CHAPTER TWELVE ━━ With Love, From Croatia
𖥔 ݁˖ ━ warnings: smut (oral, face sitting, fingering)
𖥔 ݁˖ ━ links: my masterlist, where’s my love masterlist, ao3 link
𖥔 ݁˖ ━ author’s note: hi last chapter of 2025 how we feeling
CROATIA IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL.
Azzi thinks that first, standing near the water with the sun warming her shoulders, the air thick with salt and something almost floral. It's all old stone and blue water and narrow streets that look like they've been there forever, like they'll still be standing long after she leaves. Beauty that doesn't need to try. Everything feels steeped in history, in continuity, in a sense of before that makes her ache a little, but in a way she's also learned not to flinch from anymore.
She isn't sure she's ever been to a prettier place.
It's so European it almost feels like a caricature—balconies spilling over with flowers, cafes packed tight with people talking over each other in languages she can't understand, the sun hanging low and golden. It's nearly perfect, in a lived-in way rather than curated. Warm and inviting, mostly.
They're here as a team, end-of-summer August trip before the grind of the season really locks in. They're scheduled for a couple games against the Croatian national team, as well as some touristy stuff mixed in so it doesn't feel like all work, letting Nika show them around like a proud host because this is her home and she wants them to see it. Italy is next, just a few days from now, and Azzi keeps forgetting that this isn't the only place she gets to love on this trip.
But right now, Croatia is more than enough.
Because she just feels so... settled, here.
Her family is here, which almost doesn't feel real whenever she sees them woven into the chaos of her teammates. Her parents walking a few steps behind the group, her mom taking photos of everything like she's automatically forget what it all looks like if she doesn't have digital proof. Jon and Jose bouncing between the girls like they just belong here, because somehow they make themselves do. Even her grandparents made the trip. It had all been a surprise for Azzi, but a much needed one at that.
Azzi knows, with a kind of calm certainty by now, that things will most likely never go back to how they were before the accident. She doubts she'll wake up one day and suddenly remember everything, like some movie miracle. Her brain feels too settled now, like it's built a new version of herself and decided this is what it's gong to be. But, she also thinks that even if she does miraculously remember, things aren't immediately going to go back to how they were before. Even if the then Azzi and the now Azzi somehow recombine, a good part of her will still be the latter and she won't be entirely the same.
Weirdly, unexpectedly, neither of those outcomes devastate her the way they used to.
Things feel normal now. Or maybe normal-adjacent. As close as she thinks she's going to get, and she's learning how to be okay with that. She's getting closer to her teammates every single day, knowing them all well now, completely comfortable. She laughs more easily. She feels present more often than not. Of course, there are still moments where the fog rolls in thick and sudden, where she feels the absence of memory like a phantom limb. But they don't consume her the way they once did.
She's happy. Really and truly.
And Paige is a big part of that.
They're not dating, per se. Not officially. Not in any way that requires labels or explanations yet. It hasn't even been two full weeks since that night on Azzi's couch—since the confession, the honesty, the way it was just Paige being Paige and Azzi being Azzi and them being them.
But everything did shift after that. Softened, simmered into something else, something more, something nice.
Azzi would be lying if she said she didn't really, really like it.
She'd been a little afraid, at first. Which is, of course, to be expected. She'd been scared that being close to Paige like this again would feel like overstepping into a different life, into a different person's experiences and memories. Scared that she'd always feel like she was failing some invisible comparison to the girl she used to be, that she'd never live up to the version of herself that Paige had loved before.
And, yes, that fear still flares up sometimes. A quiet, insistent voice asking if she'll ever be enough without the past.
But then she'll catch the way Paige looks at her.
It's never like she's searching for something missing—but rather like she's fully here, fully present. Choosing Azzi as she is now, not as she was. Paige's smiles come easy around her, unguarded and gummy and real. Her touch is gentle but sure, like she knows exactly where she belongs. The compliments Paige gives her aren't comparisons or echoes of the past—they're entirely rooted in the now, in who Azzi's become and who she's still becoming.
Those thoughts quiet fast after that.
Because Azzi enjoys this. She enjoys it more than she even thought possible.
She likes the casual intimacy—how Paige's fingers brush hers when they're walking side by side, not accidental at all. How Paige's hand lingers at her back or settles at her waist like it's just natural. She likes the weight of Paige's arm slung around her shoulders, the warmth of it, the steadiness and firmness of it.
She likes kissing Paige. Slow kisses, stolen when no one's paying attention. Soft ones in quiet corners. How Paige always smiles into them, just as happy as Azzi is about it all.
And, maybe most of all, Azzi likes how open Paige is now. The fact that she doesn't hide her adoration anymore, like she used to out of fear. The way she says things plainly, honestly, without expectation or anxiety attached. It's nice. It feels safe, comfortable, real.
What really ends up getting Azzi, though—what sneaks up on her when she's least prepared—is seeing Paige with her family.
She knew well that Paige was close with them before. They have photos of Paige sprinkled throughout their family home back in Virginia, remnants of her presence everywhere. But Azzi hardly ever got to see them interact with each other. The only times she saw it were in those early days after she woke up from her coma, when everything was raw and terrifying and heavy with grief.
Back then, it was all blurred together with hospital lights and hushed voices and the constant sense of being overwhelmed and unhappy and confused and just flat-out horrible.
Now, Azzi gets to see it clearly.
Her mom lights up around Paige, like she's another daughter. Paige jokes easily with her dad, comfortable and unafraid, trading sarcasm and terrible hot takes. Her grandparents talk to Paige like she's always belonged, like there was never a version of their family where Paige wasn't included. Even her brothers—or, well, especially her brothers, actually—treat Paige like she's theirs. They wrestle with her, tease her, bother her with a relentlessness that only comes with deep affection. And Paige just gives it right back, laughing, unbothered, fully at ease.
It does something to Azzi. It's almost like something warm has cracked open in her chest and is spreading slowly, steadily, the kind of feeling that makes her shoulders loosen without her realizing they were tense in the first place.
She's lagging behind the rest of the group, her mom walking beside her, their steps unhurried. A few yards ahead, Paige is sandwiched between Jon and Jose, the three of them loud and animated, pinching at each other's arms, bumping shoulders, laughing too hard at jokes that probably aren't that funny. Paige ducks when Jose tries to flick her ear, retaliating by shoving him slightly off-balance, and Azzi watches the whole thing as it unfolds.
