summary: In the quiet after victory, Azzi Fudd finds herself questioning everything she thought she wanted. Searching for clarity far from the spotlight, she begins to confront who she is when the game, the noise, and the expectations fall away.
The concentration on her face and gentle way she's holding it to sign it neatly đ„č
Randomly remembered the the Madison Reed meet and greet paige and azzi did together and the one girl wanted paige to write out her next tattoo and azzi told her to write it neatly lol
Just realizing I'm gonna have to stop using the uconn women's basketball tags soon đ„ș
unpopular opinion: i enjoyed watching azzi play today. iâm not really seeing the fear or timidity that most people are talking about.
3s: sheâs an amazing shooter but the looks just werenât there from deep today. part of notre dameâs game plan was to deny her 3pt opportunities and run her off the line, which they did well. this was a VERY rare low-volume game from her but not in a worrisome way, she has a high iq and smart shot selection. if she felt like she had space to pull, she wouldâve pulled it. her gravity as a shooting threat also opened up some great looks for sarah and blanca.
mid-range: her middies off the dribble showed that she wasnât scared to shoot, she was just taking what she saw. this is the first game i can recall this season where the dribble hand offs and screens didnât work to create space for threes, her ability to adapt to that when it hadnât happened yet this season impressed me.
turnovers: all i can really complain about were her turnovers, but to be fair, notre dame does a great job at pressuring the ball and baiting teams into hard passes. azziâs not a point guard even though she has a handle and pretty decent passing ability, so i grant grace there. she averages less than 2/game, so high turnover games like this one are usually only when sheâs in a position where she handles/playmakes more than usual. (4 assists, game high for all players today)
defense: her defense was as solid as it usually is. her assignments struggled all game with finding good looks for shots and passes. big fan of how she manages to guard effectively without catching foul calls, especially with notre dameâs ability to sell contact.
overall not the typical âfudd masterclassâ weâre usually spoiled with, but still a solid showing from her. one game at a time, go huskies!
a/n: just a short epilogue y'all! thank you again to anyone who's tuned in, i appreciate it so much!!! âșïž
wc: 1.8k
Chapter 21: Montana
AzziÂ
They went back in October a few years later. The season had ended early, an abrupt playoff loss that still stung. Azzi had been playing through an injury, one that wore on her body, and even more on her mind.
After that, they decided it was time.
Azzi hadnât told Paige when she bought the house. She should have, maybe. But back then, she wasnât sure Paige was ready, to see that part of her life, to let their worlds touch again after everything theyâd already broken and rebuilt.
She was ready now.
When they arrived, it felt like theyâd never left. The house waited for them exactly as it had been, as if sealed in quiet air, frozen in the years between, holding the echo of what they had been there.
The porch creaked the same way when Paige stepped onto it, her boots leaving faint prints in the thin frost.Â
Inside, the air was cool and still. The faint smell of cedar and dust. Ruthâs old quilt draped over the back of the couch, the same chipped mug sitting by the sink. Azzi dropped her bag by the door, then stood there for a long moment, letting her eyes adjust, letting it all come back to her, the early mornings, the quiet dinners, the way light once fell across Paigeâs face at the kitchen table.
Paige wandered toward the window, brushing her fingertips along the edge of the sill. âDoesnât feel like itâs been years,â she said softly.
Azzi shook her head. âNo. Just feels like it waited.â
They didnât say more. The silence between them was full, but not fragile. Outside, the mountains sat heavy and sure, a quiet kind of permanence. Inside, something in Azzi began to settle, the same way it had once before, when she first learned how to be still.
Paige swiped a finger along the counter, revealing a streak through the thin layer of dust. âGuess the housekeeper stopped coming,â she said dryly.
Azzi giggled, the sound carrying through the empty room. She watched Paige move through the space, opening a window, brushing her hand across the back of a chair.Â
They had both grown since the last time they stood here. Grown together, too weathered the distance, the doubt, the long stretches of becoming. And now, somehow, they had made it back.
Paige blew the dust from her fingertip and shot Azzi a look. âYouâre laughing, but youâre the one who let it get this bad.â
Azzi arched a brow.Â
Paige tsked. âBuy a house, let it sit here gathering dust.âÂ
âIâm saying youâve got championship rings, but apparently no cleaning supplies.â
Paige tilted her head, pretending to consider it. âDepends. You planning on paying me in cash or charm?â
âCharm doesnât usually require this much labor.â
âNeither does cash,â Paige said, grinning as she picked up a duster from the counter and tossed it at her. âBut lucky for you, Iâm sentimental.â
Azzi caught it with a laugh. âAbout me or the dust?â
âGuess weâll find out,â Paige said, already moving toward the next room, her voice trailing playfully through the open space.
