Mar 14
i know you don’t remember calling me,
but i told you even then you look so pretty
in a hospital bed i remember you said
you were scared
and so was i
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
i know you don’t remember calling me,
but i told you even then you look so pretty
in a hospital bed i remember you said
you were scared
and so was i
You're alive, you're alive, you're alive - The 30th, Billie Eilish
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝟑𝟎𝐭𝐡 - 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐄𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 (𝚸𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢) 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞
A/N: I just added fluff at the end if you already read it and want to scroll down and read it here. It's also linked here. (posted at 11:53pm 8/9)
𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐢 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞!!! 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭? 𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐈'𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐝 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭.
W𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐌𝐃𝐈!!!! 𝚸𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝚸𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝚸𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐢𝐭.
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.9
It’s raining outside.
Not harshly, but gentle spits of water trickle down Azzi’s tall apartment windows. Droplets cling to the glass, turning the outside world blurry. Their soft patter creates a rather comforting lull to fill the silence.
It’s a peaceful quiet.
A lived-in one.
Not at all like the sterile, heavy stillness that had once plagued Azzi’s space—where the air had clung like a damp cloth, and the mechanical breath of the AC unit wailed through the walls.
Upon returning from rehab all those months ago, Azzi briefly considered breaking her lease. She didn’t want to jeopardize the progress she’d made in rehab by continuing to live in an environment that harbored so many dark memories.
But tangled in the darkness were also traces of Paige. Fading evidence of the girl’s once-intertwined existence in Azzi’s life.
In truth, she wasn’t ready to let that go. Azzi didn’t want to sleep in a bed she and Paige hadn’t christened, open drawers that had never held her sweaters, or sit on furniture Paige hadn’t helped put together. So she stayed, and let the lingering marks of Paige mingle through haunted air.
Now Paige is back.
In Azzi’s bed. Her concentrated presence purifies any remnants of clinging shadows, even in sleep. Each soft breath, each content exhale, still fragile from injury, speaks life back into the room.
Paige stirs, eyes blinking open. A soft croak escapes her lips, swallowing a cough.
“Hi,” she rasps, gaze fixing on Azzi expectantly.
Azzi smiles. “Hi. How’re you feeling?”
“I dunno. Okay, I guess. How long did I sleep?”
“About two hours. You hungry? Need to pee?”
Paige just nods, yawning.
Azzi climbs out of her side of the bed, wordlessly padding over to help the blonde up.
This is their new routine.
Immediately following her first night at the hospital, Azzi requested two weeks off from all work in order to expend all energy into aiding Paige.
And for the following seventy-two hours, Azzi never left Paige’s side (unless it was to get a nurse, or run back home to get fresh clothes or better food).
There was no slow transition back into each other’s lives. Azzi just showed up, and stayed.
She took diligent notes during doctor check-ups (Paige insisted Azzi stay in the room for all of it), slept on the couch (only when she absolutely needed rest), and oversaw Paige receiving the best care from hospital staff (she did).
It was unspoken that Azzi would be there for Paige from that point on. No questions asked.
On the morning of her sixth day at the hospital, Paige was discharged under the condition that she spend the majority of the next week sleeping. She would go in for check-ups every other day, but her surgeries had gone well, and she was transitioning into the rehab and recovery stages. Although the process was projected to be long, she would not be off the court forever.
The pair agreed that for the next few weeks, it would make more sense if Paige just stayed in Azzi’s apartment. Azzi would be the one tending to her, helping her, and driving her to check-up appointments. Azzi’s apartment complex was closer to the hospital and also had better wheelchair accessibility.
Together, they crawl all eight feet to the bathroom with excruciating slowness. It’s somewhat humiliating for Paige, having to awkwardly drape herself over Azzi, every step jostling her ribs and lighting her nerves on fire.
But it helps that it’s Azzi.
Someone she’s able to be vulnerable with.
Azzi moves with quiet efficiency, her arm slotted around Paige’s waist, the other bracing under her forearm as they inch forward. Paige’s broken leg drags uselessly behind her, stiff and dead in its brace, while her shattered rib makes every breath feel like a knife lodged between her lungs.
She grits her teeth as they reach the door.
“You okay?” Azzi murmurs, pausing just outside the bathroom.
“No,” Paige says through clenched teeth. “Keep going, though.”
The helplessness has grated on her. The way her body falters under its own weight, the way she leans too much, asks too often.
