resting atop the folder on the table like an anchor. Her voice was calm, but there was an underlying firmness to it, like she meant it.
“You’re not failing her,” Azzi continued, matter-of-fact but still kind. “She’s thriving because of you. Can’t you see that?”
Azzi leaned forward just slightly, closing the already-small space between them. Paige’s breath hitched. Their knees were still touching. The intimacy of it— physical and emotional— it made Paige’s heart stutter.
“Paige,” Azzi said softly, her voice lowering. She wet her lips unconsciously, then went on. “You love her. You show up for her. You make her feel safe. That matters more than anything else.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Don’t let your head convince you otherwise. Alright?”
Paige let out a quiet, broken sob and nodded, wiping at her cheeks again. She felt exposed in a way that was terrifying, yet strangely relieving.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah. Thank you.”
She felt seen.
Not just as Adeline’s mom, but as a human. Just as… Paige.
—
Azzi hoped she had said the right thing.
She usually trusted herself in moments like this. She trusted her instincts, her ability to listen fully and respond with care— but Paige had just handed her something fragile. Something personal. Something that didn’t fit neatly into the mental categories Azzi normally kept parents in.
A parent had never opened up to her like that before. Not like this.
There were tears sometimes, sure. Worries about reading levels, social development, behavior charts. Parents afraid they were failing, afraid their kids were falling behind. Azzi knew how to meet those fears with reassurance and data and warmth.
But this had been different.
This wasn’t just about Adeline.
This was about Paige.
Azzi stayed quiet, giving her space. She knew better than to rush a moment like this. She watched Paige dab at her cheeks, inhale carefully, gather herself back into something steadier. Azzi flipped through the folder in front of her out of habit, pages whispering softly as they turned, though she wasn’t really seeing the numbers anymore.
Her attention kept drifting back to Paige.
To the way her shoulders were slightly hunched, like she was bracing for impact even after the worst of it had passed. To the way her hands rested on the edge of the table, her fingers curling and uncurling without her realizing it. To the faint flush still lingering on her cheeks.
Azzi was acutely aware of how close they were sitting.
She’d chosen the spot beside Paige deliberately earlier. She had told herself it was to make the conversation feel collaborative, less formal— but now the truth pressed in harder. Their knees were touching. Their chairs were angled just enough toward each other that there was no real space to retreat into.
The classroom felt smaller because of it.
Azzi could feel it in her chest, a low hum of awareness that had nothing to do with professionalism and everything to do with want. The kind of awareness that made her notice the heat radiating from Paige’s body, the faint scent of her shampoo, the way her breathing still hadn’t quite evened out.
She suddenly had the dangerous thought that it would be so easy to reach out.
Just a hand over Paige’s fingers. A squeeze. Something grounding. Something that said I see you without words.
She didn’t.
She couldn’t.
Not yet.
Azzi pressed her lips together and looked back down at the papers, though her eyes skimmed uselessly over sight-word percentages and benchmark charts. Everything she felt for Paige had been building quietly for weeks. Small moments stacking on top of each other until they felt impossible to ignore.
The way Paige listened when Azzi spoke, like her words mattered.
The way she smiled, a little crooked, when she was nervous.
The way she trusted Azzi with her daughter without hesitation.
And now this.
This vulnerability.
It complicated things in a way Azzi couldn’t neatly sort through. It made the attraction sharper and heavier. Less abstract. Paige wasn’t just someone she was drawn to, she was someone she wanted to protect.
That realization alone was dangerous.
Azzi swallowed and exhaled slowly through her nose, grounding herself the way she taught her students to. Keeping things professional with someone you felt this kind of human connection with was hard. Exhausting, even. It meant constantly editing yourself. Holding back instincts that came naturally.
It meant sitting with all the things you couldn’t say.
And she knew— she knew that Paige felt it too.
There was a shared awareness in the room now, something unspoken but there. It hung between them in the quiet, in the way Paige didn’t rush to fill the silence, in the way she stayed turned toward Azzi now instead of retreating inward.
Azzi heard Paige shift in her chair, the soft scrape of legs against tile pulling her out of her thoughts.
Right. The conference.
Adeline.
She straightened slightly, re-centering herself, even as her heart continued to beat just a little too fast. This was still her job. This still mattered.
Before she fully pulled away, though, Azzi made a decision.
Carefully and deliberately, she reached out and ran her hand gently up Paige’s back, all the way up until she gave her shoulder a light and grounding squeeze. The contact was brief— supportive and measured— but it carried the weight she’d intended.
It was a risk.
But she needed Paige to know she wasn’t alone in the moment. That what she’d shared hadn’t fallen into a void.
Paige stilled under her touch.
Azzi felt it.
The awareness sharpened, electric and undeniable, before she withdrew her hand and folded it back over the folder like a lifeline.
“Alright,” Azzi said softly, her voice steady despite everything stirring underneath it. “Let’s take a look at Adeline’s benchmark scores.”
And just like that, they stepped back toward safer ground, both fully aware of how close they’d come to crossing something that neither of them were ready to name.
—
After about twenty more minutes of discussing Adeline’s data, the conference came to a close.
Paige felt lighter than she had walking in. Grounded. Reassured. Proud. Adeline was doing well— thriving, even— and that mattered more than anything. Whatever fears Paige had walked into the room carrying, they felt smaller now.
Azzi slid the remaining data sheets back into their folder with careful precision, smoothing the edges like she always did. The gesture felt like punctuation. An ending.
Paige stood and reached for her keys, the metallic jingle loud in the suddenly quiet classroom. The chairs scraped softly against the floor as Azzi stood too, but neither of them moved toward the door right away.
There was a pause. Not awkward. Not rushed.
Just… suspended.
Paige adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, then stilled. Her fingers tightened around the keys, nerves sparking in her chest. She could feel the moment slipping by. That familiar instinct to retreat, to keep things safe and unspoken.
But Azzi had taken a risk earlier. A small one. A hand on her back. A squeeze of her shoulder.
Paige swallowed and turned back.
“Hey— um,” she started, then stopped, her heart thudding hard enough that she felt it in her throat. Azzi looked up at her immediately, attentive in that way that always made Paige feel like she had the floor. Like she mattered. Always like she mattered.
“Yes?” Azzi said softly.
Paige laughed under her breath, more nerves than humor. “This might be weird,” she said, already cringing a little. “But would you… would you be okay if I had your number?”
Azzi’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Not in surprise exactly. More like acknowledgment.
“For school communication,” Paige added quickly, gesturing vaguely between them. “You know, just in case something comes up with Adeline. Emergencies. Or— I don’t know. Stuff.”
They both knew.
The lie sat gently between them, thin as tissue paper.
Azzi didn’t answer right away. Paige watched her consider it— really consider it. The professional implications. The boundaries. The rules she lived inside of every day.
Paige braced herself for a polite rejection. A suggestion to email instead. A reminder of school policy.
Instead, Azzi exhaled slowly, like she’d made a decision.
“Yeah,” she said. “Sure. Let me see your phone.”
Relief rushed through Paige so fast it made her dizzy.
Paige pulled her phone out of her pocket, pulled up the contacts app, and held it out for Azzi to grab. Azzi reached for Paige’s phone, her fingers brushing Paige’s as she took it. The contact was brief, but it sent a sharp jolt up Paige’s arm.
Azzi turned slightly away, typing her number into the screen. Paige watched the curve of her shoulder, the loose strand of hair that had escaped her clip earlier, the way her concentration softened her expression.
She handed the phone back and their fingers brushed again.
This time, neither of them pulled away immediately.
“If you ever need anything,” Azzi said quietly, her voice lower now, more personal, “don’t hesitate to text.”
Paige nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. Anything. The word echoed.
She wondered what would count as anything.
Would it have to be about Adeline? A missing lunchbox. A question about sight words.
Or could it be something else?
A thank you.
A check-in.
A thinking of you she wasn’t brave enough to even imagine sending yet.
“Thank you,” Paige said, meaning more than just the number. She tucked her phone back into her pocket like it was something precious. “Really.”
Azzi smiled at her then— not the practiced one, not the teacher one. That warm one. The one that felt real.
Paige walked toward the door, then paused one last time, her hand on the frame.
“I’m really glad Addy is in in your class,” she said.
Azzi met her eyes. “So am I.”
Paige left before either of them could say anything else.
But the buzz stayed behind, humming softly in the quiet classroom. A line had been crossed— not loudly, but deliberately.
The Kindergarten Rulebook (and How We Broke It)
CHAPTER SIX: Friday Nights
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
contains: former-wnba!paige, singlemom!paige, teacher!azzi, slow burn, mutual pining, self-pleasure, implied sexual content
word count: 3k
fic guide
A/N: happy game day guys!!! here’s a pregame read for you. this chapter is kinda short, sry :( it might seem like a nothing burger at first but i promise its not. read until the end!
CHAPTER SIX: Friday Nights
Friday nights had learned Paige’s name.
They came without urgency, without alarms or packed backpacks waiting by the door. No rushed dinners or clock-watching. Just the quiet understanding that they’d made it to the end of the week and could finally let their shoulders drop.
Paige pulled into the driveway just after six. They had just left rec-ball practice. Both of them were ready for the weekend, to say the least.
Adeline kicked her shoes off before Paige had even turned the engine off, one socked foot thumping against the back of the seat.
“Pizza night?” Adeline asked hopefully, already craning her neck to look at Paige.
Paige smiled. “Pizza night,” she confirmed, as she got out of the car to go unbuckle her. “You remembered.”
“I always remember,” Adeline said seriously, like it was an important responsibility.
Inside, the house felt different than it did on school nights. Lived-in. Softer. Paige set her keys down, kicked off her own shoes, and let herself stand there for a second longer than usual, just breathing. Her knee ached the way it always did at the end of the week— dull, familiar, but manageable.
Once, Fridays had been harder. Not because of work, but because of what they reminded her of. Games she couldn’t play anymore. Nights she used to fill differently. A body she’d trusted without thinking.
Now, Friday nights meant this instead. Pizza menus. Adeline spinning in slow circles in the living room while Paige pulled out plates. Recovery measured not in milestones, but in moments she no longer flinched through.
“What kind?” Paige asked, already reaching to grab her phone so she could place the order.
“Cheese,” Adeline said immediately. Then, after a thoughtful pause, “With the crispy edges.”
Paige laughed softly. “Of course. I should’ve known.”
While they waited, Adeline dragged her sight-word cards from her backpack and spread them across the coffee table like they were playing a very serious game. Paige lowered herself onto the couch with a careful exhale, stretching her leg out in front of her.
“Okay,” Adeline said, tapping the first card. “This one’s easy. It’s and. Ms. Fudd says this one is super important.”
Paige’s eyebrows lifted and her heart fluttered at the sound of her name. “Oh yeah?”
“Yep. She says it helps us read lots of books.” Adeline grinned, pleased with herself. “She’s really smart, mommy. She knows all these words.”
Paige smiled, something warm settling in her chest. “She sounds like it.”
Adeline nodded, already flipping to the next card. “She has pretty hair too. And she knows how to help when people feel mad.”
Paige paused for half a second, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Consider her interest piqued. “Does she?” She asked.
“Uh-huh,” Adeline said. “She helps me breathe.”
The words landed gently, but they stayed.
Paige reached for the next card, her fingers brushing Adeline’s. “Alright,” she said softly. “Show me what you’ve got.”
—
They flipped through the sight words for a while. Paige gave Adeline reinforcement when she got one right, and corrected her when needed.
“Okay,” Paige said, setting the finished stack of sight word cards on the coffee table. “Just five more, and then we’re done.”
Adeline groaned dramatically, slumping sideways against the couch cushions. “That’s what Ms. Fudd says,” she complained. “And then it’s never really five. It’s like… fifty hundred.
Paige chuckled at that. “I promise. Real five.”
Adeline narrowed her eyes suspiciously, then sat up again, grabbing the next card. “Fine.”
She squinted at it for a second, lips moving silently before she spoke. “Said.”
Paige nodded. “Good.”
The next card went faster. Then the next. By the fourth, Adeline was smiling again, confidence creeping back in like it always did once she realized she could do it.
“I read this one at school today,” Adeline said, tapping the card proudly. “It’s over. Ms. Fudd said I was getting really good.”
“I’m not surprised,” Paige said. And she meant it.
Adeline beamed. “She says that a lot.”
“I’m glad,” Paige replied, sliding the last card back into the stack. “Okay. You did it. Sight words complete.”
Adeline threw her hands in the air. “Pizza time!”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Adeline bolted off the couch, socks sliding across the floor as she ran for the door.
Paige followed more slowly, listening to her daughter chatter excitedly as she accepted the pizza box like it was a prize. Paige paid attention to how her body felt as she moved. No sharp pain, just the familiar stiffness that eased once she settled. It struck her, not for the first time, how far she’d come. How ordinary moments like this no longer felt fragile.
They ate on the couch, pizza balanced on paper plates. Adeline kicked her feet as she ate, humming between bites.
“Ms. Fudd likes cheese, too,” Adeline announced suddenly.
Paige paused mid-bite. “She told you that?”
“She said it’s her favorite,” Adeline said matter-of-factly. “But she said she only eats it on Saturdays.”
Paige smiled, that same warmth starting to stir in her chest. “That sounds reasonable.”
“She also said she likes movies,” Adeline continued. “Not scary ones though.”
Paige laughed quietly. “Good to know.”
She liked learning more about Azzi. Even if she was getting details from her five year old daughter.
—
Once the plates were cleared and hands wiped, Paige pulled up Inside Out on their tv. Adeline curled into her side immediately, like it was instinctual. Paige pulled the blanket up over both of them, tucking it around Adeline’s shoulders.
As the movie started, Adeline narrated freely.
“There’s Joy. She’s my favorite.”
Paige hummed in acknowledgment, her arm draped loosely around her daughter. They’d seen this movie before, but Adeline loved it, so they watched it a lot. She didn’t mind.
Halfway through, Adeline shifted, her head resting against Paige’s shoulder.
“Sadness cries a lot,” Adeline said softly, “Ms. Fudd says that’s okay. She says feelings don’t need to be fixed right away.”
Paige’s chest tightened. “That’s very wise of her.”
Adeline nodded, already sleepy. “She says grown-ups forget that sometimes.”
Paige swallowed, her gaze fixed on the screen even as her thoughts drifted. The pull she felt toward Azzi wasn’t just attraction— though that was there, undeniable now— it was this quiet trust building layer by layer. The way Azzi spoke to Adeline. The way she noticed her. The way she made space for feelings without making them feel like problems.
Paige realized she hadn’t felt this kind of relief around another adult in a long time.
When the credits rolled, Adeline barely stirred. Paige clicked the TV off and sat still for a moment, listening to her daughter’s breathing slow and even.
“Bath or straight to bed?” Paige asked quietly, her hand gently rubbing circles into Adeline’s back.
“Bath,” Adeline whispered. “But fast.”
The bath was quick and calm. Adeline leaned against the side of the tub while Paige washed her hair, eyes already drooping. Pajamas went on easily after. Soft ones, that were worn thin from use.
Adeline climbed into bed without protest, curling under the covers as Paige tucked her in.
“Was I good today?” she asked, suddenly serious.
Paige brushed her hair back gently. “You were the best.”
Adeline smiled, reassured. “Goodnight, mommy.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Paige said softly.
Within minutes, Adeline was asleep.
Paige closed the door quietly behind her and stood in the hallway for a moment, the house settled and still. She felt tired in a good way— the kind that came from being there. From building a bond. From maintaining it.
Once she was in her room, she showered, and then changed into something comfortable before she slid into bed. The sheets were cool against her skin. She lay back, staring at the ceiling, not quite ready to sleep yet.
Her thoughts drifted back to her interactions with Azzi. To her steady voice. To the way she smiled when she talked about Adeline. To the ease she carried herself with. It was professional, yes, but also warm in a way that felt intentional.
Paige let out a deep breath.
She wasn’t imagining it anymore. She hadn’t been for a while. The pull was real, and it wasn’t going anywhere.
And she let herself acknowledge that.
—
By the time Azzi shut the door behind her, the house felt like an exhale.
The kind that came after holding tension in her shoulders all week. Twenty small voices, constant motion, questions that never quite stopped. She loved her job, but she could admit that by Friday, she needed a break.
She dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl by the door and kicked off her shoes, barely having time to set her bag down before two dogs— one beagle, one golden doodle— barreled toward her.
“Okay, okay,” she laughed softly as Maggie skidded across the hardwood, Nola right behind her. Their tails wagged hard enough to knock into her legs. “I missed you too.”
She crouched to scratch behind their ears, letting herself stay there for a moment longer than necessary. The dogs pressed into her like they’d been counting the hours. It grounded her. Reminded her that here, she didn’t have to be on.
She changed into sweats and an old sweatshirt, the one with paint stains on the sleeve from a long-forgotten classroom project, and pulled her laptop onto the dining table. Friday nights weren’t for big plans. They were for reset.
Lesson planning came first when her weekends began, always.
She moved through it efficiently, adjusting next week’s schedule, swapping out a reading activity she knew would be too long for something more hands-on. She smiled to herself when she added a feelings chart to Monday morning’s routine.
It had been one of those weeks.
When she was done, she closed her laptop with a quiet sense of accomplishment and turned toward the kitchen. Soup simmered on the stove, something simple she’d thrown together earlier— chicken, vegetables, noodles. Comfort without effort.
She ate at the counter while Nola laid stretched out at her feet and Maggie watched her like she might share. Azzi smiled and slid a carrot into Maggie’s bowl.
After dinner, she cleaned up slowly. No rush. The house was dim, the lights low. She put on a movie she’d already seen, more background noise than anything else, and curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket and both dogs crowding her space.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
She glanced at it absently. It was just a notification from the school system calendar, but it made her pause.
Paige crossed her mind without warning.
Not as a parent. Not as Ms. Bueckers.
Just… Paige.
Azzi sighed softly, staring at the TV without really seeing it. She thought of the way Paige had stood in the classroom doorway earlier that week. Hesitant, protective, soft in a way that felt deliberate. The way she listened, really listened, when Azzi spoke. The way her gratitude hadn’t felt like obligation, but something heavier. It felt earned.
And then, unhelpfully, Azzi remembered the look Paige had given her when she thanked her. The way her voice had dipped. The way her eyes had lingered for just a second too long.
That hadn’t been nothing.
Azzi shifted on the couch, her jaw tightening slightly. She wasn’t naïve. She knew when a line existed, and she knew when she was standing too close to it.
Still, the thought didn’t fade.
She told herself it made sense. Paige was someone she interacted with often. Someone she respected. Someone who trusted her with the most important thing in her life. Of course that created closeness. Of course there was warmth there.
But she didn’t feel this warmth with other parents. Not warmth this strong.
Her stomach flipped, subtle— but there.
Azzi reached down to scratch Nola’s head, grounding herself again. “Mom needs to get a grip,” she murmured quietly.
She turned the TV off earlier than planned and stood, stretching her arms over her head. The week had been long. She was tired. Overthinking came easily when she was tired. It was easy to blame these thoughts on exhaustion.
She took the dogs out and turned off the lights, then headed to the bathroom to shower.
She stayed in there a while, just decompressing. There was nothing like a scalding hot shower.
Afterwards, she let the dogs settle into their usual spots at the foot of the bed, and then slid under the covers. The room was quiet except for the soft rhythm of breathing around her.
Azzi stared up at the ceiling.
Her mind refused to slow.
She thought of Paige again. This time, she didn’t try to stop it. The way she spoke to Adeline. The way she carried herself, steady but tender. The grief Azzi had sensed just under the surface, something unresolved but not consuming. The kind that lived alongside love, not instead of it.
Azzi pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose and let out an exhale.
This wasn’t a crush. It couldn’t be. She didn’t let herself have those. Not like this, not with parents, not ever. She prided herself on the boundaries she set. On professionalism.
Even if her chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
She turned onto her side, her eyes closing briefly before opening again.
Sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon.
And that realization, more than the thoughts themselves, made her uneasy.
Because it meant this wasn’t just passing.
It meant she’d started paying attention.
—
It was 2 a.m. now, and Paige still couldn’t sleep.
She laid on her back, her hands fidgeting with the bed comforter. Her eyes were wide open as she stared at the ceiling, counting nothing, thinking of everything.
She should’ve been tired. She was tired— bone-deep, the kind that lived behind her eyes, but her mind refused to settle down.
It kept drifting.
Back to the way Azzi had smiled at pickup that afternoon. Not the polite, professional one. The deeper one. The one that had lingered half a second too long. The way she’d said together when she talked about supporting Adeline, like it was an assumption instead of a courtesy. Like she already belonged in that space with her.
Paige swallowed and rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket closer around her waist.
She told herself it was ridiculous. That she was reading into things because her life felt like it might be missing something. Because she was still adjusting to this version of her life five years later— quiet nights, early mornings, the absence of noise she used to fill with practice schedules and flights and locker rooms.