She doesn't even realize she's smiling to herself until her mom's voice cuts through her thoughts. Katie nods her head toward the trio and says, amused, "They're hyper."
Azzi blinks, dragged back into the moment, then laughs softly. "Yeah," she agrees.
It's beyond accurate. Once Azzi got to Storrs this summer and truly saw the way Paige acts around those she's close with, she's taken into account the fact that the blonde has this constant restless energy to her, as if she's constantly vibrating just under the surface, her mind moving faster than her body can keep up with. More than once, Azzi has wondered if Paige has ADHD or something adjacent. Not to mention that Azzi's brothers aren't exactly paragons of stillness either. The three of them together is like watching sparks bounce around in a closed space.
Katie hums, still watching them fondly. Then, after a beat, she says, "So."
Azzi immediately knows what's coming. The word stretches just a little too long, carries too much intent. It's the same tone her mom has always used when she's about to ask something important and doesn't want to scare Azzi off.
"How'd it happen?" Kate asks, glancing over at Azzi now. "I mean... what changed?"
Azzi exhales through her nose, not annoyed, just bracing herself. She'd known this conversation was coming eventually. Her family hasn't said much outright, but she knows they've noticed. It's hard not to, with the way Paige hovers close now, the way Azzi lets her.
She keeps her eyes forward for a moment, watching the sunlight bounce off the stone road beneath their feet. "I don't know," she replies honestly. "It wasn't, like... one big thing."
Katie stays quiet, giving her space and time, which Azzi appreciates.
"It just... Well, it kinda just happened organically," Azzi continues, searching for the right words. "The more time I spent around Paige, the more I enjoyed it. Eventually, I stopped feeling like I had to force anything. Or avoid anything."
She risks a glance at her mom, then adds, quieter, "She made it easier than it probably should've been."
Which is certainly saying something, considering that t hadn't been easy. Not really. At least, not at first.
Of course, it was easy to like Paige—almost embarrassingly so. Paige is funny and warm and attentive but not in a performative way. She listens. She remembers things Azzi tells her now, even if Azzi can't remember things from before. She's patient without being condescending, present without being overwhelming.
But figuring out what to do with those feelings and how to handle them—that had been the hard part.
Nevertheless, she'd figured it out. Eventually.
Katie smiles, something soft and knowing dancing across her expression. "That sounds like Paige."
Azzi nods, because it does. She doesn't say anything more, and they walk in silence for a few moments, the sound of the city and the group around them filling in the gaps—voices, footsteps, the distant hum of traffic. Then, Azzi feels her mother's gaze again, a bit more serious this time.
"You know," Katie says gently, "the two of you have always been good for each other. And to each other."
Azzi's throat tightens slightly, before she can stop it. She swallows, a little thick, and nods again.
"I know things are different now," Katie continues. "And I know it hasn't been at all easy. For either of you." She pauses, then adds, "But I'm glad you're both... trying."
Azzi takes a moment, thinking about the effort it takes sometimes. To be present, to not retreat into fear when the gaps in her memory feel too wide. She thinks about Paige continuously choosing her anyway, over and over, without asking for guarantees. She thinks about how scary it is to want something when you can't see the full picture, because the sketch is just too perfect to pass up.
"I am," Azzi responds quietly. "Trying, I mean."
Her mom reaches over then, squeezing her hand gently before releasing it. "That's all anyone can ask."
A couple seconds later, ahead of them, Paige turns around, walking backward for a few steps so she can talk to Azzi and her mom at the same time. She grins when she catches Azzi's eye, sunlight catching in her blonde hair, making it look almost like a golden halo, and something in Azzi's heart gives a little, steady pulse.
She smiles back without thinking.
Yeah, she decides. She really is glad she's trying.
THEY'RE GOING OUT to dinner tonight. It's not at all a big deal. Just food, teammates and family and a nice-ish restaurant, just another item on a packed vacation itinerary. But, nevertheless, Azzi has been standing in the middle of the hotel room for the last ten minutes like the floor might offer her some sort of guidance if she stares at it long enough, because her brain certainly isn't going to.
She's alone in the room—like, really alone, which she knows basically never happens on team trips like this. But Nika's her roommate for the week, and she's barely slept here since they landed, opting instead to stay with her parents or cousins or whoever else she's managed to wrangle time with. Azzi doesn't at all blame her. If she were home, she'd probably do the exact same.
Still, it makes stupid little things like this a lot harder.
Azzi's suitcase lies open on the bed, its contents spread out like evidence of poor planning. She's never been a good packer, nor a good planner. She's got a couple pairs of pants, a few tops, dresses she brought just in case and now feels somewhat ridiculous for even considering because she's not going to wear them, her shoes shoved awkwardly in the corner. None of it looks right for the night. Or, actually, maybe all of it does, and that's the problem. Azzi isn't even sure at this point.
She presses her lips together, arms crossing over her chest, then uncrossing again immediately. She tugs absently at the hem of her oversized t-shirt she's wearing, basketball shorts loose on her hips, hair already done up in a neat, slick-back half-up-half-down, makeup minimal but at least there. She spent slightly too long perfecting both for someone who claims she doesn't care.
It's frustrating. She didn't expect to care this much, like this. About dinner, about how she looks, about what Paige might think when she sees her across the table, under warm lights, maybe with a glass of wine in her hand and that soft, attentive expression she's been wearing more and more lately that makes Azzi feel like she's turning to pure mush.
Azzi exhales, rubbing a hand down her face. She hates this part of herself—the seemingly never-ending indecision, the way her brain constantly locks up about even the littlest choices. It's so dumb and just purely inconvenient. She's gotten better at lessening its presence on the court, but that clearly hasn't translated to off.
"It's fine," she mutters to herself, just to say something out loud. "I've got time."
(She absolutely does not.)
A sudden knock at the door startles her, sharp and sudden in the otherwise quiet room. She even flinches, then lets out a long sigh at the dramatic reaction, shoulders sagging in defeat.
"Coming," she calls, walking over, already knowing.
She opens the door, and, unsurprisingly, it's Paige.
Paige stands there in a blue sweater vest that matches her eyes damn near perfectly, white cargos sitting low on her hips, blonde hair down and straight, framing her face. She looks good, though Azzi shouldn't have expected anything but that, because Paige basically always looks good. It's actually frustrating sometimes, how this girl can practically pull of anything and everything.