But maybe that was the point. Maybe being willing to be cared for was its own kind of strength. Maybe it was the kind of strength Azzi hadn’t let herself believe in when she had needed it.
Azzi nudges the door open with her hip and helps her pivot around. Paige doesn’t say anything as Azzi slowly lifts her, shifting most of the weight into her arms. Paige clutches a pillow to her chest to brace the rib—like the hospital taught her—but even that barely dulls the pain.
The toilet seat is cold, and the moment she sits, a wave of dizziness hits her. She closes her eyes.
“Too fast?” Azzi says, crouching beside her now, voice quiet.
Paige nods, barely. Her head is spinning.
“Deep breath.”
Azzi’s voice is calm and gentle. Paige inhales, wincing slightly at a sharp pain that spikes in her ribs with the expansion of her lungs. She exhales slowly, pacing herself to Azzi’s twin breath.
God, this sucks—having every little move hurt, being immobile to the point of needing assistance to pee or shower.
But Azzi is patient beyond belief, and their relationship has long transcended any form or need for privacy.
When Paige finishes, Azzi doesn’t make her speak, just braces her arm behind Paige’s back and helps her up again in one smooth motion.
“Goddamn,” Paige mutters, clutching the pillow tighter. “You’re still so strong.”
Azzi huffs a quiet laugh. “Still? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I jus’ mean it looks like you been in the gym since I saw you last.” She squeezes Azzi’s bicep with an approving nod.
“Well, yeah. I tore my knee, I’m not immobile.”
Azzi realizes the irony of her statement a beat too late, eyes sliding over to meet Paige’s, bracing for a reaction.
Paige’s eyes narrow with amusement. “A’ight, chill on me. I’ll be back in no time and then we’ll see who’s stronger.”
“Please. We both know who’s stronger.”
“Yeah… me.”
Azzi cocks her head incredulously. “You’re delusional. I literally beat you in every arm wrestling match ever.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Why are you lying?”
Paige huffs. “Fine, then I bet I could beat you right now.”
“Right now… are you crazy?”
“Well, did I break an arm?”
“Paige, we are absolutely not arm wrestling until you’re better. And then I can beat you.”
“So what I’m hearing is you’re scared.”
“Oh my God. You cannot be serious.”
“Deadass.”
Azzi just rolls her eyes with mock annoyance, continuing to step them forward. “Why do you have to make everything a competition anyways?”
“Cause I’m a competitor.” Paige replies matter-of-factly, humor glinting in her eyes. “You know I got that dawg in me—OW!” She shrieks, halting their movement immediately. “Ow.”
“Jesus, Paige, are you okay?”
“Oh, I just stubbed my toe on the door. My good toe. I’m fine.”
“Paige,” Azzi starts sternly.
Paige shoots her a sheepish grimace. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
Azzi sighs.
Paige latches onto her side again, this time more fully, grinning now. “You love me.”
Azzi just mutters under her breath, “Yeah I do, drama queen.”
Finally seated on Azzi’s couch, they eat reheated takeout leftovers. (Azzi’s culinary talents peak at eggs, pasta, and grilled cheese, so they’ve mostly been ordering DoorDash.)
Their conversation drifts easily, orbiting safe topics—weather, league gossip, little updates from Paige’s life before the accident, which Azzi listens to with greedy attentiveness.
They don’t talk about Azzi’s spiral, which Paige still remembers in full detail, like everything else prior to her accident.
Or the crash, which Paige still doesn’t remember all of.
Just—anything else.
“Drew graduated last spring,” Paige says between bites.
Azzi’s head jerks up. “What? No way. He’s so big now, that’s crazy.”
“Yeah.” Paige smiles faintly. “He’s asked about you a number of times.”
Azzi grins. “We should FaceTime him soon. I miss my pookie.”
“He’d love that.” Paige smiles wistfully. “I miss your brothers. How are they?”
What Paige doesn’t add is, they used to be my brothers, too.
They both think it, though.
Azzi internally cringes when she thinks about how cutting Paige out of her life tore her away from family. Because the Fudds weren’t just Azzi’s family. They had been Paige’s, too.
Paige’s own parents were always in her life, of course, but their love had been spread across new marriages, new homes, and new kids.
The Fudds were different. One roof. Two parents. Dinner together every night. It had been the closest thing to a steady center Paige’d ever had. And Azzi took that away from her.