Her thoughts slid back to Azzi anyway. To the calm in her voice. The steadiness. The way she could comfort children without thinking, like that was just where she belonged when they needed her.
Paige’s hand shifted absently against her stomach, her fingers curling into the fabric of her t-shirt. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and let herself imagine what it would feel like to be on the other end of that care from Azzi. That focus and warmth.
Her heart started to race before she realized it.
—
Across town, Azzi laid on her side, one leg bent, the dogs now asleep somewhere else in the house— probably on the couch. The week sat heavy in her muscles, in the ache between her shoulders, in the soreness that came from giving so much of herself and not quite knowing when to stop.
She stared into the darkness, replaying past moments with Paige in pieces.
Prolonged eye contact in drop-off lines. The brush of fingers when handing a backpack, or a folder, or a lunchbox. The way Paige’s eyes would light up and a smile would form when she approached the car with Adeline at dismissal. The way she stood a little too close when they talked. But also, the tension she carried, coiled and contained, like someone who’d spent her whole life pushing forward even when she should’ve stopped.
Azzi could almost feel these moments happening in real time, right now. Almost.
She exhaled slowly as she squeezed her eyes shut.
She was good at boundaries. She was proud of them. They were what let her do this job without burning out completely. Without crossing lines that mattered.
But tonight, exhaustion loosened her grip on all of that.
Azzi shifted, and her hand slid under the blanket to slip into her sleep shorts.
She told herself this was just stress. Just her body wanting relief after a long week. It didn’t mean anything.
Still, her pulse picked up.
—
Back in Paige’s room, the quiet felt heavier now. Charged.
She rolled again, facing the window, one knee drawing up slightly. Her hand followed the movement without conscious thought, and it slipped lower, tucking under the waistband of her boxers like it belonged there.
She didn’t picture anything explicit. She didn’t need to.
Just Azzi’s voice. Low and calm. Saying her name in that raspy tone. Saying it like it mattered.
Paige bit down on her lip, stifling a sound she hadn’t meant to make.
At the same time, Azzi’s fingers curled lightly into the sheets, then relaxed, then curled again, as the fingers of her other hand worked at herself. Her breathing picked up as she let herself sink into the sensation of wanting something she knew she couldn’t touch.
She imagined Paige laughing softly. Paige touching her hand, or her cheek, or her stomach. The warmth of another body close by. The idea of being chosen, not as a teacher or a professional or a steady presence, but as herself.
Both women let themselves indulge, separated by miles and circumstance and better judgment, yet caught in the same heated moment.
Hands moved beneath blankets.
Thoughts blurred.
The world narrowed to breath and warmth and the ache of wanting.
After it was over, the night held them both there— awake, restless, and undeniably aware that something had shifted.
And now, there was no way it was going to unshift on its own.
The Kindergarten Rulebook (and How We Broke It)
CHAPTER FIVE: The Hard Day
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
contains: former-wnba!paige, singlemom!paige, teacher!azzi, slow burn, mutual pining, injury grief, hurt/comfort
word count: 4.4k
fic guide
A/N: happy new year everyone! here’s chapter five. p & a are starting to subtly flirt now (on both sides), but reminder, this is a slow burn. patience is key… the tides will turn soon.
CHAPTER FIVE: The Hard Day
Paige knew the moment that she woke Adeline up that she was acting off.
It took her longer to get out of bed, she didn’t speak once while Paige dressed her, and she tried to fight back while Paige brushed her hair— little tugs and twists instead of the usual sleepy compliance.
Paige didn’t ask her about it at first. Maybe she just needed time to adjust this morning. Waking up at 6:30 a.m. is never fun.
Usually, Paige would talk to Adeline about the day’s plans while the little girl ate breakfast— what she put in her lunchbox, whether it was a practice day at the recreational center, what book Paige hoped she’d bring home from the classroom library, but this morning, Paige packed her backpack and lunchbox in near silence, glancing at the table every once in a while to see if Adeline looked any happier.
She didn’t.
“Addy,” Paige spoke out, and her daughter looked up from her bowl of oatmeal, her eyes heavy and unfocused. “You okay, baby doll? You’re quiet this morning.” Paige kept her voice soft— gentle on purpose.
Adeline just looked at her for a second, then pushed her spoon through her oatmeal again.
“I don’t like today,” she replied. Her voice was barely above a whisper, like saying it any louder might make it more true.
Something in Paige’s chest tightened.
Paige didn’t press it. She didn’t want to upset her, didn’t want to turn a bad mood into a bigger thing.
She’s five. Hard days happen, Paige told herself. As much as it hurt to see Adeline sad, this just… happened sometimes. Kids woke up wrong. Adults did too.
Still, the feeling stayed with her.
—
The car ride to school was quiet, just like the rest of the morning. Paige played the Tangled soundtrack— which was usually a guaranteed win— but Adeline didn’t sing along to a single word. She stared out the window, forehead resting against the glass.
Paige’s concern deepened. This felt worse than she had originally thought.
By the time they reached the drop-off line, Paige was already wound tight. She waited until it was their turn, her hands gripping the steering wheel a little firmer than necessary.
Her heart gave a small lurch when she saw Azzi walking toward Adeline’s door.
Ms. Fudd looked the same as always— put together but not stiff, clipboard tucked under one arm, hair pulled back neatly. She smiled as soon as she reached the car, like the morning hadn’t worn her down yet.
“Good morning, Adeline!” she said brightly.
Adeline didn’t respond. She just let Ms. Fudd unbuckle her and lift her out of the car, her body going pliant in a way that made Paige’s chest ache.
Azzi glanced up at Paige, her smile softening, her head tilting slightly. Paige realized she’d already clocked it— the quiet, the heaviness, the difference.
“She’s— uh— just not in the happiest mood this morning,” Paige said, watching as Azzi helped Adeline put her backpack on.
Azzi nodded, her hand closing gently around Adeline’s. “Oh,” she said quietly, understanding immediately. She looked down at Adeline again, her expression warm and unhurried. Like she had all the time in the world.
“That’s okay. No worries,” Ms. Fudd said, giving Paige a reassuring nod— one that felt practiced, but sincere. Paige knew she probably gave that look to parents every single day.
And still, it worked.
Paige nodded back, though the anxiety didn’t fully loosen its grip. She hated when Adeline was upset— obviously, because Adeline was her whole heart, but she also hated the idea of making things harder for Azzi. She knew sour moods came with the job. Kids cried. Kids struggled. But she wanted things to go smoothly. For Adeline. For Azzi.
She didn’t miss the way Azzi crouched slightly, bringing herself closer to Adeline’s height, murmuring something Paige couldn’t hear. The sight of it, how natural it looked, it settled something in Paige even as it stirred something else she didn’t name.
Azzi glanced up then, just briefly— and caught Paige watching.
Not in a confrontational way. Not even curious. Just… aware.
Her mouth curved into a small smile, softer than the one she’d used for the other parents. Quieter. Like it was meant only for Paige.
“She’ll be okay,” Azzi said, low enough that it felt almost private. “Some mornings just need a gentler landing.”
Paige swallowed. “Yeah,” she said, a little breathless despite herself. “Thank you.”
Azzi held her gaze a second longer than necessary. Not long enough to be inappropriate— just long enough for Paige to feel it.
Then Azzi straightened, the moment gone as quickly as it had appeared.
“Just— don’t hesitate to email me,” Paige said, catching Ms. Fudd’s attention before she walked off. “Like— if anything goes wrong.”
Azzi looked back at her, eyebrows lifting just a touch, before she waved Paige off with her free hand. “I’m sure we’ll be just fine,” she said easily.
Then she smiled down at Adeline again, before looking at Paige once more. “Have a nice day,” she said softly.
Azzi handed Adeline off to another teacher waiting near the doors and moved on to the next car.
Paige watched her walk away longer than she meant to.
“Bye, Addy Bug!” Paige called out, forcing brightness into her voice.
Adeline lifted her hand and gave a small, straight-faced wave before disappearing inside.
Even with Azzi’s reassurance echoing in her ears, Paige drove away feeling unsettled. like she’d left something unfinished behind.
—
Center time was usually Azzi’s favorite part of the morning.
The classroom hummed in a low, busy way. There were plastic bins sliding across tables, small voices negotiating rules to games they were mostly inventing on the spot. Azzi stood near the art center, her eyes moving constantly. Years of practice had taught her how to watch without hovering.
She noticed Adeline before anything actually happened.
The way her shoulders were tense. The way she hovered instead of settling at one center. The way her fingers twisted at the hem of her shirt as she stared at the block bin like it had personally wronged her.
Azzi shifted closer without making it obvious.
“Hey, we’re sharing,” another child said—gentle, but firm.
“But I want it,” Adeline replied, her voice sharp in a way it hadn’t been at drop-off.
Before Azzi could step in, Adeline reached forward and yanked the wooden truck from the other child’s hands.
The room went quiet in that immediate, fragile way only five-year-olds could manage.
Ms. Fudd was there instantly.
She crouched down to Adeline’s level, her voice calm, her body language open. No sharp intake of breath. No raised voice. Just steady presence.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Pause.”
Adeline froze, her chest already heaving, eyes bright with the threat of tears.
Ms. Fudd gently but firmly took the truck from her hand and handed it back to the little boy Adeline had grabbed it from. “We don’t grab from our friends,” she said evenly. “That doesn’t feel good for them.”
Adeline’s face crumpled.
“I wanted it,” she said, her voice wobbling. “I just wanted it.”
“I know,” Ms. Fudd said immediately. And she meant it. “It’s really hard when you want something and someone else has it.”
She glanced at the other child. “You’re okay,” she said reassuringly. “Thank you for using your words.”
Then her attention went back to Adeline— fully, completely.
“Can you tell me what you were feeling right before you grabbed it?” She asked.
Adeline shrugged, then shook her head. Her eyes filled with tears.
“I just want my mommy,” she whispered.
Something inside Azzi softened painfully.
There it was. The real thing. The thing under the thing.
Ms. Fudd nodded slowly. “That makes sense,” she said gently. “Some days feel heavier than others.”
Adeline wiped her nose on her sleeve. “She said today would be okay.”
Azzi felt the familiar ache settle in her chest. The one that came from caring this much and knowing it would never stop. She placed a hand lightly on Adeline’s back, grounding but respectful.
“Your mom loves you very much,” she said. “And she’ll be back this afternoon. But right now, we still have to be kind with our friends.”
Adeline nodded, small and earnest.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she continued. “You’re going to take three big breaths with me, then you can choose a different center, or you can wait your turn for the truck.”
They breathed together.
One.
Two.
Three.
Adeline sniffed, then pointed toward the puzzle table.
“Good choice,” Ms. Fudd said warmly. “Thank you for fixing it.”
As Adeline walked away, calmer but still tender, Azzi stayed crouched for a moment longer than necessary.
Kids like her felt everything all the way through. Love, frustration, longing— it all lived close to the surface. Azzi recognized it because she’d always been the same way.
Her thoughts drifted, briefly and unhelpfully, to Paige.
She pictured her at home, maybe checking her phone more than she meant to. Maybe replaying the drop-off. Azzi knew that look. Parents wore it like a second skin.
She exhaled slowly.
I’ll need to be careful with how I explain this, she thought. Honest. Reassuring. Professional.
Always professional.
—
The classroom was quiet in that strange and temporary way it only ever was when the kids were at specials.
Azzi sat at her desk, the hum of the lights overhead, her Gmail pulled up in front of her. She rested her fingers on the keyboard, thinking for a moment before typing.
She wanted to get it right.
Hello Ms. Bueckers,
I wanted to reach out and give you a quick update on Adeline’s day so far.
She had a small moment during center time where she felt frustrated and grabbed a toy from a classmate. We talked through it together, and she was able to calm down, use her words, and make a positive choice afterward. She has been doing well since and is participating normally in activities.
It seemed like she was feeling a bit more sensitive today, which is completely normal. She was receptive to guidance and showed a lot of empathy once she had a moment to regulate.
Please don’t worry. I wanted to keep you informed, and I’m very proud of how she handled herself.
I’ll be available after dismissal if you’d like to talk briefly when you pick her up.
Best,
Ms. Fudd
Azzi sent the email after a quick skim over it. Then, she focused on getting as much as she could done before the kids came back from art class. Those 50 minutes always flew by.
—
Paige was folding laundry when her phone buzzed.
She didn’t look at it right away. She had Adeline’s clothes spread across the couch. Her tiny leggings, a t-shirt with glittery stars, socks that never stayed paired no matter how careful Paige was. The rhythm of it was calming. Normal. Something she could do without thinking.
Her phone lit up again.
Paige wiped her hands on her sweatpants and grabbed it, already half-expecting a notification from ESPN or a group chat she’d muted weeks ago.
Instead, she saw the subject line.
A quick check-in about Adeline.
Her chest tightened instantly.
She leaned back against the arm of the couch and opened the email, her thumb hovering for half a second too long before she let herself read it.
She read it once.
Then again.
Then a third time, slower.
Small moment.
Felt frustrated.
Grabbed a toy.
We talked through it.
Please don’t worry.
Paige swallowed.
If it was so small, why email me? a quiet voice in her head asked.
She hated that voice. Hated how fast it showed up.
Her eyes caught on phrases she was sure were supposed to be reassuring— small moment, normal, proud— and somehow twisted them into something heavier.
Sensitive today.
Had a moment.
Needed to calm down.
Paige’s grip on the phone tightened.
Was she upset because of this morning? Because Paige hadn’t pushed her to talk? Because she’d brushed off that quiet I don’t like today like it was nothing?
Her mind jumped tracks too easily. She was an over thinker, and she knew it.
Did I miss something?
Is this my fault?
Paige exhaled shakily and stared down at the laundry, suddenly unable to remember what she’d already folded.
Adeline had always felt things deeply. Paige knew that. She’d been the same way as a kid— intense, sensitive, emotionally wide open. It wasn’t a flaw. It was just… something that needed care.
But what if she wasn’t giving Adeline enough of that?
Her thoughts slid, uninvited, into familiar territory.
The injury.
The way everything had felt fine. Manageable, even— until it wasn’t. One wrong moment. One thing she hadn’t listened to closely enough. One body signal she’d pushed past because she wanted to keep going.
The way control had slipped right out of her hands.
Paige pressed her lips together, willing the comparison away. This wasn’t even close to being the same. Adeline wasn’t broken. Nothing terrible had happened.
But still, that old fear sat heavy in her chest. The fear that loving something didn’t protect it. That trying your best didn’t always mean it worked out.
She read the last line again.
I’ll be available after dismissal if you’d like to talk briefly when you pick her up.
Paige’s heart thudded.
Inside, then. Not the car line. Not a quick handoff and a wave. Inside meant serious. Meant eye contact. Meant answers she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear.
Her instinct was protective first, something sharp and immediate. I need to see her. I need to make sure she’s okay.
Right behind it came gratitude. Something she felt for Azzi often.
Azzi noticed.
Azzi handled it.
Azzi cared enough to explain.
And then— quietly, almost guiltily, came fear. Fear of how much relief that thought brought her.
Paige locked her phone and set it face-down on the coffee table. She stood there for a moment, hands at her sides, breathing through the knot in her chest.
She trusted Azzi. That was the truth of it.
And somehow, that felt just as scary as it did comforting.
—
Paige arrived at Riverwood a bit later today to pick Adeline up. Regular dismissal was already over— all the kids picked up by their parents or sent to an after-school program.
She clicked the button with a ring icon on it at the entrance, which alerted the office, who would check the cameras before allowing her inside. Once the door buzzed open, she stepped inside, and made her way towards Room 5B.
She was more nervous than she should’ve been. Azzi had told her it was alright. That her and Adeline had talked it out and fixed it. But still— Paige hated that Adeline had a bad day. She had been doing so good in school so far, and she didn’t want this to be a turning point.
When Paige got to the Kindergarten hallway, she stopped and took a deep breath. She already had enough trouble acting composed around Azzi. This whole Adeline incident would just make it worse.
Finally, she approached Ms. Fudd’s classroom, where the door was already propped open. Azzi was awaiting her arrival. Something about that made Paige’s heart skip a beat.
When she stepped into the doorway, her eyes landed on both Azzi and her daughter. They were sitting at one of the round tables, and Azzi seemed to be going over some sight words with Adeline. That meant a lot to Paige— that Ms. Fudd was taking this little bit of extra time to work with her.
She watched for just a moment, then cleared her throat to let them know she was there.
Adeline looked up first.
Her face showed instant relief, a bit of embarrassment flickering right alongside it. She slid out of her chair and crossed the small distance to Paige in a hurry, her arms wrapping tight around her waist like she’d been holding herself together all afternoon and had finally run out of energy.
Paige’s chest ached.
“Hey,” she murmured, crouching slightly so she could wrap her arms around her, pressing a kiss into her hair. “There’s my girl.”
Adeline buried her face deeper into Paige’s shirt, her fingers curling into the fabric. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
Paige looked up then, meeting Azzi’s eyes.
Azzi stood as well, smoothing a hand over the edge of the table out of habit. She gave Paige a small, reassuring smile— calm, open, and steady.
“She had a long day,” Ms. Fudd said gently, like she was translating something Paige already felt in her bones. “Which is totally normal for this age.”
Paige nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I figured.”
Azzi continued, her tone even and careful. “Like I wrote in the email, during center time this morning, Adeline got frustrated over a toy and pulled it away from another student. There were some tears, but we paused and talked through it.”
She gestured lightly toward Adeline. “She did a really good job calming her body afterward.”
Paige’s hand moved instinctively, rubbing slow circles into Adeline’s back. “I’m really sorry,” she said, the apology spilling out before she could stop it. “She had a rough morning.”
Ms. Fudd shook her head immediately. “No need to apologize. Truly.” Her voice was warm but firm, a boundary wrapped in kindness. “This happens all the time in kindergarten. Learning how to handle big feelings is part of why they’re here.”
Paige let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“There’s no punishment,” Azzi added. “Just a reminder and continued support. If it becomes a pattern, we’ll address it together. But right now? This was just a hard day.”
The way she said together landed heavier than Paige expected.
“Thank you,” Paige said, her voice soft but sincere. She meant more than just the words Azzi had spoken. She meant the patience, the care, the way Adeline hadn’t been shamed or diminished. “Really. I-I appreciate how you handled it.”
Azzi felt it then. The weight of that gratitude.
She’d heard thanks from parents before— dozens of times, every week— but this was different. Paige’s voice wasn’t performative or polite. It trembled just slightly, like the emotion was being kept on a short leash.
Azzi recognized that look. Vulnerability, barely contained. Something in her chest tugged in response.
Azzi’s lips parted like she was about to say something else— something not scripted— then she stopped herself.
“For what it’s worth,” she said instead, her voice quieter now, “you’re doing a really good job with her.”
Paige blinked. That wasn’t about the incident. She could tell immediately.
“Oh,” she said, a little caught off guard. “I— thank you.”
Azzi smiled again. This one wasn’t the standard teacher smile. It didn’t feel rehearsed.
“She’s kind,” Azzi continued. “And empathetic. Those things don’t come from nowhere. Seems like she got that from her mom.”
Something warm unfurled low in Paige’s chest. Praise hit different when it came from someone whose opinion mattered— and Azzi’s did. More than she was ready to admit.
Their eyes held.
Just for a beat.
Then Adeline shifted between them, tugging at Paige’s shirt, and the moment folded back into itself.
Azzi straightened subtly, grounding herself, letting professionalism settle back into place like armor she knew how to wear well. This was the moment lines could blur if she let them.
She didn’t. She wouldn’t.
Instead, she smiled gently and redirected her attention downward. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, Adeline?”
Adeline peeked up at her from Paige’s side, eyes tired, cheeks flushed. She nodded once, then tightened her grip on Paige like she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.
Paige gave a small, apologetic smile. “Looks like she’s had enough for today.”
Azzi nodded, understanding clear in her expression. “That makes two of us,” she said lightly, then added, “She did really well bouncing back.”
Paige’s throat tightened again. She nodded, unable to say much more without risking tears.
“Have a good evening,” Azzi said, stepping back just enough to give them space.
“You too,” Paige replied.
As Paige guided Adeline out into the hallway, Adeline glanced back once, shy and uncertain, before lifting her hand in a small wave.
Azzi waved back.
As Paige and Adeline left the hallway, Azzi stood alone in the quiet classroom, her hands resting on the edge of the table, her heart beating just a little faster than it should have.
Get it together. Focus, she told herself.
—
The car was quiet when Paige pulled out of the school parking lot.
Not the awkward kind of quiet, just tired. The kind that sat heavy after a long day and didn’t ask to be filled right away.
Adeline sat in her car seat with her shoes kicked halfway off, her knees pulled up, her forehead resting against the window. She absentmindedly traced shapes in the fog on the glass with one finger.