Azzi caught it, barely. âIs this our welcome-home activity?â
âConsider it foreplay,â Paige said without missing a beat, then smirked when Azzi froze mid-laugh.
âYou did not just say that.â
âI did. And now youâre thinking about it.â
Azzi shook her head, smiling despite herself. âYouâre unbelievable.â
âStill true,â Paige said, voice softening as she turned back to the counter. âBut you love that about me.â
Azzi didnât answer, just watched her for a moment, the easy confidence in the way Paige moved through the space, the light catching in her hair, the familiarity of it all. She reached for the spray bottle and started wiping beside her, their hands brushing now and then, each touch brief but charged.
By the time the kitchen was half clean, Paige was humming under her breath, and Azzi had stopped pretending not to stare.
By the time the kitchen was clean, the air felt different. Warmer. Lived-in again.
Paige tossed her rag into the sink with a small flick of her wrist. âLook at that,â she said. âStill a good team.â
Azzi leaned against the counter beside her, cheeks flushed from laughing, from the work, from something else that felt harder to name. âWe always are,â she said softly.
Paige looked over, eyes catching hers in the dim light. For a moment, neither of them moved. The hum of the fridge, the soft tick of the baseboard heater, everything else fell away.
âYou hungry?â Paige asked at last, voice gentler than before.
Azzi smiled. âOnly if youâre cooking.â
âDangerous request,â Paige said, but there was a glint in her eyes now. She pushed off the counter, brushing Azziâs arm as she passed. âBut Iâll allow it.â
She rummaged through the fridge until she found eggs and a half-empty block of cheese. âOmelets,â she announced. âMy signature move.â
âYouâve been saying that since the first time we were here,â Azzi teased, hopping up onto the counter.
âConsistency is a virtue.â Paige cracked two eggs, then added, without looking back, âYou gonna just sit there and look pretty, or you plan on helping?â
Azzi smirked. âPrettyâs a full-time job.â
That earned her a side glance, the kind that lingered just a beat too long. âGuess it pays well,â Paige murmured.
Then Paige stepped back, breaking the tension with a small grin. âCareful. Youâre gonna distract the chef.â
Azzi exhaled, smiling. âPretty sure thatâs the point.â
Paige smirked back, that familiar glint returning to her eyes.
They ended up burning the eggs that night. Neither of them cared.
<3
Ruth welcomed them back with an I told you so smile, claiming sheâd always known theyâd figure themselves out.
They laughed with her and Azziâs cousin about how chores should be done properly, efficiently, as Ruth liked to say. Paige joined in easily, her laughter rich and unguarded, the kind that carried warmth through the room. When she talked about her players, there was a bright, proud light in her eyes that made Azziâs chest ache a little.
Azzi found herself remembering the last time they were here how uncertain everything had felt. How hesitant sheâd been about basketball, unsure if she could ever return to it, or even if she wanted to. Back then, the unknown had terrified her.
They had both come here to run away from it, from the noise, from what they thought theyâd lost. And yet, somehow, in the quiet, theyâd both found it again. Not the game itself, but the part of it that had always belonged to them: the discipline, the grace, the love of movement and connection. The part that had survived, even when they couldnât see it.
And of course, each other.Â
Azzi told Paige as much one night as they were approaching the end of their trip.Â
âYou getting sentimental on me?â Paige teased lightly, nudging Azzi with her shoulder as they walked along the quiet path behind Paigeâs house.
âKinda hard not to,â Azzi admitted, her voice low, almost lost in the evening air. âBeing here again⊠with you. All of it. Feels like coming home.â
Paigeâs grin softened, her eyes catching the last light of the setting sun. âYeah⊠I know what you mean.â
Azzi hesitated, then reached out, brushing her hand against Paigeâs. âI mean it. Not just the house, or the mountains⊠you. You were here all along. Even when I was busy trying to figure out everything else.â
Paige looked down at their hands, then back up at her, wonder shining in her eyes. âIâm really glad you came here.â The weight of the words settled between them.