And from the other members of her family, too.
Clearing her throat, Azzi recaps, “Well—Jose actually got married last year. To Tallulah. They, um… they got engaged a few months after we last saw each other.”
“Oh, really? That’s…” Paige’s smile wavers, her eyes dropping to her bowl, trying to act surprised. She’s never been a good liar.
Azzi tilts her head, watching her for half a beat. “You knew.”
“Yeah. I did.” Paige’s expression shifts sheepishly. “We kept in touch a little. Not much, but just a little. Your mom, Tim, everyone. I… I got invited to the wedding, but I thought it would be best if I didn’t—”
“I’m glad.” Azzi rushes. “Not that you didn’t come, obviously, but that you kept in touch…” Azzi trails off.
“I don’t want— I don’t want you to think that we were going behind your back or anything. I just—well, I wanted to make sure you were okay… you know. And your parents, they’ve been second parents to me my whole life, and I’ve always gone to them for advice, so—”
“That makes sense,” Azzi cuts in gently. “They were your family too.”
She adds quietly, “I’m sorry.”
Paige shakes her head. “Don’t be.”
She opens her mouth again, about to tell her—I called your mom that night. I know you two weren’t speaking to each other then, but I called her because I didn’t know what else to do.
But it tangles on her tongue.
And Azzi lets the silence settle.
There comes a point where shallow words run out. Where the conversation either leads to something deeper or dries up completely.
It’s not awkward, not strained, just… not honest, either.
Instead, they focus on the soft clink of metal spoons scraping the edges of their bowls. Let the faint static hum of the stereo take up room where their truths should be.
Neither one possesses the courage to test the waters of the things that broke them before.
Paige opens her mouth. Closes it. Chews on her lip with a look of concentration.
Azzi knows that look. She knows Paige wants to say something. Wonders if Paige knows she is embarrassed about her “rough patch” (a euphemism they’ve begun to use regarding Azzi’s crisis), and that’s why she doesn’t ask, or if it’s just that Paige doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable.
Either way, she doesn’t want to answer.
So she rises, collects their bowls, and walks into the kitchen area, leaving Paige with her words stuck in her throat.
The sun has slipped below the horizon, but it’s still light out. Blue hour. Azzi’s open apartment is shadowed. She’s never been a fan of harsh overheads. Instead, a thrifted antique lamp pools amber light across the room, candles flickering in glass jars along the windowsill.
Paige can hear Azzi move about the kitchen as she loads the dishwasher to keep herself busy. The kettle begins to rumble, then squeal. Azzi turns off the stove, pouring the water into a waiting mug, and carries it across the space to Paige, stationed on the sofa.
Drinking tea is more her ritual than Paige’s, but Paige takes the mug anyway. She curls her hands around the ceramic, breathing in its earthy scent. Steam drifts upward, brushing against her face. She closes her eyes and lets it sink into her skin.
Blinking around her, Azzi’s space looks unchanged. The sleek, clean lines of her one-bedroom apartment are softened by Azzi’s decor. A thick multicolored rug spreads across the room, bordered by pots of leafy plants. A collection of framed posters and photographs litter the walls, a suede sectional swallowing the corner of the living room area. Not even the coffee table books have moved an inch since Paige had last been here. It’s haunting. Like a time warp.
Paige stares out the window and into the stacked rooms of strangers in adjacent buildings. Lit windows frame ordinary life: people setting a table, watching a TV flicker in the back of a room, someone working at a desk.
Paige remembers how, on that fateful night, after Azzi had finally fallen asleep, she walked into the living room and did the same thing. Turned her brain off and studied lives unaware of the tragedy that had almost unfolded.
Although she turned her brain off, her body had not stopped shaking—a mixed result of her pure hysteria and damp clothes (wet from both the shower and Azzi’s tears).
It was pressed against this very window that she had finally let the weight of those last few hours catch up to her. She had cried and cried, muffling her sobs into her hands so she wouldn’t wake Azzi.
She wondered then about the lives of people she was observing. People who had no idea how close she’d come to losing her entire world. She wondered if they knew who she was. If they’d ever known what it was like to fight for someone’s life and still feel powerless. Wondered if they’d ever struggled to breathe the way she had.
She had wanted to scream at them—I ALMOST LOST THE ONE PERSON WHO MEANS MORE TO ME THAN ANYTHING IN THE WORLD. AND IT’S MY FAULT. AND YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MY LIFE ALMOST CHANGED FOREVER. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT FEELS LIKE.