Paige's eyebrows lift slightly as her gaze flicks over Azzi's outfit, then back up to her face. A small, fond smile tugs at the blonde's lips like she already knows exactly what's going on. That's also quite predictable, considering Paige usually can tell things like this without Azzi even having to speak a word. She just knows her, something that Azzi often comes back to, a notion that both comforts and (only slightly) unnerves her. No matter what she can't remember, no matter how many gaps there are in her past, Paige still seems to see her clearly. Like Azzi hasn't changed to her core, like she's still just... Azzi, at the end of the day.
"Hey," Paige greets, light and amused.
Almost immediately, Azzi pouts, frustration bubbling over now that she has an audience. "I can't pick an outfit," she complains, dragging the words out, fully aware she sounds dramatic and also not caring in the slightest, because she needs help. "I hate everything I brought."
Paige laughs fondly, cerulean eyes practically sparkling. "I figured."
She doesn't wait for an invitation—not that she needed one—just walking right past Azzi, making a beeline for the bed and the open suitcase. Azzi turns to follow her, a little surprised despite herself. She really shouldn't be surprised by this anymore. Honestly, she shouldn't be surprised by anything Paige-related anymore. Paige has been dong things like this for a while now—showing up, stepping in, helping without making it a big deal because apparently it just isn't to her.
It manages to get Azzi every time, though. Sometimes so much so she just wants to stop and grin to herself and maybe kick her feet a little. Because, ultimately, Paige is the person Azzi likes and Azzi really is just a girl. Just a girl who lacks half her memory, but, still, nevertheless, a girl.
Paige crouches at the end of the bed, rifling through the suitcase easily. Azzi stands there uselessly, arms folded, watching the blonde's hands move through the clothes, the focus resting across her expression. It's almost a little intimate, if Azzi thinks about it. Paige touching her things, choosing something for her. It makes that warmth bloom in her chest once more, spreading slow and steady.
Then, after hardly any time at all, Paige straightens, holding up a pair of white jeans and a black tank top.
"Here," she says, handing them to Azzi. "Wear this. It'll look good."
Their fingers brush when Azzi takes them, just a light graze, but it sends a spark through her anyway. She glances down at the close, then back up at Paige, searching her face for any sort of uncertainty. (There isn't any. There never is.)
Paige pauses, like she's about to say something else, then adds, "I'mma actually go get somethin' real quick. Be right back."
Her hand grazes Azzi's elbow and then she's walking out once more, the door clicking shut behind her. Azzi doesn't question it, instead just opting to trust Paige about the outfit, because Paige knows her well and probably has a better head on her shoulders than Azzi does, at the very least when it comes to fashion and making decisions about fashion.
She changes quickly, pulling the pants on, slipping into the tank. When she looks at herself in the mirror, she thanks God Paige came to her room in time. The fit looks good, clean and simple, and she thinks that maybe she should just start using Paige for fashion help more often because it's true that the blonde does have good style and Azzi—well, if it's not already clear enough, Azzi struggles.
The same knock from before comes again, albeit lighter this time, and the door opens before Azzi can even respond.
Paige steps back into the hotel room holding something in her hands. She takes in Azzi, a grin pulling at her mouth, and says, "I knew it'd look good." Azzi feels warm blood in her cheeks but before she can respond or thank the older girl, Paige lifts her hand. She holds up a black short-sleeve button-up, soft-looking, casual but put together. "Try this with it, yeah?"
Azzi tilts her head, considering, then responds, "'kay," taking it from Paige, their fingers brushing again. She slips it on, leaving it unbuttoned, and then turns back to the mirror.
It looks good, which makes sense. Like she's said, Azzi is quickly figuring out that Paige has a good eye when it comes to fashion.
"Yeah. Yeah, this works," she admits in a soft tone, more to herself than Paige. She then turns to the blonde, smiling openly now, a dimple crating her cheek, gratitude warm and genuine, adding, "Thanks. Seriously. I'd still be staring at my suitcase if it wasn't for you."
Paige just smiles back, something gentle and pleased in her expression, and steps closer. The space between them shrinks without either of them really deciding it should. Slowly, almost like she's still got half a mind to be a little cautious, Paige lifts a hand. Carefully, she brushes a few loose curls off of Azzi's shoulder. As she does so, her fingers skim Azzi's nape, barely there but still there, and Azzi shivers before she can stop herself.
It's subtle, the reaction, but she feels it echo through her whole body anyway. Paige's hand lingers, not pressing, just grazing, and Azzi is suddenly acutely aware of her own pulse, how fast it's going, how close Paige's fingers are to feeling it.
Paige adjusts Azzi's necklace next, fingertips cool against warm skin, and then, almost absentmindedly, just keeps her hand resting at the side of Azzi's neck. Not gripping or even really holding, just there.
Her heartbeat is so loud. She can feel it thrumming through every inch of her skin. She's sure Paige can, too, under her fingers, the steady, quick thrum giving her away completely. There's something terrifying and comforting about that at the same time, the idea of being this readable, this known.
"You look really beautiful, Az," Paige murmurs, the words soft and smooth on her tongue.
Azzi feels her face heat even more than it already had been, a flush she doesn't even try (because she knows it wouldn't help) to hide. "Thanks you," she replies, hating how shy it sounds, how it's almost small. It feels inadequate to everything she's feeling. Compared to the way Paige is looking at her like this—eyes soft and focused as if Azzi is the only thing in the room worth noticing.
Paige simply shakes her head, a quiet, fond exhale leaving her, like she can hardly handle Azzi being here like this, with her, like it gets to her just as much as Paige gets to Azzi.
And then she just leans in instead of giving a verbal response.
The kiss isn't rushed. Paige's lips meet Azzi's slowly, a gentle press. Azzi answers quickly, tilting her head, mouth parting just slightly. She sighs into it, the sound caught somewhere between relief and want. Paige is warm and soft and already so familiar to Azzi that it still almost surprises her. The brunette can feel the slight restraint in the kiss—the way Paige holds back just enough, keeping it tender instead of desperate.
Azzi's hand slides to Paige's waist on instinct, fingers resting there. The fabric of Paige's sweater vest is smooth under her palm. Paige presses a bit closer, stepping into her space a little more, and Azzi welcomes it immediately, leaning in so they're chest to chest. The hand on Azzi's neck is cradling now more so than grazing, Paige's thumb rubbing smooth circles over her pulse point, soothing it.
