archive

[runningbacktoyou]

— navigation

how to use

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ beneath her tongue, there is a poem, and i find it every time.

knight!paige x princess!azzi. men & minors dni.

synopsis: in the gilded halls of the house of fudd, knight paige bueckers is assigned to guard princess azzi—a woman whose intellect cuts deeper than any blade and whose beauty feels like both salvation and damnation. what begins as duty transforms into something far more intimate than either anticipated.

cw: explicit sexual content (fingering, semi-public), power dynamics, knight/princess dynamic, class differences, dom!paige, sub!azzi, possessiveness, hunting/chase kink, mild degradation, praise kink, emotional vulnerability as intimacy, duty vs. desire, implied forbidden relationship bc this is not even close to what the king and queen hired paige for, devotion as obsession, attempted assassination, violence, the inherent eroticism of a woman with a sword, choosing love over duty/marriage, we are playing fast and loose with historical accuracy.

notes: this was supposed to be only 6k. I'm not completely happy with this, but i hope you still enjoy. please let me know what you think. i love you.

when paige first met her, she was swaddled up to the cheek and down to the bone. she stood rigid in her thick furs, the pelts a brown so dark it almost looked as if the night itself had come to settle around her. they were spotted, possibly an exotic leopard or lynx, and a matching pill-box hat sat upon the thick swell of her curls. still, there was something sweet about her as she looked out across the drawbridge to where paige gleamed in her armor.

perhaps it was her parted mouth, open like two rose petals teetering precariously against one another, neither strong enough to stand alone. or maybe it was her teeth, the two peeking out just slightly like a rabbit's, white and square and sitting neatly behind the vermilion of her lips.

when the captain of the guard had briefed her, he'd called her princess azzi of the house of fudd with the sort of reverence reserved for delicate things. looking at her now, paige thought the man might have been blind.

it wouldn’t surprise her. most men were incapable of seeing beyond what they were given at face value.

she stood still, the winter breeze blowing brashly against her skin until the light brown was tinged a fervent pink that bordered on red. her arms were crossed, her body unyielding. she did not want to be guarded, but paige had yet to meet a charge of hers that did.

besides, why would a princess want to forfeit any form of her sovereignty?

paige was unsure of how they would begin.

on her first day, she woke right as dawn began to brush against the night-bruised sky. it was always heavy, her sleep, and she sat on the edge of her bed for several moments, blinking herself into the real world. her head swung down, blonde hair lush and falling around her like wheat sewn into a doll's head.

with a sigh, paige rose to her feet and reached behind herself. she gathered the thick body of her hair into a great, golden bulk and then secured it in a loose bun that sat sweetly at the base of her neck. her body ached, her bones still unnerved from her trek to the fudd lands.

after a brief sink into the wooden bath just to the side of her bedroom, she dressed in her leather and mail, and made her way through the castle's winding corridors, her boots echoing softly against the stone. the fudd castle was grander than any paige had served in before. tapestries lined the walls, depicting hunting scenes and court life, animals slain in feverish color, and human faces rendered so realistically that it made paige almost feel ashamed to be looking upon them. 

even the servants' quarters boasted carved woodwork that would be considered luxury elsewhere. ducks with vivid beaks, elk and deer with antlers so painfully sculpted that they seemed to strain out of the wall with a silent wish for life, and the ripe buds of flowers on the cusp of blooming into their true state.

it took a moment before paige realized she was standing still, her head craned upward to trace the religious murals on the ceiling as if she were a child. embarrassment whispered across her cheeks in a red haze, and she roused herself back into her journey to her charge’s chambers.

the hall seemed an endless anabasis, but eventually she arrived at azzi’s door. the doorknob, she noticed, was inlaid with gold and crystal. she paused outside, raising her hand to knock, when she heard movement within. the heavy oak door, adorned with the princess’s personalized fudd family crest—two swans on the outskirts of an elegant ‘a’ and ‘f’, the calligraphy limbs of the letters braided together in pale blue and silver—stood slightly ajar.

“your highness?” paige called softly, pushing the door open just enough to peer inside.

azzi's chambers were a study in excess and beauty.

the walls were paneled in cream and gold, adorned with delicate painted medallions depicting cherubs and archangels engaged in various pastoral scenes. ornate furniture filled the space: chairs upholstered in sage-colored silk, a writing desk inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and dominating it all, a bed that looked fit for an empress. 

the headboard rose nearly to the ceiling, carved with elaborate scrollwork and draped with a rich fabric canopy dyed deep emerald, teal, and gold. beyond it was a mural of a forest, the trees grey and skeletal and rising in spindly lines toward the ceiling as if seeking light. paige thought it revealed more of azzi than anything else in the chamber.

atop it all, sunlight streamed through floor-length windows, casting everything in a warm, honeyed glow. it stopped just short of making the room feel sickly or stuck in a memory.

despite the sheer opulence, it wasn’t the room that gave paige pause. it was azzi herself.

the princess sat at her vanity, and her hair—god, her hair—fell in dark, copious ringlets down her back, nearly reaching her waist. it moved like water, without reason or restraint, as she tilted her head and ran a thick, silver brush through the length of it with practiced strokes. 

she wore only a thin chemise, the morning light making the white fabric seem translucent against her skin. parts of her almost seemed completely bare, a trick of the light that paige made a conscious choice to ignore to the best of her ability.

paige had guarded noblewomen before, had seen them in various states of undress and vulnerability. but something about this moment, the intimacy of it. the way azzi's hair caught the light, the soft concentration on her face, made her feel like an intruder.

“princess,” she said, her voice rougher than intended.

azzi turned, and when she did, that cascade of hair shifted and settled around her shoulders like a dark cloak. her eyes met paige's in the mirror's reflection, cavernous and the color of flame-kissed wood, and there was something almost knowing in her gaze.

“azzi,” she corrected, and paige blinked. 

the other woman turned then, her chin tucked coyly on the ridge of her shoulder, and gave paige a pale smile.

“we’re to be together for quite some time. i’d like it if you’d call me by name.”

“i—yes, your—” azzi cast her a look. again, paige’s mouth twitched. “as you wish, azzi.”

azzi turned back to her vanity, drawing her hairbrush through the remaining ringlets until they were more waves than anything else. paige wished she wouldn’t. her hands itched, as if urging her to take hold of the brush and finish the job, but she only clutched them around the hilt of her sword instead.

“so,” azzi said, breaking the silence. she rose, sidestepping the vanity chair and approaching the short chaise at the foot of her bed. “what is to be your jurisdiction?”

“what?” paige asked, and almost at once she felt stupid for saying it. 

she watched as azzi wrapped herself in a thick, dove-grey, woolen robe. her eyes caught upon the way azzi lifted the mass of her hair from its collar, the descent of it almost hypnotic. azzi sat, tucking a foot underneath herself as she reached to the side where a plate swollen with pastries rested on a small wooden table. she ignored paige for a moment, seemingly looking for something, before letting out an endearing “ahah!” and conjuring two plates and a small knife out of thin air. 

paige truly needed to begin paying attention. this was not the first time she had taken watch over a beautiful woman, but azzi appeared more beautiful than most in a multitude of ways. her beauty was so—so visceral that it stung paige like bees, and her only thought was to unhinge her jaw so that she might swallow and become its hive.   

the breakfast spread was elaborate as expected: manchet bread, made fresh from sifted wheat flour and still warm from the ovens, with a golden crust that crackled when broken. sweet rolls studded with candied fruits and spices, their scent heady with cinnamon and nutmeg. a slew of delicate wafers and thin biscuits meant to dissolve right on the tongue were tucked alongside cold-roasted capons carved into neat slices, their skin still glistening with fat and herbs.

there was thick cream for pouring and honey languishing in a carved wooden pot, amber and fragrant. next to them, preserves made from fresh fruit: strawberry, apricot, and quince. so jewel-bright in their small silver dishes.

paige prayed her stomach wouldn’t rumble, her blue eyes alighting on the small glasses of ale and spiced wine warmed with honey and cinnamon. she watched, curious, as azzi bypassed it all for the fresh milk just behind them. 

“what i meant before was, what is the exact detail of your assignment to me? are we to only be together when i take a walk and attend to my social responsibilities? will you be there when i bathe?" azzi asked.

paige's mouth quirked upward before she could stop it.

“no, my lady,” she answered, noting the way azzi shivered at the rasp of her voice. her next words fell unbidden from her mouth. “unless you are at great risk of drowning.”

the princess paused, and paige resisted the urge to flee in horror at her lack of respect. then azzi’s face collapsed into a bright smile, before she tipped her head back and laughed. 

“i can assure you that i swim rather well,” she shot back, and paige fully smiled then. 

“come,” azzi gestured. “eat with me. take what you’d like, and then i’ll ring the servants to take the rest of it to my family.”

paige shuffled closer, sitting gingerly in a chair on the opposing side of the table. “do you always take your first meal alone?”

azzi looked up from where she was lavishing the surface of a biscuit with blackberry preserves. her eyes were luminous this close, a solar system of their own. she tucked her lower lip underneath her top teeth before letting it go.

she shrugged and replied, “i used to. now, i’ll only take them with you.”

it was two weeks of this before azzi made her next move.

paige arrived at her door, knocking gently before pushing her way in. azzi looked up from where she was perched on the floor, her skirts pooled around her. upon seeing paige dressed more casually, still with her sword to her hip, she smiled. she rose, brushing her palms along the waist of her daydress. 

azzi was dressed in deep indigo silk that made her skin look radiant. the gown was fitted through the bodice with a square neckline that framed her collarbones, the sleeves long and elegant. her dark hair was swept up and back, revealing the graceful line of her neck and the delicate shell of her ears. a few tendrils had been left to curl against her temples, softening the severity of the style.

“good morning, you. we'll have a walk this morning,” she announced, as if it had always been their custom. “after we eat.”

paige, who had been reaching for a delicate cut of white bread, paused. “walk where, my lady?”

“azzi,” came the gentle correction, followed by a smile that made paige's chest tighten. “and wherever we please. the gardens, the grounds. i find that breakfast sits better after movement.”

there was something in her tone that brooked no argument, though paige sensed this was less about digestion and more about establishing their own routine, separate from the rigid structure of court life.

an hour later, they made their way through the castle's corridors and out into the crisp morning air. azzi had tucked a leather-bound volume beneath her arm, and paige found herself curious about what the princess chose to read.

“you carry a book everywhere?” paige asked as they descended the stone steps leading to the gardens.

“nearly everywhere,” azzi replied, her fingers unconsciously protective over the volume. “i find most company rather predictable. books, at least, surprise me.”

they walked past carefully maintained flower beds bursting with a kaleidoscope of greenery, and topiary shaped into elegant spirals and arches. if paige squinted, she was almost positive one was meant to look like a bird. the morning light caught the dewdrops still clinging to the rose bushes, reminding paige of the thin sugar-dusted petals atop their vanilla cakes this morning. somewhere nearby, a fountain trickled steadily. 

but paige found herself more interested in the way azzi moved, the way her dress swayed with her steps, and how she occasionally glanced at paige as if measuring her reactions. she seemed to be waiting for paige to give in to something, and so paige did.

“what are you reading?” she asked, finally breaking their brief silence.

azzi's step slowed, and she pulled the book from beneath her arm. the leather binding was worn smooth from handling, and paige could make out gilt lettering on the spine.

“niccolò machiavelli,” azzi said, watching paige's face carefully. “you know of him? read the prince?”

paige's blonde brows rose despite herself. “i—yes. during my training.” 

she didn't mention that most knights weren't expected to read such works, that she'd sought it out herself during long winter evenings or even longer campaigns.

“and?” azzi's voice carried genuine curiosity, a gentle prodding differing from the usual testing tone paige expected from nobility.

“i found it…illuminating,” paige said carefully. “though i'm not certain i agreed with all of his conclusions.”

they had reached a fork in the path, and azzi chose the route that led away from the formal gardens toward a more natural landscape of ancient oaks and meadows almost suffocated with pastel wildflowers. paige found herself endeared just slightly toward her charge, her throat tickling with the suppression of a laugh at the way azzi simply decided, and she, herself, simply followed.

“which conclusions?” azzi pressed, and paige realized this was no idle conversation.

“his assertion that it's better to be feared than loved, for one.” paige adjusted her stride to match azzi's unhurried pace. “i think he wrote for princes who rule through force alone. but true loyalty is earned through respect, not fear.”

azzi paused. her smile was slow, pleased. “mmm, i’m inclined to agree. fear is the easier option. respect is far more difficult to inspire on a large scale.”

paige hummed in agreement, and azzi resumed walking. 

“most would say a princess has no business reading about the nature of power.”

“most would be wrong,” paige replied without thinking, then immediately wondered if she'd overstepped.

but again, azzi only laughed at her honest opinion, a sound like bells in the morning air. “you continue to surprise me, paige. i hope you always do.”

paige was silent for a moment, scrambling for an appropriate response before giving up altogether. “i cannot promise that i will, but i can promise to give you my best attempts.”

azzi looked up at her, forcing paige to acknowledge the few inches difference in their heights. “i wouldn’t ask for anything else.”

paige's ears grew red.

they walked in comfortable silence for a while, the path winding between stands of birch and elm. eventually, they emerged into a clearing where a small lake stretched before them, its surface mirror-smooth and reflecting the pale sky. time felt slower, as if they had slipped into a crack of the world meant only for them.

“this is where i come to think,” azzi said, settling herself on a fallen log near the water's edge. she arranged her skirts carefully, the indigo fabric pooling around her like spilled ink. “i told you i was a good swimmer.”

paige remained standing for a moment, uncertain, until azzi patted the space beside her. “sit. please. we're quite alone here.”

paige settled beside her, acutely aware of how close they were. the log wasn't particularly wide, and azzi's shoulder brushed against hers as she opened the book.

“machiavelli speaks of power as if it exists in a vacuum,” azzi said, her fingers tracing the text. “as if the ruler's relationship to their subjects is the only dynamic that matters. but what of those who possess influence without authority? those who must navigate power structures that they cannot openly challenge?”

the question hung in the air between them, and paige understood they were no longer discussing political theory in the abstract.

“someone in such a position would need to be strategic,” paige said slowly. “to understand the motivations of those around them. to build alliances carefully.”

“yes.” azzi's voice was soft, almost wondering. “and they would need advisors they could trust completely. people who see them as more than just their title or their usefulness.”

their shoulders were pressed together now, and paige could smell azzi, the whole of her. some of it she recognized: gardenia, lilac, vanilla, plum. some eluded her, and she just attributed it to azzi’s natural, inescapable magnetism. when azzi turned to look at her, their faces were close enough that paige could count the gold flecks along her irises. she tried not to betray herself, but the way that azzi’s pupils gently dilated made her stomach fall, and in between her legs grew warm like it had been kissed with flame.

“i think,” paige said, her voice more strained than she intended, “that such a person would be fortunate to have found someone who sees their true worth.”

something shifted in azzi's expression, a softening around her eyes. she tilted her head. paige could’ve sworn she moved closer.

“and i think,” azzi replied, “that tomorrow morning, we should walk to the eastern gardens. i hear the lavender is particularly beautiful this time of year.”

it was a promise, paige realized. of more mornings, more conversations, more moments like this one where the careful distance between princess and guard dissolved into something far more intimate.

“as you wish,” paige said, and meant it in ways that had nothing to do with duty.

azzi settled backward, her mouth twisting into something triumphant. 

“just a minute more,” she said, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the watery shine of the sun, “and then we can return to the castle.”

“of course, my lady.”

“azzi.” the correction came swiftly, and paige smiled to herself.

“do you dislike the title?” paige asked, her tone deceptively light. “if you truly hate it, i will cease using it immediately.”

azzi opened her eyes and turned, studying the planes of paige’s face. again, her pupils dilated. “i…”

“yes?” paige said, her voice husking around the question.

“i do not—i do not dislike it,” azzi said, and paige nodded.

“i’m glad to hear of it, my lady.”

silence came between them, and neither one of them dispelled it again. paige closed her own eyes and thought how sweet it was to unbalance azzi, even if only for a moment.

for a while, paige thought this was all it would be. 

breakfast and walks along the grounds, sometimes broken by attending court or dinners meant to honor political guests the kingdom hoped to rope into an alliance. maybe it was all she wished it would be.

but the world had a way of resetting things, reminding one of one's true purpose. paige’s reminder came in the form of an ear-shattering scream in the dead of night. 

one that she knew only belonged to azzi. 

at once, paige became a blur of movement, stumbling from slumber into the hall with her sword hanging loosely from her hand. her bare feet slapped against the cold stone as she ran, her nightgown billowing behind her like a ghost given form. the corridors that had seemed so grand in daylight now felt vast and menacing, shadows stretching long and strange in the flickering torchlight.

azzi’s scream echoed like a wolf’s call, her throat straining as she keened. paige could not tell if it was in pain or rage, but she prayed to god that azzi would keep screaming. for as long as she screamed, she was alive, and she was calling out to paige, who latched onto this proof of life like a dog to an animal’s scent.

panic began to claw at paige’s throat, tightening her breath and acting as a final sign that she had grown too attached to this blue-blooded woman. it felt as though paige could not see anything in front of her, her anxiety rising and rendering her nearly blind. azzi’s scream keened out again, a ragged bird’s song, and paige turned wretchedly, tumbling around a corner and almost falling to her knees.

it was as if something was keeping her out, keeping her back. still, she fought. 

another sound reached her. a crash, the splintering of wood, then silence so complete it made her lungs seize. paige's grip tightened around her sword's hilt as she rounded the final corner, her shoulder slamming against the doorframe of azzi's chambers.

the door hung askew on its hinges, the beautiful carved swans now cracked and listing. inside, furniture was overturned: the delicate writing desk on its side, papers scattered like fallen leaves, and the sage-colored chair knocked backward. the sweet scent of spilled wine mixed with something metallic made paige's stomach lurch. 

she turned wildly, hair whipping like a snare of light. she stepped on something, stumbling as the pain lanced through her, and when she glanced down, she saw and mixture of brambles and earth wet with something she hoped to be rain. she looked up, fear clenching her lungs in a vise grip, and then there. 

there, in the center of it all, was azzi.

she stood over a still form dressed in rough clothing, a pearl-handled dagger glinting in between those beautiful, trembling fingers. paige took a moment to register the blade and realized azzi must’ve been sleeping with it underneath her pillow. 

she had been prepared. how long had she known she wasn’t safe? why hadn’t she said anything?

her white nightgown was torn at the shoulder, dark stains trailing across the fabric like ink dropped in water. there was a perfect bloom of the deepest red across where her heart was hidden under miles of bone and muscle, and paige’s chest seized, a sound escaping her before she could suppress it. 

azzi took no notice of her. her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, and her eyes were wide and unseeing, focused on something far beyond the present moment. she swayed on her feet, her free hand pressed against the bedpost for support. blood sprayed across her cheek from where she had slashed at her assailant and caught his throat, and more smeared along her palm where she'd gripped the blade too tightly in her desperation.

paige slowed her own breathing, recognizing the signs of shock setting upon the princess. when her voice felt steady enough, she released it from the tower of her throat, moving inch by inch until she could better see her lady’s face.

“azzi,” paige breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. the princess turned toward the sound, her movements jerky and unsteady, like a marionette with tangled strings.

when azzi saw her, truly saw her, something crumpled in her expression. her hand flew to her mouth, barely obscuring the sob that escaped it, and fresh blood from her palm streaked across her lips and chin from the grip. the dagger clattered to the floor as her knees buckled.

paige surged forward, dropping her sword to better move, guilt clawing at her chest like a living thing. she should have been here, should have heard the struggle sooner, should have prevented this entirely. but those thoughts scattered as azzi stumbled forward with her arms out like a child, her legs giving way.

“i've got you,” paige said, catching azzi before she could fall. she pressed her cheek to the top of azzi’s head, blue eyes surveying every crevice of the bedchamber. “i've got you. i’m right here. you're safe now.”

azzi's body shook against hers, violent tremors that had nothing to do with the cold. her breathing came in short, sharp gasps that bordered on hyperventilation. paige's eyes swept the room once more. the intruder's body lay motionless, no immediate threat, the windows secure. 

they were alone. she looked back down to where azzi had stilled, her head lolling with the sudden vanishing of her adrenaline. paige adjusted her so that they were pressed closer together, rubbing a large hand down the ridges of her spine.

“good girl,” she murmured, tucking azzi into the pale of her neck. the princess kept silent, and paige didn’t push her. “you did well, azzi. so well.” 

the tip of azzi’s nose was cold with her cooling sweat, and paige could smell the tepid bitterness of urine, most likely released in fear, but she was uncaring of the state of azzi’s body. she gathered her closer, shifting them so that they were further from the body and pressed against the legs of the chaise that stood tall against the end of the bed. 

there was a minute of silence, an unnerving stretch of nothingness, and then paige heard a soft ‘scritch’ just to the right of her. slowly, she turned her head only to meet the gaze of a crudely masked man—his face partially obscured by a thick band of black. his eyes peeked out, gleaming green and mean. 

they stared at each other: paige with azzi practically crawling inside of her, and him with his bloodlust practically licking at his teeth. only another minute passed before they both leaped into action.

it was like a brutal ballet, only there was no stage and a very real threat to both women’s lives. paige lurched upward, dragging azzi with her. the latter lifted her head blearily from where it had been slick against the blonde’s neck, and paige felt the moment she realized there was another assailant. azzi’s entire body went to stone, her limbs leaden as fear consumed her.

paige knew azzi would not be able to kill again.

with a great deal more strength than she intended, paige pushed azzi behind her onto the full body of her bed and rushed the assassin with the full brace of her body. they collided with brutal force, spinning off-kilter in a tangle of limbs and emotion.

paige slammed into azzi’s vanity, her nightgown too thin to defend her against the shards of glass that flowered from the looking glass’s destruction. she and azzi let out a high cry at the same time—paige of pain, azzi of paige’s name.

the assassin grinned, his teeth crooked and black, and paige grunted as he slid a tough hand around her neck. he began to squeeze, and her vision sparked, but she got a hand up high enough to gouge her nails into his eye. he let out a near-girlish yelp of agony and released her. she twisted away with dizzied breath, feet carrying her unsteadily to where her sword lay.

just as she got her hand around it, azzi called out a warning to her, her eyes blown out with fear. paige felt the body heat of the man just behind her, and she ducked into a low crouch, her hips swiveling so that she could somewhat face him.

he towered over her, his top lip dark with the blood that dripped from his mangled eye, and paige knew that he wanted more than ever to kill her.

she refused to die.

there was no more time to waste, so she pushed up on the balls of her feet and carried her sword arm with her. the blade flashed in the moonlight, the steel clean and beautiful as it arced up in a graceful half circle.

the edge met his neck, and she watched as it cut through. there was a horrible, wet gurgle, and then his throat yawned open as his head toppled clean from his shoulders. as the head fell, paige didn’t feel triumph. only the echo of azzi’s scream still caught in her chest, and the warm splash of blood across her feet. 

she had killed before. she had never needed it like this.

for a moment, it spun, like a stocky, flesh-made coin before rolling off into a corner already bruised with drying blood. she heaved out a breath of relief, her body faltering as her wounds caught up with her. her throat burned, and she clutched it, eyes smarting as every bit of pain found a place to flood her.

behind her, azzi scrambled off the bed and to her side. her hand was firm as it encircled paige’s wrist, and she dragged her bodily to her wardrobe. hurriedly, the princess tucked both of them inside and lifted paige’s sword with a low grunt. she managed to slide the blade into the loops of the door's inner-facing handles, preventing those outside from easily getting it to open.

the wardrobe was stifling, the wood groaning under their weight. paige’s knees pressed into something sharp, a forgotten brooch, maybe, but she didn’t dare move. the iron tang of her recent kill clung to the roof of her mouth. paige sat on the floor, reaching a hand out to bring azzi between her thighs. 

azzi was trembling against her, both of them pressed so close paige could feel her breath stutter over her collarbone. she pushed at her hips until azzi turned so that her back was to paige’s chest. it was slick with fear against her skin, but paige clutched azzi to her like a lifeline. 

they stayed like that, blinking silently with their hands laced tightly together, until dawn broke and the main guard found them.

paige slept in the same room as her after that. the only reason she hadn't done so before was that azzi was determined not to have an invasion into every bit of her life.

azzi's bedchambers had been repaired in less than three days, but the same could not be said for the princess. paige had to coax her into a short walk, but azzi refused to go further than the garden. not even to her clearing from before.

she barely spoke anymore, her voice reduced to clipped responses and hollow pleasantries. at breakfast, she picked at her food with the mechanical precision of someone going through motions, her eyes distant and glassy. her fingers, once fastidiously kept, were chewed raw at the cuticles, one nail cracked to the quick. she didn’t seem to notice the blood welling there, only smeared it across her napkin with the same dazed indifference.

the woman who had debated machiavelli with passionate intelligence seemed to have retreated so far inside herself that paige wondered if she'd ever find her way back out.

it had been two weeks of this careful, muted existence when paige finally reached her breaking point.

“we're going for a walk,” she announced that morning, her tone leaving no room for argument.

azzi looked up from where she was methodically tearing a piece of bread into smaller and smaller fragments. even their breakfasts had grown bland.

she sighed, the sound long and tired. “you’re free to go, paige. i’m sorry, but i don't wish to—”

“i wasn't asking.” paige's voice was sharper than she intended, but she was tired of watching the woman she'd come to care for disappear piece by piece. “get up. get dressed. preferably, something you can move in.”

for a moment, azzi's eyes flashed with something like her old spirit. annoyance, perhaps even anger. but it died as quickly as it had risen, replaced by that terrible, empty compliance. paige watched as she slipped into an emerald dress, the fabric limp without the structure of her pannier beneath it. she cinched the corset tightly, her chest rising until paige had to force herself to look away lest the heat in her belly consume her.

they walked in silence through corridors paige now knew by heart, past the lavish tapestries that no longer seemed quite so magnificent. when they reached the gardens, azzi moved to take their usual path, but paige caught her wrist.

“no.”

she led them deeper into the grounds, past the manicured flora and topiary, toward a part of the grounds azzi had yet to show her. the more they walked, the more the hedge maze rose before them, its walls thick and a blackish-green and nearly twice paige's height. ancient yew trees had been shaped and trained into an intricate labyrinth that stretched out in geometric perfection.

“paige, i don't understand—”

“you're going to run,” paige said, turning to face her. azzi's eyes widened, the first real expression paige had seen from her in days. “and i'm going to hunt you.”

“i'm sorry?” the words came out breathless, shocked.

“you heard me. i won’t repeat myself.” paige stepped closer, and azzi instinctively stepped back. “i'm going to give you a head start, and then i'm coming after you. you're going to have to think, azzi. you're going to have to be clever and quick and remember who you are."

“i refuse. i don't want to.”

“i don't care what you want right now, my lady,” paige said, and the harshness in her own voice surprised her. “what you want is to disappear, and i won't let you. it’s pathetic. the woman i know wouldn't run from a challenge. she'd find a way to win.”

something flickered across azzi's face. it looked closest to hurt, but could’ve just as easily been the ghost of indignation. either way, it was the most alive she'd looked in weeks.

“this is absurd,” azzi whispered.

“quite.”

“you have lost your mind.”

“yes,” paige agreed. “now run.”

for a heartbeat, they stared at each other. paige casually took a step forward, letting her face harden with her determination. azzi’s face twitched.

“i said run, azzi.”

finally, azzi turned and fled into the maze, her skirts lifted in her hands as she disappeared around the first corner.

paige counted to thirty, then followed.

the maze was much older than she'd expected, the paths worn smooth by generations of feet. she could hear azzi ahead of her: the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of footsteps on earth, the sharp little gasp she gave as she almost fell. still, the hedges muffled everything, making it impossible to tell how far away she was or which direction she'd gone.

“i can hear you,” paige called softly, her voice carrying through the green walls. “you'll have to do better than that.”

she thought she heard azzi's breathing quicken, footsteps moving faster. good. fear would sharpen her mind, force her to think strategically instead of simply existing.

paige took the left path, moving with practiced quiet. she'd hunted men through forests darker and more treacherous than this. but this wasn't about catching prey; this was about making azzi remember she was more than what had happened to her. paige wouldn’t dare ask her to forget it, but she did have to find a way through it before it ate at her potential.

minutes passed. the maze was larger than it had appeared from the outside, with false paths and dead ends that would frustrate anyone trying to navigate it quickly. paige began to wonder if perhaps she'd underestimated the challenge when she heard it. 

a small sound, almost like laughter.

she froze, listening intently. there it was again. not laughter exactly, but something breathless and almost delighted.

paige’s lips curved into a smile. there you are, she thought.

“come on, my lady,” she called out. “make it fun for me, will you?”

she turned down another path, following her instincts more than any particular sound. the hedges here were particularly thick, ancient growth that created deep shadows even in the afternoon light. she was scanning the path ahead when something solid and surprisingly fierce slammed into her from behind.

the impact sent them both tumbling to the ground, azzi's arms wrapped around paige's waist in a tackle that was equal parts desperate and determined. they rolled once before paige's training kicked in, and she used their momentum to flip them, pinning azzi beneath her.

for a moment, they were both breathing hard, staring at each other in shock. azzi's hair had come loose from its pins, spreading dark and wild across the earth. her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with something paige hadn't seen in weeks: triumph, mischief, life.

“there you are,” paige breathed, and her voice came out a triumphant rasp. her hair fell all around her, shrouding them as it broke free of her bun.

something cracked in azzi's expression as they were shielded with the haze of paige’s tresses. her eyes filled with tears, but she was smiling for the first time since that horrid night.

“i went through the hedge,” she whispered, a wet laugh slipping through her teeth. “like a child. it wasn’t fair, but i thought—i thought you'd never expect—”

“i didn’t ask you to play fair. you thought right," paige said softly. “you were brilliant.”

they were close, so close that paige could count the lashes fanning azzi's doe eyes, could feel the warm puff of her breath. azzi's hands came to rest against paige's shoulders, and there was something electric in the space between them, something that had nothing to do with the hunt and everything to do with the way they were looking at each other.

“paige,” azzi said, and it sounded like a question.

the expulsion of her name came from somewhere deep in azzi’s chest, and the effort pushed azzi’s breasts high, almost to her throat. paige made a sound so low and animalistic—one that azzi answered with a near soundless parting of her mouth—as she lowered her head, her lips crushing against azzi’s as if to draw juice from them. azzi's hands fisted in the fabric of paige's tunic, pulling her closer, and paige fell further into her. she tasted salty, of sweat and strain.

time seemed to slow and quicken at once. paige kissed her harder, all thought fleeing from her mind. her hand found the hem of azzi's dress, fingers trailing along the soft skin of her outer thigh. higher she went, climbing until she could graze her nails against the tenderness of azzi’s inner thigh. azzi gasped against her mouth and arched beneath her. the sound broke something loose in paige's chest, a want so fierce it bordered on pain.

she felt azzi’s body twist, felt it pulse as they became hooked on the same rhythm. azzi broke their kiss, her lips inflamed with the force of paige’s affection. paige let her breathe, dipping down to press kiss after kiss against azzi’s neck. her mouth found its way to azzi’s chest, sucking a soft ripe mark atop the fullness of one. 

she was just setting her teeth upon the other when she heard voices. 

paige raised her head, senses returning to their sharpest state. the conversation was distant but growing closer. gardeners, perhaps, or other members of the court, taking their own afternoon walks.

the women pushed apart as if burned, both breathing heavily. paige rolled away, putting distance between them even as every instinct screamed at her to stay close, to shield azzi from the world and all its expectations.

“we should—” paige started, then stopped, because what should they do? pretend this hadn't happened? go back to careful distance and formal propriety?

azzi sat up slowly, her fingers moving to her lips as if she could still feel the kiss there. when she looked at paige, her eyes were clearer than they'd been in weeks. something dark pricked at the edge of her gaze, and she looked away before she spoke.

“we should go back,” azzi said finally, but she made no move to stand.

“yes,” paige agreed, but she didn't move either.

azzi clutched two fistfuls of her skirts tightly, and paige resigned herself to pretending they could go back to the way things were before. but then, azzi spoke again.

“my room,” she murmured. 

“what?” paige said, turning her full attention from the group approaching the maze to the princess beside her.

“we should go back to my room,” azzi clarified. her tone was firm, her eyes even firmer.

paige’s mouth fell open, and she sat there, hair askew and mind blanking. azzi sighed and climbed to her feet.

“paige,” she admonished, extending a hand to help the blonde to her feet. “do keep up.”

they didn’t speak on the way back. azzi led, skirts muddied and breath ragged, and she urged paige to follow behind her from a distance like a soldier in retreat. she felt as much; glorious in azzi’s defeat of her, winded by victory.

they weaved through the castle until they were sequestered inside azzi’s chambers, the door shutting with a deep finality. it was as if everyone knew it would always end up here. 

the moment it latched, azzi turned. her eyes were fever-bright, chin lifted with a hard edge as if she was readying herself to batter paige into submission. paige didn’t even have time to catch her breath before azzi was on her again, backing her further and further into the room until paige tripped against their beloved breakfast table and fell onto the chaise’s open body. 

azzi left no room for anything other than what she desired, climbing onto paige’s lap with the momentum of someone who’d made her decision hours ago and was only now cashing in the ache.

they both rose in the same moment, tongue and teeth clicking awkwardly with their desperation. it did nothing to break through the spell. paige gripped azzi’s hips tightly, squeezing so hard that she wasn’t sure if the sound she next heard was azzi whimpering or the creak of her bones. her hands kept roving, kept finding new palmfuls of flesh to grip and tease. azzi’s fingers curled in the rough collar of paige’s tunic as she did so, dragging it open with impatience. her palms grazed the plane of paige’s chest like she was verifying solidity, like she needed to touch muscle to remind herself this was real.

she moaned into paige’s mouth as the knight’s hands pushed up the skirt of her dress, her calloused palms finding the shapely curve of her ass and using it to drag her against the rough fabric of her breeches. paige broke their kiss gently, trailing her mouth down until she was back to azzi’s tits, her teeth nipping more dark patches into the soft, golden skin before soothing them with the flat of her tongue. azzi hummed with pleasure, her head falling back to reveal the delicate column of her throat.

she began to roll her hips, using paige’s thigh as a means of friction against her clit. paige let her. how could she not? she had dreamt of being held like this, of holding azzi like this, of fucking someone like they were a fortress she wanted to lay siege to.

azzi dragged her head up by the chin, pulling her back into a dizzying kiss as her hips bucked faster. she broke the kiss only to press her forehead against paige’s. 

“you don’t understand,” she whispered. “i’ve tried to stop wanting you. it’s practically made me ill.”

and paige, paige could’ve slid off the bench and dropped to her knees right then, her whole world trembling around that confession. 

“tell me what you want,” she managed instead, voice hoarse.

azzi didn’t tell her.

she took paige’s hand instead, tough from years of battle, the pads of her fingers still scented faintly with crushed hedge, and guided it beneath her skirts. no ceremony. no flourish. just raw need and the wet heat between her thighs.

paige swore lowly, fingers easily slipping past azzi’s folds and into the hot clutch of her cunt. azzi's head fell back slightly as she pressed herself into paige’s palm, working her hips until she sat at the knuckles of the two fingers inside of her. 

“mmm. yes, like that,” she breathed, and paige felt it echo down her spine. “don’t stop. don’t—”

paige wouldn’t. couldn’t. her other arm wrapped tight around azzi’s waist to keep her upright as she began to move her fingers, slow at first, then deeper as azzi rocked against her hand. it was obscene how easily she parted. how greedily she accepted.

“princess,” paige choked. “god, you—fuck.”

azzi shuddered at the term of address, fucking herself down harder. 

“i need more,” she gasped, her nails digging crescents into paige’s shoulder. “deeper. more. just give it to me.”

something about the way she said it made paige slow. azzi blinked, dazed, and looked at her.

“azzi, did we lock the door? is it—someone could come in.”

azzi’s hair fell around her as she leaned forward, bracing her hands fully on paige’s broad shoulders. she laughed lightly as she began to ride paige’s fingers, stopping only to urge paige to tuck a third one into the sticky, tight press of her cunt.

“i don’t care. i want them to know that it's you inside of me. i want them to know i’m yours.”

paige didn’t think of anything else after that. she gave everything. fingers stroking into her princess with measured force, knuckles catching on slick velvet. her mouth found azzi’s throat, sucked and kissed and grazed her teeth just below the hinge of her jaw. azzi sobbed out her name, legs shaking.

“i’d give you anything,” paige murmured into her skin, voice wrecked. “my name, my sword, my soul, if you’d only fucking ask. i don’t know why you don’t. i know how smart you are, i know you’ve known how badly i’ve wanted to have you. how much i’ve wanted to make you cry.”

azzi’s mouth popped open, and paige wanted to laugh a bit at how easy she was when you got past everything. she felt azzi tighten around her and pressed a hand to her stomach.

“no,” she murmured. “not like this.”

she removed her hand from azzi, fingers sliding out with an obscene ‘schleck’, and it took every bit of strength she had left to ignore how azzi groaned as if she wounded her with the removal. instead, paige lifted azzi so that she was on her knees on that massive bed, dragging the heavy fabric of her dress up to the middle of her back so that her ass was bared.

with one hand, paige spread her legs apart, climbing up behind her so that she could drape the weight of her body over azzi’s back. her breasts hung free where azzi had ripped her shirt—paige had never been one for undergarments—and her nipples were so sensitive that their graze against the laces of azzi’s gown made her moan high from behind her teeth.

paige regained her focus, pressing down so that azzi arched before sliding three fingers back into her. azzi had run out of sound now, her hips twitching as paige brought her free hand under her stomach to rub at her swollen clit. 

“work for it,” she muttered, voice smoky with her thin self-restraint. when azzi didn’t abide by the command, she pinched her clit and relished in the way azzi fell forward with the pain. “i gave you a command. heed it. fuck yourself, azzi. it’s the only way you’ll finish.”

azzi gave a strangled, little cry and began to fuck back against paige’s hand. she gave it her all, hips swiveling as she ground down to the root of the other woman’s fingers. 

“good girl,” paige cooed. “there you go. take what’s yours.”

she could feel the way azzi was dripping down her wrist, her cunt as hungry as paige felt. there was a tight contraction as azzi’s orgasm approached, and paige let her forehead drop to azzi’s sweat-glazed shoulder.

“come on. please. please, my lady, please. give it to me. please. this is all i’m asking. this is—this is all i want.” azzi’s body gave a great heave, but paige held her up. 

she nudged azzi’s legs open further, fucked deeper into her until she was sure she’d discovered some deeper part of her body that had never been touched before.  the change in position made it so that azzi was practically squatting, her bottom lip now dragged between her teeth as she chased her high. 

“azzi, please. i can feel you. i swear i can feel it. just let go. cum for me, azzi. finish for me, princess.”

azzi’s climax came like a storm breaking over both of them: hot, shaking, with a cry strangled against her bedsheets as she slumped into them. paige held her through it, fingers still deep, her heart a cathedral to the holy ruin she’d just witnessed.

when she finally collapsed atop azzi, panting and spent, they just lay there, anchoring one another. the knight and her charge. the sinner and her altar. 

paige with her princess, her lady, her future queen. 

she laughed, the sound half-cracked with disbelief. then, slow as ritual, she raised her fingers to her mouth and lapped up every syrupy drip of cum from them. her tongue buzzed with the sticky lash of azzi’s orgasm against it. it was still warm, still fresh and sweet from her body.

azzi was quiet for a long time. she watched paige eat of her. it wasn’t simply watching. it was a measuring of something she clearly had been considering, but might not have dared name before this moment.

“i think,” she declared, voice hoarse, “that i will never marry.”

“have you always been this decided?” paige asked, a smile tugging at her mouth despite herself.

her head listed to the side so that she could see the satisfied cut of azzi’s face. 

“no,” azzi said. “i only knew when you walked into my room that first morning.”

paige’s breath caught. something old and fatal curled inside her.

“princess—” she started.

“azzi.” again, the familiar correction. 

“azzi—” she began again.

“no one,” azzi cut her off, “could ever inspire in me the affection i feel for you. there is nothing more perfect than when my hips are a bowl for your head to rest.”

paige could think of nothing to say. then, “i’d rather drink from your hips if they are to be a bowl for me. i can lie in your lap.”

azzi giggled this time, pleased by paige’s crude joke, and it was then that paige knew she could never give her up. she would be cruel in that way, always keeping azzi to herself through any means she could think of. 

and still laughing, azzi reached down, carded her fingers through paige’s hair, and gently cupped the back of her head. she held her there, against the softness of her stomach, against the flush-warm skin between her thighs. as if paige were not just wanted but necessary.

azzi shifted so that she could lie on her back, her hands coming to clasp over her stomach. their bodies were beginning to cool. azzi’s curls clung to her neck. paige’s shirt hung in tatters. but the air between them was still molten, almost war-touched.

“you’ll stay with me,” she said, low, fierce. not a question.

paige realized azzi wasn’t looking at her because she was scared of her answer. she reached up, turned azzi by the chin so that their gazes met.

her reply was immediate.

“until death.”

© hcneymooners.

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ i can’t undo all i have done unto myself; my appetite for love.

age gap!pazzi ft. former-rower!paige x communications major!azzi. men & minors dni.

wc: 8.5k

synopsis: azzi misses her ex-boyfriend's mother, but it's more than that.

cw: age gap (paige in her forties / azzi in her twenties ) relationship, (kind of) emotional affairs, complicated family dynamics, messy breakups, mutual pining, insane levels of yearning, men as collateral damage, emotional codependency, non-sexual intimacy, slight (?) power imbalance, no one is the villain but everyone's a little complicit, grief, touch-starved!azzi, also mommy issue azzi, there's definitely something a little wrong with all of them.

notes: this is a retry of a piece i abandoned around july of this year. i'm glad i found it, that i could feel it again. hope you enjoy. as always, let me know what you think x

azzi’s most defining relationship began and ended with the face of what she really wanted.

well, the beginning was its own beginning. the boyfriend—she kept him as a grey silhouette, easier to grieve— was beautiful: dark curls that milled over his head with neither direction nor rhythm, blue eyes that went grey in the light, sometimes darker when he was hovering over her, a pert mouth with a darker bottom lip, a golden smattering of freckles across the thin bridge of his nose—the softness of his belly.

he had been on the rowing team—like my mama, he’d crowed proudly—for their university, and azzi remembered when she’d seen him the first time, skating across the water like he had been born to it. perhaps that had been the first sign, a mirroring of their position in this partnership: azzi, with her oversized marquette sweatshirt, which had seen better days in the nineties, pale and swallowing the straight of her spine, dusting at the round tops of her hips, the fabric so bloodless in the early morning. the boyfriend, with his legs crossed strongly beneath him, sat in the middle of his shell, his shoulders shuddering strangely, like a volcanic island isolated, just spinning and stroking across the dark water.

he always spun it differently when he retold the story, that he had looked up and seen her with the sun behind her, coloring her skin into brown sugar on fire, her curls dark and haloing the heart-shape of her face. he loved to say that she’d smiled at him, cheeks flushed like two blushed fruits, her two front teeth peeking out just enough for him to call her ‘bunny’ all the time.

but azzi recalled it properly, more honestly. there had been no light, or at least barely any. he could’ve only seen her shadow, the curve of her body that had always been more athletic than anything. there was nothing more to her in that moment, and maybe he had been a little lonely, ‘cause that was enough, and he plucked her up, hoping she was an uncomplicated girl.

that was their actual beginning. but the place where azzi’s honest beginning, honest aching, began was when she met his mother.

he’d picked her up right as the season changed. it was familiar, the slow crawl of his black town car as it pulled up in front of the complex. she was living off-campus at this time, and as she glanced through the window and rolled her shoulders, the car reminded her that she was supposed to feel as lucky as his attention would allow.

the boyfriend was rich, had a mother with more weight to her name than an anchor on an ocean floor. azzi felt her throat tighten and focused on loosely pulling her hair up as she prepared to buzz him in.  a textbook languished at the foot of her cream-colored suitcase—building imaginary worlds: the theory and history of subcreation, a “pivotal text” for her transmedia class—the earth spinning on the cover slit into squares by a red grid. it was more his aesthetic than hers, but so was the flat before she redecorated.

and so was the suitcase.

there was a sharp click of her throat as he came closer to her and up the stairs, and she opened the door before he could knock, too impatient to wait for the vibrations of the wood to worsen her building headache. he had smiled, so slowly and crookedly, dressed flawlessly in black except for a deep green blanket scarf she'd bought him last christmas.

it had been a hard season for her bank account, but it was her duty as The Girlfriend.

you're a little early, azzi had remarked, pulling back to let him in.

her coat had been laid pseudo-carefully on a kitchen stool.  it was navy, almost electric, against the dark brown of the sitting piece. the flat smelled heavily of cinnamon and orange peels, autumn kissing gently at both their necks.

they hadn’t touched each other in a month and three days. the world had been almost as cold as she was at that time.

i always want to be when i come to get you. i always feel like i don't have enough time with you, like i'm catching up, he’d told her.

her eyes had gone all glossy, magnified by the brown of them, the sheer size of them. she turned away.

because you are, she’d thought, but didn’t say. still, the thought echoed silently across the high ceiling and slunk across the worn couch. she knew her face reflected it, lips pouting and bulging with the urge to argue before she chose another way.

and then they had gone, driven up the long, winding throat of the east coast to go to the house that his mother occupied in the off-season.

almost immediately, azzi had needed air. or water. something upon arrival. her stomach was squeezing so aggressively that she almost threw up over the console. he’d laughed, teased her about being nervous, ribbed her until he saw how pale she’d gone, and then tried to assure her that his mother was scarier in the articles than in real life.

she'd nodded, stumbling along the gravel drive, until she was somehow inside and drifting into the kitchen while he—she could barely hold his shape in her mind anymore—talked to someone about fantasy football in the other room. the lake beyond the window was going dark at its edges, all that water dying out, the glimmer only as lasting as the will of the sun.

azzi was beginning to return to herself, brushing her fingertips along the rim of a glass half-full of a liquid deliciously carbonated, when she came in.

here, right here, is where azzi would always feel it began. the memory sparked like a star in her heart, the flame high and blue and the hottest at the bottom where it burned away at the organ.

“you okay?”

paige was so tall, much taller than she'd expected, broader through the shoulders, and sporting the softest tan that nearly made azzi believe in the american dream. her hair had fallen around to her midback in a way that made her face more naked. it was slightly wavy—as if someone had braided and rebraided, braided and rebraided—voluminized by extensions so artfully sown-in that you wouldn’t have been able to tell lest she told you. it was bright, all that blonde, nearly cosmic, but azzi could see the whispers of dark roots when she glanced up at her crown.

she wore only low-slung, forest green sweats, the elasticated band sticking tightly to her skin like an insecure lover. paired with it was a cropped tank of the same color, shadowed by the oak brown-and-cream plaid flannel that was keeping her warm.

she looked like someone who'd lived inside her body for a long time, who knew what it could do.

“oh—i’m sorry, ms. bueckers. i’m—i just needed a second.”

paige watched her for a long moment, then moved to the sink, poured herself water. the sound of the glass being filled, the bestowment of purpose, was the only thing in the room for an entire three minutes.

then:

"why are you apologizing? and paige.”

azzi blinked, and paige smiled wryly.

“you can call me paige. i hate that ms. bueckers shit.”

“oh,” was all that azzi could give, and she pinched her inner thigh in irritation at the arrival of her shyness.

“but it’s nice to finally meet you, azzi.” she startled slightly at the sounding of her own name, eyes going wide like a deer before the shot, until she could feel an unnatural chill from the exposure. ( paige felt a thread begin to stitch a feeling into the wet of her gut. ) “so, what are you studying?"

the question surprised azzi. not what do you do or where are you from, but what are you studying? as if azzi was allowed to still try her hand at becoming something, like she had room to be anything less than perfect and established.

“communications,” azzi said, and waited for the usual vague nod, the conversation to drift away. “media communications, specifically.”

but paige leaned against the counter, actually looked at her. “mmm. ‘nd what does that mean? do you know what you want to do with it?”

no one ever asked her that. not her academic advisor, not her parents, certainly not him. azzi felt something shift in her chest, a little unlatching that threatened to topple her. she hated her supplication for attention in moments like these, this reassertion of her desire to be noticed, to be seen as interesting.

“to be completely honest, i’m not sure yet," she said quietly, and it felt cathartic to bleed that wound. "i think right now i’m just focused on following what i like, on understanding how people communicate. or how we often fail to. what it’s like we pass the words on, when we translate, what we take and what we lose.”

paige smiled then, and it changed her whole face. made her look younger than azzi knew she was.

"i like that. how we fail. always something to learn in the failing, sometimes more than the successes."

azzi nodded, mouth parting slightly as if to continue the conversation, to bolster their connection. but the boyfriend called from the other room. azzi's name fell from his mouth, landed with the demand of something she was supposed to answer to.

she glanced back at paige, who she found was already looking at her, and felt pinned there—a specimen spread apart and made real.

“we should talk more,” paige told her. “before you leave.”

azzi nodded soundlessly, skin a little more lived in, and paige flashed her a tender smile. her hand was calloused, experienced, as it squeezed the flesh of azzi’s shoulder. they both were aware of the bone there, perched underneath the meat, delicate and mineral like a bird’s.

but that wasn't all of it. that couldn't be all of it, because nothing was ever just what it was.

so, there were other moments. small instances that accumulated like snow, soft and ignorable until suddenly you were buried in white, until you couldn't remember what it felt like to breathe without the weight, or mistook it for your wedding day.

slowly, azzi began to look forward to the drive, to that wind-up drive like a jack-in-the-box. the pressure never settled until she saw paige—long-legged and golden—waiting for them on the porch. the trees got barer the more often they went, autumn deepening into winter, seasons sawing at the world until parts broke off and showed the changes.

they were also beginning to break at this time. he would scream at her, and she’d scream back, and then they’d do the drive, and by that, azzi meant he’d do all of the driving. in hindsight, she suspected it was his way of apologizing for the time that had been wasted, spent away from her.

she didn’t know if she was resentful about it—still didn’t—and even if she was, she didn’t think she could ever tell him. she let her head loll back and forth as the tires bumped along the pavement, swinging from one side to the other to look at him instead of the vivid slur of oranges and reds right outside her window. 

she studied him, and he pretended not to notice, and she felt the loom of the inevitable severing like illness blossoming in the body. she felt more as though she was losing access to something, rather than losing him.

they spoke nothing of it, always turned the radio on.

her twenty-third birthday arrived on a tuesday, one day off on a monday, the day she had been born on in the year two-thousand-and-two. maybe that was why it didn’t feel right. he gave her a necklace. pretty enough, delicate in a way that spoke to a sales associate having been consulted, gold and safe and mistaken because azzi almost always wore silver. white-gold at best.

still, she had smiled, let him fasten it around her throat where it sat like a tumor all dolled up.

paige's gift arrived three days later, a package wrapped efficiently in brown paper that was slightly crumpled along the edges, marginally mutilated in the mail. inside: a first edition of the marriage plot by jeffrey eugenides, the pages more yellowed than creamed, its spine cracked in several places that hinted at someone who had loved it first, had broken it open again and again. there was a note tucked inside the front cover, paige's handwriting blocky and slanted, and sure:

saw this at an estate sale and thought of what you said about translation. think you mentioned liking that other one. the one with all the dying (??)—azzi laughed wetly—anyway, happy birthday, azzi. — p.b

azzi had sat on her bathroom floor and cried for twenty minutes, the book pressed hard to her chest like a wound she was trying to stanch. then she crawled into her room and called her mother, lungs heaving as she tried to make her understand.

i feel so fucking stuck, mama, she said. he’s supposed to be enough. i’m supposed to be a lucky girl. i don’t know why i am so stuck on her.

you don’t know that for sure, her mother dismissed her. if you’re stuck on her. it’s probably distant or a projection. talk to him, honey.

i think it’s over. i can feel it. and i’m always right.

a moment of silence, and then azzi continued to confess.

well, i kind of hope it is. if he broke up with me right now, i don’t think i’d cry. i’d just sit there. frozen, but glad that it was over.

her mother hummed, and azzi heard the sheets whisper beneath her as she turned on her bed.

you never were a pretty crier.

and the remembering. god, the remembering.

not the big, performative things that anyone could manage if they tried hard enough—birthdays marked in phone calendars, anniversaries that came with expectations—but the small stuff that revealed actual attention, actual presence.

paige knew azzi took her coffee with almond milk, not regular, knew she was allergic to walnuts but could eat every other nut just fine, knew she was trying to read more toni morrison after mentioning once, once, over dinner four months ago, that she loved sula.

three weeks after that conversation, paige texted her a photo of a passage from beloved, the page worn, a dog with its ear down:

she is a friend of my mind. she gather me, man. the pieces i am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order.

the caption just said: thought of you.

azzi had stared at her phone for ten minutes, her heart doing something complicated and irreversible in her chest. she wanted to scream, wanted to call her and demand she explain why the hell she was thinking of her. why would she tell her of this attention, of this thought in and of itself?

were there multiple? thoughts of her?

the boyfriend forgot her coffee order every single time. would hand her a cup with regular milk, watch her take a sip and grimace, and say, "oh shit, was that wrong?" with his silver spoon clenched coyly between his teeth, like it was charming to not retain basic information about her body, her needs.

there was the night azzi couldn't sleep, winter break endless and siberian around them. they were at the lake house for a long weekend, and he had passed out early, his snoring rattling through the walls like a car engine trying its hardest to rev and start and be something more than mechanical and disruptive.

azzi gave up hope around two in the morning, padding downstairs in one white sock before peeling it off to match her naked foot, wearing one of his sweatshirts that smelled like tide and nothing else, stripped of sentiment.

paige was on the couch, laptop balanced on her toned thighs, blue light carving shadows into her face, making her appear like a sculpture. azzi wondered what would be inscribed on the plaque. reading glasses were perched on her nose, small and grey and wired, most likely something quietly designer.

azzi hadn't known she wore glasses. the discovery felt intimate, and she made the decision that she liked them. especially as they were now, matched with the bun settled like a low sun at the nape of her neck.

she glanced up when azzi appeared in the doorway, barefoot and half-asleep and probably pathetic.

"hey, az. can’t sleep?”

the nickname was another thing, too. azzi shook her head, her throat weilded shut with something that was terrifyingly close to a feeling she’d wanted all of her life. paige shifted, closed the laptop slightly, and made room on the couch. she patted the cushion beside her, open and kind.

“want to keep me company? just going through last-minute contracts. boring shit, honestly. one page could probably knock you right out."

azzi sat, still silent. the couch was worn-in, eager to give beneath you in a way that was a result of furniture that had been loved consistently, had held generations through years of the same evenings. paige reopened her mac, kept working, but her presence was—well, it was.

solid. warm. gravitational.

the house was so quiet that azzi could hear the lake lapping at the dock outside, could hear the far cry of a loon, then another’s call back. could hear paige's breathing, the inhale steady, the expansion even.

paige began to explain something about sports tech startups, some partnership she was navigating and negotiating, her voice low and unhurried. azzi tried to follow, she did, but her eyes were so heavy, and paige's voice was doing something to her nervous system, slowing everything down, and somehow she'd tilted sideways, spilling over until her head found paige's shoulder first, then sliding down to her chest.

paige didn't stiffen, nor did she pull away. she only adjusted slightly, made more room for azzi in this moment of her life, kept on talking in that same steady voice, even though they both knew azzi was barely listening anymore.

when azzi surfaced briefly sometime later—she didn't know how long, time had gone liquid and strange—the mac was closed on the coffee table, a violet that seemed bruise-like in the dark, and the house was devoid of light except for the dim radiance from the kitchen. there was a hand in her hair. fingers moving slowly through her dark, sleep-tousled curls, careful and rhythmic and devastating, like paige had all the time in the world, like this was something she wanted to be doing.

azzi had never felt safer in her entire life. had never felt more seen, more held, more possible. blearily, she raised a hand, limp fingers suddenly revitalized as she placed them over paige’s long ones. paige stilled then, her other hand suddenly burning where it rested against azzi’s waist. then azzi felt her shift, the hand in her hair turning over to take her fingers into their own.

brown against white against black. skin against skin against scalp.

she didn't mention it the next morning. neither did paige. but something had fallen open, a door that neither of them could close again. a bird with its wing bent, its flight never the same. blood to the surface.

the texts came sporadically but consistently, often enough that azzi started looking at her phone far too often, always lying in wait. paige would send her a variety: articles about narrative theory, articles about places she wanted to visit, a photo of the lake at dawn with the mist rising like a bad horror film, a meme that spoke to her age but made azzi laugh loudly enough that people turned to stare at her, right there in the library.

once, just: How are you doing?

no preamble. not a reason in sight. just asking after her.

azzi had stared at the message for five minutes before typing back: tired but okay. how are you?

The best, like always.

azzi smiled into her palm, heart on fire. then,

Let me know if you need anything. Have a good week, Az.

it was such a simple exchange, and so it shouldn't have meant anything. but azzi read it seven times—thrice before she fell asleep—and so she knew it had transformed into some sort of obvious symbolism.

and then there was the afternoon she showed up at the house, burnt out and hollowed, scraped clean by exhaustion. late semester, running on four hours of sleep and caffeine and spite for two weeks straight. the boyfriend was already there, had driven up the day before—azzi couldn’t believe it had been a year, but then again, you could do a lot for a sliver of what you wanted—but azzi had insisted on coming separately because she'd had a meeting she couldn't miss.

( that was the excuse, anyway. really, she just needed the drive alone, needed to not feel the pressure of their inevitable separation, that axe hovering in the enclosed space of a car. )

paige opened the door, and her face did something complicated. surprise, then concern, then something darker and sharper that made azzi feel not good.

"jesus, azzi."

“well, hello to you too," azzi said, trying for lightness, for the easy deflection she'd perfected and preferred.

but paige wasn't smiling; she wasn’t going to pretend to believe in it. she looked—angry wasn't quite right, but adjacent to it. worried in a way that had teeth, and the presence of urgency.

"when's the last time you ate something that wasn't coffee?"

“what?” azzi blustered. “i had an everything bagel this morning. i'm fine."

"you don't look fine, azzi. you look like you're about to collapse." paige's jaw was tight, her hands flexing at her sides like she was physically restraining herself from—from what? reaching out? shaking sense into her?

and something in azzi snapped. she was so tired, so fucking tired, and here was paige looking at her like she wanted her laid out on her chest again, like her well-being was something worth getting upset about, and it was too much. too much attention, too much care.

how dare she be so goddman oppressive?

"why do you even care?" it came out more salient than she’d meant it, almost cruel.

paige went very still. the air between them pulled taut, dangerous. for a moment, neither of them moved, hearts suspended from their movements, both caught in the undertow of what azzi had just asked, and azzi could see the realization moving across both their faces simultaneously—the thing they'd been carefully not naming suddenly there in the open, naked and undeniable and enormous.

paige broke away first, looking past azzi to the water, her throat working.

"okay," she said carefully, and her voice was different now, detached in a new way. much worse. "you should come inside. i made soup."

azzi stood there on the porch, bag heavy and slouched over her shoulder, every organ doing something she had no control over. then she stepped inside and let paige feed her, let her pull a blanket around her shoulders, let her do what her son hadn’t managed to before stumbling upstairs and surrendering to exhaustion in his childhood bedroom.

she texted paige that night from the guest room where she was sleeping alone because the boyfriend said her tossing and turning kept him up.

sorry for snapping earlier. thank you for the soup. and for caring

a second text. clarification:

about me

paige's response came almost immediately, like she'd been holding out:

Nothing to apologize for. You're allowed to be tired, Azzi.

then, a minute later:

I'm glad you're here. Cal said he wasn’t sure if you would. He told me that it’s been a little hard lately.

azzi felt salt rush, hot and heavy, to her face.

it has. i think

she didn’t finish. but it was sent all the same.

and paige knew her because in another minute:

Get some sleep.

azzi read those messages until she could see them behind her eyes, phone still clutched in her hand like a lifeline.

and that was the shape of it, really. how it all happened.

that accumulation. paige showed up the ways that azzi wanted, that the boyfriend—he—cal— had tried to, in every inch that actually counted when you tallied up a life. she paid attention, not just to what azzi said but to what she hadn’t said, to the space azzi felt like she was always living in.

their breakup finally came, and it was a bloodless end, a violence devoid of evidence. azzi knew it was the right thing because she was measuring her happiness by proximity to paige rather than proximity to the boy she was supposedly in love with.

and when it ended—when azzi finally burst into tears in the middle of his boat, face streaked like prints across a glass—of course, she called paige.

who else was there to call?

what other person in her life had ever made her feel like this? worth remembering, worth weathering with all of her complications?

no one, her mama said in her head. the answer is no one.

she called a whole eight hours after.

sat on the bathroom floor of her apartment, knees pulled to her chest, swaddled in the same sweatshirt from when they had met, because she supposed she had some sentiment, and dialed before she could think about what it meant.

paige answered on the second ring. "az?"

and azzi snapped neatly in half. the sound that came out of her was ugly, wet, and nothing she could control. she pressed her palm against her mouth, but it didn't stop.

"azzi?" paige's voice changed, leaned softer and desperate all at once. "azzi? i need you to talk to me."

azzi knew then that she had already gotten the news. of course, she knew. why would azzi have access to her in a way that her son already didn’t?

"i—" azzi tried. couldn't. the sobs kept ringing loose, fracturing anything and everything she was trying to say. “paige—”

"okay. it's okay. just breathe for me, sweetheart, can you do that?" a pause. azzi could hear paige moving, a door closing. making herself private for this. "where are you? are you safe?"

"uh-huh. y—yeah,” azzi hiccuped. “i'm home. i'm—we ended it." the words were finally delivered, a terrible birth, awful and ragged. "i just couldn't—couldn’t do it anymore."

"okay." paige's voice was so steady that it hurt her. she began to cry all over again. "okay. that's—you did the right thing if it didn't feel right. you know that, right?”

then, as if to remember her son, she added, “i need you to both know that.”

azzi nodded even though paige couldn't see her; neither of them could see the other. azzi hated it, and the feeling was so sudden and all-consuming that she couldn’t help the way she pushed out the truth:

“god, paige. i’m never gonna see you again. and i hate that, and i want it to be different.”

azzi’s voice ripped over the words at the end, and she pressed her forehead to her knees, dug them in. she could hear paige breathing on the other end, could picture her: probably in the kitchen or her office, leaning against the counter or the corner of the desk in the way she defaulted to when she was thinking. for her mental health, she pretended that the other woman’s breathing sounded just as wet.

( it was. )

“az—azzi—do you need someone right now? do you want me to come to you?" paige asked. "i can be there in two hours. you just have to tell me.”

and that's when it hit her, what she was doing. calling her ex-boyfriend's mother. bawling down the line to her. aching for her to come, aching to be held by her, aching, aching, aching.

wanting wanting wanting.

needing, needing, needing.

the enormity of it closed around her throat with a phantom hand.

“i’m sorry. i have to go," azzi said and hung up, right as she heard the beginning of her name.

her phone lit up immediately. paige calling back.

again.

then again.

after the fourth time, maybe the fifth, a text: Just let me know you're okay.