Paige glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
“You wanna tell me about today?” she asked gently, keeping her voice light.
Adeline shrugged. “It was bad.”
Paige’s chest tightened, but she kept her tone steady. “Bad days happen,” she said. “That doesn’t mean you’re bad.”
Adeline was quiet for a second, then said, “I didn’t mean to grab it. I just wanted it.”
Paige nodded, even though Adeline couldn’t see her. “I know,” she said. “Big feelings make our hands do stuff sometimes.”
Adeline sniffed. “And I cried.”
“I know,” Paige said softly. “And that’s okay too.”
She waited a beat, then added, “I’m not mad at you. Not even a little.”
That got Adeline’s attention. Her head lifted from the window. “Really?”
“Really,” Paige said. “I’m proud of you for listening and calming down.”
Adeline thought about that, then nodded once, like she was filing the information away. “Ms. Fudd helped me breathe,” she said. “She said some days feel heavy.”
Paige smiled. “She sounds very smart.”
Adeline yawned, her entire body folding inward. “Can I have mac and cheese for dinner?”
Paige laughed quietly. “Yeah,” she said. “We can have mac and cheese.”
—
By the time they got home, Adeline was dragging her feet through the house, exhaustion written into every movement. Paige helped her kick off her shoes, set her backpack by the door, and started the oven without even thinking about it.
While the food cooked, Adeline curled up on the couch with her favorite blanket and watched a cartoon, her eyes already half-closed.
“Bath after dinner?” Paige asked from her spot in the kitchen.
Adeline nodded. “And then bedtime.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Paige responded.
Dinner was quiet and simple. Adeline ate slowly, content just to be there, occasionally humming to herself between bites. Paige watched her from across the table, that familiar ache swelling in her chest. The fierce and protective love that never quite stopped feeling overwhelming.
After the bath, Paige put Adeline in her pajamas, her hair damp and curling at the ends.
“Mommy?” she asked, her eyes scanning over Paige’s face.
Paige looked at her as she reached to pull down Adeline’s bed covers. “Yeah, baby?”
“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” Adeline asked, already hopeful. Her voice was laced with exhaustion.
Paige didn’t hesitate. “Of course you can.” She knew her daughter wouldn’t ask for that forever, so she jumped at every opportunity she could get.
Adeline’s face broke into a tired smile. They walked down the hall together, then both climbed into Paige’s bed. Adeline curled into her mother’s side almost immediately. Paige shut off the lamp by the bed, and wrapped an arm around Adeline’s small, warm body.
“Today was not fun,” Adeline murmured into the quiet.
Paige nodded against her hair. “Tomorrow will be better.”
Adeline was asleep within minutes, her breathing evening out, her fingers still clutching the hem of Paige’s shirt.
Paige stayed awake a little longer.
Adeline’s breathing had evened out beside her, soft and steady, one small hand still curled into the fabric of Paige’s shirt like an anchor. Paige didn’t move. She lay there, eyes open in the dark, letting the weight of the day settle.
Her mind drifted back to the classroom without her permission.
To the way Azzi had knelt beside Adeline, yes— her calm voice, her patience, the gentleness in her hands— but also to the moments that had nothing to do with Adeline at all.
The way Azzi’s eyes had lingered a beat too long when Paige spoke. The soft curve of her smile when Paige thanked her, like she’d heard more than just the words. The lightness in her voice— easy, almost teasing, slipping in like it belonged there.
Paige hadn’t imagined it. She was sure of that now.
There had been something in the way Azzi looked at her earlier. It wasn’t just professional warmth, not just polite reassurance. It was something curious. Something assessing. Like Azzi had been aware of Paige in the room in a way that went beyond her role as Adeline’s teacher.
That was the part that unsettled her most.
She trusted Azzi— deeply, instinctively— and somehow, alongside that trust, something else had been growing. A quiet awareness. A pull she hadn’t asked for, but hadn’t shut down either. The kind that showed up in small glances and carefully chosen words. The kind that stayed tasteful and contained, but unmistakably alive.
It wasn’t just admiration. It wasn’t just relief.
And it wasn’t one-sided. Paige felt that, too. The recognition, the shared spark hovering just beneath the surface, never spoken aloud but gently acknowledged.
She rolled onto her side, careful not to wake Adeline, and stared at the wall. Her chest felt full in an unfamiliar way. It wasn’t panicked, not guilty, just… alert. Awake.
This wasn’t harmless anymore. Not entirely. It was subtle and restrained and wrapped tightly in professionalism, but it was real. It had weight. And Paige could feel how easily it might tip into something more if either of them let it.
She took the safe route, like she always did.
Told herself it was gratitude.
Told herself it was exhaustion.
Told herself it was just the intensity of a long day and a vulnerable moment.
She told herself a lot of things.
In the dark, Adeline shifted closer, and Paige tightened her arm around her automatically. That grounded her. Choosing the familiar.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.
The Kindergarten Rulebook (and How We Broke It)
CHAPTER FOUR: Between The Lines
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
contains: former-wnba!paige, singlemom!paige, teacher!azzi, slow burn, mutual pining
word count: 3.4k
fic guide
A/N: happy game day! i think this is my favorite chapter thus far! enjoy :)
CHAPTER FOUR: Between The Lines
It was now the end of August. Paige couldn’t believe Adeline had already been in Kindergarten for almost a whole month. Time was flying by, and Paige’s heart ached, because she knew she couldn’t slow it down.
Paige had just picked Adeline up from school. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and they were just doing their usual after-school routine.
Paige would always unpack Adeline’s lunchbox and backpack as soon as they got home. She would look through her folder, make sure nothing needed to be signed or filled out, and would take out any completed worksheets that Ms. Fudd had sent home.
Paige set Adeline’s lunchbox by the microwave— where she always set it, so she wouldn’t forget to pack her lunch the next day, then she approached Adeline on the couch, where the little girl was eating a string cheese stick and watching a cartoon on the television.
“Can I have your folder, sweetheart?” Paige asked, and Adeline nodded, before reaching into her backpack and handing it over. Her eyes didn’t move away from the tv once.
Paige grabbed the folder, then sat down on the couch to check its contents. The front had her name on it— Adeline Bueckers— in bold lettering, along with some stickers. Azzi had definitely let her students decorate their folders themselves. Paige found that to be so adorable.
When she opened up the folder, she first noticed there was a few papers in the keep at home section of the folder. She grabbed the worksheets, smiling to herself as she flipped through them.
It was all things that Adeline had completed in class. Simple number sheets, a couple vowel practices, and some drawings. Each one had a smiley face from Azzi on it, along with an encouraging phrase such as good job! or excellent work! Ms. Fudd was such an uplifter. Paige admired that about her.
Next, Paige checked Adeline’s behavior sheet. Everything seemed to be great, no incident reports or office referrals. Adeline seemed to be a well-behaved kid at school. That made Paige so proud.
She was just about the close the folder and slip it back into Adeline’s bag, when something caught her eye. A small, ripped sheet of paper, with black pen ink on it. A handwritten note.
She gently pulled it out of the folder pocket, and let her eyes scan over the words.
Adeline had such a wonderful day today! She worked so hard during centers and was so kind to her classmates. Thank you for raising such a thoughtful, curious kid. It shows.
— Ms. Fudd ♡
It was a simple note. A note Paige was sure that Azzi left for every student in her class at some time or another, but she felt special anyway— and the letter wasn’t even for her. It was for Adeline.
“Addy,” Paige breathed out, reaching over to gently rub her back. “Ms. Fudd sent home a note for you,” she said.
At first, Adeline didn’t react, but once she heard her teacher’s name, her head snapped towards the note, and a smile formed on her face.
Paige read it for her, then gave her a kiss on the top of her head.
“Mommy’s so proud of you, baby,” she said softly, then let Adeline get back to watching her cartoon. The little girl seemed more interested in Paw Patrol than the note.
That was fine. Paige knew Adeline appreciated the note. The smile on her face proved that.
Paige folded the note once, then unfolded it again.
She told herself she was just going to put it back in the folder. She didn’t. Instead, she let her eyes linger on the handwriting— rounded and careful, slightly slanted to the right. The letters weren’t rushed, but they weren’t stiff either. Confident. Warm. The kind of handwriting that belonged to someone who took their time, even when they didn’t technically have to.
Azzi’s a hearts-on-notes person, Paige realized. That tiny detail settled somewhere in her chest.
The pen pressure varied just a little. Heavier on certain words, lighter on others, and Paige found herself wondering if that meant anything at all. Wonderful. Kind. It shows. She traced the sentences with her eyes again, slower this time, like rereading a favorite line in a book.
The heart at the end was small. Intentional. Not overdone. Paige imagined Azzi adding it almost as an afterthought, a final gentle touch before sliding the note into the folder. It was easy to picture— Azzi at her desk before dismissal, getting folders ready to go home.
Paige swallowed thickly.
She knew— logically— that this was part of the job. That teachers sent notes home all the time. That this didn’t mean anything more than what it said. And yet, it didn’t feel generic. It didn’t feel copied and pasted or dashed off between tasks. It felt… seen. Even if Paige wasn’t the one meant to be seen.
She glanced back at Adeline, who was now laying sideways on the couch, feet propped up on the armrest, fully absorbed in her show— already moved on, already content.
Paige looked back down at the note one last time before shutting the folder and sliding it back into Adeline’s backpack. She kept the note out. She wanted to keep it— for Addy, of course.
Paige stood up from the couch with the note still in her hand.
She walked into the kitchen, opened the drawer by the fridge, and pulled out a magnet. It was a blue one shaped like a basketball that Adeline had picked out at the dollar store months ago. Paige smoothed the note flat against the stainless steel and pressed the magnet over the corner, right at eye level.
There.
That way, Adeline could see it every morning. A reminder. Encouragement. Proof that her teacher noticed her.
That was what Paige told herself, anyway.
—
Wednesday morning, Paige caught herself reading it while her coffee brewed. She leaned against the counter, her mug warming her palms, her eyes scanning the same sentences like they might change.
Such a wonderful day today.
So kind to her classmates.
She imagined Adeline during centers at school— small hands busy, tongue peeking out in concentration, and felt a swell of pride so sharp it nearly hurt. Paige had always loved watching her daughter in spaces where she wasn’t needed. Loved it, even when it scared her.
She reread the line about raising a thoughtful, curious kid.
Her throat tightened.
Paige didn’t know when she’d started measuring her life in moments like this. Notes home, fridge magnets, gold stars that weren’t hers— but somewhere along the way, it had happened. Somewhere between surgeries and rehab and the slow, quiet realization that the league wasn’t calling her anymore.
This still mattered, she told herself. It counted.
On Wednesday afternoon, while Adeline was at school, Paige paused by the fridge again before grabbing her keys to go run some errands. Just a glance. Just to make sure the note hadn’t slipped.
It hadn’t.
Thursday morning, she read it out of order, skipping the first sentence entirely and landing on Thank you for raising such a thoughtful, curious kid.
She wondered if Azzi meant it. If she’d hesitated before writing it. If she’d thought of Paige at all while she did.
This was ridiculous. Paige knew that.
Still, Azzi could’ve written Adeline is doing great! and left it at that. She could have slapped a sticker on the page and moved on. She hadn’t. She’d taken the time to write It shows.
Paige exhaled slowly, pressing her thumb into the edge of the fridge door until it left a faint mark.
Thursday night, after Adeline was asleep and the house had gone quiet, Paige stood in the kitchen in socked feet, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound. She traced the heart at the bottom of the note with her eyes, again and again and again and again.
It was stupid, she knew that. To want something personal in something that wasn’t. To feel this pulled by a piece of paper written in black ink meant for a five-year-old.
But Paige had spent her whole life being seen for what her body could do. For how fast she moved, how hard she worked, how much she could give to the game. Praise had always come loud and public and conditional.
This was different. This was small. Quiet. Domestic.
And somehow, it lodged deeper.
Paige left the note where it was when she went to bed.
She didn’t take it down in the morning.
—
The next day, while Adeline was in school, Paige found herself focusing on the note more than ever. She read it, and read it, and read it— until she realized she probably had it memorized.
“Jesus Christ,” Paige whispered to herself. This note— it meant so much to her, and she had to let Azzi know that. Not in a creepy way, of course, but in a— thank you for caring about my daughter enough to write this— kind of way.
She walked over to the couch, plopped down, and grabbed her laptop off of the coffee table. She propped her feet up, then pulled up her email. She was going to email Ms. Fudd.
Her fingers clacked on the keys of her laptop, her eyes scanning the screen as she drafted out an email. After she had one typed out, she read over it.
Hi Ms. Fudd,
I just wanted to thank you for the note you sent home with Adeline earlier this week. It really meant a lot to both of us. She talks about you all the time, and it’s been such a comfort knowing she’s in a classroom where she feels seen and encouraged.
I know teachers do things like this every day, but I wanted you to know that it made a bigger impact than you probably realize. Thank you for being so kind to her. And us.
Best,
Paige
After a few minutes of Paige rereading it and overthinking every word, she used her mousepad to highlight the text, and deleted the entire thing. No way she could send that one.
So, she tried again.
Hello Ms. Fudd,
I just wanted to thank you for the note you sent home with Adeline this week. She was very proud of herself, and it meant a lot to her for us to read it together.
We really appreciate the encouragement and all the care you put into your classroom.
Thank you again,
Paige Bueckers
Paige was more satisfied with this one. It was more formal. More restrained, but not cold.
She took a deep breath, mentally cursing herself for letting this cause her heart rate to increase.
Getting all worked up over an email to my child’s teacher. I’ve lost it, she thought to herself, then finally clicked send.
—
Paige spent the rest of her day waiting for a reply from Azzi. She knew that was embarrassing— that she needed to put her laptop away, turn off the notifications for the Gmail app on her phone, and find something else to do, but she couldn’t. Her brain just wouldn’t let herself focus on anything else.
She wasn’t sure why she kept checking for a response. Azzi was working— literally teaching a class of 20 five-year-olds right now— a class that included her daughter. Azzi obviously didn’t have time to sit around and refresh her inbox like Paige was doing.
Around 2, Paige went to pick up Adeline from school. She listened to her Apple Music playlist on the way, because she knew once Adeline got in the car, she’d be asked to put on Disney Princess songs. Probably from Tangled. Definitely from Tangled.
She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, watching the doors as they opened and kids began to file out. When Adeline appeared, her backpack crooked, hair slightly frizzed, talking animatedly to Lucy— Paige felt the familiar rush of relief.
Azzi was right behind them.
Paige straightened in her seat without meaning to.
Azzi guided Adeline to the car like always, calm and efficient, crouching to help buckle her in. “What was your favorite part of the day, Miss Adeline?” she asked.
“When we did math and you gave me a gold star,” Adeline announced proudly.
“That’s a good choice. You did a wonderful job during math stations today,” Ms. Fudd said warmly. She shut the door gently and then stepped back, before glancing toward Paige.
Paige rolled down the window.
“Hi,” she said— too fast. “Hey. Hi.”
Azzi smiled, polite and familiar. “Hi.”
There was a beat.
Paige’s brain offered her about six things she could say. She picked the worst one.
“She— uh— she seems like she had a really great day today,” Paige said, nodding toward the backseat like Ms. Fudd hadn’t just been the one with her daughter since 7:30 this morning.
Azzi didn’t miss a step. “She did great. Very enthusiastic and excited to learn today.”
“Oh. That’s— yeah. That’s good,” Paige replied, already wincing internally. Why couldn’t she be normal around Azzi for once?
Azzi hesitated for half a second, like she might add something more, then simply smiled again. “Have a good evening.”
“You too,” Paige said quickly.
Azzi stepped away, turning back toward the line of cars and kids, already shifting her attention where it belonged.
Paige pulled forward when prompted, her heart thudding in her chest.
That was it. Completely regular. Nothing weird. No indication Ms. Fudd had read her email— because she hadn’t.
Still, Paige replayed the interaction in her head twice before she even made it out of the parking lot.
—
The hallway outside Room 5B was finally quiet.
Azzi stacked the last of the books, wiped down the tables, and shut off the overhead lights until the room softened into late-afternoon gold. This was the part of the day for her to reflect— the in-between. When the kids were gone, but their presence still lingered in crooked name tags and half-erased sight words.
Dismissal had gone smoothly. It usually did.
Still, her mind flicked back, briefly, to the pickup line.
Paige had been… different today.
Not in a concerning way. Not in any way that crossed a line. Just— off-kilter. Nervous, maybe. Talking a little too fast. Offering observations Azzi already knew, like she was filling silence she didn’t trust.
Azzi hadn’t thought much of it in the moment. Parents had days like that. Life showed up on their faces sometimes, and school pickup happened to catch them mid-thought.
But Paige’s energy had lingered.
There was something almost endearing about it. The way she’d clearly wanted to say something, then settled for something safer. The way she’d smiled too quickly, then seemed to realize it and pull back.
Azzi shook her head slightly, as if to clear the thought.
She sat at her desk and pulled up her Gmail, more out of habit than urgency.
Emails first. Always emails first.
Most of them were routine. Some district updates, a reminder about picture day, a parent asking about snack guidelines. Azzi answered those quickly, efficiently. She prided herself on that. Clear boundaries. Prompt replies. Professional warmth without invitation.
Then she saw the name.
Paige Bueckers.
Azzi didn’t click it right away.
She told herself she was just finishing the email above it. She reread a sentence she’d already understood. Adjusted a comma that didn’t need adjusting. When she finally opened Paige’s message, she felt it anyway— that small, unmistakable pull, low and unwelcome.
She read it once.
Then again.
The email was short. Thoughtful. Careful. So careful that Azzi noticed the restraint immediately— the way Paige thanked her without overstepping, the way she centered Adeline while still letting something personal hum beneath the words.
Read it together.
Azzi leaned back in her chair, lips pressing together.
It clicked, then— the pickup line. The nerves. The way Paige had seemed almost distracted by her own thoughts.
Parents thanked her all the time. Notes, emails, end-of-year cards that made her tear up and remind herself why she chose this job in the first place. This shouldn’t have been different.
And yet.
There was something about Paige’s tone— measured, grateful, held just this side of contained— that made Azzi pause. It read like someone who knew how to take up space carefully. Like someone who had learned, somewhere along the way, not to ask for too much.
Azzi exhaled slowly and glanced around the empty classroom, as if the walls themselves might remind her who she was supposed to be.
She was good at this. At keeping her heart guarded. At knowing where the lines were and not even brushing against them.
Still, she reread the email one more time before typing a reply.
Hello Ms. Bueckers,
Thank you so much for your kind message. I’m very glad to hear that Adeline felt proud of herself. She has been doing a wonderful job in class, and it’s always nice to see students feel confident and encouraged.
I truly appreciate your support and partnership. Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever have any questions or concerns.
Have a great weekend,
Ms. Fudd
Azzi let her eyes scan over the reply— checking for typos and such, then pressed send, before she could overthink it.
Reply sent.
—
Paige didn’t have time to check her email for a few hours. She had been so ready to pickup Adeline today— because she missed her, of course— but also because Adeline kept her busy. Distracted in the best ways.
It wasn’t until after dinner— when Adeline was coloring at the kitchen table and Paige was washing dishes, when her phone screen lit up, and her missed notifications were on display.
Paige’s eyes scanned over the screen as she dried off a plate.
A couple ESPN updates, a text from her Dad, an email from Ms. Fudd— wait. An email from Ms. Fudd?
Paige scrambled to grab her phone, leaning her back against the counter as she opened up the Gmail app.
Her thumb hovered over the screen for half a second before she opened it.
She read the email once.
Then again.
It was exactly what she should have expected. It was kind, appreciative, and careful. The sort of message Paige herself would’ve written if she were on the other side of the desk. Nothing personal. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing that crossed a line.
She leaned her head back against the cabinet, the cool wood grounding her as she read it a third time, slower now. Wonderful job. Confident and encouraged. Paige could picture Azzi typing it, all composed and deliberate, and choosing every word with intention.
Of course she had.
Paige locked her phone and set it facedown on the counter, exhaling through her nose.
“That’s good,” she murmured to herself, not loud enough for Adeline to hear. “That’s… good.”
And it was. Truly. This was her daughter’s teacher. A professional woman doing her job well. Paige didn’t want— or need— anything more than that.
But if that was true, then why did her chest feel tight?
She glanced toward the kitchen table, where her daughter was hunched over her coloring book, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Paige smiled at the sight, her heart softening in its familiar way.
This was harmless, she told herself.
A little admiration. Gratitude. A crush that would burn itself out once novelty wore off.
She had been telling herself that since Meet the Teacher Night.
Parents liked good teachers all the time.
Still, Paige picked her phone back up.
She reread the email once more, lingering on the sign-off this time. Ms. Fudd. Formal. Appropriate. A reminder of where things belonged.
Paige let the phone drop back to the counter.