Outside, the same kind of rain slides down the glass as it did that night, distorting the lit windows across the street into smudges of yellow. The memory slips in, uninvited.
It always starts the same.
Paige leans against the kitchen counter at someone’s apartment—she can’t even remember whose—half-listening to a story about a botched Vegas trip. Music thumps faintly from the living room, beer bottles clinking in the sink.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket.
Azzi Fudd.
Huh. At this hour?
She hasn’t heard from Azzi in months.
Paige slips out onto the balcony to hear better, cool night air rushing over her.
“Hey,” she says, smiling despite herself.
And then Paige hears Azzi’s broken sob on the other line.
“Paige, I’m scared.”
Her blood instantly turns icy.
“Azzi, where are you? Tell me right now,” she demands.
Azzi’s shaky breath sounds. “I don’t… I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
And Paige knows. She instantly knows what it is.
“Azzi, tell me where you are right now,” she demands, panic entering her voice.
“I’m—my apartment. The roof.” Azzi sounds hysterical.
“Shit,” Paige mutters, her heart beating faster as she digs in her pocket for her keys. How could she not have known? How did she let it get this far? She should have stayed. She should not have let Azzi push her away. She should never have left.
“Azzi—listen to me,” Paige pleads, panic entering her voice. “Stay on the line. I’m coming.”
“Hurry.” Azzi’s voice is hushed.
The music from inside drones on, and Paige feels the floor tilt.
Think. Fast.
She immediately springs into action, shoving her way inside.
It’s crowded. Someone in the living room shouts over beer pong. A girl in the hallway brushes past her, giggling. She pushes her way through the crowd, already calculating the best route from here to Azzi’s apartment, grateful they’re in the same part of the city tonight.
“Azzi, stay on the phone, okay? Stay on the phone,” she repeats, shouting over the noise.
Paige shoves the front door open, cold night air rushing at her like a slap. She’s already unlocking her Jeep as she jogs down the steps, phone wedged between her ear and shoulder.
“Azzi, have you been drinking?” she asks, breathless.
A pause. Then, faintly, “Yeah.”
“Okay. Thank you for calling me,” Paige says quickly, assessing various scenarios of the situation she was about to walk into, sliding into the driver’s seat. The door slams.
“Listen to my voice, alright? Just stay with me. It’s going to be okay. Focus on me. Only me.”
“Okay,” Azzi breathes, small and shaky.
Paige shoves the key into the ignition, the engine growling to life. Her free hand slams the gearshift into reverse. “Where exactly are you on the roof?”
“By the edge,” Azzi barely whispers.
Paige’s chest tightens like a fist around her lungs. She pulls out fast, tires splashing through the puddled street. “I’m five minutes away. Just five. Can you do that?”
Silence.
“Azzi?” Paige’s voice cracks. “Azzi, are you still with me?”
A beat.
“I’m still here.”
Paige exhales, her breath frosting on the windshield. “Stay with me,” she whispers—just stay with me.
“Okay, P.” Paige hears Azzi cry too.
Tears stream down Paige’s face now, trying to push away her own spiraling in order to steady Azzi’s.
“Don’t think of hanging up, I’m three minutes now.” Her thoughts claw at her—I don’t want to drive another mile, wondering if you’re breathing.
Paige is desperate.
“I don’t—” Paige’s voice catches, raw and shaking. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but Azzi, you’ve got to know—you have so much life to live.” Her breath stutters out, sobs spilling into the words as she blinks hard against the blur in her vision. The light ahead shifts green, and she slams her foot down on the gas.
“Don’t let whatever this darkness is trick you into thinking you don’t matter. You matter so much. You matter so much to me.”
Paige hears a gasp of pain on the other end of the line. Like she’s brushed her hand against the very bruise Azzi had been hiding. As if hearing Paige’s words lifted the edge of the weight while pressing on its deepest ache. It was a gasp of relief, but also a surrender of the weight of the pain she was carrying alone.
Paige’s heart shreds that Azzi could ever question her place in the world. Could ever question her worth.
“I’ve felt so alone,” Azzi whispers into the night.
Paige grips the wheel tighter, blurry eyesight locked on the slick streets ahead. “You’re not alone. You are so loved. You are so important. You are so valuable. Just hold on.”