Please.

azzi turned her phone facedown, rolled herself face down, and sobbed until she passed out.

the cab driver didn’t try to talk to her, which azzi was grateful for. she’d be sure to tip him properly.

she watched the trees thicken as they got farther from the city, clustering in dense families, the road thinning into that familiar narrow drive that never stopped climbing up. the box on her lap was embarrassingly weightless: a charger (his, not hers), a paperback he'd bought at an airport and never opened, a hoodie that she suspected was actually his mother’s, and four pristine laundry pods—purple and white, chemical and forgettable.

evidence of a year and some change that had roughly felt like holding her breath.

she could've mailed it. should've mailed it, really.

it would've cost her twelve dollars, maybe a little more through the expedited option, and saved her the four-hour drive, saved her from whatever this was. this pilgrimage, this gentle press around the edge of the puncture, disguised as courtesy. and yet, here she was, wearing the vintage pendleton coat she'd found at a thrift store in the city last winter, the one she'd been too afraid to wear because her mother had drilled into her that it was good to have at least one thing she was saving for special occasions.

it was deep brown, wool with plum purple geometric patterns that met and split, making her feel as though she belonged in a different era, in a different life. one where she was allowed to get what she wanted, where nothing hurt as much. where nothing had a consequence, not even smoking ‘til your lungs were blacked out.

the fur collar was soft against her jaw and mirrored the matching softness that touched at her wrists—there was fur at the sleeves, too—and she'd put on two sticky coats of mascara before heading this morning, even though she told herself it wasn’t ever going to matter again. she had stood in front of her mirror for twenty minutes trying to get her eyeliner right before giving up and wiping it off.

it mattered. it mattered then, and it would matter now, and it would matter in all the time after.

it had been a month since she ended it. a month since that phone call. a month since she heard paige say sweetheart like it was something azzi was meant to always be called; a fact rather than a plea from a month two decades older than her.

a month later, and now she was finally showing up, with a phone charger that had been sitting in a drawer the entire time.

the absurdity wasn’t lost on her.

she kept trying to remember why she came. all the right reasons slid through the pink animal of her brain: to return his things, to do the right thing, to prove she could be an adult about this and her, that she could close doors properly instead of just walking away and leaving them swinging on their hinges. but the truth was folding and unfolding in her chest like a bird that couldn’t land, that kept diving and trying to find a branch strong enough to hold it.

she missed paige's kitchen, the way the evening light sometimes came through the blinds’ slats in stripes. she missed the way paige said her name. never as an obligation, but as the title of someone deserving of the full gravity of attention. she missed the feeling of being asked what she had meant two days ago when she’d said [x,y,z], of being invited to elaborate.

the house appeared through the forest like something out of a dream she could never stop having, red against the rust and amber and dying gold of the season. there was smoke spinning from the chimney, dense pulses of ash grey released into the world. she found that the lights were on inside, golden and warm and less of a wound than she thought it would be. her heart performed something complicated, a mechanism she didn’t have language for yet, but suspected she'd been building a vocabulary for all year.

the cab crunched into the gravel drive, and the sound of it—that grind, that announcement—made her want to ask the driver to keep going, to turn around, to take her anywhere but here, where she had to be honest.

but she paid. took the box. stood there as the car pulled away, red taillights disappearing into the dusk as it abandoned her.

the evening was arctic enough that she could see her breath, small brittle ghosts of evidence that she was still here, still doing this. still living. across the lake, the far shore was blurring into dark, the water going black and depthless. there was that loon again, somewhere, its call lonely and ancient, a song that reinforced the belief in longing as a physical force.

she walked to the door. her boots were ridiculously loud on the wooden porch, all that unnecessary stomping. everything was too loud: her breathing, her labored heartbeat, the small whisper the box made when she shifted it in her arms.

azzi thought of turning back. she knocked.

the moment before it opened felt longer than the whole drive up, longer than the self-imposed month of silence, longer than the entire span of time she spent trying to love someone she couldn't.

then paige was there.

backlit by the warm interior, surprise and something stranger moved across her face like a squall, dragging up every sheltered emotion that needed to be dealt with. she was wearing a worn thermal the color of moss, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and those same forest-green sweats from the first time, sitting even lower on those slender hips than azzi remembered. she wanted to put her mouth on them, see if they would slot into hers.

her hair was down, slightly shorter than the last time azzi had seen her, falling just past her shoulders in waves that looked restless. like she'd been running her hands through them.

face bare. glasses pushed up onto her head. a dishtowel slung over one shoulder. her arms were flexed by the way she held them, the muscled corded and pressing nicely along the skin.

jesus.

she looked like every little soft bit of life azzi had been too afraid to reach for since she was born.

“azzi?”

just her name. tentative and careful, slit in sweeping sections by the razor of desire.

paige craned her neck, glancing behind her, looking for an explanation.

“did you get an uber here?”

azzi meant to explain, make her understand. meant to hold up the box—look, evidence, a reason, an excuse—and say something normal about being in the area (she wasn't), about the cab driver taking one look at her and then saying he had the time (he did; she looked a little on the brink), about wanting to return his things properly (a month late, as if that makes sense), about closure (what a lie, what a joke, what a way to avoid saying i came here because i needed to see you, because i can't stop thinking about your hands on my head, because i haven't felt like a real woman since i hung up on you).

instead, what tumbled out was:

"i missed you."

the box was still in her hands. the woods were still broad and tall behind her, all those trees witnesses to this pivotal moment of her life. paige didn’t move, but something in her chest must’ve cracked open—just slightly—because a fault line appeared on her face, and azzi felt the ground shifting beneath them both.

“miss you,” she tacked on, provoked by some unseen poltergeist.

azzi watched it continue to happen. watched paige's throat work, her hands flexing sharply at her sides like she's physically stopping herself from reaching out. watched the way paige's eyes went gentle and pointed in the same second, like she'd been hit and kissed simultaneously.

"azzi—" paige started, and her voice was a kaleidoscope of feeling. real rough around the edges. like she had been waiting and dreading this admittance in equal measure.

"i know," azzi interrupted, because she can't bear to hear whatever reasonable adult thing paige was about to say, whatever gentle rejection or complicated truth. "i know it's—i know. but i had to tell you. i couldn't—" her voice broke, reformed. "i couldn't not tell you."

the box was so light in her hands it might as well not have existed. they both knew it. this flimsy excuse, this handful of objects that meant nothing, that never meant anything. a phone charger. a month of silence. the most transparent lie azzi's ever tried to tell.

paige gazed at her for the world’s longest breath, and azzi felt stripped bare despite the coat, despite the mascara, despite every little layer she tried to construct from her half-shattered spirit on the drive here. then paige stepped back, made room in the doorway, a space for azzi to enter.

"come on," paige said quietly, and it sounded like penance.

it sounded like god, finally.

azzi stepped carefully over the threshold, as if she was still at the risk of getting struck down, and the warmth of the house wrapped around her like an embrace, a little like forgiveness. she still wasn’t sure if she had done anything deeply wrong. she could smell something cooking—garlic, maybe thyme—and there was music dripping softly from somewhere deeper in the house, a leak of something slow and aching that she was unable to place.

paige closed the door behind her, and the latch of it—that soft, final click—felt like the form of a decision they both wanted the other to make.

"here," paige said, reaching for the box, and when their fingers brushed in the exchange, azzi felt it everywhere. a bite, then infection. "let me take that."

she set it on the small table by the door without looking at it, already forgotten. they both knew it was never the point. then she half-turned back to azzi, and azzi could feel the rise of sick in the back of her throat, acidic and threatening.

"coat?" paige asked softly, but it wasn’t really a question.

azzi shrugged out of it, suddenly too warm, hyperaware of every inch of space between them. paige took it, hung it delicately on the hook by the door, the fabric covering the jutting gleam of the metal curve. her fingers lingered on the wool for just a moment.

"i like this," paige remarked. "i don't think i've seen you wear it before."

"i—" azzi started, then stopped. because what was she supposed to say? i never wore it even after i bought it because i never had a special occasion; you were the special occasion. i bought it when i was trying to self-medicate through the act of losing all my money, when i was trying to ignore you and what you meant to me.

but paige was already moving into the house, gesturing for azzi to follow, and azzi did, helpless to do anything else.

the living room was exactly as she remembered—it’s only been a fucking month, she reminded herself—worn couch, the fireplace crackling, the cherry wood table where paige’s mac always sat. and it was that table that stopped her cold.

paige's laptop was there and open, several tabs visible across the top of the screen. azzi's eyes caught on one automatically, trained after days of interning to know her own work, and her lungs flattened violently in her chest.

it was her article. the one she wrote for the atlantic, about parasocial relationships and the translation of intimacy across digital spaces. her first real publication, her byline in a magazine that actually mattered.

only went live two weeks ago.

paige had it open.

paige had been reading it.

azzi just stood there, staring, and she could feel the exact moment paige realized what she was seeing, could feel the air filter into something different between them.

"azzi—" paige began, and there was a note of something helpless in her voice now, a cadence that spoke to being caught.

"you were—you’ve read my article," azzi said, stupid and small. her voice comes out higher than she intended it to, far more vulnerable. "you—how did you even—"

"when you got your internship, you texted me about it. told me that if you did it right, then it might get picked, might go live," paige answered, voice low. "a little over two months ago. and i knew you would do it right, would get picked. i had no doubt. and then—" she didn’t finish.

didn’t need to.

and then the breakup, the phone call, the wailing into the bathroom tile, everything falling apart.

azzi knew she was right. god, she had the memory in her hindbrain like a trauma response. she'd been so excited, had wanted to share the opportunity with someone who would actually encourage her, and she and the boyfriend—him—cal—‘c’—had been at their most fragile.

so, she'd texted paige without thinking, without considering what it revealed about who she wanted to celebrate with.

"i've read it a couple of times," paige admitted, and she wasn’t looking at azzi when azzi turned around. she was glaring at the computer instead, as if it were easier. "some of the shit just went over my head. ‘nd i was reading it again when you—when i heard the car."

azzi tilted her head up, the defense she always put in play when she didn’t want to dissolve in front of anyone she knew.

"paige," she croaked, and it came out as a prayer, near a confession.

she sensed it when paige finally looked at her, so azzi brought her head back down, and paige’s eyes were so blue, so piercing that azzi felt lanced clean through.

"i've been thinking about you," paige admitted, and her voice was raw now, translucent. if it were skin, azzi would see every vein. "thought about you every day. but azzi—" she paused, and azzi could see her trying to locate the right words, the mature words. "this is complicated."

"i know," azzi agreed quietly.

"he's my son."

"i know."

"and you just—it's only been a month."

"i know that too." azzi wrapped her arms around herself, abruptly cold despite the warmth of the house. the coat was still on the hook by the door, and she wished she hadn't taken it off, wished she had that extra layer of protection. she gave in to the feeling, put it back on. “but really, i had a year. and then some.”

paige let out a breath, shutting her eyes tightly as if they would make the statement less accurate. azzi continued, voice light as margarita ice.

"i'm not asking you to—i don't even know what i'm asking for. i just needed to see you. i needed you to know that i—"

she trailed off, because what was there to say that wouldn’t make this harder? that wouldn’t put more pressure on something already so strained that it might break them both?

paige was silent for a beat, and when she spoke again, her voice had crumbled into something tender. azzi wondered if she appeared to her as callow as she felt.

"come here."

azzi stilled, glanced down to where paige's hand extended between them. an offering. neither promise, nor solution, just—come here.

azzi went.

paige wrapped her arms around her, flesh against flesh, and azzi burrowed into her chest, still wearing her big brown coat, the fur at the collar swallowing her frame as she tucked herself anxiously into paige's warmth. she felt like an animal seeking shelter; she needed this recognition of her body.

she felt paige's hand come up to her hair, fingers threading through the curls in that same gentle rhythm from that night they had never addressed on the couch, careful and steady and the same and devastating.

"you know what my favorite part of the article was?" paige murmured. azzi could feel the words rumbling in her chest. she shook her head, eyes closed. "the part about you wrote about how we choose to translate intimacy, how something always gets lost, but we’re willing to lose because there’s something new that gets created in the space between. thought about you the whole time. thought about—"

she broke off. tried again.

"thought about all the ways i've been trying to put what i feel into something that can make sense."

azzi didn’t say anything. couldn’t. she only pressed closer, her face against paige's sternum, and let the older woman hold her like this was something she was allowed to have, even if it was just for now, even if it was complicated, even if neither of them knew what happened next.

through the window, she could see the lake obfuscating, the water going smooth and black as glass as the evening eclipsed it. the far shore had disappeared completely now, swallowed in full by the dusk. there was still the loon calling out, lonely and persistent, and azzi thought about migration, about how some birds traveled thousands of miles just to return to the same place every year.

not because it was easy living, but because it was their home.

nothing small to abandon.

“he called me yesterday," paige told her, and azzi’s body tensed despite itself. "said he's doing okay. said he thinks it was the right thing, ending it. that you both knew for a while."

"yeah," azzi whispered into the fabric of paige's thermal. “we did.”

"he said—" paige's hand stilled in azzi's hair for just a moment. "he said he thinks you were always a little bit in love with someone else. that he could never quite figure out who."

azzi's throat folded and sealed. she refused to pull back, couldn’t bear to see paige's face right now.

"azzi," paige prodded gently, and there was a question in it, but also understanding. like maybe she already knew. like maybe she'd known for a while.

"i didn't mean for it to happen," azzi managed. "i didn't—i tried so hard not to. i didn’t set out with the intention for—with the intention for you to happen to me.”

"i know," paige soothed, and her arms tightened around azzi a fraction. "i know you didn’t."

they stood like that as the light continued to die outside, as the lake turned to ink and the sky went from purple to navy to black. paige's hand never once stopped carding through azzi's hair, that gentle, rhythmic comfort that asked for nothing and gave everything.

"i don't know what to do. what we do now," azzi admitted, slightly childlike in her demand for an answer.

"i don't either," paige replied. "but you're here. and i'm—i'm glad you're here. i think i need you here."

it was a good answer, because it made azzi realize that they were in the same place, full of the same feelings, and trying to map out an escape.

azzi pulled back by a small margin, just enough so that she could behold the vision of paige's face. the light snagged on the hard line of her jaw, making it look hard enough to withstand the molten pressure of azzi’s lips crushed against it. she wanted to try, but—

"do we fit?" azzi asked, and her voice was so meager, so afraid of the answer. "do you think—can we fit?"

paige's hands came up to azzi's shoulders, found the heavy lay of the coat. slowly, carefully, she eased it off, let it pool at their feet like shed skin, the last layer of pretense finally falling away. underneath, azzi was wearing just a thin little sweater and matching cotton pants, black as a lamb and doubly as soft, and she felt overly exposed, like a picture in development.

paige's hands settled on her waist, thumbs brushing reverently against the fabric, and then she was dragging azzi closer, eliminating all space between them until they were pressed together, chest to chest, hip to hip, bone to bone. azzi could feel paige's pulse, the path of her life, or maybe it was her own, or maybe their hearts were syncing up, and she was having trouble telling the difference.

"yeah," paige murmured, and then her mouth was at azzi's temple, pressing a kiss there that felt like a promise. "yeah, baby, we fit."

baby was good, azzi thought dizzily. better than sweetheart. i don’t know how.

paige kissed patiently down the side of her face, slow and so deliberate, and azzi's eyes fluttered closed. her body twitched, trembling under the touches, awkward and nervous under the assault of love. paige's lips found the height of her cheekbone, the corner of her jaw, and then—god—the soft skin just below her ear.

azzi's breath caught completely, hands flying up to clutch at paige's shirt, in need of something tangible to keep her anchored.

"we fit," paige repeated against her neck, the words vibrating right through azzi's skin. another kiss, lower this time, at the curve where her neck met her shoulder. "we've always fit, az. you know that."

azzi made a sound she didn't recognize, something between a sob and a sigh—a release all the same—and paige's arms tightened around her, holding her up, holding her together.

“you know that, baby.”

another kiss.

"i've got you," paige whispered into her skin. "i've got you, and you're here, and we're—we're gonna figure this out."

eventually—azzi didn't know how long, time had gone soft and strange again—paige pulled back just enough to cup azzi's face, thumbs brushing away the tears azzi hadn't realized had even fallen.

"c'mon," paige urged her gently. "let’s get you something to eat."

azzi used to never get a moment. she was getting one now.

she almost slipped up, almost confessed to paige that she wanted to stay here forever. instead, she reached up to brush under the other woman’s eyes with the tips of her fingers, stayed silent.

the urge to dig in, to carve her out, to—azzi nodded.

paige smiled, a slow spread of teeth, and threaded their hands together, leading her in.

it felt good to say that, to be that.

to know she was in.

© hcneymooners.

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ kiss me, and you will see how important i am.

ex-wives!pazzi au. men and minors dni.

synopsis: nothing brings together two people like their child's birthday party and the subsequent emotional breakdown.

cw: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, happy ending though open, mentions of infidelity (assumed, but nothing occurred), i would say p is slightly toxic but i really think it's just two adults being complex human beings and making mistakes.

notes: you all were so lovely and kind to me following my pazzi debut. i wanted to post this because i've been sitting on it for a while. i love people who still love each other despite the distance. i hope you enjoy. as always feel free to come into my inbox. i love speaking to you. love you.

“have you not told your mother that we’re separated?”

paige looks up to find her ex-wife standing above her, staring her down in all of her quiet, effortless radiance. azzi looks like the american dream: sun-bronzed and golden, long-legged, with perfect, plump, dark pink lips. she’s wrapped in a mid-thigh dress the color of a late spring bloom—pale lilac, delicate but striking. the fabric spirals down the curves of her waist and hips, cinched in places by thin rings of fringe that sway as she shifts her weight. her curls are slicked back into a bun that blooms at the crown of her head, petals of hair shaped to align with the spring showers theme of the party.

paige hums low in her throat, fingers brushing the hem of azzi’s dress. “you look good, ma.”

azzi swats her hand away without hesitation, leveling her with a look—sharp, unimpressed. paige bites back a grin.

“thought of me when you got dressed?”

azzi’s brow furrows until realization flickers across her face. the purple. paige’s color. her lips part on a scoff, irritation slipping through in a low noise before she schools her features into a tight smile.

“no, i was not. i wasn’t thinking of you at all, actually," she says, her voice light, deceptively sweet. "not until your charming mother came up to me and said she was so glad to see me. oh, but that’s not all.”

paige arches a brow, intrigued, and reaches out to pull azzi closer by the waist, nudging her forward. “no?”

“no.” azzi lets out a breath, clutching the large present perched along her hip. the wrapping paper is a particular shade of green, the birthday girl’s favorite. “then she tells me she understands my brand partnerships have been monopolizing my time, which is why she hasn’t seen me with you in quite some time.”

paige leans back against her seat, stretching her legs out lazily. “i’m not seeing the problem, az.”

azzi stiffens. “you’re not—!” she cuts herself off, inhaling sharply through her nose, shoulders rising and falling as she tries to steady herself. “do you not understand how that makes me look?”

“like a busy wife?” paige quips, knowing full well she’s fanning the flames.

azzi’s eyes flash, but her voice is measured when she speaks again. “like a neglectful mother.”

that sobers paige instantly. she sits up, studying azzi’s face, the tension lining her features. “did she say that?”

“it’s implied, paige.” azzi shifts the present under her arm, pressing her fingers into the wrapped edges. “you’re always bringing our daughter around, always having fun with her. and then i take her for holidays, and it’s like—wow, azzi makes no effort to be there in any other way.” her throat tightens, and she shakes her head. “i mean, come on. i know you’re punishing me for leaving you, but can you at least give me this?”

paige’s tongue flicks out, pale pink swiping over her lower lip, brow knitting together. punishing azzi was never something she wanted to do. but before she can find the right words, a small blur of brown crashes into azzi’s legs, nearly sending her toppling over.

“mommy!”

azzi folds like a house of cards, collapsing to her knees in the grass without a care for her dress. she gathers their daughter into her arms, pulling her in so tightly it’s as if she’s afraid to let go.

“my mia,” azzi murmurs, voice low and thick with emotion. “happy birthday, baby.”

mia beams, the gap in her teeth dark and small, laughter bubbling up as she buries her face in her mother’s neck. it’s almost uncanny how much she looks like azzi. the same wide, joyful smile. the same burst of blush that rises along their cheeks when they’re excited. even the same curls, though looser—tumbling around the glittering spires of her birthday tiara.

azzi cradles mia’s face, thumbs stroking the plush of her cheeks. she fusses over her, straightening the sequined sage-green tutu and retying the laces of her chunky mini sneakers, her fingers gentle and practiced. paige knows it's a chance for her to collect herself. azzi hates crying in front of other people.

“mommy, i’ve been waiting for you! you weren't at home!”

“i’m sorry, baby. there was traffic,” azzi croaks, her voice betraying her. her hand flies to her throat—her tell, the reflex she always has when she’s trying not to cry. “but mommy sped a little bit. she just couldn’t wait to see her favorite girl.”

mia frowns. “you should be careful. mama says we shouldn’t go too fast, or we can get hurt.”

azzi exhales a quiet laugh, smoothing a hand down mia’s back. “yeah,” she whispers. “mama’s right.

paige clenches her jaw, something bitter and painful lodging itself deep in her ribs. she feels so sick at the idea that anyone could believe azzi doesn’t love their girl, this spitting image of her—maybe the only thing of azzi that she has left. she watches them—azzi, kneeling in the grass—and stands, her drink dangling dangerously from her hand, going to join the two. but then azzi stands and is gone—dragged away by mia’s small hand and even smaller strength.

she watches as azzi jogs along behind her, her heels puncturing the earth like glass through a lung. her hair bounces, streaked from the sun, and her body looks as though it’s trying to vibrate out of itself, her love so evident that it struggles to leave her and get to the child in front of her.

the light catches on the strands of her hair, identical to mia's who is bouncing with each hurried step.

and it’s so obvious—the way she moves, the way her whole body seems to vibrate with affection, her love so intense it barely fits inside her. it pours out of her like light, desperate to reach the child in front of her.

paige swallows hard.

𓃹

paige finds azzi in the kitchen, her hands braced on the countertop before they come up to wipe her face.

“why are you crying, mama? c’mere.”

azzi exhales sharply, shaking her head. “please don’t.”

paige doesn’t listen. she steps forward, hands curling around azzi’s waist, gentle but firm. azzi lets herself be held for a second. just a second. then she presses her hands against paige’s chest and cuts her off. she wraps her arms around herself as if she’s attempting to recreate the warmth.

paige sighs. “you mad at me?”

azzi laughs, quiet and humorless. “yeah, p, a little. there’s a point at which i can no longer take being ignored by my wife.”

the nickname just slips out. it’s muscle memory.

paige stills. “azzi.”

azzi tilts her head, searching her face. “i feel like—it’s just. you’ve only ever wanted me when you didn’t have me,” she murmurs. “and my whole life, i’ve been right there.”

paige opens her mouth, then closes it. she looks away, rubbing a hand over her jaw. “you know that ain’t true.”

“and then we got married, and i thought this would be it. we’d be happy and okay. but then—i don’t know. you were less my wife and more the most famous woman i knew saying hello from my ipad.”

paige’s eyes lower, growing dead and dark. azzi watches her for a long moment, recognizes the signs of her checking out, then sighs. “paige. why haven’t you told anyone we’re separated?”

paige blinks at her, called back into the present, and then lets out a short, incredulous breath. “azzi, you can’t be serious. i don’t want this.”

azzi’s jaw clenches. her hands shake as she turns away, pressing her palms to the counter again. the position emphasizes the toned silhouette of her arms.

paige steps closer, voice softer now. “i don’t want this.”

azzi swallows hard, staring at the marble beneath her hands. “i’m tired, p,” she says quietly. “i just want to wake up and love you and know you love me back. i just want to go on my walk and come back to find you there. i want to be with mia all the time. i want you to start talking to me.” her throat tightens. “but i’m never going to get that, am i? maybe it’s just too much to ask.”

paige exhales sharply, jaw tightening. “azzi—baby, you have to know that i didn’t step out on you. i wasn’t with anyone else. i wasn't. i just got caught up in the pressure and—”

“i know,” azzi says, finally looking at her. “i know, p, everything i do, i always understand. i always understood. but honestly, infidelity would have been better than the things i was feeling.

paige runs a hand over her face, lets out a rough laugh. “like what?”

“endless loneliness that was never going to stop.” paige remains quiet, her teeth digging into her bottom lip until it splits. “then we did ivf and had mia, and for a moment i was okay. i was better. i was good.”

“i couldn’t complain,” azzi says. “i didn’t.”

paige shakes her head, muttering something under her breath. “man, you act like i’m tryna hurt you.”

azzi closes her eyes. “it’s not like that.”

paige doesn’t know what to do with her hands. she shifts her weight like she wants to argue, but azzi doesn’t give her the chance.

“the fact that it’s not intentional is what makes it hurt so much,” azzi says after a moment. “that’s why i kept letting it go. it’s so easy to forgive you.” her mouth twists into a pained smile. “despite your mistakes, you’re not a malicious person.”

paige presses her lips together, her fingers twitching at her sides. “azzi, please—”

azzi shakes her head again, this time slower, more deliberate. “you don’t mean to hurt me, and so i’m still here. it’s my fault, really. no one is asking me to stand in the wreckage of the life i can’t seem to walk away from. that i still want.”

paige swallows hard, her throat bobbing. she wants to reach out, to pull azzi close, but she doesn’t. for the first time in her life, she doesn’t know how to reach her. azzi breaks the silence, wiping underneath her eyes with a bit of paper towel.

“come one. it’ll be time for presents soon.”

paige watches her walk away for the millionth time, watches how her back ripples with the flex of her muscles. in the following silence, she only thinks of azzi’s eyes and how dark they are. just like mia’s.

𓃹

the night is a welcome change. the house is quieter, the soft hum of the city bleeding in through the balcony doors. the partygoers have gone, goody bags in hand and heads lolling sleepily along their parents’s shoulders. mia herself had been babbling nonsensically, her hand tight around her brand-new barbie doll. paige had it specifically made to look like her mommy.

it was mia’s favorite present of the day. it made azzi cry for the second time that afternoon.

inside, the house is still cluttered with evidence of a child’s birthday well celebrated, a day well lived. paper plates are stacked on the counter, ribbons forgotten on the floor, the faint scent of frosting lingering in the air. paige tosses a few cups into the trash and wipes down the counter before realizing azzi isn’t beside her anymore.

she roams the halls, peeking into rooms until she finds her on the balcony just outside of paige’s childhood bedroom, leaning against the railing, a thin, silver vape pinched between her fingers. the glow of it flares as she takes a slow inhale, her body unmoving except for the way her shoulders rise and fall.

paige frowns. “since when do you smoke?”

azzi exhales, a thin stream of vapor curling into the night. it smells a bit too sweet, a few inches too far from the cherry it aims to evoke. it’s clearly not hers.

“since i shattered my knee and my dreams and became my top athlete wife’s accessory?” her voice is light, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. “i’m kidding. only recently. i don’t do it all the time, though, and never around mia.”

she shifts and paige steps closer, leaning against the railing beside her and sliding her hands into the pockets of her black sweatpants.

“truth be told, i hate how it makes me feel.”

“so why are you doing it?”

azzi huffs out a laugh, breathless, humorless. she tilts her head back and blinks up at the sky like she’s searching for something. “feels better than this.”

that’s when paige sees it. the sheen in azzi’s eyes, the way her lashes are clumped together, the tiny tremor in her fingers. she’s been crying again.

paige exhales, something tight wrapping around her ribs. without thinking, she reaches out and takes the vape from azzi’s hand, flicking it off and setting it on the balcony ledge. azzi doesn’t stop her.

“you’re such a crybaby,” paige mutters, but it comes out soft, almost affectionate. she turns, crowding azzi’s space just enough. “i don’t know why you don’t talk to me—”

“i don’t want to bother you,” azzi says, and her voice is incredibly small.

azzi looks at her then, really looks at her. for a second, it feels like the air between them shifts, something raw and fragile opening up. paige can feel her pulse in her throat, a nervous tremor she isn’t used to.

azzi reaches up, slow and deliberate, and cradles paige’s face in her hands. her thumbs skim the sharp edges of her jaw, her touch featherlight but grounding. paige exhales, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. when she opens them again, azzi is watching her with something so deep it makes her ache.

“you know i’m so proud of you, right?” azzi whispers. “regardless.”

paige lets out a breath, something falling away miles down inside of her. she nods, just barely, and then—because she can’t help herself—she presses their foreheads together.

“you know that i love you, right?” paige says, voice rough. “for fucking real, az. you’re it for me.”

azzi closes her eyes, and when she breathes in, paige breathes with her. she doesn’t say anything, but her hands stay where they are, holding paige steady like she’s afraid to let go. her grip tightens, and then she goes to pull away but paige stills her with a hand around her wrist. azzi is cooperative with her touch this time, allowing paige to guide her back into the bedroom.

she doesn’t ask any questions when paige pulls her to the bed, pushing her down until she’s on her side. her head is heavy, afflicted with the buzz of nicotine, and she stays silent as her wife climbs in beside her. the two of them are two crescent moons made of flesh, mirroring one another in their grief and desires. paige presses their foreheads together once again and azzi focuses on the feeling of her warm skin, the hard bone.

she breathes out and paige breathes in as if to inhale her. azzi’s breath smells like cherry—real cherry.

“i hate it when things change,” azzi says, and her voice is strained with emotion.

“you could never make a decision,” paige teases, and azzi laughs wetly.

silence, then,

“p?”

“hmm?”

“i don’t want this either.”

paige pulls her closer, lifts one of her legs so that her dress slides up, and reveals the soft meat of her thigh. she settles azzi’s legs on top of hers, ensuring that they’re closer together.

“i know, ma. that’s what i’ve been trying to tell you.”

azzi’s buzz continues, drifting gently over her limbs until they’re heavy; her thoughts hazy around the edges. the world feels softer somehow; the pain is less jagged. she can feel every point where her body meets paige's—hip to hip, chest to chest, the tangle of their legs a familiar comfort she's been starving for.

the familiar scent of azzi’s perfume—something floral, threaded with dry vanilla, and subtle—fills paige's lungs. it's the same perfume paige had bought her for their fifth anniversary, the one azzi had worn every day since, even after she'd left.

"where you staying at?" paige asks, her voice low and rough against azzi's ear.

"the marriott downtown," azzi murmurs, her fingertips tracing idle patterns on the cotton of paige's shirt. "just until i figure things out."

paige makes a noise in the back of her throat, disapproving. "nah, i don’t like that. don't want you living out of suitcases in some hotel. and marriotts are very unsafe, you know. read an article that said they have the highest break-in rates of any hotel franchise.”

“and where was this article from?” azzi asked, her voice thick with amusement.

“girl, don’t even worry about it.” her hand travels up azzi's spine, warm and steady. azzi presses back into them, her body contorting in its search for comfort. "just come back home to me, mama. i'll sleep on the couch if you want, but at least i'll know you're safe."

"safe," azzi repeats, a small, broken laugh escaping her. "as if that's ever been the issue with us."

"it's always been the issue," paige counters, her fingers now threading through the loose curls at the nape of azzi's neck, careful not to disturb her bun. "you not feeling safe enough to tell me when i'm fucking up."

the honesty surprises them both. azzi shifts, propping herself up on an elbow to look at paige's face. in the dim light filtering in from the balcony, her features are soft, open in a way azzi hasn't seen in months.

"maybe we could try therapy," paige suggests, the words so deeply obvious of their difficulty.

azzi's eyes widen slightly. "you'd do that?"

"for you? for us?" paige's throat works as she swallows. "yeah. i would."

azzi leans in, drawn by something familiar and inevitable between them. their lips meet, soft and hesitant at first, then with growing urgency. it's not frantic, not desperate, but deep and prying. when they touch like this—in any capacity really—their lives feel as though they are their most sustainable.

paige's hands drift to azzi's waist, holding her close as if afraid she might evaporate. they're trying to get closer, always closer, as if the mere millimeters of space between them are too much to bear. azzi shifts until she's practically melted into paige, their bodies remembering each other in the dark.

they are teenagers again, rediscovering that the other feels the same, trying to live inside of each other.

when they break apart, azzi's lips are kiss-swollen and so dark, all the blood sucked to the surface. her eyes are heavy-lidded from more than just her high.

"i never signed the papers," she confesses, voice barely above a whisper.

paige stares at her for a moment before a genuine laugh bubbles up from her chest. "you really can't make a decision to save your life, can you?"

"shut up," azzi mumbles, burying her face in paige's neck, but there's no heat behind it. she loops a hand through paige’s hair, taking in the spill of gold across her palm. "i kept finding reasons to put it off."

"what kinda reasons?" paige asks, her hand sliding beneath the hem of azzi's dress to rest on the warm skin of her thigh, the touch reverent and possessive all at once.

"i don’t know. um, mia's birthday was coming up. then it was our anniversary. then it was…" she trails off, her voice dropping even lower. "then it was because every time i went to sign, i couldn't—i couldn’t remember why i was leaving in the first place."

the admission hangs in the air between them, heavy with implication. paige's hand stills on azzi's skin.

"you still love me," paige says, not a question but a revelation.

"that was never the problem," azzi replies, the words muffled against paige's collarbone. "loving you is like breathing. i don't know how to stop, and i’d die if i did."

paige's arms tighten around her. they still aren’t looking at each other. "then don't. come home, az. we'll figure the rest out."

"it's not that simple—"

"it is. it could be," paige insists, but her voice is gentler now. "i know i fucked up. i know i let my career become everything. but i swear to god, az, i'm done with that shit. nothing's worth losing you. nothing."

azzi lifts her head, her gaze meeting paige's in the semi-darkness. the proximity has left her thoughts fluid, boundaries blurred, making it easier to say what she's been holding back. "hope is a dangerous thing, p, and you’re giving it to me.”

“i know," paige agrees, her thumb brushing over azzi's bottom lip. "but what's the alternative? living half a life? watching mia grow up in two different homes when we both know that ain't what we want?"

azzi closes her eyes, letting the weight of paige's words wash over her. when she opens them again, there's a quiet determination there, fragile but present.

"i'll consider coming home," she says finally, her practicality still firm despite her emotional exhaustion. "but we have to go to therapy, and you have to try. no excuses."

relief floods paige's face, so naked and earnest that it makes azzi's heart clench. "yes, yes, okay," she whispers, pressing her forehead to azzi's. "thank you, baby.”

"you don’t have to thank me," azzi replies, playing nonchalantly but there's a softness to her words that takes away the sting. her hand comes up to rest against paige's jaw, her thumb brushing over the bone. “i want—i miss you so much. it hurts sometimes, aches right inside of my ribs. i haven't been able to sleep without you.”

"i'm right here," paige murmurs against her temple. "i'm always gonna be right here, waiting for you."

they lie there in the quiet, bodies intertwined, the world spinning just beyond the balcony doors. neither speaks for a long time, content to exist in this fragile moment. azzi closes her eyes, her head heavy on paige's chest, rising and falling with each breath. the buzz is fading, reality seeping back in, but she holds onto this feeling—hopes that she will get to feel it again.

she thinks of mia, pictures their baby girl sleeping with her mouth slack and none the wiser to the complexities of loving someone else. she hopes she never finds out.

"you're it for me, az," paige murmurs into her hair, the words a quiet repetition from earlier. "always have been."

azzi doesn't respond for a moment, but her fingers tighten in paige's shirt, holding on as if to say: i know. me too.

"i know," azzi says, out loud this time. "you’re it for me too. i mean, you're paige. we go together. you're everything. i don’t think there was ever anyone else for me."

paige's heart clenches, a painful pulse in her chest. she smooths a hand down azzi’s side.

her heart pumps, thumps out a message.

azzi’s heart thumps back.

© hcneymooners.

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ i am more with you than i ever was before.

married!retired!pazzi. men & minors dni.

synopsis: azzi doesn’t want a baby.

cw: panic attacks, anxiety, discussion of fertility/reproductive choices, brief mention of suicidal ideation (drowning reference), internalized shame, adult relationships and what it means to keep them afloat, angst, emotional breakdown, communication issues, crying like seriously it gets to a point, emotional overwhelm, angst with a happy ending, the act of relearning someone you love.

notes: this is a very personal piece to me. i hope even if you feel differently, you don't hate it too much. all my love. x

p.s someone asked if i could make my font bigger, so i'm trying. i kind of hate it but i also want to be accessible for all of you, so it'll be worth it in the end.

azzi had never spoken of children. it was a word she did not know; a dead language with no living heirs.

she understood motherhood in the abstract. the plight of it. the radiance. the blood-warm halo of new life. she was looking at it now.

one of paige’s former teammates. laughing. glowing. round with consequence. her stomach jutting softly under the silk of her dress, tight and tender like a full peach left in the sun. azzi could imagine the skin beneath it, thin and distended protectively over the body bobbing inside of her. 

something was formed inside. someone. half her, half her husband. a collage of cartilage and memory. the baby would have her small nose. his wide, wet eyes. his hair: black curls that spilled over his forehead and down his cheeks like something crawling.

there was pink paper on the tile. shredded and fluffed like bedding for a small mammal. it had all been filler for bags full of tiny socks and breast pumps. it crinkled under azzi’s flats when she stepped the wrong way, chastising her. she should have walked around it: let it grow, be radiant, be new. but she couldn’t see the paper anymore. she only saw what it stood in for. 

tissue. womb lining. a thing to be shed.

she had been trying to be good. she had gotten paige’s roots done the morning they flew out. she had painted her nails a devout, sickly red. she had packed the gift, had glanced at it for a long while, where it sat soft and sagging on the counter. it slouched like a mouth breathing in sleep. 

it would’ve been easy to drive away from the house without it, to pop her mouth open in a perfect ‘o’ of surprise as she realized she’d forgotten it right as the plane’s nose rose into the clouded sky. but she didn’t, because it would’ve mattered greatly to paige.

paige. paige, her reasoning for everything most days, was here in this moment. so avidly enthusiastic about the event, perfectly gorgeous. soft-bunned, lips glossed from a fleeting kiss they’d shared just outside of the gate, flushed with too much joy. 

she looked like summer in dallas, in california, where azzi had once wanted to live. she moved as someone should, as someone unaware of the tumor curling deeply within her wife. she handed over the gift, smiling too widely. it was small—a sweater to grow into, wrapped perfectionistically in star-stained muslin. 

azzi had watched her curl the ribbon with scissors. a great deal of care. so much hope.

now, azzi stood in the kitchen. cold. quiet. her arms crossed like a shield over her stomach, though there was nothing to protect. her eyes dragged over the celebration but didn’t register it. her hair was piled on her head like a crown made of oil slicks, held together with a ribbon so dark a blue it almost looked black. 

her mouth was dry.

everyone here wore pastels, appropriate bright clothing, which only made it more obvious that she had missed the mark. she reached for a glass of water. the sink gurgled like it was choking. outside, a dog barked at nothing. the hills rose gold with sunset. 

she imagined herself having swapped places, sitting where this other woman sat with child, and felt a cold bulge under her ribs. it was as if something foreign had lodged into her spine. a possession.

she wanted to scream into a pillow until her teeth cracked. instead, she sipped.

this is how she knew she was sick because who could ever be sad in the beckoning arms of italy?

“they’re naming her mila,” said a voice to her left. “isn’t that so cute?”

azzi turned to where a woman, bright and blonde, was perched next to her with a wine glass that threatened to inundate azzi’s skin with its contents. maybe it would wake her up. 

“just makes you want one of your own, doesn’t it?”

azzi felt her bottom lip tremble, a deluge of feeling almost released. no, she wanted to say. no. i will have to spend a lifetime separating my body from my mind.

instead, she stretched her lips a bit unnaturally from side to side so that her teeth could peek, white and slick with spit. she nodded, timing the enthusiasm with a long sip of water before speaking.

“i’ve always loved the name sloane for a girl. a bit heavy, i know, but i’d like to think it gives her a better chance of growing up to be a cool girl.”

the woman laughed, and the sound brought paige’s gaze up and onto azzi, blue and ever-searching. azzi smiled, her eyes crinkling and her body softening. it was her natural state when it came to paige. 

always giving in, caving in, falling in. at risk of losing herself, though that scared her less than the future this party promised. 

“well, you probably have a lot longer to go on your own than i do.” 

the words brought azzi back to the blonde beside her, the one just in reach. and there was something in the way the woman said it, something so dismal that lay weak and sweet just on the underside of the statement that azzi lowered her glass to the counter. 

but then it was over, the woman flashing a slice of white to azzi before moving on to the center of the room, where azzi wasn’t. 

couldn’t be. 

wouldn’t.

i love children, but i will not love mine. 

azzi read the line for a third time, looking at the familiar swirls of her own handwriting along the matte page of her journal. she was returned to the home they had rented for the weekend, but she had sequestered herself in the guest bedroom. 

the room was an asylum of whitewashed stone and terracotta tiles painted a sleepy ash green that felt blissfully cool underneath azzi's bare feet. at her side were a set of french doors opened onto a small balcony overlooking olive groves that stretched silver-viridescent toward the hills, but she'd drawn the gauze curtains hours ago, cutting herself off from the golden light that seemed to mock her mood despite its death into twilight.

paige had hung back, gone for drinks at the bar with the husband and some other women—nika and dijonai included—but azzi had indulged an old, teenage whim and faked a catastrophic headache so that she might be left alone. the guilt was quick, tepid, a flare spurred only by the soft kiss paige had pressed to her forehead and the tylenol she had pressed to her tongue. 

sleep, mama, paige had murmured, and because she could never help it, azzi had tensed and then forced the decompression. the word meant more here. 

the birth, the raising, the homemaking—it all disturbs me. i don’t understand it and i don’t want it. but everyone else is convinced that i do.

so, now, azzi sat cross-legged on the creamy linen duvet, her journal split wide and open in her lap. she'd already written what felt like multiple enormous confessions, but the words kept coming, coalescing like clots from a reopened vein. 

she paused, her pen hovering over the cream paper. from downstairs, she could hear the faint sound of laughter drifting through the open windows. someone's dinner party on a neighboring terrace. normal people living normal lives, wanting normal things.

today at the shower, i felt as though i was wearing someone else's skin. paige was so happy, so eager. so beautiful. my girl, bathed in light and the avid desire for this to be us. and all i could think was: this will kill me. not the pregnancy, not the birth, but the after. the endless after of pretending to love something i created when all i want is to run. how do you tell someone you love that you can't give them the thing they want most? how do you explain that the thought of being someone's mother makes you feel as though you’ve been shot? i need to call my mother.

but she wouldn’t. 

she set the pen down, her hand cramping. the shower called to her. hot water, steam, a place to wash away the residue of the day's performance, of her incessant mental demand. god, she could be so selfish. azzi rose, legs unfolding for miles as she left the notebook exposed on the bed, its pages catching the edges of the evening’s blue seep creeping through the curtains.

the water was scalding, exactly how she needed it. she stood under the rain showerhead until her skin turned pink, until it was less of a standing and more of a sway, until her head was unbearably light and she felt clean again. 

eventually, she stepped out, more secure in her skin and bones. she swaddled herself like a child, wrapped her limbs in the confines of a rosy silk robe she'd found hanging on the bathroom door—hand-painted with delicate herons that seemed to flutter with every sweep of the fabric—and stared at herself in the mirror’s fogged face. 

she looked like one long, petal of a woman with a face so sad underneath the surface, she wondered how anyone could stand looking at her at all. she wished for a moment that she was steadier, that she was less reserved and able to have her brain explain any feeling without reducing all that was around her to debris. 

azzi looked away, then padded back into the bedroom, her curls still dark and dripping, leaving dim spots on the robe's blushing length.

she left her heat-induced baptism to find paige sitting on the edge of the bed, azzi’s journal in her hands. the book suddenly looked so large, so thunderous, strappy leather dyed patiently until it was navy blue. one of paige’s long, pale fingers had fallen over the middle of her gold-embossed initials.

ajf. all covered up.

paige looked up when azzi entered, watched her stumble to a graceless stop with a face as unreadable as rock. she was still dressed in the dregs of her evening out—dark jeans and a lilac button-down rolled up at the sleeves and embroidered at the collar—her hair pulled back in the low bun she always wore when she wanted to look put-together. a soft sphere of blonde that toed the line between ice-white and pale cherubic yellow. 

there was a flush across her cheekbones that could have been wine or summer heat, but was most likely shock.

“what is this?” paige asked, her voice careful and strange.

azzi's hand flew to her mouth. “oh my god.” the words came out muffled against her palm. her eyes filled, hot and fast, and she reached for the journal with her free hand. “it's nothing, i—”

but paige was quicker, lifting the journal easily out of reach. “no, az. what is this?”

azzi crumpled then, softly at first, and then all at once as if her mind had finally closed the gap between body and soul. her shoulders caved inward like she was trying to disappear into herself. the robe felt suddenly too light, too revealing. she pulled it more tightly around her body, her wet curls clinging to her neck like self-made accusations.

“how do you tell someone you love that you can't give them the thing they want most?” paige read aloud, her voice growing quieter with each word. azzi stumbled forward, hands grasping at the leather lip of the journal. paige easily sidestepped her. 

“paige, stop it. stop. paige!”

paige was heedless of her cry, continued reading. “how do you explain that the thought of being someone's mother makes you feel as though you’ve been shot?”

she looked up, her eyes miles of wide ocean, searching and hurt. “azzi, what the fuck?”

the profanity hung in the air between them, sharp and foreign in the soft room. paige never swore like that, not at her. never.

azzi's breath came in short, shallow gasps. she couldn’t look at paige's face, couldn't bear to see whatever was written there. the room felt like it was shrinking, the walls pressing in like padding, closer with every heartbeat. azzi’s chest was tight, too constricted, like someone had wrapped wire around her ribs and was pulling, pulling, pulling.

she slid back a step, head suddenly pounding. a real migraine this time around. though had she really been faking previously? there had been pain in her body, there had been pain somewhere else, and she had simply displaced it to a location where it had better served her in the moment.

“i'm sorry,” she croaked. “i'm so sorry.”

and still, the air wasn't coming right. each inhale felt thin, insufficient. that infernal robe clung to her damp skin like a second layer of shame, and azzi shuddered it off as if it were a snake. she pressed her palms against her chest, trying to force her lungs to expand, but they wouldn't obey.

now she was revealed in all her tumorous nature, her arms and legs malignant, her wants spread across the table for people to poke and prod. she wore nothing except a black calvin klein thong that cut high and one of her old curry camp tees, from its first run in china. 

“i can't—” she gasped, stumbling backward. “i can't breathe.”

her heel caught on the edge of an uplifted tile, the edge serrated and punishing. she reached out blindly for balance and her hand struck the ceramic vase on the side table, a delicate orange-flushed thing painted with the same geometric herons as her robe. it toppled, shattering against the stone floor with a sound like a window shattering in place.

azzi stared down at the scattered pieces, jagged and belly-up against the dark tiles, vicious triangles of white insides spun all over the floor. her vision tunneled. everything felt far away, out of touch, and far too close simultaneously. azzi took a step toward the mess, her bare feet already moving before her brain could catch up.

“baby, no.” paige was there suddenly, her hands on azzi's arms, pulling her away from the broken ceramic. “don't. you'll cut yourself.”

azzi shook her head, plucking at paige’s hands weakly, tears streaming down her face openly now. she was both aware and unaware of her crying, of her loss of self-control. “no, i—no, i broke it. i broke it, i'm sorry, i—jesus, i break everything. i—”

“hey, hey. azzi, i need you to look at me, sweetheart.” paige's voice had shifted completely, gone soft and urgent. she guided azzi away from the shatter, away from the remnants of the vase, her hands steady and warm against azzi’s skin. “it's okay. it's just a vase, baby. just breathe with me.”

azzi's whole body was immersed in her suffering now, trembling. her panic was a living thing inside her chest, clawing at her throat. 

oh, she thought, a birth.

“i can't do this,” she said. “i can't be what you need me to be.”

“azzi,” paige responded. “i need you to calm down first, just breathe with me. then we can talk about what i allegedly need you to be.”

“but you’re mad at me,” azzi forced out. her chest hurt so badly. 

“no, i’m not, mama. ‘m just surprised. that’s all.”

“you can—you can be mad,” azzi tried to reassure her, blinking white spots from her vision.

“i know i can, baby, but i’m telling you i’m not. trust me, ‘m feeling a lot of things right now, but anger isn’t one of them.”

azzi let paige guide her to the bed with hands that were steady and sure, her palms flat and warm as they curled over the rim of azzi’s shoulders. the vase lay forgotten in its brokenness on the floor like a small dismissible body, ceramic scattered in spots of orange across the stone. azzi's breathing was still threadbare, her chest rising and falling in patterns that reminded her of drowning.

she used to think that was one of the easier ways to die, because at some point you would just…go to sleep.

azzi sat where paige placed her, perched on the cusp of the mattress in nothing but her underwear and that faded shirt. her skin felt raw, as if she'd been turned inside out, every nerve ending uncovered to bask in the cooling evening air. 

the journal lay between them like evidence of a crime, pages disrupted from its natural order, its navy leather covering a great accusatory bruise.

paige settled beside her, close enough that azzi could breathe in her scent. tonight it was something woody and clean, like cedar shavings clasped in the hand, brushed along the ghost of fig and dry vanilla. it was a smell that had always made azzi feel safe, masculine in a way that never quite overwhelmed.

the two of them sat there looking out into the inky gloam, bodies leaning in to one another as if strung through with the same disease and seeking out a similar site of infection.

“how long?” paige asked eventually,  her voice barely feathering through the settled silence.

azzi pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around her shins like she was building a fortress of bone and flesh. the movement made her shirt ride up, exposing the brown stretch of her lower back. it didn’t matter. she was still so easily destructible. 

“how long what?”

“how long have you been drowning in this?” paige's hand found the space between azzi's shoulder blades, her palm flat and grounding against azzi's spine. “how long have you been convinced that wanting to be a mother would kill you?”

the touch was exactly what azzi had been aching for without knowing she needed it. she leaned into its placement, felt the warmth of paige’s hand seep through the thin cotton of her shirt.

“always,” she confessed, her voice simplistic in its exhaustion. “since i was small and my mother would hold other women’s babies and look at me like i was broken when i didn’t reach for them like all the other girls. since high school, when everyone talked about their future families, and i felt like i was listening to a foreign language.” her voice cracked. “i kept thinking it would come. the wanting. that it would knock on the door, that it would sneak in through an uneven floorboard, and that i'd wake up one day and suddenly feel normal.

“but it was always that foreign language. it was always me with my ear head up against the glass, hearing the murmur of other people’s lives as they moved on without me. and every relationship followed the same route. love and then love again and then separation, that shift of arctic ice, the distance of my wants against theirs.

“there was only ever one. one woman who wanted the same as me, but then she had to go and fuck it up, and i don’t know. i found you, and there was no before or after. you were my all, still am.”

azzi bent until her vertebrae strained against the i can’t—i can’t lose you, paige. you know how to translate me. you slide the glass back. you—”

her hands traveled up into her curls, tugged them from the root until she dragged her head up on the hinge of her neck so that paige could see the strength of her love and devastation.

paige’s hand moved in slow circles between her shoulder blades, the touch so tender it made azzi want to cry again. she felt that if paige pushed down her finger would enter her, would dip into the ripeness of her blood like you could pressure the skin of a fruit. outside, the hills had disappeared into the night, and somewhere in the distance, a bird was singing half-heartedly, unsure of itself. 

or maybe that was the sound of azzi’s own lungs.

“azzi,” paige said, and there was something careful in her voice, like she was approaching a wounded animal. a doe with its legs given out. “did you ever ask me what i wanted?”

azzi’s eyes snapped open. she was unsure of when they had closed. “what?”

“kids. babies. all of it.” paige's hand stilled on azzi's back. “did you ever ask me what i actually wanted, or did you just watch me be good with children and assume?”

the question splashed over the fire of her mind like cold water, frigid in its descent. azzi felt something hollow open in her chest, vast and echoing. she thought of all the times she'd watched paige hold infants at family gatherings, the easy way she'd wrapped the sweater, the casual ‘mama’ that slipped from her mouth like winterfall. always coming, inevitable.

“you're always so beautiful with them, so good,” azzi said, her voice small and threadbare. it broke toward the end. “you hold them like they're made of light, like they keep you on the ground. sometimes you—you talk about our future like it's already written.”

paige's thumb traced the knob of azzi's spine through her shirt. she let out a breath, long and slow.   “baby, i'm good with a lot of things. doesn’t mean i need to possess them all. and if our future is already written, it's in fucking pencil because nothing is guaranteed.”

azzi turned her body fully toward her, and paige's face was open and soft in the dim light, her hair falling loose from its bun in pale threads.

“i love kids,” paige continued, her voice steady and sure. “i think they’re beautiful and funny and pure. but loving something and needing to recreate it aren’t the same thing.” she reached up, tucked a damp curl behind azzi's ear. “i love the ocean. doesn't mean i need to live by the beach.”

something was shifting in azzi's chest, ice cracking after a long freeze. “i don’t—i don't understand.”

paige watched her for a long moment, then spoke.

“baby, i love you,” paige said, and the words were so simple they felt revolutionary. “i love the life we've built together. if kids happened, i'd love them too. if they didn't…” she shrugged, and the gesture was so casual it made azzi's throat tight. “then we'd love other things. each other. our work. our friends’ kids. there are infinite ways to love, azzi.”

the room felt swollen with a new shame, one borne of the realization that azzi had worked herself up and over a slew of possibilities that she’d never allowed herself to imagine. she stared at her wife’s face, searching for the disappointment she’d been so certain would be there. instead, she found only tenderness, an understanding, and something that looked almost like relief.

“you're not mad at me?” the question came out hesitantly, barely audible.

“no, mama. i'm upset that you've been holding all of this on your own,” paige said, her hand moving to cup azzi's face. “i'm upset that you were willing to sentence yourself to a version of the future that would kill you. i’m upset that you felt like you couldn't tell me any of this. you have to talk to me, az. you have to, baby. it can’t always be like this.” 

azzi leaned into the hold, paige’s pulse like horse hooves against her cheek. there was new water, new salt, but tears felt different. unattached to her turmoil. a clean revelation.

“i was terrified,” azzi admitted. “i thought if you knew, you'd realize you could have someone better. someone who wanted the same future you wanted. i thought you’d leave.”

“azzi.” paige’s voice was firm now, her thumb brushing away the tears. “look at me.”

azzi did, and saw herself reflected in the other woman’s eyes, unbroken nor defective, only seen.

“i will never leave. you know this. you once told me that my loyalty is one of the things you love about me,” paige said. “and you are the future i want. not some version of you that is a shadow of who you are. not some version of who you think you should be. you. exactly as you are. exactly this afraid, exactly this honest, exactly this worried and shaking and beautiful.”

the words landed like absolution, the first breath after a millennium submerged. azzi felt her body sag with relief, years of held terror finally released into the forest-scented space between them. 

she pressed a kiss to paige’s fingertips, tasting the salt of the only woman on earth that was made for her.

“i love you, paige,” azzi said, and she watched fondly as paige’s face lit up. there was a beat, then she leaned in and crushed herself to her wife, mouth to mouth. when they broke apart, azzi’s lips were slightly swollen from the pressure, from the need.

“well, someone should clean that up,” azzi said, her voice hoarse as she pointed toward the ceramic on the floor.

“i’ll do it,” paige offered, always ready to serve, but azzi held her in place with a hand.

her headache was ebbing, and as she stood, paige pressed a wet, temperate kiss to the brown stretch of her stomach. azzi’s hips flexed becomingly in her underwear, her thighs plush and curved. she ran a hand through paige’s hair, undoing her bun, and closed her eyes as her wife kissed another strip of skin.

“no, it’s alright,” azzi murmured. “i’ve got it.”

© hcneymooners.

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ i am giving you food [ ... ] because i cannot give you the world.

age gap!neighbors!pazzi. men & minors dni.

wc: 8.1k

synopsis: azzi & paige are neighbors. paige cooks every night, and azzi can almost always smell it. she starts going over for dinner.

cw: loneliness, relocation anxiety, performance pressure, crying/an itty bitty emotional breakdown, azzi vs minding her own business, age gap dynamics (azzi is 23, paige is in her 40s), non-sexual intimacy (my fave), sexual tension, paige's hands as a religious experience, making out, food as the sixth love language, domesticity, lesbians vs that one older woman, the mortifying ordeal of being known, being pathetic in the face of your crush.

notes: part two of making my font bigger for accessibility. i always return to food when i cannot eat, when i cannot write. vampire pazzi is coming soon; i just needed to bleed this out. this is a gift for princess cessa ( @azzibuckets ) and for miss elle ( @elleaitch22 ) because people have been fucking weirdos in her inbox.

love you x

the thing is, it starts by accident. it does. it does, it does.

azzi had just moved in by herself, her palms soured by the tight hold needed to hold on to her endless boxes. she had clung to her father, to his strong back and warm body. she had clung to her mother, her smell like lilies and the beach, never-ending. she knew she would see them soon, but those dates were undefined, and so her face had flooded and swollen with tears as she watched them drive off with her childhood in their backseat—those years of her young heart spent in their home, in their arms.

and now she had been left lonely in the red desert heart of arizona, a decision made by both her job and herself. she hadn’t needed to accept the trade offer to the phoenix mercury, but she had needed a change, something physical she could feel around and inside of her. something like heat; an absence of cold.

the apartment was a museum of her own exile. each unpacked box acted as a landmark, a monument to the life she'd carried to this new land like stone in a pocket: heavy, necessary, punishing. she moved through the empty rooms that yawned before her, feet bare, skin and veins pressed against the hard ridge of terracotta tiles, learning a new earth; a warmth that would have shocked her skin raw back home. 

she tackled the bedroom first, the blank bones calling to her with its impossible window, that vast throat of desert swallowing the last amber of daylight. as the sky did its daily bleed into evening, azzi pulled her sheets from their careful fold, and in a matter of seconds, her breath caught. navy flannelette dotted with tiny bluebells, a pattern that belonged to march mornings and cool rain on windows, the idea of not getting caught outside in the shrapnel of a downpour. not to here, in this place where the sun husked over every sliver of life, painted it the color of dried blood. the fabric felt foolish in her hands, skin-soft and yearning for a cold that would never come. 

azzi’s eyes burned. fuck, i'm not prepared. the realization landed in her chest, knocking another monsoon of tears loose. she'd packed for the wrong life, carried the wrong comfort to the wrong place. 

but she spread them anyway, these sheets that smelled like the door left open in her childhood bedroom, like the crinkled rose sachets her mother tucked between towels, the floral kiss darkened by the pressure of scalding shower steam. the bed assembled itself under her hands, a raft of misplaced seasons in this sea of warm-toned walls.

her shower afterward was a baptism in steam and water that tasted distantly of minerals, reminding her of this new distance. she let the heat work into her shoulders, beat along her brow, and into the places where grief had made a home. when she emerged, brown skin flushed and gleaming, she reached for the clothes she'd laid out without thinking: a soft milky yellow cotton cardigan draped across a baby blue camisole that sat neatly along her toned arms, wide-legged pants of the same gold that caught the evening breeze through her cracked sliding door. a matching set. 

the fabric was kind to her body, forgiving in the way she needed everything to be right now.

azzi was bent over, smoothing cocoa butter and vanilla oil into her legs, her dark curls still damp and curling tighter in the dry air, when she smelled it.

garlic blooming in oil, that first sharp hiss of possibility. the green bite of herbs meeting meat, baking itself from raw to edible. rosemary, maybe thyme, things that understood innately how to survive in harsh places. something deeper underneath, wine-dark and patient, perhaps the animal bones breaking and surrendering their marrow to time and fire. 

her body responded before her mind could catalog it: saliva pooling, stomach clenching with a low, eager growl, a sudden onset of hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with the sudden, startling knowledge that she was not alone. 

there was someone close enough to her that she could smell their cooking. someone who might think to check on her if they grew close enough, who would notice if they hadn’t seen her and check to see if she’d died or disappeared.

maybe she was more like miranda hobbs than she liked to let on. but still, the point stood. 

someone nearby was creating warmth, transformation, and wielding the alchemy that took the raw into sustenance. the smell wrapped around her, dizzied her with its presence. 

and so, azzi followed it without really deciding to, her feet whispering across her floors as she carried herself through her newly cacophonous flat to the outside hallway that connected her unit to the next. the odor was stronger here, richer, complicated, and greasy with layers she couldn't name. it all came together to form a fantasy that made her mouth water and her chest tight with longing. 

behind the door, she could hear movement. quick, efficient gestures, the dance of someone comfortable in their own space. before she could think better of it, she was knocking against the dark wood, her hand curling into a tight sphere of taut muscle before returning into a flat press.  the sound echoed for a moment, a sharp one-time hit that made azzi flinch back into the present.

for a moment, she thought she had come through without being heard. perhaps her attempt at interrupting this other person’s private space had been overwhelmed by the sizzle of caramelizing onions, by the sweetness of sesame oil and tarragon. but then there were footsteps, faint but then strong, ever approaching. 

the movement made her panic. god, what was she doing? she turned to flee, but the door opened behind her, and a voice rasped out, 

"hello?"

azzi spun back, her big brown eyes wide, a deer lined up before the shot. she took in the woman leaning against the door frame. she was tall, thin, but rippling with pecks of muscle depending on which way she shifted. her blonde hair was nearly platinum, roped back in a loose ponytail, loose strands catching along the sharp cut of her jaw and high cheekbones. light flooded from behind her, burnishing her pale skin into something a little more golden, and it shadowed her gaze, though azzi could make out the placid blue of her eyes—a hue like deep water—studying her with a blank curiosity that could dip into annoyance at any time. 

she shifted forward and stepped further out of the light, and azzi saw that her skin was flushed from cooking heat. her jaw was a little stronger rather than sharp, and her hands were large with long fingers and veins snaking along the back, hands that knew their way around the world. a thin gold chain caught the hallway light, resting against her collarbones like liquid sun above the lilac of her cropped tank that bared the easy sculpt of her stomach.

she was beautiful, in an undeniable way that made azzi's breath stick in her throat, but leaned masculine in clothing, hips cupped by loose black sweats.

“oh—i'm—shit. i’m sorry,” azzi started, her voice smaller than intended. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to bother you, i just—the smell from your kitchen, it came through the vents and—”

the woman’s head tilted, pale pink lips splitting like a flower opening to show a sleek white smile. a few fine lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes as she did it, a kind sign of an age that spoke of years spent squinting into the hard glare of life and coming out all the better for it.

“you’re fine, mama.”

azzi went pink and silent, a hand coming up to tuck a curl behind her ear. she wondered if she looked as young as she felt, clearly trapped in her early twenties and fending for herself.

“you hungry?” the woman's voice carried the slightest edge of something familiar, a cadence that felt like home even though azzi had never heard it before. she leaned back into her apartment, knocking the door wider with her hip. “‘cause if you are, you can come in. made way too much anyway.”

azzi felt herself soften before she even answered. “yes, please. i’d really like that.”

“figured if you came knocking.” azzi went even pinker. “come on in…”

it took a moment for azzi to realize the woman was waiting for her name. she tugged her cardigan tighter along her shoulders, laced her fingers together as she glanced up from underneath her lashes, every bit of twenty-three.