When they finally pull apart, that's unhurried, too. Paige's forehead nearly rests against Azzi's, her smile small and probably uncontrollable. Azzi's is as well, her lips pulled upward of their own accord, both because of the kiss and because of just Paige and how she's looking at Azzi now and how pretty she is. Azzi just feels so light and so warm, like something inside her has settled into place.
Paige leans in again, pressing a quick kiss to Azzi's forehead, the kind that feels protective and affectionate at the same time. She then laces their fingers together, her grip strong and certain.
"C'mon," she says, tugging Azzi gently toward the door. "Let's go before we're late."
IF SHE COULD pick a word to describe how she's feeling, Paige would say jolly. She's entirely aware of just how fucking stupid that sounds, like some sort of Christmas card adjective. But it's also entirely too true, and she just can't dress it up into anything cooler or less sincere. She feels fucking jolly. So light, unmistakably so, that terrible pressure that had been sitting on her chest for months finally having gotten up and wandered off without even saying goodbye.
And, okay, she's also aware that it's probably not healthy to let her entire mental state hinge on another person like this. She knows that if anyone else were describing this feeling to her, she'd probably gently tell them to maybe spread the emotional load around a little, maybe not put all their eggs in one very fragile basket.
And Azzi has always been the exception to every rule Paige has ever tried to make for herself.
Azzi is here. She's laughing, all dimples and eye twinkles and maybe just complete perfection. She's beautiful and she's happy, too, and she's been choosing Paige and looking at her like she's something steady and something she might adore, rather than something associated with trauma and hospitals and before-and-after lines that can't be uncrossed. And she's slowly becoming Paige's again, a notion that's becoming clearer and clearer with every passing day.
Paige doesn't need any more than that.
Of course, Croatia helps, too. Of course it does. It's hard not to feel like life is being generous when you're walking through warm, old streets with your favorite people in the world, when the air smells like a mixture of salt and sugar and history. The team is here—her girls, her constant, her chaos. Her closest friends. And Azzi's family, too, which only makes things even better.
That's one of the things Paige has really needed lately. They've always been like family, and to have had to put space between herself and them during Azzi's recovery process had been hell. Of course, she still talked to them here and there, but it wasn't like she could have just gone to their house to hang out because Azzi had always been there and Azzi hadn't particularly wanted to see Paige at the time. She knows that they're ecstatic about it, too, considering they've essentially been attached to her hip one way or another during their time in Europe so far.
She also knows what they're all even more happy about is that not only the fact that Paige is around again, but that Azzi wants her to be, that Azzi is stuck to her side like she used to be, that there's not even hesitation there anymore.
Earlier, dinner had been nice. They'd split up across tables because their party was too big. Paige ended up where she always should—next to Azzi, surrounded by Azzi's family, with Ines and Aaliyah rounding out the table. Aaliyah had seamlessly taken over Paige's usual role as Jon and Jose's primary tormentor, poking at them, stealing food off their plates, laughing way too loud when they reacted. Paige had watched some of it, entirely too amused, though also content to let someone else handle that energy for once. Ines, on the other hand, spent a lot of time leaned toward Azzi's grandparents, chatting about this and that—Paige doesn't know, she wasn't really listening.
Paige had only truly been focused on one thing: Azzi.
On the way Azzi's knee brushed hers under the table, not by accident. On the way Azzi leaned in when she spoke, voice softer just for Paige. On the way Azzi laughed, head tipped back slightly, eyes shining.
Paige hadn't trusted herself to think too deeply about it in the moment. Because, she's almost certain if she did, she might've smiled too much, stared too long, done something reckless like reach over and kiss Azzi right there between the plates and half-finished drinks.
Now, afterward, the group's slowly scattered. Some of the girls peeled off in search of dessert, KK leading the charge, energy still buzzing (is it ever not with her?), unwilling to let the night end. Geno and CD, unsurprisingly, bowed out early, as did Azzi's grandparents, who waved them off with fond smiles before heading back toward the hotel.
That leaves Paige walking alongside Azzi, Azzi's parents, and her brothers through the Croatian streets, the city humming softly around them, a lot more tame and peaceful than most places Paige is used to in America. Paige walks close to Azzi without really thinking about it, their arms brushing now and then. She likes the way it feels, casual and unforced, like this is allowed now—because it is.
Eventually, though, Katie sighs, rolling her shoulders a little. "Okay, I'm beat," she announces. "Boys, let's go back."
Predictably, Jon and Jose groan in perfect unison, dramatic and doomed, though neither of them bother to argue. They probably know there's no point; Katie's word is law. The idea makes Paige bite back a smile. Some things really are universal.
Katie pulls Paige a hug before they depart, warm and solid like always. "Goodnight, kiddo," she says softly, right into her ear, squeezing her shoulder.
"Night, Katie," Paige replies, her tone of voice holding more meaning than the two words really convey.
Katie pulls away and moves over to Azzi, kissing her on the top of the head. Tim claps Paige on the back lightly, and then gives his daughter a hug of his own. And then they're all walking away, the four of them blending into the street until it's just Paige and Azzi left standing there.
They decide to keep on with their walk. Paige doesn't rush anything. She's learned, over the last few months, that rushing often isn't what they need. So, she walks with Azzi at the exact pace Azzi sets, even when every part of her wants to slow it down further, wants to stretch each second thin until it's almost translucent. The stone beneath her shoes is uneven, made so by thousands of feet before hers, and she feels strangely centered by it—like this place has seen so much time pass that whatever is happening between her and Azzi can't possibly be too fragile to survive it.
When Azzi's fingers slip through hers, Paige's brain stutters for half a second, even though she shouldn't be surprised anymore. She's been endlessly telling herself that all of this is real and happening and that Azzi wants it, but it still hits her every time like she's been tased or something. Her hand tightens instinctively, enough to acknowledge it without seeming desperate. She runs her thumb across the back of Azzi's hand, slow and absent.
They're passing between buildings when Azzi suddenly stops short, letting out a soft, breathless sound and tugging Paige sideways. Paige almost laughs at the abruptness of it, stumbling half a step before Azzi pulls her fully into the narrow space. The city opens up just enough to reveal the water, dark and endless and impossibly calm, lights flickering across its surface. It's the same water Paige argued with Nika about there being sharks in (Nika said no, Paige said yes, Paige was correct, obviously), and she feels slightly stupid for even thinking about that right now.