Paige continues to speak life over Azzi, soft and steady manifestations, until she pulls into Azzi’s building.
The doormen recognize her and buzz her in without a word. She doesn’t slow until she’s in the stairwell, boots pounding the steps two at a time, phone still pressed to her ear.
The heavy roof door groans open, wind rushing in—and there she is.
Just a few feet away, standing on the narrow ledge, frozen in the harsh wash of the city lights.
She crosses the space in two strides, climbing halfway onto the ledge, arms wrapping around Azzi from behind. She hauls her back, both of them stumbling onto the solid roof.
“You are not alone,” Paige breathes into her ear, eyes blurry with tears. “You’re not alone anymore.”
That’s all it takes. Azzi collapses into her. All the fight draining out of her body and into the strength of someone willing to bear it.
Paige braces them both, one arm banded tight around her back, the other cradling the back of her head. She feels every shuddering breath against her chest, each sob anchoring them deeper into the fact that they are both still here.
Paige just holds her tighter.
She doesn’t know how long they stand there—seconds, minutes, an eternity—before the adrenaline starts to ebb.
And later, she’ll realize that holding Azzi there was the easiest part. The hard part was everything that came after.
To watch your person almost lose a battle you knew they were fighting, but were never allowed to join.
To stand on the sidelines while they fought alone.
Paige was angry. And scared. She’d never been in this kind of war before. She didn’t know the rules—didn’t know how to help without breaking something, didn’t know how to breathe life into someone without suffocating yourself. But she knew one thing: she couldn’t afford to get it wrong.
So shivering in her damp clothes, hands pressed to the window glass, she had called Katie, who picked up on the third ring.
All it took was one shaky breath, and Paige let it out.
Katie’s first reaction hadn’t been about her daughter, which surprised Paige.
She instead said, “Paige, honey, are you okay?”
And of course Paige wasn’t okay. They both knew that. But it allowed Paige to gasp out a sob and say no.
It allowed her to be comforted.
And then Katie said, “It’s going to be alright. Our girl is going to be okay. I’m sorry that the call had to be to you. I wish like hell it wasn’t, but I’m so grateful she felt like she could call you.”
Katie’s voice had caught at the end, full of heartbreak for her daughter. Azzi’s choice not to call her parents was proof of how far things had been fractured between them, and how deep Azzi had sunk before anyone could reach her.
“I just wish…” Paige rasped. “I wish I’d known sooner, I should have seen this coming. I should have known. I’m so sorry. I promised you guys I’d always look out for her, I’d always take care of her—”
“Paige, stop. You have. But she needs to look after herself too. I love my daughter more than life, even if things have been strained between us recently. But her battles are not your responsibility.”
“Yeah…”
“And you’re our baby too. I know you have your own family, but you’re part of ours. Always have been, always will. Regardless of your relationship with Azzi. I’m sorry I never told you that.”
Paige nods gratefully. “Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay,” Katie repeated. “Now, let me get Tim, and we can talk about this together, and come up with a plan. And then you go home and you take care of yourself. You go home and remove yourself from this situation. I know you’re concerned, I know you love her, but more than anything, I don’t want this to affect you too.”
So Paige spent the next hour on the phone with Azzi’s parents. They shared what they knew about her state and decided together that the best plan of action would be therapy and recovery in a safe environment.
Paige didn’t leave Azzi’s apartment until six a.m. She moved quietly through the rooms, picking clothes off the floor and running three loads of laundry, collecting trash and empty glasses, scrubbing dishes that reeked like they’d been sitting for weeks. She swallowed back tears and the sick twist in her stomach as she bent to erase rust-colored stains etched into the tile.
Finally, she scratched out a note to Azzi by the dawn of the morning and cracked open the door to Azzi’s room. She stayed until the sun fully rose.
Paige took her hand gently, holding it in both of hers and pressing it to her forehead. With a pleading breath, she prayed—begging God to save her, thanking Him for not taking her yet. Then she let her eyes trace every detail: the faint lines in her palm like a map she knew by heart, the pale beds of her nails. She kissed each finger, each knuckle, before leaning forward to brush a kiss between her brows, still furrowed even in sleep.
Azzi’s lashes were damp, her mouth slack, her hair fanned messily over the pillow. Paige studied her like she was trying to memorize every angle, hanging on to every one of her breaths that confirmed life with a love that ached—grateful she was here, terrified of how close she’d come to not being.