“i’m azzi. azzi fudd.”

her neighbor smiled again, eyes crinkling. “nice to meet you, azzi fudd. i’m paige bueckers.”

two weeks later, azzi had learned to expect the call of paige’s meals. 

she’d fit the timing into her schedule like a surgeon adjusting the position of a bone. six-thirty, like clockwork, the scent would begin its slow crawl under her door, through the gaps in her windows, curling around her ankles like phantom fingers of a child. she'd started positioning her evening routine around it.

shower at six, lotion and oil rubbed into skin still damp with steam as she let her body air-dry, then the careful selection of clothes that toed the line between publicly acceptable and comfortable enough to be unmistakably for lazing about. the choice for tonight’s plating hung on her closet door: a ribbed grey crop top that hugged her torso like a lover's hands, matching straight-leg pants that whispered against the tops of her ankles whenever she moved. 

the fabric was soft enough to sleep in, fitted enough to suggest intention without declaring it. clothing, in a way, had always been azzi’s secondary pulse.

she was contemplating whether to braid her hair back into two messy plaits or leave it loose and allow it to curl benevolently around her shoulders when her phone buzzed against the bathroom counter, vibrating against the marble with urgency. a text from her mother about dinner plans for her visit next month, something about wanting to try that new seafood place downtown, where the prawns came butterflied and glistening with truffle oil. 

azzi typed back quickly, her thumbs moving across the screen while her mind wandered to other dinners, other tables where she might be wanted. when she finished, she realized the usual symphony from next door had been replaced by silence.

no sizzling of shallots surrendering to heat. no clatter of pans being moved with practiced efficiency. no soft knife’s kiss to the red burst of meat beneath its teeth, rivulets of pink running down a pale, corded wrist, and tucking underneath carefully manicured nails.

azzi spun around, pattering softly to her own kitchen to press her ear to the wall they shared—their layouts were opposing—ridiculous and desperate, straining for any sign of life. she was gifted nothing but the mechanical hum of her own stainless steel refrigerator and the distant drone of traffic on the highway cutting through the desert like a glittering river of sound. she heard it carry other bodies past her, other silhouettes, including the one she was aching for now.

paige must be out. or maybe she was sick, laid low by something that made feeding herself impossible. azzi’s chest clenched at the thought. she needed someone to take care of her, despite her being in her forties and weathered, and maybe azzi could be that person. 

or maybe—maybe she'd grown tired of feeding the lonely girl next door and decided to order takeout instead, choosing a kinder way to shatter the ritual that had been imposed upon her, that had begun to feel like an unwanted promise.

that thought threaded itself in azzi's blood, her own personal infection, heavier than it had any right to be. she pulled on a pair of cream slides and grabbed her woven tote from the hook by the door, the one her mother had insisted on buying her before the move. you'll need it for grocery runs, she'd said, and azzi had rolled her eyes good-naturedly at the presumption—mom, i’ll just get them delivered—but now she clutched its handle like a lifeline.

the whole foods near their complex was a cathedral of organic excess, done to the excessively polished wooden flooring on multiple levels and the high ceilings with spirals of yellow-burning glass lanterns. every footstep echoed, and the paths of the shoppers melded into one, a soundtrack of lives being lived together for the brief time they were here together. the air conditioning struck azzi like a slap across the cheek when she walked through the automatic doors, raising goosebumps along her bare arms as she surveyed the sprawling maze of abundance before her.

what to get, what to get? was there a set list for those here on a sham mission?

azzi moved through the produce section with the careful attention of someone still learning how to feed herself properly, weighing avocados in her palm and testing their give. each fruit was a small decision, a commitment to staying alive and nourished for another day. 

she was holding a particularly promising specimen when she heard it, a low laugh that traveled up her spine like electricity, familiar as her own heartbeat.  she briefly fumbled with her avocado before feeling a surge of embarrassment and panic and subsequently dumping a bounty of three into her tote.

she turned, pretending to care about nothing more than the potential satisfaction of a group of butternut squashes, and peeked over at where paige was leaning against the handle of an oversized cart twenty feet away, hair pulled back in a messy low bun, glasses on the tip of her nose. something about their precarious positioning made azzi’s stomach spark brightly with affection. 

she had clearly come from some sort of practice, lithe body still caged in sweaty clothes: shorts that showed the long stretch of her legs, tan and strong from hours spent running drills, a dallas wings tank from her former days that clung to the damp patches under her arms and between her shoulder blades where sweat had bloomed like bruised flowers.

paige was talking to a young woman near the organic tomatoes—clearly a fan—smiling easily and gesturing with her hands as she spoke, and something about the easy familiarity of it, the way she inhabited space without apology, the way her voice carried just enough to suggest confidence rather than volume; it made azzi's chest constrict with longing so sharp it felt like hunger.

then paige's eyes lifted, that clear blue shielded tenderly by dark lashes that spoke of her brunette origins, finding hers across the produce section. and her face shifted into something that looked like genuine pleasure, unguarded and bright. azzi felt her heart start to bleed, as it always did when her hope for friendship began to blur into a crush, and she waved awkwardly, nearly upending an unsuspecting batch of carrots eagerly poking forward in the hopes of her consumption.

muttering a prayer that paige hadn’t seen that near miss, she watched as paige gently brought her interaction with the fan to a close and began to push her cart toward azzi with the confidence of someone who had never doubted her welcome anywhere. up close, azzi could smell the salt of her, the proof of her beautiful build in motion, the faint sweetness of whatever cologne she used, something clean and expensive and dark with a frail touch of vanilla that probably came in a bottle with a scandinavian name. 

paige's gaze flicked over azzi's outfit—the grey crop top that left a slice of brown skin visible, the way the matching pants hung low on her hips so that the ‘v’ of the bones extended an invitation to desire them—and something in her expression shifted almost imperceptibly, a flicker of appreciation that was there and gone so quickly azzi wondered if she'd imagined it.

the girl paige had been talking to eyed them both for an extended moment before she moved away with a scoff, and suddenly, azzi felt self-conscious. what did she look like in the eyes of someone else? what did their dynamic appear to be? maybe the girl didn’t care; maybe all that mattered to her was not the romantic entanglement of a fellow beautiful young woman, but the fact that she was not the one entangled.

paige was close enough now that azzi could see the fine sheen of perspiration along her collarbones, the way her hair stuck to the nape of her neck in damp golden strands. she looked like she'd stepped directly from the gym into this fluorescent temple of “from-the-earth” everything, and somehow made it look like an advertisement spread for gq.

azzi felt suddenly aware of her effort. the careful casualness of her little outfit, the way she'd let her curls air-dry into an inky halo that appeared effortless but had required specific products applied in a particular order. her hands had been slick by the end of all of her primping, despite her muscles screaming in pain post-her own practice. 

next to paige's genuine dishevelment, her preparation felt obvious, desperate.

paige peered into azzi's mostly empty bag with mock concern, her eyes blue and bright with something that refused to call the line between teasing and genuine endearment. azzi hadn’t wanted something this badly since her draft night.

“i see we’re planning to survive this week on three avocados and a bag of the world’s smallest celery,” she said, and azzi felt heat creep up her neck because she had, in fact, been thinking of a nice plate of ranch and green vegetable slices while she slid her card information safely into the benediction of amazon fresh. 

before she could formulate a response that wouldn't sound pathetic, paige was already moving, gesturing a strong hand toward her half-full cart.

“c’mon, mama. shop with me. can’t let you go home like this.”

it wasn't really a question, and azzi found herself abandoning her careful mom-generated grocery list to fall into step beside the cart, drawn by the same gravitational pull that had carried her to paige's door two weeks ago. 

they moved through the store like dancers learning the other’s choreography, bodies bumping into each other incidentally until the pretense was surrendered and they fell into the orbit of intimacy.  paige tossed items into the cart without a second guess while azzi found herself gravitating toward the greenery  paige consistently ignored.

she pointed something out on the other side of the store so that paige glanced over languidly, then added spinach to the cart, then those eager carrots from before, then a bag of frozen brussels sprouts that made paige's pert nose wrinkle in distaste. but she didn't remove them, and when azzi reached for a bushel of asparagus, she didn't protest that either.

it felt like a conversation conducted without any open mouths, each addition to the cart a small negotiation of taste, and a much-needed win for azzi..

paige selected proteins and spices, quipping about having learned to cook by necessity rather than joy when azzi asked how she knew so many recipes, her hands roving over packages of chicken thighs and bottles of curry paste with practiced efficiency. when she grabbed coconut milk, azzi slipped lime and fresh ginger into the open metal lattice of the cart. when paige added red bell peppers, azzi balanced them with snap peas that would add color and crunch to whatever they were building together.

would eat together.

at some point, azzi stopped thinking of it as paige's cart and started thinking of it as theirs. the shift happened gradually, without fanfare, like slipping into warm water. she found herself reaching for items before paige asked for them, anticipating needs before they were voiced. salt when paige grabbed two cobs of corn. cilantro, when she selected heavy coconut cream. 

small acts of attention that took them further from strangers, and closer to what exactly? azzi didn’t mind the question, though she had no answer. their conversation followed the shift as well, went from the kitchen to the apartment in general.

“you didn’t want a house?”

paige stretched her neck in a loose half circle to the left, and azzi had to curl her fingers into her palm to stop the impulse to rub at the knotted muscle. “nah. i mean, i bought one because having real estate is a good investment, and i need to be doing right by my money, but i like it better at my place. when ‘m married and shit, i’ll probably move in, but for now this works for me.”

“so, you’re not seeing anyone?” azzi asked, drawing out the ‘o’ coquettishly, bambi gaze bouncing all over as her cheeks flushed.

paige looked at her, her eyes low for a minute before she husked out a laugh. “no, mama. i’m not seeing a soul.”

“that’s…cool,” azzi settled on. god, she was such a loser.

blessedly, paige saved her from her self-inflicted mortification and guided them gently to the front of the store. the checkout line was a fluorescent purgatory of impulse purchases and tabloid magazines, but azzi barely noticed the environment beyond the warmth of paige standing close enough that their arms brushed when the line moved forward. when the moment came to pay, azzi reached for her mini bubblegum-colored coach wallet with the automatic assumption of someone who had never leaned on anyone else, but paige's hand shot out to intercept her.

the contact was brief—paige's fingers warm against the delicate skin of azzi's inner wrist, dragging once across where azzi had dusted her frangipani and vanilla perfume—but it sent electricity shooting up her arm like she'd touched a live wire. paige's thumb traced once across her pulse point before letting go, the gesture so subtle it could have been accidental, but the look in her eyes suggested otherwise. 

azzi’s eyes fell to where the fat of her fingertips glistened with the souvenir of her scented oil, full lips parting to show the pearly bottoms of her prominent front teeth.

“i got it,” paige said, her voice carrying an edge gentle enough to assure azzi that she wasn’t upset, but firm enough that it brooked no argument.

azzi wanted to protest, to insist on her independence and self-sufficiency, but something in paige's expression—patient, amused, quietly insistent—made the words die in her throat. she watched paige swipe her card, so casual with her generosity, loading bags—their things, now mixed—back into the cart like she'd been doing it her whole life, like feeding azzi was as natural as breathing.

"thank you," azzi said quietly, clutching at her elbows bashfully, and paige turned to look at her—really look at her—eyes soft and blue as a marina with something that made azzi's chest cavity feel too small for her heart.

the older woman leaned over, chucked her chin. “‘course.”

they drove back to the complex in separate cars, but azzi could see paige in her rearview mirror, following at a careful distance that felt rather protective than coincidental. in the parking lot, paige emerged from her car with an armload of grocery bags and a small smile that suggested the evening was far from over.

"you coming up?" paige asked, though it sounded more like a statement of fact than a question.

azzi nodded, suddenly aware of how her mouth moved, of how her throat swallowed. how a grocery run had become a prelude to further intimacy, she didn't know. 

“yeah, just need a second to call my mom.”

“no problem. see you soon.”

azzi watched as paige slid inside their building, blonde head ducking into darkness like a sun going under. once she was positive the other woman wasn’t returning, she pressed her forehead to the leather cover of her steering wheel and closed her eyes.

she bit at her lips, trying to keep herself under control, but her smile spread until her cheeks rounded into red apples of joy.

the game had been a massacre. that was the only word for it. 

sixty-seven to ninety-one, the mercury falling apart like wet tissue paper in the fourth quarter, while the crowd thinned to scattered pockets of die-hard fans who stayed to witness the carnage. azzi had played twenty-eight minutes and shot three-for-eleven from the field, two-for-seven from beyond the arc. her hands had felt foreign and clumsy every time the ball found them, like her muscle memory had been erased overnight.

she'd had the look in the final minute, a clean catch-and-shoot three from the wing that could have cut it to single digits, given them a sliver of hope. instead, the ball had rattled around the rim twice before spinning out, and she'd watched seattle grab the rebound and push it the other way for an easy score that sealed their fate. the air had thinned, her chest compressing as the crowd faded to a mutilated ring. 

the camera caught her, always drawn to beautiful, tragic things, a curl frizzing errantly across her face as she covered her mouth with a hand, her face crumpled. her eyes, large as planets, glittering with a reflection of the stadium lights in her tears.

a face you go to war for, a thousand tweets had said. azzi had clutched at it as she cried underneath the locker room shower.

in the tunnel afterward, coach tibbets had been gentle in that devastating way that somehow hurt worse than screaming. we'll watch film tomorrow, he’d said, his hand briefly touching azzi's shoulder before falling as her body froze, moving on to console someone else. get some rest. 

she wished he’d been meaner. she needed noise, needed the shock of anger to signal her body to be better.

get some rest.

rest. as if sleep were possible when your body was contracted to someone else.

the drive home was a blur of red-sanded highway and radio static, the city lights smearing past her windows like watercolor bleeding in rain. azzi pulled into the complex parking lot and sat in her car for several minutes, engine ticking as it cooled, staring up at the windows of her building. her apartment waited above, dark and vast and empty, full of all the silence she'd been running from since she moved here and ready to devastate her.

eventually, she forced herself to move, climbed the stairs on unsteady, bucking legs, her game bag heavy on her shoulder, still wearing her warmups that now felt like a costume she had no business putting on. she was a child playing at a professional.

inside her flat, she dropped everything by the door and stood in the middle of her living room, sneakers staining the intricate face of her imported persian rug. she knew nothing, not what to do with her hands or her thoughts or the crushing weight of inadequacy that sat on her chest like a second and third and fourth body.

the tears came without warning, hot and sudden and unstoppable. she sank onto her couch and began in silence as she let them fall, evolving to great heaving sobs that shook her whole frame. this wasn't just about tonight; it was about all of it. the trade that had felt like exile, the way she still felt like an intruder in her own locker room three months later, the growing certainty that maybe she wasn't good enough for this level after all.

when the worst of it passed, azzi sat in the aftermath, face golden and swollen and sinuses clogged, feeling hollowed out. pillaged and raw. absentmindedly, she looked down at her feet and noticed that her toenail polish was chipped. the deep red she'd gotten done before the season started, now fractured and peeling like everything else in her life. the sight of it, so small and ridiculous and somehow emblematic of her general state of decay, sent a fresh wail propelling out of her chest, another loop of wet salt streaming down her cheeks.

she needed something, someone, but the list of people she could call at this hour was embarrassingly short. the real list, not her reapings of what her agent’s networking had sown. her parents would worry and ask too many questions she couldn't answer. her old teammates would offer sympathy that would only make her feel more pathetic. and she couldn’t bother the currys, god. it was near midnight, and they had more to worry about than a twenty-three-year-old girl spiraling into herself in the dark mouth of her apartment.

without really deciding to, she found herself in her bathroom, splashing cold water on her face and changing into pajamas. soft, barely-there cotton shorts in a tender baby pink and an oversized, well-loved navy uconn tee that hung nearly to her knees. she pulled her hair, still shower-damp, into a messy bun and padded barefoot out into her bedroom, her feet silent on the plush carpet she’d thrown over the floor.

azzi took about six steps before she stopped, pausing and then shimmying out of her shorts until she was only in her ugly (she was being dramatic) little black thong she needed to replace. but it was comfortable and loved her the way no one else did, and therefore, her favorite.

the building was quiet at this hour, most of her neighbors already asleep behind their locked doors or out drunk out of their minds—something she wished she could easily be—but when she peeked into the hallway, there was light spilling from beneath paige's door, warm and daffodil-ic and impossibly inviting, like a lighthouse in the dark.

azzi knocked before she could lose her nerve, three soft taps that seemed to echo too loudly in the silence. as footsteps approached, she wiped hurriedly at her face, hands falling to her sides just as the door swung open to reveal paige in reading glasses and an old hoodie that said "phoenix rising stars" across the chest in faded varsity-style letters. she was holding an ipad with the case cover bent back, violet and proud, and there was a steaming mug on the side table behind her, the whole scene so domestic and peaceful that azzi felt her throat close up with fresh emotion.

paige took one look at azzi's face, still gleaming despite her best attempts at getting it together, and her expression shifted immediately, the easy surprise of finding her girl at the door replaced by something softer and more urgent.

she stepped aside without a word, ushering azzi into the home that had become more familiar than her own. the space smelled like coconut pulp and guava, and when she glanced at the kitchen counter, she saw a candle sitting teal and new with its teenage flame. california beach house.

there was a faint lingering scent, whatever paige had cooked for dinner while azzi was letting the nation down, something with rosemary that made azzi's stomach clench avidly with a hunger she hadn't realized she felt. she felt the want for fullness echo through her, realized how empty she had become in a matter of hours.

paige moved toward the kitchen, already reaching for a small pot hanging above the kitchen island, filling it with milk that she poured in a careful stream. azzi found herself tottering along like a toddler, drawn to the warmth and lactonic light and the promise of being cared for without having to ask. when it was silent long enough to signal azzi’s disinterest in conversation, paige began to speak.

“i work with kids,” paige said quietly as she stirred, the milk a pale lake soaking with heat, her voice taking on that particular cadence people used when they were trying to fill difficult silence. “fifteen to eighteen, mostly. run a development program for girls who want to play college ball but need extra work on their fundamentals.”

azzi perched on one of the high oak-wood stools at the island, watching as paige added rolled oats to the warming milk base along with a cinnamon stick that immediately filled the air with the thickness of candied spice. she let paige's voice wash over her, tired and low, the familiar rhythm somehow more soothing than the actual words. she began to float, watching herself from outside of her worn body.

"had a girl last week, probably reminds me of you at that age. pure shooter, could knock down threes all day in practice, but put her in a game and she'd go cold. started pressing, trying to force shots that weren't there."

paige reached for a bottle of maple syrup, the kind truly squeezed from the rough throat of a million trees, that cost too much, and drizzled it into the pot. "took me three months to convince her that sometimes the game just doesn't want to cooperate, no matter how hard you work."

the oatmeal was starting to thicken, and paige whisked it with patient, circular sweeps of her wrist that reminded azzi of her grandmother's hands, always moving, always creating something nurturing out of nothing. she felt her breathing start to slow for the first time since the final buzzer.

when paige ladled the oatmeal into a bowl, it was perfect. thick and creamy and steaming, with golden wells of maple syrup pooling on the surface. she set it on the counter along with a dark metallic spoon, biscotti yellow, then moved around to where azzi sat, settling beside her on the adjacent stool.

"c’mere," paige said softly, and there was something about her tone that made azzi's chest flutter with an unprecedented emotion. she shifted back into her bones, felt the run of her blood again, then she obeyed.

azzi slid off her stool and moved toward paige, who guided her with an unyielding hand until she was settled in her lap, legs curled up and head resting against paige's shoulder. it should have felt strange—they'd barely touched before tonight, their relationship carefully maintained at the safe distance of placid word exchanges interrupted by the consumption of shared meals—but instead it felt as natural as returning home.

sometimes it was all simple. you needed someone, and they were there.

paige reached for the bowl, a heavy ceramic sphere glazed with a jade kiss, and held it steady while azzi took her first spoonful. the swallow was warm and sweet and exactly what she’d been craving without knowing it. it pooled inside of her, formed a lake of feeling she tried to focus on. she felt paige's free hand come up to stroke her curls, fingers working gently through the wet tangles with a sentiment that made azzi screw her eyes shut so tightly she saw stars in the black behind her eyelids.

"my stepmom used to make this," paige murmured, voice vibrating through her chest where azzi's ear was pressed desperately, crushed against her solidness. "said food made with love tastes different than food made out of obligation."

azzi took another bite, letting the benevolence spread through her chest as she pressed her tongue to the flat of the spoon, and felt a drop of milk escape from the corner of her mouth. before she could raise her hand to wipe it away, paige's thumb was there, brushing it gently from her chin with a touch so careful it reset azzi's entire nervous system.

the gesture was nothing more than what it was, but it broke something open nonetheless, a cavern yawning widely in her chest, and suddenly, azzi was crying again. nothing near the harsh, despairing sobs from before, but quiet, humiliating tracks of tears that slipped down her cheeks and soaked into paige’s oversized hoodie. she felt paige's arms tighten around her, holding her closer, fighting for her, and realized that this was what she'd been missing all these months in arizona. not just companionship, but this.

this being held and fed and cared for by someone who seemed to understand exactly what she needed before she knew it herself.

"it's okay, mama," paige whispered into her hair, crooning out her sympathy in a way that didn’t scathe, and for the first time in months, azzi believed she might soon know the promise to be true. “you’re okay, sweet girl. let it out.”

they stayed like that for what felt close to years—maybe it was this long, what was time when measured by the presence of another?—she finished the oatmeal, paige holding the bowl steady while azzi curled deeper into her body heat, letting herself be small and cared for in a way she hadn't allowed herself to want. the kitchen was quiet except for the whisper of the spoon against ceramic and paige's unflinching breathing.

maybe this was god. maybe god was being steadied by an older woman with large hands. maybe god was a thumb stroking along the sides of your mouth to catch whatever was making you look foolish. maybe god was her heat against your back, her skin kept from yours by a hoodie and an oversized tee. maybe god was your wet hair in her hands as she took out your bun and curled it around her fingers, keeping the water from your neck. 

maybe god was this woman, older and stronger and wiser, delivering your own love back to you in a slick press of lips against your shoulder. maybe god was her hands along your back underneath your tee, fingers like a runner across uncharted land as she realized who had nothing but your underwear underneath it.

maybe god was the hitch in her breath.

maybe god was all of this, and giving yourself an apology.

three days later, azzi knocked on paige's door with arms laden with groceries and her heart hammering against her ribs like a caged bird. 

she could feel the surge of it, the flesh red and glossy and buzzing like a hummingbird with no internal compass, only paigepaigepaige as its north star. she'd spent the morning at the farmer's market, bypassing the anxiety-inducing judgment of whole foods because she couldn't sleep and needed somewhere to go with her hands, her restless energy. 

the sun had been cruel and white against the asphalt, making everything look overexposed, like a photograph taken with too much flash. she'd selected ingredients with the careful attention of someone preparing an offering: duck breast with skin that would crisp like autumn leaves, pomegranate seeds that burst ruby-dark between her teeth when she tested one, honey that moved like liquid amber in its glass jar. the heat had made her feel dizzy and strange, like she was moving through someone else's life. 

azzi had dressed in a way that spoke to wanting to be perceived as little older, to be a little more desirable. large hollywood-esque sunglasses slid up the bridge of her nose while her hair was swept into a rosy, bewjeled claw clip with her name inscribed on the back in a font that used to mean something in the summer of twenty-twenty. but it wasn’t the summer anymore.

"hi. i'm cooking tonight," she announced when paige opened the door, her rehearsal of delivery forgotten as the words tumbled out all slurred together by nerves. she chose not to wait for permission because that would allow her embarrassment to settle, and so she swept past in her sweet pea green cashmere set that shuddered against itself whenever she moved, thighs kissing in brief intervals. 

the shorts sat high on her thighs, and the long sleeves fell to her knuckles, the soft material making her look like something expensive and store-bought that had been unwrapped carefully and set down in the wrong place. arizona still felt like mars to her sometimes, all red dust and metallic, alien light, but this apartment had become real in a way that both scared her and felt like a necessity.

paige's eyes tracked the movement of fabric against azzi's body, the way the green made her skin glow warm and golden. she let out a little laugh as azzi threatened to topple over with the weight of her bags, and azzi liked that. 

she liked that she could always make paige laugh.

"yeah? what's the occasion?"

"um, no occasion." azzi was already unpacking ingredients on the marble counter, movements quick and nervous, energy crackling under her skin. she wondered if paige could see it as she looked at her, a spidering of pink and white lightning coming into bloom just below her cheekbones, her jaw."just want to."

she'd practiced this recipe in her mind for days, before her breakdown and the revelation of her need: duck breast with a pomegranate molasses glaze, wild rice with pistachios and dried cherries, roasted carrots that would caramelize into something that tasted like childhood and earth. deceptively complex, requiring patience and precision, and the kind of attention that left no room for thinking about other things. like how paige's hands had felt in her hair. like the sound she'd made when she realized azzi wore nothing under her shirt.

paige first settled with her hip cocked to the corner of the counter, but then she dragged out her usual stool, chin propped on her pale palm as she watched azzi score the duck with a sharp knife, the blade moving in careful parallel lines that opened the fat to render slowly. the kitchen rose with the steam of meat meeting oil-slick heat, animal blood butterflying into something pink and pale, the spill of scent so primal and rich that it made the air thicken bodily between them.

"you want something to drink, mama?" paige asked, already reaching for a bottle of red that sat breathing on the counter, something french and expensive with a label azzi wasn’t able to look at long enough to learn how to pronounce. “wine okay?”

“please,” azzi hummed, brow furrowed as she reread the third step of her recipe thrice.

“i only have red.”

“that’s okay, thank you.”

but when paige poured them each a glass, azzi found herself elbow-deep in molasses and balsamic reduction, hands sticky with the dark burgundy syrup that strung all over her fingers; her desire made edible. she nodded toward paige's glass instead, and something flickered across the older woman's face. understanding, maybe, or recognition of the intimacy in the gesture.

she went to lift the glass to azzi’s lips, tilting it carefully so that nothing spilled while she drank, but azzi was suddenly seized by a compulsion that took her by the mind and soul. she shifted, paige’s glass bumping clumsily against her cheek, and washed her hands until the water ran clear. then she turned back to the other woman, a hand unfurling to take the stem and bring the wine back to herself.

 her throat worked as she spun the flute neatly so that she was sipping from the side with the weak imprint of paige’s lips. azzi swallowed heavily, a full gulp of deeply scarlet liquid that tasted like blackberries and smoke and a saccharine note that broke into a darker underbelly, that made her tongue heavy with want. a drop dribbled past the corner of her mouth, and she caught it with her finger, pressing the pad to her bottom lip.

the wine was warm from the grasp of paige's hand, and when azzi closed her eyes and pressed harder against her mouth, she could pretend. could imagine it was paige's mouth against hers instead of her own lonely finger, could feel phantom pressure and the give of someone else's lips parting under hers, and the clash of teeth that came with being starved for it. she screwed her eyes shut tightly, letting herself sink into the fantasy until her chest almost caved with the wanting of it.

when she finally blinked them open, she found paige watching her with an expression that made her stomach drop and rise simultaneously. for the first time, paige was completely readable: knowing and indulgent, and ravenous all in one.

"azzi." paige's voice was a murmur, subdued and weighted. she reached out slowly, fingers wrapping around azzi's wrist to draw her hand away from her mouth. "baby."

the endearment landed like a match struck in the dark, illuminating azzi in all of her youth, rendering her incapable of deception. she knew paige could see everything: the way azzi continuously looked at her when she thought paige wasn't watching. the care that azzi had forced beyond neighborly kindness, beyond friendship. the inevitability that had been building between them like pressure behind a dam. the way azzi had bent her spine into paige’s touch that night, pleading silently for paige to tuck her hand underneath her underwear and carve a new space in between her thighs.

the way she had been wet after, thinking of the years between them and how they were easily gapped by their emergent desire, their reciprocal cravings.

paige stood, never letting go of azzi's trembling wrist, and stepped closer until there was nothing between them but breath and intention. her free hand came up to cup azzi's face, thumb tracing the path her own finger had taken moments before.

"is this what you want?" paige asked, and her voice was an amalgamation of all the meals shared, all the careful distance maintained, all the repeating evenings that had led them here to this kitchen that smelled like browning duck fat and aged merlot and the particular relief of something finally acknowledged.

azzi nodded, not trusting herself to speak without breaking, and paige leaned in to close the space between them. the kiss was soft at first, tentative, a question being asked. but then azzi's mouth opened under hers, and something shifted, deepened, became an answer to every instinct she'd been repressing since that first night she'd followed the smell of cooking through her apartment walls.

paige tasted like alcohol and endurance and the particular satisfaction of having always known how something was going to end. azzi could taste all the dinners they'd shared and all the ones they'd share after this. 

when they broke apart, azzi's forehead rested against paige's, both of them breathing hard in the small space between their bodies. the duck was still sizzling in the pan, inflating the kitchen with its rich perfume, but neither of them moved to tend to it.

"the food's going to burn," azzi whispered, though she made no move to pull away.

paige smiled, the expression perfect and private and meant only for her. "mmhm. that’s okay, mama."

they kissed again, and this time paige squeezed the fat spilling beneath azzi’s shorts. it was a hard claim, a bruising one, and the pressure made azzi gasp just enough for paige to slip her tongue in and deepen it. azzi felt dizzy, at risk of death, and she pushed further into paige, her legs easily spreading to let the older woman in. 

paige kissed like she had all the time in the world, and azzi kissed like she was burning through her first and last chance.

it all turned unruly, wet, the sound nearly obscene as the crackle coming from the stovetop. paige’s mouth slid against azzi’s with insistence, lips dragging, biting, drawing out a breath that turned into a high moan, a tapered off whimper. saliva pooled, exchanged, their tongues colliding with a rhythm that felt less like kissing and more like consumption. azzi’s chin was damp, her lips swollen, and still she wanted more, wanted to be ruined by the sheer gravity of paige’s mouth on hers.

heat spread everywhere: down her throat, across her chest, low into her belly where her body clenched and ached. every press of paige’s lips carried a current, every lick of tongue set azzi’s nerves alight until she felt fevered, trembling. it wasn’t just closeness, it was obliteration; the sensation of being known, swallowed whole.

paige pressed closer and closer, hand spanning azzi’s jaw to hold her in place before sliding down to her neck. azzi melted against the force of it, shivering at the grip, the threat of possible brutality. 

again, spit slicked their mouths, lips dragging swollen and tender, and azzi thought she could die here. young, undone, and shaking under the certainty of a woman who’d seen almost twice as much of life as she had.

she wondered, only briefly, if this was what love always felt like. if this were what it always would be.

euphoric. a loss of oxygen. 

the body nothing more than the ultimate witness to love.

© hcneymooners.

[535pazzi]

hi i know u mentioned wishing you the best by bucketsorbueckers a few times. i was wondering if you knew where to read it? the reblogs on runningbacktoyou no longer work :(

okay i think i figured it out. the ones that say view post are fine if you just click that button but for keep reading, you have to click next to the runningbacktoyou handle! sometimes it takes a few tries but it’s been working for me

[bucketsorbueckers-deactivated20]

Paige Bueckers Day

Paige X Azzi

one shot - dual POV - 5.5K words

warnings: NONE. this is pure fluff. inspired loosely by spring into summer by lizzy mcalpine

Summary: They named a day after her. Put her face on a billboard. Turned her hometown into a headline. And still, in the hours before her first WNBA game, all Paige Bueckers can think about is the one person who said she wouldn’t be there—the only person she really wants to see in the crowd.

A/N: wrote this right after the announcement of paige bueckers day and literally couldn’t stop spiraling about how soft it could all be . i know azzi probably isn’t there today but in my delusional little brain? she is. she always is. also shoutout to the anon who asked if i’m capable of writing happy things—this is me trying. pls tell me if it counts <3

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The truth is, when she first heard the news, she didn’t think it was real.

KK had sent her a text. No preamble. Just a link and a blurry screenshot of a city proclamation that maybe, maybe, had her face on it.

She assumed it was a joke. One of those strange internet jokes she was always just slightly outside of. Designed to stir people up or make them laugh, depending on which corner of the internet you landed in.

But the longer she stared at the post—and the verified seal on the city’s website—the harder it became to deny that, somehow, this was very real.

Her hometown, Hopkins, Minnesota, was renaming itself for one day. 

To Paige Bueckers, Minnesota.

There was even a line in the official proclamation—something about athletic excellence and community pride—followed by the words: “Hereby declared: Paige Bueckers Day.”

She read the line twice, then once more, because it felt like her brain had forgotten how to process the English language.

Welcome to Paige Bueckers, Minnesota.

It was the kind of thing that sounded like a prank. Or a punishment. Possibly both.

She called KK.

“Tell me this is fake,” she said, skipping hello entirely.

KK didn’t even try not to laugh. “Pack your bags! We’re going to Paige Bueckers, Minnesota, girl.”

Paige sat down on the edge of her bed, like maybe that would steady her. “I haven’t lived there in years.”

“You don’t have to live there to belong to it,” KK said, voice taken in a slightly more serious tone. “They’re proud of you.”

She was quiet for a second. “They renamed the whole town.”

“Only for one day.”

“Still,” she said, tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

“You’re playing your first pro game in Minnesota. They wanted to do something special.”

Paige stared at the wall, at the framed photo of a lake that could’ve been anywhere. “A gift would’ve been fine.”

KK laughed again, softer this time. “You’re such a freak about this stuff.”

“I’m not a freak.”

“You are. You deflect. You downplay. It’s, like, your love language or something.”

Paige didn’t answer, just pulled her knees up and rested her chin on top of them. Her new apartment was quiet in the way new places always were—climate-controlled and just a little too clean, like no one had ever really lived inside it.

“They’re putting up signs,” KK added. “Like, real ones. Metal. Highway font. I think there’s even a parade.”

“Oh my God.”

“Just don’t wear sunglasses and a hoodie like you’re in witness protection, okay? Let people be happy for you.”

Paige sighed and let herself fall back onto the bed, her hair fanning out across the pillow.

She was proud. Of course she was. Proud and grateful and maybe a little in disbelief that it had all led to this. Her first pro game. In Minnesota, of all places. In a stadium that used to feel too big for her dreams and now felt too small to hold them.

Still, there was something terrifying about being celebrated like this. Like you were already the person they thought you were. Like there wasn’t still so much to prove.

“I’ll try,” she said finally.

“Try harder,” KK said, and then added, almost as an afterthought, “I’ll save you a corn dog.”

“You think this is the State Fair?”

“I think it’s Paige Bueckers, Minnesota, and anything can happen.”

Paige smiled despite herself, then hung up and laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. 

It was early. The Dallas skyline still dark and soft around the edges, the kind of quiet that made you feel like the only person awake in the world. Azzi was probably still asleep.

She’d never been a morning person. Not even at UConn, when early lifts and bleary-eyed conditioning were part of the daily ritual. Paige used to wake first and sit in the stillness for a few minutes before nudging Azzi’s shoulder, watching her groan dramatically and pull the covers over her head like they were shielding her from the cruelty of time.

Paige glanced at her phone, then set it back down without unlocking it.

She wasn’t going to text. Not yet. Not when Azzi had just gotten back from vacation the night before and finally had the rare luxury of a morning without alarms or obligations.

Still, she missed her. In that quiet, persistent way that didn’t knock you over so much as settle in—background noise that never really faded. It had only been a few weeks—three, technically—but it felt longer. 

At UConn, they’d been wrapped into each other’s lives so completely, it had been hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Same practices. Same flights. Same off days spent curled up on the couch, a half-watched show playing as their legs tangled like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Back then, distance had been theoretical. Something that happened to other people. Now it lived in time zones and FaceTimes and the way Azzi’s voice cut in and out on bad WiFi. It felt like they were running parallel. Close enough to see each other’s outlines, but just far enough apart not to touch.

Paige rolled onto her side, her hand brushing the place on the bed where Azzi wasn’t. It was one thing to miss someone in theory. It was another to fall asleep reaching for them, and wake up with nothing but sheets.

With a sigh, she opened her phone, ignoring the flood of texts about the latest announcement. The headlines, the reposts, the dizzy blur of congratulations from people. 

At the top of the list was one from Dijonai. Three minutes ago. She guessed no one in Dallas could sleep. 

they really gave me the teammate that’s got cities renaming themselves 😭 couldn’t just give me a hooper, huh? had to be a whole cultural moment  lmk when the parade is. proud of you fr.🫶🏽

Paige snorted, a real laugh catching in her throat before she could stop it. And then her eyes dropped to the only pinned message.

Azzi.

Last text: 12:03 a.m. sorry babe. its been an impossible day. call you tomorrow. love you

Paige read it twice, even though she’d already memorized the shape of it. The lowercase softness, the familiar apology. She knew Azzi meant it, knew she would call, just like she always did. But still. It stung in that quiet way absence always did. Not sharp, just dull and constant, like pressing on a bruise to make sure it still hurt.

She didn’t text back. Not yet.

Then she scrolled up. Past the memes, the check-ins, the goodnights. Until she found the one she kept reading even though she already knew it by heart.

The third, or maybe fourth, apology Azzi had sent since calling to say she wouldn’t be at Paige’s first WNBA game: 

i hate this. i really do. i just can’t say no. not this time. it’s a huge opportunity. and if i skip it, it might not come around again. i’m sorry. i wanted to be there more than anything.

Paige had read it in the middle of Trader Joe’s. Standing in front of a pyramid of honeycrisp apples, her cart half-full and suddenly too heavy. She’d stared at the screen for what felt like forever, then set her phone face-down and walked out without buying a single thing.

She’d told Azzi it was okay. That she understood. That she was proud of her. And all of that was true. It was just also true that it wrecked her a little.

Not because Azzi was choosing something else. But because they were finally learning how to choose themselves. How to want things separately. How to grow without growing apart.

She closed her eyes.

It was so much easier when they moved in tandem—same goals, same team, same mornings and nights stitched together. Now everything was a little more delicate. A little more sacred. Because the love was still there. But the space between them was starting to mean something, too.

She groaned, rolling over in bed, looking out the curtains she had left open. The city lights twinkling as the sky warmed. The morning breaking through. 

She missed Azzi. In the soft, persistent way that lingered in empty spaces—in the quiet before practice, in the stretch of her own bed, in the apples she never bought. But she knew things were fine. 

They were Paige and Azzi.

Even with states between them, even with calls that came too late and texts that came too early, even with the ache that never really went away. They were still them.

And that was enough for Paige Bueckers. 

It always had been. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

With the game opener days away, practice had become more intense. Not in a bad way, just in the way it does when you know everything’s about to count a little more.

The drills ran sharper. The passes came faster. Everyone moved like they were trying to outrun nerves without admitting they had any.

And Paige felt it too. In the tightening of her chest before scrimmage. In the way she tied her shoes a little slower, a little tighter, like maybe that would help her stay grounded.

She wasn’t scared, exactly.

Just… aware.

Aware that all of this—this new chapter, this team, this new city she called home—was real now. No longer a thing she could imagine or plan for. It was happening. With or without the comfort of the familiar.

And ready or not, she’d have to step into it.

She was the last one off the court, staring out at the paint like it held the answer to some impossible question.

Nai came and stood beside her, arms crossed loosely over her chest, gaze following Paige’s like they might both see the same thing if they looked long enough.

“What’re we lookin’ at?” she asked, voice low, like she didn’t want to scare the thoughts away.

Paige shifted her weight, one sneaker scuffing lightly against the hardwood. “Just thinkin’.”

Nai tilted her head, a rare softness flickering across her features. “You nervous?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Paige shrugged. “Not nervous. Just… awake.”

Nai laughed, low and scratchy. “Girl, I’ve been awake since you showed up with a whole damn ZIP code named after you.”

Paige groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I’m gonna remind you daily. Until they take the signs down. Might steal one, hang it in the locker room.”

She sat beside her on the court, stretching out long legs, unbothered.

“You’re allowed to feel weird about it,” Nai said after a beat. “Big things feel weird.”

Paige let the silence sit for a second before answering. “It’s just a lot, I guess. And I’m used to having someone around who knows what to say.”

Nai nodded, not pushing. Just sitting with her.

Then: “Azzi?”

Paige glanced over. “She can’t make it.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah,” she said. “But she believes in me. That helps.”

Nai nudged her shoulder. “I believe in you too, Paige Bueckers, Minnesota.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please stop.”

“Absolutely not.”

And for the first time that morning, the knot in her chest loosened, just a little. Because maybe this new life didn’t have to look like the old one to still be good.

After practice, there was a wave of notifications on her phone. Mentions, texts, a new batch of graphics with her face on them.

But only one that mattered.

One missed call. Azzi Fudd.

Paige had to physically stop herself from abandoning all her stuff in the locker room just to call her back. Instead, she moved on autopilot: packed her bag, got through treatment, said goodbye to her teammates (who had cracked one too many jokes about Paige Bueckers, Minnesota), and made her way to the parking lot.

As soon as she slid into the driver’s seat, she exhaled. Long and slow, like she’d been holding her breath all day and didn’t realize it.

She didn’t even start the car. Just pulled her phone from the cupholder, the screen lighting up in her hand like it knew where she was going. She hit Azzi’s name and held the phone to her ear, already smiling.

It rang once. Then again. And then: 

“Paige, hey,” came the voice she’d been waiting for, soft and warm, and instantly home.

Paige leaned her head back against the seat. “Hey,” she breathed. “You called.”

“Of course I did,” Azzi said. “You didn’t think I’d leave you hanging, did you?”

Paige’s throat tightened. “No. I just—miss you.”

There was a pause, and then Azzi said it in the way she always did. Gentle. Certain.

“I miss you too.” And just like that, the space between them felt smaller. Not gone. But less like a canyon and more like a bridge.

“Now,” Azzi said, voice curling at the edges with a smile Paige could hear, “how was practice?”

They slipped easily into their rhythm. The one they’d built across dorm rooms and hotel hallways, FaceTimes in airports and calls stretched out across time zones. A back-and-forth that felt less like catching up and more like coming home.

When the conversation lulled, Paige could hear the soft rustle of sheets, the subtle shift of weight. Azzi settling into bed on the other end of the line.

“So,” she said, drawing it out like she already knew the effect it would have. Paige could hear the smirk without needing to see it. “Paige Bueckers, Minnesota, huh?”

Paige groaned, letting her head fall back against the seat.

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” Azzi said, absolutely delighted. “And I’m never letting that go.”

“It’s for one day,” Paige muttered.

“Still counts.”

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. “It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s very on brand.”

“I’m serious. The mayor cried.”

Azzi laughed, the sound low and lovely and a little sleepy. “Of course he did. You’re a hometown hero. Let people love you, P.”

Paige went quiet for a second, the praise sitting warm in her chest.

She closed her eyes and imagined Azzi there with her—knees tucked to her chest in the passenger seat, hair still damp from a shower, reaching over to lace their fingers together.

“I wish you were here,” she whispered.

“I know,” Azzi said. “I do too.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

It was two days before the game, and Azzi had been a bit…quiet.

Not distant, exactly. When they talked, it still felt like them. Familiar and warm in that way nothing else was. But the responses came slower. The calls shorter. They hadn’t FaceTimed since earlier in the week, which wasn’t like them.

Paige told herself not to read into it. That people got busy. That schedules conflicted. That even the people who knew you best were allowed to disappear for a day or two.

Still, something buzzed under her skin. Not worry, not quite. Just that quiet hum of noticing.

She’d sent a photo earlier. Something dumb from practice. Normally, Azzi would’ve replied within minutes. With something that made her laugh. With a heart. 

Instead: nothing. Just the message, sitting there, delivered but unread.

She locked her phone, shoved it deep in her bag, and tried to let it go.

But the truth was, she missed her. Missed her in the specific, impossible way that made everything feel a little dimmer. Like she was walking around in half-light, just waiting for Azzi’s voice to flip the switch back on.

“Didn’t know Paige Bueckers brooded,” Nai said, eyeing her from across the locker room.

“I’m not brooding,” Paige argued, her voice landing a little sharper than she meant. She caught herself, exhaled. “Just…thinking.”

“Pretty much the same thing,” Nai said with a shrug, tugging her hoodie over her head.

Paige leaned back against the bench, letting her shoulders drop. “Was it tough?” she asked after a beat. “The first few years…for you and Lyss?”

Nai didn’t answer right away. She sat down beside her, elbows resting on her knees.

“Yeah,” she said eventually. “It was. Different cities. Missed calls. One of us always waking up while the other was crashing.”

Paige nodded, like her body already understood it even if her heart didn’t want to.

“But we figured it out,” Nai went on. “Not all at once. Just…piece by piece. It wasn’t about being perfect. It was about showing up. Even when it sucked. Especially when it sucked. 

Paige looked at her. “How’d you know it was worth it?”

Nai cracked a smile. “Because I’d rather miss her than not love her.”

The words landed heavy and easy all at once, like something that had been lived through instead of just said. Paige swallowed.

Paige glanced at her. “That ever scare you?”

Nai shrugged. “Sure. But love’s never been about convenience.”

Paige sighed, leaning back against the locker. 

“I guess I just hate that she’s missing this,” she said quietly. “Even if I understand why.”

“You can hold both,” Nai said. “Doesn’t make you ungrateful. Just makes you human.”

Paige nodded, grateful for the wisdom. They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that didn’t need filling.Then Nai nudged her knee. 

“Anyway, stop brooding. It’s messing up your aura.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Nai chuckled, standing up and stretching. “I’m just sayin’,” she said. “Sometimes the best shit shows up when you’re not lookin’ for it.”

And then, she was gone. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Paige woke up on Paige Bueckers Day—which was still a sentence that didn’t feel real—with one thought running through her head:

She was about to play in her first WNBA game.

It was the thing she’d dreamed about since she was a kid. Not just in the casual, it-would-be-cool kind of way. But in the way you build your whole life around. The way you say no to normal things, and yes to everything that hurts a little, because someday it might be worth it.

And now someday was here.

She lay still for a moment, her heart already beating a little too fast, as if her body knew what the day meant before her brain had caught up. The dream hadn’t vanished, it had just changed shape. From posters on her bedroom wall to press conferences and shootarounds and teammates with names she used to scream at the TV.

From something imagined to something real. And weirdly, the real part was the scariest.

Because once you’re in it, once it’s yours, you don’t get to chase it anymore. You just have to live it.

Rolling over, she grabbed her phone and blinked at the brightness, thumbing through a few unread texts.

The newest was from DC.

Her name was on a billboard.

An actual, honest-to-God billboard. Bold letters, dramatic lighting, probably wedged somewhere between a life insurance ad and a reminder to buckle up. She hadn’t seen it in person yet—just the photo Nai sent, which was blurry and aggressively zoomed in, like she’d taken it from the passenger seat of a car moving too fast. 

The text just read: 

u famous famous now

Paige stared at it for a long beat, then let the phone fall back onto the sheets beside her.

Some days, all of this still felt like a story she’d made up as a kid. Except now, other people were reading it too. Out loud. On billboards.

She sighed and picked the phone back up, thumb dragging lazily across the screen until she found it.

A message from Azzi.

good morning, superstar. sorry i missed your call last night. i was wiped. but i’m thinking about you. a lot. today’s huge. proud doesn’t even cover it. love you.

Paige read it once. Then again, slower. She smiled, small and private, like the kind you save just for yourself.

Proud doesn’t even cover it.

She let that settle in her chest for a moment before typing out a reply. Something short. Something honest.

miss you. love you. wish you were here.

She hovered for a second before hitting send.

And then she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, planted her feet on the floor, and stepped into the kind of day she’d been dreaming about her whole life.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The bus ride to the arena was loud. Jittery voices bounced around the aisle. Half nerves, half adrenaline. The kind of energy that couldn’t sit still.

Paige sat near the window, headphones in but nothing playing. Just the hum of white noise, her own breath tucked in between.

She was trying to focus.Trying not to think about how she hadn’t heard from Azzi since last night.  No text. No call. Just silence where there was usually something. And maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was travel, or timing, or just one of those things. But it still found its way under her skin.

She finally hit play on a song, turning the world down a notch, and stared out the window. Trying to remember the girl who used to dream of this moment. And trying not to wonder why it suddenly felt like something was missing.

Beside her, she felt someone's presence, turning to find DC.

“G’mornin’, Bueckers,” she said, dragging the word out like a tease. “Big day.”

Paige pulled one headphone out. “You don’t say.”

Nai leaned back, one arm slung over the seat. “You got that look again.”

“What look?”

“The I’m not nervous but also haven’t blinked in four minutes look.”

Paige huffed a laugh, soft but real. “I’m fine.”

Nai didn’t push. Just leaned back, stretched her legs out like she owned the whole row.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few beats before Nai said, offhand, “Funny thing about quiet days.” Paige glanced over. Nai didn’t look at her. “They don’t always stay that way.”

Then she yawned, put her hood fully up, and returned to her seat by Lyss. 

Azzi’s POV

Azzi checked her phone again, even though the time hadn’t changed in the last thirty seconds.

The plane was starting its descent, and her stomach did that thing it always did during turbulence, flipped, like it wasn’t entirely sure about gravity.

But if she was being honest, turbulence was easy compared to keeping secrets. 

She was terrible at keeping them. Especially from Paige.

They talked every day. Multiple times. Sometimes about nothing—what they ate, what their teammates said, which reality show they were secretly watching without the other—but sometimes about everything. The big stuff. The heavy stuff. The I don’t know how to do this without you kind of stuff.

Which made this particular silence feel loud.

She’d texted last night, told her she was proud. Told her she was thinking about her. Both true. Both incomplete.

What she hadn’t said was that she was sitting on a flight confirmation and a suitcase she packed two weeks ago. 

Paige thought she wasn’t coming. Azzi hated that part.

But the surprise had become its own kind of promise. A way to show up when it mattered, even if it wasn’t how they used to. No more shared hotel rooms or warm-up playlists made for two. 

Just this: effort and timing and showing up in ways that took more planning than they used to, but meant more, too.

The plane dipped lower, and she pressed her forehead to the window, watching the city come into view, familiar and strange at the same time.

Somewhere down there, Paige was probably staring out her own window. Probably thinking too much. Probably trying not to.

Azzi smiled, small and quiet.

She has no idea.

Paige’s POV

The Target Center.

She’d been here a hundred times, maybe more. But never like this. Never as a player.

Always a fan. A kid in the stands, craning her neck to see past grown-ups, gripping nachos in one hand and possibility in the other. She knew the echo of the place. The way it swallowed sound and spit it back louder. She knew how the court looked from every angle except this one.

Now she was walking through the tunnel, jersey on, sneakers laced tight, her name stitched across her back like it had always belonged there.

It hadn’t hit her fully. Not yet. But it was starting to.

She wasn’t thinking about the billboard. Or the headline. Or the fact that somewhere out there, people were calling this Paige Bueckers Day like that was a normal thing to say.

She was thinking about the game. About the first possession. The first pass. The rhythm of the offense. Where her feet needed to be and how fast she could get them there.

There was a small part of her, tucked somewhere under all that focus, that still ached for the familiar shape of Azzi beside her. But it was quieter now. Sort of. 

Warmups were underway. And what started with shaky knees, hands that wouldn’t quite settle, was slowly morphing into something steadier. The ball hit her palm just right. The court stopped feeling like a stage and started feeling like home again.

Her body knew what to do. Her mind was catching up. 

The nerves didn’t disappear. They just shifted. Got quieter. Folded themselves into her rhythm. And she focused. Because today wasn’t just a game. It was the first day of the rest of the life she always wanted. 

Azzi’s POV

Her heart thudded.

That old, familiar rhythm she’d never been able to shake.

Paige, Paige, Paige.

She grinned as she climbed the stairs of the Target Center, hood down, hair pulled back like she had nothing to hide, even though she absolutely did. There was something electric about walking in without Paige knowing. Like slipping into a scene before your cue.

The ticket had shown up in her inbox two nights ago, sent from Dijonai with a single message: Got you. Front row. She’s gonna lose it.

Azzi could only hope. 

The man at the security checkpoint scanned her ticket, gave her a polite nod. “You’re good. Down the hallway to your left. Courtside.”

Azzi walked slowly, her hand brushing the railing as she went. She adjusted the jersey as she walked. BUECKERS across her back. Not subtle. Not even close. But subtle hadn’t felt right today.

She’d ordered it two weeks ago, expedited the shipping like a lunatic, even though she told herself she wasn’t going to wear it. It felt too obvious. Too loud.

And then today happened. And there was no version of this where she didn’t want Paige to see it. 

The hallway opened into light and noise and movement, and she stepped out into it like she’d crossed a threshold. The court was already alive, players jogging through layup lines, shoes squeaking, the low thrum of music pulsing under it all. 

And then, she saw her. Paige.

Not just Paige the way the world saw her—face on billboards, name in lights, the kind of talent that demanded attention—but her Paige. Hair pulled back. Jaw set. Moving with the kind of focus that made everything else feel blurry.

And for a second, Azzi forgot how to be casual. Forgot how to sit. Forgot how to breathe normally in a room where Paige Bueckers existed like that, on fire, and also entirely in control of it.

She found her seat, second row, directly behind the bench. Lowered herself slowly like she was afraid to make a sound. And watched.

Paige didn’t see her at first. Which made it easier to look. To really look.

She looked like everything Azzi had ever believed in. Everything she’d ever rooted for. The kind of person you hoped the world wouldn’t break. And somehow, despite the spotlight, the pressure, the weight of expectations that would’ve flattened anyone else, Paige had made it through.

Achieving everything she ever wanted, and still keeping her goodness intact.

Azzi’s chest tightened. The pride of it. The ache of loving someone so much you could barely sit still in your own skin.

Azzi had just been pulled into a conversation with a younger girl who had recognized her, eyes wide as she asked about playing in college, about shooting form, about favorite sneakers. Azzi had leaned in, smiling, answering every question. 

She wasn’t facing the court when it happened. But she felt it. That pull. That electricity she knew too well. She turned, slowly, and there Paige was. Staring straight at her.

Azzi’s heart jumped, then took off sprinting. She grinned so hard her cheeks hurt. Couldn’t help it. Wouldn’t have wanted to.

And on Paige’s face: that flicker of surprise, like the world had just tilted an inch and she was trying to find her balance again. That heartbeat behind the eyes.

Azzi didn’t wave. Didn’t call out. She just held her gaze.

Happy Paige Bueckers Day.

Paige’s POV

A water break was finally called. 

She grabbed her towel and drifted toward the sideline, eyes skimming the lower rows of the arena. Not searching, just taking it in. The blur of signs and navy and white. People wearing her jersey. Not unusual. Not today.

And then her gaze snagged on one.

A girl in the second row, just behind the bench, chatting with a younger fan. Baggy pants. BUECKERS stitched in bold across her back.

Paige didn’t think much of it at first. People wore her jersey now. That was still weird, sure, but not surprising. Not today.

But there was something about her. The way she sat. The way she tilted her head mid-conversation. A familiarity Paige couldn’t quite place but couldn’t shake either.

Her heart moved before her brain did.

Azzi.

No. That wasn’t possible. Azzi had told her she couldn’t make it. That the timing didn’t work. That she was proud, but far away. And yet…

Her heart thudded, like it was screaming: You know this.

And then the girl turned.

Paige’s heart stopped. Or stuttered. Or maybe just launched itself into her throat. 

Azzi, courtside. In her jersey. Sitting like she had every right to be there. Which, to be fair, she did. But Paige had been so sure she wasn’t coming.

For a second, Paige didn’t move. Just stood there, towel in hand, caught between disbelief and something else she didn’t have words for yet.

And then Azzi smiled. Not a small, polite smile. Not the kind you give for cameras or fans or polite conversation. No, her whole face lit up, bright and sure and unapologetically happy to see her.

It was, objectively, the prettiest smile Paige had ever seen.

And for one terrifying second, she genuinely didn’t know how she didn’t sprint across the court, hurdle the row of folding chairs, and pull her into the kind of hug that knocked them both over.

“Told you quiet days don’t always stay quiet,” Nai murmured, bumping Paige’s shoulder as she passed.

Paige turned, eyes narrowed. “You knew?”

Nai raised both brows, unapologetic. “Helped.”

Paige stared at her. “You helped her do this?”

Nai grinned. “Watching you mope all week was painful. But this?” She gestured toward the stands, where Azzi was still seated like she’d always belonged there. “So worth it.”

Paige shook her head, trying not to smile. Trying harder not to look again. Failing completely.

Warmups ended, and Paige knew she probably shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help it.

Couldn’t help but follow the invisible string that always pulled her to Azzi, no matter the distance, no matter the day.

She walked straight toward her.

She knew the arena was watching. Cameras. Fans. Commentators already sharpening their angles. Some would call it unprofessional. Say she wasn’t locked in. Use the moment to prop up whatever criticism they’d already decided on.

But if she was being honest? She didn’t care. Because Azzi was here. She was here. And that mattered more than whatever version of her someone might try to write later.

Paige reached her, stepped into the space like it had been waiting for her, and wrapped her arms around the love of her life. She buried her face in Azzi’s neck, let herself breathe.

“Az.”

Just one word. An exhale. A prayer. A thank-you so full it shook in her chest.

Azzi held her tighter. Didn't say anything right away. Didn't need to.The world could wait. Just for a second.

She smiled against Paige’s skin the way she had since she was sixteen. Soft, hidden, private.The kind of smile that belonged to them and no one else. 

Paige and Azzi.

Always circling back. Always finding each other, like gravity had opinions. Like the universe held a soft spot for their kind of love and girls who didn’t know how to stay away.

There was never a moment where they said we’ll always choose each other. They just kept doing it.

“Should you be doing this?” Azzi whispered, lips brushing just beneath her ear.

And Paige laughed, low and unapologetic. “It’s Paige Bueckers Day, baby. Pretty sure that means I can do whatever I want.”

[bucketsorbueckers-deactivated20]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 1

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: language, alcohol

Dual POV - 3.3K words

A/N: literally no idea what I’m doing. Back on this godforsaken site because women’s basketball has completely taken over my brain. This is my first pazzi fanfic ever and mostly just me trying to keep my mind busy before it short-circuits. Probably some grammar mistakes bc i cant read my own writing half the time. It’s all angst and yearning and that cursed feeling when your first love is also your best friend. Would love to know what you think <3

Summary: Azzi Fudd loved Paige Bueckers in the quiet moments—off the court, in the dark, when no one else was looking.

But loving someone the world adores is its own kind of loneliness.

Now, with a new season looming and history heavy between them, Azzi is learning: some people aren’t hard to love...just impossible to hold onto.

Paige’s POV

There was a particular kind of loneliness that came from standing in a room full of people who thought they knew you. Paige had grown used to being watched. The stares. The whispers. The phones held just low enough to seem subtle. But there was one gaze she couldn’t feel anymore. And somehow, that was the one that hurt.

Because in the blur of lights and music and bodies pressed too close, not feeling her eyes felt like its own kind of punishment. Like absence had weight. Like silence could bruise.

She shoved the screen door open with the heel of her hand. The night air hit her sharp and cold, far too bitter for October. It cut against her damp skin, made her flinch. She inhaled through her nose, slow and tight, trying to dislodge the pressure blooming beneath her ribs. That familiar, nameless weight she only ever felt around her.

There wasn’t a word for it. Just a hollow ache that stretched too wide. She hated it. Hated how it filled her chest, her lungs, her tired limbs—how it bled into every part of her until she wasn’t sure where she ended and the feeling began.

She pressed a palm flat against her chest and rubbed, hard, like she could scrape it loose. Force it out. But it stayed rooted. And when she closed her eyes, she wasn’t sure if she was holding herself together or holding something back.

“Paige?”

She flinched, eyes snapping open as she glanced over her shoulder. Nika stood on the porch, concern written all over her.

“It’s cold, Nika. Go back inside. I’m alright.”

She knew Nika wouldn’t listen, but still figured the lie was worth the breath it bought. Footsteps whispered over the brittle grass behind her. Nika joined her in the dark, arms folded tight against the cold.

Paige sighed and slipped off her jacket, draping it over Nika’s shoulders without a word.

“Told you to bring a jacket.”

“Always so chivalrous,” Nika murmured, a ghost of a smile in her voice.

Paige just shrugged and tilted her head back, eyes tracing constellations she didn’t know the names of.

The sky in Storrs always seemed a little louder. Stars so bright they looked like they might shake loose and fall. She tried to anchor herself in that—tried to let the sharp pinpricks of light distract her from the heat crawling up her throat, the ache coiled tight and unwelcome.

“We gonna talk about it,” Nika asked gently, “or just stand out here and stargaze?”

“Not shit to say,” Paige muttered, eyes never leaving the sky.

“You always have something to say.”

“Yeah, well,” Her voice was slightly thick and she sucked in a breath to control it. “Not about this.”

Nika just nodded, leaning into her, warm where their arms touched, and blessedly quiet. She didn’t push, didn’t pry and Paige loved her for that.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, silent and shivering, but eventually Paige let out a slow, shaky breath and turned to her.

“Back inside?”

“God, thank you,” Nika squeaked, already grabbing her hand and tugging her toward the door. “You need a drink.”

Maybe she did. But Paige had kept her distance from the bottles tonight. She wasn’t the kind of drunk who cried or screamed—she was the kind who laughed too loudly, leaned in too close, and let her secrets slip through a smile. Affectionate. Messy. A little too honest for her own good.

A terrible thing to be when you’re in love with your best friend. Or ex-best friend. Paige wasn’t sure what category Azzi Fudd fell into anymore. There wasn’t a word for it. Just a lingering ache and the way her name still tasted like something sacred and sharp on Paige’s tongue.

As she stepped through the door, the noise of the party crashed back over her. Bright lights, pounding bass, bursts of laughter that felt a little too sharp. Paige blinked, trying to adjust, to armor up again.

Nika didn’t give her time. She kept hold of Paige’s wrist and pulled her through the tide of bodies. People called out to her—hellos, shot offers, phones flashing up for pictures—but the words barely landed. Paige kept her gaze locked on the swing of Nika’s dark, glossy hair as she moved forward.

The kitchen gave them a sliver of breathing room. The music thudded through the walls, but it was quieter here, relatively speaking. Nika didn’t miss a beat, pressing a plastic cup into her hand like it was gospel.

“Drink.”

Paige looked down. The liquid inside was an aggressively unnatural color, and it smelled like bad decisions and lighter fluid.

“Drink, Bueckers. Or I’ll finish it off for you.”

That did it. Nika knew her too well. Paige might not have wanted it, but the idea of someone else drinking it—of Nika drinking it—was somehow worse. She tipped the cup back and winced as it hit her throat, bitter and burning. She coughed once, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

“Tastes like regret,” she rasped.

Nika just grinned. “That’s how you know it’s working.”

Paige leaned against the counter, eyes scanning the chaos. The room was packed—too many bodies crammed into too small a space. Lights flickered, smoke curled in the corners, and every voice bled into the thud of the bass. It was all blur and static.

But still, somehow, she found her.

Dark curls were piled on top of her head like some chaotic masterpiece, two strands left loose in that way that felt accidental but probably wasn’t. Her lips were full, pink, stretched into a smile too wide for her delicate features but it worked. God, it worked. 

Her brown eyes lit up as she looked at the guy beside her, one hand resting casually on his arm like it meant nothing. Like she hadn’t once touched Paige that way. Like Paige didn’t still remember the exact weight of that hand, and what it felt like to be the center of her gaze.

Azzi Fudd was the kind of beautiful that left wreckage in its wake. The kind that rewrote gravity…pulled you in, tore you apart, and expected you to thank her for the privilege.

She was Paige’s ruin. And this—this cruel ritual of watching from the sidelines, of biting her tongue and feigning disinterest—was purgatory. A slow bleed. A soft unraveling.

Because how do you survive the thing that made you feel infinite, when it no longer looks your way? Azzi had once set her world on fire. Now Paige stood in the ash, smiling like it didn’t still burn.

Only lately, the smile was slipping. She wasn’t pulling off detached, or effortless, or even remotely okay. She wasn’t the cool, unbothered ex–best–something she wanted to be. She was a trainwreck. Messy. Obvious. Loud in all the ways she didn’t want to be. Undone. And trying like hell not to fall apart where Azzi might see.