She turns her head slightly, gaze trailing from the water to the girl next to her. Azzi's face is tilted toward the view, her expression open and undone. Her eyes reflect the shimmer of the sea, brown catching gold and blue, and Paige feels her chest bloom.
"It's so beautiful, wow," Azzi breathes, quietly, like she's afraid of breaking it.
Paige barely hears the words. She's too busy watching the way Azzi's lips curve as she smiles, the way her shoulders relax the slightest bit, the way she leans just a little closer like she wants to share the moment by proximity alone. "Yeah," Paige answers lowly. "It is."
Azzi turns, catching her stare, and Paige doesn't even bother pretending she wasn't looking. Azzi laughs, a short, bright sound, and shoves at Paige's chest playfully. "You're so corny."
Paige shrugs, unapologetic, because corny is fine if it makes Azzi laugh like that. Because her dimples show, deep and perfect, and Paige feels like she could live in this moment forever if given the chance.
Eventually, they drift back toward the hotel, hands still linked, the city thinning out around them. Paige notices how Azzi's thumb traces the side of her finger without thinking. She notices how Azzi's steps start to slow slightly, like maybe she's tiring out. She notices everything, because she always does where Azzi is concerned.
Right before they reach the entrance, Azzi slows even more, then stops entirely, pulling Paige toward a bench tucked just off the main walkway. "Can we just sit here for a second?" she asks. "It's so nice and warm out. I just wanna... keep it."
Paige doesn't hesitate. "'Course."
They sit close enough that there's no space between them at all. Paige can feel Azzi's thigh pressed against hers, warm through thin fabric, can feel the heat of her body even with the night breeze drifting around them. She leans back slightly, taking in the air, the quiet, the sense of being somewhere far away from everything that ever hurt.
When she looks back at Azzi, she finds her already watching.
There's something shy, bashful, in Azzi's smile once she realizes Paige has caught her. It makes Paige smile, too, endeared, tenderness flooding through her bloodstream. She wants to be gentle with her. She wants to be worthy of the way Azzi looks at her now.
Their lips meet softly, the kiss careful and slow like the rest of the night has been. Paige exhales into it, turning fully toward Azzi, her hand sliding to her waist. Azzi's palm cups her cheek, thumb brushing lightly under Paige's eye. She opens her mouth against Paige's a bit more, and Paige responds by wrapping an arm around Azzi's back, pulling her closer. Enough to feel her breathe, to feel the rise and fall of her chest.
The kiss begins to deepen, not frantic or rushed, but more so just fuller, warmer, threaded with want. Paige's tongue slips between Azzi's parted lips and Azzi lets them tangle, a small noise echoing in her throat. Paige's heart is beating so hard it almost makes her dizzy, but she doesn't want it to slow down.
Azzi pulls back first, breath unsteady, her hand still resting against Paige's face. Paige watches her closely, memorizing the way her lips part when she breathes, the way her eyes darken when she looks at her like that.
"Come to my room," Azzi says softly. "Nika's staying with her family. I want... I just... come. Please?"
Paige's heart lurches. This isn't something she expected, at least not tonight, not so simply said. Just because they've been getting closer doesn't mean they've slept together—or anything or the sort. At least, not since that clouded night after Ted's. But when she searches Azzi's face for doubt, she doesn't find any. She only sees want, trust, and what she thinks might be certainty.
"You want that?" Paige asks anyway, because she needs to hear it.
Azzi nods, earnest and sure. "Of course I do."
Paige smiles again, lets it spread across her mouth slow. She lifts her hand, resting it over the one Azzi's got on her cheek. And then she nods back, because there was never going to be a world where her answer was anything but.
Finally, they go inside the hotel, making a beeline straight for the elevators. They get in one, the doors sliding shut, enclosing them in the usual small, mirrored space. Paige leans against the wall, pulling Azzi closer, their hands still tangled. The ascent feels entirely too long, the soft whir of the machinery mixing with the sound of Azzi's breathing, quick and shallow against Paige's shoulder. Unsure of exactly what to say, Paige opts to stay quiet and instead of talking, just lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to Azzi's palm. Azzi smiles, and when the doors open on their floor, she tugs Paige out of the elevator, leading her to her room.
Once they get in, the door clicks shut behind them. Paige stands there for a moment, letting Azzi decide what she wants to do, how she wants to go about it, her own pulse thundering loudly in her ears. She's waited so long for this, for Azzi to want her like this, sober and clear-eyed, without the haze of alcohol or obligation clouding any single decision.
Azzi turns to her, eyes searching Paige's face like she's trying to memorize it. Slowly, she steps closer, her free hand coming back up to cup Paige's cheek once more. "We're okay, right?" Azzi murmurs, like she just needs the reassurance before anything starts. It nearly does Paige in.
Paige nods, eyes softening. Her hands find Azzi's waist, fingers splaying over the soft fabric of her shirt—or, well, Paige's shirt, actually—squeezing just a little in comfort. "Yeah, Az. More than okay," she tells her.
Azzi nods, and then she's pulling Paige in fully, the kiss deep instantly. Paige steps in closer, their hips pressing together in a way that sends heat pooling low in Paige's belly. She tightens her grip, just a little, letting Azzi lick into her mouth, letting Azzi dictate how things go.
They end up stumbling toward the bed, lips never parting, Azzi's hands threading into Paige's hair, tugging just enough to elicit a soft gasp from Paige. When they collapse onto the mattress, Azzi shifts, swinging a leg over to straddle Paige's hips, her weight a welcome and familiar pressure that Paige has missed dearly. Paige's hands roam up Azzi's back, pulling her closer, but, otherwise, holding back from anything more, the younger girl guiding them instead.
Their kisses grow hungrier, tongues sliding together, saliva mixing. Hesitantly, Paige lets her hands travel down to cup Azzi's ass. Azzi's breath hitches as she does so, a welcome sign to let Paige squeeze, and then the brunette rocks forward, grinding against Paige's thigh with a friction that makes Paige's core throb with need.
Paige's mind spins with the sensations—the soft give of Azzi's body under her hands, how her hips move with that same natural sway that Paige practically had memorized before the accident. Azzi feels like home, and Paige's chest tightens slightly with emotion. It's been forever since they've been this close, truly close, without the shadow of amnesia hanging over them. (It still sort of does, but Paige will take what she can get and she won't throw a fit.)