Paige whispered, “You’re so strong and I know you will get through this, even if you have to do it without me. You will have a life of love and happiness and joy and success. You will find yourself. Things will get better. I know this because I know you.”
And then she let go of the girl and reached for the door, Turning back for one last look.
“See you around, Fudd.”
And somewhere deep down, Paige had known they would see each other again. Because the world was only so cruel, and she couldn’t imagine a God that hated them enough to keep them apart forever.
“Paige? Hello? Earth to Paige?”
The memory dissolves, replaced by the faint clink of Azzi’s mug as she stands a few feet away, looking at her with mild concern.
Paige blinks, her voice hoarse when she answers. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just… this place looks exactly the same as it used to. That night.”
Azzi’s lips part, then press together. “Oh.”
Paige leans forward, setting her tea on the table. “Can we… talk about it?”
Azzi hesitates, then crosses the room and drops onto the couch beside her, knees folding under her. “Sure, but I mean… I’m fine now. I got help, I’m doing better. It wasn’t… a big deal.”
Paige shakes her head gently. “No. It is a big deal. I just…” Her voice trails. “I want to hear about it.”
Azzi thinks for a moment, staring into her mug like she’s trying to read the tea. She settles into the cushions, clearing her throat.
“I kept thinking… would anyone even care if I wasn’t around anymore? Wouldn’t things just be easier that way if… I don’t know..."
Azzi trails off.
"Every day just felt like this heavy fog. Like every room I walked into, the walls were moving closer, and I couldn’t find any air. I was just so tired… not physically, just… life felt like a really big task and I was drowning and angry and—” She lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “But it was stupid. I mean—how I felt was… so different to now.”
“Azzi, it’s not stupid.”
“I feel stupid talking about it. I sound… I don’t know, pick-me?”
“You don’t sound pick-me.”
“I have an easier time talking about this in an interview or with people I don’t know. Talking to you about it... It’s more real. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“It doesn’t—" Paige reassures. "Don’t undermine or dismiss what you went through. I just… I want to hear about it because I care, and I don't want it to happen again, and because it was scary for me too. but only if you’re comfortable. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“And Azzi?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t feel bad. About what happened between us. Don't put that blame on yourself."
Azzi chews the corner of her lip, trying not to let a tear slip.
“Azzi, look at me.”
Azzi looks.
“It’s okay, baby.” Paige’s voice goes soft, nodding her head. “It’s okay. I was never mad at you. Don’t feel guilty. It’s not your fault.”
Azzi just nods back, letting her own tears fall.
“I love you,” she whispers.
Paige reaches forward to take her hand. “I was put on this earth to love you. I love you and I never stopped and I never will.”
Azzi sniffles. “I’m so lucky. We both got so lucky.”
“Honey, that's not luck, it’s God.”
Azzi breathes out a laugh, shaking her head at Paige's insistent faith.
“But I am lucky you’re so willing to nurse me back to health.”
“Oh, it’s my honor.” Azzi jokes, leaning in to Paige as gently as she can, to rest her head on Paige’s good leg.
“Okay, now talk to me.” Paige refocuses, letting her hands tangle into Azzi’s curls, fingers brushing ministrations into Azzi’s scalp.
“Okayyy.” Comes a dragged-out moan from Azzi, all her tension draining from her face. “You’re so good at that.”
“Happy to please.”
“Mhmmm.” Azzi mutters. “Also, before we begin… are we officially together again?”
Her voice takes on a soft, coaxing lilt she uses when she wants something, eyes tilting up at Paige with sweet innocence.
Paige narrows her eyes into a mischievous smirk, stopping her movements. “Do you wanna be?”
“Don’t make this difficult.” Azzi groans, rolling her eyes. “And keep massaging my scalp.”
“Do I get a please?”
“Please.”
“Whatever you want, princess.”
“Okay, so yes or no to dating?”
“I’d have to think about it. And also, you’re procrastinating this conversation.”
“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”
Paige blows a raspberry in her face.
“Ew, Paige, no!” Azzi squeals.
“You sure you want to put up with me?”
“Yes.”
“Then Azzi Fudd, you are officially my girlfriend.” Paige untangles her hands to boop Azzi on the nose.
“Yay.” Azzi smiles sweetly. And then her face contorts into a pout. “Did I say stop?”