She’d been looking forward to drop-off. To dismissal. To those brief, contained moments where Azzi existed in her orbit.
She’d been reading between lines that weren’t meant to hold anything extra.
That realization settled in her chest. It wasn’t heavy, but honest.
Paige turned back to the sink, before rinsing the last dish and setting it carefully in the rack. She wiped her hands on a towel and glanced at Adeline again, reminding herself of what mattered.
This wasn’t something she needed to act on.
It was something she needed to notice.
And noticing, she knew, was usually the first step before something changed.
The Kindergarten Rulebook (and How We Broke It)
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
CHAPTER THREE: Sidelines
contains: former-wnba!paige, singlemom!paige, teacher!azzi, coaching au, slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, injury grief
word count: 3k
fic guide
A/N: guys, I literally got cuteness aggression while writing adeline in this chapter. also, i decided to add a section of azzi’s pov, since people wanted it. never hesitate to leave a comment or smth in my inbox if you have any questions about the fic, or if you just want to chat!
CHAPTER THREE: Sidelines
School had settled into a rhythm.
Paige realized it as she idled in the pickup line at Riverwood Elementary, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other draped casually over the center console like she wasn’t internally counting the seconds. Adeline was three weeks into Kindergarten now. Long enough that the mornings didn’t feel like controlled chaos. Long enough that Adeline no longer clung to her at drop-off. Long enough that Paige knew exactly when to start watching the doors.
The kindergarten dismissal doors swung open in a familiar wave of noise and color. Kids spilled out in clusters, their backpacks bouncing, their voices loud and unfiltered. Paige leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning automatically.
She found Azzi before she found Adeline.
Ms. Fudd stood just outside the doors, her clipboard tucked under her arm, and she greeted each child by name as they were guided toward their cars. Her movements were practiced. Calm, efficient, endlessly patient. She crouched to speak to one student, then straightened, signaling to another teacher before guiding a child forward by the shoulder.
Paige’s chest did that stupid little flutter it always did.
She told herself it was just routine now. Familiarity. Nothing more.
Then she saw red hair.
“Mommy!” Adeline’s voice cut through the noise as she broke from the line, her face lighting up the second she spotted Paige’s car.
Paige’s lips curved into a smile she didn’t bother holding back. “Hey, baby.”
Ms. Fudd walked Adeline over, one hand resting lightly on her back. “Miss Adeline had a really good day,” she said as she opened the back door. “She was very focused during reading time.”
“I finished my whole book,” Adeline added proudly, climbing into her seat.
“You did?” Paige said, warmth blooming in her chest. “That’s amazing.”
Ms. Fudd nodded as she helped guide Adeline’s arms through her backpack straps. “She didn’t give up when it got tricky, either.”
Paige’s gaze flicked to Azzi without her meaning to. “Thank you,” she said, and meant more than the words covered.
Azzi smiled. It was soft and professional. Then, she reached for the seatbelt. “Alright, kiddo. Arms up.”
Adeline complied easily, chattering about stickers and math games as Ms. Fudd buckled her in. Paige watched the whole thing, something quiet and reverent settling in her chest. The care. The steadiness. The way Azzi treated her daughter like she mattered.
“She talked about trying again instead of quitting,” Azzi said as she checked the buckle. “That was really nice to see.”
Paige swallowed. “I’m glad she has you.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Azzi’s hands paused for just a fraction of a second.
Then she straightened, her smile still warm, but careful now. Measured. “She’s doing really well,” she said gently. “You should be proud.”
There it was. The subtle redirect. Not cold. Just clear.
Paige nodded, forcing herself to breathe. “I am. I—” She stopped, the rest of the sentence pressing heavy behind her teeth. I never thought I’d get this right. I still don’t know what I’m doing. Some days I miss the person I used to be.
Ms. Fudd glanced toward the growing line of cars behind them, then back at Paige. “If you ever have questions about class things,” she said kindly, “email is always the easiest way to reach me.”
Paige smiled, a little tight. “Right. Of course.”
Azzi stepped back and closed the door carefully. “Have a good rest of your day, Adeline.”
“Bye, Ms. Fudd!” Adeline chirped, already kicking her feet happily.
“And you,” Azzi added, her gaze meeting Paige’s for a beat longer than necessary. “Drive safe.”
Paige watched her step away, clipboard back under her arm as she turned to the next car.
—
Azzi watched Paige’s car pull forward with the rest of the line, the familiar shape of it disappearing past the crosswalk and out toward the street.
She didn’t linger. Not really.
There were still kids to load, names to call, buckles to check. Another student tugged at her sleeve, asking where their water bottle went, and Azzi turned easily, attention snapping back into place the way it always did. Presence was part of the job. Kids noticed when you drifted.
Still, once the last car pulled away and the doors were closed behind them, the quiet hit differently.
Azzi exhaled, rolling her shoulders back as she gathered the stray backpacks left behind on the bench. The dismissal routine was muscle memory by now. Efficient. Clean. No room for messiness.
She liked it that way.
Paige Bueckers was not efficient. Or at least she didn’t seem like she was.
Azzi hadn’t meant to notice her at first. Parents blurred together early in the year— their faces, names, schedules. But Paige had stood out in ways Azzi tried not to catalog. The way she listened like everything mattered, the way her attention stayed anchored on Adeline even when the world was loud around them. The steadiness undercut by something rawer and quieter.
Azzi saw it because she knew it.
She wiped down a bench with a disinfectant wipe, the sharp scent filling the air. Another day done. Another set of small victories. Her students had tried. They had smiled. They had trusted her.
That mattered.
And Paige? Paige had looked at her like she mattered too.
That was the problem.
Azzi wasn’t naive. She knew the line. She’d drawn it early in her career and redrawn it every year since. Parents leaned in when they were grateful. When they were scared. When their kids felt like extensions of their own hearts. It wasn’t romantic— it was human.
Still, there was something about Paige that made Azzi careful in a way she didn’t usually need to be.
The almost-thank-you. The things Paige stopped herself from saying. The way her eyes softened when Adeline talked about her day, like pride and relief were tangled together so tightly they couldn’t be separated.
Azzi understood that kind of love. The kind that made you vulnerable without asking permission.
She gathered her clipboard, tucked it under her arm, and headed back inside. The classroom smelled faintly like crayons and dry erase markers, the late afternoon light slanting across the alphabet rug. She straightened a stack of books that didn’t need straightening.
Professional. Always professional.
Still, as she wiped down the tables, her thoughts drifted to the way Paige’s voice had dipped when she’d said thank you. To the way she’d caught herself, pulled back, respected the boundary before Azzi even had to name it.
That mattered too.
Azzi pressed her lips together, a small smile ghosting across her face before she could stop it. She shook her head, amused with herself.
Get it together, Fudd.
She sat down at her desk and started to go over some lesson plans. Making changes where she saw fit. Tomorrow would be the same. Morning greetings. Lessons. Stickers. Safe routines.
And Paige would be back in the pickup line again, steady hands on the wheel, trusting Azzi with the most important thing in her world.
Azzi nibbled on her bottom lip as her fingers pressed into the keyboard.
Some things were worth protecting.
Even when they made her heart beat a little faster than she liked.
—
They fell into silence as Paige pulled forward, the school fading behind them.
“So,” Paige said after a moment, glancing at the rearview mirror. “Sounds like you had a pretty great day.”
Adeline nodded enthusiastically. “Ms. Fudd says I’m bright.”
Paige smiled. “She’s absolutely right.”
“Ms. Fudd smells like your happy soap,” Adeline said, voice soft and certain, like it was an important fact.
Paige let out a quiet laugh, the sound catching halfway in her chest. “My what?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“Your happy soap,” Adeline repeated. “The one that always makes me wanna cuddle with you.”
Paige understood now. Adeline was referring to the soap she used most nights. The one that smelled like lavender and clean sheets, the one her daughter always said meant everything was okay. She hadn’t thought about the fact that someone else might smell like comfort, too.
“Yeah,” Paige murmured after a beat, her eyes drifting back towards the road. “I guess she does.”
—
Later that evening, Paige and Adeline drove to the county recreational center for the first practice of the school year. She was assigned a fourth grade co-ed group this season.
Paige had done this coaching thing for years now. It was a way for her to stay close to the game she loved. She wasn’t sure she was ever going to be ready to completely let go.
She parked, grabbed her bag, and then held Adeline’s hand as they walked inside.
The gym smelled like rubber and old wood, the kind of place where the air always carried a faint echo of bouncing balls no matter how quiet it was. Sneakers squeaked somewhere down the hall, a whistle blew from a different court, and the overhead lights hummed faintly as they flickered on.
Paige felt it settle into her bones the second they stepped inside— muscle memory, instinct, something she hadn’t been able to outrun no matter how hard she tried.
—
As kids filed in, she got the basketballs ready, and turned on some kid-friendly music over the speakers. Adeline sat on the bleachers, the row closest to the court. She was used to these after-school practices, too. She enjoyed tagging along.
Since it was the first practice, Paige decided that today would mostly focus on building a relationship with the kids and having fun. Plus, they were 9 years old. This wasn’t the pro leagues.
Paige had learned— sometimes the hard way— that kids played better when they felt seen first. Confidence didn’t come from stat sheets or scoreboards; it came from knowing someone believed you were capable before you believed it yourself.
Funny how that worked, she thought. How the smallest encouragement could change everything.
—
Once all the kids on the team were accounted for, she sat everyone in a circle, and decided to have a little icebreaker. Paige introduced herself— and Adeline, of course, then went around the circle and had all the kids do the same, while also adding their personal favorite basketball drill.
One of them mentioned cone-dribbling, while another favored running layups. Paige made a note of each kid’s answer— so she could incorporate them all into future practices.
After they all introduced themselves, Paige got things going. She decided on two games at each side of the gym, and split the players into two groups.
Dribble knockout at one side of the court— which is where the players dribble within a set area, and they try to knock other players’ balls away with their free hand, all while protecting their own dribble. The last player standing wins the round.
She set up Rock Paper Scissors 1v1 at the other end. Two kids would play RPS, winner gets the ball and attacks the basket, loser defends. They would rotate and take turns, while the kids that weren’t currently playing would spectate.
She gave Adeline the job of whistle-blower, and also let her run water bottles and towels out to the kids as they needed it.
“Good job, sweetheart,” Paige breathed out as Adeline came back from delivering a towel. “You’re gonna be a great assistant coach this year,” she said, her hand gently going to ruffle Addy’s hair.
—
Paige oversaw practice as both games occurred on each side of the court, and offered help when someone needed it.
Halfway through the second round of dribble knockout, Paige noticed a kid lingering near the edge of the court. He was shorter than most of the others, even the girls. He was anxious and quiet. Griffin was his name, if she remembered correctly from earlier.
Paige walked over, her voice soft and a bit hesitant as she crouched down beside him. “You good?” She asked as she placed a hand on his shoulder.
Griffin nodded quickly, but avoided her eyes. “Yeah, I guess. I just— don’t wanna mess up.”
Paige’s chest tightened. God. She knew that feeling.
“Hey,” she said gently. “Messing up is part of it. It means you’re trying.”
The boy hesitated. “What if everyone’s better than me?”
Paige smiled, soft and real. “Then you work at it. That’s it. Yeah— talent is cool, but effort is what sticks.” She then tossed him the ball. “Go on, then. Protect your dribble.”
Paige then walked back over to her spot beside Adeline to observe, when she felt something twist low in her chest.
She watched the kids move, all clumsy and determined and unafraid of looking bad. She knew exactly how it was supposed to look. Where their feet should land. How their bodies would change if they kept going.
She could still feel it sometimes. The rhythm. The certainty.
Coaching filled the space where her career used to live, but some nights, the silence afterward was louder than any crowd had ever been.
She took a deep breath, willing herself to stop thinking of the past. She needed to focus on the now. She let her eyes settle back on Griffin, who looked more confident now. Less self-conscious than before.
He didn’t win the round, but he didn’t freeze either. And when he jogged back to the sideline, he glanced at Paige like he wanted to make sure she’d seen him try.
She had. She grinned at him, and shot him a thumbs up to make sure he knew she saw it.
—
Soon, the groups rotated, and both games continued. Paige walked around and gave tips, while Adeline did her own thing.
The little girl took her job seriously. She marched water bottles out like it was the most important task in the world, offering encouragement between sips.
“Good job!” she told one kid earnestly.
“You’re really fast!” she said to another.
Paige watched from the other side of the court, something warm blooming in her chest. She saw the way the kids responded to Adeline— not annoyed, not dismissive. Just accepting. Like she belonged there as much as anyone else did.
Something about watching Addy be so engaged with practice made her appreciate the present more than before.
This is my life now, Paige thought. Not the one I planned, but the one I built anyway.
—
Once practice was over, Paige got Adeline to blow her whistle, and then the group circled up at mid-court, so she could offer a word of encouragement to send them off with.
“Alright,” Paige said, clapping her hands once. “What did we learn today?”
A few kids shouted drills. She expected that. But then, Griffin, the unsure boy from earlier, said, “Don’t quit.”
Paige smiled, her eyes locking with his. “Exactly,” she breathed out, snapping as she gestured to him. “Trying matters more than getting it perfect.”
She felt it land— not just with them, but with herself, too.
—
The gym slowly emptied out, the echo of bouncing basketballs fading into something quieter. Kids were scooped up by their parents, their voices overlapping as they spilled into the hallway, the energy still buzzing. Paige waited until the last of her team had been picked up, before exchanging quick goodbyes and reminding them she’d see them next week.
“Good job today,” she said, clapping once as the final kid jogged off.
When the gym was finally still, Paige exhaled.
Adeline had migrated from the bleachers to midcourt, sitting cross-legged on the floor and absentmindedly rolling a basketball back and forth between her palms. Paige watched her for a moment— how comfortable she looked there, like the gym was just another room in her life.
“You ready to go, coach?” Paige asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
Adeline grinned as she stood up with a nod. “Can we get nuggets?”
Paige laughed softly. “I was hoping you’d ask that.”
—
They stopped for fast food on the way home, the kind of place with bright lights and plastic booths and a drive-thru that never quite moved fast enough. Adeline kicked her feet as she waited, humming to herself, while Paige stared ahead at the glowing menu board, suddenly aware of how tired she was in that deep, good way.
The kind that comes from showing up.
Adeline chattered all the way home. She recounted the best parts of practice— who was fast, who fell, how she definitely blew the whistle correctly every time. Paige responded automatically, smiling, nodding, letting the sound of her daughter’s voice fill the car.
At a stoplight, Paige caught her own reflection in the rearview mirror. Her hair was pulled back, her cheeks flushed, her hands still faintly smelling like rubber and sanitizer. The image of Azzi flickered through her mind without warning. The same calm presence, the same quiet authority. Different environment. Same purpose.
Teaching kids how to be brave.
Paige shook her head slightly, as if clearing the thought, and turned the music up just a notch.
—
At home, the night unfolded gently. A quick bath. Pajamas. Adeline’s hair still damp as Paige braided it back for sleep. They curled up on the couch for half an episode of a cartoon neither of them fully watched, while Adeline’s head laid heavy against Paige’s shoulder.
“You were a good coach today, mommy,” Adeline murmured, already half-asleep.
That was the highest praise she could get. Paige pressed a kiss into her hair. “So were you, Addy Bug.”
She tucked Adeline into bed a little later, lingering in the doorway like she did every night once the room went quiet. The house settled around her— soft, familiar, and earned.
Paige turned off the lights and stood there for a moment in the dark, her heart full in a way that still surprised her.
This wasn’t the dream she’d chased once.
But it was hers.
And tonight, that felt like enough.
The Kindergarten Rulebook (and How We Broke It)
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
CHAPTER THREE: Sidelines
contains: former-wnba!paige, singlemom!paige, teacher!azzi, coaching au, slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, injury grief
word count: 3k
fic guide
A/N: guys, I literally got cuteness aggression while writing adeline in this chapter. also, i decided to add a section of azzi’s pov, since people wanted it. never hesitate to leave a comment or smth in my inbox if you have any questions about the fic, or if you just want to chat!
CHAPTER THREE: Sidelines
School had settled into a rhythm.
Paige realized it as she idled in the pickup line at Riverwood Elementary, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other draped casually over the center console like she wasn’t internally counting the seconds. Adeline was three weeks into Kindergarten now. Long enough that the mornings didn’t feel like controlled chaos. Long enough that Adeline no longer clung to her at drop-off. Long enough that Paige knew exactly when to start watching the doors.
The kindergarten dismissal doors swung open in a familiar wave of noise and color. Kids spilled out in clusters, their backpacks bouncing, their voices loud and unfiltered. Paige leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning automatically.
She found Azzi before she found Adeline.
Ms. Fudd stood just outside the doors, her clipboard tucked under her arm, and she greeted each child by name as they were guided toward their cars. Her movements were practiced. Calm, efficient, endlessly patient. She crouched to speak to one student, then straightened, signaling to another teacher before guiding a child forward by the shoulder.
Paige’s chest did that stupid little flutter it always did.
She told herself it was just routine now. Familiarity. Nothing more.
Then she saw red hair.
“Mommy!” Adeline’s voice cut through the noise as she broke from the line, her face lighting up the second she spotted Paige’s car.
Paige’s lips curved into a smile she didn’t bother holding back. “Hey, baby.”
Ms. Fudd walked Adeline over, one hand resting lightly on her back. “Miss Adeline had a really good day,” she said as she opened the back door. “She was very focused during reading time.”
“I finished my whole book,” Adeline added proudly, climbing into her seat.
“You did?” Paige said, warmth blooming in her chest. “That’s amazing.”
Ms. Fudd nodded as she helped guide Adeline’s arms through her backpack straps. “She didn’t give up when it got tricky, either.”
Paige’s gaze flicked to Azzi without her meaning to. “Thank you,” she said, and meant more than the words covered.
Azzi smiled. It was soft and professional. Then, she reached for the seatbelt. “Alright, kiddo. Arms up.”
Adeline complied easily, chattering about stickers and math games as Ms. Fudd buckled her in. Paige watched the whole thing, something quiet and reverent settling in her chest. The care. The steadiness. The way Azzi treated her daughter like she mattered.
“She talked about trying again instead of quitting,” Azzi said as she checked the buckle. “That was really nice to see.”
Paige swallowed. “I’m glad she has you.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Azzi’s hands paused for just a fraction of a second.
Then she straightened, her smile still warm, but careful now. Measured. “She’s doing really well,” she said gently. “You should be proud.”
There it was. The subtle redirect. Not cold. Just clear.
Paige nodded, forcing herself to breathe. “I am. I—” She stopped, the rest of the sentence pressing heavy behind her teeth. I never thought I’d get this right. I still don’t know what I’m doing. Some days I miss the person I used to be.
Ms. Fudd glanced toward the growing line of cars behind them, then back at Paige. “If you ever have questions about class things,” she said kindly, “email is always the easiest way to reach me.”
Paige smiled, a little tight. “Right. Of course.”
Azzi stepped back and closed the door carefully. “Have a good rest of your day, Adeline.”
“Bye, Ms. Fudd!” Adeline chirped, already kicking her feet happily.
“And you,” Azzi added, her gaze meeting Paige’s for a beat longer than necessary. “Drive safe.”
Paige watched her step away, clipboard back under her arm as she turned to the next car.
—
Azzi watched Paige’s car pull forward with the rest of the line, the familiar shape of it disappearing past the crosswalk and out toward the street.
She didn’t linger. Not really.
There were still kids to load, names to call, buckles to check. Another student tugged at her sleeve, asking where their water bottle went, and Azzi turned easily, attention snapping back into place the way it always did. Presence was part of the job. Kids noticed when you drifted.
Still, once the last car pulled away and the doors were closed behind them, the quiet hit differently.
Azzi exhaled, rolling her shoulders back as she gathered the stray backpacks left behind on the bench. The dismissal routine was muscle memory by now. Efficient. Clean. No room for messiness.
She liked it that way.
Paige Bueckers was not efficient. Or at least she didn’t seem like she was.
Azzi hadn’t meant to notice her at first. Parents blurred together early in the year— their faces, names, schedules. But Paige had stood out in ways Azzi tried not to catalog. The way she listened like everything mattered, the way her attention stayed anchored on Adeline even when the world was loud around them. The steadiness undercut by something rawer and quieter.
Azzi saw it because she knew it.
She wiped down a bench with a disinfectant wipe, the sharp scent filling the air. Another day done. Another set of small victories. Her students had tried. They had smiled. They had trusted her.
That mattered.
And Paige? Paige had looked at her like she mattered too.
That was the problem.
Azzi wasn’t naive. She knew the line. She’d drawn it early in her career and redrawn it every year since. Parents leaned in when they were grateful. When they were scared. When their kids felt like extensions of their own hearts. It wasn’t romantic— it was human.
Still, there was something about Paige that made Azzi careful in a way she didn’t usually need to be.