Azzi smiled, a soft teasing curl to her lips. âNow whoâs getting sentimental?â
Paige laughed lightly, but the warmth in her eyes lingered, tethering them together in the quiet, the mountains, and the fading light.
<3
The next year, they found themselves back at the house. On the decorated front porch, Paige knelt, hand trembling slightly as she held out the ring. âAzzi⊠will you spend the rest of forever with me?â
It was beautiful. Slow, intimate, and unmistakably them. Azziâs hands went to Paigeâs face, and when they embraced, tears spilled freely, quiet, shared, and full of all the years that had led them here.
Their wedding photo now sits at the center of the mantel, a candid capture of the day they promised everything to each other. Azziâs face glows with a tearful smile of disbelief, while Paige looks at her as though she has never seen anything more beautiful in her life.
Every time they pass by it, the quiet strength of that moment folds back into their days, a reminder of what they found again: in the mountains, in the house, and in each other.
A photo of them on the truck rests on Paigeâs nightstand, small but precious. Over time, more pictures filled the house, one, then two little faces of joy smiling back at them.
They upgraded the hoop by the barn into a full outdoor basketball court, where they played a playful, improvised version of the game with their daughters, laughter echoing across the yard and the mountains beyond.
Mornings often began with the smell of coffee and the soft sound of the girlsâ footsteps padding across the wooden floors. Azzi would find Paige at the kitchen table, a mug in hand, scribbling notes or sketching out the dayâs plans, and sheâd pause just to watch her, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.
Breakfast was a lively affair, the table crowded with papers, crayons, and mismatched mugs. Laughter threaded through the air, the kind that made even small spills or burnt toast feel like part of the rhythm of their life.
Afternoons were for the outdoors. The basketball court became a favorite stage: Paige and Azzi would coach their daughters in short bursts of playful drills, interspersed with mock competitions, teasing, and the occasional tumble that left them all in fits of laughter. Azziâs competitive edge lingered, softened by patience, while Paigeâs easy humor kept everyone grounded.
Evenings often slowed to a gentle hush. Theyâd linger on the porch, hands intertwined, watching the sun dip behind the mountains. Sometimes they talked; sometimes they didnât. Either way, the quiet was full, of love, of trust, of the unspoken knowledge that they had found the home they had been searching for, not just in a house, but in each other.
On nights when the girls were asleep, Azzi and Paige would curl up together on the couch or in their bedroom, reading or simply holding one another. The mantelâs wedding photo caught the soft glow of the lamp, a constant reminder of the promise that had brought them here, threaded into the everyday moments that now defined their life.
And sometimes, when the wind rustled through the trees or the distant mountains caught the last light of dusk, they would step outside, hands brushing, hearts full, and remember the slow, quiet path that had led them to this, every step of uncertainty, every laugh, every tear, now folding seamlessly into the life they had built together.
summary: Azzi is back at the WNBA championship, but things are different this time around...
a/n: hey y'all! happy halloween! this is pretty much the end đ«Ł, there will be an epilogue (idk when it will be up lol). i just wanted to thank anyone who has taken the time to read this! it seriously means so much to me that y'all enjoy my little passion project! đ„°
wc: 2.7k
Chapter 20: Finals
Azzi
Azzi blinked and here she was again.Â
Game 7. Chase Center. October 20th.
The New York Liberty.
It had been a brutal finals, each game decided in the final seconds. She could still feel it in her bones, every hit, every breathless pivot, every heartbeat that had carried her here.
She felt the hardwood thrum beneath her shoes, the faint vibration running up through her legs. Around her, the court was alive again, her teammates warming up, sneakers squeaking, the echo of a ball striking the floor in steady rhythm.
The ball felt solid in her hands. She tried not to think, just breathe. This was it. The final game of the season. The year. Another piece of the story that would follow her forever.
The weight of it should have crushed her, but it didnât. Not when her gaze drifted toward the stands, to the section where she knew Paige was sitting, with her family.
The fans had caught on quickly. Azzi tried to keep her private life hers, but the public could be relentless: digging, speculating, turning her into headlines. When the internet figured out who her new beau was, they had a field day.
But Paige and Azzi didnât care much. Azzi had been worried, at first, that the sudden exposure would freak Paige out, but she had readily embraced it all.Â
A warm hand. A steady voice. Paige so quickly became an anchor through it all.Â
She bounced the ball once, twice, the sound sharp and hollow against the floor. The crowd roared, but it felt distant, like she was watching from underwater. Her body knew what to do, even when her mind was somewhere else.
