wrapped around your finger
pairing: uconn!gf!paige bueckers x uconn!gf!reader
setting: uconn wbb, 2023–24 season
summary: You and Paige have known each other since freshman year, dated for almost three, and somehow she still looks at you like she cannot believe she got lucky enough to keep you. Everyone at UConn knows Paige talks back to everybody, argues with anybody, and competes with literally everything. Everyone also knows that when it comes to you, Paige Bueckers folds in record time. She carries your bag, remembers your matcha order, saves your seat, follows you around, and listens the second you say her name. It’s normal. At least, it’s normal to you. But when your childhood friend visits Storrs and sees Paige orbiting you in real time, he starts noticing what you and Paige barely clock anymore: Paige is absolutely, embarrassingly, permanently down bad.
warnings/tags: fluff, established relationship, private relationship, soft jealousy, childhood friend visit, paige being down bad, golden retriever paige, teasing, flirty banter, uconn 2023–24 timeline
word count: 10.8k
You had stopped being surprised by Paige Bueckers a long time ago.
Not because she was predictable. Paige was one of the least predictable people you had ever met. She could wake up calm and decide by breakfast that she was going to argue with somebody about a card game from two weeks ago. She could limp into practice after a long lift, sore and quiet, then spend the next hour talking like she had personally invented basketball. She could be sweet for exactly three minutes before saying something so obnoxious that Nika threatened to throw a towel at her head. She could make a room louder by walking into it and softer by looking at you across it.
So no, Paige herself was not predictable.
But the way she loved you was.
That had become one of the steady things in your life. As regular as the squeak of sneakers on hardwood. As familiar as the cold Connecticut mornings that made you pull your sleeves over your hands on the walk to practice. As known as the little rhythm your day had fallen into after almost four years at UConn and almost three years of Paige being yours in every way that mattered.
She texted you at 8:03.
outside.
Not good morning. Not come out. Not hurry up because we’re gonna be late, even though both of you knew she was thinking it.
Just outside.
You were sitting on the edge of your bed with one shoe on and one shoe still somewhere under your desk, hair half-fixed, hoodie bunched around your waist because you had gotten distracted looking for your charger. Your practice bag sat open on the floor, one side sagging with a pair of slides, tape, an extra shirt, and the water bottle you swore you had filled last night but had probably left empty because you were you.
You glanced at the text and smiled before you could help it.
She did this every morning she could.
Sometimes it was before class. Sometimes before breakfast. Sometimes before practice. Sometimes after a lift if your schedules split weird and she had ten minutes to spare. Same building, same athlete housing, same familiar path between your doors, close enough that Paige had turned walking you places into a habit so deeply carved into her routine that neither of you really talked about it anymore.
You found your other shoe under a sweatshirt, shoved your foot into it, and opened your door.
Paige was leaning against the wall outside, hood up, one foot crossed over the other. In one hand, she held her own drink. In the other, she held yours.
Iced matcha. Oat milk. Light ice. The sweetness level you liked. The one you had mentioned, casually, once, freshman year, before either of you had gotten together, before Paige had started looking at you like you were something she was trying not to want too obviously.
She had remembered it anyway.
She looked up when your door opened, and the lazy little grin that slid onto her face was so familiar it made your chest warm in that quiet, annoying way she always managed to pull out of you.
“You look late,” she said. She lifted your drink slightly, but when you reached for it, she pulled it back just enough to make you look at her.
You paused. “Seriously?”
Paige’s grin spread slowly. “Delivery fee.”
You stared at her.
She stared back, completely unbothered.
There were people who thought Paige had no shame, and they were mostly right, but this was different. With everyone else, Paige’s confidence was loud. With you, it was softer, still cocky but warmer, like she had learned exactly how far she could push before you rolled your eyes and gave her what she wanted anyway.
“You’re charging me now?” you asked.
“Inflation.”
“For a drink you chose to buy?”
“Service industry is hard.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet.” She leaned slightly closer, her voice dropping into something sweet enough to make your stomach do that stupid little flip it still did even after all this time. “You want your matcha or not?”
You tried to hold your stare.
You lasted maybe two seconds.
Then you leaned in and kissed her.
It was meant to be quick. A small morning peck, soft and familiar, the kind you had given her a thousand times in hallways and elevators and outside locker rooms when nobody important was looking too closely. But Paige smiled against your mouth like she had won something, and that made you laugh, which made her chase the kiss for one extra second before letting you pull away.
Her eyes were still on your mouth when she handed you the cup.
“Pleasure doing business,” she murmured.
You took the matcha and gave her a look over the lid. “You’re annoying.”
You shook your head, but you were smiling, and Paige saw it. She always saw it. Her whole face shifted for half a second before she hid it by reaching for your bag.
You already had the strap over your shoulder, secure and settled, but Paige’s hand went to it without hesitation. Gentle. Automatic. Her fingers hooked under the strap near your collarbone, careful not to tug your hoodie too hard, and she lifted it slightly like she was asking without asking.
You barely paused. Just tilted your shoulder toward her so she could slide it off.
That was how normal it was.
You turned back toward your room to grab your keys, but Paige was already reaching around the doorframe, plucking them off the small hook beside your closet where you always forgot them. She held them up between two fingers, shaking them once.
“You were gonna forget.”
“I was not.”
“You literally turned around without them.”
“I was testing you.”
“I passed.”
“Barely.”
Paige made an offended sound, like the idea of barely passing anything in relation to you physically pained her. “Do not disrespect my job.”
“Your job?”
“Yeah.” She stepped back so you could lock your door, shifting your bag higher on her shoulder without thinking. “Making sure you don’t walk around this campus helpless.”