To her left, Nika pressed another cup into her hand. Paige didn’t bother checking what was in it this time. Not when Azzi had just laughed, really laughed, at something he said. The guy who, by all appearances, had taken her place. 

So Paige tipped the cup back without thinking. Let the liquor scorch its way down her throat, sharp and mean. She welcomed the burn. It was something besides the hollow ache that had settled in her chest and decided to stay.

Azzi’s POV

Cam, by all reasonable measures, was handsome. Easy smile. Kind eyes. The kind of guy who asked if she needed anything before wandering off for drinks, who touched her lower back like it was second nature—not a performance.

It was fine. Safe. Which was exactly why Azzi let him stand there.

She laughed at something he said. Not because it was all that funny, but because it filled the space. Because silence, lately, made too much room for thoughts she didn’t need to entertain. Like the fact that Paige was here. And probably hadn’t even noticed her.

Not that it mattered. Paige hadn’t looked at her in weeks. Not during practice. Not in the hallways. Not once—not really.

Azzi had already tried. She’d waited in doorways, lingered after lifts, sent the texts that went unanswered. She’d left the door cracked open, just wide enough for Paige to step through. And maybe, stupidly, she’d hoped she would. But Paige didn’t chase her. Didn’t stop her. Didn’t fight.

So Azzi took the silence for what it was: an answer. Whatever they were…whatever that had been, it was over.

She leaned a little closer to Cam, let her smile stretch wider than it felt, and pretended her heart hadn’t made its choice a long time ago. 

Somewhere across the room, someone screamed. Sharp, high-pitched, probably from a game or a spilled drink, but it still made Azzi jump. Her eyes cut instinctively toward the noise, scanning the chaos.

She didn’t find the source. But she did find Paige.

Leaning against the counter like she wasn’t the most magnetic thing in the room. Solo cup in hand. Hair pulled back. Black pants slung low on her hips, just enough to reveal the soft slice of skin above her waistband. Azzi’s breath hitched before she could stop it.

People surrounded her, drawn in like always—smiling, laughing, hanging onto every word as she told some story Azzi couldn’t hear from across the room. Paige talked with her hands, animated and alive, fingers slicing the air like punctuation.

She could never sit still. Never stay still. Even now, holding court in the middle of a crowd, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, rolled her shoulders, tucked a strand of hair that wasn’t even loose. Restless in a way that made her electric.

Azzi watched, arms folded tight across her chest, trying not to stare.

Cam said something, and Azzi flinched, like she'd been caught peeking through a door she had no business opening. Which, in a way, she had.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck like she could scrub away the guilt. “What'd you say? It’s too loud in here.”

“I asked if you wanna get out of here.”

She blinked. Yes. Of course she did. That was the whole point of being here with someone like Cam. Someone steady, easy, uncomplicated.

And Paige was here, which made her want to leave. To breathe. To stop feeling everything all at once.

But Paige was also here. Which made it impossible to walk away.

Her eyes darted back across the room and she watched Paige throw back a shot. Paige didn’t really struggle to handle her alcohol but seeing her drinking so much still made Azzi nervous. She bounced lightly on her toes, restless, trying to figure out what to do with the feeling clawing up her spine.

“Can we stay a little longer?” she asked, turning to Cam. “Season’s coming up, and I have no idea how many more nights I’ll actually get to feel normal before it takes over my life.”

Cam smiled and Azzi relaxed slightly. He was everything she should want. Easy, dependable, kind. Paige had never been any of those things. Paige had been wildfire. Chaos wrapped in charm. And Azzi had been the fool who'd run straight into the flames, not thinking twice about how badly fire burned. 

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “But I think we’ll both need another drink to survive it.”

She grinned because he wasn’t wrong. He was steady, warm, uncomplicated. Exactly what she’d told herself she needed.

She watched him disappear toward the kitchen.

But Paige Bueckers’ fucking gravitational pull should be studied, because no matter how hard she tried to look anywhere else, her gaze was always dragged right back to her.

The blonde ringmaster in the center of it all.

Azzi watched her scan the room, watched her eyes land on Cam. Watched them drag down his body in that slow, assessing way. Watched the way her mouth curled into something smug and sharp. A smirk Azzi knew too well.

Then—God—those blue eyes shifted.

And locked onto hers.

The world shrank. Just a pindrop of existence now. Her. And Paige.

The room didn’t fall silent so much as it paused, like even the universe was holding its breath, waiting to see what she’d do. What they would do.

It was maddening, the way one look from Paige could still upend everything. Like Azzi had spent all this time laying brick after careful brick, building walls tall enough to forget her only for a single glance to blow the whole thing wide open.

She didn’t move. Neither did Paige. And for a moment that felt too long and not long enough, they stayed like that—frozen, suspended in whatever fragile thread still tethered them together. Like the world had cracked open just wide enough for this one impossible beat of stillness.

Then, someone tugged at Paige’s arm, and just like that, the thread snapped. Frayed by the outside world, like it always was. At that exact moment, Cam reappeared at Azzi’s side.

“For you,” he said with a mock bow, holding out her drink like it was an offering. 

It was adorable. The way his voice caught just slightly, the way he’d taken the time to find a cherry to drop in, just because he knew she liked them. He looked at her like she was gravity. Like she hung the moon. The way she used to look at Paige.

She shook her head, like she could rattle the thought loose—like she could shake Paige out of her bloodstream just by trying hard enough. Then she took the cup, smiled like it didn’t ache, and tipped it back with a long, burning sip.

When she leaned into Cam, it wasn’t for warmth. It was for distance. Across the room, Paige was already looking somewhere else.

And Azzi told herself that was a good thing. That it meant she was finally free. That it didn’t still feel like losing something sacred. She told herself all of that. And she almost believed it.

The party carried on around her—music pulsing, laughter echoing, the scent of something burnt wafting from the kitchen—but Azzi just sipped her drink and let Cam’s voice fill the space between thoughts she didn’t want to entertain.

He was mid-story about one of his teammates’ latest escapades, face animated as he tried to reenact the moment Tim had somehow ended up locked overnight in the stadium bathroom. Azzi giggled, genuinely, when he mimed the panic.

“Az!” She blinked, pulled from the easy rhythm of Cam’s story, and turned to see Jana waving her over, grinning like she knew exactly what she was interrupting. “Team picture, lovebird.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smirk tugging at her lips.

She turned back to Cam. 

“Let me hold your drink, superstar,” he said with a wink, already reaching for her cup.

She handed it over with a quiet, grateful smile and slipped her fingers into Jana’s outstretched hand.

Azzi let Jana tug her through the crowd, weaving past solo cups and sticky floors until they reached the cluster of girls already forming near the banner wall. Someone had strung up a makeshift sign that read UCONN, BABY in crooked silver letters.

“Alright, squeeze in,” someone called—probably A, based on the height and authority in her voice.

Azzi slid into place between Jana and Aubrey, laughing as someone elbowed her from behind. Everyone was loud and a little too tipsy and giggly to really get organized, but they gave it their best effort—arms draped, cheeks flushed, someone trying to shush the group and failing miserably.

“Wait, we’re missing—”

Before she could register the rest of the sentence, Paige appeared at the edge of the group.

“Well, glad to see no one waited for me.”

The voice was unmistakable. Light, cocky, soaked in that trademark Paige bravado that made people laugh before they even registered the joke.

“Your ego could use the hit, Bueckers,” Nika called out, and the group broke into laughter.

Azzi didn’t.

Instead, she turned, eyes locking on the source like they always did. Paige stood just a few feet away, solo cup in hand, hair a little messy in the best kind of way. 

And she was smiling. Not the polite kind. Not the camera-ready kind. The real one. The lopsided one that always looked a little too wide for her face, like she wasn’t used to joy taking up that much room.

Paige’s eyes swept over them, pausing just a second too long on the space beside Azzi before skimming past her like she wasn’t even there.

“Okay, you’re taking too long,” Jana huffed, rolling her eyes before grabbing Paige’s arm and dragging her into the narrow gap.

She shoved her into place—right beside Azzi. “There.” 

Their shoulders collided. Not a brush. Not a graze. Collided. Paige’s skin was warm and Azzi felt the contact like static under her ribs. Elbow to elbow. Hip to hip. She stiffened. Paige didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t seem to notice.

The camera was already counting down—someone shouting “three!” like this was all just a fun, forgettable night—but Azzi couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Paige stayed still beside her, perfectly composed, like they weren’t even touching. Like they hadn’t once fallen asleep shoulder to shoulder, hadn’t whispered secrets into the hollow dark between practices and regret.

Azzi forced her face into something passable. A smile that didn’t quite reach. But she couldn’t focus.  She could feel Paige breathing beside her—slow, steady, maddeningly unbothered. And she hated herself for wanting to look. Just a glance. Just enough to see if Paige was faking it too.

So she tilted her head. Just slightly. Just enough to catch a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. To see if Paige’s jaw was tight. If her hands were clenched like she knew they did when she was stressed. White knuckled and skin pulled tight. 

And that was when the flash went off.

Moments later, Ice was already scrolling through the burst shots, holding the phone too close to her face.

“Okay, this one’s actually good,” she said. “No one’s blinking...oh wait. Azzi.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

Ice flipped the phone around. Everyone else was looking at the camera, grinning or laughing or holding up peace signs. And there she was, not looking at the camera. Not even close.

“Where were you even looking, Fudd?” someone laughed.

The group cracked up, tossing around a few harmless jabs.  Azzi forced a smile. Tried to play along. 

But she couldn’t stop looking at Paige who hadn’t taken her eyes off the photo. Not once. Paige’s gaze was narrowed slightly—studying, focused. Like she was seeing more than just a team picture.

Then, without warning, her eyes flicked to Azzi. Just for a second. But it was enough. 

Azzi’s heart shot into her throat, breath caught somewhere behind it. She almost stepped back, like the look had physically hit her.

And then Paige turned. Not back to the phone. To Nika. Who didn’t say anything. Just looked at Paige with an expression Azzi couldn’t quite read. Something careful. Knowing. Maybe even tired.

They stayed like that for a heartbeat too long. And then Nika nodded, subtle and sure, like they’d reached some silent agreement. She touched Paige’s arm and turned, ushering her away.

The sea of people seemed to part without effort. Without question. Parting for Paige. Like they always did.

She didn’t push, didn’t ask—just moved, and the world rearranged itself to make space.

And Azzi—who once knew the sound of her laugh in the dark, who once held pieces of Paige no one else even knew existed—stood frozen, watching her disappear into the crowd.

Just another wave drawn to Paige Bueckers without question, only to break against a shore she never meant to offer

[bucketsorbueckers-deactivated20]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 2

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: language, alcohol, dumb sapphics not communicating

Dual POV - 7K words

A/N: holyyy ??? thank u sm for reading the first chapter!! legit thought i was gonna post into the void so if you saw this, i’m kissing your forehead through the screen <3 next one’s longer. messier. high in yearning. sorry in advance (but also. not at all.) would love to know what you think!! little comments keep me going fr so just know i appreciate youuu 🫶

Paige POV

Paige sat on the edge of the couch, one sneaker still half-on, fingers tangled in the laces like she’d forgotten what they were for. Her head spun—half from the alcohol, half from everything else.

The room was quiet, save for the dull hum of the fridge and the yellow light over the stove casting long shadows across the floor. Her phone buzzed somewhere across the room. She didn’t check it.

She was still in the same pants Azzi had seen her in. That mattered for no good reason.

She pressed her palms to her eyes until stars bloomed behind her lids. She didn’t cry. Paige never cried. But the ache had settled deep—familiar now—and she wondered if she even remembered how. If it might help. If it might do anything at all.

She groaned and fell back into the couch, the room spinning slightly with the motion. So she closed her eyes. And that was the mistake. Because her mind didn’t go to the party, or the noise, or the laughter she hadn’t really listened to. It went where it always did: straight to Azzi.

Not the Azzi from tonight. But the Azzi who used to sit cross-legged on her bed, eating cereal out of a mug, one sock on, one sock off, looking at Paige like she wasn’t something to admire but something to keep.

If she were here, she’d be telling Paige to get water. To wash her face. To change out of her jeans. She’d braid Paige’s hair so it wouldn’t be a disaster in the morning. Probably force her to eat something.

But Azzi wasn’t here. So Paige did none of that. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for her phone. Doesn’t untie the sneaker still half-dangling from her foot.

Her mouth is dry. Her head hurts. And still, nothing feels as hollow as the space Azzi used to fill without trying.

She can still see her, clear as day: curled up at the end of the bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, twisting the drawstrings into little knots while Paige rambled about something that didn’t matter. A game. A play. A headline she hated. And Azzi would listen, always.

There was one night. Paige doesn’t remember what led to it—what they’d talked about, if anything at all. Just the way Azzi sat behind her on the floor, legs wrapped loosely around her waist, fingers moving slowly through her hair.  No music. No talking. Just touch. And the safety of being known.

And for once, Paige didn’t feel like she had to fill the silence. Azzi never asked her to be anything but there. She hadn’t realized what a luxury that was. Back then, it felt inevitable. Automatic. 

Now, silence feels different. Sharper. Meaner. Azzi would’ve known what to do with it. Would’ve filled it without trying. Would’ve made the air feel less heavy just by being in the room. But Azzi’s not here. So Paige just sinks deeper into the couch, lets the ache stretch wider across her chest, and tries not to wonder what Azzi’s doing.

If she’s curled up in that baseball player’s bed. Wearing his hoodie. Making him mac and cheese like it means nothing. Like she hasn’t done all of that before, for someone else.

And then—like punishment—a memory surfaces. 

Her bedroom. After a loss Paige had claimed like it was hers to carry—because that’s what leaders did, right? They absorbed the blame. They held it so no one else had to.

She’d sat with her knees pulled to her chest, back against the headboard, arms wrapped so tight around her legs it hurt. The room was dark. She hadn’t turned the lights on when she came in, hadn’t taken off her sneakers. Sweat clung to her skin, dried cold and uncomfortable, but she couldn’t make herself move.

The door creaked open. Azzi didn’t say anything.

She stepped in barefoot, silent, already in one of Paige’s sweatshirts—too big, the hem brushing her thighs, sleeves half-swallowed. She didn’t hesitate. Just crossed the room like she knew the floor plan of Paige’s grief.

She climbed onto the bed, moved slowly and knelt beside Paige. For a second, she didn’t touch her. Just looked. And then, gently, she reached out and cupped Paige’s arm.

“Come here,” she murmured.

Paige didn’t resist.

Azzi guided her down like she was something fragile, easing her back against the mattress until Paige was lying flat, stiff at first, eyes wide and blinking toward the ceiling.

Then Azzi lay down beside her. She pressed their bodies together, slid an arm beneath Paige’s head like a pillow, the other curling around her waist. Their legs tangled like instinct.

And she said nothing. 

Not you played fine.  Not you did everything you could. Not I’m proud of you.

She just stayed.

And Paige—who didn’t cry, who never let herself fall apart, who carried the weight of every game like it was stitched into her jersey— let herself lean in. Just a little. Just enough.

She remembered thinking: Azzi loved her even at her worst and never once asked her to be anything else.

She’d been so dumb. So fucking ungrateful for it—whatever “it” had been. She groaned as her phone buzzed again.

Dragging herself upright, she blinked at the screen. Sixty-something texts from Nika, letting her know she’d be staying elsewhere tonight. Paige gave the last one a thumbs up. No words. She didn’t have any left.

She retreated to her room like it might offer some kind of silence that would actually stick. She tried to sleep. Really tried. Stared at the ceiling. Flipped her pillow. Closed her eyes. Counted her breaths. None of it worked.

Eventually, with a sigh sharp enough to count as surrender, she reached for her phone again.

The group chat had finally calmed down. Just a few heart emojis and someone’s blurry selfie from the kitchen. Most of her teammates were probably asleep. She could’ve left it there. Should have. But her thumb kept scrolling. Down past Liv. Past Jana. Past everyone. Until she found Azzi’s name.

Her stomach twisted at the “last sent” date. Had it really been a month? She tapped into the thread. And winced. The screen was all Azzi. A wall of quiet, one-sided effort. 

Azzi: hey. just checking in.

Azzi: you left your sweatshirt in the locker room btw

Azzi: i know you’re busy. just wanted to say good luck on your exam today.

Azzi: saw you in the gym this morning. you looked tired.

Azzi: i miss you

Azzi: forget it. Sorry.

Azzi: i know we’re not really talking right now. but you’re still my best friend. that hasn’t changed.

Azzi: i’ll stop bothering you.

She stared at the final message a beat too long, then tore her eyes away.

It wasn’t like she had intentionally ignored them. She hadn’t meant to shut Azzi out. She just didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to bridge the space between who they used to be and whatever they were now.

Because the thing was, it wasn’t not knowing how she felt. That had never been the issue.

Loving Azzi had never been the problem. That part had always been easy. Natural. A constant in a world that changed too fast and asked too much. And if it had just been them—no cameras, no noise, no one else pulling—maybe things would’ve stayed simple.

Paige would’ve stayed. She knows that much. She would’ve chosen Azzi. She wouldn’t have given up. But somewhere along the way, it all got tangled. Messy. It wasn’t on purpose.

She just kept running out of space. Out of time. Too many people. Too many eyes. Always something to prove, someone to answer to. 

Azzi usually understood. She always had. She knew there was a version of Paige that didn’t belong to herself. The one in postgame interviews, in highlight reels, on social media.  She never seemed to resent it. Never made her feel guilty for the things she couldn’t control. Which is why Paige didn’t understand when it shifted. Didn’t know what changed.

The first crack happened quietly. Azzi had said something once, soft, but sharp in that way she always was when she didn’t want to start a fight but couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Sometimes, I just wish I was your first choice.”

It made her feel like a villain in a story she didn’t know she was in. Like she’d missed a moment where something shifted, and now she was paying for it without ever understanding the rules.

And from there, the fissures in their existence began to splinter. Quiet, invisible hairline fractures but there, cracking outward from the very fault line of who they were. Moments that used to feel easy began to catch. Silences stretched longer than they used to. Texts went unanswered a little too long. Jokes didn’t always land the way they once did.

Nothing big. Nothing loud. Just a slow, soft shift. And then, all at once, the space between them stopped feeling like a pause and started feeling like distance. Like something had shifted beneath them, and neither of them had the words to name it.

And Paige hadn’t asked. Hadn’t said, are we okay? Because she thought they were.

Because Azzi still braided her hair on road trips. Still sat beside her during film. Still laughed at her dumb jokes, even when they barely made sense. But there was something in her eyes that had started to fade. Some warmth that flickered a little too low.

And now Paige couldn’t stop thinking about it, how Azzi had kept showing up, softer and softer, until eventually, she disappeared entirely. 

Her phone buzzed again on the pillow beside her. Not Azzi. It never was anymore. She blinked away the sharp-edged memories and looked back at her phone. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, the thread still open—Azzi’s name at the top.

She typed:

i miss you too.

Stared at it. Deleted it. Typed again:

are you still up?

Backspaced. Studied the rhythm of the blinking cursor. She sat there a moment longer, the silence pressing in from every side, the ache spreading like a bruise she didn’t want to touch.

Then she tried again. Slower this time.

i don’t know how to do this. 

She stared at the words like they might rearrange themselves into something braver. Then she deleted them too and turned off her phone. Because reaching out meant admitting something had broken. And Paige wasn’t ready to know if it couldn’t be fixed.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The sun filtered through her half-closed blinds too early, nearly cracking her skull in two. Paige groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes like that might block out the damage. Her head pounded. Her mouth tasted like shitty vodka.

She didn’t remember falling asleep. Didn’t remember turning off her phone. But it was there on the nightstand, face-down like she’d been trying to forget something. She stared at it for a long time before reaching.

Just one swipe. Just a glance. Azzi hadn’t texted. Paige let the phone fall back against the sheets and rolled onto her side, eyes squeezed shut.

Last night clawed at the edges of her memory. Blurry, uneven, softened by too much cheap liquor and not enough food. There’d been laughter, music, the low hum of voices bleeding together. But even through the haze, she remembered those moments.

Azzi looking at her. And then not. Azzi’s skin brushing up against hers in the photo—too warm, too familiar. Azzi glancing sideways, just for a second, before pretending she hadn’t. Azzi. Everywhere. All at once. And also not at all.

In the room. In her mind. In the silence of a phone that hadn’t lit up all night. Haunting her in the softest, sharpest ways.

Paige sat up, her joints stiff, mouth still dry, heart beating just a little too loud for how early it was. She didn’t bother with a text. Or a real breakfast. Just pulled on yesterday’s hoodie, tied her sneakers, and grabbed her keys like muscle memory had taken over.

The world outside was too bright, too loud. The sky an offensive kind of blue. But the gym– the gym was still dark when she walked in. Still cold. Still quiet.

Just the echo of her footsteps and the soft hum of overhead lights flickering on.

She liked it better this way. Before the noise. Before the crowds. 

She set a ball down at half court, took a breath, and started to shoot. One after another. Each shot a little too hard. A little too fast. Each one missing just slightly left.

She kept going. Kept moving. Sweat beading at her hairline like she could outrun the night before. Sweat it out, burn it off, leave it behind. As if sheer effort could scrub her thoughts clean of brown eyes and perfect curls. And that damn look in the photo.

“You’re a freak.” Paige stopped the ball with her foot, chest still rising and falling, and turned to find Nika leaning against the wall like she hadn’t just caught her in the middle of a silent spiral.“I fed you enough alcohol to give you a three-day hangover.”

Paige grinned. “Some of us are just built different, I guess.”

Nika rolled her eyes and strolled to the middle of the court. She sat down, legs stretched out in front of her, and watched as Paige kept shooting—thud after thud echoing through the empty gym.

Then came the throat-clearing.

Once. Twice. Three times. Paige exhaled hard, let the ball roll to a stop, and dropped down beside her.

“How nice of you to join me,” Nika said sweetly, not looking at her.

Paige shook her head, eyes drifting toward the championship banners swaying faintly in the rafters. Nika didn’t hesitate.

“You text her?”

“What?” Paige muttered.  “Who?”

Nika scoffed, waving her off. “I’m way too hungover to play this game with you.” She turned to face her now, voice flat. “Last night—when I walked your wobbly ass home—you said, and I quote, ‘I’m gonna text Azzi and fix all of this.’”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She picked at the edge of her sock, eyes still fixed on the rafters like they held better questions.

“I thought about it,” she said finally, quiet.

“Would call that progress for progress’s sake,” Nika muttered, “but I’m not a liar.” She exhaled, slow. “It’s been a month, P.”

Paige shrugged. “I thought we were doing an okay job with it. The team doesn’t seem to notice.”

Nika groaned, but this time it was softer. Less theatrical.

“Paige,” she said, quieter now. “Not everything is about the team.” She paused, studying her. “You’re not doing well. You think we don’t notice, but we do.” Paige didn’t move.“You’re quieter. You’re in the gym at all hours. You barely talk unless it’s about basketball.”

“I’m just… focused,” Paige muttered. “With the season coming up.”

Nika frowned, gentle but sure.

“I know I’m not Azzi,” she said, “but you don’t have to lie to me.”

Paige’s jaw clenched. She didn’t look at her. The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the gym lights overhead. Then, so quiet it almost wasn’t there:

“I don’t know what to say, Nika.” She exhaled shakily, like the truth hurt to hold. “I’m scared that if I say it out loud—if I admit she walked away—then that means she’s really gone.” Her throat tightened. “And I don’t know how to live with that. I don’t think I can.”

Beside her, Nika swallowed, then shifted closer—close enough for their knees to touch, for the silence to feel less overwhelming. She wrapped her arms around Paige and tugged her in, firm but gentle. Like she wasn’t going to let her fall apart alone.

“It’s Azzi, P,” she murmured.“You and her—you're not just some on-again, off-again thing. You’re Paige and Azzi. That’s been a fact as long as I can remember. Even now, when everything’s messy and sideways, that doesn’t just disappear. You’re not cut off. Just out of sync. That’s not the same as losing her.”

Paige, in a rare moment of surrender, let herself lean in and buried her face in Nika’s shoulder like she could hide from the truth inside it.

“Then why,” she whispered, voice splintering, “does it fucking feel like I have?”

Nika didn’t answer right away. She just held her tighter, arms secure around her like she wasn’t going to let her fall any further. 

“Because you love her.” She felt Paige stiffen just slightly, like the words landed somewhere too deep. “That’s why it hurts like this,” Nika added, voice gentler now. “Because it’s real. And because it’s her.”

Paige didn’t have the energy to argue. Because Nika was right.

She loved Azzi. Not in the loud, all-consuming way people always talked about. Not fireworks or grand gestures.  It was quieter than that. Slower.

The kind of love that snuck in when she wasn’t looking and made itself at home. The kind that curled up in the passenger seat on long road trips and pressed in close after late-night losses. The kind that didn’t demand attention, didn’t ask to be named because it was already stitched into everything.

She loved her in the way her body remembered, in the pause before a joke, in the instinct to reach for her hand without thinking. In the way she looked for her in every room before realizing she wasn't there.

Azzi was the quiet in the chaos. The place her soul went to rest. The thing that ever felt like hers, even when nothing else did. 

And maybe that was the problem. Because when you love someone like that—so completely, so unconditionally—you start to believe they’re part of you.

You forget they’re allowed to leave. You forget they don’t have to stay. Even if you would’ve. 

Azzi POV

Azzi woke up slow.

The sun filtered through the blinds, soft and gold, warming the edge of her pillow. The weight of the blanket pressed gently over her shoulders, and the mattress dipped slightly behind her. Someone was beside her. Still half-asleep, Azzi smiled.

She didn’t open her eyes. Just breathed in and let herself sink closer—muscle memory guiding her, like it always had. The shape was right. The warmth. The way their knee bumped gently against hers. For half a second, she thought, Paige.

She hummed, content, pressing herself into the comfort like it might last.

“No time for snuggles,” someone muttered. “I’m hungry.”

Azzi’s eyes flew open to find Caroline. Her best friend is lying on her side, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t just shatter a perfectly good morning.

Azzi groans. “Why are you in my bed?”

“You fell asleep on mine. You stole my blanket. I followed my blanket.”

Azzi buries her face in the pillow. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here I am. A gift.”

Caroline sits up and stretches, already tossing the blankets back with no regard for Azzi’s fragile morning peace.

“You promised me breakfast,” she says. “Don’t think I won’t hold you to it.”

Caroline jumps off the bed, heading towards the door. 

“Five minutes or I’m leaving without you,” she called over her shoulder, already halfway to the kitchen. “And I swear I’ll eat your leftovers out of spite.”

The door clicked shut. And just like that, the space beside Azzi was empty again. She didn’t move. Just stared at the mattress, the faint dent where someone had been.

It wasn’t the same shape. Wasn’t the same warmth. But for a second, she’d believed it.

For a second, her body had reached for something it used to know by heart. She curled her fingers into the sheets, pressed her face into the pillow like it might still smell like her. Like Paige.

It didn’t.

She kicked the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed like she could shake it all loose. Moved too fast for a Sunday morning, pulling on jeans, shoving her arms through an old hoodie, twisting her curls into a bun without so much as a glance in the mirror.

She didn’t check her phone. Didn’t need to. She already knew Paige hadn’t texted.

By the time she stepped outside, Caroline was already on the sidewalk, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, looking annoyingly well-rested for someone who’d hijacked Azzi’s bed.

She held out the cup with a little smile. “You always forget your caffeine when you’re in a mood. You know the student centers is terrible.”

Azzi took it without arguing. They started down the block in silence, the morning quiet except for the soft scuff of their sneakers on the pavement. After a while, Caroline glanced over.

“You okay?”

Azzi shrugged, eyes on the sidewalk. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Caroline didn’t call her out. Didn’t push. She just nodded like she believed her. Or at least understood why she didn’t want to talk about it.

Then, gently: 

“Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

Azzi didn’t reply. But her fingers curled tighter around the coffee cup. And Caroline didn’t say anything else.

The student café was warm and buzzing, sunlight pooling across the tiled floors and clattering dishes. The line moved slow, but Azzi didn’t mind. She liked places like this—too loud to think, too small to fall apart in.

Caroline pointed to a table in the back while Azzi ordered for both of them, and by the time she slid into the booth, Caroline already had her phone out and a croissant torn in half between them. Cam arrived a few minutes later, all easy charm and windblown hair. 

“You two look like you’re recovering from something,” Cam said, sliding into the seat across from Azzi.

Caroline didn’t look up from her phone. Just gestured lazily in Azzi’s direction. “She is.”

Cam raised a brow but didn’t push. Just slid a pastry toward her like it might solve something. Azzi offered a grateful smile.

Caroline didn’t dislike Cam. She just didn’t buy the whole “he’s good for me” campaign Azzi had been running lately.

I can tell you’re not happy, she’d said one night. Azzi had shut it down before it could bloom into something messier. Because she needed Cam. Needed the steadiness, the ease, the way he never asked for more than she offered.

He was warm. Present. Simple. A safe place to land after limping her way across the scorched battlefield that was being touched—then abandoned—by Paige Bueckers.

It had been almost two weeks. And Cam really was a good guy. She figured if she told herself that enough, one day, it might matter. 

They made small talk. Caroline filled the silence. Cam laughed at something she said. Azzi tried to stay tethered to the moment, to the clink of forks and the smell of coffee and the way Cam looked at her like she was still whole.

Jana appeared halfway through the conversation, sliding into the booth beside Caroline with a groan and a dramatic yawn.

“I know,” She says. “The coffee is shit but I’m desperate.”

They all laughed. Even Azzi.  She was halfway through a sentence when the bell over the café door chimed again. Caroline stilled across from her. Eyes tracking the door.

“Shit,” she murmured, just loud enough for Azzi to hear.

Azzi didn’t have to look. Not at first. She didn’t need to. Some people enter a room quietly. Some crash. Paige didn’t do either. She just shifted the gravity.

Azzi’s spine straightened. Her breath caught. Something deep in her chest tightened—like muscle memory reawakening after too long asleep.  And when she finally let herself look toward the door, she nearly flinched. There was Paige. Framed in the doorway like the morning light didn’t quite know how to hold her.

Hair still damp, hoodie too big, sleeves shoved past her wrists like she’d gotten dressed without thinking. Like maybe she hadn’t slept. She looked like something Azzi had dreamed about too many times to admit.

Across from her, Cam glanced toward the door.

“Is that Paige?” he asked, voice quiet, almost casual.

Caroline didn’t look up. “Yup.”

Cam nodded, eyes following her for a beat too long. “Weird,” he murmured. “Being that recognizable. Having people clock you everywhere.” He shook his head a little. “I don’t think I’d know how to be normal.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away.

“She doesn’t really get to be,” she said finally. 

Cam didn’t respond, still watching. Just for a second. And that’s when Azzi saw it. Not awe, exactly but something adjacent. That flicker of recognition. That quiet pull. The same look she’d seen a hundred times in other people. On sidewalks. At games. In locker rooms and airports and campus dining halls. The look that said: That’s her.

Azzi had memorized it since they were sixteen. It was always the same…like the air shifted when Paige walked through it. Like something about her demanded to be noticed, even when she wasn’t trying. Especially then. She just had that effect on people. Impossible to ignore. Impossible not to want. 

And Azzi had spent years pretending she was the only person in the world immune to it. But she wasn’t. Not really.

Because she understood the awe. She understood the pull. The quiet hunger to know Paige. To unravel her. To be the exception in a world full of admirers. Azzi had felt it too. Still felt it, low and constant in her stomach. Sharp. Stupid. Unrelenting.

Loving Paige hadn’t protected her from wanting her. It had only taught her how impossible it was to ever truly have her.

And now she was here—walking past them, coffee in hand, eyes fixed on her phone like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Azzi caught her in the blur of her peripheral vision—still didn’t look, not really—until Jana’s voice cut through the quiet:

“Paigey! Don’t be rude. Say hi.”

Azzi stiffened. Caroline froze mid-sip. Paige paused. She didn’t look up right away. Just tapped once more on her screen, like she was taking care of something important. Then, finally, she lifted her gaze.

“Hey,” she said, quiet but pointed. Her gaze swept across the table, barely grazing Azzi, landing instead on the boy beside her.

Cam straightened, offering a hand. “I’m Cam.”

Paige looked at it for a moment too long before shaking it once.

“So I’ve heard,” She said. “Paige. Nice to meet you.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. Not for anyone at the table.

Paige didn’t sit. She didn’t even shift her weight like she might. Just stood there, coffee in hand, gaze flicking back to her phone like she was already halfway out the door.

Cam cleared his throat, trying to recover. “You hit the gym this morning?”

Paige nodded once. “Early workout.”

“Respect,” he said, with a small laugh. “I can barely get myself out of bed before ten.”

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t even pretend to. Azzi hadn’t moved. She was still staring at the spot just past Paige’s shoulder, like if she looked directly at her, she might combust.

“Are you going to sit down?” Jana asked, proving once again her innate ability to never sense the tension.

Paige’s lips twitched, not a smile, but something close to it. Tired.

“I actually can’t stay,” she said, eyes shifting to her phone. “Meetings.”

“Oh yes, our very own superstar,” Jana teased. “What endorsement are we chatting about today? Gatorade? Nike? Can you get me new shoes?”

That actually made Paige laugh. Short and real and gone too fast.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Paige lingered just a second longer, thumb tapping the edge of her coffee cup. Then, like it was nothing, she held out a small brown bag to Azzi.

“They had the cherry thing today,” she said, not quite meeting her eyes. “You always miss it.”

Azzi froze.

Jana blinked. “The cherry tart? I literally just asked and they told me they were out.”

Paige shrugged, “Guess they just think I’m special.”

She set the bag on the table in front of Azzi, casual as anything. Then turned, already stepping back.

“I’ll see you guys at practice.”

The door chimed behind her. And Azzi still hadn’t moved.

Jana sighed dramatically, breaking the silence. “Must be nice being Paige Bueckers. A god among mortals.” 

Cam chuckled, reaching for levity like it could stitch the moment back together. He slid an arm around Azzi’s shoulders.

“You alright?” he asked softly.

Azzi’s throat bobbed. Her eyes drifted from the untouched pastry bag to Caroline, who was already watching her. Not curious. Not surprised. Just steady. Soft in that way Caroline always was when she already knew the answer. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Her gaze said it all: You thought she wasn’t looking. But she was.

Azzi swallowed again, the ache rising higher now. Cam’s arm was still draped over her shoulders, his thumb brushing back and forth—like comfort could be that simple. But it wasn’t.

It was too much. Too close. Too easy. And somehow still not even close to what she needed.

Her skin buzzed with it. This gentle, well-meaning touch that felt like the wrong language spoken fluently. Carefully, she shifted out from under it.

“I need to make a call,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Then she stood, the pastry still untouched on the table, and stepped out into the morning light.

When the fresh air hit her lungs, Azzi sucked in a sharp breath, like she could force the panic back into place. But it didn’t work. Because across the street, Paige was still there. Still lingering.

Hands in her pockets, eyes half-lowered, like she was waiting for someone. Their eyes met. Paige tilted her head. Observant. Measured. Like she was trying to read something in Azzi’s face she no longer had permission to name.

And something hot surged up in Azzi’s chest. Not heartbreak. Not quite. Anger. Sharp and clean and useful. It almost felt good because it had an edge. Because it gave her something to hold. The urge to move buzzed in her limbs. To cross the street. To do something. To shove her hands against Paige’s chest and say you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to show up and act like you still see me. Still know me. Still care.

She imagined saying, I’m not yours to be generous with anymore.

But she didn’t move. Not an inch. She just stood there. And across the street, Paige didn’t either. For a few suspended seconds, they just existed. Two people who used to share a world. Now standing on opposite sides of it.

And despite everything, Azzi let herself think about it. Let herself remember who Paige had been once. Not to the world, not to the cameras or the crowds or the girls who lined up to take pictures after games but her Paige. 

The one who always found her first in a room, no matter how loud it was. Who could spot her from across a court full of chaos and send a look that said, You okay? without ever saying a word.

The one who unraveled quietly in her dorm room. Kicking off her shoes, hoodie tugged over her head, lying backwards across Azzi’s bed with her legs dangling off the side, eyes closed like the silence was the only thing keeping her together.The one who said I’m tired only to Azzi because she didn’t trust the world to know she wasn’t always strong.

The one who touched her like the world wasn’t watching because when it was just them, it never felt like it was. Fingers brushing her wrist under the dinner table. Knees knocking together during film. A hand lingering at the small of her back as they wove through post-game crowds.

Paige had never been soft for many people. She couldn’t be. But with Azzi—god, with Azzi, the edges always fell away. Her voice would go quieter. Her gaze would linger longer. She’d lean her head on Azzi’s shoulder like it was second nature, like she forgot she wasn’t supposed to need anyone.

She’d reserved that softness like it was something sacred. A secret Azzi never had to ask for, because it was just… offered. Freely. Quietly.

And Azzi—foolishly, selfishly, with both hands and her whole heart—had believed it would always be hers.

Because when Paige looked at her like that, all edges gone, all pretense stripped away, it felt like forever. But maybe it never was. Maybe Paige had just been handing her borrowed things. Little pieces of gentleness, of trust, of a love too soft for the world to see and Azzi mistook them for promises. 

Maybe she’d been holding something that was only ever meant to pass through her fingers. And now, standing in the echo of that quiet, Azzi couldn’t stop wondering:

What if the most devastating part of loving Paige Bueckers was never losing her but realizing she was never really hers to begin with?

Paige’s POV

Practice was hell. Sweat-drenched, leg-aching, breath-in-her-throat hell.

Season was approaching and Geno was one bad pass away from a full-scale meltdown. Paige wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and narrowed her focus.

Ball. Feet. Breath. Because basketball—basketball still made sense.

It was the one place she could still breathe without thinking. The one place where everything stayed exactly where it was supposed to be. Even now. Even after.

Across the court, Azzi moved like a second heartbeat. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Azzi cut left, and Paige was already pivoting. A no-look pass, seamless and clean. A catch in stride. A shot. Net. They didn’t miss a beat. Not one.

Their bodies remembered: the rhythm, the weight, the pull of each other’s gravity. It was muscle memory. It was chemistry. It was grief, dressed up in a perfect assist.

Paige wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She was a professional, first and always.The game came first. The team came first. So mostly, she was grateful. Grateful that whatever had splintered between them hadn’t followed them here…that on the court, they still fit. Still moved like they were breathing the same air.

But there was still that ache. A pinprick under her ribs that she couldn’t shake. 

The damning knowledge that she could still find Azzi in motion. Still trust her without hesitation, without a word. But once the buzzer went off, once the world came rushing back in, she didn’t know how to reach her anymore. Didn’t know where to stand. Didn’t know if she was still welcome.

Geno’s whistle cut through the air, sharp and final, knocking her out of the thought. Practice was over. Just like that. And all at once, the noise returned, sneakers squeaking, water bottles snapping open, the hum of voices rising back into the space she’d carved out for silence.

Paige blinked, wiped her face with the hem of her shirt, and told herself to move.

But everything felt off—like the world was half a step ahead of her, and she couldn’t quite catch up. She moved slowly through the locker room. Slow to pack her bag. Slow to drift toward a conversation she would’ve once led without thinking. Like her body remembered how to be there, but not how to belong.

Her eyes flicked around the room, not looking for anything, until they landed on Caroline. Who was already watching her.

Caroline: Azzi’s best friend. Loyal, soft-spoken, sharper than she let on.

Paige had no idea what she knew. If Azzi had ever told her. If she’d shared any of it…them. Or if Paige had just been erased from the story.

She felt the thought creep in, uninvited and sharp: Maybe Azzi was embarrassed. Embarrassed that it had happened. 

They held eye contact for one suspended second. Not hostile.  Not soft. Just long enough for something to pass between them—something Paige couldn’t name. Then Caroline looked away. And so did she.

Eventually, Paige tugged her bag over her shoulder. The locker room had long since emptied out, and for a moment, she let the silence linger like it might settle something inside her. It didn’t. She stepped out into the hallway, footsteps echoing down the linoleum.

Outside, the sun had already dipped past the horizon, leaving campus washed in a dusky, dull glow. She shoved the door open and stepped into the chill, her body flinching instinctively against the wind. Her phone buzzed. She glanced down. Some email from her agent about scheduling. She didn’t read it, not really.

But then she felt it. Not a sound. Not a movement. Just a shift. The air changed. Like something important had entered the space. A whiff of vanilla. Her head snapped up. 

Azzi stood a few feet away, haloed by the dim orange spill of the streetlamp. Hoodie sleeves swallowed her hands. Curls tied up in a way that made Paige’s ribcage feel too tight for her lungs.

She looked like a memory Paige wasn’t allowed to touch anymore.

Azzi’s head turned then, like she’d felt Paige’s stare tugging at her spine. For a second, Paige braced for her to walk away. She looked like someone on the edge of it. But she didn’t.

“You’re leaving late,” Azzi said, voice soft.

Paige shrugged, because that’s what she did when she had too many feelings and no idea where to put them. “Didn’t really have anywhere to be.”

Azzi nodded, gaze drifting to the parking lot behind them like she was trying to pretend this was normal.

“Your shots looked good today.”

Paige rubbed the back of her neck, shifting her weight. Her body couldn’t take stillness in moments like this.

“Thanks,” she said, barely. “Yours too.”

Azzi smiled, if you could call it that. It didn’t reach anything. Polite and close lipped. 

“Thanks.”

And that was it.

But Paige could feel the words rising anyway, pressing against her throat like they might claw their way out if she didn’t let them. The messy ones. The ones she’d swallowed whole every day since Azzi left. Apologies that didn’t have a shape yet. Questions she wasn’t sure she wanted the answers to. Explanations that felt like too much but not enough.  Anything to pull Azzi closer.  Even just an inch.  Even just long enough to believe that gravity hadn’t let go of them completely.

Paige had never been the kind of girl who begged. She worked. She pushed. She earned. But pleading? That was foreign. That was weakness.

And yet—For Azzi, she would.

She would get on her hands and knees. Crawl across the asphalt if that’s what it took. She would press her forehead to the ground like it was holy. Like this was devotion. Like her humiliation could be translated into worth. 

She’d offer it all: every last bit of pride she hadn’t already chipped away. The ache in her chest that hadn’t stopped since Azzi stopped being hers. The soft, aching pieces of her that still pulsed like an old bruise she kept pressing on, just to check if it still hurt.

(It did. It always did.)

She’d lay herself bare in that quiet, ugly way—the kind of vulnerability that doesn’t transform you or teach you a lesson. It just leaves you exposed. Skin peeled back. Chest split wide.

If there was even the faintest chance that Azzi might look at her and think, Maybe she’s worth it. Even if she never said it.  Even if she just stood there in the dark, hoodie sleeves swallowing her hands, eyes flicking somewhere far away like Paige was too much to look at directly.

Paige would still do it.

Because that’s what you do when someone’s name lives in your mouth like a secret. You ruin yourself for the chance that they might whisper it back.

Azzi was still watching her—closely, unbearably—and Paige felt the sting behind her eyes before she could stop it. That helpless, traitorous burn.

“Azzi,” she said. Barely. A whisper shaped like a sob, like a plea she didn’t know how to finish.

And then headlights cut through the quiet.

A car Paige didn’t recognize pulled into the lot behind them, flooding the space with too much light. And without thinking, she stepped closer to Azzi. Instinctive. Stupid. Like her body still hadn’t gotten the memo that they weren’t them anymore. That Azzi didn’t need her like that.

But Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just turned like she already knew. Like some part of her had been waiting.

“Babe!” The word hit like a slap, soft and smiling. Cam leaned out the window, eyes finding Azzi first. Like she was his to look at. “Sorry I’m late. Practice ran over.”

Then his gaze shifted. Landed on Paige. And lingered. On their closeness. The silence that hadn’t quite scattered yet.

“Oh,” he added, a beat too light. “Hey, Paige. Sorry—did I interrupt something?”

Paige rolled her shoulders back, spine straightening. She inhaled like she could breathe the ache out of her body, make her voice clear again.

“Nothing important,” she said, cool and sharp around the edges. The kind of cool that cost her something.

And she swore, for just a second, something flickered in Azzi’s eyes. But Paige had lost her map to Azzi Fudd, and now every look felt like a dead language. Beautiful. Incomprehensible.

Azzi blinked, gaze steady. “Were you going to say something?”

Paige’s throat burned. She swallowed hard. “Nah. Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting.”

Azzi’s eyes widened, startled. “He’s not—”

“See you later.”

It came out too fast, too final. But she didn’t take it back. Didn’t wait for the explanation. Just turned, walking away before her knees could betray her. Before she did something stupid. Like stay.

[bucketsorbueckers-deactivated20]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 3

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: language, alcohol, toxic and vindictive P (sry)

Dual POV - 9K words

A/N: annnd were back. thanks for all the love on the previous chapters. your messages and comments make me so excited for where this is going so pls, if you feel inclined, continue to let me know what you think <3 with that said, this entire chapter was inspired by "low" by SZA. listen to it for ultimate vibes. good luck

Azzi’s POV

The first time Azzi Fudd saw Paige Bueckers, she couldn’t stand her.

The skinny blonde was loud. Her voice bounced off the gym walls like it owned the place, impossible to ignore. She filled every inch of space in the already too-crowded arena, like silence was something she’d never learned to leave room for.

Still, Azzi struggled to look away. Struggled not to follow her the way a moth chases a flickering flame, drawn in spite of the burn. And when Paige’s blue eyes caught hers across the gym, she did the worst thing imaginable.

She smirked. Like she knew Azzi had been watching. Knew she’d already taken up too much space in Azzi’s head, like it was something she was entitled to.

They ended up on opposite ends of the ball not long after, and Azzi made it her personal mission to knock the girl down a few notches. Her ego—not her, physically. But somewhere along the way, those lines got a little blurry. And before she knew it, Azzi was lowering her shoulder and plowing straight through Paige Bueckers.

Paige hit the hardwood hard. Bone-rattling hard.

For a second, Azzi just froze, staring down at her like her brain couldn’t quite catch up to what her body had just done. And then the panic surged. She rushed forward, sneakers squeaking across the court, heart thudding in her throat. Paige was still on the ground, watching her. Eyes sharp. Following Azzi’s every move.

Azzi dropped to a crouch, breath unsteady as she reached out a hand.

“Sorry,” she blurted. “I—I didn’t mean to. I just—”

She couldn’t finish. Paige took her hand and used it to pull herself up, only she didn’t let go right away. Instead, she tugged Azzi in. Just a little. Just enough to tilt the world. Close enough that Azzi’s breath hitched audibly but not close enough for anyone else to notice.

“If you wanted my attention, Fudd, you could’ve just said something.”

Azzi’s fingers twitched in her grip. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Paige didn’t wait for her to recover. She just turned and walked away—like the world hadn’t tilted, like Azzi’s bones weren’t still echoing from the touch.Like nothing had changed.

Behind her, someone called for the ball. Sneakers squeaked across the court. Normal sounds. Familiar, grounding. But everything felt off-kilter. Tilted just enough to make her feel like the floor had moved beneath her. Like Paige had shifted something fundamental, and Azzi wasn’t sure it could ever be put back.

She’d been sixteen then. And still, years later, she sometimes wonders if that was the moment it all went to hell. The exact second she was wholly, irreversibly fucked.

Like some butterfly effect of emotion—one glance, one smirk across a gym floor—and now she’s twenty-one, riding shotgun in a guy’s car, pretending to care about a story she’ll forget in five minutes.

Because Paige Bueckers is still sitting somewhere in the center of her brain, loud as ever.

Like gravity. Like a scar.  Like every almost that ever mattered.

“Az?” Cam says gently. “You okay?”

Azzi stiffens but forces a smile as she reaches for his hand.

“Yeah. Sorry,” she says, voice light. “Long practice. Just… thinking about everything. You know how it is.”

Cam squeezes her hand, reassuring. Steady. “For sure. Just hang in there. We’ll go out this weekend. Clear your head, hit reset.”

She nods, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Yeah,” she says. “Sounds good.”

She turns her attention to the blur outside the window—the streetlights stretching into smears, the world rushing past like it’s trying to outrun something. She leans her head against the cold glass. Feels it bite at her temple. Tries to let it numb her.

Tries to shut it off. The echo of Paige’s voice. The feel of her hand. The way everything inside her still felt tilted, like the world had shifted beneath her feet and hadn’t righted itself since that day.

She squeezes her eyes shut.

Because maybe it really did start back then—sixteen years old, Paige smirking across the gym like she already knew the ending. Like she was the ending. And maybe that was the moment Azzi changed.

Irrevocably. Quietly. All at once.

Paige Bueckers etched into her marrow. Stamped onto the soft, unseen parts of her. The kind of imprint you don’t notice until it hurts to breathe. And maybe that was the point. Maybe it was always meant to end like this—Azzi trying to forget someone who lived in her like a second pulse. One glimpse. One smirk. And she’d been damned ever since.

Truthfully, she’d spent years trying to cauterize the feeling. Buried it beneath new routines, new teams, new people who said all the right things but never felt like fire.

And then, eventually, she gave in. Took the leap. Let herself open to the girl who felt less like a person and more like a north star. And for a while, it was good.

The kind of good that sinks into your bones. The intimacy of being known—truly known. The beautiful and the brutal. The ugly parts too. Someone who didn’t just accept who you were, but understood. And stayed.

Late nights curled into each other like habit. Mornings with coffee and tangled legs and private conversations. Fingers intertwined. Laughter echoing in the hollow places she’d once called irreparable.

It was good because Paige was good. Loving Paige was easy. Inevitable. As inevitable as death, and breathing, and everything in between. 

It was everything else that ruined it. The lights. The cameras. The way people said Paige’s name like it was holy.

All of it chipped away at Azzi—small, relentless fractures. Pieces of Paige broken off and passed around. Her light stretched too thin for Azzi to reach. And Azzi hadn’t known how to exist in that kind of orbit.  Hadn’t known how to share someone she loved more than anything.

So she left. Told herself it was the right thing. That Paige deserved someone who could meet the spotlight without flinching, someone who didn’t shrink beneath the weight of the world chanting her name.

That walking away wasn’t just for herself. :t was for Paige too.

Because how could you love someone like that and still ask them to dim for you?

So she stepped back. Quietly. Cleanly. Told herself it was mercy.  Told herself it was love. 

But the truth was, nothing inside her really changed. She still ached for Paige in every room she wasn’t in. Still looked for her in crowds. In highlight reels. In dreams that slipped away too fast. In echoes. In silences. In the quiet parts of herself that no one else had ever learned how to hold.

And even to this day, when Paige would look at her like she had tonight, every wall would collapse and she would be left spiraling just like this. 

Because it was Paige. It had always been Paige.

And some part of her—some stubborn, unkillable part—would always bend toward her.The way branches lean toward light they’ll never touch. The way wildflowers twist their necks to chase the sun. Even now. Even here. Sitting beside a boy who was kind and warm and saying everything right.

Even with her whole body present, her mind was already halfway back.

To a girl with a smirk like prophecy. To the moment she mistook inevitability for devotion. To the truth she’s been trying to outrun ever since.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Miraculously, Azzi survived the rest of the week without (much of) a mental breakdown.

She went to class. Showed up to practice. Let Caroline talk her ear off most nights and even managed to study with Cam in the library once, pretending her brain wasn’t static the entire time.

She kept moving. Kept breathing. Kept it together. And, against all odds, she didn’t think about Paige too much. She kept her mind busy. Her hands busy. Anything to keep from going down that road—the one lined with memories she hadn’t figured out how to grieve properly.

Paige, for her part, seemed just as committed to the avoidance. They worked hard at practice. Timed their exits like professionals. Carefully sidestepped places they both used to claim as theirs. Which is how Azzi found herself five days pastry-free. And somehow, that felt like a small price to pay for keeping her sanity intact.

But it was Friday, and Azzi knew the streak was ending. Their carefully choreographed avoidance had been impressive—honestly, almost admirable—but it was only a matter of time.

The team was attending a pregame before heading to Ted’s, and there was no good excuse. No last-minute injury, no fake study group, no convenient flu. 

Neither of them could disappear this time. Not without raising questions.  Not without unraveling the whole illusion. So they’d show up. Which is why Azzi’s floor was currently a graveyard of outfit options—jeans, tanks, hoodies, even a dress she hadn’t worn in years. 

Everything was either too much or not enough. Too casual. Too eager. Too Paige might think I’m trying.

She tugged on a top, then pulled it off a second later, muttering under her breath like that might keep her from setting the whole pile on fire. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t dressing for Paige. She wasn’t. But still—nothing felt right. 

In a rush of frustration, she grabbed a T-shirt off the floor and tugged it on without thinking. It was soft, oversized, worn in the way her favorite things always were.

Then she caught her reflection. And froze. The color drained from her face as the realization hit her.

It was Paige’s.

A baggy black Nike tee Paige had once tossed at her after practice, smiling as Azzi pulled it over her head like it belonged there.

“You always look better in my stuff than I do,” Paige had murmured, stepping behind her in the mirror.

She’d rested her chin on Azzi’s shoulder, arms looping around her waist like they’d always known the way.

“I don’t know how much more my ego can take.”

Azzi had laughed, leaning into her. 

“Get used to it, Bueckers.”

Azzi swallowed hard. The shirt suddenly felt suffocating. Too familiar. Too soft. Too much. She yanked it off like it burned.

Finally, she gave up. Pulled the first thing she’d tried on from the heap on her bed—a textured black crop top and her off-black jeans, the ones that didn’t quite match anything but felt safe enough to wear. It was fine. Not perfect. Not Paige-proof. But fine.

She didn’t bother with jewelry. Just shoved her feet into sneakers, grabbed her jacket, and headed for the door before she could think too hard and undo it all again.

When they pulled up to the pregame—a too-small off-campus house already vibrating with music—Azzi tried to keep her breathing steady.

She could feel it building in her chest, that nervous hum she couldn’t quite name. Caroline stepped out beside her, adjusting the strap of her bag.   She looked over at Azzi as they reached the porch, smile soft, knowing.

“You look pretty.”

“Thanks,” Azzi said quietly.

They exchanged a small smile, something quiet and mutual, before pushing open the front door and the volume hit them like a wave, three decibels loud and already pulsing with bodies.

And in a strange twist of fate, Azzi felt… relieved.

She wasn’t usually one for packed rooms and too-loud music. But tonight? The more people crammed into the house, the better. Because the more bodies between her and Paige Bueckers, the easier it would be.

She hardly had time to blink before Jana threw her arms around her neck.

“AZZZIII FUDDD,” she shrieked, already half a drink in. “Let’s get you a drink!”

Azzi didn’t argue. A drink sounded like exactly what she needed—something to steady her hands, slow her thoughts. So when Jana shoved a red cup into her hand, Azzi didn’t ask what was in it. She just drank. The liquid burned a little, sweet and sour and oddly fizzy. But not bad enough to turn down. Not tonight.

“The team’s kinda spread out,” Jana said, tipping her cup toward the crowd. “But they’re here.”

Azzi nodded, her eyes sweeping the room catching on a few familiar faces, but not the familiar face. The tension in her shoulders loosened a notch.

She was just tipsy enough to stop overthinking when an arm slipped around her waist. Her body stiffened on instinct, and she turned sharply— only to find Cam smiling down at her.

“Cam?” she said, startled. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

His smile wavered for a second but then it settled. 

“Some of the team came, so I figured I’d tag along,” he said, letting his hand rest lightly at her hip. “Hope that’s okay.”

She licked her lips, the words hitting a little too hard.

God, how much of a dick did she have to be for the guy she was hanging out with to ask if it was okay he showed up to a pregame she wasn’t even hosting? She needed to get her shit together.

So she leaned into him, closed the distance like it might fix something.

“Of course it’s okay,” she murmured against his neck. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Cam’s hand slid lower, fingers splaying at her waist, tugging her in just a little closer. She didn’t stop him. Didn’t move when his lips brushed her jaw. Didn’t flinch when his other hand settled at the curve of her lower back, too familiar, too fast.

She just let herself sink. Into the noise, into the press of bodies, into the warmth of someone who wasn’t Paige.

If she focused hard enough—on the rhythm of the music, on the burn of cheap liquor still lingering in her throat—maybe she could stay here.

“You look so damn good, Azzi,” Cam muttered and she let the words wash over her. Let them pull herself all the way under. Let the alcohol sink into her brain and turn off logic. 

She looked up at him through her lashes. 

“You think so?”

Cam nodded, pressing his body closer into his. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” He muttered. 

He leaned forward and Azzi turned her brain off. She was going to have a fucking good time even if it killed her. But right when their lips were about to touch, a sudden roar erupted from the back of the house.

Loud. Immediate. Electric. 

Azzi stumbled back surprised. 

“BUECKERS! BUECKERS! BUECKERS!” The crowd chanted. 

The crowd chanted her name like a hymn, drunk and euphoric, the center of gravity shifting once again.

Of course. Of course Paige had just won something.

Azzi stood frozen, her pulse crashing in her ears, Cam’s hands still on her waist but suddenly distant—like she’d fallen out of her own body. And there it was again.

The pull. 

Against her better judgment, Azzi looked. Eyes scanning the crowd until they landed where the chants had begun. And there she was.

At the center of it all. Paige Bueckers.

A ping pong ball pinched between her long fingers. A smile tugging at her mouth as she shook her head at the attention—like she always did. Like it didn’t still belong to her.

The crowd roared around her, but she looked untouched by it. Lit from within. And Azzi felt something in her chest crack open. Because that was the problem with Paige.

She never had to try to take up space. She just did.

Suddenly, Azzi felt sixteen again. Small and breathless, watching from the edges. An onlooker to the strange, impossible brightness of Paige Bueckers. The kind that didn’t ask to be seen, only was. Like a star collapsing quietly in on itself—too beautiful to look at directly, too dangerous to turn away from.

Except it hurt now.

Because when Azzi was sixteen, she hadn’t known the way Paige looked in the soft blue light before sunrise. Hadn’t known the quiet intimacy of her. The way her hands traced shapes across bare skin like they were memorizing it. The way she said Azzi’s name when I love you didn’t feel like enough.

“Azzi?” She blinked, slow and startled, turning back to Cam. “You okay? You kinda zoned out.”

She swallowed hard, then forced a shaky laugh.

“Just tipsy,” she said, brushing it off like it wasn’t the truth cracking at the edges of her voice. “Can you get me another drink?”

“Yeah. Of course, babe.”

He turned without question, disappearing into the crowd, and Azzi watched him go, grateful for the excuse to look away. But as soon as he vanished, her gaze snapped back to where Paige had been. The space was empty now.

The crowd had thinned, the energy shifted, like they'd followed her to wherever she turned her attention next.

Azzi scanned the room, heartbeat thudding in her throat. Desperate. Ridiculous. Desperate anyway. But Paige was gone. And across the room was Nika instead.

Watching her. Eyes narrowed. And Azzi froze—caught mid-search, like a thief in someone else’s memory.

She and Nika were friends.

Still, when the older girl started making her way across the room, Azzi felt her stomach twist. Because Nika had been Paige’s friend first. And that kind of loyalty didn’t just vanish.

When she reached her, Nika tilted her head, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You alright, Fudd?”

Azzi nodded quickly, raising her empty cup to her lips just to have something to do with her hands.

“Yeah,” she said. “Totally fine.”

Nika gave her a long look.

“You look stressed.”

“I’m fine, Nik. No worries.”

Nika rolled her eyes. “You’re both fucking impossible,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone. But Azzi caught it. Or thought she did.

“What—”

“Here you go.”

Cam appeared beside her, holding out a fresh drink. Azzi reached for it, grateful and flustered all at once. Nika arched a brow, shifting her weight.

“And who’s this?”

Her tone was casual. Too casual.

Azzi didn’t answer right away because suddenly, she wasn’t sure what the answer was. Cam, sensing the pause, stepped in.

“Cam,” he said, offering a polite nod. “Azzi and I’ve been hanging out recently.”

Nika tipped her head slightly. Eyes sharp, expression unreadable.

“Have you?” she said. “Didn’t know you were dating someone, Az.”

“I—” Azzi’s eyes flicked to Cam. “We—”

“We’re new,” Cam said quickly, voice steady but eyes darting between them. “Figuring it out as we go. I consider myself lucky for any time she gives me.”

At that, Nika gave a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah,” she said, gaze lingering a second too long. “Our Az is a catch. Has that effect on people.”

She didn’t say it unkindly. But it still landed like a slap.

“Are you both coming to Ted’s?” Nika asked. Layers behind the question that couldn’t be deciphered. 

Azzi opened her mouth to say no. To call it a night, cut her losses, escape while she still could. But beside her, Cam lit up.

“Yup,” he said, nodding before Azzi could protest. “We’ll see you there?”

Nika held his gaze for a second too long, then turned to Azzi with a small smile.

“Yeah. Of course.” Just then, a burst of applause erupted from the backyard. Nika glanced over her shoulder, already backing away. “That’s my cue,” she said. “No telling what Paige is doing out there.”

She said it casually.  But it landed like a spark dropped on dry leaves. And then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd. 

“Paige’s handler?” Cam whispered in her ear.

Azzi choked on that. Thankfully, it passed for a laugh—tight and brittle, the kind you release just to keep something heavier from slipping out.

“Yeah,” she said, still catching her breath. “Nika’s got a way with her.”

She didn’t add the part that burned the most.

But not like me.

She knew the difference between Paige’s real smile and the one she used when the cameras were on. She knew the look in her eyes before she unraveled, the way she said I’m fine when she was anything but. She knew the scar on her right knee, the birthmark on her hip, the way she folded her hands, knuckles milky white, when she prayed asking God for impossible things. 

So, yes, she wanted to say, Nika had a way.

But once, Azzi had been the way.

Paige’s POV

Paige never cared much for school, but some things stuck.

Like Newton’s Third Law: For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction.

So when she saw Azzi leaning into that guy— whatever his name was—she knew, with absolute certainty,  she was about to do something incredibly fucking stupid.

As always, she’d known the second Azzi walked into the room. Didn’t matter that the house was packed, that the music was loud, that half the team was gathered around her for a beer pong tournament that had apparently become life or death.

Her eyes still found her. Like instinct. Like addiction. Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

Azzi Fudd.

A glance from her felt like a hit of something Paige could never quite quit—sharp and euphoric and devastating. Nothing else came close.

So yeah, she was in the middle of a heated game. But her eyes were on Azzi.

She’d been half-assing the beer pong game, letting muscle memory do the work, riding a messy high of liquor and applause, until she saw him.

His arm slung low around Azzi’s waist. His hand gripping. Fingers pressing into her perfect skin like he had any fucking right. Like she was something to be held that tightly. Too tight. Too casual. Too sure.

And Azzi didn’t even flinch. She didn’t lean away. She just stood there, soft and steady, like she belonged to him now.

Paige missed her shot. Didn’t care. The cup clattered off the table and the crowd erupted anyway, but she barely heard it. Because she was staring at the way his thumb stroked just under the hem of Azzi’s shirt. Slow. Possessive. Like he thought he knew her.

He didn’t.

He didn’t know what that skin felt like under his palms at midnight. Didn’t know how Azzi sighed when she was tired but wouldn’t admit it, or how she bit the inside of her cheek when she was nervous.

He hadn’t earned the right to hold her like that.

Azzi leaned into him. Her chin tipping up just enough to close the distance. A silent invitation, the kind of instinctive shift that always came before lips met.

And Paige’s stomach twisted like someone had reached inside her and wrung it out by hand. No. She wasn’t going to watch this happen. Not like this. Not tonight.

She locked her eyes on the last remaining cup, vision blurring at the edges. The noise, the heat, the alcohol—all of it pressed in around her. But her body still remembered.