The almost-thank-you. The things Paige stopped herself from saying. The way her eyes softened when Adeline talked about her day, like pride and relief were tangled together so tightly they couldn’t be separated.
Azzi understood that kind of love. The kind that made you vulnerable without asking permission.
She gathered her clipboard, tucked it under her arm, and headed back inside. The classroom smelled faintly like crayons and dry erase markers, the late afternoon light slanting across the alphabet rug. She straightened a stack of books that didn’t need straightening.
Professional. Always professional.
Still, as she wiped down the tables, her thoughts drifted to the way Paige’s voice had dipped when she’d said thank you. To the way she’d caught herself, pulled back, respected the boundary before Azzi even had to name it.
That mattered too.
Azzi pressed her lips together, a small smile ghosting across her face before she could stop it. She shook her head, amused with herself.
Get it together, Fudd.
She sat down at her desk and started to go over some lesson plans. Making changes where she saw fit. Tomorrow would be the same. Morning greetings. Lessons. Stickers. Safe routines.
And Paige would be back in the pickup line again, steady hands on the wheel, trusting Azzi with the most important thing in her world.
Azzi nibbled on her bottom lip as her fingers pressed into the keyboard.
Some things were worth protecting.
Even when they made her heart beat a little faster than she liked.
—
They fell into silence as Paige pulled forward, the school fading behind them.
“So,” Paige said after a moment, glancing at the rearview mirror. “Sounds like you had a pretty great day.”
Adeline nodded enthusiastically. “Ms. Fudd says I’m bright.”
Paige smiled. “She’s absolutely right.”
“Ms. Fudd smells like your happy soap,” Adeline said, voice soft and certain, like it was an important fact.
Paige let out a quiet laugh, the sound catching halfway in her chest. “My what?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“Your happy soap,” Adeline repeated. “The one that always makes me wanna cuddle with you.”
Paige understood now. Adeline was referring to the soap she used most nights. The one that smelled like lavender and clean sheets, the one her daughter always said meant everything was okay. She hadn’t thought about the fact that someone else might smell like comfort, too.
“Yeah,” Paige murmured after a beat, her eyes drifting back towards the road. “I guess she does.”
—
Later that evening, Paige and Adeline drove to the county recreational center for the first practice of the school year. She was assigned a fourth grade co-ed group this season.
Paige had done this coaching thing for years now. It was a way for her to stay close to the game she loved. She wasn’t sure she was ever going to be ready to completely let go.
She parked, grabbed her bag, and then held Adeline’s hand as they walked inside.
The gym smelled like rubber and old wood, the kind of place where the air always carried a faint echo of bouncing balls no matter how quiet it was. Sneakers squeaked somewhere down the hall, a whistle blew from a different court, and the overhead lights hummed faintly as they flickered on.
Paige felt it settle into her bones the second they stepped inside— muscle memory, instinct, something she hadn’t been able to outrun no matter how hard she tried.
—
As kids filed in, she got the basketballs ready, and turned on some kid-friendly music over the speakers. Adeline sat on the bleachers, the row closest to the court. She was used to these after-school practices, too. She enjoyed tagging along.
Since it was the first practice, Paige decided that today would mostly focus on building a relationship with the kids and having fun. Plus, they were 9 years old. This wasn’t the pro leagues.
Paige had learned— sometimes the hard way— that kids played better when they felt seen first. Confidence didn’t come from stat sheets or scoreboards; it came from knowing someone believed you were capable before you believed it yourself.
Funny how that worked, she thought. How the smallest encouragement could change everything.
—
Once all the kids on the team were accounted for, she sat everyone in a circle, and decided to have a little icebreaker. Paige introduced herself— and Adeline, of course, then went around the circle and had all the kids do the same, while also adding their personal favorite basketball drill.
One of them mentioned cone-dribbling, while another favored running layups. Paige made a note of each kid’s answer— so she could incorporate them all into future practices.
After they all introduced themselves, Paige got things going. She decided on two games at each side of the gym, and split the players into two groups.
Dribble knockout at one side of the court— which is where the players dribble within a set area, and they try to knock other players’ balls away with their free hand, all while protecting their own dribble. The last player standing wins the round.
She set up Rock Paper Scissors 1v1 at the other end. Two kids would play RPS, winner gets the ball and attacks the basket, loser defends. They would rotate and take turns, while the kids that weren’t currently playing would spectate.
She gave Adeline the job of whistle-blower, and also let her run water bottles and towels out to the kids as they needed it.
“Good job, sweetheart,” Paige breathed out as Adeline came back from delivering a towel. “You’re gonna be a great assistant coach this year,” she said, her hand gently going to ruffle Addy’s hair.
—
Paige oversaw practice as both games occurred on each side of the court, and offered help when someone needed it.
Halfway through the second round of dribble knockout, Paige noticed a kid lingering near the edge of the court. He was shorter than most of the others, even the girls. He was anxious and quiet. Griffin was his name, if she remembered correctly from earlier.
Paige walked over, her voice soft and a bit hesitant as she crouched down beside him. “You good?” She asked as she placed a hand on his shoulder.
Griffin nodded quickly, but avoided her eyes. “Yeah, I guess. I just— don’t wanna mess up.”
Paige’s chest tightened. God. She knew that feeling.
“Hey,” she said gently. “Messing up is part of it. It means you’re trying.”
The boy hesitated. “What if everyone’s better than me?”
Paige smiled, soft and real. “Then you work at it. That’s it. Yeah— talent is cool, but effort is what sticks.” She then tossed him the ball. “Go on, then. Protect your dribble.”
Paige then walked back over to her spot beside Adeline to observe, when she felt something twist low in her chest.
She watched the kids move, all clumsy and determined and unafraid of looking bad. She knew exactly how it was supposed to look. Where their feet should land. How their bodies would change if they kept going.
She could still feel it sometimes. The rhythm. The certainty.
Coaching filled the space where her career used to live, but some nights, the silence afterward was louder than any crowd had ever been.
She took a deep breath, willing herself to stop thinking of the past. She needed to focus on the now. She let her eyes settle back on Griffin, who looked more confident now. Less self-conscious than before.
He didn’t win the round, but he didn’t freeze either. And when he jogged back to the sideline, he glanced at Paige like he wanted to make sure she’d seen him try.
She had. She grinned at him, and shot him a thumbs up to make sure he knew she saw it.
—
Soon, the groups rotated, and both games continued. Paige walked around and gave tips, while Adeline did her own thing.
The little girl took her job seriously. She marched water bottles out like it was the most important task in the world, offering encouragement between sips.
“Good job!” she told one kid earnestly.
“You’re really fast!” she said to another.
Paige watched from the other side of the court, something warm blooming in her chest. She saw the way the kids responded to Adeline— not annoyed, not dismissive. Just accepting. Like she belonged there as much as anyone else did.
Something about watching Addy be so engaged with practice made her appreciate the present more than before.
This is my life now, Paige thought. Not the one I planned, but the one I built anyway.
—
Once practice was over, Paige got Adeline to blow her whistle, and then the group circled up at mid-court, so she could offer a word of encouragement to send them off with.
“Alright,” Paige said, clapping her hands once. “What did we learn today?”
A few kids shouted drills. She expected that. But then, Griffin, the unsure boy from earlier, said, “Don’t quit.”
Paige smiled, her eyes locking with his. “Exactly,” she breathed out, snapping as she gestured to him. “Trying matters more than getting it perfect.”
She felt it land— not just with them, but with herself, too.
—
The gym slowly emptied out, the echo of bouncing basketballs fading into something quieter. Kids were scooped up by their parents, their voices overlapping as they spilled into the hallway, the energy still buzzing. Paige waited until the last of her team had been picked up, before exchanging quick goodbyes and reminding them she’d see them next week.
“Good job today,” she said, clapping once as the final kid jogged off.
When the gym was finally still, Paige exhaled.
Adeline had migrated from the bleachers to midcourt, sitting cross-legged on the floor and absentmindedly rolling a basketball back and forth between her palms. Paige watched her for a moment— how comfortable she looked there, like the gym was just another room in her life.
“You ready to go, coach?” Paige asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
Adeline grinned as she stood up with a nod. “Can we get nuggets?”
Paige laughed softly. “I was hoping you’d ask that.”
—
They stopped for fast food on the way home, the kind of place with bright lights and plastic booths and a drive-thru that never quite moved fast enough. Adeline kicked her feet as she waited, humming to herself, while Paige stared ahead at the glowing menu board, suddenly aware of how tired she was in that deep, good way.
The kind that comes from showing up.
Adeline chattered all the way home. She recounted the best parts of practice— who was fast, who fell, how she definitely blew the whistle correctly every time. Paige responded automatically, smiling, nodding, letting the sound of her daughter’s voice fill the car.
At a stoplight, Paige caught her own reflection in the rearview mirror. Her hair was pulled back, her cheeks flushed, her hands still faintly smelling like rubber and sanitizer. The image of Azzi flickered through her mind without warning. The same calm presence, the same quiet authority. Different environment. Same purpose.
Teaching kids how to be brave.
Paige shook her head slightly, as if clearing the thought, and turned the music up just a notch.
—
At home, the night unfolded gently. A quick bath. Pajamas. Adeline’s hair still damp as Paige braided it back for sleep. They curled up on the couch for half an episode of a cartoon neither of them fully watched, while Adeline’s head laid heavy against Paige’s shoulder.
“You were a good coach today, mommy,” Adeline murmured, already half-asleep.
That was the highest praise she could get. Paige pressed a kiss into her hair. “So were you, Addy Bug.”
She tucked Adeline into bed a little later, lingering in the doorway like she did every night once the room went quiet. The house settled around her— soft, familiar, and earned.
Paige turned off the lights and stood there for a moment in the dark, her heart full in a way that still surprised her.
This wasn’t the dream she’d chased once.
But it was hers.
And tonight, that felt like enough.
The Kindergarten Rulebook (and How We Broke It)
CHAPTER TWO: First Day Jitters
Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd
contains: former-wnba!paige, singlemom!paige, teacher!azzi, injury grief, slow burn, hurt/comfort
word count: 3k
fic guide
A/N: i tried to make this chapter feel realistic. i used experiences that i have witnessed first-hand in classrooms to really show how paige is feeling in that moment of leaving her daughter with azzi and trusting her to take care of her. I hope you all like it!
CHAPTER TWO: First Day Jitters
Paige woke up on Monday to the sound of her alarm blaring by her bed. She groaned, flipping over on her back, as she grabbed her phone and silenced the loud noise. She glanced at the clock, blinking away the blurriness in her vision to see the time. 6:10 a.m. Damn, she was going to have trouble getting used to this.
She got up after a minute, before making herself presentable. 20 minutes later, Paige walked out into the hallway in a graphic tee and jeans, before approaching Adeline’s bedroom.
She slowly walked in, before flipping the light on, and walked over to Adeline’s bed. The little girl was snoozing away, wrapped up in her blanket, and was clutching her stuffed bunny to her chest. Paige wished Addy could stay this little forever.
“G’morning, my big kindergartener,” Paige whispered, her hand gently rubbing circles on Adeline’s back to wake her. Adeline opened her eyes, a soft sigh leaving her lips as she sat up, yawning cutely. Paige leaned over, before gently pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Let’s get you dressed,” she said, before getting Adeline ready.
Paige put her in a cute yellow t-shirt that had sunflowers on it, paired with some light wash jeans, and her light-up sneakers. She then brushed her teeth, and pulled her red hair up into a ponytail.
15 minutes later, Adeline was eating breakfast at the kitchen table, while Paige stressed out about Addy’s backpack.
“Extra set of clothes, check. Snacks just incase she gets hungry, check. Ice pack in the lunchbox, check,” she murmured to herself, before glancing over at Adeline, who was chomping away on some Lucky Charms.
Adeline wasn’t talking much, but she looked alright. Not too nervous, but Paige was sure that would change once she was fully woken up.
Right now, Paige was more worried about her own nerves. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. She should be excited for her daughter, but deep-down, she was panicking a little. Adeline was growing up so fast, and Paige felt like she could barely keep up.
“Are you excited, sweetheart?” Paige asked, her voice gentle. Adeline looked over at her and nodded, her voice still raspy with sleep.
“Mhm, mommy. Jus’ sleepy,” she said around a mouthful of cereal.
Paige gave her a little smile and returned her nod. She suddenly felt a tight feeling in her chest as she checked Adeline’s bag for the third time this morning. The same tight feeling that she used to get before big games. She felt like Adeline’s presence in her life was the only thing she had control over these days, but as Adeline grew, she felt that control slipping away.
—
Paige played the Tangled soundtrack on the way to school to keep Adeline’s nerves at bay. The upbeat and hopeful melody of “When Will My Life Begin?” was honestly helpful to Paige, too.
When they arrived at Riverwood, there were children and families everywhere. Most of the students were getting dropped off at the front awning, which was the main drop off area, but Paige decided last minute to walk Adeline in. She told herself she was helping Adeline settle. Paige totally wasn’t doing this because she wasn’t ready to let go. It was definitely not because Paige wanted to see Ms. Fudd.
—
Paige led Adeline to the Kindergarten hallway, where they walked towards her classroom. The school was filled with the sounds of children laughing and talking, and the squeak of shoes against tile floors. Paige squeezed Adeline’s small hand as they approached Room 5B.
“Here we are,” Paige said, as she glanced through the doorway. A handful of students were already there, getting settled into their new classroom.
Paige was just about to walk Adeline inside, when she heard a very familiar little sniffle, and felt a death grip on her fingers. Paige knew this was coming.
Adeline looked up at Paige, her blue eyes glossy with tears. Her bottom lip was quivering, like a dam ready to burst any moment now.
“I-I’m scared, mommy. I want you to stay,” Adeline rasped out.
Paige immediately kneeled down to Adeline’s level, her thumb gently rubbing over the girl’s knuckles. She looked into her eyes, and swallowed thickly. She was struggling to not burst into tears herself.
What if I’m pushing Adeline too fast? Should I have talked to her more about her feelings regarding the first day of school? What if she ends up hating school because of me? Paige thought to herself, her heart clenching in her chest.
“Hey, Addy Bug,” she spoke out softly, her free hand gently rubbing the little girl’s arm. “You’re the strongest girl I know. You’re gonna do great today, okay? Your smile is gonna brighten up the whole classroom. I’m so proud of you for being brave.”
She never knew if she was saying the right thing, but she tried her best.
Paige then gave Adeline a hug, where she rubbed her back and squeezed her tightly. She could feel Adeline’s heart racing, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she felt a lump form in her throat.
As she was comforting the little girl, Paige felt the air around them suddenly become… lighter. She opened her eyes, and there was Ms. Fudd— same amount of makeup, same hairstyle, but dressed in a ‘first day of school’ shirt. Cute.
Paige’s eyes locked with the teacher’s, and Ms. Fudd tilted her head to the side a bit, as if she was silently asking, can I help? Paige nodded, before pulling back from Adeline, but not completely. Just enough so that Azzi could speak to her.
Ms. Fudd crouched down to their level, too, but kept her distance. God, she knows what she’s doing, Paige thought, her daughter still holding onto her tightly.
“Hi, Adeline,” Ms. Fudd said softly, that same warm smile on her face. “I’m so happy you’re here. Some friends are already inside, if you’d like to come in. Do you like to color? We have some coloring sheets, or you can even grab a book from our classroom library, if that’s more your style.”
Paige looked at Adeline— to see if she looked less distressed than before. She was still gripping Paige’s shirt like it was her lifeline, but her expression was calmer. More relaxed.
Paige took this moment to appreciate the fact that Adeline was put in Ms. Fudd’s class. She was patient. Kind. Gentle. Everything a Kindergarten teacher should be. The relief Paige felt was so sharp that it hurt. She sees my kid, Paige thought to herself. Really sees her.
Then— suddenly, Paige’s thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of Adeline’s grip loosening. Paige almost tightened back, just reflexively, but quickly stopped herself.
Adeline didn’t say anything, but she walked over to Ms. Fudd, and grabbed her hand.
Paige’s mind suddenly flashed with images of other times she had to let go. When rehab ended. When she walked away from her WNBA dreams. This was such a different situation, but it felt so damn familiar.
The feeling unsettled her in the same way rehab once had. Standing at the edge of something she loved, knowing she couldn’t protect it the way she used to. Back then, it had been her body she didn’t trust anymore. Now, it was the world. Loving Adeline meant stepping back and letting her try, even when every instinct screamed to hold on tighter. Paige had learned the hard way that forcing yourself to grip something past its time only led to more pain.
Azzi smiled, standing up straight again, as she pointed over to where Adeline’s cubby was. “See your name? That’s where your backpack goes. Then, you can get settled while we wait for the rest of our friends to arrive.”
Adeline nodded, before turning to look at Paige one more time. Paige offered a little wave. She wanted to hug and kiss her goodbye, but didn’t want to make this any harder for Adeline— or herself.
“Bye, Addy. I’ll see you after school. I love you,” she breathed out. Adeline whispered an “I love you too, mommy,” before spotting her friend Lucy— which eased her anxieties a little more. “Lucy!” She squeaked out, before disappearing into the classroom.
It was earth-shattering in so many ways— seeing Adeline run off like that, but Paige realized that her daughter was brave. Maybe she had taught her that.
Paige then took a deep breath and stood up, her eyes finding Ms. Fudd’s once more. For a few seconds, both of them just stared at each other. Paige’s heart started to go bonkers in her chest.
Azzi spoke up first— which was good, because Paige was suddenly speechless, just like she had been at Meet The Teacher Night.
“Thank you,” Azzi breathed out, and before Paige could ask what for, she continued. “For trusting me— with talking to Adeline. It wasn’t that you weren’t doing a good job. I just think it helps for them to realize that their teacher is on their side.”
Paige nodded, before slipping her hands into her jeans pockets. “No— thank you, for helping me,” she said with a rasp, still a little choked up from the whole situation.
Then— after a beat, Paige added, “You’re really good at that, you know,” her voice softer. She wasn’t sure if she should’ve said it, but Azzi deserved to know she was exceptional at connecting with her students.
Paige hoped for a grin, maybe even a blush, but Azzi just responded with “Thank you… I try. They’re still little. They need that support.”
Paige let her eyes scan over the woman’s face as she let her response sink in. Her tone was nothing but professional. Sure, there was a smile involved, but no blush. Nothing out of the ordinary. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting.
“Pick-up is at the front awning at 2:30,” Ms. Fudd spoke out, before waving bye, and walking off to tend to her students.
—
Paige sat in her car for at least 15 minutes in the parking lot of the school before leaving. She glanced to the empty car seat in the back through the rear view mirror, and felt her chest tighten up— again. She thought things would be fine. Adeline had gone to Pre-K last year, but something about Kindergarten felt different. Five years old felt like it was decades older than four.
She ran her hand down her face, then sighed, her fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel.
It was moments like these— ones where she was alone— when reality set in for her. She should be at practice right now. This should have been a game day.
Don’t get her wrong— she loves Adeline to death, but she was still grieving her dreams. What could’ve been.
She slammed her hands against the steering wheel, before feeling a few tears stroll down her cheeks.
“Get it together, Paige,” she whispered to herself, before wiping her face with the back of her hand. The last thing she needed was some kid seeing her have a breakdown in the school parking lot.
—
Paige spent her day running errands and doing chores. She went to the store and car wash, before coming home to do laundry, vacuum the floors, and wash the dishes. She was doing as much as she could to not sit and miss Adeline all day.
Before she knew it, it was 2 o’clock, and she basically sprinted out to her car to go and pick up her little girl.
—
Paige was the first person in the pick-up line. Was that embarrassing? She didn’t think so. She was excited to see her daughter. It was giving dedicated and loving mom. She hoped to God that Azzi worked the dismissal line.
About 10 minutes after Paige got there, the doors opened and out came all the Kindergarten car riders. Her eyes widened as she looked for her baby, and when she found her, Paige almost burst into tears for the 50th time today.
Adeline was smiling— really smiling, and she was standing right next to Lucy. She had a lollipop in her mouth, and a sticker on her shirt. Ms. Fudd was behind them, carefully leading them to where they sat on the benches.
Ms. Fudd led Adeline over to the car, helped her get in, and made sure she was buckled. “See you tomorrow, Miss Adeline,” she said sweetly, before shutting the door.
“Th-Thank you!” Paige stuttered out, thinking Ms. Fudd would just walk away, but she stopped by Paige’s window, her gaze soft— reassuring.
“Not a single tear, all day,” Ms. Fudd breathed out, her lips curling up into a smile.
Paige’s grin outshined the sun.
Her chest warmed. It wasn’t just relief, but something quieter. Azzi hadn’t just noticed Adeline; she’d remembered her. The whole day. Paige opened her mouth, ready to say more, to thank her properly, to ask what had helped, to linger— but Azzi was already turning back toward the line of waiting kids, slipping easily into motion again. Professional. Steady. Unavailable in a way Paige pretended didn’t matter as much as it did.