Azzi pulls back slightly, her lips swollen and red, eyes locked on Paige's. "You okay?" she asks.
Paige nods, her hands stilling on Azzi's hips. "'m perfect. Are you?"
Azzi nods back and smiles, leaning down for another kiss, slower this time, her fingers tracing the hem of Paige's sweater vest. "I want to..." she starts, then trails off. "Can I take this off?"
Paige's breath quickens, but she whispers, "Yes, please," her voice barely above a murmur.
Azzi's hands are careful, almost reverent, as she slides the vest up and over Paige's head, letting it pool on the floor. The air in the room feels cooler against Paige's skin now, exposed in just her sports bra and cargos, but Azzi's gaze warms her instantly. Those brown eyes roam over Paige's torso, lingering, and Paige feels a slightly flush creep up her neck—not from embarrassment, never that; she's always been comfortable in her body, strong and athletic from years on the court—but from the unwaveringness of Azzi's attention, like she's seeing Paige for the first time all over again.
Azzi's fingers hesitate at the edge of the sports bra, and she looks up, seeking permission. "This too?"
Paige swallows, nodding. "If you want."
The bra comes off with a gentle tug, Azzi lifting it over Paige's head, and, suddenly, Paige's breasts are bare, aching for touch. Azzi stares, her breath coming in shallow bursts. Paige lets her look, her own hands resting lightly on Azzi's thighs, giving her all the time she needs. After what feels like far longer than it is, Azzi leans down, her hands cupping Paige's tits, thumb brushing over her nipples with feather-light touches that send sparks straight to Paige's cunt.
Paige arches into the contact, a small sound leaving her lips. Azzi kisses her again, deeper, her body pressing down into a grind once again. The friction is maddening, Paige growing slick, but she focuses more so on Azzi. Emboldened, she reaches up and pulls off the button-up shirt Azzi wears. Azzi helps, shrugging it off without breaking the kiss, leaving her in the thin tank top that outlines every dip and swell of her body. Paige's hands slide under the hem, tracing the warm skin of Azzi's back, pulling her closer until their torsos press together through the fabric, skin to cotton, heat building between them.
They make out like that for what feels like hours, hands exploring. Azzi's hesitance fades into something more assured, her hips rolling against Paige's in a steady rhythm that has Paige breathing raggedly, her clit pulsing with every press. Azzi's ass is firm under Paige's palms as she kneads the flesh, encouraging the grind.
Eventually, though, Azzi pulls back, her cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with want. She sits up slightly, still straddling Paige's waist, and traces a finger down Paige's sternum, over her navel, stopping just above the waistband of her cargos. "I wanna make you feel good," Azzi says, her voice trembling with the slightest bit of vulnerability, tugging at Paige's heartstrings. "Can I? I mean.. is that okay? I just—I want to."
Paige's throat closes up, and she feels tears begin to prick at the corners of her eyes because it's been so long since Azzi's looked at her like this, wanted her like this, coherent and present. Quickly, she blinks them away, forcing a smile. "Yeah, baby. Of course you can. I just wanna make sure you're sure."
Azzi immediately nods, leaning down to kiss Paige's collarbone, then her breast, her lips soft and exploratory. "I'm sure," she says, certain. And then her mouth is closing over one of Paige's nipples, sucking gently, tongue flicking the sensitive bud. Paige leans into it more, her hand coming up to rest on the back of Azzi's head, a somewhat pathetic whimper escaping her lips.
Azzi's hands roam lower, pulling at Paige's cargos with careful fingers, and Paige lifts her hips to help, shimmying them down along with her boxers until she's fully exposed, legs spread slightly under Azzi's weight. The air hits her wet folds, cold and teasing, and Paige exhales slowly. She watches as Azzi looks down, taking in the sight of her pussy, glistening with arousal.
"You're so pretty," Azzi whispers, and Paige's heart cracks open a little more.
Azzi moves down the bed, settling between Paige's thighs, her hands gentle on Paige's hips. She hesitates there, fingers tracing the inner seam of Paige's thigh, eyes flicking up uncertainly. "I... I don't remember how to do this right. So, if I'm bad at it—"
Paige reaches down, cupping Azzi's face, thumb stroking her cheek. She shakes her head, telling her, "Azzi, you won't be bad at it. You'll make me feel good no matter what. Just... touch me however you wanna. It's okay."
Azzi's expression softens, and she nods. Then, she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Paige's inner thigh, then higher, her breath hot against Paige's clit. Paige's body tenses in anticipation, every nerve alight. When Azzi's tongue finally makes contact, a long and broad stroke through Paige's folds and up to her clit, the blonde suppresses a moan, her hand reaching down to hold Azzi's head.
It's tentative at first, Azzi's licks exploratory, mapping Paige's pussy with the tip of her tongue, tasting her deeply. Paige's hips twitch upward, seeking more, and she gasps, "Right there, Az. Just... a little firmer—yeah, fuck." Azzi adjusts, pressing harder, circling Paige's clit with precise pressure that has stars bursting behind Paige's eyelids. She learns so quickly, and then—then, it feels like nothing has changed. Like there was no accident, like Azzi never forgot them ever doing this before now, like she's always known exactly how to please Paige, what to do to get her going.
Azzi's hand slides up Paige's thigh, fingers teasing at her entrance, slick with Paige's wetness. "Can I... inside?" Azzi asks, voice muffled against Paige's skin.
Paige nods, a little frantic. "Yes, please, fingers—fuckkk, baby."
One finger pushes in slowly, then two, curling just so, hitting that spot that makes Paige's toes curl and her breath hitch in her throat. Azzi's mouth returns to her clit, sucking as her fingers thrust in and out, the wet sounds filling the room, mingling with Paige's ragged gasps and groans. She rocks into Azzi's hand, chasing the building pressure, her walls clenching around those familiar fingers.
The pace quickens, Azzi clearly gaining confidence from Paige's reactions, her tongue lapping faster, fingers pumping deeper. Paige's body coils tight, pleasure tangling low in her belly, spreading like wildfire.
"Az, I'm s'close—shit, don't stop," she pants, and Azzi hums against her, the vibration sending Paige over the edge. Her orgasm crashes through her, waves of ecstasy pulsing from her core, her pussy spasming around Azzi's fingers as she cries out, back arching, fingers pressing but not digging into Azzi's curls. Azzi works her through it, slowing but not stopping, drawing out every tremor until Paige collapses, boneless and spent.