Paige just laughs, studying her girlfriend’s face with wonder. “You’re so perfect.”
“Keep going, sap.”
“I’ll keep going when you start talking.”
“Okay.” Azzi breathes out a sigh. “Let’s begin.”
And so she does.
They talk until the candles have burned low and the tea’s gone cold. The night stretches on in slow, quiet waves. In some moments they cry, in others they laugh, argue even, but by the time they’ve said all there is to say, they’re in the best place they’ve been in years.
“Do you remember our TikTok account?” Paige asks, a spark of mischief in her voice.
“What, you mean whitechocolate353?”
“No. The fan account. What was it… fuddbucketsforever?”
Azzi freezes. “No way. I forgot we did that.”
Somehow, the conversation has drifted to the fake fan account (fuddbucketsforever) they shared in Azzi’s sophomore and Paige’s junior year.
Azzi isn’t really sure how they got on this subject (they were discussing fan reactions to them being back together), but now they are rehashing the whirlwind that was the month they spent trolling their own fans from behind a screen. Their low-quality, wackily distorted and somewhat exposing edits of each other went viral a few times, labeled with captions like my bae scoringggg 😍🔥 in Comic Sans. They lurked in fan group chats, egging on conversations with ridiculous theories while cackling behind their phone screens, laughing at how wrong some people were, and terrified with how right others were (seriously, how did people find certain stuff out?), and mostly how these people had no idea who they were really talking to. Their reign only ended when one of them accidentally posted an unreleased photo, nearly outing themselves. They deleted the account an hour later, panicking.
Azzi sighs, shaking her head. “That was a dangerous game.”
Paige smirks. “You know, I still have the password to whitechocolate353.”
Azzi eyes her suspiciously. “You wouldn’t.”
“Just an idea,” Paige yawns, already sinking into the cushions. “They still don’t know what happened to us. And I do love a good dramatic plot twist.”
Azzi shakes her head. “You’re just as bad as they are.”
Paige grins sleepily, stretching her legs out.
“You’re tired,” Azzi says, tilting her head.
“I’m fine,” Paige mumbles through another yawn.
“Uh-huh. Bedtime, sleepy head.” Azzi crawls off the couch, switching off the lamp and blowing out the candle that hadn’t burned out.
Paige starts to stand, but Azzi is already crouching in front of her.
“Come on,” she gently prods.
Azzi hooks an arm under her knees and another around her back, lifting with practiced steadiness.
Paige blinks, then smirks against the warm skin of Azzi’s neck. “That’s hot.”
Azzi snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”
They stop in the kitchen first, where Azzi sets Paige gently on the counter. She opens the cabinet, pulls down her medicine, and pours a glass of water. Paige swallows it obediently, letting Azzi fuss over the dosage, the empty glass, and wipe the corner of Paige’s mouth with her thumb.
Then Azzi scoops her back up, carrying her down the hall toward the bedroom. Paige presses a trail of kisses to her neck, in rhythm with Azzi’s steps, smugly picking up on the way the pulse in Azzi’s neck visibly jumps.
“Keep it up and I’m dropping you on the bed instead of setting you down,” Azzi warns with a smile.
Paige only smirks, pressing one more to Azzi’s collarbone, this one softer and lingering. “Still hot,” she murmurs.
She feels Azzi’s breath hitch beneath her and grins like she’s just won a prize.
And the rest of the night unfolds in small, domestic rituals: brushing their teeth over a shared sink, arguing over whose shirt Paige is wearing (“Yours now, apparently,” Azzi concedes), Azzi fussing with pillows so Paige can sit without twisting her ribs. Somewhere in between, laughter slips into kisses, and neither of them is sure if they’re kissing goodnight or good morning.
When they finally settle under the blankets, Paige tucks her face into Azzi’s shoulder. Azzi strokes her hair until her breathing evens out, a quiet smile on her lips. For the first time in a long time, the night ends with complete peace.
and so was i…
pairing: sophia x reader
summary: after losing a family member, you go for a drive at night. little did you know, the scariest day of your life would start on that road…when your girlfriend sophia comes to visit you in the hospital, she is relieved you are alive, but she was terrified.
warnings: mentions of grief, losing family, car crash, blood, near death of a character, ig hurt with comfort?