It was all instinct now.

So she let the ball fly—blind faith and something uglier mixed together. And it sank. Dead center. No hesitation. No rim. Just gone. The crowd lost its mind. A roar of sound. A wave of limbs. And across the room, Azzi flinched.

Pulled back just before their lips met, like the sound had snapped her out of it. Like the universe had clapped its hands right beside her ear and said: Not yet. Paige didn’t breathe.

She just watched them split apart like magnets flipped the wrong way, energy still sparking in the space between them.

She grinned—wild, unsteady, almost manic. Good. Let him back off. Let Azzi remember. Let the night bend in her direction for once.

But the high had only lasted a few short seconds before she felt the weight of all it again. 

That’s why now, she was pacing in the backyard, shoes crunching over dead grass, air too thick, too hot, like it was pressing in on her. The energy in her chest was a live wire, snapping and sparking beneath her ribs.

She needed to move. To do something. To rip a hole in the night and crawl out of this feeling.

Anywhere but here. Anywhere but still.

The adrenaline was still surging, spilling over. Her hands wouldn’t stop moving, clenching and unclenching at her sides like they were reaching for something that was already gone. And then—

“P.”

She stopped mid-step. That voice sharp with understanding.  Nika.

Paige didn’t turn around. Just stared out into the dark like maybe if she focused hard enough, she could disappear into it.

“I’m not in the mood,” she muttered.

“Let’s go to Ted’s, P,” Nika groaned behind her. “I’m bored.”

That caught Paige off guard. She’d been bracing for a lecture, a look, a What the hell was that?

“You’re ready to go?”

Nika nodded, already pulling her phone out. “Yeah. This is lame. And I want better music.”

Paige blinked, then let a grin curl at the edge of her mouth.

“Shit,” she said. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Nika smiled, slipped her arm through Paige’s, and tugged her toward the street.

Ted’s was crowded—but not too crowded. Just enough bodies to blend into. Exactly how Paige liked it. When they crossed the threshold, a few heads turned. Eyebrows raised. A couple of whispers passed between tables. But nothing intense. No swarms, no cameras, no one begging for a selfie.

For the most part, she just got to exist. And that, especially lately, felt like a rare kind of grace. She let the door swing shut behind them and exhaled.

“I think we’ve earned shots,” Nika said, already scanning the bar.

Paige nodded, pulling out her card and handing it over without hesitation.

“Just open a tab.”

Nika smirked. “It’s a tab night?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Paige laughed, already sinking into it. “Just go get the drinks.”

With a dramatic salute, Nika skipped off toward the bar.

Paige turned, slipping into a booth tucked into the far corner—the kind of spot no one looked twice at. She sank into the seat, legs stretched out, the vinyl cool against her skin. And for the first time all night, she felt lighter.

Not better. Not fixed. But there was a weight that had been pressing against her ribs, and now it wasn’t. Because whatever was about to happen between Azzi and that guy, she’d stopped it.

He hadn’t gotten to kiss her. Hadn’t gotten to win.

The sound of the crowd had cut through the moment like a knife, and Paige had been holding the handle. That counted for something. Didn’t it?

Paige wasn’t well-adjusted to losing.

She didn’t take it in stride. Didn’t breathe through it. She hated it. She wanted to win. And when she wanted something? She got ruthless.

Quietly, at first. Then recklessly. Blood in her mouth. Fire in her chest. Mine echoing in her skull like a drumbeat.

And Azzi Fudd? That wasn’t a game. That was the prize. 

Something sacred.  Something carved into her like a hunger she’d never learned how to starve. Something she’d tasted once, just enough to ruin her for anything else.

It lived in her now. In her blood. In her teeth. A craving no one else should be allowed to touch.

Admittedly, she would do terrible things to win what she wanted. Burn bridges. Bite the hand.  Break the rules. Especially when it came to Azzi. 

Because she wasn’t just someone Paige wanted. She was the thing Paige needed. And need makes people dangerous, especially someone like Paige.

Nika set the shot down in front of her. Plastic cup. Clear liquid.

“It’s—”

Paige didn’t wait for her to finish. She threw it back in one motion, didn’t flinch, didn’t breathe. Just let it burn all the way down, like it might scorch Azzi out of her bloodstream.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes still locked on nothing.

“When’s the rest of the team getting here?” she asked, voice low.

Nika glanced at her phone and grinned.

“Now.”

Paige’s eyes cut to the door just as it swung open. Jana. Aaliyah. Caroline. Azzi. Him. 

It was then that the earlier shots finally needled their way into her brain. The room tilted, soft at first, then all at once. And Paige watched the pair through the blur.

Azzi laughing.  Azzi leaning. Azzi looking away. And it hit her, stupidly, suddenly, like a truth she should’ve already known:

Needing someone doesn’t win you anything.

Not really. Not when they’ve already started looking somewhere else.

But Paige? Paige needed to fucking win. She needed to feel something. Anything.

So maybe she couldn’t have Azzi.  Maybe she couldn’t fix what she broke. But she could still win a battle or two,  even if the war was already lost.

She could make Azzi look.  Make her watch. Make sure that when she laughed too loudly, or kissed someone new, or touched another girl’s arm like it meant something, Azzi would feel it. Feel her.

Because if Paige couldn’t have the ending she wanted,  then she’d settle for the only thing left:

Winning. 

She smirked, slow and sharp. Game on.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The pregame had clearly ended. People flooded through the entrance in waves of laughter, heat, and too-loud voices. Paige didn’t move.

She stayed sprawled in the booth, back pressed deep into the vinyl, one arm slung over the top like she owned the place. Legs spread wide, deliberately. Not much room for anyone else. She looked like someone who wasn’t paying attention. But she was. Her eyes tracked every movement, every gesture.

Cam’s hand slipping into Azzi’s. His touch guiding her toward the bar. His palm finding that too-familiar place on the small of her back. The place Paige knew by heart. Not too big. Not too small. Just right. Made for her hand. Her touch. No one else’s.

“You’re staring,” Nika said, low and dry.

Paige didn’t flinch. “Not staring. Studying.”

Nika leaned in, her voice barely audible above the music. “Don’t do any stupid shit, P. It never ends well.”

Paige shook her head, eyes still on Azzi.

“I’m just having a good night, Nik.”

Nika gave her a look. The kind you give a lit match next to a leaking gas line. But she didn’t say anything else.

The rest of the team found them quickly, flooding their usual table with loud greetings and too much energy. Paige didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just smiled. And Azzi kept her distance. Not just physically. Emotionally. Intentionally. And that? That ate away at Paige’s sanity more than anything else.

Two more shots in, and she’d had enough. Her eyes tore away from Azzi like ripping a bandage off raw skin. She scanned the room. Looking for someone. Looking for damage.

It didn’t take long. Dark curls. Dark eyes. A girl leaning casually against the bar, flicking glances toward Paige every few minutes. Curious. Open. Interested.

And most importantly, right in Azzi’s line of sight.

Paige’s smile curved into something darker. If Azzi didn’t want to be close, then she’d get to watch what distance looked like.

“I’ll be back,” she muttered.

Maybe Nika said something—Paige didn’t catch it.

She was already pushing up from the booth, sliding her hands into her pockets like it was all casual. She moved slow. Controlled. Like she had all the time in the world.

At the bar, she slipped into an open spot a few bodies down from the girl, then leaned her elbows onto the sticky wood like it was instinct. The bartender was on her immediately.

“A Shirley Temple,” she said. Then, almost as an afterthought,  “Vodka.”

Her eyes flicked sideways. Found the girl. Watched her expression shift—wide-eyed, caught—before she looked away. Paige smiled.

“And whatever she’s having,” she added. A beat. “Put it on Bueckers’ tab.” Just loud enough for her to hear. 

Paige’s drink appeared within seconds. Then came the second glass: a bright blue something, set carefully in front of the girl. The bartender leaned across the bar, murmured something just for her.

The girl blinked, surprised. She looked up, eyes scanning the bar until they landed on Paige. And when they did, she grinned.

Paige held her gaze. Didn’t smile. Just let the corner of her mouth twitch—an invitation, a challenge, a warning. Maybe all three. The girl didn’t hesitate. She made her way over, nerves barely contained.

“I—” she started, already stammering. Paige crossed her arms, leaned back against the bar like she had all night. She towered over the girl’s smaller frame. “Thank you for the drink,” the girl managed.

Paige tilted her head deliberately.

“You kept staring,” she said, voice low and dangerous. “Figured you’d want a closer view.”

The girl’s cheeks flushed, but not with embarrassment. She was flattered. Paige could tell. And it plucked something sharp and mean inside her.

“I’m Addie,” the girl offered, voice a little shaky now.

“Paige.”

“I know,” she admitted quickly, cheeks coloring again. “I mean—”

“I know what you meant,” Paige cut in, smirking.

Addie shifted closer, drink in hand, eyes bright with something between nerves and awe.

“I still can’t believe you bought me a drink,” she said, laughing softly. “I mean… you’re Paige Bueckers.”

Paige turned to her, lazy smile in place.

“So I’ve heard.”

Addie ducked her head, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Sorry. That was lame.”

“I thought it was cute.” 

The flush of the cheeks followed again. It was so easy. So fucking easy. And Paige was drunk. On it. On alcohol. On the thought of Azzi hurting like she had been. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m not, like, that person. I just—my brother’s obsessed with you. And I guess now I am too. Not obsessed! Just… interested. Admiring. Or whatever.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of disclaimers.”

“I know.” Addie groaned, face flushed. “I’m totally screwing this up. Aren’t I?”

Paige shrugged, lifting her drink to her lips. “Not really.”

Addie’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Okay. Cool. This is fine.”

Paige tilted her head, studying her. Addie was cute in that lost puppy kind of way. Sweet. Nervous. Probably thought this meant something. Paige didn’t say anything for a beat. Just let the silence hang while Addie fidgeted, cheeks flushed, fingers curled tight around her drink.

Then, finally, she reached out, fingertips brushing Addie’s arm.

“Relax,” she said. “Wouldn’t have come over if I didn’t want to.”

Addie beamed. And Paige? She smiled back. Right as her gaze flicked up, there she was. Azzi. Their eyes collided.

Azzi looking at her like she didn’t mean to. Like it burned.  Like she hated herself for doing it. And Paige’s pulse kicked, hard. Because she knew that look.

The purse of her lips. The stiff line of her jaw. The second too long she held the stare before yanking her eyes away. Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften. She let her fingers drift a little lower on Addie’s arm. Just to see if Azzi would look back.

She did. Of course she did. And Paige licked her lips like she was about to enjoy this. Leaned in, just enough to make it look intimate.

“Do you go to UConn?” she asked.

Addie nodded, already leaning in like this was the beginning of something. But Paige wasn’t listening.

Her eyes stayed locked on the girl across the room. The one who used to say her name like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

And when Azzi looked away, but kept looking back, Paige smiled. Not because it helped. But because for one brief, burning second, she got to be the ache sewn into the softest part of Azzi—tender, terrible, and still pulsing.

Because if she couldn’t be loved…not the way it used to be, she’d settle for this:

The ghost Azzi kept lodged in the back of her throat. A grief she never learned to spit out, souring everything she tried to swallow.

Azzi’s POV 

They walked to Ted’s in a tight, clumsy cluster. The team buzzing from just enough alcohol, laughter spilling out onto the sidewalk. Azzi let it wash over her. Let it settle deep in her bones.

Cam walked beside her, close but not too close, his arm brushing hers every so often like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold her hand. She didn’t move away.

The others asked him about his season, about the team, about what it was like playing baseball at UConn. He answered easily, likable in that effortless way. And Azzi hung back just half a step, watching him with something that could almost pass for affection.

Because in that moment—on that street, with the night humming around them, it felt like maybe he could fit. Like she could make this make sense.

Something simple. Something good. Something that didn’t ask her to bleed just to feel alive. She laughed at something dumb he said. Let herself imagine it. A quieter life. A different story. An ending that hadn’t been prewritten when she was sixteen.

The red tin roof of Ted’s came into view, glowing under string lights. And for the first time in weeks, Azzi felt light. Not healed. Not whole. But possible. She took Cam’s hand, unexpectedly, like maybe, if she held on tight enough, it might stitch her back together completely.

He grinned, tugging her gently closer. Ahead of them, the others laughed as the door swung open.

“The promised land,” Jana called, throwing her arms wide. “First round’s on…anyone but me!”

The group dissolved into laughter as they pushed through the double doors, met by the thick scent of stale beer and a song Azzi didn’t recognize blaring overhead.The place was filling up. Not packed, but on its way.

A few open tables. The bar already crowded. Clusters of students leaning over sticky counters, waving bills, trying to catch the eye of an overworked bartender.

“Want another drink?” Cam asked.

Azzi nodded, and he gave her hand a quick squeeze, guiding her through the growing crowd toward the bar.

Once they reached it, he let go. His palm sliding to the small of her back instead. A warm pulse of reassurance.  Steady. Simple. She did her best to focus on that. On how nice it felt to be the only thing he wanted.

As he waited for the bartender, Azzi tuned into the noise around them. The usual low thrum of college bar chaos: weekend plans, midterm complaints, someone arguing over darts.

And then, “No. That’s her,” a girl whispered.

Azzi stilled.

“Do you think she’d be annoyed if I asked for a picture?”

“Probably,” her friend laughed. “But I don’t think she’d blame you either.”

The girls were cute. Heads tipped together, wide-eyed and innocent. Azzi leaned slightly in their direction.

“She’s even hotter in person,” one of them murmured. “It’s sort of unreal.”

Azzi followed their gaze. She didn’t mean to. But her body turned before her mind could stop it. Before she could lie to herself one second longer. And there she was.

Paige. Posted up in a booth like it was her goddamn throne.

Legs spread without apology. One arm draped over the back of the seat, a large, thin hand lazily wrapped around a sweating glass. Her head was tipped slightly back, half-listening to whatever Nika was saying but her eyes, even from here, looked sharp. Calculated. Like she was taking inventory of the room without ever really looking.

And she looked obscene.

Hair pulled into a lazy bun like it hadn’t taken her twenty minutes to make it look that effortless. Oversized hoodie, sleeves pushed up, silver rings catching in the low bar light every time she moved. That chain. That chain she always wore—thin and silver clipped around her throat. 

Her legs were spread wide in black sweats that slouched in all the right places. Her sneakers were propped on the edge of the booth.

She looked like power distilled. Like want, weaponized. Every part of her body said: I know you’re watching. And Azzi hated that she was. But she couldn’t stop.

“God, I want her so fucking bad,” one of the girls murmured, practically breathless.

Azzi blinked. Snapped out of it like surfacing from underwater. The girl’s friend snorted, casual and cruel in the way strangers can be.

“You and the rest of the world.”

Azzi looked away, fast. Tried to ground herself in the feel of Cam’s hand, still resting at the small of her back. Tried to remember how light she’d felt just ten minutes ago. Before she walked into this room. 

“Here you go.”

Cam pressed the drink into her hand, his eyes scanning the bar. They landed on the booth in the back where most of the team had already gathered, half-hovering around Paige like always. 

“Want to join your friends?” he asked.

Azzi hesitated.  Swallowed.

“Let’s hang with your team for a bit,” she said.

Cam led her toward the back half of the bar, where a small group of guys in UConn baseball gear had claimed a tall table near the dartboard. They noticed him first, then noticed her. And the shift was instant.

“Yo, finally,” one of them grinned, nudging the guy next to him. “Thought you made her up.”

Cam laughed, cheeks flushing as he pulled out a chair for Azzi. “Yeah, okay. Like I could make Azzi Fudd up.”

Azzi gave a small smile, sliding into the seat.

One of the guys leaned forward, offering his hand. “Manny. Catcher. And the unfortunate guy who hears way too much about you.”

Azzi raised a brow, glancing at Cam. “Oh yeah?”

“He’s obsessed,” another teammate added. “It’s actually kind of embarrassing.”

Cam groaned. “You’re all the worst.”

“No, seriously,” Manny said, grinning. “He won’t shut up about your shot. It’s kind of ruined pickup for the rest of us.”

Azzi huffed a laugh, ducking her head. 

Well,” She said, taking a sip of her drink, “at least he has good taste.”

Cam shot her a look—half amused, half like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or kiss her.

They fell into an easy rhythm. One Azzi didn’t have to work for, didn’t have to decode. The conversation moved around her, low and warm, and she let herself lean into Cam as the alcohol settled in her bloodstream. Her body softened, shoulders loose.

Azzi didn’t notice the shift at first. The sound of Cam’s laugh, the chatter of the table, the weight of a hand on her knee, it all blurred together, soft and safe and slow.

But something in her body tensed before her brain caught up. A hush that didn’t quiet the room, just tilted it. And then…

Paige.

Walking toward the bar like the floor had been laid for her. Like she didn’t move through the world so much as rearrange it. Azzi’s breath caught. Paige wasn’t looking at her. Of course not.

Her gaze was fixed ahead, steady and unhurried. But everything else, the way she moved, the silver at her neck, the rolled sleeves and low hum of confidence around her…It all said: watch me anyway.

Silver glinted at her ears. At her throat. On her hands. It caught the light every time her arms swung or she smoothed down her hair. She wasn’t smiling.  But she wasn’t not.

Azzi hated the way people watched her. The way heads turned as she passed. The way even Cam glanced up, just for a second. Because Paige had always had that power. And she liked it. She fed on it.

Her beauty wasn’t soft. It was precise. Measured. Weaponized.

And as she passed their table, Azzi could feel the heat of her. Not close enough to touch, but enough to burn.

Paige didn’t look over. Didn’t even slow. But Azzi swore that Paige brushed just close enough to let the scent of her skin linger. And in that moment, Azzi felt every part of herself pull taut. Every inch she’d given to someone else suddenly snapping back like Paige had called it home.

She followed Paige’s path to the bar, unable—unwilling—to look away.

Watched how a space opened for her automatically. How people moved without realizing they’d moved. How the bartender, mid-pour for someone else, looked up, and without hesitation, went to her instead.

Azzi felt her stomach twist. Because of course. Of course Paige Bueckers didn’t wait in lines. Didn’t need to ask twice.

She used to love that about her. The quiet power Paige carried without trying. But here, with alcohol in her veins and Paige’s name echoing through the bar like a warning, she hated it Hated the way it still pulled at her.  Hated that part of her still wanted to be close to it.

Paige leaned her elbow on the bar like she belonged to it. Like it was built around her.

Then her gaze slid down the line. To a group of girls. One in particular. Pretty. Dark curls. Tan skin. Laughing like she hadn’t noticed Paige was looking. But she had. Everyone did.

Paige didn’t smile. Not exactly. But there was something in her mouth— in the shape of it— that made Azzi feel like the floor had dropped out from under her. Not violently. Not all at once.

Just enough to remind her that gravity still belonged to Paige. Always had.

Azzi saw it before it happened.

The way Paige leaned in again, lips barely moving as she spoke to the bartender. Not flirtatious. Not coy. Just direct. The kind of quiet command that always got her what she wanted. The glance cutting back to the girl with the dark curls The bartender nodded.

Azzi’s heart thudded once. Loud and wrong. She didn’t need to guess. She knew.

The drink appeared seconds later. The bartender placed it gently in front of the girl. The one with the dark curls. The one Paige had already chosen.

Azzi watched the girl blink, startled, then grin, turning automatically, already knowing who to look for. And Paige was waiting. Elbow on the bar. Not searching. Not wondering. Just watching. Because she didn’t need the girl to see her. She knew she already had.

Azzi’s grip tightened around her own drink, jaw locked so tight it hurt. Paige didn’t smile. Not quite. Just tilted her head slightly, a flicker of amusement in the set of her mouth.

Immediately, the girl moved toward Paige like she didn’t have a choice. Like something had pulled her.

Azzi recognized the look on her face. That giddy, stunned kind of thrill. The am I allowed to want this expression Paige pulled out of people like it was instinct.

She watched the girl slide into the space Paige had already made for her. Too close, too confident. Paige didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just turned slightly, as if she’d expected it all along. As if the girl had done exactly what she was supposed to do.

They leaned in. Laughed about something Azzi couldn’t hear. And Azzi sat frozen, drink in her hand, the ice long since melted. 

Cam said something beside her. She didn’t catch it. Couldn’t. Because all she could see was Paige—glowing with that quiet, smug certainty. Beautiful in the way disasters are: devastating. Inevitable.

Paige towered over the girl. Loose-limbed and casual, but calculated down to the tilt of her head. She leaned in slightly, as if to hear her better, fingers brushing the girl’s skin. A slow drag up the girl’s bare arm, like Paige couldn’t help herself.

And Azzi felt it in her bones. Paige’s fingers on her skin,  just like that. Light. Deliberate. The kind of touch that didn’t mark you, but haunted you anyway. And now she was watching it play out on someone else. Like a memory repurposed.

Azzi didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.And then, as if on cue, Paige looked up.

Her gaze cut clean past the girl, slicing through noise and distance until it landed squarely on her. Azzi.

Their eyes locked.

And for a second, everything else vanished. The bar. The team. Cam. All of it dropped away like Paige had willed it.

She didn’t smile. She just held Azzi’s stare. Steady, merciless, and knowing.  And in that moment, Azzi felt everything inside her go very, very still. Because she knew exactly what this was.

A wound reopened with surgical precision.

Paige didn’t look away. Not when the girl laughed, not when she touched Paige’s shoulder, not even when she leaned in so close it bordered on indecent.

Because her eyes were on Azzi. Only Azzi. And Azzi met her there. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Just stared back like she could set Paige on fire with nothing but her rage.

And Paige…Paige smirked. Barely. Just the edge of it. A flicker of mouth. But it was enough.

She let her fingers graze the girl’s waist as she leaned in again, mouth near her ear, saying something Azzi couldn’t hear. Tucked a stray curl behind the girl's ear. Licked her lips as she nodded half heartedly to something being said. 

But the eyes, they remained on Azzi.

Azzi knew this was part of it. Knew it would come.

Hadn’t she been clinging to Cam’s arm like a life raft these past few weeks? Letting herself pretend there was something easier out there, something simpler than the ruin Paige left behind?

She had to know Paige wouldn’t wait forever. Wouldn’t just sit in silence while Azzi tried to scrub her name out of her bloodstream.

This—this girl, this drink, this whole fucking performance…it wasn’t random.It was inevitable.

Azzi had made her choice.  And now she had to watch Paige make hers.

Still, knowing didn’t help. Didn’t stop the nausea. Didn’t stop the ache. Didn’t stop the way her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Because no matter what she told herself— no matter how many times she said it was fair— it didn’t feel like justice.

It felt like Paige was still inside her, dragging nails through the softest parts of her. 

“Azzi?” She jumped. Cam was watching her now, eyes flicking between her and the direction she’d been staring, like he was trying to work out an equation that didn’t quite balance.

“You’re shaking,” he said, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel good,” she muttered, throat tight. “I—”

But her eyes slipped back. Back to Paige. Paige, licking her lips. Eyes locked on the girl beside her with that same devastating focus Azzi knew too well. The kind of stare that made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

Azzi felt like she might throw up. Because she remembered. What that look used to feel like. What it used to mean. 

She needed space. She needed to get out of this place before she fell apart. Loudly. Publicly. 

Azzi stood too fast. The room tilted. She blinked, trying to steady herself, but the pressure in her left foot flared. Familiar and terrifying.  She’d been ignoring it for days. Weeks, maybe. The drinks hadn’t helped. The old injury she had acquired in AAU just never healed completely. 

Cam said something beside her, something light, maybe a joke, maybe her name, but his hand didn’t catch her.

Her ankle buckled. And before she could stop it, she was on the ground.

It wasn’t graceful. Wasn’t quiet. Her hip hit first. Then her elbow. The music didn’t stop, but the laughter did. Just for a second. Heads turned. She felt the flush rise up her neck, hot and consuming. 

Cam reached for her, too slow. “Shit—Azzi—”

But then there was someone else. Familiar. Not Cam. Not hands grabbing without understanding.Someone known. The scent of lavender and something warmer. Something Azzi had once fallen asleep inside.

She blinked and Paige was crouching in front of her.

Knees bent. Eyes level. Like the rest of the world had peeled away and there was only this. Only her.

“Is it your foot?” Paige asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi nodded, sharp and ashamed. Tears welled up without warning, without permission. Not just from pain. From everything.

The fall. The silence. The way Cam was still behind her, stunned and motionless. The way Paige was looking at her. 

“Jesus Christ,” Paige muttered, her eyes flicking up, scathing. “What the fuck? You were right next to her. She has an old injury. You have to pay attention.”

Cam stammered, trying to reach for Azzi again.  “I didn’t—I didn’t realize—”

“Don’t touch her,” Paige snapped. 

Cam yanked his hand back. Paige returned her focus to Azzi, gaze softening immediately. Only gentleness in her approach. 

“Okay, hey,” she said, brushing a curl back from Azzi’s face. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

She shifted closer, anchoring herself beside Azzi like her body knew how to fit there. Like it remembered. One hand settled lightly at the base of Azzi’s spine. The other slid beneath her arm.

“Take your time. We don’t have to rush.”

Azzi’s breath shuddered. People were still watching. She could feel it. But Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t play to the crowd. She was only looking at her. Like Azzi was the only one in the room.

“You’re okay,” Paige said again. “Let’s just get you up, alright? We’ll sit. I’ll look at your foot.”

Azzi’s eyes met hers, wide and wet and wrecked. And Paige softened even more, impossibly.

She brushed her thumb beneath Azzi’s eye. The kind of touch you don’t earn twice.

“I’ve got you, Az,” Paige said again. Then, so soft it might’ve been a memory, “Don’t worry, baby.”

Azzi froze. Her breath hitched in her throat. Paige didn’t even flinch. Didn’t seem to notice she’d said it. Her eyes stayed locked on Azzi’s, focused only on her pain, her posture, the way she was trying so hard not to shake.

She let Paige help her up, slow, careful, like she was made of glass. Like she mattered.

Paige guided her toward the edge of the bar, to an empty booth where the noise felt a little farther away. She didn’t let go. Not even when they sat.  Not even when the rest of the world began to move again. And Azzi let her.

Because Paige’s hands still felt like her favorite kind of touch. The kind you don’t even realize you’ve memorized until it’s gone. The kind that made her feel like nothing had changed.

Like heartbreak hadn’t happened.  Like endings were just something other people had to survive. Like every version of love Azzi had never quite found the words for.

And God, how stupid it was. How reckless. How utterly human to still want comfort from the only person in the world with the power to shatter her whole. 

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Love didn’t ask if it made sense. Didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t care if it was soft or safe or good for you. It just stayed.

Even when you tried to carve it out of your bones with shaking hands. Even when it rotted in your chest. Even when it stopped feeling like love and started feeling like a wound that wouldn’t close.

Paige’s thumb brushed against her knuckles in that familiarly devastating way.

And Azzi thought: This shouldn’t feel good. 

But it did. 

God, it did. 

It always did. And maybe the worst part was knowing it probably always would.

[bucketsorbueckers-deactivated20]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 4

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: language, dumb sapphics not communicating (should be a perm tag tbh)

Dual POV - 10K words

A/N: sorry i am so long winded and each chapter continues to grow much larger than planned. i just adore these idiots and get lost in their little world. for this one, the plot moves forward, reverses, stays stagnant etc. all over the place but i promise in the updates to come, we'll really start cookin on the reunion we all want. happy ending guarantee <3

Paige's POV

Azzi.

Maybe not the center of the entire universe but definitely the center of Paige’s. Since they were sixteen. Probably before then.

Their paths didn’t cross until that year, but Paige had been watching long before. Following her stats. Her games. Her rise. She told herself it was research. That it mattered to know the names spoken in the same breath as hers.

But that wasn’t true. Not really. She was just drawn to her. The very pretty, curly-headed brunette with the quiet focus and sharp shot. Which is why Paige had been buzzing when she saw Azzi’s team on the bracket.

Finally.

She took her time that day: brushing her hair three times over,  swapping her shoes at the last minute, fidgeting with her socks like it mattered. Nervous energy crackled through her like static,  settling in her fingers.  In her chest. In the places she hadn’t even known could get nervous. Because this wasn’t just another game. This was her.

And Paige had already decided, before they ever spoke, that Azzi Fudd was going to matter.

When she got to the gym, she couldn’t sit still. Fidgety. Fractured. Like her body didn’t quite belong to her.

So she did what she always did. She talked.  And talked. And talked. People listened. But half the time, Paige couldn’t tell you what she was even trying to say. Only that if she stopped, if she let the quiet catch up to her, she might actually combust.

And then, Azzi walked in.

Paige nearly blacked out.

Because for all the game footage she’d studied, for all the photos she’d saved and secretly zoomed in on, nothing—nothing—prepared her for Azzi in real life. She was even prettier. Unfairly so. Like the camera hadn’t just failed to do her justice, it had lied.

Paige had, embarrassingly, gone into overdrive. Annoyingly so. And she knew it. Cringed every time her own voice echoed back at her. But she couldn’t settle. Not when settling meant stillness, and stillness meant Azzi might catch her staring. Might realize how creepy Paige actually was.

She was mid-story, some pointless ramble about team rankings, when she braved another glance. And to her surprise, Azzi was looking back.

Her face unreadable. Full lips pressed together. Eyes narrowed, just slightly.

Paige’s heart launched into her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing the grin threatening to split her face into something quieter. Closed-lip. Calm. Because while she couldn’t stop herself entirely, she could at least try to help herself out a little.

Azzi had immediately looked away. 

Eventually, they ended up playing each other.

And Paige? She went into that mode. Every possession, every pass, every drive to the rim. All of it just one long, desperate audition. She just wanted to impress Azzi. Just wanted the girl to acknowledge her.

What she didn’t expect was Azzi Fudd dropping a shoulder straight into her chest in the third quarter. A technical foul. Not that Paige minded. Not really. Because then Azzi bent down. Eyes wide, panic written all over her face. And she was so close. So impossibly beautiful.

Paige felt half-delusional. Which was the only explanation for why—when Azzi offered her hand—she didn’t just take it. She held it.Tugged her a little closer.

To this day, Paige still doesn’t know what possessed her. Maybe she just wanted a better look. Maybe she just wanted to see if Azzi was real. But sixteen-year-old, cocky, shit-headed Paige decided to shoot her shot with the first thing that popped into her mouth:

“If you wanted my attention, Fudd, you could’ve just said something.”

The line still haunted her. And yet, somehow, it had worked.

Azzi followed her on social media that night. Paige followed back. Liked a few too many photos. And then messaged her within the hour.

Because that was what Azzi did to her, made her feel like she was already running out of time. Like even if she had her every day for the rest of her life, it still wouldn’t be enough. Paige was pretty sure there wasn’t a world, or a lifetime, where there could be enough time.

Becoming best friends had been easy. Azzi’s quiet softened the edges of Paige’s constant chaos. Azzi taught her how to sit in silence. How to trust it. How to let stillness mean safety, not panic. And with Azzi, the quiet didn’t feel like drowning. 

Paige, in return, had probably taught her nothing— but somehow, she was still allowed to stay.

And that? That was all Paige ever wanted. To be part of Azzi’s life, in any capacity the girl would have her. Even if she loved her. Especially because she did. And so, as the hands of time carved away, Azzi and Paige remained. 

Remained even when Paige’s name grew unbearably large. When it stopped feeling like hers and started feeling like something the world owned. People stopped looking at her and started looking for her. For something to want. To praise. To criticize. To claim.

Being loved that way—the kind that comes with headlines and highlights and pressure disguised as praise—wasn’t love at all.  It was exposure.And it terrified her. In ways she still hasn’t admitted out loud.

Because fame doesn’t ask permission. It just takes. Her privacy.  Her peace. Her personhood. Until she was just the image. The name.The performance.

But Azzi?

Azzi never changed. Steady and sure. Azzi saw her before all of it. Azzi saw her beneath it. Never asked for anything. Never tried to shape her into something else. Azzi just sat beside her in the quiet, and let her be.

She was Paige’s only safe place. The only space that didn’t take or demand or consume.

Just…held.

And when the noise got too loud, and the pressure too sharp, Paige didn’t want the cameras or the trophies or the praise.

She wanted Azzi.

The way her eyes steadied Paige’s breath. The way her silence felt like home. The way she never wanted anything more than what Paige already was.

When it all became too much, Azzi would take Paige’s face in her hands. So gently it almost broke her. Thumbs brushing over her cheeks, like she was trying to wipe the overwhelm from her skin.

"You’re right here,” She’d whisper. Like Paige had somehow floated off, drifted too far, and Azzi was calling her back.

"You’re not what they say."

"You’re not what they want from you."

"You’re just you. And that’s enough."

And God, how dangerous that felt. To be seen so clearly. To be loved without conditions or applause. Paige used to think the scariest part was failing. But no.

It was this. Azzi’s hands on her face. Azzi’s voice in her chest.The unbearable, beautiful truth of being loved by someone who didn’t need anything from her except the part she tried hardest to hide. And for one impossible moment,  Paige let herself believe it.

That she could be just her, and still be enough. Not for the world. Not for the cameras. Just for Azzi.

And that was the kind of love you either run from or ruin.

Paige, of course, did both.

But still—despite everything, despite the distance and the damage— Paige watched out for her.

She couldn’t help it. Her brain had been trained, hard-wired to keep one eye on Azzi at all times. And that’s why,  even with Addie rambling beside her about something Paige didn’t care about, something she wasn’t even trying to hear, she saw the misstep before Azzi even took it.

Because of course she did. She always did. Azzi could’ve been across the country and Paige still would’ve felt it.  That sharp flicker of something not quite right.

Paige raised her hand, cutting Addie off mid-sentence. The words caught in her throat as she locked onto Azzi,  stumbling, off-balance, already falling.

“Sorry, I—” she choked, eyes still fixed ahead. “I need to… attend to something.”

And then she was moving. Shoving through the crowd, shoulders slamming, drinks sloshing. Someone swore behind her. She didn’t care.

“Azzi—shit—” Cam’s voice rang out, panicked.

But Paige was already there. She stepped clean between him and Azzi,  blocking his hand with her body. This wasn’t his moment. It never had been. This was Paige’s job. Always Paige’s job.

Paige almost blacks out. Everything goes a little sideways. Sound warps, time stutters.

She’s not even sure what she says next. Maybe a name. Maybe a prayer. Maybe both. She can hear is her heartbeat, a brutal, relentless thud. The same certain tune that she’d known since she was 16. 

Azzi, Azzi, Azzi.

And then, Azzi is in her arms.

Leaning into her.  Letting Paige carry the weight. She shoulders it without question, guiding her through the blur of bodies toward the back booth.

It was full, but the second Paige locked eyes with the group, they scattered—like they could sense the storm coming before it broke.She lowered Azzi gently into the seat, scooted in beside her, a bit too close. Their legs pressed together.  And just like stupid, sixteen-year-old Paige, she didn’t let go of Azzi’s hand. Even though she knew she should. Even though her chest screamed with all the reasons why she shouldn’t.

For a second, they existed somewhere else. Outside the noise. Outside the fallout. Just Paige and Azzi, in the echo of a moment that already felt like a memory forming.

Paige kept brushing her thumb over Azzi’s knuckles. Gentle. Repetitive. Like her body hadn’t figured out they weren’t allowed to be like this anymore. 

Azzi didn’t pull away. Didn’t move. Just cleared her throat.

“Paige.”

It sounded like an exhale. A breath Azzi had been holding for a little too long. A whispered plea or a damning admission. Paige swallowed.

She swallowed hard, dragged her gaze toward the only person who had ever truly leveled her.

Azzi’s eyes were rimmed red. Not the kind that came from a few tears, but the kind that said this had been going on for a while. Her cheeks looked thinner. Her curls a little undone. Still so stupidly perfect it hurt to look at her.

And Paige fought the urge to reach out. To trace her jaw, her cheek, the soft place beneath her eye. She should’ve done it more. Should’ve slowed down. Should’ve memorized every angle, every expression, every version of Azzi’s face she’d ever been lucky enough to witness.

But her mind had always been twenty steps ahead. Planning, chasing, running.

She’d thought it was fine as long as she held Azzi’s hand tight, as long as she kept her close. She thought that was enough. But now, with Azzi looking at her like this — like she was teetering on the brink of exhaustion — Paige wondered if she hadn’t just taken her along for the ride.

If she hadn’t dragged her through fire and called it devotion.  If she hadn’t pulled her over brimstone and expected her to survive it just because Paige needed her to.

Maybe that’s what love had always been to Paige. Need. Clutching. Never slowing down long enough to see who she was dragging with her. And Azzi had always been so quiet about the burning that Paige didn’t notice until the smoke was in her own lungs.

“You didn’t have to—” Azzi started.

Paige swallowed hard.

“Yeah, I did,” she said. A beat. “It’s you.”

Azzi sucked in a breath at that. Fidgeted. Her eyes stayed fixed on their hands longer than necessary, longer than safe. And Paige had no idea what it meant. Like she’d lost the ability to speak a language she used to know by heart.

Paige inhaled, quietly.

“Your foot okay?”

Azzi shrugged, not looking up. “Yeah. Just… irritated. I’m sure it’s fine.”

Paige bit the inside of her cheek. Careful. Hesitant.

“Maybe I should just look at it.”

Azzi’s eyes finally flicked up. She didn’t say yes. Didn’t say no either. But eventually, she shifted. Carefully lifted her leg into Paige’s lap. Paige stilled. Watched the way Azzi winced, just slightly, as her weight settled.

The bar hummed around them. Laughs and glasses clinking and bass vibrating the floor, but here, in this booth, it was quiet.

Azzi leaned back against the seat, eyes on the ceiling now, as if the overhead lights were easier to face than Paige.

And Paige pressed her fingers lightly to Azzi’s ankle. Familiar terrain. She’d done this a hundred times. On buses. In locker rooms. In hotel rooms with terrible lighting and too much history. But this time, it felt different.

Too gentle. Too reverent. Like she wasn’t just checking for injury. Like she was saying I’m still here, in the only language she remembered how to speak.

Her ankle was slightly swollen. The way it usually got, a soft, familiar puffiness just above the bone, the kind Paige’s fingers knew by touch alone. The inflammation in the arch of her heel pushed it upward, just enough to make Azzi uncomfortable.

“Has it been bothering you?” Paige asked.

Azzi shrugged. “Some.”

“You haven’t been in the training room.”

Azzi glanced at her, then away. “Yeah. Well.”

That was it. Just two words. But Paige knew exactly what they meant. I’ve been avoiding you. Paige was always there. Aching, sore, taped up like a puzzle half coming apart. She had noticed Azzi’s absence, of course, but had figured it was because she was feeling better.

Not because—

“I’m sorry,” Paige muttered.

She didn’t know what she was apologizing for. For keeping her from the training room. For the fact that her foot still hurt. For everything that broke between them and everything she still didn’t know how to fix.

Azzi finally looked at her, really looked at her, and it hit Paige like an adrenaline shot straight to the chest.

Her hands started to shake. She gripped the edge of the booth to steady herself, but the panic was already rising, lodging itself in her throat. And suddenly, she was fighting the urge to beg. To drop to the sticky floor of Ted’s, knees bruising, voice breaking, and say whatever Azzi needed to hear.

I miss you. I’m sorry. Please. I don’t know how to do this. How to be okay without you. How to live in a world where you don’t look at me the same. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Please.

But she said none of it. Just held Azzi’s gaze like it might undo her. Like it already had.

“Paige,” Azzi said again, softer this time.

She leaned her head back against the booth again, swinging her leg off Paige's lap. Paige missed the contact immediately but, then, she felt it, the subtle shift. The way Azzi’s shoulder brushed hers, not by accident.

It was small. But the pressure was there. Real. Steady.

Paige didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. Because she knew this part. This quiet, wordless permission. And it wasn’t everything. But it wasn’t nothing. 

She wanted to say something. But all she could do was lean back too, letting their arms press together. Paige closed her eyes. Breathed in through her nose, slow and quiet. 

There was a tightness in her chest, not pain exactly, but something close. The strange, sudden urge to cry. Not the loud kind. The kind that happened quietly, all at once, in the throat and behind the eyes, before you even realized you were breaking. 

But she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Terrified that if she shifted even a little, if she breathed too hard, Azzi would pull away. And she’d lose this—this impossible, delicate moment that felt like balancing on a knife’s edge.

So she stayed still. And she let the silence settle. Let it fill the space between them like a held breath. A rare occurrence for Paige Bueckers. 

And, privately, maybe foolishly too, she let herself hope that maybe, just maybe, Azzi wasn’t done reaching for her.

Azzi’s POV

Azzi hadn’t meant to stay this long. Hadn’t meant to sit so close. Hadn’t meant to let Paige touch her.  And yet, here they were. Pressed together in the back booth of Ted’s, the music muffled, the room moving around them like they weren’t even there.

She could feel Paige’s breath.  Feel the heat radiating off her in waves, calm on the outside, but Azzi knew better. Knew what Paige looked like when she was trying not to come apart. Knew how it felt to be the thing she held onto.

And then her voice came. Tiny. Broken. So un-Paige-like it made Azzi’s stomach turn.

I’m sorry.

Just two words but the second they left Paige’s lips, they lodged between Azzi’s ribs, like ivy overrunning something long-abandoned. Quiet. Relentless. Twisting through the cracks.

They burrowed into the softest parts of her, the ones she’d tried to board up, shut down, leave untouched. And still, Paige’s words found their way in. Found their way home. 

Azzi sighed, eyes drifting toward the ceiling before finally letting herself look at Paige. Really look.

Paige was the kind of beautiful that didn’t flinch under pressure. The kind that didn’t falter with stress or lack of sleep. A face built for cameras and chaos. But Azzi knew better. She knew the difference between flawless and tired.

She saw the cracks now— light purple half-moons beneath her eyes, the telltale dryness of her lips from worrying them raw between her teeth. Small signs. Easy to miss. Unless you’d loved her. Unless some part of you still did.

Paige stared at her with that same feverish intensity. The kind that made other people shrink away. But Azzi never did. She’d always loved being the focus of that gaze. Loved how it pinned her in place, how it made her feel like the only person in the room.

Like someone Paige Bueckers could look at and decide she was worthy of it all.

And even now— with everything between them bruised and fragile— Azzi felt it again. That want. That gravity. That ache to be seen and chosen, even if it was just one more time.

Azzi was never foolish.

Since the day she understood it was necessary, she’d prided herself on being level-headed. Measured. Smart. She didn’t run toward the fire just to see if it burned. No room for impulsivity, No space for soft, stupid mistakes dressed up like hope.

She didn’t chase things that could hurt her. Didn’t reach for what wasn’t promised.

Except for Paige.

Paige, who had always been the exception to everything. 

Azzi had been steady. Cautious. Predictable. Until the blonde girl with the impossible smile and the voice that carried across gyms waltzed into her life like a dare. And Azzi, who never gave anyone the power to shake her, didn’t just let Paige in.

She let her consume her.

She let herself be tugged into Paige’s orbit. Let herself laugh when she should’ve stayed guarded. Let herself fall harder than she ever intended too. 

Even when she knew better. Knew what Paige could do to a heart left unchecked.

And still, she’d followed. Not because she didn’t know better. But because she did.  And wanted her anyway.

Azzi Fudd, who didn’t make mistakes, who didn’t break rules, who never chased the thing that could destroy her, was always, always, a fool for Paige Bueckers.

So, as they sat there in the dim light, staring at each other like a well-kept secret, Azzi supposed nothing had changed too terribly much. She slipped her leg from Paige’s lap, watching as the girl frowned at the loss of contact.

“Paige,” She said again, softer, more broken.

And then, just slightly, Azzi angled her body, offering the smallest window. The smallest mistake.

Touch.

Paige pressed her arm into hers. No hesitation. No question. Always on the same page. Always speaking the language Azzi had feared they’d forgotten.

They both seemed to exhale at the exact same time.

Azzi chewed on the inside of her cheek, wondering. Wanting. Fighting. But the truth was—she was never a fair opponent when it came to Paige. Never sharp enough to deflect the wanting. Never strong enough to hold the line.

And so, after a few long moments,  Azzi let her hand fall between them, palm up. An offering. A surrender.

Paige didn’t move right away. She stiffened, subtle, barely there, before her eyes flicked down to the space between them. Azzi watched her throat bob. Watched her take her bottom lip between her teeth, like she was biting down on a thousand things she didn’t know how to say.

And then carefully, like she was approaching something fragile, something that might vanish, Paige reached out. And gently, so gently, brushed her fingers against Azzi’s waiting palm.

Azzi sucked in a breath, sharp, like she’d been burned. Her eyes stayed fixed straight ahead, refusing to look. Refusing to flinch. But Paige wasn’t done.

Her fingers kept moving. Slow and reverent, tracing the soft inside of Azzi’s wrist, then up,  following the curve of her forearm  like she was trying to memorize her by touch alone. Goosebumps bloomed in her wake, rising on Azzi’s skin like something ancient answering an old, familiar call.

“Azzi,” Paige choked out. 

Azzi knew Paige believed in God. Knew she wore it like armor, spoke it like gospel, carried it into every room she entered. She’d heard her pray at night, murmured words slipping into the dark.

But the way Paige said her name, that wasn’t prayer.

It was something darker. Something deeper. Like confession. Like worship. Like Paige would’ve dropped to her knees if Azzi asked. It wasn’t her name, not really. It was a plea. A vow. A breaking. And for one unbearable moment,  Azzi felt like the altar. Like Paige didn’t know how to beg for anything else.

It struck Azzi, all at once, that she didn’t know how to beg for anything else either. Didn’t know how to want anyone else, no matter how hard she tried.

She’d tried. God, she’d tried. But Paige Bueckers had never been a choice. She was a current Azzi had been pulled into years ago—steady, relentless, impossible to fight.

And Azzi, measured, steady, careful Azzi, was toeing a dangerous line once again. The kind you weren’t supposed to cross. The kind that didn’t come with a return path. But she’d already taken the first step. And she wasn’t sure she remembered how to turn around.

“Pai—” Azzi started but then…

 “Az?”

They scrambled apart— too fast, too guilty. Azzi’s knee banged into the edge of the booth, her foot slamming against the wall with a thud. She winced. And then looked up.

Cam stood just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching them with an expression Azzi couldn’t quite read. Something caught between confusion and knowing. Like he’d walked into a room already halfway on fire.

They stayed like that for a second. All wide eyes and shallow breath. Frozen. Unsure. No one moved. And then, Cam shook his head, just once, like he was brushing off something he didn’t want to acknowledge, and stepped closer.

“Hey,” he said gently.  “I— I’ve been looking for you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Azzi looked at Paige. Waited. Just for a second, to see if she’d say something. But Paige’s eyes were fixed on the floor. Her jaw tight.  Her hands in fists, knuckles pale. will herself invisible. Or already halfway gone.

So Azzi turned back to Cam. Cleared her throat.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’m okay.”

A lie. Too easy. She didn’t even have to think about it. Cam nodded, stepping in like he’d already decided.

“I’ll take you home,” he said. Not a question. A choice made for her. Like he knew what she needed. Like he didn’t trust her to make the decision herself. 

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She looked to Paige, just once. One last, desperate look, in case there was something left to say. But Paige was still staring at the floor like she couldn’t bring herself to do anything else. 

So Azzi moved to go. And Paige finally shifted. She slid out of the booth to let her pass. Didn’t speak. Didn’t meet her eyes. Just stood there, too close and too far away all at once.

Azzi paused as they brushed shoulders. Waited for something, a touch, a word, a plea, but it didn’t come. So she kept walking. Cam’s hand hovered at her back,  guiding her toward the door.

As they reached the door, something in Azzi—stubborn, searching—made her look back. And there she was.

Paige.

Still standing by the booth. Arms crossed. Still watching. Eyes locked on Azzi like she was trying to memorize her from a distance. Like she wanted to scream but had swallowed the sound.

And for a second,  Azzi felt it all again. The ache. The fury. The want.

Because no matter how far she walked, no matter whose hand was at her back, she would always check for Paige. And Paige would always be there. Watching her leave. Too proud to stop her. Too late to matter.

It was the worst kind of almost. The kind that never truly goes away.

Paige’s POV

Nika stared at her. Paige stared at the pile of socks in the corner. They’d been like that for a while, maybe five minutes, the silence filling the space like something alive. Paige could feel the irritation rolling off Nika in slow waves. Tight. Inevitable. A fuse burning too close to the dynamite.

“Paige.”

The name dropped was a match. She licked her lips, dragging her eyes away from the laundry she had absolutely no intention of folding. Lifted a brow. Looked at Nika like she didn’t know what was coming.

“Talk to me.”

Paige stretched, arms above her head, bones cracking, then collapsed backward onto the mattress like it hurt to stay upright.

“There’s nothing to say.”

Nika exhaled sharply and crossed the room, climbing onto the bed with a graceless thud.

She looked at Paige the way only Nika could: like she was torn between hugging her and choking her out. And Paige met her gaze. Held it. Because she knew where this was headed. Knew the shape of the conversation before it started.

She just didn’t know what part she’d play yet.

Didn’t know if she’d keep everything buried, lock it all down tight and unbothered…or if she’d give in. Let the flood rise. Let it drag her under. Let it drown her slowly—painfully—until her lungs burned and she finally collapsed beneath the weight of it all.

“Stop your shit, P.” Nika’s voice was sharp. Final.  It sliced through the air like she’d been holding it back for days. “I’m done letting you act like this.”

Paige blinked. Not because she was surprised by the words, she wasn’t. But with Nika, no matter how ready you thought you were, you never really braced enough.

“Because there is something to say,” Nika continued, leaning forward now, voice rising with each word. “There’s a lot.”

Paige looked down at her hands, studying the callouses that had formed from years of workouts, from the game, from the life she’d built around control. She didn’t know what to say. That was the problem. Where do you start when the truth is everywhere? When the crack could split you clean in two?

She swallowed. Felt small. And Nika took the silence for avoidance. She groaned.

“Are you not tired of this?” Her voice was quieter now. Sharper. “Tired of being miserable instead of just opening your mouth?”

Something about that hit a nerve. Raw. Exposed. And Paige felt it surge. Anger. Foreign and hot and wild, snaking up her spine until it curled around her ribs like a vice.

“What do you want me to fucking say, Nika?” she snapped. “That I love Azzi? That I’m so selfish when it comes to her it’s destructive?”

Her voice cracked. Her throat burned. Tears blurred her vision, but it was too late. The dam had ruptured. The flood was here.

“Do you want me to say I should’ve stopped her last night?  Told her to stay with me instead of going with that fucking loser?”

Nika said nothing. She didn’t have to. Paige was shaking now. Sinking fast.

“You don’t think I wanted to do that?” Her voice was hoarse. Pleading. “You don’t think I wanted to take her hand and say—no. You’re mine. Don’t you see that? You can’t belong to anyone else.” She inhaled. Exhaled. Unsteady. Cracked down the middle. “Of course I wanted to do that, Nika. But Azzi…Azzi deserves better.” Her voice broke around the word. “Better than me. Better than what I can offer her. Dragging her behind me like she’s something on a leash. Forcing her into something she didn’t sign up for.”

Despite the alcohol in her system last night, Paige hadn’t been able to shake the image. Azzi—Tired. Quiet in that way that didn’t mean peace. Like she was exhausted by all of it. And not just physically. Paige knew the difference. She’d lived in Azzi’s orbit long enough to read the signs.

It was the kind of tired that lived behind the eyes. That settled in the bones. That said I’m carrying too much and none of it’s mine.

And Paige kept thinking:

What if that was me? What if I’m the thing wearing her down?

Her foolishness from last night still clung to her, but what haunted Paige more was how Azzi had looked with Cam. Normal. Like she wasn’t bracing for anything. Like she didn’t have to read the room. Her shoulders were loose. Her laughter unguarded. And for once, Paige wasn’t the center of her attention.

With Cam, Azzi got to exist. Got to be the one the world revolved around. Not the girl constantly reaching out a hand. Not the steady one. Not the anchor. And maybe that was what gutted Paige the most. That she hadn’t even noticed how heavy she’d made it all feel until she saw Azzi without the weight.

Paige dragged her eyes back to Nika.

“She deserves better than what I can give her.”

Silence followed. Not the comforting kind. The kind that settles between two people like a held breath.

Finally, Nika exhaled. “I’m sorry, P,” she said, voice low. “But that’s a bullshit cop-out.”

Paige blinked. “What?”

Nika leaned forward, elbows on her knees, gaze unwavering.

“No one in this world knows Azzi Fudd better than you.” Her voice didn’t rise, but it didn’t soften either. “No one gets her like you do. No one sees her like you do. And despite all the chaos that follows you, despite the spotlight and the pressure and the absolute circus of your life, you’d still be better for her than anyone else.”

Paige had to look away. Had to tilt her chin up like she could swallow the tears instead of letting them fall. But they came anyway.

Quiet. Stubborn. Unstoppable. Like everything else she felt for Azzi.

“You know what I think happened last night?”

Paige didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her. Just stared at a point on the wall like it might offer her a way out.

“I think you wanted Azzi to choose you.” Nika’s voice wasn’t cruel, just honest. “I think it’s easier to fall on a sword than admit your heart needed her to look at Cam and say no. I’m staying. With Paige. I’m choosing her. The hard, complicated thing.” She paused. “And when she didn’t, you shut down.”

Paige shook her head. But even she didn’t believe it.

“I don’t need anyone to choose me. I don’t—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nika waved her off like she’d heard it too many times. “The world chooses you. Always has. Always will. But you don’t give a fuck about the world, Paige. You never have.” She leaned in, softer now. “You only want her. That’s the way it’s always been.”

Paige was crying. God, how long had it been since she’d let it happen? Since she’d stopped holding it in with both fists, like control could keep it from breaking through?

Her fingers twisted in the comforter, white-knuckled,  gripping the fabric like it might help her hold something together. But nothing could stop it.

The grief came anyway, demanding.  Like a penance she hadn’t paid. Like she owed something for every feeling she’d buried.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, even though she didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit it. “I didn’t know if I reached out…made if obvious…if she’d be embarrassed.”

She wiped at her face, breath stuttering. “We didn’t tell many people, you know? I don’t even know if she told anyone. And if I said something, what if it made it worse? What if she was mortified that I did?”

And there it was. Laid bare. The thing Paige never said out loud. Her deepest-held fear. The one that sank its teeth in after midnight and never let go.

That maybe Azzi hadn’t wanted to be seen with her. Not because of what she was — but who. That maybe she’d been too much. Too intense. Too Paige.

They’d never really talked about it. Not in a way that mattered.  Paige had loved her out loud. Always. And Azzi had loved her quietly. Carefully. Like Paige was something precious she wasn’t sure she was allowed to keep.

And Paige hadn’t pushed. Because loving Azzi had always felt like enough. Until it wasn’t. Until Azzi let go. Until she reached for someone easier. Someone simpler. And something about that—about watching Azzi slip so seamlessly, so publicly, into the arms of someone new—felt like a razor dragged slowly across her softest parts.

Not a rejection. Just a quiet rewrite. Like they’d never happened at all.

Nika shook her head and reached for Paige’s hand. There was a softness in her eyes Paige almost never saw. Something tender, earned through years of knowing exactly when to stop pushing and just hold still.

“Azzi Fudd is not embarrassed of you, Paige,” she said quietly. “There’s a difference between being a secret and being a private piece of someone they just want to protect.”

They sat like that for a while. No resolution.  No clean ending. Just the weight of things unburdened, shared in low voices and shaken breaths. It wasn’t healing, not yet.

But it was something. And for Paige, for now, that’d have to be enough. 

Azzi’s POV

The world felt drained of color.

She wasn’t surprised. Paige had that effect, leaving things a little dimmer in her wake. Stripping the bright and the beautiful like she took it with her when she left.

Azzi stirred the oat milk into her coffee, hand slow and deliberate, as if she could smooth herself out with each circular motion.

“Az?”

She looked up. Caroline was watching her from across the kitchen island, brow raised.

“You’ve been stirring that for five minutes,” she said. “It’s going to be too cold to drink soon.”

Azzi offered a small smile—grateful, apologetic—and dropped the spoon into the sink with a soft clink. She lifted the mug and took a sip, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the now-lukewarm temperature.

“I think we should talk about… it,” Caroline said, settling onto the couch.

“Caro, I just—”

“No, Azzi.” Her voice was firmer than usual, and Azzi blinked in surprise. Caroline flushed, immediately softening. “Sorry, I—well, I just think we need to. If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to, but…”

Azzi swallowed. She knew Caroline was right. And the truth was, she was tired of dodging the thing pulsing beneath her skin like a bruise. With a quiet sigh, she dropped onto the couch beside her.

“Okay,” she murmured. “Where do you want to start?”

Caroline didn’t hesitate. “What happened last night?”

Azzi leaned her head back against the cushions, letting her eyes slip shut.

She flipped through the night like a well-worn photo album: Paige, laughing too loud, flirting with someone who wasn’t her. The fall. The hum of pain. The blur of bodies that didn’t catch her.

And then—Paige. There. Hands steady. Voice soft. The kind of gentleness that unraveled something deep and dangerous inside her. The tension. The closeness. Her name, spoken like it meant something again. Arms brushing. Fingers finding their way back like they remembered the route on instinct.

And then Paige, watching her leave. Not calling out. Not following. Just watching.

Azzi opened her eyes, throat dry.

“Paige,” Azzi muttered. “Paige happened.”

Caroline nodded like she understood exactly what that meant.  Because of course she did.

“Did you guys at least talk about it?”

Azzi shook her head. Not really. Maybe in the way their eyes found each other. In the softness of hands brushing and not pulling away. But they hadn’t used words. They hadn’t cracked it open, hadn’t named it out loud.

“No,” she said softly. “We just…” She waved her hands, fingers fluttering in the space between them like they might summon the right word. “But then Cam came over. Offered to take me home.”

She paused. Swallowed.

“And I don’t know. I half-hoped Paige would step in.  Say something.  Let him know she had it covered.” Her voice wavered, just slightly. “She’s usually so… brash.  You know that. Never stutters when it comes to what she wants.”

She let her head drop back against the couch again, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“But she didn’t say anything. Not a word.”

 “Azzi…” Caroline said it softly, like she was laying the name down with both hands. “You know I love you,” she continued. “But… you showed up with Cam. You’ve been showing up with him. For weeks now.” Azzi didn’t say anything. Just stared into her lukewarm coffee like maybe she could disappear into it. “I think it’s a little unfair to expect Paige to push back on that,” Caroline said, gently. “To step in, to claim you, when she’s been watching you spend your time with someone else.”

She paused. Softened.

“Paige is a lot of things. Loud, brave, brash—sure.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “But she’s also…terribly unselfish. Almost to a fault.”

Azzi knew she was right.

Paige was unselfish. It was one of the things Azzi loved most about her and hated just as much.

She loved the way Paige made sure everyone had a seat at the table. Loved how she passed when she could’ve taken the shot, how she always looked for the better play, the kinder choice, the fairer outcome.

She loved that Paige thought about impact. That she didn’t just act, she considered.

But God, Azzi hated it too.

Because when it came to them, she wanted Paige to be selfish. Wanted her to plant her feet. To take up space. To look Cam in the eye and say no.

Mine.

Azzi had never wanted to be claimed by anyone. Not really. Not until Paige Bueckers.

But still, Caro’s observation landed harder than Azzi expected. Settled somewhere deep, just under the ribs. And as she sat there, mug cooling in her hands, she wondered:

Had she always been this unfair to Paige?

Had she expected too much from the one person who gave until she was threadbare and then kept giving anyway. Paige, who lived under a spotlight Azzi had never wanted. Paige, who bore the weight of being seen by everyone, always.

Azzi had acted like Paige should’ve known how to carry it all. How to be brave and soft and certain and hers— like she’d been born understanding how to do it. But she hadn’t. Of course she hadn’t.

She was just trying to survive it. All of it. And maybe sometimes,  Azzi forgot that this was Paige’s first time too. Her first time learning how to navigate all of this. How to want something and not ruin it. How to hold someone in the light without letting go of herself.

Azzi had asked for too much. She could see that now. How she’d taken someone already stretched thin and pulled even harder, like love was something you could wring out of a person if you just squeezed tight enough. And when Paige couldn’t give her what she wanted...

Azzi had done the one thing she swore she wouldn’t. She left. Like it was noble. Like it was final. Like walking away was the answer instead of just… the easiest thing.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. God. When had she gotten so good at being cruel?

Beside her, Caroline shifted, their knees knocking softly together. When Azzi looked over, her best friend offered a tight-lipped smile—or maybe a grimace. It didn’t matter. Azzi wasn’t sure she could tell the difference anymore.

“What do you want her to do, Az?” Caroline asked gently. “And if she did it…would you let her love you again?”

Azzi looked away so fast her eyes blurred. She wanted to say she didn’t know. That there were too many pieces now. Too many sharp edges. That Paige had broken something in her. Hadn’t she?

But the truth was simpler. It always had been. She didn’t want a question mark hovering after Paige’s name. She never had.

Paige was a period. A full stop. The beginning and the end.

Azzi didn’t answer. She figured her silence was loud enough, said everything she was too tired to untangle. 

Instead, her mind drifted to the day she finally surrendered. To the ache in her chest she didn’t know how to name at the time. To the quiet terror of being seen so clearly by someone who, somehow, still wanted her.

They were twenty.

Not kids, exactly, but not old enough to understand how the tiniest choices could echo for years. Not old enough to know that letting someone kiss you in the quiet of a half-lit bedroom—forehead pressed to yours, breath trembling between words—could be a turning point you’d never come back from.

But even if she had known, she thinks she still would’ve done it. Still would’ve kissed Paige. Still would’ve chosen the fall.

It had started with shoeboxes.

Paige had this habit of reorganizing her closet when she was overwhelmed — something about the control of it, the ritual. Azzi had been sitting cross-legged on the bed, textbook open in her lap, not reading a single word.

Paige was chattering, as usual. Something about the pros and cons of alphabetical versus color coding. The boxes were stacked in uneven towers across the room, their lids slightly askew, some revealing polaroids and old receipts and friendship bracelets that had unraveled at the edges.

Azzi hadn’t meant to say anything. But something about the noise, the constant motion of it, had gotten under her skin in the gentlest, most unbearable way.

“Can you just sit still for five minutes?”

She’d said it too softly to be mean. Just… tired. A little frayed.

She hadn’t expected Paige to laugh. Or to turn and look at her with that mischievous glint in her eye—the one that always meant trouble, or tenderness, or both. But she really hadn’t expected her to climb onto the bed.

Usually, one of them took the chair. The desk. The floor. Always some careful distance, like they knew better than to tempt fate. Like they didn’t trust themselves if they got too close.

There were rules—unspoken, unacknowledged, but followed religiously. And Paige had just broken one. Just climbed up. Settled beside her, legs stretched out long on the duvet. Close enough that Azzi could feel the warmth of her, even without touching.

“I’m sitting still,” she said, smiling like she’d won something. “Gold star, please.”

Azzi didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Because suddenly the room felt different. Or maybe she did. The air was too sharp, too sweet. Paige’s arm brushed hers and it was like every nerve in her body stood at attention.

She hadn’t planned it. That was the worst part. Or the best.

There’d been no music, no movie playing in the background, no dramatic swell. Just Paige, with her half-straightened ponytail and bright blue eyes, looking at her like it was the easiest thing in the world to be looked at.

She really was pretty. Azzi knew that. Always had. But there was something about her in private moments that was even more beautiful. The way the crease between her brows disappeared when she wasn’t thinking too hard, the way the tension melted from her shoulders when she wasn’t performing for anyone, not even herself.