AZZI'S LIPS PRESS against Paige's in a deep, lingering kiss, the taste of Paige still coating her tongue as she does so. She hadn't been sure she could pull it off—her mind had raced with doubts, afraid that she'd have no idea how to do it, that she'd fumble through it all, leaving Paige unsatisfied, or worse, disappointed. But Paige had unraveled beneath her, and she'd cum so perfectly, those breathy gasps echoing in Azzi's ears like a trophy. It spreads warmth through her chest, knowing that she can make Paige feel like that. She'd really liked it, and she almost regrets not doing it sooner.
Now, she savors the kiss, savors the way Paige's hands roam her back, pulling her closer as if she can't get enough. She then feels the blonde's fingers trail downward, brushing the waistband of Azzi's white jeans, a light tug that sends a shiver through her. Azzi breaks the kiss just enough to meet Paige's eyes, blue pools sparkling with equal parts affection and hunger, and she nods, shifting her weight to help slide the pants down her hips. The fabric clings for a moment, bunching at her thighs, but Paige quickly works it free, tugging it off. Cool air kisses Azzi's exposed skin, leaving her in just the pink thong that hugs her curves and the thin tank top clinging to her torso. She feels exposed, vulnerable, but Paige's gaze roams over her with a look so adoring that it eases the knot of uncertainty in her stomach.
Paige's hands pause at the hem of Azzi's tank top, her thumbs circling the soft skin of her midriff. "This too?" she asks gently, laced with that familiar, unwavering patience of hers.
Azzi swallows, her heart picking up speed—she isn't wearing a bra underneath, and the thought of baring herself completely stirs a flicker of self-consciousness she can't shake despite the obvious knowledge that, yes, Paige has seen her naked, and, yes, Azzi does remember one of those instances. But Paige's eyes hold no judgement, only want, so Azzi grips the hem herself and pulls the tank up and over her head, tossing it away. Her breasts spill free, and she watches Paige's pupils dilate almost instantly, expanded as her gaze locks onto her chest. The reaction sends a flush creeping up Azzi's neck, heat blooming in her cheeks, and to cover the sudden wave of insecurity, she leans down quickly, capturing Paige's mouth again in a fervent kiss.
Their lips move together with renewed urgency, tongues tangling. Azzi presses her bare chest against Paige's, the friction of skin on skin igniting sparks that travel straight to her cunt, thong growing damp with arousal. Paige's hands explore freely now, one sliding up to cup Azzi's breast, thumb rolling her nipple in slow circles that draw a soft gasp from her throat. Azzi rocks her hips instinctively, grinding against Paige's thigh, chasing the building ache between her legs. As pleasure coils low, Azzi can't help but marvel at how natural it feels, how Paige can just draw these reactions without her having to think, as if her body remembers and knows.
After a stretch of heated making out that leaves Azzi's lips swollen and her skin tingling, Paige pulls back slightly, her hands coming to rest on Azzi's shoulders. Azzi watches the blonde's eyes flicker across her face, searching.
The question catches Azzi slightly off guard, a puzzled furrow forming between her brows. Nevertheless, she nods without hesitation. "Yeah. Of course I do."
Paige's smile is small, reassuring, as her hands glide down the backs of Azzi's thighs, fingering digging in just enough to send a rush racing through the brunette. "Okay, good," Paige says, nodding. "Because I want you to sit on my face."
The words hang in the air, shocking Azzi a little. She'd be lying if she said the idea doesn't scare her as equally as it thrills her. She stares at Paige uncertainly, afraid of smothering her, crushing her, all the above. "I—" Azzi starts, voice faltering because she doesn't even know how to respond to that.
Paige leans back in, pressing a swift, soft peck to her lips. It eases Azzi a little. "Trust me, baby, please," Paige reassures gently. "It'll be good, swear." Her blue eyes are wide, an ocean of pleading, filled with that earnest down-right devotion that has chipped away at Azzi's walls for weeks and weeks now. She sees the want there, the promise of pleasured tailored exactly for her, and despite the nerves twisting in her gut, Azzi wants it, too.
"Okay," she murmurs, the word barely above a whisper.
It's enough, though. Paige's quite literally lights up, eyes sparkling as she guides Azzi upward with gentle hands on her hips, helping her straddle higher until she's kneeling over Paige's chest, then her shoulders. Azzi's thighs shake slightly as she positions herself, the pink thong the only barrier left, her wetness evident in the damp spot darkening the fabric.
Paige's hands steady her, thumbs stroking her sensitive inner thighs as she tugs the panties aside slowly, making Azzi's breath hitch. Exposed now, her pussy hover just over Paige's mouth, folds slick and parted, clit peeking out swollen and needy. Azzi braces her hands on the headboard for balance, looking down to meet Paige's gaze—those eyes lock on hers for a long moment before dropping to her core.
"You're so wet, Az," the blonde breathes, voice husky, and then her tongue is flicking out, a tentative lap along Azzi's slit that has her jolting forward with a sharp inhale.
The first full contact comes as Paige's mouth seals over her, lips soft and warm against her folds, sucking gently before her tongue delves deeper, tracing the length of Azzi's entrance with flat, broad strokes that collect her wetness and send jolts of pleasure up her spine.
Azzi reels from the sensation, the insane intimacy of it—the way Paige's nose brushes her clit, the heat of her breath fanning over sensitive skin. She hadn't anticipated how consuming it would be, how good Paige is at it. Paige's tongue works with perfect precision, circling Azzi's clit in slow, teasing loops that build pressure easily, then flattening to lap firmly, stroking long over and over. Azzi can't help but rock her hips forward, grinding down to chase more, her breaths coming in ragged pants as wetness coats Paige's chin.
"Oh God, P... feels so good, holy shit," she gasps, her voice breaking on the words, face screwing in pleasure, fingers tightening on the headboard until her knuckles whiten.
Paige just hums in response, the vibration buzzing through Azzi, amplifying the ache. It's then that Azzi feels one of Paige's hands join the fray, fingers parting Azzi's folds wider to allow her tongue deeper access, coaxing another mewl from the brunette.