notes: this story is mildly based off of the 30th by Billie Eilish…
losing aunt may was harder than you thought. she was one of the eldest family relatives; always cooking, always helping someone out. she was also your person. the first relative to hold you, babysit you, even taught you how to walk one night when she came over for your father’s birthday. you always made something for her; from Christmas gifts to mothers’s day presents, you always had something for her. this past week, it was flowers. cancer had taken its toll, and now she was in a coffin, being carried away and buried underground. when it was your turn to go view the body, sophia had to pull you away from her body since you tried it climb in and hug her one last time. ever since that day, your life has been miserable. the filipino woman does her best to cheer you up, but most days she just holds you as your sob “it’s not fair, it’s never fair!”. today, however, you decided to go for a drive. just to get away from the house, the cemetery..her body.
as you drove further into the night, the road still seems to be busy at 9:30. you wiped your tears quickly, hands going back on the steering wheel as TV by Billie Eilish comes on the radio. maybe you were the problem. maybe, if you’d stayed by her side with your sisters and helped her recover, maybe if you’d checked in three times a day instead of two she’d still be here..maybe if…maybe if- your thought ended as a loud SCREEK! came out of the corner of your ear. you could feel your car flipping, and when you barely opened your eyes, you were sideways. blood leaked form your nose and your collarbone, stinging like hell. the last thing you remember is a girl pulling you out of the car and asking you if you had you phone. it poked out of your pocket and she dialed sophias number as her brother dialed 911. as the girl kept repeating you’d be ok, your eyes closed, and everything went dark. you woke up groggily, eyes crusty and blinded by the hospital lights. you held your left hand up, and a tube was on it, some of your blood placed in a pack and on one those hangers doctors use. a heartbeat monitor was on your left, and so was a familiar face: sophia. Realizing your eyes had opened, she let out a sigh of relief. “y/n, baby!” she scooped you up, arms wrapped around you as she hugged you a little tightly; but you didn’t care, you hugged her back with tears in your face. she pulled back, holding your cheeks.
“god, i was so worried about you, the doctor said it’s a miracle you’re not in a coma from the impact…are you ok, mahal?” she bombarded you with questions, kissing your lips softly and gratefully. you kissed back, missing her lips. to be honest, they always had a way of calming you. “I was so scared for you, my love.” a silence fell between the two of you, tears slipping rapidly. “i was scared as well …but ill be ok, soph. these monitors and this cast should get me back to normal in a few months, ive been in the hospital before.” you reassured the vocalist, a smile appearing on her face. “good, good….the girls are outside, can they come in?” sophia asked quietly, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “yes, they can come in” as you said that, yoonchae walked through the curtain, as the other girls followed.
“we brought you flowers and a plushie…and some comfort food.” megan and lara place the lillies and dragon plushie on your desk, while manon handed you the Tonkotsu ramen packet. They remembered your favorite type….“so, your parents can’t come, can they?” of course your family wouldn’t be able to check on you, for they lived all the way in Jamaica, not wanting anything to do with you after you pursued your dream of being a film producer. and it’d take too long for them to get here. however, you didn’t need them here; you had your own family right in front of you. sophia, your amazing, caring girlfriend. the girls, your best friends and sisters. then and there, you knew no matter what happened, they’d always care for you, and you’d care for them.
౨ৎ WHAT IF?
PART 1 ; YOU DON'T REMEMBER CALLING OUT FOR ME?
SUM: matt can't seem to stop worrying about you. he can't seem to stop replaying the events of that night.
PAIR: matt sturniolo × f!reader
CWS: cursing, crying, yelling, brief mention of car crashes, slight blood, road rage(?), mentions of amnesia (the loss of memories, facts, information, and experiences).
WC: 2.9k
NOTES: highly requested part 2 is FINALLYYYY here! (might be a part 3 cus... why not?)
TAGS: @livialifesblog @jetaimevous @watercolorskyy @blahbel668 @her-favorite @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @fallingforfalll2 @muchloveforhacker @slutforsturnioloss @sturniluvr @httqvi @stasiesturn @phoenix062
NAVIGATION
remus "I know you don't remember calling me" lupin
and
mary "I remember you said you were scared, and so was I" macdonald
the 30th || byler
"what if you were alone, no one knows were you are / if you change anything, would you not have survived / you're alive, you're alive, you're alive....."
"and i know you don't remember calling me / but even then i told you you looked so pretty / in a hospital bed / i remember you said / you were scared / and so am i......"
if i don't see a sheriarty edit to this soon i might implode