—
Adeline didn’t shut up the entire way home. She rambled off about the songs they sang, how much she enjoyed story time, how yummy her lunch was, and how much fun she had at recess.
“Ms. Fudd does silly voices when she reads, mommy,” Adeline squealed out from the backseat. “I was giggling so much, I couldn’t catch my breath!”
Paige just smiled, nodding along to Adeline’s recap of the day.
“I’m so happy you had a fun day, sweetheart. And guess what? You’ll get to have all that fun again tomorrow.“ She paused, then spoke up again. “I told you, you’re brave, Addy. I knew you could do it.”
—
Adeline fell asleep that night faster than Paige expected.
She did her usual routine anyway—straightened the blanket, smoothed a hand over her daughter’s hair, paused in the doorway a moment longer than necessary. Adeline’s face was relaxed in sleep, mouth slightly open, her small hand curled around her stuffed bunny and elephant. She insisted on sleeping with two, because Ms. Fudd says it’s okay if it helps you feel brave.
Paige showered longer than usual, letting the water run hot against her shoulders. Her body remembered exhaustion intimately. There was a time when this kind of tired felt earned. Fourth quarters, late practices, the satisfying burn of giving everything she had. This exhaustion was different. Heavier somehow.
When she stepped out, the mirror caught her eye. She looked… older, maybe. Softer. Strong in ways no stat sheet would ever capture.
Paige threw on something comfortable and turned on the TV, more for noise than interest. She scrolled on her phone without really reading anything, her thumbs moving on autopilot. Her mind drifted anyway— back to small hands gripping her shirt, to the way Adeline’s shoulders relaxed when Azzi crouched down in front of her.
She turned the TV off before the episode ended.
In bed, the day came back to her in fragments.
Adeline’s nervous expression in the car. The way Paige’s chest tightened walking into the school hallway, like she was the one being asked to do something brave. The moment her daughter let go— really let go— and walked into a room that didn’t belong to just the two of them.
That had hurt more in the moment.
It did still hurt, a little. But it was engraved with something else, too. Pride. Relief so strong it nearly knocked the air from her lungs.
Adeline had been okay. More than okay.
She had been brave.
Paige stared up at the ceiling, letting that settle. She thought about how many times she’s been afraid to loosen her grip on the world, on the things she loved. How many times life had forced her to anyway. Today, for once, the letting go hadn’t taken something from her.
It had given her proof.
Gratitude spread through her chest. Gratitude for a teacher who saw her child, for a classroom that felt safe, for the version of herself who survived enough loss to still show up and trust again. She hadn’t done everything right in her life, but today… today felt like something she’d done right.
Her thoughts drifted, uninvited, to Azzi.
The sound of her voice. Calm. Warm. Steady. The way she’d looked at Adeline like she mattered. The way she’d looked at Paige, just for a second longer than necessary, before stepping back into professionalism like it was second nature.
She shouldn’t be thinking about her. She knew that. It’s nothing— just gratitude, just relief, just a harmless crush that will fade once routine settles in. Teachers are kind. That’s their job. It didn’t mean anything.
Still, the thoughts of Azzi lingered.
Something shifted today. Not in a dramatic, life-altering way— but enough for Paige to feel it, small and insistent, settling somewhere beneath her ribs. First days always change things. They open doors you can’t quite close again.
Paige turned onto her side, before pulling the blanket up to her chin.
Tomorrow would come. Another drop-off. Another pickup. Another step forward.
For that night, though, she let herself rest. Adeline was safe, she was thriving, and whatever came next, they would figure it out together.
Paige closed her eyes.
The house stayed quiet around her. Sleep came easily at last.
The Kindergarten Rulebook (and How We Broke It)
CHAPTER ONE : Room 5B
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
contains: former-wnba!paige, singlemom!paige, teacher!azzi, injury grief, slow burn
word count: 2k
fic guide
A/N: here’s chapter one! i suggest everyone read the prologue before starting, if you haven’t yet. you can find it in the fic guide. as someone who’s currently getting their masters in elementary education, this story means a lot to me. i hope you all love it <3
CHAPTER ONE : Room 5B
Paige was driving down a backroad, her eyes glancing back and forth between her phone— which had Apple Maps pulled up on it— and her daughter, Adeline, who was swinging her feet in the car seat, singing along to the Tangled soundtrack and watching the world pass by through the window.
God, she’s so adorable, Paige thought to herself. Her blue eyes, red hair, the freckles across her dimpled cheeks— Paige had been wrapped around this little girl’s finger since the day they met, over five years ago.
Paige turned down the music slightly before getting the little girl’s attention.
“You excited to meet your teacher, Addy Bug?” She asked with an encouraging smile, her eyes locking with Adeline’s through the rear view mirror.
They were on the way to ‘Meet the Teacher Night’ at Adeline’s school. Her little girl was starting Kindergarten— which made Paige tear up, if she thought too much about it— and Paige had been trying to gauge Adeline’s feelings about the new school year for weeks, but the girl had been so caught up in summer break festivities, that Paige could never get a real answer out of her.
Adeline turned her head from the window to Paige’s direction, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips.
“Yep! Really excited, Mommy,” she spoke out, before singing along to the music again, while also doing a little dance to go along with it.
Paige just smiled to herself. Nice chat, she thought, chuckling as she focused back on the road.
—
After about ten minutes, they arrived at Riverwood Elementary, where the parking lot was already crowded. It must’ve been ‘Meet the Teacher Night’ for every grade.
Adeline had been at the Pre-K building last year, but this was her new home until fifth grade. Paige parked, hopped out, and opened the backseat to unbuckle her daughter.
“C’mon, sweet girl,” she said, letting out a soft oof sound as she placed Adeline down on the asphalt. She held onto the girl’s hand with one hand, using the other to reach over in the backseat and grab a little bag they had put together for Addy’s new teacher.
“Don’t forget this for— uh, Ms… uh,” Paige stammered. She had been sent the teacher’s name in an email, but it had slipped her mind.
“Ms. Fudd, Mommy! You always forget things,” Adeline breathed out with a shake of her head as she took the bag from her Mom, and all Paige could do was chuckle.
“My bad, sweetheart,” she replied, before she shut the car door and made sure it was locked.
—
The orientation had a little carnival atmosphere. Snack vendors, games, and a parent volunteer table set up in the gym. Paige and Adeline ran into a few familiar faces from Pre-K, and Paige was relieved to see that Adeline’s friend Lucy was in Ms. Fudd’s class, too.
After about 30 minutes or so, the students and their guardians were sent off to find their classrooms, where most teachers would have a presentation prepared and discuss some things about the upcoming school year.
Paige held onto Adeline’s hand, and approached the large bulletin board the school had on display that had each grade, teacher, and room number labeled on it.
“Kindergarten, Ms. Fudd, ah— Room 5B,” she breathed out, mostly to herself, before leading Adeline towards the Kindergarten hallway.
—
They found the hallway pretty easily— thankfully, everything had been labeled to make things easier for the families.
They passed room 1, 2, 3, 4, and then— “Room 5B, right here, sweetheart,” Paige said to Adeline, before they stepped inside.
As soon as they stepped into the room, Paige’s eyes lit up. This had to be the cutest classroom ever. It had the same design and setup as classrooms did when she was younger. She was already overwhelmed with nostalgia.
The feeling surprised her. Not because classrooms were new, but because there was a time when rooms like this had never factored into her future at all. Back then, her life had been measured in hardwood floors and roaring arenas, not alphabet rugs and birthday boards.
She swallowed the thought before it could go any further. Tonight wasn’t about what she’d lost. It was about what she’d gained.
She let her eyes scan over the room. There were primary colors everywhere, bulletin boards with scalloped borders and felt letters, a number line above the SmartBoard, a rainbow rug, wooden cubbies for backpacks, and children’s books on display. Yeah, this was a place she wanted Adeline to be.
Once Paige snapped out of her trance, she looked down at Adeline— who was also taking everything in, and gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Let’s go meet your teacher, yeah?” She asked, to which Adeline returned with a smile and a nod.
There were other families already in the classroom, one in which was currently speaking to the teacher, so Paige and Adeline waited their turn. They couldn’t see her yet, but from the vibes of the classroom, Paige already liked her.
While they waited, Paige and Adeline looked around. They read things on the wall, checked out the birthday board— which Adeline was very happy to see when she noticed her birthday of April the 6th, already written on a cupcake sticker— and before they knew it, their conversation was being interrupted by someone with a very soft voice.
“Hello there,” the woman breathed out, tapping on Adeline’s shoulder, before crouching down to her level and giving her a big grin. “I’m Ms. Fudd, and you must be…?”
Paige thought she was going to pass out. This woman was her daughter’s teacher? Ms. Fudd was the most beautiful human she had ever laid her eyes on. Paige was not expecting someone so… young, but she wasn’t complaining. Ms. Fudd was wearing a knee-length floral dress, her hair was down— natural, and stunning, and she had a light layer of makeup on— just enough to make Paige’s eyes linger on her face for a bit longer than necessary.
Her daughter’s voice snapped her out of it, a soft little “A-Adeline,” leaving the 5 year old’s lips.
Ms. Fudd beamed, a hand reaching out to shake the girl’s. “Adeline. I love that name! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m so excited to have you in my class this year!”
Adeline’s grip on Paige’s hand tightened, then loosened. She leaned forward slightly, studying Ms. Fudd’s face with the seriousness she usually reserved for bugs or important decisions.
“You have nice eyes,” Adeline said finally, nodding once like the matter was settled.
Ms. Fudd laughed softly, warmth blooming across her face. “Thank you, sweetheart. You do too.”
Paige felt something twist in her chest. Adeline didn’t give compliments easily. When she did, it meant she felt safe.
Ms. Fudd’s gaze then caught the goodie bag in Adeline’s grasp, and Ms. Fudd gasped, gesturing to the bag. “Is that for me?” She asked, and Adeline smiled, holding it out for her. The teacher took it, grinning as she took out what was inside.
It was nothing crazy— just some gel pens, dry erase markers, some chocolates, hand cream, and a scented candle.
Ms. Fudd was ecstatic, a huge smile on her face as she put everything back in the bag. “I love it, Adeline! Thank you so much,” she breathed out, and that’s when her eyes caught Paige’s for the first time, because teachers obviously knew most gifts were actually done by the parents.
Paige almost choked on her own spit. She hadn’t felt this way in years. Her beautiful brown eyes, her flawless skin, her plump lips, her dimples— fuck, Ms. Fudd had dimples just like her daughter. Paige was done for.
Then, Paige suddenly realized she needed to speak, so she cleared her throat, and held out her hand for Ms. Fudd to shake. “Hi,” Paige choked out, squeezing the woman’s hand for a split second, before letting go, because she was scared her palms were sweaty. “I’m Paige, Adeline’s Mom. Nice to meet you,” she spoke out.
Ms. Fudd stood back up, smiling brightly at Paige as she responded. “Nice to meet you as well, Paige,” she said sweetly, and Paige had never thought her name sounded better.
After that short— but life-altering, at least for Paige— interaction, Ms. Fudd moved on to her brief presentation. Paige tried to listen. She really did.
Her name was Azzi. She had a master’s degree in Elementary Education and had been teaching for four years. She loved reading, baking, and her two dogs. Paige absorbed these facts as well as she could, catching only what stuck as she watched the way Azzi moved around the room, comfortable in herself in a way Paige recognized.
Azzi talked about structure and kindness with equal weight, about creating a space where kids felt safe enough to try and brave enough to fail. She joked easily with the parents, listened when they spoke, and never once mentioned a husband, a boyfriend, or anything that required a quick he to explain her life.
Paige hated herself for noticing. She noticed anyway.
Her shoulders relaxed without meaning to. Okay, she thought. This is someone I trust.
After the presentation, Ms. Fudd gave each student a lollipop, then handed out a ‘Student Information’ sheet to all the parents. Paige let her eyes scan over it, then sat down with Adeline by her side and filled it out. Once they were done, Paige was just about to stand up and place it on Ms. Fudd’s desk, but the woman was already reaching out to take it from her.
“All done?” Ms. Fudd asked, her eyes scanning over Paige and Adeline. Paige nodded, handing her the paper as she stood up, and pushed the chair back under the table. Paige felt like a fool. Why was she shaking? And why did she lose the ability to speak when this woman was existing anywhere around her?
“Think so,” Paige forced out, before gently brushing some of Adeline’s red strands out of her eyes. She was honestly just doing anything and everything to keep her eyes off of her daughter’s hot teacher.
After a moment of Paige gawking at Ms. Fudd like an actual idiot, she spoke up again.
“Time for us to go, Addy. Tell your new teacher bye, okay?” Paige spoke out sweetly, as Adeline looked up at Ms. Fudd, her tongue dyed all red from her lollipop.
“Bye-Bye,” Adeline squeaked out, and Ms. Fudd waved to her, her voice gentle. “Bye, Miss Adeline. I’ll see you Monday morning, okay?” Then— she looked at Paige, offering her the same goodbye wave, which Paige melted at, of course. “I’m looking forward to having Adeline in my class this year. You two have a great weekend,” Ms. Fudd said, before walking off to say goodbye to another family.
As Paige and Adeline headed out to their car in the parking lot, Paige’s head was spinning. How the actual fuck was she supposed to function anytime she came in contact with that woman? Parent conferences, morning drop off, after school pickup, school events… oh god. She was going to have to get it together by Monday.
As she drove them both home, Adeline listened to the Tangled soundtrack— again. Paige needed a distraction from her spiraling thoughts.
What scared her wasn’t the crush.
It was the quiet realization that Azzi Fudd hadn’t just reminded her of who she was now, but of who she used to be, too.
And Paige Bueckers had learned the hard way that the things she loved most had a habit of changing her life forever.
The Kindergarten Rulebook (and How We Broke It)
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
prologue contains: former-wnba!paige, injury & grief, singlemom!paige, coaching au, adoption, found family
word count: 475
fic guide
A/N: well, here’s the prologue for my first pazzi fic! I was up until 6 am tweaking this lolol so sry for any missed typos. i’m aiming for the whole fic to be about 15 chapters. go to the fic guide for a summary. lmk what u think !
Prologue:
The sound Paige remembers most isn’t the pop.
It’s the silence that followed. Too loud, too sudden, and it swallowed the roar of the crowd whole. One second she was moving the way she always had, muscle memory and instinct carrying her forward, and the next she was on the floor, staring up at the lights, her knee screaming in a language she already understood too well.
She knew before anyone said it out loud.
Rehab came with calendars and cautious optimism. Her doctors always tried not to look sorry and her coaches told her she was strong enough to come back. Paige smiled, worked harder than everyone else, and believed them longer than she probably should have. But bodies remember things minds want to forget, and hers never let her run the same way again.
When they finally used words like career-ending, it felt less like heartbreak and more like grief—heavy and quiet and everywhere. Basketball had been her constant. It was the dream she chased since she was a kid, and without it, Paige didn’t know who she was supposed to be.
She tried distance first.
It didn’t work.
The gym still smelled the same, the sound of sneakers on hardwood still tugged something sharp and familiar in her chest. Coaching a rec team started as a temporary thing. It was just a way to stay close without hurting too much. But somewhere between teaching layup lines and tying shoes during timeouts, Paige realized it gave her a different kind of purpose. She couldn’t chase the game anymore, but she could teach kids how to love it. She could stand on the sidelines and still feel like she belonged.
She called about fostering on a Tuesday.
Paige almost backed out. She thought she wasn’t ready to be responsible for anything that fragile, anything that needed her to be whole when she felt anything but. But something in her decided yes anyway. Maybe it was guilt, maybe hope, maybe the simple need to be needed.
Adeline fit into her arms like she had always belonged there.
The nights were long and exhausting, filled with bottles and rocking chairs and tears Paige couldn’t always tell apart from her own. She told herself this was temporary, that she was just helping until someone else came along who could give Adeline what she deserved. But love has a way of rooting itself deep, and before Paige realized it, the thought of letting go felt worse than any injury ever had.
Signing the adoption papers was honestly terrifying.
It felt like choosing something new without knowing if she’d survive losing the old dream completely, but when Adeline smiled at her, wide and toothless and perfect, Paige understood that some things weren’t replacements. They were different kinds of miracles.
Basketball took something from her.
Adeline gave her everything else.
hey everyone, i just wanted to address something.
it’s been brought to my attention that apparently people are saying i use ai to write. i wasn’t even aware of this— because as i have said, i have been really busy and i haven’t even been on this app much.
i DO NOT use AI to write my fics.
writing stories has been one of my favorite hobbies since i was little. i wrote in my notebook during my free time as a child, won essay contests in middle school, and joined a creative writing organization in college. i feel like i continue to grow stronger in my writing skills with every fic i post. i didn’t do all of those things to be accused of using artificial intelligence to write for me.
i hate that people read proper grammar and excellent flow and immediately think it’s AI. good writing does not mean automation, it’s proof of experience and effort. everything now is suspicion instead of appreciation, and it’s exhausting. i am sure other fic writers feel the same way.
it’s frustrating to be accused of this, especially with how much time and energy i put into my writing. it’s extremely disheartening, but in the end, if someone is determined to not believe you, no amount of proof will convince them.
i stand by my work, and i appreciate each and every person who reads my stories, gives feedback, and engages with me about their opinions and theories.
that being said, stuff like this has a mental toll. i have a lot going on outside of tumblr, and i don’t have the time or energy to deal with people starting discourse about me. all i wanted to do was share my ideas with like-minded fans.
i have not been very motivated or inspired to write recently. to me, this just seems like the time to stop. all the signs are pointing towards it. i am self aware enough to admit that things like this cause me to have such anxiety, even if they aren’t true. if people think my writing is disingenuous, i would rather not post anything anymore. it’s not worth it. my mental health is really fragile and i don’t want to enable things that might worsen it. i will probably just take my masterlist and the fics down.
to the people who did enjoy my fics— thank you. i so enjoyed reading your comments and anons.
- e
i’m gonna go after every single one of you fuckers 😐
Statistically Significant
CHAPTER SIX: Withdrawal Effects
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
contains: college!pazzi, researcher!paige, participant!azzi, angst, obsessive behavior, boundary violations, emotional manipulation, unethical research practices, morallygray!paige, unhealthy attachment
word count: 9k
masterlist
A/N: after almost a month, i am finally able to post ch6 for you guys! i am so sorry for the wait. i’ve been so busy, while also struggling a bit with getting my ideas for this chapter written out the way i wanted them. if you need a refresher, skim back over ch5! anyway, here it is. sry, there are a lot of pov switches in this chapter. lmk what you think!
CHAPTER SIX: Withdrawal Effects
Monday morning felt different before Azzi even left her dorm. She woke up the way she always did— by her alarm, a groggy reach for her phone, and the glow of the screen filling the room.
But, something about it felt off. She unlocked her phone automatically, and notifications filled the screen. Some group chat messages from her family, a reminder from Canvas about a soon due assignment, and a TikTok Caroline had sent to her after midnight.
Azzi stared at the lock screen for a moment longer than usual before she opened Instagram. Her thumb moved automatically toward the DMs icon, just from muscle memory, but halfway there, she stopped herself.
She knew nothing would be there. For the first time in weeks, pbsbaseline hadn’t messaged her. No late-night analysis, no strange observations about something she had said earlier, no questions, and no oddly comforting paragraphs about human behavior that somehow ended up being about her.
Azzi swallowed thickly, then locked her phone again before she sat up in bed. It had only been one night since everything went down. Technically less than twelve hours. She knew space was what she needed, but that didn’t mean it was going to be easy.
She sighed, then swung her legs off the bed and tried to focus on getting ready for class.
By the time she left the dorm, the thoughts about Paige had already returned. Her phone felt heavier in her jacket pocket than usual, like it was missing an important piece, or maybe even waiting for something.
Azzi told herself she was imagining it and that it was just a matter of broken habit. The last few weeks she and Paige had messaged constantly, so of course it felt weird now.
She crossed the quad, weaving through clusters of students heading toward their Monday classes. Her molecular biology lecture didn’t start for another ten minutes.
Normally, she would have cut straight across the center lawn and stopped to have a coffee from The Lantern Room on the way. Paige would already be there, sat at their regular table with that quiet and observant look on her face.
Azzi slowed down as she approached the path that led toward the building. Her chest tightened up, then she turned in a different direction. Instead of heading down the route that passed by The Lantern Room, she took a longer sidewalk that curved around the archeology buildings. It added three minutes to the walk, but it also meant she had less of a risk of seeing Paige.
This is temporary, Azzi told herself as she kept walking. I’ll only feel this way for a few days.
—
Monday afternoon passed quietly. Azzi had a few classes, then went to lunch at the dining hall with a couple of girls from her lab section. Everything was normal… mostly.