She looked younger like this. Softer. And it did something to Azzi’s chest — some quiet unraveling she couldn’t stop even if she tried.

Paige shifted, their knees brushing, and Azzi felt it like a pulse. Paige didn’t flinch or pull away. She just smiled, all teeth and ease. 

“I’m seriously being still,” she whispered, as if the quiet mattered now. “You should be proud of me.”

Azzi huffed out a laugh, but it caught in her throat. Because Paige was close. Closer than she usually let herself be. And for once, she wasn’t pretending it didn’t matter.

Paige’s throat bobbed. Her knee began to bounce and Azzi sighed, reaching out to rest a hand on her thigh. Really it was to cease the shaking of the bed but also because she wanted too. And Paige sucked in a breath at the contact. 

Azzi’s other hand twitched against the comforter. She thought about all the times she’d imagined this. The moment before. The almost. The pause. She thought it would be louder somehow. Braver. But it wasn’t. It was just…this.

The hum of the fan. The scent of floral shampoo. Paige’s breath, soft and even. And Azzi’s heart, pounding like it was trying to speak.

“Az,” Paige said softly.

Azzi started to pull her hand away—instinct, self-preservation—but Paige caught it before she could. Her fingers closed gently over Azzi’s, holding them in place like something fragile she didn’t want to lose.

She turned Azzi’s hand over, studied it for a moment. Ran her thumb along the silver ring on her middle finger. Cheap, tarnished, already dulling at the edges.

“I like this one,” Paige said. “Can I borrow it?”

Azzi laughed, caught off guard. “Why would you want that? You have actual jewelry. The kind that doesn’t turn your skin green.”

Paige shrugged, but her gaze didn’t lift. Still locked on the ring. Still holding her hand.

“Because it’s yours,” she said simply.

Azzi’s breath caught.

Paige looked up then, eyes warm, a little too honest.

“And maybe,” she added, voice quieter now, “sometimes I like to have a piece of you with me.”

Finally, Paige tore her gaze away from Azzi’s hand, and their eyes met. Azzi swore her heart was thudding loud enough for the whole world to hear.

Paige reached out, slow and careful, her fingers trembling just slightly as she tucked a curl behind Azzi’s ear — like it was something she’d wanted to do a hundred times but never let herself before.

“Az?” she said again, quieter now.

“Yeah?” Azzi breathed, not trusting her voice with anything more.

Paige’s eyes softened. “I think you’re really beautiful.”

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly sixteen again, shy and burning and undone by the gentlest words.

And then, just as quietly, just as honestly, she said,  “I think you’re really beautiful too, P.”

Paige leaned in closer, slipping further into Azzi’s space until she was everywhere. The warmth of her, the scent of her , the low thrum of her breath. It was the closest they’d ever been, and from here, Azzi could see it all—the flecks of gold in Paige’s blue eyes, the barely-there freckle on the bridge of her nose.

“Is this okay?” Paige whispered.

Azzi nodded, heartbeat pounding like it wanted to escape her chest. “If it’s okay with you.”

That made Paige smile. Crooked and impossibly fond. 

“More than okay,” she murmured.

And then she closed the distance.

Their lips brushed, featherlight at first. Barely there. Like they were both trying to memorize it before it even happened, afraid to break it, afraid not to. And then Paige tilted her head, just slightly. Pressed in again.

This time, it wasn’t unsure. It was soft, but certain. The kind of kiss that says I’ve wanted this for so long I almost forgot how to want anything else.

Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut. Her fingers curled in the fabric of the comforter. And she let herself fall. Surrendered entirely. And nothing had been the same since. 

Still wasn’t the same. 

Azzi had no idea if that was a good or bad thing. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

1 week later

They hadn’t really talked. Not since the night at the bar. Not since everything cracked open again. But tonight, the team had traded in cheap drinks and packed crowds for something quieter. A movie night. Popcorn and blankets and too many people squished on one couch.

And Azzi knew, with the kind of dread that settled deep in her bones, that it was dangerous territory.

Because the movie night was at Paige’s place.

The apartment Azzi knew like her own. The one she used to let herself into without knocking. The one where she’d once kept a toothbrush in the top drawer, tucked behind Paige’s like it didn’t mean anything.

This time last year, she’d practically lived there — something Nika never stopped pointing out. Not in a mean way. Just loud enough to make Azzi squirm.

“You know your hoodie ended up in her laundry again,” Nika would say, smug.  And Azzi would roll her eyes, pretend it didn’t mean anything.

“You got everything?” Caro asked, cutting clean through the memory.

Azzi glanced down, mentally ticking off the list. Her favorite pink blanket, folded tight under one arm. Water bottle. Hoodie—thick and oversized—because Paige always kept the apartment freezing.

“Yep,” she said, voice a little too chipper. “All good to go.”

She wasn’t, not really. But there was no point in saying it out loud. Caroline would only give her that look. The one that said you don’t have to do this and you absolutely will anyway.

Caroline nodded, and they stepped outside. The walk to Paige’s was short, familiar in the way old routines always are. Azzi kept her eyes on the sidewalk, but she could already hear voices drifting through the door when they got close. Someone laughing, the buzz of a movie preview playing too loud in the background.

Caroline knocked. Azzi held her breath. It took a few seconds for the door to open, but when it did, there she was.

Paige.

Hair down, slightly damp at the ends like she’d just showered. Wearing the same damn gray sweatsuit Azzi was in which felt unfair, honestly. Like the universe wanted to twist the knife.

Their eyes met. And just for a second, the noise behind Paige seemed to fade. Everything softened. They took each other in. Matching outfits. Pink cheeks. The quiet oh of something unsaid lingering between them.

Azzi’s fingers tightened around her blanket. Paige blinked first. Smiled, tentative and uneven.

“Hey,” she said.

And Azzi, mouth dry, heart already spiraling, managed,

“Hey.”

Caro cleared her throat dramatically. “Hello to me too. I know, you’re thrilled I’m here.”

Paige let out a breathy chuckle and stepped back, holding the door wider.

“Hello, Caroline. Light of my life. Let me show you the sacred throne I saved just for you.”

Caroline rolled her eyes but grinned, breezing past her into the apartment like she hadn’t just defused a bomb. 

Azzi followed slower, dragging her feet a little, letting the weight of Paige’s gaze settle just behind her as she crossed the threshold. Same apartment. Same candles. Same couch. But somehow it all felt smaller. Like it had been waiting for her to return.

Most of the team was already sprawled out across the couch or curled into makeshift nests of pillows and blankets on the floor. The room glowed soft and amber, lit by a single lamp and the flicker of the paused TV screen.

Azzi hovered in the doorway for a beat too long, eyes scanning for a spot that wouldn’t feel like a choice. Somewhere safe. Uncomplicated.

She found it. A corner of the couch, half-shielded by the armrest and a pile of throw blankets. Tucked away, but not too tucked. Just enough to pretend she wasn’t hyper-aware of the girl who had just let her in.

“Perfect,” she murmured to no one, and slipped into the space, folding her legs beneath her.

She wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and tried to focus on the screen.

“Paige! I saved you a spot,” Jana called out brightly.

Azzi’s head snapped toward the sound, just in time to see Jana patting the narrow sliver of couch between them,  barely wide enough for comfort, but apparently wide enough for Paige.

Her stomach flipped. The space had felt safe a second ago. Unnoticeable. But now it was a trap. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Across the room, Paige hesitated. Just for a second. Long enough for Azzi to notice. Long enough to wonder if she was hesitating because of her. And then Paige started walking toward them.

Paige padded across the room, mismatched socks silent against the floor, her eyes flicking to Azzi only once. A glance so quick Azzi might’ve imagined it if her pulse hadn’t jumped at the same time.

She sat down slowly, carefully lowering herself into the small space between Jana and Azzi, her thigh brushing Azzi’s for the briefest second before she shifted, just enough to say I noticed, but not enough to move away completely.

Azzi stared straight ahead at the TV, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person. Trying not to notice the scent of Paige’s shampoo again, or the fact that their knees were one careless movement away from touching.

Jana handed Paige a bowl of popcorn with a grin, oblivious to the quiet war unraveling inside Azzi.

“See?” she said. “Told you I’d save it for you.”

“Yeah,” Paige murmured. “Perfect spot.”

Jana threw a large throw blanket over them, the kind that could double as a comforter, covering all three of them in one sweeping motion.

“I know you’re always cold, Fudd. I got you covered,” she said, settling in like this was just any other night. Like she hadn’t just casually trapped Azzi under a blanket next to the one person she still wasn’t sure how to look at for too long.

Azzi offered a tight smile. “Always so thoughtful.”

She kept her tone light, but her body was buzzing. Too aware of every inch of space. Or lack thereof. The blanket brushed her arms. Paige’s arm rested beside hers. Their shoulders nearly aligned. And no matter how much Azzi tried to stare at the screen, her peripheral vision betrayed her.

The movie started, the opening credits flickering across the screen, casting soft light over the room. Conversations dulled, bodies settled. Beside her, Azzi felt Paige shift slightly. A shoulder brushing hers.

“This okay?” Paige whispered, so quiet Azzi almost missed it. “I can move if you want me to.”

Azzi’s eyes darted to her. She didn’t mean to look, but she couldn’t not. And there Paige was. Not just beside her, but looking at her, like she cared about the answer. Like she wanted to be told to stay.

For a second, Azzi was sure she imagined it. The softness. The closeness. The question. But it was real. She swallowed, pulse thudding like it always did when Paige said her name or stood too close or smiled in that way that made it hard to breathe.

She shook her head.

“If it’s okay with you,” she said, and it came out steadier than she felt.

Paige gave a small nod and returned her eyes to the screen. As the movie played on, Azzi’s eyes kept drifting. To Paige. She told herself it was accidental,  just flickers in the dark,  but it wasn’t. Not really. 

Paige wasn’t watching the screen either. Not really. Her eyes were aimed in that direction, sure, but her jaw was tight, teeth clearly clenched. A tension Azzi knew by heart.

Once, she used to press her fingers gently to that spot, right where Paige’s cheek met her jaw, and whisper relax until Paige would smile, or sigh, or kiss her. 

Now she just stared at it. That tension. That ache she couldn’t soothe anymore.

The blanket still covered them both. Warm, suffocating. Every shift of Paige’s body beneath it sent static up Azzi’s spine. A knee brushing hers, the subtle flex of a shoulder when Paige crossed her arms tighter. She was trying so hard not to take up space. And failing. Because she was everywhere.

The movie continued, flickering across the screen like it mattered. Azzi couldn’t have said what it was about. Couldn’t name a single character or plot point. All she could focus on was the smallest bit of space between her and Paige—space that felt impossibly wide, like it might take a lifetime to cross.

She sat there, bones taut, breath shallow, wondering if either of them would do it. If either of them would be the one to move first.

Paige had always been braver. Bolder. The one who leapt without looking. The loudest laugh in the room, the girl who always said what she wanted. And Azzi had been okay with existing in the background.

And still, to this day, Azzi wasn’t entirely sure how to ask for what she wanted. Much less go after it in a room full of people.

So she stayed still. Silent. Ache buried beneath layers of practiced calm. The movie droned on, forgotten. And beside her, Paige moved.

Not much. Just enough.

Her hand shifted beneath the blanket, slow and tentative, until her fingers brushed Azzi’s — the lightest touch, like she wasn’t sure she’d be welcomed. Like she might pull away at the first sign of hesitation.

She didn’t say anything. But after a few seconds, her pinky curled, barely hooking around Azzi’s. Holding there.

And Azzi, who had always waited, always watched, always wanted, let her.

They stayed like that for the rest of the movie.

Even when their teammates started groaning at the plot holes and bad acting. Even when someone got up for more popcorn and bumped the couch hard enough to jostle them.

They never spoke. Never acknowledged what it meant. What was happening beneath the blanket, between their hands, in the quiet rhythm of shared breath and too much history.

But neither of them let go. And for the briefest flicker of time, it felt like being them again.

Not healed. Not fixed.

Just suspended in that strange, familiar space where wanting wasn’t enough, but letting go wasn’t possible either.

[bucketsorbueckers-deactivated20]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 5

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: language, bad timing

Dual POV - 8.7K words

A/N: hope you enjoy <3

Paige’s POV

Paige didn’t believe in fate. Never had. She believed in hard work. In showing up. In earning things the long way around.

But there was one thing in her life that refused to fit inside that logic. One thing that pushed against every carefully built belief she held.

And that thing was sitting right next to her.

She hadn’t meant to ask Jana to save her a seat in the spot she maybe assumed Azzi would choose. The corner with the armrest, the place she always liked to lean.

But she had.

And so, when Jana’s voice cut through the room, announcing she’d followed orders, and Paige turned to find Azzi sitting exactly where she’d imagined she would be, well, maybe fate felt a little more real after all.

She took the seat. Thigh brushing against Azzi’s. The kind of closeness she craved every hour of every fucking day. And she’d been rather pleased that it had worked out until she looked over and saw Azzi’s face. Tense. Uncomfortable.

The guilt crawled up her spine fast, sharp, making her stomach twist. So she leaned over, just slightly.

“Is this okay?” she asked, voice low, eyes searching Azzi’s pretty face.  “I can move if you want me to.”

Azzi paused. Worked her bottom lip between her teeth. Let her eyes drag across Paige’s face like she was reading something only she could see. Then, a breath.

“If it’s okay with you.”

And Paige felt like she’d been slapped. Because those words weren't just an answer. They were a memory.

One she thought about often.

In her bedroom. Azzi looking at her like she was something worth keeping.

Her hand on Paige’s thigh. Warm. Steady. Certain. And Paige, impulsive, impossible, leaning in too close. Pushing her luck like she always did.

Because there wasn’t a world where Paige Bueckers got Azzi Fudd. Not really. But God, she wanted her anyway.

And for one reckless second, she let herself believe that wanting was enough. That the look in Azzi’s eyes meant they’d figure it out. That whatever mistakes she made—whatever cracks she couldn’t keep from forming—Azzi would stay anyway.

“Is this okay?” Paige had whispered, her voice barely holding itself together.

She’d braced for the fallout. For the shame of asking. For the punishment of wanting someone as much as she wanted Azzi.

But then Azzi smiled. Small, lopsided, familiar. That dimple on her left cheek appearing like it always did when she was about to say something that mattered.

“If it’s okay with you.”

Paige wasn’t sure how she didn’t roll off the bed and onto the floor. But she kept it together, probably because she figured this was her one and only chance to kiss Azzi Fudd. And so, with trembling hands, she pressed her lips to Azzi’s.

The world didn’t stop. The sky didn’t crack open. The planets didn’t shift.

Nika coughed across the common room. A car horn blared in the distance. Somewhere, probably, a microwave beeped.

Nothing changed. Except Paige.

Inside her, something quietly unhooked. Rearranged. Rewired.

Because when Azzi kissed her—really kissed her, like it meant something, like she meant something—Paige felt the ground tilt just enough to notice.

She’d never been the dramatic one. That was someone else’s job. She liked facts. Stats. Data she could measure.

But this? This was unquantifiable.

Azzi’s hand on her jaw. The warm press of her lips. The soft, certain way she leaned in like she’d already decided. And Paige, usually so careful, didn’t flinch. Didn’t make a joke. Didn’t deflect.

She kissed her back.

And no, the world didn’t change. Not visibly.  But Paige did.

Some quiet part of her, the part she’d kept barricaded behind logic and low expectations, blinked awake. Looked at this girl and thought: So this is what it feels like. This is what I’ve been waiting for.

And maybe the world didn’t notice. But Paige would never be the same. So when Azzi said those words, Paige felt devastatingly desperate again. For them.

For the version of herself that only existed in Azzi’s orbit—the softer one, the braver one. The girl Azzi kissed like a promise, not the one left behind in the aftermath. Not the jagged, restless version she became when it all fell apart.

When love turned quiet and Azzi stopped looking at her like she was something worth staying for. And so, with every bit of courage she had left, Paige put herself out there.

She silenced every reason not to—every voice in her head whispering you’re no good for her, every cruel echo of she deserves better. And the hardest one of all: you embarrass her.

She deafened them all. And reached across the space between them.

Small, steady. A single gesture against the weight of everything she’d ruined. But it was hers. And it was brave.

The first brush of their fingers felt like breaking the surface after being underwater too long. That frantic, gasping kind of relief—when your lungs are seconds from giving out, your legs aching from the fight to rise, and then, air.

Contact. A reminder that you made it. That maybe, somehow, you're still allowed to want this. Even now. Even after everything.

Paige’s eyes cut to Azzi, searching for anything—a shift, a breath, the smallest flicker of a sign that this was okay. But Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t look at her.

Just kept her gaze on the TV, where some scene played out that Paige couldn’t name, couldn’t care about. Her heart sank, sharp and sudden. She almost pulled away. Almost let herself believe she’d misread it again. But then, with a breath she barely got past her ribs, Paige moved her finger the tiniest bit forward.

Just enough. Her pinky curled, half-around Azzi’s. And she held it there.

Braced for impact, whatever it might be. 

And then, like a miracle, a prayer answered, Azzi completed the ritual. Knotting their pinkies together.

Paige tried not to react.

Tried not to stiffen, not to let her knee start bouncing, not to give herself away. But it was hard. Her whole body felt hot and jittery, like her skin was trying to crawl out from under itself.

She cut her gaze toward Azzi. And Azzi met her there. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

The space between them had shrunk to nothing, and suddenly Paige was aware of everything— the brush of their arms, the heat radiating off her cheeks, the quiet thrum of this is happening pounding in her chest.

She held Azzi’s gaze like it might steady her. It didn’t. But she didn’t look away either.

And they existed like that. The team loud around them. The movie too bright, too chaotic. The air thick with the smell of buttery popcorn and clashing perfumes. And beneath it all—the heat of Azzi’s knee pressed against hers under a blanket that was suddenly too much. Too warm. Too heavy.

Paige was sweating. Not from the blanket. From the closeness. From the ache that sat squarely in her chest like it had paid rent.

And then the thought hit her—blunt, brutal, so obvious it felt cruel: How are you not mine? How am I supposed to love anyone but you?

She didn’t have the answer. She wasn’t sure she ever would. The movie ended, but no one moved right away. The team lingered—sleepy, tangled in blankets, whispering softly like the night might shatter if they spoke too loud.

So Paige didn’t move. Neither did Azzi.

Their fingers stayed laced together, a quiet knot of unsaid things. Of questions and memories and want, warm and undeniable beneath the blanket.

Even as the room began to clear, goodnights murmured, bodies stretching and shifting, feet padding across the floor, they stayed.

Hearts thudding in sync. Hands sweating. Paige tried to slow her breathing. To steady the tremble in her chest.

She turned, just enough to catch Azzi’s profile in the dim light.

“Do you need to leave?” she asked, voice low. “Or you got a few minutes?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked toward the remaining stragglers, Caroline among them.

There was a brief exchange. Something in a look, something carved in trust. Caroline offered a small nod and a simple, “Night.”

And then she was gone.Azzi looked back at Paige.

“I have a few minutes,” she said.

“Cool,” Paige said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to breathless. “Let’s go to my room.”

Every alarm in her brain went off at once. It was a dangerous line to cross, bringing Azzi back into what had once been their space. The room where too much had happened. And not enough had been said.

But she didn’t want to start something. She just wanted to talk.To let it all out. To finally say the things that had been clawing at her ribs for weeks.To see if there was still a way back. If they could still find each other in the wreckage.

They headed toward her room, a stretch of space between them that hadn’t always been there. Nika caught her gaze from across the room and arched a brow. Paige ignored it.

It all felt so familiar. Azzi trailing just behind her, the echo of footsteps in the hall, the click of the door as it shut behind them.

But the silence was new. The nerves. The way Paige’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

And when they crossed the threshold—when she closed the door and sealed them in—it felt less like slipping back into something warm and known, and more like stepping into a memory that might collapse under its own weight.

Paige leaned back against her bed. Azzi settled into the desk chair, spine straight, hands in her lap. And it reminded her of before. Of all the ways they used to orbit each other. Careful, measured, like getting too close might set something on fire.

Back then, the distance had been about restraint. About not daring to want too much, too fast. About pretending they weren’t already standing at the edge.

But this space? This space was different.

Not curious. Not tentative.

Earned. Worn-in. Built out of self-preservation more than fear. A kind of distance that said we’ve been burned before. A kind that hurt just by existing.

Paige cleared her throat, crossing one ankle over the other like the act might steady her.

“So,” she started, already cringing at the sound of her own voice. Too casual. Too thin. “How you been?”

Azzi tilted her head, studying her for a beat.

“Okay,” she said, and it wasn’t unkind. Just honest in that way Azzi always was.

Paige nodded. “Same.”

Finally, Paige let herself look at her best friend. Really look at her. Azzi, in her room. Like no time had passed and also like too much had. Same sweatshirt, same eyes, same way she always curled her fingers in her lap when there was something she really wanted to say but couldn’t. 

She loved Azzi. She knew that. But what gutted her now wasn’t the ache of lost kisses or what-ifs. It was the quiet, gnawing ache of missing her best friend.

The one person who could read her mind with a single look across the court.  Who knew when she needed to be dragged out of bed or left alone. Who always picked the right snack. Who never asked her to be anything more than exactly who she was.

And while she wanted the relationship back—the closeness, the rhythm, the comfort of being known—what she really wanted was Azzi.

In any capacity.  Any form.

Her Azzi. The one who laughed too loud at her dumb jokes.  Who called her out, kept her steady, showed up.

Paige swallowed hard.

“Azzi,” she said, finally.

It came out breathy. Worn. Like it had taken everything in her to say just that.

Azzi’s eyes snapped up, sharp and sure, like she knew. Like she’d heard the break Paige couldn’t hide. 

She pressed her lips together. Waiting. Not for an answer. But for the fall.

Azzi’s POV

Paige was staring at her. Really staring. The kind of stare Azzi had learned to recognize years ago, when Paige was building up to something. When she was afraid. When she was about to do the thing anyway.

Azzi didn’t look away. She wanted to. Wanted to make it easier. Break the tension. Say something dumb or gentle or neutral. Anything to spare them both from whatever Paige was holding in her chest.

But she didn’t. Because part of her wanted to hear it.  Wanted to know what Paige was brave enough to say this time. Or maybe, what she was about to lose the nerve to say.

And still, the silence stretched.  And Azzi’s heart beat like it knew what was coming. Maybe, if it came from Paige, she’d finally be ready to answer.

And maybe Azzi wanted to speak her own truth too. Rip out the stitches on that wound that never quite healed. Let it bleed. Let it ache in the open air.

Maybe she wanted to see if there was still something left worth salvaging—if they could gather up the torn pieces and figure out how to patch themselves back together.

Not perfectly. Not like before.  But honestly. Maybe this time, they wouldn’t hide behind timing or fear or the weight of everything unsaid. Maybe this time, they’d say it. And maybe that would be enough.

“Azzi, I-,” Paige stumbled over the words. Unlike her. Always smooth with it. One step ahead. “I think we need to talk about stuff.”

Azzi nodded. 

“Yeah,” She agreed, trying to offer some relief to the girl. “I think so too.”

Paige swallowed. Shot her a grateful look. 

“Where do you want to start?”

Azzi’s mind skipped. Because, if she was being honest, she was really hoping Paige would take the lead.

It was selfish, maybe. To always depend on Paige to be the brave one. To be the first to reach across whatever distance had stretched between them. But it was instinct. Muscle memory, almost.

Azzi had spent years relying on Paige to say the things she couldn’t.  To do the things she was too scared to try. To cross the lines Azzi could barely bring herself to toe.

They’d always danced like that; Azzi hesitating, Paige charging forward.

And some part of her still wanted that. Still hoped Paige would take one more step. Still didn’t trust herself not to flinch if she had to go first. But Paige was watching her expectantly. Waiting. 

Azzi felt the words rise and tangle in her throat. She wished she had something better. Cleaner. Something that didn’t sound like surrender.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. 

Paige nodded. Once. Then rubbed a hand over her face, not in frustration, exactly. But disappointment. The kind that settled behind the eyes. The kind that said she’d hoped for something else but wasn’t surprised.

Paige exhaled through her nose. 

“I just think…” Paige started, then stopped, running a hand through her hair like the words might be hiding there. “I don’t know. Somewhere along the way, we… got our wires crossed or something. Lost the rhythm of whatever this was. Whatever we were.”

She cleared her throat, shifted her weight from leg to leg. Azzi watched her, that familiar restlessness etched into every movement. She wondered if Paige would ever grow out of it  Half-hoped she wouldn’t.

“And truth be told I’ve been fuckin’ mis—”

A ringtone cut through the room, sharp and sudden. They both flinched. Paige closed her eyes, jaw tightening as she bit down on her lip. Frustration written in every line of her face.

But Azzi knew that sound. Knew that Paige only left the ringer on when something important was happening. Something career-related. High-stakes. Bigger-than-us.

Still, Paige didn’t move. Just stood there, letting the phone ring out until the sound finally died. She swallowed hard, like something was caught in her throat, then dragged her gaze back to Azzi.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Like I was saying. I’ve been—”

Ring. Same ringtone. Paige’s eyes slammed shut.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” she groaned, voice edged with something rare. A frustration she almost never let anyone hear.

She stalked over to her phone, jabbing her finger against the screen harder than necessary. The ringtone cut off instantly—declined. No question. She dropped it face-down on the desk with a dull slam and stood there for a second, breathing like she’d just run full-court.

Then she turned back around. And suddenly, they were closer.

Only a few steps apart now, but it felt tighter than that, like the air had shifted, like something charged had pulled taut between them. Azzi could feel it in her chest. The friction.

“Let’s try this one more time,” Paige gritted out, jaw tight. “Azzi, I mis—”

The phone vibrated now. She froze. Her brows lifted in disbelief, like the universe was personally screwing with her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, glancing at the screen. “It would only do that if it was an emergency contact. My parents or siblings.”

Azzi stepped aside instinctively, catching a glimpse of Dad lit up on the screen. Paige answered with a sigh.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

Azzi couldn’t make out the words, but she could read Paige’s face—irritation pulling at her mouth, eyes narrowing. Annoyed, but not alarmed. The panic that had bloomed briefly in Azzi’s chest eased. No crisis. Just bad timing.

“I’m in the middle of something, Dad. Surely it can wait.”

A voice crackled louder through the speaker. Paige winced, frowning.

“Okay,” she said, clipped. “I’ll take care of it.”

She nodded, eyes closed like she was barely holding it together.

 “Love you too. Thanks.”

She ended the call and exhaled, thumb still pressed to the phone like she was considering throwing it across the room. Then, slowly, she looked up at Azzi again.

“Everything alright?” Azzi asked. 

Paige sighed, rubbing her hand over her face. “My manager’s been trying to get ahold of me. Some big deal coming through and they need me to sign it before midnight.”

“Oh,” Azzi said, her face falling before she could stop it. “Well. I’ll let you get to that.”

“Azzi,” Paige said, her voice catching, a plea sitting just beneath it. “Please. It can wait. I just need—”

“Paige,” Azzi cut in gently, but firm. “Everyone’s blowin’ you up. Clearly it’s important.”

She was already moving toward the door when Paige reached out, fingers curling around her wrist. Desperate. A silent don’t go that Azzi felt all the way in her throat.

But then the phone started buzzing again, loud and insistent, rattling against the desk like it knew how to ruin things. Azzi didn’t look at the screen. She didn’t have to.

She saw the words forming on Paige’s lips. Felt them coming—something honest, something broken, something that might’ve changed everything. 

But the world outside was too loud. The calls. The timing. The expectations. And standing there in that too-familiar room, Paige’s hand still around her wrist, Azzi couldn’t help but feel like this was the universe spelling it out for her.

It would always be like this.

Her and Paige. Almost.  But never quite enough. 

“Congrats on the deal, P. Seems like it’s a good one,” Azzi said, and it came out steadier than it felt. She didn’t look at Paige. Didn’t trust herself too. “Goodnight.”

And then, with every ounce of strength she had left, she pulled her hand free from the only person in the world she wanted to hold it. And walked away.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

A week later

Broken things—watches, bones, promises, hearts— they can still keep working, if they want to badly enough.

Maybe not the way they were meant to. Maybe not without a limp. But functioning all the same. And it seemed much of that was true for Azzi and Paige too. Because despite it all, on the court, it was still poetry.

Calculated passes. Instinctive cuts. Paige knowing exactly where Azzi would be before she got there. Azzi catching the ball like it was meant for her and her alone.

Whatever was broken between them didn’t seem to matter when there was a game to win. There, they still moved in sync.

Azzi was grateful for small miracles—and for Paige’s exhausting, ever-present need to be in charge. Because the season was closing in faster than she would’ve liked, and she was doing her best just to keep steady.

Practice wrapped with Geno walking them through the upcoming exhibition game, but Azzi barely heard him. All she could think about was getting home. She wanted a shower. To curl up in the dark. To sleep for days, maybe weeks.

Her whole body ached, not from the drills or the sprints, but from the weight of the week. A slow, dragging kind of burn that didn’t show up on a stat sheet. And still, stupidly, she hadn’t been to the training room.

She couldn’t. Not yet. Not after walking out of her room like she did.

She half-limped off the court, her leg dragging more than she meant it to. Behind her, she heard it.

“Azzi.”

She turned. Paige was a few steps back, walking toward her, gaze locked in.

Azzi stopped, arching a brow. She didn’t have it in her. Not a fight, not a blowout, not even a conversation that might circle back to what they weren’t saying.

Paige caught up, looking casual. 

“You need to get treatment.”

Azzi’s lip curled.Not at the words. At the tone. At the way Paige always sounded like she knew best. And the fact that maybe she did.

But Azzi was too raw. Too scraped thin. Too sleep-deprived from nights spent staring at the ceiling, wishing she were someone else. Someone easier. Softer. Kinder.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Azzi snapped, the words sharp and brittle before she could catch them. They didn’t even sound like her. Like someone else had slipped into her skin, speaking from the place where everything still hurt. “I wasn’t aware you were running things now?”

Paige sagged, just slightly, shoulders dipping, like the breath had gone out of her.

“Come on, Az,” she said, quiet. Not defensive. Just tired.  “I just want what’s best for yo—” she caught herself— “for the team.”

She rubbed a hand over the back of her neck.

“When your foot’s bothering you, you’re slower. And when you're slower, the tempo gets thrown off. You know that.” She didn’t say it like an accusation. She said it like Paige always said things that mattered—impossible to argue with.  Like someone who’d been watching. Who always watched. “You’ve been favoring your right side almost the entire week.”

And the worst part?  She was right.

Azzi knew it. Knew the way her foot made her half a step late on cuts, how she hesitated before planting. Knew she was sluggish when she needed to be sharp.

But what made her stomach twist was that it was Paige—and only Paige—who’d noticed.Not Geno. Not CD. Not a single teammate. Not even Cam, and she’d been around him more than anyone lately.

Only Paige, with her sharp eyes and annoying brain and unrelenting need to keep everything running like a goddamn machine.

And that? That made Azzi want to scream. Or cry. Or both.

“I don’t need you telling me what to do, Paige,” Azzi snapped, the words cutting sharper than she intended. “I’m more than capable of making decisions on my own without you acting like the whole world needs to run on your schedule.”

Paige flinched. Physically. Emotionally. Azzi saw it, clear as day. And immediately wished she could take it back. Reach out. Grab the words. Shove them down her own throat.

She was just so fucking tired. Sad. Lonely. A litany of miserable adjectives, none of them enough to cover the hollow feeling in her chest.

But Paige didn’t back down. Didn’t swallow it like she usually did.

Instead, she looked at Azzi, something sharp settling behind her eyes.

“I am well aware you are capable of making your own decisions,” Her voice wasn’t exactly malicious, just low. Unsettling in the way quiet things sometimes are. “You think if I was runnin’ shit, you would’ve walked out of my room on Friday?”

Azzi’s breath caught. She watched as Paige opened and closed her fists a few times, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Like she didn’t know what to do with any of it.

“Do what you want,” Paige said. “Seems to be the theme lately.”

Azzi winced. She felt it in her chest. The way Paige didn’t raise her voice, didn’t accuse, just let the disappointment bleed through each word like she couldn’t stop it.

“But just so you know?” Paige added, jaw tight, gaze unwavering. “I really was just trying to be proactive. Season’s almost here. We need you ready.”

And that was the worst part. Because Azzi knew it was true. She wasn’t trying to control her. She was trying to care, in the only way Paige knew how. in the only way Azzi had left her. Through basketball. Through tempo and tape and half-shouted reminders about the training room.

It was the last version of them Azzi hadn’t burned. The only space where Paige was still allowed to reach for her. Where love could be disguised as leadership. Where concern could pass as strategy.

And Azzi had thrown it back at her like it meant nothing. Like she hadn’t begged for that kind of care once. Like she hadn’t broken the first time Paige stopped offering it. 

Azzi opened her mouth to apologize, to say something, anything, to soften the crater she’d just cleaved between them. But Paige was already turning. Already walking away.

And God, it hurt. More than Azzi expected it to.

Because she knew she’d been awful. Cold. Defensive. Mean in ways she didn’t recognize until the words had already landed. But Paige had seen her in all her forms. Quiet, selfish, scared, unraveling and never once had she walked away.

Not until now.

And Azzi wondered—fleetingly, stupidly—if there’s a moment when you know.

When you’ve said the thing you can’t take back, shifted the ground just enough that it never settles the same way again.

When you’ve crossed some invisible line and the air between you shifts, not with tension, but with finality.

She wondered if this was that moment. If this was the one she’d look back on years from now and think, there. That’s when I lost her.

When Paige stopped being hers in all the quiet, unspoken ways that used to feel like fact. She wondered if people ever really know, or if you only see it later, in the way someone stops looking back. Stops waiting. Stops trying.

And yet, despite that feeling, the gnawing certainty that she’d gone too far, she still said her name.

Once. Softly.

“Paige.”

It slipped out like an old habit. Like maybe saying it gently could undo the sharpness from before. But no response came.

Paige’s POV

“Turn, slightly. Chin up.”

She did as they asked, trying not to exhale too loudly. Two hours in, and her face felt frozen in place. Her ponytail had been re-done three times. She’d laced up four different pairs of sneakers that weren’t hers.

The gym looked familiar, but not. Transformed into a polished, branded version of itself.

Spotlights. Smoke machines. A Nike crew circling like they were filming a documentary about a person she didn’t fully recognize.

“Hold the ball like you’re about to take the shot,” someone called.

She adjusted. Held the pose. Tried to keep her elbow in and her thoughts out. 

Tried not to think about Azzi. Not in the way she used to. Azzi rebounding for her late at night, sitting cross-legged on the court, laughing at Paige’s terrible playlist. But in the way she was now. Distant. Unreachable.

Paige blinked against the flash of another photo.

“You good?” a PA asked, jogging by with a clipboard and zero eye contact.

She nodded. She was always good. Especially when she wasn’t.

She dropped into the chair, legs wide, head tilted slightly like the photographer had asked. And she smirked like someone who had won something, like this was her moment, her commercial, her era. Because it was. Sort of.

This was Nike’s full send. The face-of-a-franchise, billboard-on-a-highway kind of thing.

Her agent had called it a legacy builder. Geno had called it “a lot.” And Paige had smiled and nodded and signed the contract anyway.

Because that’s what she did. Because she wanted it. And standing there, under the lights, camera locked on her, she almost believed it. Almost.

But still, her chest felt tight. Because this exact shoot was the reason Azzi walked out of her room a week ago. The call had come in. Her manager. Urgent. They needed her signature before midnight. A legacy moment. A multi-year deal. She'd tried to stall. Tried to tell Azzi it could wait.

But the phone kept buzzing. And Azzi, quiet and wounded, had looked at her like she finally understood just how many people would always come before her.

And then she left. No slammed doors. No goodbye. Just… gone. Then, a week later, in the tunnel, when Paige tried, they both said things they couldn’t unsay.

Now here she was. Standing under lights. Doing everything right. Hitting every mark. And when it was over, she’d go back to her room. Empty, quiet, sterile in a way it had been for the last month and a half. 

No one waiting. No one to collapse against and mutter, I’m so tired. No one to laugh at how dramatic she sounded, then pull her in anyway. No Azzi.

“Cut. That’s a wrap!”

Scattered applause. A few cheers. Someone whistled. Paige stood still for a second longer than she needed to, the lights still warm on her face. The camera had stopped rolling, but her body hadn’t gotten the memo.

A PA unhooked her mic. “Nice job,” he said. “You made it look easy.”

She nodded, polite. Automatic. Her clothes clung to her back with sweat, most of it not from effort.Someone clapped her on the shoulder. Her agent gave her a thumbs-up from across the court.

“That’s the one,” he mouthed.

She nodded as she tugged a pullover on, fingers catching on the collar. Her reflection blinked at her from the polished floor. And she hated that she didn’t fully recognize who was staring back. 

She offered a few quiet goodnights, the kind you say without really expecting a response, then slipped out of the noise and back toward the locker room.

Her things were exactly where she left them—neatly folded, untouched. Like no one had noticed she’d been gone for hours. She moved on autopilot. Bag packed. Slides on. And she didn’t linger. There wasn’t anyone to wait for.

Back in her room, Paige sat on the edge of her bed, shoes still on, sleeves bunched around her wrists.

The light from the hallway slanted across the floor but didn’t quite reach her. Which felt about right. Her phone was already in her hand, she didn’t remember picking it up. Didn’t remember opening Azzi’s thread either.

It was still there. Still empty. Still quiet. Still waiting for something Paige wasn’t brave enough to send.

She typed:

The shoot’s done.

Deleted it. Too impersonal. Too much like a press release.

Tried again:

I wish you’d been there.

Backspaced. Too honest.

New draft:

I’m sorry.

Followed by:

About everything.

She stared at it for a long time. Not blinking. Not breathing. Not sending it.

It was dumb. It was late. Azzi was probably asleep. Or worse: awake and actively not thinking about her.

Paige locked her phone and set it face-down on her nightstand. Laid back across the bed without bothering to move the pillows. The silence felt personal. Like the room was waiting for her to admit something she wasn’t quite ready too. 

She didn’t cry. She wasn’t that kind of wreck.  But she also didn’t sleep. Not for a long time.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Media Day arrived, and, as usual, Paige dreaded it.

You’d think after years of interviews—postgame, preseason, mid-season slumps—they’d have run out of things to ask her by now. But somehow, they never did.

They just reworded the same five questions, slapped a different player’s name into the mix, and acted like it was groundbreaking.

And Paige? She recycled her answers accordingly. Smiled on cue. Nodded at all the right moments. Dropped the usual lines about leadership, focus, team chemistry.

It was all second nature by now, just another part of the job.

But that day, as she started working through the knots in her hair, Paige felt the dread heavier than usual. It settled in her chest. Lingered in the back of her throat.

Beside her, Nika sat cross-legged on the floor, squinting at a compact mirror while trying to separate two stubborn lashes.

“I can feel your misery from over here,” she muttered, not looking up. “Care to tone it down?”

Paige let out a dry laugh. Barely. “Sorry. I’ll suffer more quietly.”

Nika hummed, unconvinced. “Please do.”

She was halfway through brushing product into her hair when the door opened.

She didn’t look up at first. Too focused on not poking herself in the eye. Too aware of Nika beside her, humming under her breath, methodically separating lashes like her life depended on it.

Then she heard it, footsteps. The shift of energy. That pause people made when they walked into a room and clocked something they weren’t prepared for.

And without turning, she knew.

Azzi. Hair fixed. Makeup done. Jersey already on.

Paige watched her through the mirror. Just a glance. Just long enough to confirm it hurt.

Azzi caught her eye, barely. Offered the kind of nod you give a stranger in the hallway.

Then walked past her and took the seat at the far end of the room. Not the one next to Paige. Not the one she always used to take.

Paige went still. Her hands paused mid-curl. She could feel the product drying unevenly in her hair.

Nika raised an eyebrow at her in the mirror. Didn’t say anything. God bless her.

They used to get ready together. Used to argue about which gloss looked better on camera. Used to steal each other’s socks, switch places in the mirror halfway through, fix each other’s hair without asking.

Now they were fifteen feet apart in matching uniforms, pretending they barely knew each other.

Something about that was so unsettling but Paige just tried to focus. Focus on getting through the day. On smiling right and getting things done. Like she always did.

The shoot started. Paige’s face aching from smiling. Not smiling. Posed shots and hands all over her. She kept breathing.

Until now.

Until they pushed Azzi into the frame, a smile on the photographer’s face.

The media team said things like “undeniable chemistry” and “on-court soulmates,” as if that was a normal way to describe two people who hadn’t made eye contact in days.

Azzi stood just close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Almost. And Azzi didn’t look at her. Didn’t glance. Didn’t pause.

Just hit her marks and stared straight ahead, like Paige wasn’t even there. Like they weren’t standing close enough to share a breath.

And something about that drove Paige half insane. Heart-in-her-throat, teeth-clenched, this-shirt-feels-too-tight kind of insane.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t fought before. They had. Plenty.

Anyone who spent that much time together was bound to snap eventually, especially with Paige’s deeply unfortunate habit of pressing Azzi’s buttons just to feel something. Just to see if she’d bite.

But it had never felt like this. Not avoidant. Not clinical. Not over.

There was a difference between space and distance, and Paige was just now learning how sharp the latter could feel.

Azzi stood perfectly still beside her, poised and polished and entirely unreachable.

And for the first time, Paige wondered if maybe that was what losing her actually looked like. Not some dramatic ending. Not a final conversation. Just this. Being next to her, and not being seen at all.

“Turn to face one another and then look at the camera in sync.”

Finally, Azzi was forced to look at her. And Paige didn’t waste it.

She stared—really stared—into the face she knew too well. Counted the freckles. Watched the blink she already knew was coming. Azzi’s expression was unreadable, but her eyes flickered. Just once. And that was enough.

Paige held the gaze like it meant something. Like maybe if she just looked hard enough, long enough, Azzi might remember who they used to be.

Might remember Friday nights with their legs tangled under Paige’s weighted blanket, or the quiet way Azzi always reached for her hand under the table when no one was looking.

Azzi shifted first. Face neutral. Jaw tight.

They both turned to the camera. The shutter clicked.

They were perfectly in sync. And completely out of step.

Azzi’s POV

That night, Azzi lay in bed with her hood pulled up and her phone resting on her chest, untouched.

She hadn’t bothered wrapping her hair, hadn’t washed off the foundation someone else had dusted across her cheekbones to make her look “camera ready.” It was still there. A little smudged. A little ridiculous. She felt like a mannequin someone had forgotten to undress.

The shoot was hours ago, but it kept replaying. Paige, the camera flash, the way their eyes caught for just long enough to say everything and nothing at all. She hated how easy it was to pretend they were fine. She hated how much it hurt that they weren’t.

Eventually, she reached for her phone.

1:12 a.m. No texts. No calls. No Paige.

Not that she expected one. Paige wasn’t going to text her. Not after the tunnel. Not after the look she gave her—sharp, tired, like she was done trying.

Still, she opened their thread. Still there. Still silent. Still full of all the versions of them they hadn’t been brave enough to say out loud.

She typed:

You looked tired today.

Deleted it. Too observational. Too obvious.

Tried again:

I didn’t mean what I said. Not all of it.

Deleted that too. Because what did it even matter now?

Her thumbs hovered. Then she typed one last thing:

Do you hate me?

She stared at it. Watched the cursor blink. Thought about how pathetic it looked sitting there on its own.

Locked the screen. Put the phone face-down on her nightstand.

And lay there in the dark, wide awake, trying to remember when missing someone stopped being a quiet ache and started feeling more like punishment.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The problem with dating someone like Paige Bueckers—well, once dated, technically, if you’re one for accuracy—was that you never really knew when a casual errand would turn into a personal crisis.

Like when you were just trying to buy oat milk. Mind your business. Get in, get out. And then there she was. Ten feet tall. Leaning back in a chair, head resting on her hand like she had all the time in the world and none of the baggage. Dressed in Nike from head to toe. Expression unreadable.

Above her, in bold black letters: YOU CAN’T WIN. SO WIN.

Azzi stopped walking. Not because she meant to. Because her body did. Automatically. Like it recognized something her mind was still pretending to miss.

Paige looked untouchable. Like she belonged up there: clean lines, sharp edges, all focus. And maybe she did. Maybe that was the whole point.

And what made it worse was being with other people. People like Jana.

People who love Paige with their whole heart—because why wouldn’t they? She’s Paige Bueckers. Brilliant and magnetic and marketable in a way that feels effortless, like the world built itself to fit around her.

Jana’s eyes lit up the second she looked up and saw the billboard.

“Did you know she was doing this?”

Azzi gave a shrug that wasn’t quite a yes, but didn’t land as a no either. Because, no, Paige hadn’t told her. Hadn’t pulled her aside, hadn’t sent a text. There was no hey, this is happening, no look what I’m signing, wish you could be there.

But Azzi wasn’t stupid. She knew this was the contract. The contract.The one Paige had to sign the night everything fell apart.

She should’ve known it would be something like this. Big. Strategic. Unmissable. And now here it was, plastered above traffic. Larger than life. Unavoidable. Just like Paige.

“Let’s get a picture in front of it!” Jana squealed, already pulling out her phone. “I bet she hasn’t even seen it yet!”

Before Azzi could say anything, Jana was flagging down the nearest bystander. Some older man in a zip-up fleece who looked understandably startled to be approached by a 6’5” girl, shoving her phone towards him. 

He blinked at her, then followed her finger up to the billboard. Paige, in all her Nike-polished glory. Head tilted. Eyes hard. Like she could see through the city.

The man smiled. “That’s Paige Bueckers.”

Jana nodded like it was the greatest truth ever spoken. “Yup.”

And Azzi just wanted to scream.

Yes. It’s Paige Bueckers. The golden girl. The one the world can’t get enough of. The one I loved. The one I ruined.

Because what do you do when the person you miss most is everywhere? When her name gets said in rooms you’re in, in rooms you’re not, when strangers smile at her like they know her, and maybe they do, but not the version Azzi knew.

Not the version who fell asleep during movies and always stole the last bite. Not the version who said please stay like it physically hurt to ask.

Just…this one. The billboard. The brand. The ghost.

Jana tugged her toward the larger-than-life image, grinning as she draped an arm around Azzi’s shoulders and pulled her close, already posing for the man trying to fit it all in the frame.

“Smile, Az! It’s for Paige!”

Azzi blinked at the lens.Tried to remember what her face was supposed to do in moments like this.Tried not to look up.Tried not to look at her.

She managed something. A twitch of the mouth. Enough to pass. Jana didn’t notice. The shutter clicked. And somewhere high above them, Paige kept smiling too. Frozen. Perfect. Untouchable.

A few hours later, Azzi’s phone buzzed. She was mid-scroll, half-watching something, when the tag popped up.

Jana had posted the photo.

Them, standing in front of the Shrine of Paige Bueckers. That’s what it looked like, anyway. Paige towering above them in perfect lighting, arms folded, eyes locked on the lens, like she was daring someone to blink first.

Azzi’s own expression was stiff. Neutral. Caught mid-blink. But Jana? Beaming.

The caption: when you show up to a #1 paige bueckers fan contest but we’re already there

A few hours later, Azzi’s phone buzzed again. Another notification. 

She rolled her eyes, expecting more likes. More comments from people who she didn’t know. But then she saw it.

@paigebueckers had commented.

Just one line:

didn’t know i had fans like that

Azzi stared at it for a beat too long. Then another.

It bothered her to see Paige’s name coming through like that—impersonal, performative. A line meant for strangers to screenshot and repost and laugh about in group chats.

Bothered her that Paige could show up there, in the comments, but not in her inbox. Instead of calling. Instead of FaceTiming her at 11:47 p.m. like she used to, hair a mess, voice soft, asking if Azzi remembered the name of that place with the dumplings they used to order after practice.

Bothered her because Paige knew exactly what she was doing. She was being Paige. Charismatic. Cool. Accessible.

But mostly, she realized, it bothered her because Azzi wasn’t just some fan.

She wasn’t some distant admirer catching feelings from a highlight reel. She was there. She knew Paige. Knew what she looked like when she was tired and hurting and trying not to show it.

She knew how she held her breath before answering hard questions. Knew how she picked at the skin near her thumb when she was anxious. Knew how she said I’m fine when she meant please ask again.

And now she was grouped in with everyone else. Like what they had wasn’t different. Like Paige could toss out a line like that and not feel the shift of it.

Maybe it wasn't a fair thought. But it was there all the same.

Azzi locked her phone. Tossed it somewhere across the bed and stared at the ceiling, and tried not to cry. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The final night. That’s what they always called Halloween.

The last night to be reckless. To go out. To have a life that wasn’t dictated by game film or weight room hours or the constant, bone-deep need to win. After tonight, it was basketball—nothing else.

And usually, Azzi looked forward to it. Costume picked out weeks in advance. Group chat blowing up with plans. Nika threatening to bail and then showing up in full makeup anyway.

But this year, she’d been distracted.

And so, on the night of the party, she was standing in front of her closet with a half-zipped duffel bag, trying to make something work.

She hadn’t planned. Hadn’t thought about a costume. Hadn’t wanted to.

Because every time she did, her brain drifted to last year. To the stupid matching outfits Paige picked out. To the glitter eyeliner smudged at the corners of her eyes by the end of the night. To Paige’s oversized hoodie—warm and soft and smelling like whatever detergent she used—being draped over Azzi’s shoulders because, of course, she hadn’t brought a jacket.

She could still feel the way Paige had pulled her close, smug and freezing, muttering “see, this is better anyway,” like she’d planned it that way from the beginning.

She shook her head, forcing the memory out. Focus. Task at hand. Just get through the night.

“Caro?” she called.

Caroline popped her head into the room, lip gloss in one hand. “Yeah?”

“Do you still have those cat ears?”

Caroline grinned, already turning on her heel. “I kept them for this exact moment,” she said over her shoulder.

She returned a few seconds later, tossing the ears onto Azzi’s bed along with a clip-on tail.

“Just in case,” she added, smug.

Azzi let out a laugh. A real one. Shook her head, took the ears, and started pulling herself together.

They got to the party a little after it had started.

The house was already packed—music thumping, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, a blur of glitter, synthetic wigs, and hastily thrown-together costumes.

Someone in a full Spider-Man suit brushed past Azzi, followed by what looked like a last-minute vampire and at least three Barbies.

Caroline was already scanning the crowd, adjusting her halo. She was an angel, which by all means, was fitting. 

“We need to get a picture before these costumes get ruined,” Caro yelled over the music. 

Azzi nodded, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. She spotted Jana immediately, bouncing over in a costume Azzi couldn’t begin to interpret. Possibly a glittery cowgirl? Possibly a disco ball? Hard to say.

“Oh, you’re a black cat!” Jana grinned. “Paige a golden retriever?”

The words hit like a slap. Azzi felt the blood drain from her face. Caroline, to her credit, placed a steady hand on her back. Light. Grounding.

“Can you get a picture of us?”she asked quickly, redirecting.

 Jana nodded, always happy to be helpful.

“Az, you have the better phone?” Caroline asked, reaching for her bag.

Azzi blinked, barely registering the words. “Right,” she said, shaking herself back to the moment.

She fumbled with her phone, hands clumsy. It slipped from her fingers and hit the floor face-down with a dull thud. Jana was quicker. She scooped it up before Azzi could react.

“I still have your passcode memorized,” she said, already unlocking it. “Three-five-three-five. Don’t even know why you have one.”

Azzi forced a tight smile, panic already pricking at the edges. And then she remembered.

In the Uber, she’d opened the thread. Paige’s. Had stared at that message again. The one she typed nights ago. The one she had no plans to send. Just needed to hold it in the space between almost and never.

Do you hate me?

She couldn’t remember if she’d closed out. Everything between the car and the door felt hazy. Loud.

Jana narrowed her eyes for a minute. “Oh, Az. You didn’t send your text to P. No worries. I got you.”

Azzi’s blood turned to static.

“Wait—Jana—”

But it was too late. And Azzi watched—helplessly—as Jana’s thumb hit the screen. Tapped the arrow without hesitation.

Azzi’s stomach dropped.

“What did you—Jana, what did you just send?”

Jana blinked as Azzi grabbed the phone back. “I didn’t read it! Chill.”

Azzi stared at the screen. Paige’s name. Underneath it, her own words:

do you hate me?

Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Caroline glanced over, saw the look on her face, and mouthed what happened?

But Azzi couldn’t answer. Because her heart was still somewhere back in her throat, and her hands were shaking, and her stupid unlocked phone was now holding the one thing she never meant to say out loud.

Azzi gripped her phone like she could rewind time with enough pressure. Like if she held it tight enough, the message might unsend itself.

“Still want that picture?” Jana asked, a little too bright, a little too late. There was an edge of awkwardness in her voice Azzi had never heard before.

“Later,” Caroline said for her. “Thanks, though.”

Jana gave a quick nod and disappeared into the crowd, her usual bounce muted, like even she knew she’d touched something she shouldn’t have.

The moment she was out of earshot, Caroline turned.

“What just happened?” she asked, voice low.

Azzi didn’t answer at first. Just stared at the screen, still lit in her hand.

No dots. No response. Just her own message hanging there: Do you hate me?

Sent. Delivered. Exposed.

She tilted the screen toward Caroline. 

“I didn’t send it,” Azzi said finally. Her voice sounded off, like it didn’t belong to her. “It was just…there. I didn’t mean to—Jana grabbed it before I could—”

Caroline was quiet.

Azzi looked up, eyes wide, throat tight. “I didn’t want her to see it. I didn’t want anyone to see it.”

Caroline nodded once. Soft, understanding. Then placed a hand on Azzi’s back, steady and warm.

“Jana won’t say anything,” she said. “And if she does, I’ll kill her.”

They stood there for a beat. The music pulsed in the background. Someone in a banana costume bumped into a skeleton. The night carried on, oblivious.

“Maybe she’ll answer,” Caroline said softly. “Maybe you guys needed this push.”

Azzi worked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Could’ve been a less mortifying push.”

Caroline smiled, lopsided. “Probably. But you and Paige never do things halfway.”

Azzi looked down at her phone again. Still no dots. She nodded once, more to herself than to Caroline.

 “Yeah,” she murmured. “We don’t.”

At that exact moment, Azzi pulled her eyes up, just as the music shifted and the volume swelled like a warning. And someone stepped through the door.

Paige.

Hat low, white button-down, no costume to speak of—because of course she didn’t need one. She still looked terrifyingly good. Her grin was easy, familiar. People turned when she walked in. 

And Azzi just froze.

Like the message she’d just sent had conjured her.

Like the universe had a twisted sense of humor. One that, apparently, didn’t know when to quit.

“Hey, Az,” someone said.

She flinched. Turned. Cam. He was holding two drinks, eyebrows raised. His eyes flicked to the door, to the spot Azzi had been staring. Then back to her.

“You okay?” he asked.

Azzi opened her mouth. Closed it again. She had no idea. 

Do you hate me?

She looked back at the door. Paige was already gone. Like she’d never been there at all.

[bucketsorbueckers-deactivated20]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 6

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: Language, alcohol

A/N: early drop bc im out for the day! enjoy! im literally so sorry

Paige's POV

A year or so ago. 

It had been two days, three hours, and twelve minutes since she’d stupidly pressed her lips to Azzi Fudd’s.

And in that exact stretch of time, Azzi had disappeared. No texts. No calls. No movie nights. No dinners at the student center. Just a clean, quiet silence where something used to be.

Paige was, admittedly, a mess. Not the dramatic, sobbing-on-the-floor kind of mess. Worse.

The kind of mess where her room looked eerily put together. Bed made. No dishes in the sink. Laundry folded into perfect corners she’d never cared about before.

For some people, that would be a sign of getting their shit together. For Paige, it was a warning.

Because when she started organizing, alphabetizing, wiping down already-clean counters? It meant she was spiraling—quietly, methodically, like someone trying to scrub a feeling out of existence.

Nika found her lint-rolling the couch.

She silently walked over, plucked the roller from her hand like she was disarming a bomb, and gently pushed Paige down onto the now blemish-free cushions.

“Alright, Bueckers,” she said, sitting across from her. “What’s going on?”

Paige blinked.

Her and Nika weren’t that close. She’d landed in this triple by accident and was still figuring out how to live with other people without completely ruining it.

And yet, the words almost left her mouth. She almost said it. Because it was sitting too close to the surface, and she needed someone to tell her it wasn’t the end of the world. But then her nerves won out.

“Nothing?” she offered, voice too high to sound convincing.

Nika rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay. Because you always just happen to do your laundry. And mine. And Aaliyah’s. All in one day. Just for fun.”

She leveled her with a look. Held her gaze like she was trying to find the truth tucked behind it.

“It happened, didn’t it?”

Paige froze. “What?”

“You kissed her.”

Not a question. Not really.

And Paige—who hadn’t spoken it aloud yet, not even to herself—felt her throat tighten. Because yeah. She had. And now Azzi had disappeared.

“Kissed who?” Paige tried, weakly.

Nika shook her head, unimpressed. “You’re a bad actor.”

“You’d be surprised how many people have been waiting for you two to do that. I’m pretty sure there’s a betting pool I’ve somehow been excluded from.”

She wanted to be embarrassed—maybe should’ve been—but she could never be embarrassed about loving Azzi. Not even a little.

“So why do you look like someone kicked your dog?” Nika asked. “If you finally kissed her?”

Paige sighed, her voice thinner than she wanted it to be. 

“She ghosted me,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve gone two days without speaking since we were sixteen.”

She didn’t add the rest. That her phone had felt heavier ever since. That she kept checking it like something might change. That she was already rehearsing what she’d say if Azzi did answer.

Nika didn’t say anything right away. She just looked at her. Like she wasn’t going to hand her a solution or a silver lining. Just the space to say it out loud.

Paige pressed her palms into her eyes.

“I think I broke it,” she whispered.

But Nika just laughed. Not cruelly—no sharp edges to it. Just soft. Dry. The kind of laugh that came from someone a little older, a little more worn-in by life.

“Paige,” she said gently, reaching out and curling her fingers around Paige’s hand. “I don’t think you could break you and Azzi if you tried. Nothing could.”

“You don’t know that,” Paige muttered.

Nika shrugged. “I know enough.”

She stood, stretching her arms over her head. 

“Come on.”

Paige leaned back against the couch, confused. “What?”

Nika stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other already fishing her phone out of her pocket.

“I’ve got stuff to take care of,” she said vaguely. “Team things. Captain things. You wouldn’t understand.”

Paige raised an eyebrow from the couch, still curled around a throw pillow like.

“Okay… and?”

“And,” Nika said, grabbing Paige’s arm, “you're comin' with me.”

Paige didn’t move. “Why?”

“Because you've been pacing like a ghost all day and I'm emotionally unequipped to watch you rearrange the living room again. Plus, you could use the air.”

She didn’t wait for approval. Just tossed Paige her sweatshirt and opened the door.

The route was familiar in the way the worst things were. And the closer they got, the tighter Paige’s chest pulled.

“Nika—” she breathed, voice wavering. Almost a whine.

But Nika didn’t even look over.

“Told you,” she said. “Things to take care of.”

She opened something on her phone, distracted. Paige went to argue but Nika shook her head.

“Zip it.”

Paige followed orders.

When they showed up, Azzi went pale at the sight of Nika standing in the doorway.

A captain. An authority figure. Someone you didn’t want showing up unannounced unless you’d missed practice or wrecked something important.

Her eyes widened, and she immediately started chewing the inside of her cheek. The way she always did when she felt guilty. Or caught.

“Fudd,” Nika said simply, stepping past her into the room like she owned it.

Azzi’s gaze followed her, then landed on Paige. And froze. Like she hadn’t seen her there at first.

Nika dropped onto the couch like she had all the time in the world, crossing one ankle over the other, casual and unbothered.

“How ya doin?” she asked, like this was a normal Tuesday night check-in.

Azzi blinked, confused. “Did I… do something?”

Right then, Nika’s phone rang. Loud. Sharp. Too convenient.

Paige realized it almost instantly—this was planned. All of it.

The walk over, the excuse, the sudden retreat. Nika was handing her the moment.

“Sorry,” Nika said, already standing. “I need to take this.”

She gave Azzi a look, then Paige, like a parent leaving two kids home alone for the first time.

“You both play nice,” she added over her shoulder, disappearing into the hallway before either of them could say a word.

When the door closed behind Nika, it took a full minute before either of them moved. Not a word. Not a breath out of place. Just silence and static and that awful, bone-deep knowing that something was about to shift.

But finally, they looked at each other. Really looked.

And Paige swore the world just…paused.

Like it took one look at Azzi Fudd and said, Yeah, okay, she wins. Because of course she did. She always did. And Paige, like a complete idiot, fell in love with her all over again.

Not in some big, cinematic way. In the quiet, helpless, completely doomed kind of way. The kind where your chest feels too small for your heart and your brain stops making useful decisions.

Because Azzi was still Azzi. 

Still the girl with the softest eyes Paige had ever seen, and a perfect dimple that always arrived a second after the smile—like it had to be convinced the moment was worth it.

Still the girl whose collarbone Paige could trace from memory. Sharp and delicate and utterly unfair. Like even her bones were beautiful.

And Paige was so far gone, she could’ve carved Azzi’s name into her ribs and still called it grace.

“Hey,” she finally forced herself to say. It came out too soft, too breathless, like her lungs hadn’t caught up to her heart.

For a second, Azzi didn’t respond. Just stood there, eyes wide, like she wasn’t sure this was real. But then they glossed over—and she crossed the room without hesitation.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice catching in the middle like it had to break to be honest. “You scare me. How I feel about you scares me.” She swallowed, eyes shining now. “But I’d rather be scared than never kiss you again.”

And then—her lips met Paige’s again. Not like the first time. Not tentative or wondering or new. Like she knew. Like the distance between them had never stood a chance.

Paige supposed it was bound to happen. Things didn’t stay unfinished between them for long. Not really. Not when the gravity always pulled this hard.

Because if there was one thing she knew—one thing she had always known—it was that Azzi Fudd had never just been a phase.

She was a return. A constant. The thing Paige kept orbiting, no matter how far she drifted.

Paige blinked the memory away and the party rushed back in high definition.

Everything was louder when you were sober. But after her last performance, she’d sworn it off for the night. No drinks. No easy outs. No asshole behavior. 

She was leaning against the wall, taking a rare moment to watch the room instead of being the one watched, when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

There were only a handful of people who could set it off. Her manager. Her dad. Her mom. One of her siblings.

And, well, Azzi. But there was no use thinking about that. Not tonight. She was trying—really trying—to enjoy herself. So she left the phone where it was.

Her eyes swept the room, slow and aimless, like maybe if she looked long enough, it would tell her what to do next. And then she caught Jana’s gaze.

Spinning. Glittery. Laughing like the world had never let her down.  Jana was her favorite kind of chaos: loud for no reason, joyful without apology. A walking exclamation point. A light.

Jana finally spotted her and didn’t hesitate. She closed the distance like she always did. Arms wide, energy first, questions later. Pulling Paige into a tight hug, she sighed. 

“My Paigeyyyy,” Jana sang, throwing her arms around her like they hadn’t seen each other in years.

Paige laughed into her shoulder, the kind of laugh that came easy around Jana. “Feelin’ good?”

Jana pulled back just enough to flash her a goofy, lopsided smile.  “Excellent, actually.”

Paige nodded, grin tugging at her mouth. “I had no doubt.”

“How are you feeling?”

Paige arched a brow. The sudden clarity of her voice jarring. She stepped back, assessing. Jana bit back a smile. 