Paige's mouth devours her like she's starved for it (which, if Azzi thinks about it, she probably has been, considering everything), tongue thrusting shallowly into her entrance before retreating to swirl around her clit. Azzi tightens deep inside, her walls clenching, thighs quivering around Paige's head. It's overwhelming, the directness of it, the way Paige's free hand grips her ass, pulling her down firmer, encouraging her to ride her face freely. Azzi does, while her thoughts scatter—how Paige knows exactly where to linger, how to vary the suction just enough to send shockwaves through her entire body. She hadn't expected Paige to know her this well, though now that she thinks about it, she should have, considering Paige knows her well in all aspects.
Just as Azzi begins teetering on the brink of release, Paige's hands move, gripping Azzi's hips with sudden strength. In a fluid motion, she flips them over, the world tilting as Azzi lands on her back, Paige now hovering above her, lips glistening with Azzi. The abrupt change leaves Azzi breathless, body humming with unspent need. But before she can protest, Paige captures her mouth in a searing kiss. The taste of herself on Paige's tongue is heady and intimate and Azzi moans into it, her hands clutching at Paige's shoulders. Paige's body presses down, knee slotting between Azzi's legs to grind against her soaked pussy, providing friction.
Just then, Paige's hand trails downward, fingers dancing over Azzi's clit in light circles that make her buck upward, seeking more. "Lemme make you cum, baby," Paige whispers against her lips.
Quickly, Azzi begins to nod, words lost. In response, two long fingers slide through her folds, gathering slickness before pressing at her entrance, pushing in slowly to the first knuckle, then deeper, stretching her with a delicious burn that has Azzi's walls clenching greedily. Paige curls them immediately, stroking expertly, hitting that spongey spot inside that sends sparks through Azzi's nerves.
Azzi's hips lift off the bed, meeting each plunge, the wet slide of Paige's fingers echoing as arousal coats her hand, surely dripping down her palm. Paige adds a third finger after a few strokes, the added stretch making Azzi cry out, her cunt fluttering around the intrusion. She feels so full.
"So amazing, Az. Doin' perfect, okay? You're so perfect," Paige murmurs, her free hand reaching up to tweak Azzi's nipple, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger. That, along with Paige's words, and the way her fingers pump faster now, curling relentlessly against Azzi's g-spot, thumb circling her clit, pushes Azzi higher, her breaths turning into near sobs of pleasure.
"Paige, I'm gonna cum," Azzi whines, her body tensing, walls gripping tighter around her fingers.
Paige leans back down, capturing her lips again, swallowing her moans as she increases the pace, fingers slamming in deep, curling hard on every withdrawal. Azzi's brain clouds, feeling only Paige as the pressure builds to a shattering peak. Her vision blurs and then the words just spill out unbidden, completely raw and real: "Fuck, I think I love you."
Azzi is still gushing into Paige's hand when the realization hits her.
It crashes into her all at once, like a fucking train, the words still hanging in the air between them, marinating it. Her body is warm and loose and so oversensitive, nerves on fire, skin buzzing, cunt clenching. She hadn't meant or planned to say it, and there had been no filter or preparation coating it. Just truth spilling out because apparently her body didn't know how to lie.
Paige's fingers ease out with care, slow, giving Azzi space without actually moving away. The absence makes everything feel colder somehow, like a bucket of ice water has just been dumped on her. Azzi feels everything inside her tighten as the fog clears, panic rushing in to replace the softness. Her heart beats even faster than it did when she came, trying to outrun the moment.
Azzi stares up at the ceiling for half a second, then squeezes her eyes shut, wishing she could disappear into the sheets, into the mattress, into anything that isn't this terrifying vulnerability. Obviously, it's true. She's known it in pieces for weeks now—in the way she looks for Paige in every room, in the way her body relaxes the second Paige touches her, in the way she feels safer just hearing her voice. Paige is... Paige. She's warm and steady and such a stupidly good person. And it's probably very fast. But also, at the same time, not? It made things easier to fall into place when her body knew Paige, when Paige knew every inch of her, and all that needed a little help was Azzi's mind to catch up. Loving Paige just feels inevitable.
But inevitability doesn't make it less scary.
Azzi opens her eyes again because she has to, because not looking would be worse. Paige is right there, still hovering over her, blue eyes fixed on her face. There's something in them Azzi can't immediately place—shock, yes, but also something softer, something almost wounded. She looks like she's holding her breath.
The word is quiet. Barely there. It doesn't sound like Paige at all. In fact, it might be the smallest Azzi has ever heard her speak before.
Azzi's throat tightens instantly.
She can't lie. She doesn't even know how she would start. So, she just nods, once, the movement tiny but absolute. Her thighs ache and her chest hurts and there's pressure building behind her eyes, and she hates that she's crying right now, hates that she broke the moment by being too honest too fast. Tears spill anyway, hot and ungraceful, blurring everything in her line of sight.
Still, she sees Paige's eyes fill, too, and that somehow makes it worse and better at once.
For a split second, Azzi thinks Paige might pull away. She doesn't have any true reason to think so, considering everything, but still she braces for it.
There is no heat or urgency in this kiss. It's soft and so reverent, like Paige is afraid of mishandling her, like she's kissing Azzi the way you touch something precious just to prove it's real. Azzi melts into it without thinking, hands coming up to hold onto Paige like an anchor. Paige cups her cheek, thumb brushing gently through the tear there, and Azzi presses into the touch, breathing her in.
"If it's not extremely fucking obvious, considering I’ve said it before," Paige murmurs, forehead resting against hers, voice thick and shaking just a little, "I love you, too."
The words land slowly. Azzi doesn't gasp or sob or do anything else that's dramatic. She just exhales, long and shaky.
It was extremely fucking obvious. She knew; she always knew. She's seen it, she's heard it, Paige told her herself when she was showing her that album she made, and then again the other week in Azzi’s apartment. And still, to hear it like this—right now, like this, soft and sure and unforced, with Azzi as this Azzi and not the before Azzi—it releases a knot inside her, emotions flooding so intensely it almost hurts.
She laughs weakly through her tears, pressing her forehead into Paige's shoulder, hiding her face there. "I'm sorry," she says, muffled. "I didn't mean to just—blurt it out like that."
Paige's arm tightens around her immediately. "Don't apologize," she says, firm but gentle. "Don't ever apologize for that."
Azzi nods against her, breathing her in, heart still racing but no longer out of fear. It’s something else now—something bright and overwhelming and new. She lets herself stay there, tucked into Paige’s chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart, letting the truth settle into her bones.
Love. What a scary, beautiful thing.