Every half hour or so, Azzi caught herself reaching for her phone in her pocket. She’d unlock it and open Instagram, and every time, her thumb wanted to drift toward the message icon again.
Every time, she stopped herself. She didn’t need to look, because she knew the conversation was still sitting there exactly the same way they had left it.
The last message Paige had sent before everything exploded.
azzifudd: i will be there around 6:30 then :)
pbsbaseline: i will be awaiting your arrival.
Azzi had reread it twice on Sunday night after she left Paige’s apartment, then she’d closed the app before she could scroll further up. Now, she was forcing herself not to open it again. Instead, she checked some stories, liked a couple of posts, and scrolled aimlessly. Anything except clicking on that thread, because if she opened it, she knew what would happen.
She’d see weeks of messages, late-night conversations, and jokes with observations mixed in between, that slow shift from a shared article to something… more.
Azzi shoved her phone back in her pocket and tried to focus on quite literally anything else.
Tuesday was somehow even worse. The silence had settled in. It wasn’t just the absence of DMs from Paige, but the absence of expectation.
For weeks, Azzi had gotten used to Paige appearing in her day— sometimes physically, but digitally, too. A DM between classes, a weirdly insightful response to something she’d said, or a question about what she was doing later. Now, the spaces where those things should have been just… stayed empty.
Azzi noticed it most when she walked across campus. Her feet kept trying to take those familiar routes, but each time, she corrected herself and turned in a different direction.
On Tuesday afternoon, she actually got herself halfway across the quad before realizing she was heading straight toward the psych building. Her stomach dropped when she noticed. She stopped walking, and for a second, she just stood there and watched the entrance from a distance.
Students were coming in and out. Someone held the door open for a girl carrying a stack of textbooks. Another group lingered on the steps, laughing about something. Paige was probably inside, running her study or walking down the hall, looking the exact same as always.
Azzi turned sharply and walked in the other direction.
Wednesday morning, the habit became too hard to ignore. Azzi woke up and opened Instagram before she was fully conscious. Her thumb tapped the DM icon automatically, and she opened up the thread.
pbsbaseline
Her stomach dropped, and she froze. There it was again, their last conversation, sitting exactly where it had been for three days now. No new messages, no typing bubble, nothing. Azzi stared at the screen for a long moment, then she backed out of the messages and locked her phone.
You don’t need to talk to her, she told herself. You shouldn’t talk to her.
She missed Paige in a way that didn’t feel right. She should’ve been ready to completely distance herself from Paige, because she had logged literally everything. Every conversation, every moment, and even the stupid things Azzi had said without thinking.
The memory of the laptop screen flickered through her mind again. Pages of notes, photos, and bullet points.
Attachment markers.
Azzi pressed her lips together. The humiliation still burned when she thought about it, but another memory from Sunday night kept intruding too.
The couch, Paige’s flushed face, the way she’d looked surprised when Azzi teased her, and the way Paige had kissed her back.
Azzi shut her eyes briefly. Stop, she told herself, before she grabbed her backpack and left for class.
It was colder outside today, and Azzi was really feeling the low temperatures as she crossed the quad. The midweek crowds moved quickly around her. Someone biked past too close and a group of freshmen laughed loudly near the fountain.
Azzi kept her head down as she walked. Her molecular biology class met in a building on the far side of campus. The easiest path was one that cut directly past the psychology building. It was the fastest route, but Azzi knew— from the past few days— that she was avoiding that building like the plague.
She had a chance of seeing Paige in places like The Lantern Room and the library, but near the Psychology Building? It was pretty much a guarantee.
For a second, Azzi let herself imagine Paige inside 314C, running her study, watching someone the way Paige had watched her. She was probably analyzing them, and logging their behavior. The thought made her stomach twist.
Azzi inhaled slowly, then of course, instead of taking the straight path toward the building, she took the long way around the quad, the route that curved along the far edge of campus. It added nearly ten minutes to the walk in the freezing cold, but it kept the psych building a good ways away from her.
Azzi adjusted the strap of her backpack and kept moving.
Temporary space, she reminded herself. Just for a little while, until things stopped feeling so complicated. Until she stopped missing someone she wasn’t sure she could ever trust again.
—
Monday began the same way that it always did.
Paige woke up at 6:27 a.m., three minutes before her alarm. She turned it off before it could sound, sat up in bed, and mentally organized the day’s schedule before her feet touched the floor.
Classes, then lab hours. She had two confirmed participants, possibly three if the waitlist student from Friday still wanted a time slot. This was her routine. It was predictable and efficient. It had just been kind of… thrown off by Azzi’s presence these past weeks.
Paige usually could slip back into a routine fairly quickly. She got dressed in khakis and a gray sweater, then pulled her hair into the same tight bun she wore almost every day. She put her contacts in, then zipped her backpack with careful precision.
By 7:00, she was already walking toward campus. There was no reason to delay.
After two morning classes, she headed straight to the Psychology building. She ached to be somewhere that felt stable.
Her study required ongoing participant recruitment, and after the weekend gap, she had a backlog of small administrative tasks to complete. She had been slacking some recently. Her mind had been… elsewhere.
Consent forms needed to be reprinted, participant ID logs needed to be updated, and stimulus files needed to be checked.
This would occupy her next hour or so, which was ideal.
Room 314C smelled faintly like printer toner and disinfectant wipes when Paige unlocked it. The space was exactly as she’d left it Friday afternoon— a chair by the computer table, pulse sensor cables neatly coiled beside the monitor, and the eye-tracking camera angled precisely toward where the participant’s face would be positioned. Everything was orderly and familiar.
Paige exhaled quietly as she set her backpack down and pulled her laptop out, before setting it on the corner desk. This was routine, which felt good, because routine meant forward movement.
She powered on her laptop and immediately opened the study interface. Participant 223080 was scheduled for 10:30 a.m.
She printed a stack of new consent forms in the copy room while the system booted. The printer hummed, and paper slid nearly into the tray. Paige stacked the sheets, aligned the edges carefully, walked back to 314C and placed them beside the intake clipboard. The preparation took exactly four minutes.
When she finished, she checked the clock. 10:22. Right on schedule.
Participant 223080 arrived two minutes later.
They were a sophomore psychology major, just like her. They displayed a mildly nervous demeanor, and avoided eye contact.
Paige guided them through the introduction with practiced efficiency— consent form, explanation of the stimulus sequence, and sensor placement.
The student just nodded along politely while Paige attached the pulse monitor to their wrist and calibrated the eye tracker. Everything proceeded normally, exactly as it always did.
When the stimuli began playing— audio clips, short videos, and emotional prompts— Paige moved to her usual seat in the corner of the room. Her laptop screen filled with the incoming data stream. Heart rate variability, pupil dilation, and fixation points. Numbers and graphs appeared in slow real-time increments, and Paige watched, observed, and recorded the data carefully.
For months, human responses translated into measurable data had been the most interesting part of her day. She was enamored with the patterns that emerged from raw reactions. But now, as she watched the readings accumulate, a strange thought surfaced.
The signals felt… flat. The participant’s heart rate shifted slightly during one of the emotional prompts, and the eye tracking followed the expected stimulus patterns, but the overall variability was minimal, predictable, and unremarkable.
Paige frowned slightly as her fingers hovered over the keyboard, then she typed a note into the study log.
comparative cognitive engagement significantly lower than Subject 220175 baseline
The line glowed quietly on the screen, and for a moment, Paige simply stared at it.
Subject 220175. Azzi.
The realization, that she was comparing this participant’s responses to Azzi’s, arrived slowly but firmly. She was doing this automatically, without really intending to.
Paige leaned back slightly in her chair as the data stream continued to scroll across the screen. Heart rate fluctuations, micro-saccade tracking, and routine physiological responses.
Now that she’d noticed the comparison, it was impossible to ignore. Azzi’s dataset had been… unusually complex. She displayed layered emotional reactions, nonlinear engagement patterns, and unexpected physiological responses to certain stimuli.
Paige had spent hours analyzing those anomalies. Now, watching the graphs from 223080, the differences felt obvious. Too simple, less dynamic, and uninteresting.
The session finished seven minutes later. After the participant left, Paige sanitized the equipment, reset the system, and prepared for the next scheduled slot.
223091.
The process repeated almost identically. Consent form, sensor attachment, stimulus playback, and data monitoring.
Again, Paige observed the graphs appearing on her screen, and again, the same quiet thought surfaced: the responses were technically valid, but they lacked depth.
She typed another small notation in the log.
engagement variability remains within expected parameters
Then, almost unconsciously, she added a second line.
still below Subject 220175 baseline
Paige stopped typing and her eyes lingered on the screen. It was becoming clear that the comparison wasn’t going to stop. Azzi’s dataset had effectively recalibrated her expectation, and every participant would now be measured against it— against her.
Paige closed the log window and moved on to the next task.
By early afternoon, Paige had processed three participants.
223080.
223091.
223111.
Each session ran smoothly, and each dataset populated the system without errors, but each one felt… increasingly unremarkable.
Paige sat at the desk between sessions, sorting printed consent sheets into a neatly labeled folder. Her laptop screen displayed the cumulative dataset for the week. Rows of participant IDs and columns of behavioral metrics.
Ordinarily, the visual order of it all brought her satisfaction. The clean data, clear patterns, and the progress. But today, the numbers seemed oddly distant.
Her attention drifted repeatedly, not to anything specific, just away. Paige noticed the shift immediately— the distraction, a cognitive drift, which was unusual.
She opened the study log again and typed a brief observation.
research engagement subjectively reduced
possible comparison bias introduced by atypical dataset (220175)
She stared at the line for a moment, then closed the file. She had acknowledged something and documented it. No further analysis was required.
By the time the final participant left that afternoon, the hallway outside 314C had grown quiet. Most students were already heading to their final late-day classes or back to their dorms.
Paige powered down the computer systems and began organizing the desk. She made sure the monitor cables were aligned, the consent sheets were stacked, and the sensor wires were coiled neatly. The routine steadied her breathing. Structure always helped restore equilibrium.
When she finished, she reached down and opened her backpack, and her fingers brushed against something new, but familiar.
Paper. Paper that was thicker than the usual study materials she carried. Paige pulled it out, and let her eyes land on the field notes notebook. The one Azzi had given her the night before. It looked almost out of place among the rest of her research materials.
For a moment, Paige simply held it in her hands. Her thumb traced the edge of the cover slowly, and the memories began to surface without warning.
Azzi standing in her apartment— takeout bag in one hand, the small wrapped gift in the other. The quiet and almost shy way she’d said: It reminded me of you.
Paige felt something shift in her chest— a brief and unfamiliar pressure. Her grip on the notebook tightened slightly. She could still picture the exact moment Azzi handed it to her. The warmth in her voice, and the expectant and hopeful way she’d watched Paige open it.
Paige’s throat felt strangely tight. The sensation lingered for several seconds, then she closed the notebook and slid it carefully back into her backpack, before her breathing steadied again.
There was no reason to dwell on the memory. The object itself was simply a tool, a portable extension of her logging system, that was all.
Paige zipped the bag shut and turned off the lights in 314C. Routine would resume tomorrow. It always did.
—
By Friday, the quiet had settled into something heavier. It wasn’t sharp anymore, and not really immediate, just constant.
Azzi sat cross-legged on her bed with her laptop open in front of her, that displayed a half-finished molecular biology assignment blinking back at her. The words on the screen blurred together after a while, not because she didn’t understand them, but because her focus kept slipping.
Her phone sat beside her thigh, face-up and silent. She had checked it less today— not because she didn’t want to check it, but because she already knew. There was still nothing.
She was well aware that she was the one who put space between her and Paige. She also knew that she missed having that connection with someone. She felt split down the middle about the whole thing.
Azzi reached for her phone anyway and unlocked it, before scrolling through a of couple notifications she didn’t care about. Instead of opening Instagram, she opened her messages with Caroline.
Her thumb hovered for a second. It had been some time since they talked about anything beyond surface-level. Not complete silence— they had sent each other things, like short replies. But nothing like before. Before Paige.
azzi: you busy tonight?
azzi: come over?
caroline: oh??
caroline: you actually wanna hang out with me?
Azzi huffed a quiet laugh through her nose.
azzi: shut up
azzi: i always wanna hang out with you
caroline: mhm
caroline: i’ll be there in 15
Azzi set her phone down before she started to think too far into it.
—
Caroline didn’t knock. She never did. Azzi heard footsteps coming down the hall, then her bedroom door swung open like it always had, and Caroline stepped in with the same easy familiarity— her messy ponytail, oversized hoodie, and a bag of snacks tucked under her arm like she planned on staying a while.
“Hey,” Caroline said, like nothing had changed.
“Hey,” Azzi echoed, just as casually.
Caroline kicked the door shut behind her and dropped the snacks onto Azzi’s desk before flopping onto the bed beside her. “Your room’s feels weirdly cold,” she said, tugging the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands.
Azzi shrugged and tried to keep a lump from forming in her throat. She had been keeping her room cold this week. “It’s not that bad.”
“It is,” Caroline said immediately.
Azzi forced a faint smile, and Caroline stopped there. This felt normal and easy. That was one thing she liked about spending time with Caroline— things didn’t feel tense or forced.
She leaned back against the headboard and pulled her blanket loosely over her legs as Caroline grabbed the remote and turned on the TV without asking, before flipping through all the channels.
For a few minutes, it was just background noise. The TV was playing something neither of them paid attention to, and Caroline had opened a bag of chips and offered some without looking. Azzi took a handful. This was familiar and comfortable, but something sat underneath it. Something unspoken.
Caroline noticed, because she always did. “You’ve been weird this week,” she said, not looking at Azzi. “Well, for more than a week,” she clarified. “But, more so, recently.”
Azzi didn’t react right away. She just crunched down on a chip with her eyes still on the TV. “I’ve had stuff,” she said after a second.
Caroline glanced at her then. “What kind of stuff?”
Azzi hesitated. It would be easy to brush it off, say it was school-related or just stress, some textbook answer and move on, but the quiet from the past few days pressed at her chest.
“She…” Azzi started, then stopped.
Caroline’s expression changed immediately into something more attentive now. “She?” she echoed.
Azzi nodded slowly. “She broke my trust.”
The words felt strange out loud— simplified, like they didn’t fully capture it.
Caroline’s brows pulled together slightly. “Paige?”
Azzi nodded once, and Caroline sat up a little straighter. “What did she do?” The question was careful, not really prying, but she wasn’t letting it drop either.
Azzi’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the blanket, and her mind flashed— the laptop screen lighting up, her participant ID at the top, the pages of notes, and her own face, pulled from Instagram, both labeled and categorized. Her stomach turned from the memories.
“I just—” she shook her head. “I don’t really wanna get into it.”
Caroline studied her for a moment— long enough that Azzi felt it, but then she leaned back again and exhaled. “Okay,” she said simply.
A beat passed, then, a little sharper and a little more protective— “I told you, though.” Azzi’s head turned slightly. Caroline’s eyes were still on the TV, but her jaw had tightened just a bit. “That girl has always seemed way too intense.”
The words landed heavier than the tone they were delivered in. Azzi felt something in her chest react immediately— a quick and defensive spark.
“She’s not—” Azzi started as she turned more toward her. The sentence caught halfway out and she stopped, because she didn’t know how to finish it. She’s not what? Not intense? That wasn’t true. Not… wrong? Azzi’s throat tightened.
Caroline glanced at her again and caught the hesitation. “See?” she said quietly. “You can’t even defend her.”
Azzi looked away and her gaze dropped to her hands as her fingers twisted lightly in the blanket. “I just…” she breathed out, slower this time. “It’s not that simple.”
Caroline didn’t push nor did she interrupt, which somehow made it worse, because Azzi could feel the space where she could explain it. To describe what Paige had done, and say it out loud to make it real.
The thought alone made her stomach turn again. If she said it— if she described the file, the notes, and the way Paige had been watching her— it would solidify something she wasn’t ready to fully accept yet. So she didn’t. She just shook her head slightly.
“I don’t know,” she said instead.
Caroline nodded once. That was enough for her for now. “Okay,” she said again, softer this time.
Caroline reached for the remote and turned the volume up a little, like she was giving Azzi space without making it obvious. A few minutes passed like that, then, “You want me to stay?” Caroline asked, more casually now.
Azzi blinked. “What?”
“Like,” Caroline shrugged as she glanced at her. “Spend the night or whatever. We can watch something, or I’ll just knock out. I don’t care.”
Azzi hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Stay.”
Caroline smiled a little at that. “Cool.”
She shifted on the bed and pulled the blanket over both of them without asking, settling in like she always had, like nothing had changed, and for a moment, it almost felt that way.
Azzi leaned back against the headboard again and let her shoulder brush against Caroline’s.
The TV flickered and the room stayed cold. Caroline’s presence was steady, familiar, and safe, but as the minutes passed, Azzi became aware of something she hadn’t expected.
The quiet between them felt… different. Not uncomfortable, just… less. Caroline didn’t ask questions in the same way. She didn’t notice the small shifts in her tone and didn’t pull things out of her before she even knew how to say them.
Azzi stared at the screen that she wasn’t really watching and thought about Paige. About the way conversations with her had felt focused and perfectly intense.
Like she was being studied, yes, but also like being understood in a way that didn’t require any explanation.
Caroline nudged her lightly with her shoulder. “Stop thinking so hard,” she said.
Azzi blinked and forced a small smile. “I’m not.”
“Liar.”
Azzi let out a soft breath. Caroline was here., and everything was normal. This was good. This was what she needed. So why did it feel like something was still missing?
Azzi pulled the blanket a little tighter around herself and leaned her head back against the wall. She didn’t have an answer, and that unsettled her more than anything.
—
Paige preferred weekdays over weekends. Weekdays consisted of class, lab, research, and analysis. The weekends tended to leave her with time to get lost in her thoughts.
Friday night had settled into her apartment without an announcement. There was no shift in lighting, Paige still kept the overhead off with no background noise, and the TV remained untouched. There was just the low and consistent hum of the air vent pushing cold air through her space. Sixty-two degrees, unchanged.
Paige sat at her desk with her laptop open, the glow of the screen casting a light across the otherwise dark room.
The document filled the display.
220175 — Priority Subject
Paige’s fingers rested lightly on the keyboard, then, she began typing.
Week of 10/21, no campus interaction observed.
She paused to review the line. It was accurate. There had been no sightings of Azzi in or anywhere around the psych building, no incidental crossings on the quad, and no overlap in shared locations. Avoidance behavior was likely.
Contact frequency: zero
Subject has not initiated communication.
Her eyes lingered on the words. Contact frequency: zero. The phrasing felt clinical— neutral, even, but the reality it described felt… heavier than that.
Paige stared at the screen for a few seconds longer than necessary, before she scrolled up above the new entries and back through the week, then further. The earlier logs began to fill the screen.
Lantern Room Meeting
Subject appears responsive to selective affirmation strategy.
Paige’s gaze moved slowly across the text, and the memory surfaced immediately. Azzi had been sitting across from her, laughing at something Paige had said, something she hadn’t even intended to be humorous. Paige blinked, then scrolled further.
Library Interaction
Subject initiated physical contact (forearm)
Paige’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. She could still feel every physical interaction her and Azzi had ever shared. The brief pressure of Azzi’s hand against her arm, warm, casual, and unprompted.
Paige had logged it as a behavioral marker, but now, the memory carried something else with it— something less defined. She scrolled up more.
Interpersonal discussion (Caroline)
Subject response: reflective and receptive.
Paige’s jaw tightened slightly. That had been a pivotal moment. There was a shift in the dynamic. Increased reliance and increased trust. She had noted it clinically at the time, but looking back, that conversation had felt… significant in a different way. Not just strategically, but personally.
Paige stopped scrolling, and her eyes moved lower on the document, toward the most recent section.
Subject Departure
The line sat alone. As Paige stared at it, the events of the night replayed with precise clarity. Azzi standing across from her, speaking with a shaky voice.
You documented me.
Paige swallowing, and trying to explain. Paige trying to correct the misunderstanding, but the door had closed anyway. Happy birthday.
Paige’s fingers curled slightly against the edge of the desk. There was something wrong. Not with the log. The log was accurate and consistent, but something about her current state didn’t align with her usual internal framework.
Paige sat back slightly in her chair and allowed herself to focus inward. She attempted categorization and emotional response analysis.
She ran through the usual classifications. Stress? Not really. Her physiological indicators didn’t match. Anxiety? Partially, but incomplete. Disappointment? That felt insufficient. The sensation was more persistent than that, more… intrusive.
Paige frowned slightly, because this was unusual. She could not clearly define the emotional state she was experiencing, and that rarely happened.
Paige turned abruptly and reached down beside her desk chair, where her backpack sat partially unzipped. She pulled it closer and opened it fully, her fingers moving quickly until they found the object she was looking for.
The field notes notebook. She pulled it out and set it on the desk before flipping it open to the first blank page.