Sheâd done this a thousand times. Warm-up. Stretch. Lock in. But something about tonight felt different. Not heavier, just real.
Her muscles hummed with memory: the ache in her shoulder that never quite left, the faint pull in her knee when she shifted her weight. Little reminders that sheâd fought for this, through rehab, through doubt, through the nights sheâd stared at the ceiling wondering if she still loved the game, or if the game still loved her.
She glanced toward the stands again. The crowd blurred, but Paige didnât.
Paige was still, hands folded in her lap, chin tilted slightly, watching her with that look that said I see you. Just her.
Azzi exhaled slowly. The noise folded in on itself. For a moment, all she could feel was the rhythm of her breath, the ball against her palm, and that quiet thread of steadiness that Paige had taught her to trust.
The music faded, replaced by the low hum of the crowd rising to its feet. The air thickened, anticipation pressing against her skin.
Azzi rolled her shoulders once, then again, the familiar crack easing through her spine. Her heartbeat synced to the bass thudding through the arena speakers. She could feel it, every pulse, every breath, everything narrowing to the half-circle of painted wood in front of her.
The refâs whistle cut through the noise. Players shifted into position.
Across from her, the Libertyâs guard met her gaze, eyes sharp, jaw tight. No words, just the shared recognition of what was about to happen, months of sweat and flight and pain about to come down to forty minutes.
Azzi stepped into the circle. The ball felt light now, almost buoyant, hovering between the weight of everything and the clean possibility of motion.
She thought of Paige one last time, her stillness in the crowd, the quiet belief written across her face.
Then the ball left the refâs hands, spinning up through the light.
Azzi jumped.
And the world roared back to life.
The ball tipped high, spinning once before she met it midair, fingers grazing, redirecting, possession theirs. The noise hit all at once, a tidal surge.
Everything sharpened.
Court lines. Breath. The rhythmic slap of sneakers. She moved without thinking,years of muscle memory snapping into place.
The first play unfolded like instinct: cut, pivot, pass. The ball found her on the wing, open just long enough. Catch. Rise. Release.
The arc looked clean the moment it left her hands.
Swish.
The roar that followed barely touched her. All she felt was the exhale, the small, electric pulse of rightness that rippled through her chest.
On the next possession, the Liberty came back harder. Quick drives, hard screens, elbows sharp. Azzi matched their pace, each shift in defense a conversation of movement and will. Her lungs burned, but it was a familiar fire, the kind she trusted.
Sheâd thought the weight of everything might slow her down. It didnât. It grounded her. Every motion had purpose. Every sound tethered her back to herself.
By the first timeout, sweat already clung to the back of her neck, her chest rising and falling fast. She pressed her hands to her knees, breathing deep, the world still a blur of sound and light.
Across the court, she caught the faintest flash of movement, Paige standing, clapping, smiling. Just enough to make her heart trip for half a beat.
And then the whistle blew again.
Azzi straightened, rolled her shoulders, and stepped back onto the floor.Â
Azzi sprinted down the floor, sneakers pounding in rhythm with her racing heartbeat. The Liberty pressed hard, quick hands, sharp cuts, but she was faster, lighter, her body remembering every pivot, every drop of sweat, every drill that had led her here.
Pass. Cut. Screen. Slide. She moved almost on instinct, her eyes scanning for openings, her hands ready before the ball arrived.
A steal. She spun, accelerating past a defender, knees driving, lungs burning. The rim approached like a beacon. She rose, released.
Swish.
The crowdâs roar vibrated through her chest, but she didnât let it break her focus. Not really. Somewhere deep in that blur, she felt it again, the quiet anchor of Paige in the stands, clapping, eyes bright with certainty. The memory of her hand, the steadiness of her voice, tiny threads tying her back to the ground even as the game spun wild around her.
A hard screen from the Liberty. Azzi shifted, adjusted, and met a defender head-on. Elbows brushed, sneakers scraped, breath rattled. She was in the middle of chaos and still moving with purpose. Every movement is precise. Every heartbeat accounted for.
Timeout. She sank to the bench, towel pressed to her face, chest heaving.Â
The coach clapped her on the shoulder. She nodded, shoulders rolling, and stood again.
The whistle blew.