“What are you up to?” Paige asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

Jana cackled. “Nothing.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. There was something in her tone. An undercurrent, a flicker, like a joke she hadn’t been let in on. And if there was one thing Paige had learned about Jana, it was that nothing never actually meant nothing.

“I don’t believe you,” she said flatly.

Jana giggled, completely unbothered, and tugged Paige in close by the wrist.

“I want a picture of us,” she murmured.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “We have plenty of pictures.”

Jana shook her head, her glitter catching the light like it was part of the argument.

“Not with me dressed like this and you…” she paused, looking Paige over. “Well, okay, you’re always dressed like that. But look at me! I’m a rhinestone cowgirl!”

She struck a pose with one hand on her hip and the other in the air, like she’d just lassoed the moon.

Paige bit back a smile. “You’re unwell.”

Jana beamed. “Thank you. Now picture.”

Paige gritted her teeth.

This was the hard part of being sober—when everyone else was floating and you were still chained to the floor. Jana was on a different planet, all glitter and joy and tequila, while Paige was planted firmly in reality.

And God, what a miserable place to be.

“Take it then,” she muttered.

Jana grinned. “Lost my phone. It’ll have to be yours.”

Paige rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She reached into the depths of an unreasonably deep pocket and pulled out her phone.

She tapped the screen. And nearly dropped it. One new text.

Azzi.

Her heart did something violent. She blinked, hard, convinced she was seeing things. Tried to rationalize it, blame the lighting, the crowd, the wishful thinking. But every time her screen lit up, the same truth stared back at her.

Azzi’s name.  On her phone.

Jana leaned into her, heavy and glittered, nearly knocking her off balance.

“Ooooo a text from Azzi,” she slurred, drawing out the name like it tasted sweet. “Fun!”

Paige could, admittedly, kill her. Right there in the middle of the party. But instead, she said nothing. Slid open the camera app. Forced a smile.

They took a few shots. Jana doing her best rhinestone cowgirl, Paige trying not to look like her pulse was pounding through her ears.

And then, just as quickly, Jana twirled out of her grip like a drunk ballerina.

“Better answer that text, Paigey,” she called over her shoulder, loud enough for three people too many to hear. “Azzi doesn’t like being kept waiting. People’s Princess and all.”

And then, she left her alone. 

Paige stared at the notification like it might disappear if she blinked too fast.

Part of her wanted to open it immediately, devour it, respond too quickly, ruin all her pride in the span of a second. But the other part just sat with it.

Because there was something about seeing Azzi’s name lit up on her screen—soft and ordinary and completely world-altering.

Azzi. Her favorite person. Her first person. The one she thought about when something good happened and the only one she wanted when it didn’t.

Just the name alone made her feel sixteen again.

Unsteady. Hopeful. Stupidly in love.

Stupidly. Stupidly. Stupidly.

She tapped her phone awake like it might flinch. There it was. Azzi’s name, still glowing on the screen. Steady. Unassuming. Completely catastrophic.

Paige stared at it for a second longer than necessary. Because sometimes looking was easier than knowing. And because there was something sacred about the moment before something changes.

She slid the message open.

Do you hate me?

She read it once. Then again.

And then again, slower, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something easier to breathe through.

But they didn’t. They just sat there, sharp and quiet and afraid. She felt it like a punch. Like her ribs had forgotten their job.

Because of all the things she’d braced herself for—the silence, the distance, the pretending they were fine—she hadn’t prepared for this.

For Azzi, asking if she’d been hated. Like Paige hadn’t loved her in a hundred unspoken ways every day for years. Like she hadn’t memorized the shape of her smile before ever daring to touch it.

Paige pressed the heel of her palm to her chest. As if that would calm anything down.

It didn’t. Because Azzi Fudd had just texted her Do you hate me? And Paige Bueckers had never hated her a single second in her entire life. Not even when it hurt. Especially not when it hurt.

She stalled out, fingers hovering over the screen like the right words might materialize if she just stayed still long enough.

She was unsure. Probably more unsure than she’d ever been in her entire life. And that was saying something, because Paige Bueckers was decisive. Calculated. She made quick cuts, split-second reads, built her whole identity on knowing what to do next.

But now? Now she was stuck in the quiet space between No and I love you.

Because “No” didn’t cover it. It didn’t touch the edges of what she felt.

And “I love you” felt like too much. Like a full sentence in a moment that was still trying to form a thought.

Her thumbs hovered, useless. And that’s when she realized: there was no proper response. Not here. Not on a screen. Not with characters and punctuation and autocorrect.

The only real answer lived in her hands. On Azzi’s cheek, or her wrist, othe space between her shoulder blades where Paige had always rested her palm without thinking.

Because Paige didn’t hate Azzi Fudd. She couldn’t. She never had.

Paige’s eyes swept the room, not searching so much as reaching. There were too many people. Too much noise. But she was only listening for one thing.

Azzi.

Because if she could find her, Paige knew her body would remember what to do. Her fingers already ached with the memory of touch.

The way she used to trace the curve of Azzi’s shoulder in the dark, like following a map back to somewhere holy. How her hand would pause in the hollow of her neck, just to feel her heartbeat. Just to prove she was real.

There were mornings—Paige could still see them if she tried—when the sun would break through the blinds and bathe Azzi’s skin in gold. And Paige would lie there silently, cataloguing. The scar on her left thigh. The way she curled inward in sleep like she was trying to take up less space, even in dreams.

She’d drag her thumb across Azzi’s lips, still drowsy with sleep, and think about all the times they’d missed and misaligned. Those clumsy, laughing kisses where they bumped teeth instead of finding mouths. She loved those too. God, she loved all of it.

She used to rest her palms on the soft dip of her hips, pulling her close like she was afraid she’d disappear. And on a quiet Saturday morning at 9:53 a.m, the one Paige had tried not to write into memory but did anyway, she remembered thinking: So this is what salvation feels like.

That realization had never slipped away.

So now, standing in a too-loud room with music thrumming through the walls and strangers laughing in the background, she looked for her. 

Not because she wanted to. But because she didn’t know how not to. Because even now—even after everything—Azzi was still the only place Paige wanted to rest her weary heart. 

Fuck it.

She was going after her girl. The only person who had ever truly belonged to her, not in the way people own things, but in the way you recognize something that’s always been yours.

The only person she’d ever wanted to keep. Paige pushed off the wall, heart hammering, breath tight in her chest.

She moved.

Room after room, scanning faces with a focus that bordered on prayer. Every flash of glitter made her heart hiccup. Every wrong person was a quiet kind of devastation.

Because this wasn’t about pride anymore. Or timing. Or damage.

It was about Azzi. The only person who had ever made Paige feel like home wasn’t a place, but a presence. The only person who made silence feel like safety.

Somehow, they always made their way back to each other. Even when they were angry. Even when they were broken. So Paige kept moving. Because standing still had never gotten her anywhere with Azzi but further away.

And then—finally, in the fourth room—there she was.

Cam, who Paige had spent the last few weeks trying very hard to forget, behind her.

She stood still, watching. Watched the way his hand curled lightly around Azzi’s waist. Casual, careless, like he didn’t even realize the privilege of touching her.

Watched as he leaned in to say something, something Paige couldn’t hear but already resented, because he had no right to speak that close.

Something in her went still. Not jealous, exactly. Just… aching. Because he didn’t know what it meant to hold her. Not really. Not in the quiet, half-asleep kind of way Paige did. Not in the way that counted.

She cleared her throat.  The music was loud—too loud. And yet, somehow, Azzi looked at her.

That fucking pull. Always cashing in. Always working.

Paige didn’t fight it. She didn’t even try.

She lowered her head in quiet surrender, not dramatic, not showy—just that small, soul-deep tilt that said:

I am yours.

In every hour of every minute. I am yours, even if you never look at me like that again. Even if you choose someone else. Even if I have to watch you be loved by hands that aren’t mine.

I am yours. I was always yours. And I don’t know how not to be.

Azzi, for only a second, stayed still. But then, with the smallest tilt of her head, she gave Paige permission. Granted her passage. Let her into the orbit Paige had been circling for what felt like a lifetime.

And if there was one thing to know about Paige Bueckers, it was that she never missed an opening.

Not on the court. Not in life. And definitely not when it came to Azzi Fudd. 

Azzi POV

Paige. She was there. Across the room.

And she was looking at her like Azzi was the only thing that existed in the haze and hum of the party. Like the music didn’t matter. Like the people around them blurred into nothing. Like Azzi was the axis everything else spun around.

And even from a distance, Azzi could feel it,  that aching, impossible tenderness Paige never tried to hide. The kind of gaze that made you feel known. The kind that made you want to walk across a crowded room and fall into whatever came next.

Cam was talking. About what, she wasn’t sure. Something about practice, maybe. Or dinner plans. Or the costumes. 

It all blurred.

Because all night, he’d been more…physical. Fingers brushing her waist. Hands lingering too long. Like he needed people to see it—see them. Skin against skin for the sake of it. And Azzi didn’t know why. Didn’t ask.

But now—with Paige across the room, staring at her like she was the only person left on Earth—she didn’t really care. Because all she could think about was the text.

Do you hate me?

But the way Paige was staring at her didn’t feel much like the gaze of a woman who hated her. It felt more tangled than that. More ruined. Like she was looking at something she’d memorized and still couldn’t stop reaching for. Like Azzi was a secret she’d never stopped keeping.

It felt like longing dressed up as restraint. Like love with nowhere to land.

And Azzi…God, Azzi felt it in her throat, in her chest, in the softest part of her that still ached when she thought about falling asleep alone.

“Azzi?”

Cam’s voice sliced through the fog of her focus.

She blinked, turned slightly. “Hm?”

“I was asking if you were enjoying yourself.”

Azzi nodded, rocking on her heels, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach.

“Yeah. This is good.”

But Cam didn’t let it go. His fingers curled tighter around her wrist than she liked. Not painful, but noticeable. Intentional. He tugged her a little closer, like proximity might pull her attention back.

“You seem distracted.”

His breath was thick with whiskey. Not one or two drinks—but a night of it. And Azzi suddenly felt small beneath the weight of his stare.

Not unsafe. Just… unsettled. Like she didn’t recognize him in this light. Like he wasn’t someone she wanted to be near right now.

She opened her mouth to say something, to step back, to find any clean way to shift the moment.

“Can I borrow Az for a second?”

The voice. That voice.

She turned so fast it felt like whiplash, and there was Paige.

Closer than she’d been all night. Close enough to touch. Close enough to pull her out of the mess she hadn’t even realized she was in. And for the first time in hours, Azzi exhaled.

Cam’s eyes flicked toward Paige, then back to her. They sharpened.

“Az?” he asked, staring not at her but through her.  “Do you want to go?”

Her eyes darted between them. Paige, steady and breathless and there. Cam, too tight and too much.

She didn’t say yes. She just stepped toward Paige. And that was the answer enough in their shared language. 

“I’ll bring her back unharmed,” Paige said over her shoulder, all teeth and effortless charm.

Before Cam could say anything else, Paige reached for Azzi’s hand. Not hesitant, not unsure. Just hers. Their fingers interlocked like no time had passed at all. Like muscle memory had never left.

And then Paige pulled her. Through the thrum of bodies and bass, past people who reached out to talk, to touch, to ask, but Paige just shook her head, murmured a “Not now,” and kept moving.

Kept tugging Azzi forward like she was the only thing that mattered.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Until the music dulled, until the crowd thinned, until they stepped out into the sharp quiet of the backyard. Cold bit at their skin immediately. Connecticut winter making itself known.

The yard was empty. Desolate.The kind of stillness that made everything feel more real.

Paige exhaled, tipping her head back to stare at the sky—like maybe it held the answer she didn’t know how to say aloud. Azzi watched the rise and fall of her chest, the way her breath came slower now, quieter.

And something about it cracked her open.

She felt small. Unmoored. Like she’d stumbled into a version of her life she didn’t know the script for. Like maybe she’d forgotten how to speak the language of them.

She missed the noise. The comfort of never needing silence to say what they meant. And now…this? This felt like standing on a fault line.

She cleared her throat. Soft. Careful.

“Well?” she asked.

Paige’s head dropped instantly, eyes snapping to hers like she'd been waiting to be called back to Earth. Azzi almost backed away under the weight of it. Almost. But she didn’t. Because she needed to know.

Her voice barely made it out.

“Do you hate me?”

Paige laughed. Loud and sudden, like the question had knocked something loose. The sound echoed off the yard, the house, the stars.

And then she was moving. One step, then another, until her hands were on Azzi’s face, thumb brushing the place where her cheek met her jaw.

“Don’t you get it?” Paige murmured, voice frayed at the edges, like she'd been holding this in so long it had started to splinter. “I couldn’t hate you if I tried. And God knows I’ve tried.”

Her eyes searched Azzi’s face like she was afraid it would disappear.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop missing you.” She took a shaky breath. “You’re my best friend, Azzi. Don’t you know that?”

A beat passed—quiet, devastating.

“You ruined me,” Paige said, softer now. “In all the softest ways.” Her hand dropped to her side, like even touching her hurt. “And I’m still here.” A whisper. A fact. A confession. “Of course I’m still here.”

Azzi stood frozen in the echo of it. Letting it settle. Letting it sting. Because they still had to talk. They still had to pull apart the pieces; the silences, the almosts, the things said and the things held back.

They hadn’t solved anything. They hadn’t even really started.

And yet, she looked at Paige and felt the pull in her chest like a string that had never stopped tugging. She was tired of pretending she didn’t feel it. Tired of punishing herself for wanting something that had always felt like home.

So she took a breath, and another, and then, she moved. Closed the space between them like it had never been there. And pressed her lips to Paige’s.

Paige inhaled—sharp, surprised—like the kiss had knocked the wind out of her. But she wasted no time. Not tentative. Not careful. But aching. Starving.

Like she’d spent every second apart holding her breath and finally let it out. Like she was trying to memorize a mouth she already knew by heart. Like she was asking for forgiveness with every inch of herself.

Azzi’s hands found her shoulders, then her jaw, like she needed something to hold onto or she’d float away. 

And it wasn’t clean. It wasn’t graceful.

It was desperate. It was too much. It was everything. Every missed moment. Every almost. Every silence.

A kiss like they’d been waiting their whole lives to fall apart in each other’s arms. And now they finally had permission.

Azzi melted. Into her. Into the gravity of them, of what they’ve always been, even when fear kept the words at bay.

Paige.

The only rhythm her heart had ever known. The only name that had ever felt like home in her mouth.

Paige.

The one she’s loved in every version of the story, no matter how many times she tried to rewrite the ending, no matter how many times she told herself she shouldn’t.

Paige.

And now, with her lips pressed to hers, with the cold forgotten and the noise fading, Azzi finally lets herself believe it—that this was the truth. Always had been the truth. 

Paige was all desperate hands. Pulling, clutching, pleading. Tugging Azzi closer like there was still space to close, like their chests pressed together wasn’t enough, like she could crawl inside her and still not be near enough.

It was frantic, breathless. The kind of kiss that tasted like don’t go. Like I’m sorry. Like this was the only way she knew how to say it.

They only pulled apart to breathe, but Paige didn’t let go. Her hands found Azzi’s cheeks, pressing her palms gently to the space as if to steady her, as if grounding Azzi meant grounding herself too. Like if she let go for even a second, Azzi might vanish. Might change her mind.

“Azzi,” Paige muttered, barely more than a breath. “My Azzi.”

And that was it. Something broke open.

Without warning, Azzi started to cry. Tears slipping down her cheeks like her body couldn’t hold them in anymore. Like the sound of Paige claiming her—soft and certain and still hers—was the thing that undid her.

Paige held her like she’d been built to—thumbs brushing under her eyes, like if she could just wipe the hurt away fast enough, none of this would have to end.

Their foreheads touched. Their breath synced. And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, it felt like them again. Like the part before everything fell apart. Like a home you forgot how to knock on.

And Azzi wanted to stay in it. God, she wanted to live there. But then, the door creaked open.

She felt Paige tense before she heard the voice.

“Az?”

Cam.

His tone was just a little too pointed. Not angry. But not warm, either.

She blinked. Turned. But before she could say anything, Paige was already stepping back. Two quick, retreating movements. Like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Something too tender, too vulnerable to survive the light

“Paige—” Azzi said, reaching instinctively, breath still catching in her throat.

But Paige wouldn’t look at her.

“It’s fine,” she said, voice thin, fraying at the edges. “You should—” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.

And Cam was still standing there, watching. Azzi felt him glance between them, take in the mess. The red eyes. The distance. The probably smudged lipstick and ruined hair. She suddenly felt exposed.

“Azzi,” Cam said, slower now. “Are you okay?” His eyes snapped to Paige. “What did you do to her?”

Paige swallowed hard. Her throat bobbed. “Nothing,” she bit out, too fast. “I didn’t—” She cut herself off.

Cam scoffed. Stepped forward. “You sure about that?”

Paige’s jaw twitched. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“I know enough,” Cam said, voice low. “I know she was fine until you showed up.”

Paige let out a bitter laugh, one that didn’t sound like her at all.  “She wasn’t fine, Cam. You just weren’t paying attention. Don't fuckin' know her like me.”

Azzi’s breath caught as the two of them locked eyes. Paige and Cam, unmoving, like neither was willing to be the one to blink first.

“Come on, Azzi,” Cam said, the words gentle in tone but hard-edged underneath. “Let’s go back inside.”

She didn’t move. Couldn’t. She looked at Paige again. The flushed cheeks, the pink-scraped mouth. They existed in the kind of silence that begged her to please stay. 

“P?”

Paige rubbed the back of her neck. Eyes bouncing between them, like she was trying to solve a puzzle with too many missing pieces. 

Cam sighed, the sound all frustration and implication. He stepped closer. His hand brushed the crook of her elbow.

“You don’t need Paige’s permission,” he said, like he was reminding her of something she should’ve known by now. “You don't belong to her.”

The words weren’t cruel. But they weren’t gentle either. And maybe that’s what stung. Because Paige didn’t move. Didn’t fight.

Azzi turned to her, waiting for something…anything. A protest. A look. A breath held in her name.

But Paige just stood there, the hurt already retreating behind her eyes. Like she was building a wall, brick by brick, and Azzi had shown up too late to stop it.

She looked so small in that second. So tired. And Azzi wanted to go to her. To fix it. But the words wouldn’t come.

Cam’s hand was still on her arm. Paige was already letting go.

And Azzi stood in the quiet between them, feeling like she’d managed to break all three of them at once.

Paige’s POV

Every cell in her body ached. To run through the door Azzi had disappeared through. To pull her into her chest and tuck her back into that kiss

But she didn’t. Because the kiss had felt like magic, sure. Like gravity bending in their favor for once. But then Cam had stepped outside, and Azzi had flinched, and Paige had remembered…

Oh. Right. The world doesn’t stop for this.

Azzi had been crying. Not a few delicate tears, really crying. The kind that made her voice go quiet and her eyes go glassy and wide. The kind Paige had only seen once, maybe twice. After injuries, after impossible losses. And now? After her.

Her own hands had been shaking. Her phone had buzzed twice in her pocket—her manager, probably.  Another shoot. A reminder. An obligation. People who always needed something. Always during the worst moments.

And suddenly, the illusion of the kiss—of them—shattered like glass under a hammer. Beautiful. Brief. Loud enough to echo. And so Paige stepped back. Because nothing had been fixed. Because they were still standing in the fallout. 

And on top of that, season was about to start, and she knew herself. How she shut down when the pressure cracked her spine. How she got quiet and cold and unreachable when the games piled up.

And Azzi…

Azzi deserved softness. Deserved someone who didn’t check out the moment the world got too loud. Someone who didn’t need to be taken care of just to stay afloat. Someone who came home ready—not already half-gone.

And Cam wasn’t perfect. But at least he could support her. Could be what she needed, at least for now.

So no, she didn’t fight. And she told herself it was mercy. Even if it felt like something dying.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Paige felt hollowed out. Emptied of anything that mattered. And as she stood in front of the locker room mirror, smoothing down her braid, she figured she probably was.

It was game day. The first one. The kind of day she was supposed to feel electric. But everything felt muffled. Distant.

Her jersey hung clean and crisp on her shoulders. Her sneakers were already laced. She’d done all the right things in all the right order. But nothing about her felt ready.

The team buzzed around her—jokes, music, warm-up drills slapping against the court like rhythm. And Paige moved through it like a ghost.

Azzi was across the room. Focused. Like Paige should be. But her mind was a wreckage site. Still replaying everything in high-definition.

That night. The kiss. The tears. His hand on the crook of Azzi’s elbow like it belonged there. Like Paige hadn’t just had her mouth on Azzi’s, whispering things she hadn’t meant to say out loud.

And Azzi had looked at her with those eyes. That look. The one that wasn’t loud or desperate or demanding. Just a quiet, broken sort of please.

Ask me to stay. I will.

And the worst part was that Paige knew it. Knew that if she’d reached out, just once, Azzi would’ve stayed. Would’ve peeled herself out of Cam’s grasp and walked straight back into the fire.

But Paige hadn’t asked. Because she was tired. Because she was scared. Because love wasn’t supposed to be like this. This constant ache, this impossible calculus. The battlefield between them so scorched, she couldn’t imagine what could possibly be built from the ash.

And still—

She shook her head. Shook away the kiss. The tears. The hand on Azzi’s arm that didn’t belong there. Tried to shake away the ache. The what if. The please stay.

Tried.

The game tipped off like any other, the buzz of the crowd humming against her skin. And for a moment, Paige thought she could slip into it. Execution. Escape.

But everything felt just a half-second off. Her passes a little too crisp. Her shots just barely long. Nothing disastrous. Nothing that would make the highlight reel.  But still…wrong.

Her timing was frayed. Her head a little too loud. And when she glanced up after a missed rotation, she found Azzi watching her.

Not annoyed. Not disappointed. Just...watching.Like she could tell something was shifting inside her. Like she already knew.

A few plays later, Geno called time.

 “Bueckers.” She didn’t flinch. Just jogged over. “Take a seat.”

There was no bite to it. No edge.  Just a look. One she knew too well.

Are you okay? Because I can’t fix it if you don’t say it out loud.

She nodded once. Sat down. Shoulders stiff. Gaze fixed forward.

Azzi leaned in as she passed. Not a full stop. Just a glance, quiet and sideways.

“You good?” she asked, low enough no one else could hear.

Paige’s throat tightened. She nodded again a bit too quick. 

Azzi didn’t press. Didn’t sit. Just kept walking.

They won the game. And despite her lackluster performance—despite the way her passes came half a second late and her feet never quite found rhythm—Paige was still tugged in every direction like she had done something right.

Media. Fans. Photos. Autographs. That frozen smile she had perfected at some point early on in her career. 

By the time she made it back to the locker room, her legs ached and her throat was dry and her heart felt like it had been held underwater for hours. It was empty. Cleared out. Lights dimmed. The echoes of victory already fading.

She dropped onto the stool in front of her locker, untied one sneaker, let it thud to the floor. Reached for the other. That’s when she saw it.

Something tucked into the corner of her locker.  Small. Folded. Familiar.

A protein bar. Her brand. The weird brown sugar one no one else liked.

Paige never remembered to grab them from the store but Azzi never forgot. She’d complain about Paige’s obsession with anything that tasted like dessert, call her dramatic, say real athletes ate plain peanut butter like adults.

But she still always had one tucked in her bag. Always handed it off after games without ceremony.

And every time Paige called it romantic, Azzi would roll her eyes and say, “You’re insufferable.”

Which, in Azzi-speak, meant I love you.

Paige stared at the one in front of her now. No note. No flourish. Just the bar. But she knew. She knew. It was from her. A memory left behind on purpose.

Like I see you, even when you don’t play well. Like you don’t have to be perfect for me to be proud.  Like you’re still mine, in the quiet ways that count.

Paige’s throat tightened. And for the first time all night, she let herself feel it.

Not failure. Not disappointment.

Just the quiet ache of being known.

[bucketsorbueckers-deactivated20]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 7

Paige X Azzi

warning: language

A/N: for once, i'm not sorry. have fun :) happy sunday.

word count: 6K

Azzi’s POV

Last Year

It wasn’t anything elaborate. Just dinner.

Azzi had picked the spot. A little place near campus with string lights and soft music and those booths where you could sit side by side instead of across from each other.

She’d texted Paige the time. Even picked out the outfit she knew Paige liked. Jeans and the oversized cream sweater that always made her smile.

And Paige said she’d be there. “7:00. I’m yours.”

Azzi got there at 6:45. Ordered water. Checked her phone. Waited.

When 7:02 rolled around, she wasn’t really nervous. Paige was prompt, typically, but Paige was also busy. The spotlight she’d always existed in had somehow swelled—so large now that the light nearly eclipsed everything.

And Azzi understood that. She really did.

Sometimes, things came up. Things Paige couldn’t plan for. Things that weren’t her fault. So Azzi breathed through it. Smoothed the hem of her sweater. Picked at the condensation on her glass.

Even when the clock hit 7:11. Even when the server came by again, smiling too gently. Even when the door kept opening and never revealed the face she was waiting for.

She told herself to wait five more minutes. Then five more after that.

By 7:25, she wasn’t checking her phone for texts. She was just watching the minutes pile up, quiet and heavy and stupidly hopeful.

The waiter stopped by. Awkward. Kind. Pitying in a way he probably didn’t mean to be.

“Still waiting?” he asked, glancing at the empty seat across from her.

Azzi nodded. Sort of. There wasn’t much conviction left in it. A half-smile. A polite maybe.

By 7:35, though, she felt silly.

Not furious. Not even disappointed, just…stupid. For thinking maybe tonight would be different. For getting ready a little too early. For straightening her hair and putting on makeup she didn’t even really like. For trying.

She pulled her sleeves down over her hands, stared at the flickering candle in the middle of the table. Willed herself not to look at the door again.

It was just a dinner, she reasoned. But it was one she had planned. For them. Because they hadn’t had a them moment in a while, and she thought maybe it would help.

Especially with the tournament starting in two days. She’d figured this would be good, for them, for Paige, for her. A moment to breathe before the pressure sank its teeth in. A reminder that they existed outside of wins and stats and noise.

Finally, her phone rang. She exhaled before picking it up, already bracing for the shape of the apology.

“Az,” Paige’s voice came through, rushed and familiar, like it always was when she realized too late.

Azzi didn’t say anything. Just waited.

“I’m so sorry. The podcast ran over. I tried to get out of it but my manager made it clear it was a big deal and so I just. Azzi, I’m sorry. Are you still at the restaurant? I’m on my way.”

Azzi looked down at the table—half a water glass, a candle nearly burned out. The napkin she’d folded and unfolded three times.

She dropped it gently beside her plate, stood.

“No. I left a while ago.” A beat. “No worries, P. I know you’re busy.”

And it wasn’t even a lie. She did know Paige was busy. Her life spun faster than most people’s. Always somewhere, always someone needing something. It was the cost of being extraordinary. Azzi had never resented that.

“No,” Paige pressed back. “I’m not ever too busy for us. For you.”

Azzi bit down on her bottom lip as she threw a few bills on the table. Just a tip for their time and the awkwardness she knew she had made them feel. And as she headed out, she felt a bit upset. Nothing to cause a scene but enough to let it boil over. 

“It’s fine, P. I know I’m not your girlfriend. You don’t owe me anything.”

There was a beat. Just long enough to hear Paige inhale.

“Azzi,” she said quickly, “you know—”

But the line went dead. Azzi blinked at the screen, frowning. Blank. Dead. She sighed as she put the car in drive and headed back to campus. 

Around an hour late, a knock. Sharp. Too fast. Like whoever’s behind it was pacing.

Azzi blinked at the door. It was well past 9 PM. No one knocked at this hour unless something was wrong.

Azzi opened the door slowly. And there she was. Windblown, flushed, heart in her hands, literally. Paige. 

A bouquet of daisies. Azzi’s favorite. The kind she mentioned once, offhand, after a road game. A bag from that bakery in West Hartford—chocolate croissants with the flaked salt she loved, still warm. And tucked beneath it all, a small card with her name on it. In Paige’s handwriting. Slanted. Rushed.

She looked like she hadn’t taken a full breath since their phone call. 

“I know you said I don’t owe you anything,” Paige blurted, “but I owe you this.”  She stepped forward, arms overflowing, eyes too bright. “You didn’t think I wanted you to be my girlfriend?”

Azzi didn’t say anything. Not right away.

“You never asked,” she said finally.

Paige let out a soft laugh. Half breath, half nerves. “I didn’t ask because I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

She was holding the bouquet like she hadn’t realized she’d been crushing it. Azzi’s favorite, of course. Because Paige always knew. She looked at her, like the next sentence might actually hurt.

“You scare the shit out of me,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d give me the chance.”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed, but not unkindly. “Paige. We’ve been doing this for months.”

Her voice was flat, but her ears were burning. 

Paige shrugged. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d let me say it out loud.”

Azzi stared at her for a long second, then shook her head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“An idiot with croissants,” Paige said, holding the bag up slightly.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away.

“You could’ve asked,” she muttered.

Paige grinned, wide and relieved and so painfully her.

“Why do you think I’m here?” she said, already setting the flowers and the croissants down on Azzi’s desk like she’d planned this out, even though they both knew she hadn’t.

Then she turned, suddenly shy in a way Azzi almost never saw.

“Azzi Fudd,” she said, grinning. “My best friend. My favorite person. The only one who tells me when I’m being insufferable and somehow still likes me anyway…” She took a breath.“…will you be my girlfriend?”

Azzi just stared at her for a second. Long enough that Paige started shifting her weight, like she was already preparing to get turned down. But then Azzi smiled. Small. Real. The kind of smile that tugged up slow, like she was trying not to let it show too much.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, okay.”

Paige let out the kind of breath that sounded like she’d been holding it for weeks.

“Cool,” Paige said, cheeks pink. “Cool cool cool.”

Azzi grinned. “Someone once told me Paige Bueckers doesn’t get nervous.”

“Yeah, well,” Paige said, tilting her chin up like she hadn’t just brought a pastry peace offering and confessed her feelings. “That version of Paige Bueckers didn’t have a reason to be.”

Azzi snorted. “Sure. Generational player. Plastered on screens and billboards. Fighting to be one of the best to ever do it. No pressure.”

Paige shrugged, lips tugging into a smirk. “Yeah, but that version had never asked the Azzi Fudd to be her girlfriend.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile was stupid-wide.“You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” She said. “But I am your girlfriend.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. 

“Say it, Az.” Paige said. Azzi tilted her head. “Say I’m your girlfriend.”

Azzi couldn’t even try to bite back her smile, “You’re my girlfriend, Paige Bueckers.”

“You’re fucking right I am,” She muttered, popping a bite of croissant into her mouth before closing the space between them. 

The bus came to a harsh stop in front of the hotel. Unexpectedly.

Azzi blinked hard, her head jerking off the window. Around her, the team stirred in slow waves. Hoods pulled back, tangled legs uncurled, groggy voices muttering about food and beds.

She grabbed her bag and followed the shuffle into the lobby, where room keys were being handed out one by one. CD looked exhausted already, trying to get the already exhausted group to focus for five seconds. 

“Fudd,” she called.

Azzi stepped forward, took the sleeve, and glanced at the number: 535. She flipped it over.

Roommate: Bueckers.

Her stomach dipped.

“Wait,” she said, too quietly at first. Then again: “Wait—sorry, I usually room with Caroline or Jana.”

CD didn't even look up. “Jana requested Caroline. Said they’re in some group project together for a psych class and needed to finish a big chunk of it this weekend.”

Azzi blinked. “They don’t even have a class together.”

Across the lobby, Jana was gesturing wildly with a manila folder, holding it up like it contained nuclear codes, while Caroline sat slumped in a chair, mouthing I hate you with the full force of someone who absolutely did not sign up for this.

Azzi tried to catch either of their attention, but they never looked her way.

“And Nika?” Azzi asked.

The assistant coach was already moving on to the next name. “Azzi, take the key and go get some rest.”

Azzi stared at the card. Room 535. Bueckers.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t roomed together before. They had. For years. But not since…everything.

She took a breath. Stuffed the card into her hoodie pocket and headed toward the elevator.

Paige was nowhere in sight. Not in the lobby, not at the front desk, not trailing behind anyone else like she’d gotten stuck signing something or charming the staff. Azzi figured she’d see her soon enough. She always did. Paige had this uncanny way of showing up exactly when you’d finally stopped waiting.

The elevator creaked open and Azzi stepped inside, one of the freshmen yawning beside her like she hadn’t just slept for two hours on the bus with her forehead pressed against the window.

Fifth floor.

She followed the numbers—529, 531, 533—and paused in front of 535.

The card key beeped on the first try. A small miracle given her experience. 

Inside, the room was dim and quiet. Two beds. Two lamps. One of everything. And her body ached to just fall face-first into one of them. But routines mattered. Especially on the road. Especially this early in the season, when everything still felt fragile and unearned—rhythm, chemistry, trust.

So instead of collapsing onto the mattress like every inch of her skin was begging her to, Azzi did what she always did: she dug through her bag, found her floss, and started there.

Standing in the hotel bathroom with the fan humming overhead and the fluorescent light making her look just a shade more exhausted than she felt, she threaded the floss between her teeth.

Normalcy, maybe. Control.

Her reflection blinked back at her. Dark circles, tight shoulders, a flash of something in her eyes she didn’t feel like naming.

Halfway through the process, she heard it. The door. A soft beep. The thud of it opening.

And then, Paige’s voice. Muffled. Half-laughing. Mid-conversation.

Azzi froze, floss still looped between her fingers. She hadn’t realized how quiet it had been until Paige’s voice filled the space. Or how much she’d been bracing for it.

The door clicked open just as Azzi was rinsing the mouthwash out of her mouth.

She turned, hand still on the faucet, to see Paige standing there. Bag slung over her shoulder, hood half-up, blinking like she'd just walked into a memory she wasn’t ready to remember.

She froze in the doorway. Like Azzi was the last person she expected to see.

“Az?”

Azzi nodded once, trying not to choke on the minty flavor still clinging to the back of her throat. She grabbed a towel, dabbed at her mouth, and leaned her hip against the sink.

“You didn’t know I was your roommate?”

“No,” she said. Honest. Like she couldn’t even pretend otherwise.

Azzi kept her face steady, even as her stomach coiled. “CD didn’t mention?”

Paige finally stepped inside. Set her bag down carefully, like she was trying not to disturb something fragile.

“Guess not,” she said. “I thought I’d be with Nika.”

Azzi nodded, once. Clipped. “Well. Surprise.”

Paige let out this little exhale. Not a laugh, not quite. More like the sound someone made when they weren’t sure what else to offer.

Azzi turned back to the mirror. Unscrewed the cap on her face wash. Let her fingers move the way they always did. She needed that. Needed something to do with her hands.

Behind her, Paige didn’t move. Still standing like the room wasn’t hers yet. Like Azzi’s presence took up too much space.

“Haven’t picked a bed yet,” Azzi said, eyes closed tight as she rubbed the cleanser into her cheeks. “Feel free to grab whatever.”

The words seemed to break whatever spell Paige was under. Kickstart her back into motion. She finally shut the door behind her with a soft click.

Azzi stayed in the bathroom a little longer than necessary. Slow. Methodical. Borderline dramatic with each step. A delay. A stall tactic. But eventually, there was nothing left to do. She stepped back into the room just in time to catch Paige mid-change, half undressed.

“Oh god,” Azzi blurted, immediately covering her eyes. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Az,” Paige sighed. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

And somehow, that made it worse.

When Azzi finally peeked, Paige was already changed. Her usual oversized t-shirt and boxers…so familiar it formed a chasm in Azzi’s chest.’

The shirt was the same one from last year’s tournament. Soft with age. The logo cracked down the middle. Azzi had stolen it once for an entire week and Paige hadn’t even asked for it back. The same boxers she always wore to sleep, the ones she insisted were the only kind that didn’t bunch up because she moved a lot when she slept. The way she stood, arms crossed over her chest, hair falling in that exact way it always did when she was a little sleepy. 

Memories started stacking. Fast. Sloppy. Unmanageable.

The way Paige always tucked her hair behind both ears before bed.

The way she used to stretch her legs across Azzi’s lap without asking.

The way that shirt used to smell like them.

Azzi blinked. Swallowed. Tried not to let any of it show on her face.

“Done with the bathroom?” Paige asked, voice tight, polite.

Azzi nodded, her mouth dry.

Paige didn’t say anything else. Just offered a quick smile and moved past her with careful steps. Like even brushing against her would’ve been too much. And Azzi stood there, stuck somewhere between nostalgia and nausea.

The sound of the toilet flushing knocked her back into the present.

She turned toward the beds and saw that Paige had taken the one near the window.

Of course she had.

Azzi wasn’t surprised. Paige knew she hated mornings. The way the light cut through even the heaviest hotel curtains, always finding the one sliver of skin left exposed. It made her grumpy, disoriented. Paige used to tease her about it. Used to guard the window like it was her job. And now she’d chosen the window bed. Not to provoke. Not to be kind. Just… because she remembered.

It was a terribly damning thing: to be known that well by someone who wasn’t yours anymore. And worse still, to feel the knowing in your bones, and want it anyway.

Eventually, Paige came back.

They didn’t talk about it. Whatever it was. Just moved around the room in that too-careful way—like if they touched the wrong thing, the whole thing might collapse in on itself. They both climbed into bed with a sigh too synchronized to be accidental. The lamp between them stayed on.

Azzi was tired, but the wrong kind. The kind that settled in her bones and buzzed behind her eyes. The kind that made her too aware of everything—the way the sheets felt too stiff, the hum of the air conditioner, the sound of Paige shifting under the covers like she was trying not to make a sound.

Paige sighed. Not dramatically. Just… enough.

“Hey, Az?” she said softly.

“Mm?”

“You wanna watch a movie? Love and Basketball?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Screen lit up with Cam’s name. FaceTime. She had promised she’d call once they were in for the night. And she’d meant to. She really had. She just hadn’t expected this.

She looked at the phone. Watched it vibrate against the wood, inching closer to the edge like it might throw itself off if she didn’t decide soon.

Then she looked at Paige.

Glasses slightly crooked. Hair still damp from the shower, curling at the ends. A little star-shaped pimple patch on her cheek like she forgot it was there. Paige. Not perfect. Not polished. Just…hers. In all the ways that mattered. In all the ways that hurt.

The phone buzzed again. Azzi didn’t flinch. She didn’t sigh. She didn’t explain.

She just reached out and hit Ignore.

“Sure,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

And Paige smiled.

Paige’s POV

Paige fumbled with the cords, trying to get her laptop to mirror onto the TV. Her fingers were clumsy with it. 

Usually, Azzi would just crawl into her bed. No discussion. No hesitation. They’d watch the movie on her laptop until Azzi fell asleep, head tilted toward her shoulder like she didn’t mean to.

But Paige knew better than to ask for that now.So she didn’t. Just went full tech-mode instead, pretending she wasn’t trying to fill the silence with HDMI cables and remote settings. 

Finally, the movie flickered onto the screen and Paige exhaled, the tension in her shoulders loosening just slightly.

“There we go,” she muttered. She backed away from the TV, retreating to her bed like it might swallow her whole if she let it. She tugged the blanket up to her chin, even though it was too warm for it.

She kept her eyes on the screen. Not on Azzi. Definitely not on Azzi.

The opening notes of Love & Basketball filled the room—soft, familiar, painfully specific. It was their movie. The one they always said they’d never get sick of, even after a hundred rewatchings.

Paige could practically hear it before it even started: Azzi pretending not to mouth the lines, Paige pretending not to watch her do it.

She remembered the first time they’d watched this movie together.

How Azzi had curled into her side without asking. How Paige had gone stiff for maybe five seconds. Long enough to catalog the heat of Azzi’s shoulder, the press of her thigh. Short enough to convince herself Azzi hadn’t noticed.

She didn’t remember most of the movie. Just the way Azzi smelled like vanilla shampoo and chlorine. The way her breath landed soft against Paige’s collarbone, steady and unbothered. Like she’d done this a hundred times. Like Paige wasn’t sitting there trying to remember how to breathe.

She’d kept her eyes on the screen, nodding along like she was following the plot, but her heart had been screaming something else entirely.

Something terrifying. Something gentle.

Something that sounded a lot like: oh.

She already knew she liked girls. That part wasn’t new. But this felt different. It wasn’t the idea of love that scared her.

It was Azzi.

Azzi, who didn’t need to say much to be heard. Who was careful with her words and even more careful with her eyes. Azzi, the prettiest girl Paige had ever seen.

Paige stared straight ahead and pretended to follow the plot, but all she could think was: Is it supposed to feel like this?

Like awe.

Like falling.

Like maybe if she looked down, she'd see her heart sitting there in her lap, cracked open and waiting.

They were eighteen then. Too young to call it love and too far gone to pretend it wasn’t. And lying here now, years later, Azzi a few feet away, Paige could still feel it.

That same oh. That same ache. That same, stupid, impossible kind of love that had never left her, not really.

And still, Paige just stared at the TV. Kept her face neutral, her breathing even. The movie played on.

But eventually she lost the war.

Her eyes dragged away from the screen like they had a mind of their own, landing on Azzi across the room, curled up under her blanket, face lit soft and golden by the TV glow.

She looked the same and entirely different. The same slope of her nose. The same stubborn crease between her brows when she was thinking too hard. But something about the distance, about the space between the beds that used to not exist, made it all feel unfamiliar.

Azzi hadn’t looked over once. Not when the movie started. Not when Paige picked this movie of all of them. Not even when Monica let Quincy into her room like it was the easiest decision in the world.

Paige swallowed, suddenly aware of every inch between them. She turned back to the screen. Let it play. Let the dialogue hit her chest and echo there. But she didn’t laugh at the funny parts. Didn’t smile at the familiar ones.

They were nearly three-quarters through the movie when Azzi’s fidgeting got so persistent it pulled Paige out of the trance she'd been forcing herself into. At first it was small. Blanket shifts, the soft rustle of cotton against skin. But now it was rhythmic. Anxious. Like something in her couldn’t sit still anymore.

Reluctantly, Paige dragged her eyes away from the screen. Azzi was already looking at her. And Paige inhaled—sharp and shallow—like she’d been caught in the middle of a confession.

It wasn’t fair, the way Azzi looked at her. It stripped away all of Paige’s common sense, like it always had. Plucked any reasoning she’d carefully stitched together over the past few weeks and tossed it out the window like it had never mattered.

Because it didn’t. Not really. Not when Azzi looked at her like that. Like they were still in love. Like none of the distance even existed. Like Paige hadn’t cried in her car for forty minutes just last week because she missed her person. 

Paige felt her chest tighten. Her body remembered this look. Her skin did too.

She used to think that if Azzi ever looked at her like this again, she’d say something brave. Something honest. Something like don’t leave again or I never stopped or you ruined me and I let you.

But it wasn’t any of those things.

It was something more broken. More battered. More hers.

“Fuck, Az,” she rasped, voice catching like it hurt to say. “Please come here. Please.”

Azzi’s eyes widened. Just a flicker. Barely there. But Paige caught it like she always did. That soft edge of surprise, the way her breath caught, the way her fingers tightened in the blanket.

For a second, she didn’t move. Like she needed a beat to decide if she’d imagined it. If Paige really meant it. If this wasn’t some cruel trick of memory and low lamplight.

Then—slowly, like the world might shatter if she got it wrong—Azzi shifted. Tossed back the covers. Crossed the space between them like it hurt. And Paige just watched her come closer. Watched her come home.

Paige lifted the comforter without a word, scooting toward the middle of the bed, making room like it was instinct. Like her body remembered even if her mind was still catching up.

Azzi hesitated for just a second, like she didn’t know if she was allowed, before crawling into the space that had always belonged to her. She tucked her knees to her chest, careful not to take up too much room. Like she didn’t want to be a burden. Like she thought this might still be temporary.

And Paige stayed where she was. Kept the space between them. Because she should. Because she was supposed to. Because reaching for her might mean admitting something that she couldn’t take back.

But even with the inches between them, her body softened. Uncoiled. Deflated in the best, most dangerous way. Like finally, finally, she could rest.

Paige watched as Azzi reached out, her hand trembling just slightly as it hovered near the lamp.

“Okay?” Azzi whispered.

Paige couldn’t trust herself to speak. She made a sound. A half grunt, half exhale that must’ve been enough, because a second later, Azzi clicked the switch. And the room was swallowed by darkness. It was the kind of dark that made every breath feel louder. The kind that pressed in around them.

They lay there, inches apart.

Close enough that Paige could feel the heat of Azzi’s body radiating under the blanket. Close enough that she could smell her shampoo. That warm, familiar vanilla one that used to cling to Paige’s pillows long after she’d left.

Paige stared up at the ceiling she couldn’t see. Paige stared up at the ceiling she couldn’t see. Her fingers ached to move. To reach. To close the smallest distance she had ever felt so violently aware of. But she didn’t. She stayed still.

Seconds stretched into minutes. But Paige could tell Azzi was still awake. She didn’t need to look. She knew the difference.

Azzi had a way of breathing when she slept. Soft and steady, like the world couldn’t touch her. Paige used to stay awake just to listen to it. Used to lie there in the dark, barely blinking, afraid that if she closed her eyes she’d wake up and find it was all some cruel dream.

She’d memorize the rhythm. Count the beats between inhales. Trace the shape of contentment in every exhale.

She’d never told Azzi that. Never admitted how long she stayed awake most nights, just watching her sleep. Just trying to believe that she got to have this. That she got to keep her.

And now they were here again. Bodies curled close, breaths shared in the dark.

Paige had almost convinced herself not to hope. Almost convinced herself that Azzi would fall asleep first, that the silence would stretch until morning and they could pretend this never happened. That lying side by side in the dark, hearts beating too loud, didn’t mean anything anymore.

But then, a whisper. So soft Paige almost missed it.

“Paige?”

She stiffened, the sound of her name pulling her from half sleep like a tide. She rolled onto her side, careful not to jostle the space between them, even though it barely existed anymore.

“Hm?”

"Can I ask you something?" Azzi’s voice, barely a breath.

Paige turned her head on the pillow, heart thudding. “Yeah.”

A pause. Long enough that Paige thought maybe she’d changed her mind.

Then: “Do you still think about it?” Azzi asked. “About us?”

Paige blinked into the dark.

“Every day,” she said. No hesitation. No point in pretending.

Azzi was quiet again. And then, even softer,

“Will you hold me?”

Paige’s breath caught. She didn’t speak. She just shifted. Closed the distance they’d both been pretending not to notice. Reached for Azzi under the covers, pulled her close.

Azzi melted into her like she belonged there. Like she always had. Her head tucked beneath Paige’s chin. A hand resting gently at her waist.

They lay like that for a while.

Tangled limbs and silence. The kind of quiet that wasn't empty but full—thick with everything they hadn't said and maybe still couldn't. Paige’s fingers moved in slow, steady circles against the bare skin of Azzi’s back, like she was trying to memorize her all over again.

“Paige?”

Her name, again. Soft. Almost afraid. Paige closed her eyes. She’d heard her name in packed arenas. On highlight reels. Echoing through speakers loud enough to shake the floor. She’d heard it shouted by coaches, screamed by fans, printed in headlines.

But nothing ever touched her like the way Azzi said it. Like it wasn’t just a name. Like it still belonged to her. The girl underneath all of it. Just Paige. As she was. As Azzi had always seen her.

“Yeah?” she whispered.

Another pause. The kind that made her heart crawl up into her throat.

“I’m sorry,” Azzi choked out. The words barely made it past her lips, like they’d been caught in her throat for weeks. Maybe longer.

Paige froze, her hand stilling against Azzi’s back. She didn’t need to ask what for. She already knew. All of it. The leaving. The silence. The terrible, aching gap that had lived between them for months, growing roots in all the places love used to be.

Azzi’s breath stuttered. “I was scared. Of what it meant to keep you. Of what it would do to lose you. Of not being enough for either. So I left before you could realize I wasn’t.”

Paige felt the words like bruises blooming across her chest. She tugged Azzi closer, wrapping an arm around her like she could anchor her there. She didn’t speak because she knew Azzi wasn’t done. Knew she needed the words out of her body, spoken into the dark where they could breathe.

“I missed you so much it made me mean,” Azzi whispered, voice trembling. Paige closed her eyes. Let the ache rise. Let it settle. “I’m never mean.”

That made Paige laugh. Not loud. Not happy. Just...a sound, cracked open from somewhere deep. 

“And I’m sorry,” Azzi said. “I know you deserve more than that but—”

Paige didn’t let her finish.

She leaned in and pressed her lips to Azzi’s before the spiral could pull her under. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rehearsed. It was instinct. Tenderness. The only way she knew how to say you’re here now, and I still want you anyway.

Azzi stilled. Then melted like her body had been waiting for permission to exhale. And in that quiet collapse, Paige tasted everything.

The apology. The ache. The impossible kind of wanting that clung to the bones no matter how many times they tried to shake it loose.

That kiss wasn’t a fix. But instead a soft, trembling maybe that they both desperately needed.

When she pulled away, Paige could just make out Azzi’s face in the faint light bleeding through the window. Shadow and softness and everything she’d almost forgotten how to survive without.

“I know,” she whispered, and it came out gentler than she meant. Like forgiveness wrapped in silk. “I know.”

She reached up, brushed a thumb across Azzi’s cheek, caught a tear before it fell. Let her fingers linger.

“But not right now,” she murmured, barely more than breath. “Please.”

Azzi stilled. And Paige closed her eyes.

“I just want to hold you,” she said. “We can ruin each other tomorrow. Tonight, I just want this.”

Azzi didn’t speak. Didn’t argue. Just gave the smallest nod. Barely a movement, but full of meaning. A truce. A surrender. A yes, okay, I’ll let you hold the weight of this, just for tonight.

Then, slowly, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the curve of Paige’s neck. Not in apology. Not in desperation.

But in something quieter. Something closer to reverence. Like she wanted to leave a part of herself there, just in case she couldn’t find the words later.

Paige’s breath caught.

And then Azzi curled into her chest, like she wanted to disappear into the shape of her. Like if she pressed close enough, deep enough, they might become one person. One heart. One body that didn’t know how to stay broken.

Paige held her tighter. Her chin rested on Azzi’s head, her hands at her back, their legs tangled, inseparably so.

And then, Paige closed her eyes.

She waited for the sound of Azzi’s breathing to slow. It didn’t take long, just a few minutes of quiet, curled-up stillness, and then there it was. That rhythm Paige knew by heart. 

She existed in it for a while. Let herself feel every inhale, every exhale, like they were proof. That Azzi was here. That this was happening. That she hadn’t imagined her way into another night of almosts.

But she didn’t let herself believe it was permanent. Not yet.

She just held the girl she loved, like maybe if she stayed still enough, the world wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t ask them to name it. Wouldn’t make them say all the things they were still too scared to speak aloud.

And if this was all they got…

This night, this silence, this impossible closeness, then Paige would take it. She’d memorize it. Stitch it into the lining of her ribs. Carry it like a secret she never wanted to let go of.

That night, Paige Bueckers slept. Really slept. For the first time in weeks, her body unknotted, her mind quiet. Not because it was fixed. Not because they were okay. But because Azzi was in her arms, and that had always been enough.

And when morning came—when sunlight broke through the curtains and laid its golden weight across the bed like a question—Paige didn’t flinch.

She didn’t pull away. She pulled Azzi closer, pressed a kiss to her temple, and whispered something so soft it barely reached the air.

Stay.

Not just for now. Not just for this.

But for everything.

[bucketsorbueckers-deactivated20]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 8

Paige X Azzi

Warning: language.

A/N: didn't plan to post this early get this chapter away from me before i edit to the point of disservice. if it doesn't make sense, its not my business. xoxo

Azzi’s POV

A few months ago.  

Hard fracture.

That’s the only way Azzi knew how to describe it.

There had been small fissures forming between them for a while. Cracks in the foundation. Somehow, putting a name on what they were made it feel heavier. More difficult to carry.

It had been a steady eleven months, mostly. Private. Careful. A thing she held close to her chest.

Caroline knew. Nika too. Though she never said it out loud. Just offered knowing looks and quiet exits when things got too soft around the edges.

But beyond that, it was just the two of them. Her and Paige. 

They said it was better this way. Safer. Cleaner. No headlines. No rumors. No room for people to ruin it before it ever got the chance to breathe.

And in the beginning, that quiet felt like protection. Like something theirs in a world that wanted to take everything.

But the world doesn’t stay quiet for long. Not when Paige was in it.

Because there were nights when Paige would light up an arena and the whole world would look at her like she belonged to them. And Azzi would be in the background, clapping quietly, pretending her heart wasn’t in the front row.

There were moments where she’d catch Paige smiling at someone else and think, I’m not sure she even remembers I’m here.

She didn’t blame her for it.  Not really.

Paige wasn’t really hiding her. She offered soft touches. Lingering glances. Quiet, firm reminders that she belonged to Azzi—at least in the ways that counted. But the longer they stayed hidden, the harder it became to believe there was a difference between protecting something and burying it.

And that quiet, gnawing feeling…the one Azzi couldn’t shake, kept whispering the same truth: Paige belonged to the world. And Azzi belonged to no one.

Som she started pulling back. Just a little. Just enough to see if she still had a pulse outside of Paige Bueckers. And maybe, if she was being honest, it wasn’t just about herself. Maybe it was also to see if Paige would notice. If she’d feel the shift. If she’d say something.

Because sometimes, truthfully, Azzi felt less like a person Paige loved and more like a weight strapped to her ankle—quiet, heavy, and always just barely out of step.

Paige did notice. Azzi could see it in the way she reached for her. In the way her eyes searched the room before her body followed. In the way she kept trying to press her hands to the bleeding wound of who they were. Like if she held it hard enough, long enough, maybe it would stop.

But she didn’t say anything. And Azzi didn’t know how to ask for what she needed without sounding like she was asking Paige to be smaller. To shine a little less bright. To come back down to a place Azzi wasn’t sure she belonged anymore.

So the silence grew teeth. Not sudden. Not sharp. Just slow. Choking. The kind you don’t notice until you realize you haven’t taken a full breath in weeks.

Paige was still Paige. All in. Loyal. Constant. But she didn’t ask.

And Azzi didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know how to explain that being loved by someone like Paige Bueckers meant being seen by everyone but still somehow forgotten by yourself.

The realization struck her on a Thursday night. There was no grand trigger. No dramatic fight. Just the quiet, aching feeling that had made a home of her chest stretching a little too wide like her ribs were forgetting how to hold it in.

She sat with it. Let it settle. Didn’t cry. And then, two nights later, she showed up on Paige’s doorstep.

The conversation wasn’t angry. They didn’t raise their voices. Didn’t say things they’d regret.

Azzi just stood there in Paige’s apartment—small and familiar and somehow already too far gone—and said the thing she hadn’t known how to say until it became the only thing she could.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Paige looked at her like she’d dropped something. Like any second now, Azzi would laugh. Take it back. Say just kidding, I’m tired, ignore me.

But Azzi didn’t. She couldn’t. Because she wanted to leave while there was still something left of her to carry.

Paige didn’t beg. Didn’t cry. Didn’t chase. She just nodded. And that hurt more than if she’d screamed.

Azzi stood there for a beat, her heart clawing against the inside of her ribs like it might rip its way out. She wanted to apologize. To explain. To say I love you, I just don’t know how to survive it. But the words stuck to the back of her throat like they were trying to save themselves.

So instead, she turned. And let the door close behind her. In that moment, it felt like the right thing.  But God, it still split her clean through.

Paige’s POV

Azzi stirred, and Paige stayed perfectly still. Eyes closed. Breathing slow. Like if she moved, even a little, the moment might vanish.

Azzi fit against her like something Paige had been missing long before she even knew it. And then—soft, gentle—fingers began to walk their way up her arm. Curious. Familiar. Like they remembered this path even after all that time.

Paige couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips.

“I know you’re awake, Bueckers,” Azzi whispered, fingers still tracing lazy lines up her arm.

Paige shook her head, voice low and muffled against the pillow. “Five more minutes.”

“No such luck,” Azzi murmured. “We’ve gotta be downstairs for breakfast in ten.”

Her tone was gentle, but Paige could hear the smile in it too.

“Then five more minutes isn’t an indecent request,” Paige mumbled.

Azzi hummed in mock disapproval, already shifting, starting to slip from her arms with the kind of quiet ease that made it feel like she’d never been there at all. And for some reason, it hit Paige like a wave.

Panic, fast and silent. Like her body remembered every morning she’d woken up without this. Like it didn’t trust that Azzi wouldn’t disappear again if she let go now.

Her hand tightened instinctively around Azzi’s wrist.

“Wait,” she said, too quickly.

Azzi froze. And Paige couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t breathe around the sudden fear clawing at her throat.

“I just… one more minute,” she whispered. “Just stay a minute longer.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away.

Then Paige felt it. The soft press of Azzi’s body folding back into hers. No questions. No teasing. Just quiet understanding. Like Azzi could feel how badly Paige needed her without either of them having to say it out loud.

They stayed like that longer than they probably should’ve. Long enough for the sun to climb a little higher, for the real world to start creeping back in around the edges.

“Paige,” Azzi whispered, voice low against her neck. “We need to go to breakfast. Geno will have both our asses.”

Paige groaned, half into the pillow. “Let him.”

But she knew Azzi was right.

Reluctantly, she began to untangle their bodies—slow and careful, like letting go might break something. Her fingers hesitated for a beat too long at Azzi’s waist before pulling back. And then, summoning whatever courage she had left, she turned. Looked at her. Really looked.

And it was stupid, probably, but in that moment, Azzi looked like the beginning of something. Or maybe the middle of something Paige had never stopped wanting.

“Did you sleep okay?” Azzi asked, pulling on her sweatpants, her voice still scratchy with morning.

Paige nodded. “You?”

“Great,” Azzi said, and it came out like a sigh. Light. Content. Like she meant it.

They held each other’s gaze a second too long. Not uncomfortable, just weighted. Words hovering just below the surface, so many unsaid. So many that didn’t know how to come out yet.

Paige swallowed. Looked away first and grabbed her hoodie from the end of the bed, tugging it over her head.

“You ready?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. All good.”

They took the elevator in silence. Walked in silence. But as they neared the breakfast room, the quiet broke. Voices spilling into the lobby.

A few heads turned when they walked in.

“Nice of you to join us!” Jana called, far too loud for the hour.

Paige rolled her eyes, peeling off from Azzi to head toward Nika and Aaliyah. Not out of the ordinary. They always split up at team things, even when things were good. Careful to not draw too much attention. 

She absentmindedly filled her plate with eggs and whatever else was closest, before doubling back for the only thing she actually wanted.

Cereal.

“Will you ever grow up?” Azzi’s voice came from just behind her, amused and familiar and so, so easy.

Paige smirked without turning around. “Wouldn’t hold your breath.”

And even though their shoulders didn’t touch, it felt like something had clicked back into place. Quietly. Carefully. Like maybe they weren’t pretending anymore. Not completely.

Paige dropped into the seat beside Nika and Aaliyah, pushing the full plate to the side without a second glance. She focused on the only thing that mattered, her bowl of Froot Loops.

“Well, good morning,” Nika sang, her grin entirely too knowing. “How are you, Paige Bueckers?”

Paige paused mid-chew, eyes narrowing. “I’m fine.”

“I can see that,” Aaliyah muttered, not even looking up from the book in her hand.

Paige turned to her, brow arched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Aaliyah shrugged. “Just saying. You look like someone who actually slept last night.”

Paige blinked. “Don’t know if I should be offended or flattered.”

“Up to you,” Aaliyah said, flipping a page.

Paige watched Aaliyah for a second longer, then finally dropped her gaze and started eating again.

“Huh.”

The sound came from across the table—low, amused, and laced with something dangerous. Paige gritted her teeth and turned toward Nika, who was watching her like she knew something Paige didn’t. 

“Can I help you?”

Nika licked her lips, clearly trying not to smile. “I wasn’t aware you added a three to your number.”

“What?”

Nika nodded toward Paige’s sleeve. Paige looked down. And there it was, embroidered in soft white thread on the shoulder of her hoodie.

Not just her number. Not just 5.

35. Azzi’s number. Which meant she was wearing Azzi’s sweatshirt. 

Her eyes went wide for only a second before she reeled it back in, smoothing her expression like it hadn’t cracked at all.

“Must’ve gotten them switched up in the room.”

Nika nodded slowly, a smirk slipping through. “Totally. Happens to us all the time, right Liyah?”

Aaliyah didn’t even glance up. “Constantly.”

“Last week she accidentally wore my socks,” Nika added, deadpan. “So intimate.”

Paige shot her a look. “You’re hilarious.”

“I know,” Nika said, grinning now. “And observant.”

Paige swallowed, the cereal suddenly harder to get down. She turned slowly, gaze drifting over her shoulder, like she already knew what she’d find.

Azzi sat at her table, cheeks flushed unmistakably pink. Her eyes darted between Jana and Caroline, who were whispering with the subtlety of a car alarm. Then, like she could feel it, her gaze snapped to Paige.

Their eyes locked. Azzi froze. Then her gaze dropped, first to the 35 stitched on Paige’s sleeve. Then to the 5 on her own.

Her expression flickered, a full-body oh no.

Across the table, Caroline and Jana followed the trail of her stare. Their eyes narrowed in sync before they leaned their heads together, whispering like they knew something the world didn’t. Maybe they did. But Paige didn’t really care. She just kept looking at Azzi.

They locked eyes again, stunned into silence by their own stupidity. Or softness. Or something dangerously close to both.

Paige raised a single eyebrow, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

Azzi’s mouth parted like she might say something. An excuse. A threat. A please stop looking at me like that. But all that came out was a tiny shake of her head.

Paige just shrugged. Too late now.

And maybe it was petty, but she tugged the sleeve up a little higher, just so the 35 was nice and visible.

The rest of breakfast passed without much fanfare. A few lingering looks. A few too-pointed whispers. But no one said anything outright.

Geno dismissed them with two hours to kill before departure, his only instruction being, “Use it accordingly,” in the tone that meant I don’t care what you do as long as you win.

So they filed out. 

Azzi didn’t take the same elevator, and Paige beat her back to the room.

She collapsed onto the bed without thinking, face first into the pillow Azzi had used. It still smelled like her—faint shampoo, maybe lotion. Something specific and warm and unmistakably Azzi.

Real, Paige told herself. Last night was real. She let herself believe it. Clung to it like proof.

But time passed. The room stayed quiet, and Azzi was still nowhere to be found.

Paige rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling like it might give her answers. Her stomach buzzed with nerves and she tried not to read too much into the silence.

She also tried very hard not to listen to the buzz of a phone coming from across the room. Persistent. Again. And again. They didn’t bring phones to breakfast anymore. Geno had made that habit a short-lived one. So, she knew it was Azzi’s. 

Paige tried to ignore it. She really did. But it was steady. Rhythmic. A little desperate.

Azzi still wasn’t back, and the silence had begun to feel like a warning.

And so, Paige stood, slow. Crossed to the other bed, where Azzi’s phone was lit up like it had something urgent to say.

She picked it up before she could think better of it.

Cam — 9 Messages

No nickname. No emojis. Just his name. Three little letters that felt too big. She didn’t mean to read them. Not really. But the previews were right there.

10:42 p.m. let me know when you're back.

10:57 p.m. you said you’d call.

11:10 p.m. guess you got distracted.

11:26 p.m. how close is too close? just wondering.