Unresolved emotional state following subject departure.
Symptoms: distraction and intrusive recollection.
The pen paused and hovered as Paige stared at the words she’d written. Unresolved emotional state. The phrasing was imprecise, but accurate. Her attention had been inconsistent all week— during lab sessions, during class, even now, while attempting to log data. Her thoughts kept returning to the same subject— Azzi.
Intrusive recollection. That was also accurate. Memories were surfacing without intentional recall. The Lantern Room, the library, the couch, the kiss…
Paige stopped, and her breath caught slightly in her chest. She set the pen down and leaned back in her chair, while letting her head rest briefly against the backrest.
The realization settled in slowly, that this wasn’t just about the study anymore. It wasn’t just about the data. It hadn’t been for a while.
Paige’s eyes drifted back to the laptop screen, to the file. To the weeks of logs documenting Azzi’s behavior, her responses and patterns. Paige had spent hours analyzing, mapping, and understanding those entries, but now, there was a new variable. One she hadn’t accounted for initially— her own.
Paige inhaled slowly. She missed Azzi. The thought arrived fully formed, clear, and undeniable. Azzi wasn’t just a subject or a data source. She missed her presence and the conversations, the way interactions with Azzi had felt engaging and stimulating, different from anyone else Paige had encountered.
Paige’s chest tightened slightly again, but she didn’t attempt to categorize it this time. She already knew it didn’t fit cleanly into any existing framework.
Instead, she reached forward and closed the notebook gently and set it beside her laptop. Her eyes stayed on it for a moment, then they shifted to her phone. It sat just to the right of her keyboard. The screen was dark and inactive.
Paige stared at it, had a brief internal hesitation, then picked it up and unlocked it. She opened Instagram quickly, and her thumb moved to the search bar.
After typing az, Azzi’s profile appeared instantly. Paige tapped it, the page loaded, and her feed filled the screen. They were all images she’d already seen, cataloged, and analyzed.
The gym mirror selfie, the one with Caroline, and a candid from earlier in the semester. Each one was exactly where it had been before.
Paige scrolled slightly, then stopped. There were no new posts, no visible updates, and no indication of the last five days at all.
Her thumb hovered near the message icon. She could message, reinitiate contact, and provide clarification, but— Azzi had stated she wanted space, very firmly, to be exact.
Paige lowered her hand, locked her phone, and set it back down on the desk. The apartment returned to silence as her laptop screen still glowed softly in front of her.
The file was still open, waiting for more entries, but Paige didn’t type anything else.
—
Azzi had stopped going to the third floor of the library over the past week. She told herself it wasn’t intentional— that it just happened, that the first time she chose a different section, it was because it was crowded. The second time, because she was already nearby. By now, it had become a quiet rerouting.
She sat at a table near the back of the second floor with her math notebook open in front of her and her pencil resting loosely between her fingers. The overhead lights buzzed and casted everything in that same flat and neutral tone that made time feel like it was going by slower than it actually was.
Around her, people worked, typed, and whispered. Azzi stared down at the problem in front of her. Limits, something she knew how to do, and something she had done before.
She exhaled softly and rubbed her temple with her free hand. “Focus,” she muttered under her breath. She leaned forward slightly and began trying again.
As she rewrote the equation and broke it down step by step, her brain felt slower than usual. Not incapable, just uncooperative, like it kept reaching for something that wasn’t there.
Her phone buzzed lightly against the table and Azzi glanced at it instinctively.
caroline: i just saw the weirdest guy in the dining hall
caroline: he had like three plates of just eggs??
Azzi let out a quiet breath and a small and automatic smile formed on her lips.
azzi: maybe he’s bulking
azzi: or just insane
caroline: no like. it was aggressive
caroline: i felt judged just sitting there
azzi: 😭😭
azzi: you’re so dramatic
caroline: i’m serious
caroline: i think he was watching me eat my cereal
Azzi continued to smile, but it didn’t quite reach all the way through. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second longer than necessary before she locked her phone and set it back down.
Her attention returned to the notebook. The equation sat there unfinished and waiting. Azzi stared at it, then, without meaning to, her mind shifted to a different kind of conversation.
Paige would’ve said something about this. Not about the eggs, and not about the random guy, but about the way Caroline described it. Her word choice.
Aggressive. Paige would’ve picked that apart. She would have asked why that was the word she chose, and what made it feel aggressive instead of just excessive. She would’ve turned it into something bigger and something more… interesting.
Azzi sighed. She hadn’t even realized she was comparing them, but now that the thought had started, it didn’t stop.
Caroline’s texts were easy, light, and predictable. There was comfort in that, but there was something missing too, something sharper.
Paige never responded the way she expected her to. Every conversation had felt like it mattered, and like it was being examined from angles Azzi hadn’t even considered yet.
Like she was being seen. That word always landed heavier than she wanted it to. She shifted slightly in her chair and crossed one leg over the other.
Her eyes drifted back to her phone screen that was still dark and quiet. No new Instagram notifications, and no messages from pbsbaseline.
Azzi looked back to her notebook and the math problem before writing the next step. It wasn’t long before she stopped again, and her mind slipped once more— this time, more deliberately.
She thought about the way Paige used to look at her during conversations. Not in a casual way, not distracted, but focused and intent, like she was paying attention to every small thing.
The way Azzi phrased something and the way her tone shifted, even the pauses.At the time, it had felt flattering in a strange way.
The things Paige would say, too, like those offhand observations that didn’t sound like compliments at first.
You default to humor when you’re deflecting.
You maintain eye contact longer when you’re trying to prove a point you’re not fully confident in.
You think faster than you speak, but you filter more than you realize.
Azzi felt a slight sting behind her eyes. No one had ever said things like that to her before. No one had ever noticed those things, or if they had, they hadn’t said them out loud. Paige had, casually, like it was obvious.
Azzi pressed her lips together in thought. The realization came quietly. She missed that. She missed the intensity of it. The way conversations didn’t just pass time— they filled it. The way she had felt pulled in and fully engaged, like she had to keep up, like she wanted to keep up.
Azzi frowned as she stared down at the half-finished equation. This was ridiculous. She shouldn’t be thinking about this. Not after—
Her stomach curled as the images came back again. The laptop screen, her ID number, and the pages of notes. Everything Paige had been seeing, recording, analyzing…
Azzi’s hand stilled and her breath caught slightly. She had felt seen, yes. That was true in itself, but… what if it had been too much? Too precise and too intentional.
It hadn’t just been natural observation. It hadn’t just been someone paying attention. It had been structured, documented, and sometimes engineered.
The warmth she had felt in those moments twisted slightly in her memory as her mind reframed things. Was it still the same, knowing what she knew now?
Azzi stared down at the page, but she wasn’t seeing it anymore. What if no one else ever made her feel like that again? The thought slipped in suddenly before she could stop it. Unwelcome, but real.
Because even now, even knowing everything, there was a part of her that wanted that back. The connection and the intensity, the feeling of being understood without having to explain herself over and over again.
But trusting Paige again, that felt… impossible, or at least, not simple. Not after what she had seen.
Her pencil slipped from her fingers and rolled slightly across the page. Azzi didn’t pick it up right away, she just sat there, staring.
She was caught between two things that didn’t seem to fit together anymore. Missing something she wasn’t sure she should want, and not knowing what to do with that.
Azzi leaned back in her chair slightly, her gaze unfocused now, and just stayed there, stuck in the middle of it.
—
Her apartment was quiet again. It wasn’t the neutral quiet Paige preferred, the kind that made it easier to think, to process, and to work.
This one felt heavier and more present, like it occupied space instead of clearing it. It had felt this way since her birthday.
Paige sat at her desk with her laptop open, the Priority Subject — 220175 file filling the screen once more.
She had been here scrolling and reading for a while. Her fingers rested lightly against the trackpad as she moved through the document in small increments, her eyes scanning each entry with careful attention.
Not for data collection, because that part was already done. This was different. She considered this review and analysis.
She was trying to identify where the shift had occurred. Where the reaction had diverged from expectation.
Paige scrolled further up back to the earlier entries. The initial logs— first contact and first extended conversation. Her eyes moved steadily across the text. The tone was consistent, structured, observational, and precise, but something about it felt different now.
Paige paused and scrolled back a few lines to read them again. The content hadn’t changed, but her perception of it had. The entries carried a kind of familiarity now. A subtle recognition, not just of behavior patterns, but of specific moments.
She remembered each Lantern Room conversation. Not just what Azzi had said, but how she had leaned forward slightly when she was engaged. The way her voice had shifted when she got more invested in a topic.
Paige’s gaze lingered on the screen. There was something almost warm about it. Not in the language, that remained clinical, but in the recollection attached to it.
She started to scroll again as her chest tightened. She didn’t even begin to categorize it, she didn’t even pause long enough to. Instead, she shifted her attention to the field notes notebook sitting beside her laptop. Azzi’s notebook.
Paige reached for it without hesitation, pulled it closer, and flipped it open to the next blank space beneath her last entry. Her pen moved quickly.
Continued absence. Subject avoidance behaviors probable.
She paused briefly and reviewed the statement. It was consistent with observed data. No contact and no incidental interaction made active route changes likely.
Paige tapped the pen lightly once against the page, then added another line that was more deliberate this time.
Main hypothesis: subject interpreting documentation as betrayal rather than intellectual interest.
Paige looked at the words. This was the most plausible explanation. Azzi’s reaction had been immediate, emotional, and framed around trust.
You documented me.
The emphasis had been on the act of recording, but Paige’s intention had not been malicious, not deceptive in the way Azzi seemed to interpret it. It had been curiosity, interest, and an attempt to understand, map behavior, and engage more effectively.
The disconnect remained. From her perspective, the documentation had been an extension of attention. Of care, even, though she hadn’t labeled it that way at the time.
She had invested time, effort, and focus, all directed toward Azzi. But Azzi had interpreted it as a violation— as betrayal.
Paige’s gaze shifted back to the laptop screen and to the file. To the volume of entries, the detail, and the consistency.
She could see how it might appear excessive from an external perspective, but excessive didn’t equate to harmful. Not inherently.
There was something missing in the equation, a variable she hadn’t accounted for, not in behavior, but in interpretation.
She turned back to the notebook and added a small notation beneath the hypothesis.
Discrepancy between intent and subject perception remains unresolved.
Paige leaned back slightly in her chair with her pen still in her hand. Her mind moved quicker now, running through possibilities.
If the issue was trust, then the solution would involve restoration of that trust. Clarification, reframing, and providing context for her actions. She could explain the purpose behind the documentation. Paige nodded to herself. That was logical, structured, and solvable.
Unintentionally, her attention drifted again back to the memory of that night. The couch, the proximity, and azzi’s voice, softer than usual. The kiss.
Paige’s breath caught slightly. That moment had not been part of the study. It wasn’t planned or structured, and there definitely hadn’t been a framework or predictive model for it. It had just been impulse and response. That didn’t align with her usual patterns.
She lowered her pen to the page again.
Contact withdrawal producing cognitive distraction.
The words were more immediate this time, less observational and more reactive.
Paige stared at the line for a moment, then closed the notebook. Not forcefully, but with a kind of finality.
She set the pen down beside it and turned her attention back to the laptop. The file remained open and unchanged, complete, but no longer sufficient.
The quiet around her felt filled with something she still couldn’t fully define, and that kept her from closing the file.
—
It was late enough that her dorm had gone quiet. Not completely silent— there were still distant sounds in the hallway, a door closing somewhere down the corridor, and someone’s laugh echoing— but inside Azzi’s room, everything had settled.
Caroline was asleep beside her, sleeping over again. She was curled toward the wall, breathing slow and even, with one arm half-tangled in the blanket that they were sharing.
Azzi was lying on her side and staring at her phone, wide awake with the screen dimmed. She had been switching between apps without really thinking. Instagram, messages, then back again. Nothing was really holding her attention for more than a few seconds. Her thoughts kept circling back to the same place. Back to her.
Azzi slowly dragged a hand down her face. This is stupid. You need to stop, she thought to herself. Move on. That’s what she’d been telling herself all week.
Then, before she could overthink it, she tapped Instagram, clicked to add to her story, and set it to Close Friends only. The green circle always felt safer. Smaller and more contained.
She hesitated for only a second before typing.
need advice about something
what would you do if someone crossed a boundary, but you still cared about them?
Azzi stared at the text and read over it twice. It felt vague enough for other people to not realize who she was talking about— detached, with no names or specifics.
It was just a question. She hit post, and watched as the story uploaded. Azzi locked her phone and let it fall back against her chest.
She didn’t expect an immediate response from anyone. Caroline would probably see it in the morning, maybe text her about it later in the day or bring it up casually like she always did. A few other people might reply too with something simple.
Depends what they did.
Talk to them.
Cut them off.
Normal responses and normal advice. That’s what she wanted— something uncomplicated.
Her phone then vibrated. The sound was loud in her quiet bedroom. The Instagram notification lit up the screen.
She unlocked it, and gaze dropped to the message preview.
pbsbaseline replied to your story.
Azzi’s stomach dropped. She had forgotten to remove Paige from her Close Friends Story.
—
Paige was already in bed with all of her lights off when the notification came through.
She had been lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, not sleeping, not working, just… suspended. Her phone suddenly buzzed against the mattress beside her.
Paige turned her head slightly and shifted her eyes to the screen as it lit up. It was an Instagram story notification.
@azzifudd added to their story.
Paige blinked once. That, in itself, wasn’t unusual, but the ring around Azzi’s profile picture was green. This was a Close Friends story post.
Paige pushed herself up slightly against the headboard and picked up her phone.
That was unexpected. She had assumed, logically, that she would have been removed following Azzi’s prior reaction. With her avoidance behaviors and contact withdrawal, exclusion would have been consistent with that pattern.
Paige unlocked her phone and tapped the notification. The story loaded, and the black photo popped up with white text.
need advice about something
what would you do if someone crossed a boundary, but you still cared about them?
Paige read it once, then again, then a third time. Her expression didn’t change, but something in her chest shifted— recognition.
The referent was clear. There was no ambiguity. Someone. Boundary. Care. All the variables pointed to the same conclusion: This was about her.
Paige’s grip on her phone adjusted slightly as her thumb hovering over the reply field. This was an opening. An unstructured and unprompted one, but still, an opportunity for re-engagement.
She didn’t hesitate long. Her response formed quickly, almost automatically, aligning with the framework she had already established— her hypothesis. Clarification of intent and restoration of trust.
pbsbaseline: boundary violations can sometimes be addressed through clarification of intent.
She paused to read it over. It was concise, accurate, appropriate, and neutral in tone. She sent it. As she considered sending more, maybe expanding and providing direct context— my intention was not—
Suddenly, a reply appeared, both immediate and faster than expected.
azzifudd: i am not sure if taking your advice is appropriate during this specific instance.
Paige went completely still. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen as she read the sentence again and again, processing and breaking it down.
Not sure if taking your advice… appropriate… this specific instance.
There was no hostility in the wording and no overt aggression, but Azzi’s implication was clear. This was rejection, not just of the advice, but also of the source. Of Paige.
Something tightened sharply in her chest. She had an unfiltered reaction, that was a bit unfamiliar in its intensity.
For a moment, she didn’t move, nor type, or even adjust her grip on her phone, because something else had surfaced beneath the initial interpretation. A realization, both small and distinct.
Azzi had repeatedly come to her before for input, perspective, and analysis. That had become a consistent pattern. Azzi would present a situation, thought, or a question, and Paige would respond, break it apart, or provide insight, and Azzi had accepted that. She relied on it, even. Paige was her first point of reference. Her primary—
Paige’s fingers curled slightly around the edge of the phone. Now, Azzi didn’t want her input. The shift didn’t only feel abrupt, but total, and it didn’t align.
The reaction split cleanly into two parts. The first was hurt, both sharp and unpleasant. It was difficult for Paige to categorize, but it was undeniably present.
The second was more structured and familiar. Frustration? Maybe, or something more specific. Possession.
The thought surfaced before she could filter it. She used to ask me. That access, that role, it hadn’t just disappeared. It had been deliberately removed.
Paige’s eyes flicked back to the message. Her mind moved quickly now, trying to reframe and correct it. If Azzi’s response was rooted in her perception of betrayal, then resistance to input would be expected. Temporary, just a byproduct of the unresolved discrepancy. Not permanent.
Paige forced her fingers to move and to respond.
pbsbaseline: your hesitation is likely influenced by the context of the situation rather than the validity of the advice itself.
She paused, then added another line that felt less clinical but still controlled.
pbsbaseline: i can clarify my intent if that’s the primary concern.
She stared at the messages after sending them and waited. The screen remained still for a moment, then, the seen receipt appeared.
Her eyes stayed locked on the screen as she waited for the typing indicator, for a response, for anything.
Seconds passed, then more, but nothing. No typing bubble and definitely no reply. Paige lowered her phone slightly, though her gaze didn’t leave it entirely.
The conversation sat there, open and unanswered, and for the first time since she had sent the message, there was no immediate action to take and no clear next step. Just absence, again.
Paige swallowed once and her jaw tightened subtly as she turned the phone face-down against the mattress beside her. She didn’t lie back down or close her eyes. Instead, she just sat there, waiting for something that didn’t come.
—
Paige couldn’t sleep. She had laid back down and closed her eyes, but her mind hadn’t followed. It stayed active— running, looping, and circling the same sequence over and over again. The message she had sent and Azzi’s response.
i am not sure if taking your advice is appropriate during this specific instance.
The phrasing replayed with exact clarity. She could basically hear Azzi’s tone. The content was definitive— rejection.
Paige turned onto her side, then onto her back, then sat up. The darkness in the apartment felt thicker than usual. Not quite in the way she preferred, not empty, but occupied by absence, interruption, and something unresolved.
She reached for her phone again and checked their message thread. No response, no correction, and no follow-up. The conversation remained exactly where it had ended.
Paige exhaled through her nose, then swung her legs over the side of the bed. Sleep was no longer a viable outcome under the current conditions.
She stood up and moved across her bedroom over to her desk without turning on the lights. Her laptop was still closed, and her notebook was exactly where she had left it.
Paige sat down and flipped on her lamp that she rarely used, before pulling the field notes notebook toward her. She opened it, and the page where she had left off stared back at her.
Contact withdrawal producing cognitive distraction.
That line had proven accurate, but insufficient. Paige flipped to the next page, picked up her pen, and began writing.
Subject rejection of advisory input.
Significant shift in relational dynamic.
Loss of established interaction pattern.
Her thoughts moved faster now, less structured and more reactive, because it wasn’t just a shift, it was a removal. It was a disruption of something that had been consistent, predictable, and functional.
Her role and position in Azzi’s decision-making process was gone. Paige’s grip tightened on the pen, and the next line came without hesitation.
INTERVENTION REQUIRED
The words sat heavy on the page, not observational or passive, but directive. Paige stared at it. Her breathing had into something shallower now and more controlled. Her mind had finally began to reorganize and refocus.
If the current state was unstable, then it needed correction. Avoidance behaviors had persisted for days, and digital outreach had failed.
Paige leaned back slightly in her chair and her eyes unfocused for a moment as she accessed something else. Memory, to pattern recognition, to schedule mapping.
Azzi’s routine surfaced easily, not because Paige had intentionally memorized it, but because she had already logged it. She had observed it repeatedly.
Morning classes, lunch gap, afternoon classes… Paige’s eyes sharpened. Azzi spent her evenings in the library frequently. Third floor, usually, but even if that had changed, the location itself remained probable. Study habits didn’t dissolve entirely under avoidance behavior.
Paige’s fingers tapped once against the edge of the notebook. Tomorrow night. Azzi would have a high likelihood of presence in the library.
Paige looked back down at the page at the words she had written.
INTERVENTION REQUIRED.
Her breathing slowed and finally stabilized, because now, she had a plan. It wasn’t abstract or theoretical, it was actionable. She would make direct contact, clarify her intent, correct the misinterpretation, and restore their dynamic.
Paige closed the notebook, set the pen down beside it, and rested her hands flat against the desk for a moment. The earlier tension hadn’t disappeared entirely, but it had condensed into something more focused.
She turned her lamp off and stood after a moment before moving back toward the bed. Something in her had settled into place— a decision.
Paige laid back down and stared up at the ceiling again. Her eyes didn’t close, at least not yet, but her thoughts had quieted enough to form a single and consistent line.
She had observed, documented, and proven that repeated contact creates attachment.
But absence, she was beginning to understand, didn’t dissolve attachment. It distorted it. It intensified it, and turned it into something harder to control. That, more than anything, made this intervention necessary.
Tomorrow, she would find Azzi, and this time, she wouldn’t leave the outcome to chance.
i just want y’all to know that @pazziwoke is coloring on her ipad instead of writing, so next time you guys ask for the chapter she can’t blame me. i’m doing my job by telling her to write, and it ain’t working 😐