Back on the floor, the gameâs rhythm swallowed her. Feet, ball, breath, fast, fluid, controlled chaos. Yet beneath it all, that anchor remained. Paige. Her hands, her voice, her certainty. Even in the roar, Azzi knew: she wasnât moving through this alone.
And suddenly, that thought wasnât just comforting, it was power.
<3
42 points. 11 assists. 4 threes in the 4th quarter. Azzi had owned the floor, the game coursing through her veins, every pivot and jump shot an extension of herself. Confidence unwavering, she watched the final basket swish through the net
The buzzer sounded.Â
It wasnât enough.
Final. 95-98. The New York Liberty had won the championship.Â
The court erupted around her, voices blurring into a single, impossible roar. Azzi stood frozen, chest heaving, the echo of the final buzzer still hammering in her skull.
She had done everything. Every point, every pass, every shot, she had left it all on the floor. And it wasnât enough.
Her legs felt like lead. The ball slipped from her fingers as she bent over, hands on her knees, trying to steady a breath that wouldnât obey. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to vanish, but there was nowhere to hide, not in front of the lights, the cameras, the crowd.
Then she saw her. Paige, in the stands, hands clapped tight together, eyes wide, heart raw in its own quiet way. Not cheering, not cursing, just there, steady and certain. And suddenly Azzi felt it: the weight of the loss, but also the thread that kept her tethered.
Paigeâs gaze cut through everything, the noise, the disappointment, the ache of falling short. And in that look, Azzi recognized herself, her fire, her stubborn heartbeat that refused to be broken entirely.
She straightened, dragging in a shuddering breath. The world hadnât ended. Not really. She could feel the pain, sharp and honest, but she could also feel the presence of the one person who made it bearable.
The locker room door loomed ahead, and she followed her teammates inside, shoulders squared, mask on. The world would demand reactions, statements, soundbitesâbut for now, she allowed herself a moment to breathe. To collect herself.Â
The room closed behind her. Harsh lights hummed overhead. The echoes of the court faded, leaving only the low murmur of her teammates. Azzi, still reeling, still burning, still alive, leaned back against the bench, letting the quiet settle around her.
She had played out of her mind tonight. The loss stung, but beneath it was a strange, steady pulse of certainty: it would be okay. It was just a game, a game she loved so fully, so fiercely.Â
One day, she told herself, losses would sting less. Games would still matter, but not as much as the people who mattered. Paige mattered. Always.
And somehow, that made even tonightâs heartbreak feelâŠnot so unbearable.
Paige
The arena buzzed with a strange, jagged energy after a home loss. She trailed behind Azziâs parents, weaving through the lingering crowd as they made their way to a team room, where Azzi would probably meet them once she finished with the media.
Azzi had been incredible tonight.
Of course she had been. There was little in the world Paige loved more than watching Azzi play, other than the girl herself.
The team room doors loomed ahead, swinging slightly as staff moved in and out. Paige slowed her pace, trying not to rush, not to give herself away. Her stomach had been twisting all night, a mix of adrenaline from the game and worry she couldnât shake.
Azzi had been dazzling on the court, every movement sharp, confident, effortless. Paige had watched from the stands, heart in her throat, trying to memorize the way Azziâs eyes scanned the floor, how her fingers caressed the ball, how every pivot and jump felt like it belonged to her.
And now⊠now she would see her off the court.
The crowdâs roar still throbbed faintly in her ears, a distant hum compared to the one pounding in her chest. She thought of how Azzi had looked in those final moments, every point scored, every breathless drive toward the basket, and how she had tried not to imagine the sting of losing.
Paigeâs hands tightened slightly at her sides. She had loved every second of watching Azzi dominate, but love was a tricky thing in moments like this. She wanted to be the anchor for her, the quiet certainty she had become, without adding any more pressure, any more expectation.
The doors swung open wider. Staff moved aside. And there she was.
Azzi. Flushed, sweaty, glowing in the harsh lights, still carrying the fire from the game in her gaze. Paigeâs breath caught.
No words were needed. Paige just watched, taking in everything, the exhaustion, the brilliance, the heartbreak. Azzi was all of it, and Paige wouldnât have wanted it any other way.
Azziâs expression cracked the moment she saw Paige. Without a second thought, she sank into Paigeâs arms.
Paige hugged her tightly, holding her close, letting her feel the steadiness, the quiet certainty that everything, even this loss, would be okay.