11:31 p.m. Cam FaceTime missed call

11:32 p.m. Cam FaceTime missed call

11:34 p.m. seriously azzi.

7:12 a.m. Still nothing?

7:16 a.m. it’s wild how she always manages to be the exception.

7:18 a.m. you act different when she’s around.

7:21 a.m. you think she’s not doing this on purpose?

Paige exhaled through her nose. Not quite a laugh. Not quite not. He hadn’t said her name. But he didn’t have to. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t supposed to be.

There was something in the messages—some mix of insecurity and entitlement—that made her skin crawl a little. Not loud, not dangerous. Just... controlling. Dressed up as concern.

Like Paige was a problem Azzi should’ve outgrown by now. Like Azzi owed him reassurance just for being near her. Paige set the phone back down, screen still glowing, refusing to let it consume her like she wanted to let it. And at that exact moment, the door swung open.

Azzi walked in, a little out of breath, like she’d been pacing or thinking too hard or both. Paige dove back onto her bed like she’d been caught stealing something. Azzi didn’t seem to notice or maybe she did and just didn’t care. She dropped onto her own bed with a sigh, the kind that sounded heavier than it should’ve.

“Hey.”

“Your phone’s been going off like crazy,” Paige said before she could stop herself. The words landed somewhere between casual and sharp.

Azzi blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, blunt this time.

Azzi tilted her head, brow barely furrowed, then crossed the room. She picked up the phone and studied the screen, chewing her bottom lip like she didn’t realize she was doing it.

Paige watched her, watched the way her thumb hovered before she finally tapped out a response. Something quick, definitive and set the phone back down, face-first.

“Everything okay?” Paige asked, trying to sound light. She wasn’t sure she pulled it off.

“Oh yeah,” Azzi said, and it was so clearly a lie that it almost made Paige laugh.

They lay in the silence for a while, but it wasn’t the kind that soothed.

It was heavy. It pressed against Paige’s chest like a weight she hadn’t agreed to carry, and the longer it stretched, the more she felt like she might crawl out of her own skin just to get away from it.

“Cam?” she said, too softly to sound casual.

She saw Azzi’s throat bob at the name. A beat passed. Then another.

“Yeah,” Azzi said finally.

Paige nodded, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“He doesn’t like me, does he?”

Azzi rolled over then, slow and quiet, like she already knew there wasn’t a good answer.

“No,” she said finally. “He doesn’t.”

Paige blinked, not really surprised by the answer but Azzi’s honesty. 

Azzi let out a slow breath. “He’s jealous of you.”

Paige huffed a laugh. 

“He thinks I turn into someone else when you're around,” Azzi added. “Someone who might not come back to him.”

That one landed harder.

Paige nodded again, slow this time. “I don’t want you to ever have to be someone else. Not for me. Not for him.”

“I know,” Azzi said.

“But he acts like I do.”

Azzi didn’t argue. Just nodded, barely, and turned her face toward the ceiling like she couldn’t look at Paige anymore.

“I didn’t tell him,” she said after a beat. “About last night.”

The silence that followed felt colder than the room had any right to be.

Paige stared at the ceiling now too. “Because it didn’t mean anything?”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut. Like maybe if she closed them, the question would disappear.

“Paige,” she whispered. The name barely audible. “You know that’s not possible.”

Paige turned her head, watching her in the half-light like she might be able to peel her open—layer by layer—until the truth finally spilled out. And then, before she could stop herself:

“Do you think you could love him, Az?”

Not accusing. Not angry. Just a quiet kind of devastation. The kind that doesn’t ask to be answered gently.

Azzi’s breath caught. “That’s not a fair question, P.”

Paige stared at the ceiling for one more second, then turned her head.

“I don’t care,” she said, and she didn’t. Not right now. Not here, with the room pressed full of all the things they’d refused to say for two months. She didn’t want calm. She wanted the wave. Wanted to drown in it. In Azzi. In whatever this was, finally spoken out loud. “I’ve never said I was fair.”

Azzi was chewing on the inside of her cheek again. Paige watched it for a second too long, the familiar twitch of avoidance, and felt something flare in her chest. Anger maybe, or fear disguised as it.

She stood. Crossed the room before she could talk herself out of it. Lowered herself onto the bed and reached out, slow but certain. Her hands found Azzi’s face like they’d done it before. Like they still knew how.

Azzi’s skin was warm. Her eyes unreadable. Paige tilted her chin until their foreheads nearly touched.

“Do you think you could love him?” she asked again quietly.

And then, just a beat later, her voice cracked, the sentence coming out like something pulled from the trenches of her breaking heart. 

“Because if you could… if that’s where this is headed, then just…tell me. And I’ll step back. I’ll get out of the way.”

Azzi didn’t move. Paige smiled. Not kindly.

“I won’t pretend I’ll be fine. I won’t do the whole mature, understanding thing. I’ll be pissed and probably a little unbearable for a while.”

She paused. Her thumbs brushed against Azzi’s cheeks, like she was memorizing the shape of her before she had to let go.

“But if there’s a version of you that’s happy without me...I’ll try not to make that harder.”

The words hung there, trembling between them. Paige didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. She just stayed there, waiting—already preparing for the worst kind of kindness.

Azzi’s POV

Three years ago

Azzi wanted to kill Paige.

She pictured it now—grabbing a pillow, shoving it over her face, maybe just hard enough to shut her up. Paige would probably still talk through it. Still try to win the argument with her last breath.

They were three hours into a game of Monopoly with her family. Her brother had already quit. Her mom was trying to referee from the kitchen. And Paige?

Paige was drunk on power.

She had Boardwalk, Park Place, and a terrifying collection of oranges. She was chewing on the corner of a Chance card and grinning.

“I’m just saying,” she said, leaning across the board like a lawyer mid-cross-examination, “if you invested earlier, this wouldn’t be happening to you.”

“You’re insufferable,” Azzi muttered, watching her dad mortgage yet another property to cover rent.

“I’m winning,” Paige corrected, and tossed the dice with one hand like she was born to do it.

Azzi rolled her eyes.

God, she’s so annoying.

And then Paige laughed—loud and shameless and totally unselfconscious—and looked at her like she’d been waiting the whole game just for Azzi to catch up.

And it hit her.

God, I’m in trouble.

The thought landed fast and quiet. No big reveal. No warning. Just Paige Bueckers, in the middle of her family’s kitchen, being a complete idiot and somehow making every person in the room fall in love with her without even trying.

Including Azzi.

Especially Azzi.

“You’re staring, Fudd. Plotting my downfall?” Paige whispered, leaning in.

Azzi jumped, like she'd been caught thinking something she shouldn't. Which, yeah. She had.

She tried to shake it off, the realization still crawling under her skin. She wanted to say no. Just realizing you’re mine. But instead, she laughed. Shoved her shoulder.

“It’s a wonder you still have friends,” she muttered, eyes fixed firmly on the board.

And Azzi, sitting across the table with her arms crossed and her pulse loud in her ears, realized her whole life had tilted slightly off its axis.

That was it. That was the shift.

No thunder. No music.

Just Paige Bueckers in a hoodie that wasn’t hers, trash-talking her little brother, laughing like the world was hers to break open and Azzi watching her like she was already broken.

She hadn’t meant for it to happen. She hadn’t even seen it coming. One second, Paige was just Paige.

The next:

She was everything.

And Azzi loved her.

She loved her in a way she didn’t have the language for. In a way that made her chest feel too crowded and too hollow, all at once. Like something blooming and breaking inside her at the same time.

In a way that made everyone else feel…quieter. Smaller. Like the volume had been turned down on the rest of the world and Paige was the only thing still in color.

Azzi blinked the memory back into her chest, where it lived. Where it always lived. And when she looked at Paige again, almost nothing had changed.The world was still dimmer. Softer. A little out of focus.

Except for her.

Paige in screaming color. Heart-stopping, breath-stealing, goddamn technicolor. Inches away, close enough to touch, and somehow still not close enough.

And Azzi, despite everything, still wanted to reach for her. She always had.

Azzi exhaled, slow and shaky, and Paige winced—like she was bracing for impact. Like she expected to be shattered. Like she had no idea. No idea that Azzi had never loved anyone else. That she couldn’t.

No matter how hard she tried. No matter who she kissed, or how far she ran, she couldn’t outrun Paige Bueckers. And if she was being honest? She never really wanted to.

Still, she’d spent the last few months trying to keep a safe distance. Not because she didn’t want Paige. But because she did. Too much.

In the kind of way that made her want to wrap herself around her and never let go. In the kind of way that made her believe, just for a second, that maybe love could be enough to protect someone like Paige from everything else.

But love didn’t work like that. No matter how badly she wished it did. 

Azzi had seen it. Watched the world wear people down until all the soft parts were scraped raw. And Paige…she was made almost entirely of soft parts. Of second chances and wide-open faith and that stupid, stubborn light that made people want to be near her, even when they didn’t deserve to be.

Azzi wanted to protect her. Wasn’t that the root of it all? The world was loud, and terrifying, and unforgiving—and that scared Azzi. But the real rot, the thing she never said out loud, was simpler than fear. It was doubt.

The quiet, aching belief that she couldn’t do right by Paige. That she couldn’t give her what she needed. Not fully. Not in the ways that mattered.

Azzi had always wanted to be the person who could take on the world so Paige didn’t have to. But the truth was... she couldn’t. She couldn’t shield her from the pressure. From the attention. From the thousand tiny ways the world tried to hollow her out. 

And over time, loving Paige started to feel like standing at the edge of a storm, arms stretched wide, trying to hold it back with nothing but good intentions. And it drained Azzi wholly until there was nothing left to give that didn’t ache.

She thought leaving was the kindest thing. For Paige. For herself. The most loving choice she could make. Because staying felt like dragging them both through something she couldn’t name without bleeding.

She told herself it was mercy. That walking away would hurt less than slowly coming undone. And since then, she has tried. Tried to move on. To force Paige too as well. 

But now, looking at her, color-bright and too close and still holding out her heart like it wasn’t the most dangerous thing in the world to give…

Azzi felt that familiar weight settle in her chest again. That impossible, unshakable truth: I love Paige Bueckers. Even if it’s the most impossible thing in the world.

And just like that, all the shuttered windows of her heart—ones she’d nailed closed out of fear and exhaustion and the ache of almosts—swung open again. Not easily. Not cleanly. But with the creaking kind of honesty that only comes when you finally stop pretending you’re not still standing at the door, waiting.

She hadn’t meant to want this again. Hadn’t meant to let it back in. But Paige had always been the thing she couldn’t unwant. The one thing she’d never outgrow.

So maybe, finally, it was time to stop trying to outgrow impossible things. Maybe it was time to live with them. To choose them. To choose her.

She sighed, leaning her head into Paige’s palm like it steadied her. Life with Paige would never be simple. It wouldn’t be quiet. Or easy. Or something you could fold neatly into a plan.

Azzi would probably stumble. She’d fall short. Say the wrong thing when it mattered, shut down when she should speak up, lash out when all Paige wanted was softness. But she was starting to understand. Paige didn’t need perfect. Didn’t need a protector. She just needed honest.

She needed someone who would stand beside her when the lights were too bright and the world asked too much. Someone who wouldn’t flinch when the noise got loud or the pressure cracked something open.

And Azzi, God help her, wanted to be that person. Not just when it was beautiful. Not just when it was easy. But when it was messy and loud and real.

Because loving Paige Bueckers meant standing still while the world shifted. Meant holding on through the storm, not waiting for the calm. And Azzi was done running from it.

Azzi was quiet for a long time. Too long. And Paige just waited—like she always did—still and patient and probably bracing for an answer that might undo them both.

“I think I wanted to,” She finally said. “I really, really wanted to.”

Paige didn’t move. Not a blink. Not a breath.

“Because he made sense. And I was so tired of wanting things that didn’t make sense.” She laughed, barely. “But the whole time I was with him, I kept thinking about how it didn’t feel like it did with you.”

Her voice cracked. She didn’t bother to fix it.

“It didn’t make me nervous. It didn’t make me ache. It didn’t make me feel anything, not really.” She blinked, looked away. “I thought maybe that meant it was good. Safe. But it just felt quiet in all the wrong places.”A breath. “And I missed you. In every version of him.”

She forced her eyes back to Paige. 

“So no,” she said. “I don’t think I could ever love him.” She paused. Let it sit there for a second. “I don’t think I could love anyone else.”

Her voice didn’t break. It didn’t have to. Then, after a beat, quieter:

“How could I Paige? I know you.” She looked up. Met Paige’s watery eyes. “Not the version people cheer for. Not the one they write about or put on billboards.”

A breath.

“I know the you who shuts down when things get too loud. The you who tries to make everything okay for everyone else even when you're barely holding it together.” Another breath, tighter this time. “And the thing is… people love the idea of you.” Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper now. “But I know you. And it’s… impossible. It’s impossible not to love you.”

Paige didn’t speak. Not right away. She just looked at her like Azzi had cracked something open in the room, in the air, in her chest. Like the words had knocked the breath out of her but left her standing.

Her hands stayed on Azzi’s cheeks, unmoving, like she was afraid that if she let go, this would all disappear. That Azzi would take it back. That the moment would fold up and vanish the way it had so many times before.

And then, quietly, so soft Azzi almost didn’t catch it:

“I’ve loved you so long it started to feel like grief.” Azzi’s breath caught. Paige blinked like she was still trying to hold herself together. “I tried to bury it. To grow around it. To pretend it wasn’t still there every time you walked into a room.”

She let out a breath, sharp and shaky.

“But it never left. You never left.”

Her thumbs brushed gently across Azzi’s skin—almost like apology, almost like worship.

“I think I’ve been waiting years for you to say that. And I think some part of me would’ve waited forever.” Paige sighed. “I know we said it—that we were together. Girlfriends. But we never really talked about what that meant. Not when it got hard.”

Azzi didn’t move. Just listened.

“We never talked about how to stay when it stopped being easy,” Paige said. “Or what it would mean if one of us started pulling away. Or how to ask for more without sounding like we were asking the other person to be less.”

Her voice cracked, just a little.

“I think I kept waiting for us to just...figure it out. Like we always did. But this wasn’t something we could outrun or joke through. She looked at Azzi then. “And I should’ve said something. Sooner. I just didn’t know how. And when you showed up at my apartment that night, I thought the kindest thing I could do…the thing that would prove I loved you most, was to let you go.”

She looked away, jaw tight, eyes watery.

“I shouldn’t have let you leave. I should’ve fought for you. For us.”

Azzi exhaled slowly. Not in frustration. Just heartbreak. Or relief. She wasn’t sure. 

“It’s on me too, P,” she said gently. “You can’t always be the one doing the holding. I could’ve said something. I could’ve stayed.”

Paige blinked at her, like hearing it was somehow worse.

Azzi smiled, small and sad. “We both broke it. We both thought the other one would stop us.”

“We didn’t break it.” She looked up, eyes steady. “Not fully. I don’t think we could.”

Azzi stared at her. Breath caught. And Paige just nodded once, like that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Things bend,” she said, “but they don’t break. Not really. They bruise. They splinter. But they hold.” Paige exhaled. “We hold. Because we’ve always been each other’s. Terribly. Damningly. Even when we were too afraid to say it out loud. Even when we pretended we weren’t.”

The words settled between them. Confessions bleeding out slowly. Shortcomings they both named. Faults they both owned. No one flinched. No one looked away.

“I know there’s still more to talk about,” she said. “Things we have to figure out. “But I’m yours. If you’ll have me. Always been yours”

Azzi bit back tears, reached out, and traced Paige’s face the way she always had, like she was memorizing her all over again.

“You were never mine to lose,” she whispered. “You’ve always been the thing I came back to. Even when I didn’t know how.”

She let her thumb rest against Paige’s cheek, breath catching.

“So yeah. I’ll have you.” A pause. “I think I always have.”

Paige leaned forward, carefully, as if touching something holy. 

She rested her forehead against Azzi’s, and for a moment, they just breathed. Like that was enough. Like it had always been enough.

Then, with a smile so small it almost hurt:

“I don’t want easy.” Her voice cracked, just a little. “I want this. I want you.”

And then, finally—finally—she kissed her.

Not like a beginning. Not like an apology. But like the middle of something they’d been writing for years. Something neither of them had words for yet, but both of them had always known.

Paige’s POV

The game came and went without much stress. They did what they were supposed to do. Won. Controlled the pace. Made it look easy. No one made too much of it. That was the expectation.

There wasn’t time to celebrate doing what was expected. There never was.

The press conference was routine. Predictable questions. Predictable answers. Nika sat between them like a human buffer, mic in front of her, legs crossed  It was halfway over when someone asked it. Not a stat question. Not a headline grab.

Just: “There seems to be a real shift in the team’s chemistry this season. What do you think’s changed, culture-wise?”

All eyes shift don Paige and she cleared her throat. 

“I think we’ve just committed to each other more this year. Everyone knows their role, and no one’s trying to be the hero. It’s not about who scores—it’s about who shows up. We hold each other accountable, but we’ve also learned how to have each other’s backs. That kind of trust doesn’t happen overnight.”

She leaned back, stretched her arms a little like it was nothing. Just another answer. Just another press cycle. But Azzi turned her head. Looked right at her.

“That was a really good answer,” she said.

Not to the room. Not to the mic.

To Paige. Direct. Steady. Soft in the way that made Paige’s entire ribcage feel too small. Paige’s eyes flicked sideways. Her cheeks flushed, color blooming fast.

She stretched her arms again, suddenly a little restless, blinking like the lighting had changed.

“What?” she asked, not quite casual.

Azzi shrugged, still looking at her. “I said it was a good answer.”

They both snapped their attention back to the room, as if remembering they weren’t alone in it. But beside her, Nika shifted. Not much. Just a slight stiffening of posture, the kind of movement that meant she was holding back a smile so smug it could power a city.

Nika stared straight ahead, face neutral, but the smug was radiating.

Paige narrowed her eyes. “What?”

Nika tilted her head. “Nothing,” she said, far too quickly. “Just listening. Press conference, remember?”

Paige’s eyes darted to Azzi again but she was pretending to read her stat sheet like it held national secrets.

The next question rolled in, something about defensive matchups, but Paige could feel it. The heat still rising in her cheeks, the ghost of Azzi’s compliment still pressed into her skin.

When the conference finally wrapped and they stepped off the dais, Paige didn’t get more than three steps down the hallway before Nika spoke.

“You’re not subtle.”

Paige froze. “Excuse me?”

Nika didn’t even look at her. Just kept walking.

“You know you were making heart-eyes at her for half the press conference, right?”

“I was not,” Paige muttered, cheeks already warming.

Nika glanced sideways, all innocence. “Sure. And I’m not sitting directly between you like the world’s most underpaid chaperone.”

Paige groaned. “You’re making things up.”

“You blushed when she said your answer was good.”

“That’s not—”

“You stretched, Paige.” Paige clamped her mouth shut. Nika just laughed. “God, I can’t wait to get paid.”

Paige blinked. “Paid?”

“I’ve been in the betting pool since day one.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “A betting pool?”

Nika gave her a look. “Paige. I told you this last year. Well, I told you I wasn’t involved. But truth is, I practically started it.”

Paige groaned, already regretting this conversation. “You’re unbelievable.”

“No,” Nika said, grinning now. “You two are. I’ve been emotionally and financially invested in this mess since sophomore year. I deserve a bonus for emotional damages alone.”

Paige muttered something under her breath. Azzi was already waiting near the locker room door, trying very hard not to laugh. Nika leaned in as she passed, voice just low enough to sting a little:

“Took you long enough.”

Then she winked. And Paige—red-faced and heart full—didn’t even argue.

As they walked into the locker room, Nika threw her arms open and bowed like a queen returning from war.

“Pay up,” she announced, gaze sweeping the room. “Every single one of you.”

The chatter stopped. Every eye in the locker room flicked to Paige and Azzi. Not subtly. Not quickly.

Just…assessed. The space between them. The not-so-casual brush of Azzi’s shoulder against Paige’s. The way Paige didn’t even flinch when it happened, like it had already become a habit.  The room practically buzzed with the sound of realization.

Jana immediately groaned. “No. Absolutely not. I won.”

Nika snorted. “You said before the season, which—spoiler alert—is not what happened.”

“We’re still in preseason,” Jana countered, already standing, arms crossed like a lawyer preparing her closing argument. “So technically, I win.”

“Technically,” Caroline chimed in, “you tampered with the outcome by getting them to room together. That’s rigging the bracket.”

“I was accelerating fate,” Jana said.

“You were cheating,” Nika corrected. “You played God with the rooming chart. You’re disqualified.”

Jana lifted her chin. “Caroline did help me with my psych project!”

Caroline sighed. “I did. But still, rules are rules.”

“There were no rules,” Jana argued. “And if there were rules against…gently pushing them together, I would’ve been disqualified forever ago.”

Nika laughed. Loud, delighted. “Yeah, we know. Between ‘accidentally’ texting Paige from Azzi’s phone and rearranging the movie night seating chart so they’d end up next to each other—”

“That was a coincidence,” Jana cut in.

“You literally made us watch The Notebook,” Caroline said flatly.

“I was creating emotional vulnerability!”

Nika grinned. “You’ve been toeing the line for weeks. But rooming them together? You cleared it. That was a full-on sabotage play.”

Jana rolled her eyes. “I should at least get half.”

“You should get a moral penalty,” Caroline muttered.

In the middle of it all, Azzi paused, towel slung around her neck, brow furrowed.

“Wait,” she said slowly. “What?”

Silence.

She turned to Nika. “Paid for what?”

Nika blinked. “Oh.”

Jana looked at her. “She doesn’t know?”

“Guess not,” Nika said, not even a little apologetic. She smiled. “There’s been a...small betting pool.”

Azzi blinked. “A what.”

“On when you and Paige would finally get your shit together,” Caroline said, like it was obvious.

“Been going since sophomore year,” Nika added cheerfully. “Technically it closed when we all knew you were together last year. But then you broke up—or, like, emotionally imploded without telling anyone—so we reopened the pool. Odds were terrible a month ago but I held the damn line.”

Azzi looked around the room like she’d been dropped into an alternate universe. “You were betting on us?”

“I prefer to think of it as investing in emotional inevitability,” Nika said.

Azzi’s jaw dropped. “We were in turmoil.”

“And we appreciate your suffering,” Jana said, clapping her on the back. “Deeply.”

Azzi turned to Paige, scandalized. “Did you know about this?”

“Don’t look at me. I just found out in the hallway.”

Azzi opened her mouth, then shut it. And then, she laughed.

“You’re all insane.” 

“And you’re in love,” Nika said, already opening her phone. “Which means I’m rich.”

The room went quiet for a second, but then it hit Paige.

“Wait,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You all knew we were together last year?”

The entire locker room groaned in unison.

“Not like you’re subtle, P,” someone muttered.

“You used to wait for her after film,” Aaliyah said. “Like a golden retriever in basketball shorts.”

“You guys shared entire closets,” Caroline added. “You’d wear something one day and then Azzi would show up in it a few days later.”

“That’s just being proactive with fashion,” Paige argued.

Snorts followed. “Yeah, because you’re so known for sharing your NIL-funded closet with the rest of us.”

“I’m generous,” Paige muttered.

“Name one other person on this team who’s worn your coach jacket,” Nika said, raising a brow.

Paige opened her mouth. Closed it. Pointed at Azzi. “Technically, she wore it without asking.”

“Exactly,” Caroline said, triumphantly. “You didn’t even blink.”

“Because she’s Azzi,” Paige said, like that explained everything.

The room, once again, groaned. But this time, it sounded different. There was laughter, yes, but behind it, Paige could see it. The love in their eyes. The knowing. The relief.

She looked around and saw it clearly: They’d never been hiding. Not really. And keeping it a secret had been a waste of time. Because the people who mattered had always known. And worse…they’d been rooting for them.

Paige let out a quiet breath. Then glanced sideways, where Azzi was watching her with something soft behind her smile.

Nika shoved her before clearing her throat, “With that said, Venmo me or bring cash to the next practice. Thanks for playing.”

“Split pot,” Jana grumbled.

“No chance,” Nika replied, already texting. “Love and capitalism, baby.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

They didn’t say much on the way back. Not because there was nothing left to say, just because the silence finally felt like something they didn’t need to fill.

Azzi’s pinky brushed against Paige’s once, then stayed there. And Paige held on like it was permission.

It was late when they got to campus, the sky a kind of navy that made the world feel folded in. Paige lingered outside the door of Azzi’s dorm, keys in Azzi’s hand, like maybe it wasn’t real until they were inside.

“I can go back to mine,” Paige offered, not really meaning it.

Azzi turned to her. No hesitation.

“Or you could stay.”

The words landed soft.

Paige nodded, like her heart had already decided. “Yeah. Okay.”

They didn’t do anything important but being together was important enough. 

Azzi tossed her an old worn shirt. Paige’s favorite, secretly. And they grinned at each other as she tugged it on. They sat on the couch, sharing one blanket, and half watched a movie neither of them cared much about. 

Around 1:30 a.m., Azzi’s head dropped against Paige’s shoulder and stayed there.

Paige didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, maybe.

The credits were halfway through when Azzi finally stirred, blinking up at her with sleep in her eyes.

“You could’ve woke me up,” she murmured.

Paige shrugged, eyes still on the screen. “Was kind of enjoying it.”

Azzi laughed and stood, tugging Paige up by the hand without a word.

Later, tangled in sheets that smelled like laundry detergent and something distinctly Azzi, Paige lay there for a while, eyes on the ceiling, heart doing something that felt both too fast and too careful. And then, without looking at her, she asked:

“Do you think we missed it?”

Azzi didn’t move. Just listened.

“The timing,” Paige added, like she couldn’t bear to say it twice.

There was a beat. Then Azzi’s sighed.

“Maybe.” She shifted just enough for their arms to brush under the blanket. “But I think we found the version of us that lasts,” she said. “And I’d take that over the one that didn’t.”

Paige closed her eyes. Let that sit in the dark with them. Then she whispered, barely audible

“Don’t let me ruin it.”

Azzi didn’t laugh. Didn’t say you won’t.

She just reached under the covers, found Paige’s hand, and held it like that was the answer.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The knock came in the morning.

Not hesitant. Not aggressive. Just…certain. Like whoever it was already knew what they’d find on the other side.

Paige stirred first. Azzi’s shirt hung off her shoulder, boxers hanging from her hips, hair a tangle from sleep. She rubbed a hand over her face, still floating in that warm, soft quiet The kind that made her feel like the world had stopped just long enough for them to exist.

She opened the door without thinking.

Cam.

He laughed. Not loudly. Just once. Low. Bitter.

“Bueckers,” he said, like it tasted wrong in his mouth. “Of course.”

Paige tucked her hair behind her ears. “Good morning to you too.”

He didn’t smile. Just shook his head, eyes flicking down to the shirt she wore. Clearly Azzi’s. Then past her—to the two mugs on the table. One blanket on the couch. The faint sound of movement from the bedroom.

“I think I always knew,” he said, voice low but clean. Like he’d practiced it. “I just kept hoping she’d grow out of you.”

Paige’s jaw twitched, but she didn’t bite.

“I’m not a phase,” she said, finally.

Cam let out a dry laugh. “No. You’re a habit. A bad one she keeps calling back.”

Paige swallowed. “You should go.”

“You know what the worst part is?” Cam went on, like he’d been waiting to say this. “I watched her. Watched her watch you. Squirm when you were around. I could tell you hurt her. One way or another.”

He stepped forward a little. Not close enough to touch. Just enough to make her brace.

“And then she goes back to you.”

Paige's voice was flat. “She made a choice.”

He smiled without smiling. “She made a mess.”

There was a beat—long enough for the air between them to curdle. And this time, she saw it. The hurt. The fury. The part of him that wanted to say something worse, and the part that knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

Cam’s eyes narrowed.

“She used to flinch when your name came up.”

Paige hated that. Hated that he knew it.  Hated that she knew it was true. It hit somewhere specific…somewhere ugly. The part of her that burned too hot, too fast. The part that never liked Azzi’s name in anyone else’s mouth. Especially his. But she didn’t let it show. Didn’t blink.

She just raised an eyebrow. Deadpan.

“And now she wears my shirt to bed,” Paige said. “We all evolve.”

Cam’s jaw twitched.

“She’s going to regret this,” he said.

Paige just nodded. She knew he was pissed. Hurt. People say all kinds of things when their back’s against the wall. But for all her media training and carefully crafted answers, she didn’t really care.

She hated Cam. Unfairly, maybe. But fully. So she shrugged, casual.

“It kind of sounds like you’re just trying to convince yourself, Cam.”

She didn’t give him time to respond. Just shut the door gently in hopes to not wake Azzi. Exhaling, she leaned her head against the door, trying to slow her heart. 

“Baby?” Azzi’s voice floated down the hall, groggy and warm.

Paige smiled and any tension still clinging to her spine unraveling with that one word.

“Coming, Az,” she called back, her voice gentler now.

She turned away from the door. From Cam. From all of it. And walked toward the only thing that felt like peace.

[bucketsorbueckers-deactivated20]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 9

Paige X Azzi

warning: some homophobia, cam!, language, nods to adultish content sorta

A/N: if you thought you hated cam yesterday, just wait till you read this! lmao ok this story is winding down. but no worries. we've got more cooking. toxic WNBA fic loading. love yallll <3

Azzi’s POV

Azzi crossed, then uncrossed her legs beneath the booth. The one tucked into the far corner of the student center—the kind you only noticed if you were looking.

She’d picked it on purpose. Sent the text. And waited.

But now it was past time. Eleven minutes, exactly. Not that she was counting, except she was.

Her phone stayed face-up beside her, untouched and unbearably empty. The seconds dragged. Her knee bounced. Her irritation simmered, slow and low.

She had practice in a few hours and had been hoping to squeeze in a nap before getting her ass kicked. She scanned the room again. Still nothing.

With a sigh that felt more like surrender, Azzi opened the message thread and tapped her fingers against the screen sharply. 

are we still meeting?

A beat. A breath. A heartbeat too long.

yeah. walking up now.

She stared at the reply. No apology. No explanation. Just that.

Azzi clenched her jaw and flipped her phone face-down on the table. Too late now. She was already here. She blew out a breath and tried to calm herself down. 

Right then, the door swung open.

Her head snapped up. And her heart stumbled in her chest. But not in a good way. In an anxious, terrible way that always happened before she let someone down. 

Cam stopped in the doorway, eyes landing. She could physically feel the weight of his gaze. 

For a second, neither of them moved. He just stared, like maybe he didn’t expect her to actually show. Then he exhaled. Long. Measured. Almost bracing. And walked toward her.

He slid into the booth across from her, propping his elbows on the table. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied, flat.

Azzi chewed on the inside of her cheek, already feeling the distance stretch between them. She knew where this conversation was going. She just didn’t know how to get there without drawing blood.

“How have you been?”

Cam shook his head, sharp and immediate. “How do you think, Azzi?”

She swallowed. Her knee started to bounce under the table.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know I haven’t really been around.”

He laughed. Bitter. Cold. Like he’d been saving it.

“Yeah. I bet you’re really fucking sorry,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Must be hard to remember I exists when you’re fucking Bueckers.”

Azzi physically flinched. Eyes blowing wide. She knew Cam was upset but didn’t expect such vitriol. It took her a few seconds to reorient herself. 

“Cam. I -”

“Does it make you feel special?” He pressed. “That Paige Bueckers picked you?”

She knew it wouldn’t go over smoothly. But this? This was nuclear. Cam leaned in, voice quieter now. Meaner.

“Can’t wait to see what happens when she gets bored,” he said.  “When the shine wears off and she realizes you were just something easy. Something temporary. She’s got the whole world, Azzi. And you think she’s gonna stay small for you?”

Azzi didn’t mean to let it get to her. Didn’t mean to show anything. But it was like Cam knew exactly where to hit—those soft, still-raw parts of her. The old insecurity. The part of her that still wasn’t sure she’d ever be enough.

She bit down on her bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. Two escaped anyway. Cam saw. Of course he did.

“How long?” he asked, voice flat. “How long have you been in love with her?”

Azzi stared at the table. Quiet. Honest.

“Since I was a kid,” she said.

Cam laughed. Low. Cruel. Like it amused him how easy it was to pull her apart.

“Of course you have,” he said. “I used to watch you watch her, you know. Thought it was harmless.”

He leaned back, stretching like the knife in his words wasn’t intentional.

“And then—guess how fucking stupid I felt when she opened your dorm door the day I came to talk?” he went on. “Wearing your shirt. With that smug little look like she knew. Like she was proud of it. Of having you. Just because I wanted you.”

“Paige isn’t like that,” Azzi muttered, swiping at another tear.

Cam rolled his eyes. “You haven’t heard the shit people say on this campus. Because according to them? She’s exactly like that.”

Azzi shook her head, the first flicker of heat curling back into her chest. The tears didn’t dry, but the ache in her gut was quickly turning into something sharper.

It was one thing to talk down to her. But it was another thing entirely to talk about Paige like that. Her Paige—with the gentlest heart, the steadiest hands. The girl who tried so hard to carry everyone else’s weight that she forgot to ask for help with her own.

“You don’t know her,” Azzi said, louder now. “And neither does most of this school, though they love pretending they do.”

She paused, chest rising and falling. That familiar burn rising in her throat but this time, it wasn’t grief. It was rage. It was clarity.

Because Cam didn’t know. He’d never known.

He didn’t know what it meant to love someone like Paige Bueckers. To watch her carry a thousand expectations like they were stitched into her skin. To see her wake up early just to make sure everyone else had what they needed. To hear the way people talked about her when they thought she wasn’t listening—how fast they flipped between praise and poison.

He didn’t know what it was like to see someone that gentle get torn apart by a world that never stopped asking for more.

But Azzi did.

And she had always wanted to protect Paige. Even before she knew what the feeling was. She would’ve handed over her own breath if it meant making Paige’s life easier. Would’ve put herself between Paige and the entire world, if she thought it would matter.

But she couldn’t stop the noise. And she couldn’t make people like Cam disappear.

What she could do was stop pretending she didn’t know how to fight back.

“She’s a good person. A good person. Who just happens to be extraordinary at things. You don’t get to make her the villain because the world chose her,” Azzi Fudd wasn’t known for being cruel. She was the even one. The steady one. The peacekeeper. But when it came to Paige—when it came to this—maybe she didn’t have to be. So she mirrored Cam’s grin. Sharp. Icy. Unapologetic. “Because I chose her and not you.”

Azzi watched it land. Watched his face twist up. Bitter, bruised, small. And for once, she felt nothing. No guilt. No urge to soften it. No apology rising in her throat. Just a steady, quiet kind of rightness humming in her chest.

Cam scoffed, voice scraping the air between them.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” he said. “Paige’s dirty little secret.”

Azzi froze for a second. Nails digging into her thighs. She forced her jaw to unclench. To look Cam in the eyes. 

“Nothing’s a secret with Paige,” She muttered. “We’re just private.”

"Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, Az." Cam rolled his eyes, “Funny thing about privacy though. In the blink of an eye, it can just go poof.”

He pushed up from the table, turning to look at Azzi one more time. 

“Would be a shame if someone did you wrong. Paige Bueckers really is a household name,” He said. “No telling how quickly things could get twisted.”

And then, he shrugged, leaving her at the table. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Azzi was on the edge—of a panic attack, of punching a street pole, of bursting into tears in the middle of campus.

She sat on the curb outside the student center, hood up, elbows on her knees, fingers threaded together like maybe if she held herself tight enough, she wouldn’t fly apart.

She wasn’t crying. Not yet. But her vision was swimming, and her breath was doing that stupid catch in her chest like it didn’t want to cooperate. Like even her body was mad at her.

The thing was, she’d just wanted to protect Paige. To say the thing Paige never got to say out loud. To stand in front of her, just once, and take the hit instead.

But she hadn’t taken the hit.  She’d invited it.

And now it wasn’t just about her anymore.

It was about Paige’s name. Her reputation. Her career. The thousand tiny ways the world chipped away at her already—and Azzi had handed them another blade.

She tugged on the sleeve of her hoodie until the fabric twisted in her palm.

She couldn’t tell Paige. Not yet. Not when Paige had been so happy just this morning. Not when she’d said: “It’s nice having something that’s just mine.”

Azzi felt sick.

She didn’t want to be the reason Paige lost the one piece of herself the world hadn’t gotten its hands on yet. So she sat there.

For ten minutes. Then twenty. Then long enough that her legs started to fall asleep.

She replayed the conversation with Cam over and over. She typed out a dozen different texts. Some sharp. Some desperate. Some that said please don’t and others that said try me.

But she deleted every single one.

She’d already made a mess. There was no use handing him proof. No screenshots, no words he could twist when someone eventually asked him to back it up.  Because they would. Of course they would.

Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they’d just circle, teeth bared, waiting for the next excuse to tear Paige apart.

But still, she wondered if he’d already saved something. Some old photo. A text. A time-stamped moment that looked just incriminating enough if you squinted hard and stripped it of all its context. The thought alone made her stomach lurch.

Because the fear wasn’t about being gay. It never was. It was about being Paige’s weak spot. And everyone knowing it..

Because once it was out there, they…The media, the fans, the ones who loved her when she won and turned on her when she didn’t would use it. They’d say Paige had lost focus. That she was distracted. That she was spending too much time tangled up in Azzi Fudd instead of locked in on the court.

They were teammates, and that would be the story.

Azzi had seen it before. Heard it whispered about other players. Love weaponized to the point of ruining things.

And then there’d be the others. The louder ones. The ones hiding behind burner accounts and comment sections.  Saying all the ugly things people say when they think they’re anonymous. When they think you’re not human.

Some people were just hateful.  And Paige Bueckers—who led with kindness, who carried her spotlight like a burden and still held her hands out anyway—was exactly the kind of target they loved.

Because the world didn’t know what to do with a girl like her. So it would try to break her. Softly at first. Then all at once.

She groaned. This was supposed to be her protecting Paige. Instead, she might’ve handed someone the exact weapon they’d been looking for.

And the worst part? She didn’t even know if the blade was coming. Just that it could. And somehow, waiting for it was more panic inducing than anything else.

Her phone buzzed at her side and she flinched, full-body. She fumbled it out of her bag, breath caught in her throat, then let it out hard when she saw the name.

Caroline: are you okay?

Azzi frowned. Had something already happened? Another text came through.

Caroline: do you often find yourself hanging out on curbs in front of the student center? or is that a new habit? 

And then:

Caroline: just gauging how worried i should be.

Azzi looked up and saw her.

Caroline, standing across the walkway with her arms crossed and her face pulled into something careful Concerned, as always, but softer this time. Like she knew to tread lightly.

She raised a hand in a slow wave. Waited. Azzi didn’t move. So Caroline approached like Azzi was a spooked animal. Cautious. Slow.

When she crouched in front of her, it only took one look—one real look—for her to nod.

“Come on.”

No questions. Just that.

Caroline pulled her up without fanfare and they walked, shoulder to shoulder, back to her dorm. Nothing loud. Nothing sharp. Just the sound of their footsteps on the pavement and the hush of a friendship built on showing up.

And when the door closed behind them, Azzi sat on the edge of Caroline’s bed and told her everything. When Azzi finished talking, she stared at her hands. Like maybe if she looked up, everything would be different. Less heavy.

Caroline was quiet for a moment. Then she exhaled through her nose, sat back against the wall, and said:

“I love you. You know that, right?”

Azzi nodded, still not looking at her.

“So I’m gonna say this with love. But also you need to listen to me.”

Azzi glanced up, bracing.

“You have to tell Paige.”

The words landed like a second heartbeat in the room.

Caroline didn’t stop. “You don’t get to be in this—really in this—and shut her out the second it gets hard. That’s not how it works.”

Azzi opened her mouth, but Caroline lifted a hand.

“No. I know you’re scared. I know you’re trying to protect her. But trust is part of that too, Az. You don’t just get to pick the parts of her you want to carry.”

Azzi flinched, barely. But Caroline saw it.

“You’ve been best friends since you were kids,” she said, softer now. “You owe her more than this short-sighted, self-sacrificial spiral. Paige would burn the world down for you, and you’re out here deciding things for her like she doesn’t get a vote.”

Silence. Then, after a beat:

“If this is going to really work you have to let her be scared with you. Or it’s not real.”

Azzi bit down on her lip. Caroline’s voice gentled even more.

“Tell her, Az. She deserves that. You deserve that.”

Azzi knew she was right.  Knew that this was part of it…part of the hard they’d brushed past in whispers, in moments when things were still soft enough to ignore.

But this was it, wasn’t it?

This was the part where love didn’t just mean holding each other when it was easy. It meant choosing to stay in the mess. Letting yourself be seen in the panic. It meant letting Paige be in it with her, even if that meant watching her face fall. Even if it cracked something open that might be hard to close again.

She wasn’t protecting Paige by hiding. She was just…hiding. And maybe that had made sense before. But it didn’t anymore.

Azzi finally sighed and nodded. Caroline didn’t say told you so. She just reached over and squeezed her hand.

“Anyway,” she said, casually, like they hadn’t just talked through a complete emotional unraveling, “if there’s anyone who can handle this, it’s Paige. Friends in high places and such.”

That pulled the smallest smile from Azzi. Tired, but real.

“She does have a terrifyingly efficient team,” she mumbled.

Caroline smirked. “Exactly. By the time you tell her, she’ll probably have already handled it.”

Azzi squeezed her hand back before letting go and collapsing backward onto Caroline’s bed. The ceiling spun just a little. Or maybe that was just the leftover adrenaline finally burning off.

“Thanks, Caro,” she said, eyes closing.

“For what?”

“For… all of it.”

Caroline shrugged. “Please. It’s literally my job as your favorite best friend.”

Azzi let out a quiet laugh. Thankful for people who were smarter than her. 

Paige’s POV

Paige was in the gym, chasing silence the only way she knew how.

Shot after shot. Around the horn. Reps until her shoulders burned and her vision blurred with sweat.

The more shots she took, the better she’d be. That was the deal, right? More work, more control. So she stayed in motion—kept the ball moving, the net snapping, the echo of each make loud enough to drown out everything else.

She was locked in. Right now, it was just her and the game. The rhythm. The feel. The fix.

Nothing was technically wrong. She just wanted to be better.

There’d been a few miscues in the last game. Sloppy reads, rushed decisions. Little things. Things people maybe wouldn’t even notice. But Paige did.

And if she worked hard enough, long enough, she figured she’d beat the bad habits out of herself one way or another.

“Don’t you ever want to just…take a nap?”

The voice echoed across the gym, loud enough to cut through the sound of the ball snapping through the net.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Sleep is for the offseason.”

She turned to see Nika standing at half court, hands on her hips, grinning.

“Can sleep when we win a national championship,” Paige added, snagging the rebound.

Nika chuckled, the sound warm, familiar. “Won’t hear me complain.”

She jogged over to the bench and started lacing up her shoes.

“Hey, P?”

“Mm?” Paige said, eyes still on the rim as she rose for another shot.

“How bad of a sign is it if Azzi’s texted you six times in the last hour?”

The ball hit the rim—clanged once, rolled, and dropped through. Paige froze. Just for a second. 

“She what?”

“Six texts. Azzi Fudd.” Nika flashed her phone. “Aw, do I also have emojis by my name? Or is that girlfriend only privilege?”

Paige half-sprinted over and snatched the phone from her, scanning the notifications like they might rearrange themselves into something less urgent.

Azzi wasn’t a frequent texter. And she definitely wasn’t a six-texts-while-you’re-at-the-gym kind of texter.

Something was wrong. Paige could feel it in her chest.

Azzi💎[1:41 PM]: hey. when you’re done, can we talk?

Azzi💎[1:45 PM]: no rush of course

Azzi💎[1:47 PM]: i’m fine. promise. just anxious

Azzi💎 [1:53 PM]: sorry. don’t mean to dump it on you

Azzi💎[1:57 PM]: i didn’t tell you earlier because i didn’t want to ruin your day. or your shootaround. idk i probably should’ve told you 

Azzi Fudd💎[2:01 PM]: it’s about cam.

Paige stared at the screen. For a second, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Then she grabbed her water bottle, her keys, and started toward the door.

Nika barely had time to ask, “Everything okay?”

Paige’s voice was tight, steady, already halfway gone:

“Gotta go.”

Paige barely remembered the walk over. Just the echo of her own footsteps and the way her heart felt like it was pacing ahead of her. When she reached Azzi’s dorm, she knocked once and the door swung open almost immediately.

Caroline.

Her eyes widened for a second, but she didn’t ask anything. Didn’t need to. She just stepped aside.

“She’s in her room,” Caroline said. “Hasn’t really moved.”

Paige gave her a small nod, barely a sound of thanks, and stepped past her without pausing. Her sneakers whispered against the floor as she moved down the hallway.

And then, Azzi’s door.

Paige didn’t knock this time. Just opened it slowly, quietly, like she was afraid of startling something fragile.

“Az?”

Azzi didn’t look up.

She was curled into herself on the bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, legs tucked tight to her chest like she was trying to take up less space than usual. Her eyes were on the floor. Or maybe nowhere at all.

Paige crossed the room slowly, like if she moved too fast, Azzi might vanish. When she reached the bed, she didn’t say anything. Just sank down beside her and placed a hand on her back. Gentle. Solid. There.

Azzi didn’t move. So Paige leaned forward.

“Az… what’s going on?”

For a second, she thought she wouldn’t answer.

But then Azzi turned, slowly, and tucked her face into Paige’s hoodie like it was the only place left she trusted. Paige wrapped her arms around her without hesitation, without question, and pulled her in close.

Several seconds passed. The kind that stretch.

And then, finally, Azzi’s voice, so small Paige almost missed it:

“I fucked up.”

Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t loosen her grip. 

Just pressed her lips to Azzi’s temple and whispered, “I’m sure you didn’t.”

But Azzi nodded against her chest, breath hitching.

“I did.” A beat. “I met with Cam.”

And for a beat, Paige went still. Not from fear.  Not even from the threat that was coming next. But from jealousy. The kind that was immediate and instinctual. The kind she didn’t want to feel but did anyway.

It hit in the ribs—sharp and stupid.

You went to him. You didn’t tell me. Why didn’t you tell me?

Still, when she looked at Azzi, it crumbled. Because it wasn’t about her.  Not right now. Not about her petty feelings or ancient insecurities or whatever awful, selfish thing had just risen to the surface.

It was about Azzi.

So Paige swallowed the jealousy. Buried it. Told it to wait its damn turn.And she reached for Azzi’s hand. Quiet. Steady. Honest.

“Okay,” she said, voice low. “Tell me what happened.”

Azzi’s eyes dropped to their joined hands. She stared at their fingers, like maybe they held the words she couldn’t find yet. Then she exhaled. Long and shaky.

“I thought I could handle it,” she said finally. “I just…I wanted to close the loop. End it clean. He kept texting and I didn’t want it hanging over us anymore, so I told him I’d meet.”

She paused, like she was bracing for impact. Paige didn’t flinch. Azzi kept going, the words picking up speed.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry-” she cut herself off, shook her head. “It wasn’t about him. It was about me. Us. And I was trying to prove that I could handle it. That I could be brave about something without needing you to fix it.”

Her throat tightened.

“But I said too much,” she whispered. “I let him get under my skin. I provoked him, and then he…”She swallowed hard. “He threatened to out us. Said some shit about how easily privacy can just… disappear. Like it’s nothing.”

Her voice cracked.

“I thought I was protecting you. But I think I made it worse. And I know you trust me to show up for you, and I—I didn’t. Not the way I should’ve.”

Paige was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that came from shock. Not disappointment, either. Just… processing. She stared at Azzi for a long moment. And Azzi, suddenly unsure, started to pull her hands back. But Paige didn’t let her. She held on.

“I don’t care about Cam,” she said softly. “I mean—I do, and I’m pissed, but—” She broke off. Exhaled. Tried again. “That’s not what I care about right now.”

Her thumb brushed across the back of Azzi’s hand.

“What I care about is this,” she said. “You. Me. Us.”

Azzi blinked. Her lips parted like she might speak, but nothing came out.

“I’m not mad at you,” Paige said, finally. “I hate that you felt like you had to do it alone. I hate that he made you feel small. But more than anything, I hate that you thought this—” she motioned between them, “—was something that could break.”

Azzi’s breath caught.

“This isn’t breakable, Az,” Paige said, softer now. “Not from this. Not from a moment of fear or a conversation gone wrong.”

She leaned in, forehead nearly brushing Azzi’s.

“You don’t gotta be perfect to be with me. You just have to be with me.”

She leaned forward. Forehead nearly touching Azzi’s.

“Do you understand that? I’m not going anywhere.”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut. Like hearing it hurt a little. Like maybe it was the first time she fully believed it. Paige stayed there, breath soft against her cheek, holding the space open between them. But her brain was turning over the conversation. The threat. 

The conversation. The threat. Cam’s voice, echoing secondhand in her head. Privacy doesn’t last forever.

She didn’t let herself tense. Not with Azzi this close. But beneath the calm, something sharp had begun to settle. Because now she wasn’t just thinking about what had happened. She was thinking about what came next.

What Cam might say. What others might run with. How fast the story could spread if it got in the wrong hands. But none of that was Azzi’s to carry, not anymore. Paige would make sure of it.

Later. She’d handle it all later.

Right now, Azzi was still in her arms. Still here. Still hers. So Paige kissed her temple. Light. Certain. And said nothing. Not yet.

Azzi fell asleep curled into her side, one arm slung across Paige’s waist, breath steady against her collarbone.

Paige didn’t move. Every instinct in her body wanted to stretch. To roll her neck. To pull out her phone and start fixing things. But she didn’t.

She stayed. Because this mattered more.

Because the way Azzi had melted into her felt like something sacred. Like trust, finally handed over. Like love curled in the shape of a girl’s sleep-heavy grip.

So, Paige just tugged her a bit closer, like she couldn’t stand even an inch of space between them. She pressed a kiss to Azzi’s shoulder. Then another. Just because she could.

God, she was so in love with her.  It made everything else feel quieter. Smaller. Easier to breathe around.

Paige closed her eyes and smiled into the back of Azzi’s neck.

This—this was the part she’d never get over.  The sweetness of being next to her.  The miracle of being allowed to stay.

So she did just that. Stayed. Her body curled around Azzi’s, her thoughts somewhere half-alive. She stared at the ceiling and counted her breaths. Let time pass in slow, patient inches. Watched the light shift across the walls, just enough to remind her the world was still turning.

An hour passed before Azzi stirred.

Her fingers twitched first, brushing against Paige’s ribs. Then a soft hum, her forehead nudging instinctively closer. Paige looked down, smiling. 

“Hey.”

Azzi blinked slowly. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Hard,” Paige murmured, smiling. “You snored a little. Very flattering.”

Azzi groaned and buried her face in Paige’s side again. They stayed like that for a few minutes. Wrapped in warmth, in the illusion that the outside world hadn’t already begun knocking. But Paige could feel it. The peace cracking around the edges. 

Azzi shifted. Cleared her throat. And finally said, “So. What are we going to do?”

Paige had been expecting it. She’d been thinking about it the entire time Azzi had been asleep…spinning every possibility in her head like a half-court play. And she’d made her decision almost immediately.

She didn’t want this to be Azzi’s burden to carry. Not because she didn’t trust her. But because Paige knew how to take the hit. Knew how to balance pressure and privacy like it was part of the game. She was built for this.

So she smirked. Didn’t sit up. Didn’t change her tone. Just leaned over and pressed a sloppy kiss to Azzi’s cheek.

“Don’t stress about that, baby,” she said, casually.  “I’ll handle it.”

Azzi looked up, her eyes searching. “How?”

Paige just smiled. Brushed a thumb under her eye, gentle as ever. 

“I’ve got connections,” she said. “People who don’t ask questions. People who know how to keep things quiet.”

A pause. Then, even softer:

“Let me carry this one.” 

Azzi blinked, jaw tight like she wanted to argue. But she didn’t. She just nodded. And sank back into her side.

A few seconds passed before Paige asked the question that had been quietly gnawing at her.

“What did you even say to rile him up that much?”

Azzi’s cheeks flushed pink immediately. She groaned, burying her face in her hands. But eventually, she mumbled it out, face still hidden, voice muffled. And when she finished, Paige threw her head back laughing. The sound cracked through the air, bouncing off the walls around them.

“Damn,” she said, grinning wide. “Didn’t know I had a dog in my corner. Might start bringing you to interviews—let you handle the reporters who get too cute.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she smiled. Quiet and slow, like it was just starting to feel safe again. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy.  Just… honest.

Paige cleared her throat.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing, by the way.”

Azzi glanced over, curious. “What wouldn’t?”

“If the world knew about us,” Paige muttered. Still not looking at her. “I mean—I’m not embarrassed. Of you. Of us.” A shrug. Too casual. Like maybe if she didn’t look at Azzi, it wouldn’t feel like a confession. “Just figured you should know.”

It wasn’t a big speech. It didn’t need to be. Azzi heard it. All of it.And Paige saw the shift. Saw how much it meant to her.  How badly she’d needed to hear it out loud.

Azzi bumped her shoulder against Paige’s.

“You’re such a loser,” she said, soft and smiling.

Paige just grinned. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

When she left Azzi’s, Paige shifted.

Because while she was gentle with Azzi, she wasn’t with anything else. Not in her nature. Especially not now.

The truth was, she didn’t really care if she got outed.

Would it be ideal? No. Not with the season about to start. But people already assumed. People had always assumed.

What mattered more was Azzi. Protecting her from the inevitable noise. The think pieces, the whispers, the careless reposts and comment sections that always managed to cut deeper than they should. And for that reason alone, Paige would tap every connection she had.

NIL reps. Media liaisons. PR friends in high places.

She’d pull every string. Press every silent button.

Because if Cam wanted to test her?

He was about to learn exactly what it meant to come for the one thing Paige Bueckers still considered hers.

She pulled out her phone. 

Group Chat: "Team P"

Paige: need a favor

Paige: someone’s threatening to leak something personal

Paige: want it handled quietly

Paige: preemptively, if possible

She tucked her phone away and kept walking. It didn’t take long to get a response. 

Team: Send a debrief. We’ll handle it. Team: UConn student?

Paige licked her lips, typed:

Paige: UConn athlete.

A typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Came back.

Team: Oh. Easier than I thought. Team: Send the brief. We’ll handle it.

Paige typed out everything they needed to know—quick, clean, no fluff.  No unnecessary details. No names. Except Cam’s. Because of course his dumbass name made the cut. And then she hit send. 

She trusted her team. Knew they’d handle it. So she tossed her phone in her bag and headed back to the gym.

Still, there was a buzz under her skin, restless and hot. Part of her wanted to get her own lick in. To find Cam and ruin him. With words. With facts. With that smile she reserved for her only her worst moments. 

But she knew better. Knew her temper was better held. Because sometimes, a well-timed email spoke louder than anything sharp she could sling across a table.

After practice, she checked her phone. No surprise. The email was waiting. CC’d, just like she’d asked. It hit at 4:42 p.m. Barely an hour after she’d rung the alarm.

She opened it without blinking.

Subject: Student Conduct Concern – Privacy Threat to Student-Athlete

Hey Sheryll,

Reaching out on behalf of Paige Bueckers regarding a private issue involving another student-athlete at UConn.

There’s been a verbal threat to disclose personal information related to her relationship with another athlete, made in a way that could violate student conduct and NIL compliance policies.

We’re not seeking a formal report at this time, but we would appreciate the university addressing it directly and quietly. Paige would prefer to avoid escalation, and we trust your office can handle this discreetly.

Have attached Paige’s brief. If you need further context or documentation, we’re happy to provide it.

Thank you,

Lindsay Kagawa Colas

Wasserman

PR/Representation for Paige Bueckers

Paige read the email once. Then closed the app. The devil might work fast. But a well-paid PR team team worked faster.

Beside her, Azzi watched carefully.

“You think I’m pretty or something?” Paige asked, without looking up.

Azzi rolled her eyes but leaned in anyway.  “What’s going on?”

Paige shrugged, slinging her bag over one shoulder. “All’s handled.”

Azzi’s brows lifted, suspicious. “How so?”

Paige smirked, lips tugging sideways.  “Don’t worry about it.”

She’d tell her eventually. But God, she loved a moment to be cocky. Especially with Azzi. Especially when it was earned.

Azzi narrowed her eyes, bit down on her lip, and bumped their shoulders together.

“Show-off.”

Paige grinned. “Only for you,” she muttered. “Obviously.”

Azzi’s POV 

Azzi loved a post-win Ted’s trip.

Nothing but sweats, sneakers, and Paige’s hand tangled in hers as she tugged her toward the metal roof of the only place still open in Storrs.

The game had gone about as perfectly as a game could go. So perfect, in fact, that even Geno had barely found something to nitpick. A miracle. A high. The kind of night that made you feel like maybe the whole season would go like this.

Paige followed willingly, hood up, cheeks still a little pink from the win. Azzi didn’t let go of her hand once.

When they walked in, Paige tugged Azzi toward the back and said, “Go grab the booth. I’ve got this. Lead scorer of the night deserves VIP treatment.”

Then, before Azzi could argue, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her neck. Quick, casual, completely lethal.

Azzi let out a half-laugh, half-gasp, already unraveling.

 “Unfair,” she mumbled, grinning like an idiot.

But she did as she was told. Collapsed into the booth in the far corner, still flushed from the game and now very possibly more flushed from Paige.

She propped her chin on her hand, eyes already tracking her girl across the room. Messy bun, hoodie half-tucked, ordering like she owned the place.

She was still watching Paige—laughing with the bartender, her whole face lit up—when someone stepped between them, blocking her view.

Azzi looked up.

Cam. Drunk Cam. He swayed slightly as he tilted his head, eyes dragging over her like she was an exhibit he’d already seen too many times.

“Congrats on the win,” he said.

Azzi offered a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks.”

He cleared his throat. Took a long sip of whatever was in his glass.

“Got an interesting email a few days ago,” he said. “Seems like Bueckers got the impression I was planning to muddy up her name.” A beat. “Wonder where she got that idea.”

Azzi dragged her eyes up, finally meeting his. They were glassy from the alcohol. And from something else. Something bitter and bruised and maybe always there.

“Probably from me,” she said evenly.  “Since you threatened me. In the student center. To do exactly that.”

Cam shook his head, laughing under his breath. The sound was bitter. Familiar.

“That was a conversation, Azzi. Not a threat,” he said, like she was the one being dramatic. “I was just pointing out how interesting it would be. If it happened.”

He took another sip. Looked over his shoulder—toward the bar. Azzi followed his gaze. Paige had noticed. She was still smiling, still talking, but her eyes were locked on them. Alert. Ready. Waiting for the signal. Cam turned back.

“Looks like you took it a little personal,” he said, smirk creeping back into his voice. “Makes you wonder though.” He nodded toward the bar. “All those strings pulled. All that heat. Just to keep you a secret.”

Something about that made Azzi laugh. Not bitter. Not wounded. Just...tired. And maybe a little stronger than she used to be.

Because once, that line might’ve split her clean through. But now she knew the difference. She wasn’t Paige’s secret. Not in the ways that ever made her doubt it.

So she laughed.

“Good try,” she said, tipping her head.

Cam arched a brow. “What? She sent a full legal team to make sure I didn’t so much as whisper your name in the same sentence as hers.”

Azzi shrugged, unbothered. “My name’s in the same sentence as hers all the time, Cam. That’s not exactly new.”

Cam leaned in, eyes mean and glassy. “Yeah,” he said, low and cutting. “But usually it’s not about fucking you.”

Two cups hit the table with a thud. Cam jumped. And turned. To find Paige standing there.

“Cam,” she said with an unfriendly grin. “Always showing up where you’re uninvited. A real talent.”

He rolled his eyes, but Azzi saw it. The twitch in his jaw, the swallow he tried to hide.

“Bueckers,” he muttered. “Got real intimate with your legal team recently.”

Paige nodded once. “Yeah. So I heard.”

She took her seat beside Azzi, tugging her into her side. Arm slung around her shoulders. Not possessive really, just proud. So, Azzi leaned into her. Braided their fingers together with a hum of satisfaction. 

“Weird thing to sick your paid associates the second the word might get out that Azzi’s your girlfriend.”

Paige took a long sip, rolling her neck. 

“Well, I’m glad you at least know she’s mine,” Paige said, tilting her head.

That landed.

“Yeah, Bueckers. Sure,” he said, voice dropping, bitter in that familiar, jealous way. “Until she remembers what it’s like to be with someone who can actually give her what she wants. You know. In ways—” his eyes dragged over them, slow and smug—“you physically can’t.”

Azzi didn’t need to ask what he meant. She knew. They both did. But before Paige could say a word, Azzi laughed, sharp and cold and completely unimpressed.

“She can’t, huh?” Azzi smiled, slow and tired. “News to me.”

Paige smirked at that, licking her lips like she was trying not to smile. Then, she looked past him.

“Oh,” she said lightly. “Cam, looks like we got an audience.”

He turned.

A small group of his teammates stood near the bar. Manny among them. Their faces were tight. Eyes narrowed. One of them crossed his arms.

“Yo,” Manny said, stepping forward. “The fuck are you doing, man?”

Cam blinked. “What?”

“We came over to say thanks,” another guy muttered. “Paige sent us shots. That was solid.”

“But then we hear you running your mouth? Harassing them?” Manny cut in. His jaw tightened. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“You drunk?” someone else asked. “Or just showing your whole ass on purpose?”

Cam’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked cornered. Caught.

Paige didn’t say a word. Just rested her arm on the back of the booth like she was watching a show she’d already seen the ending to. And as Azzi studied her—cool, unbothered, lips twitching like this was exactly the outcome she’d hoped for—realization bloomed.

The drinks sent to his teammates. How long it took her to come back to the table. All of it.

Azzi snorted and immediately buried her face in Paige’s neck, trying to hide the laugh that nearly cracked her open. Paige tilted her head slightly, like she felt it too.

“Get the fuck away from them,” Manny said, finally. Voice low. Firm.  “Go home. Sober up. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”

Cam turned, looking back like he wanted to plead, explain, twist the story into something else. But Paige, in all her quiet, relentless glory, gave him a two-finger salute.

“Have a good night, Cam,” she said. Almost sweet.

He stormed out.

The guys lingered, awkward, clearly thrown.

“Hey—um, we’re really sorry,” one of them said, eyes flicking between them. “I don’t know what he was trying to do, but…yeah. That wasn’t it.”

Paige nodded once. Easy. “You’re good,” she said. “No need to let one guy ruin a perfectly decent night. Enjoy the shots.”

“Thanks Bueckers,” They muttered before walking away. 

Paige blew out a breath. 

“Shit baby. What did you do to that guy to have him so damn obsessed?”

Azzi’s face flushed. “Honestly? Nothing.” Her voice was quieter now. She and Paige hadn’t really unpacked the whole Cam thing yet, but she wanted to. Not right now though. In public. “We hung out a few times… not even just us. Never one-on-one. I—”

Paige kissed her. Quick. Certain. Like she could read Azzi's mind. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for attention but might’ve gotten it anyway.

Azzi didn’t really care.

“I’m kidding,” Paige said. “I’d be that down bad too if I had a chance with you and lost it.”

“Yeah, well,” Azzi muttered against her skin. “Nothing you have to worry about.”

Paige bit back a grin. “No? Should I remind you he’s wrong about what I can’t do? Just to be sure?”

Azzi flushed, her whole body catching fire as Paige’s hand gripped her thigh a little tighter.

“If it’ll help your ego.”

That earned her a low laugh. Paige leaned in, lips grazing warm skin.

“Bet.”