Azzi sank into her arms, body trembling just slightly, the tension and exhaustion from the game rolling off her in waves. Paige held her tighter, letting herself feel the weight of it all, the fire, the heartbreak, the raw brilliance of the girl she loved.
âYou played⊠amazing,â Paige murmured, voice soft but steady. She could feel every heartbeat through Azzi, the pulse of adrenaline, the ache of defeat. âIâm so proud of you.â
Azzi let out a shaky breath, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. Her eyes glistened, a mixture of exhaustion, frustration, and something tender that Paige had learned not to rush. âI know⊠I justâŠâ She shook her head, a faint laugh escaping. âI wanted it so badly.â
âI know,â Paige said, brushing a hand over Azziâs damp hair, tucking it gently behind her ear. âI know you did. But that doesnât change how incredible you were tonight. You left everything on the floor. Thatâs all anyone could ask for.â
Paige felt Azzi lean her forehead against hers, and for a long moment, she let herself just hold her, breathing in the rhythm of her body, feeling the quiet anchor of the girl who had stolen her heart. Around them, the locker room hummed with exhausted energy, teammates moving, voices low and ragged, but none of it reached them here.
Azzi was hers, fully and unguarded in this brief, fragile bubble.Â
Once they were home, Paige sank onto the couch, letting the quiet of their apartment wash over her. After the chaos of the arena, the noise, the bright lights and the roar of the crowd, it was almost a relief to just⊠breathe. At least here, in their own city, it felt like they could exist for a moment outside of everything else.
Azzi curled up beside her, still buzzing from the game, and asked questions about what she had seen from the stands. Paige smiled, happy to indulge, letting her words flow easily, her voice calm and steady.
She felt herself relax into the rhythm of Azziâs curiosity, the simple act of sharing her perspective easing the tension of the night. Here, they didnât have to perform or impress anyone. Here, the loss didnât feel quite so heavy because they were together, quiet and private in a space that belonged to them.
Paige let herself linger in that feeling, letting the adrenaline ebb, letting the warmth of Azzi beside her settle into her chest. No words could fully capture it, just the quiet certainty of being near the person who mattered most.
Moments passed before Azzi sat up suddenly, her brown eyes heavy with something that felt like guilt. âIâm sorry I ruined your birthday,â she said seriously.
Paige couldnât help but let out a soft laugh, and Azziâs frown deepened, tugging at her heart.
âAzzi,â Paige said gently, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, âyou didnât ruin my birthday.â
She let the words settle between them, soft and firm, letting Azzi see the truth in her eyes: nothing could ever take that away from her.
Azzi blinked, a small, uncertain smile tugging at her lips.Â
âIâm pretty sure this is the best birthday Iâve ever had.â
Azziâs smile lingered for a moment before she looked down, her fingers tracing the hem of Paigeâs sleeve like she wasnât sure she was allowed to stay. Paige could feel the shift, that subtle withdrawal, the way Azziâs body went still when her mind started spinning again.
âHey,â Paige said softly, her thumb brushing the back of Azziâs hand. âDonât go somewhere else on me.â
Azzi exhaled, a small, shaky laugh escaping her. âIâm trying not to,â she admitted. âItâs just⊠I keep thinking about how I keep screwing things up. With you. With everything.â
Paige tilted her head, studying her. The light from the dying fire flickered across Azziâs face, catching in the shine of her eyes. âYou really think thisâ she gestured lightly between them, âis screwed up?â
Azzi hesitated, her throat working as she searched for words. âNo,â she said finally. âThatâs the problem. It feels⊠good. Too good. Like I donât deserve it.â
Paigeâs chest ached at that, the way Azzi said it so quietly, like she was confessing something dangerous. She reached up again, brushing her knuckles against Azziâs jaw. âYou donât have to earn this,â she murmured. âYou just have to let it happen.â
For a moment, Azzi just looked at her, something raw flickering behind her eyes, recognition, maybe, or fear, or both. Then she leaned forward, forehead resting against Paigeâs shoulder, her breath warm through the fabric of Paigeâs shirt.
They talked quietly after that, about small things, nothing urgent, nothing grand. Shared memories, little jokes, glimpses of the future they might carve out together. The city outside was alive, but inside their apartment, time slowed.
Paige could feel it: the heartbeat of their life together, fragile and real and entirely theirs. No scoreboard, no loss, no crowd could touch this.