“I am not helpless.”
“You’d lose your keys in your own hand.”
“And yet I somehow survived before you.”
Paige looked at you like that was the most insulting thing you had ever said to her. “Barely.”
You laughed, and that was the thing: Paige heard it. She always heard it. Her whole face changed for half a second, pleased and soft before she covered it with attitude again, like she had not just lit up because of one small laugh in a hallway she had walked through a thousand times.
She fell into step beside you as you started down the hall.
You did not ask for your bag.
She did not offer it back.
That was just how it went.
By the time you reached the elevator, she had already pressed the button, already tugged gently at the back of your hoodie because the tag was flipped, already nudged you away from the corner where the floor was still wet from someone’s spilled water bottle.
You barely noticed any of it.
Paige noticed everything.
That was another thing people did not always understand about her. They saw the loudness first. The talking. The smirking. The ridiculous confidence that came out every time someone challenged her to anything, even if the challenge was stupid. Paige Bueckers would compete with a wall if the wall looked at her wrong. She argued calls. She argued card games. She argued rankings, music, cereal, whether or not Nika had traveled during a drill three months ago, and once, for twenty minutes, whether soup counted as a meal or a warm beverage with responsibilities.
She had opinions about everything.
Except when it came to you.
With you, she still had opinions. She just delivered them softer. Or swallowed them entirely if you gave her that look. The one she pretended did not work on her even though everybody with eyes knew it did.
The elevator doors slid open.
KK was inside, backpack hanging off one shoulder, scrolling on her phone. She looked up, eyes flicking from your drink to Paige’s hand on your bag to Paige standing half a step behind you like a bodyguard who had forgotten she was not actually employed.
KK’s mouth twitched.
“Morning,” you said.
“Morning,” KK replied, still looking at Paige. “Dang. She pick you up every day?”
Paige frowned. “Why you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you got commentary.”
KK lifted both hands. “I’m observing.”
“You’re always observing too much.”
“I’m learning the ecosystem.”
You snorted into your drink.
Paige immediately looked at you, smiling because you smiled, then caught herself and turned back to KK with a scowl that had no heat behind it. “Don’t start.”
KK looked delighted. “Oh, I’m definitely learning.”
“You’re learning how to run today,” Paige said.
“You gonna make me?”
Paige opened her mouth.
You took a sip of your matcha and said casually, “Paige, don’t bully the freshman before breakfast.”
Paige stopped.
Just like that.
Her mouth closed. Her shoulders dropped. She leaned back against the elevator wall, grumbling softly, “Wasn’t bullying.”
KK stared.
You didn’t notice, or maybe you did and chose not to say anything. That was the problem with you. You had gotten so used to Paige folding around you that half the time you treated it like weather. Like of course Paige stopped arguing when you told her to. Of course Paige carried your bag. Of course Paige slowed down if you slowed down. Of course Paige’s attention snapped to you the second you said her name.
KK, however, had not been at UConn long enough to fully absorb the sight without reacting. She looked between you and Paige.
Then she pointed at Paige’s chest.
“You just sat down.”
Paige’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?”
“She said don’t bully me and you just sat down.”
“I was already leaning.”
“No, you got domesticated in real time.”
You choked slightly on your matcha.
Paige stepped forward. “Bro,”
You put one hand lightly on Paige’s forearm. “P.”
Paige stopped again.
KK’s mouth fell open.
The elevator dinged.
You walked out like nothing had happened.
Paige followed immediately.
Behind you, KK whispered loudly, “This is crazy.”
Paige threw a look over her shoulder. “I heard that.”
“I wanted you to.”
You laughed again, and Paige’s irritation lasted exactly half a second before it softened at the edges.
It was not that Paige did not realize how she was with you. She knew she loved you. She knew she liked being near you. She knew she got this ridiculous, embarrassing pull in her chest when you looked at her like she was your favorite person in the room. She knew she felt calmer when she had your bag on her shoulder, your drink in her hand, your knee pressed against hers under a table, your voice cutting through noise and landing directly in the part of her brain that cared about nothing else once you called for her.
She just did not think of it as unusual.
To Paige, loving you had always been active. It was doing things. Watching things. Remembering things. Carrying what you forgot. Giving you the better seat. Taking the outside of the sidewalk. Handing you your water before you asked because you always forgot to drink when you were locked in. Knowing when you were tired from the set of your mouth. Knowing when you were annoyed by the way you got quiet instead of loud. Knowing when you needed space and when you only said you needed space because you did not want to be a burden.
She had spent almost three years being your girlfriend and nearly four years knowing you, and she still felt like she was learning you.
Still felt lucky every time you let her.
Breakfast was loud, the way breakfast with the team usually was. Nika was already at a table with Azzi and Ice, talking with her hands and accusing somebody of lying about something you had missed. Aaliyah was scrolling through her phone, occasionally looking up to make a comment sharp enough to make everyone laugh. Ashlynn and KK were arguing about music. Someone had stolen someone else’s seat. Someone was definitely going to claim it was their seat even though there were no assigned seats and everyone knew it.
Paige guided you toward the table without touching your back, just hovering close enough that you could feel her. you slid into the seat you usually took, and Paige put your bag down beside your chair before sitting next to you.
Nobody acted like Paige carrying your things was breaking news.
That was just Paige with you.
Still, when Paige pushed the small container of fruit toward you before you reached for it, Nika’s eyes flicked up. When Paige took the napkin dispenser from the middle of the table and set one beside your plate, Azzi’s mouth curved like she was trying not to smile. When you got distracted answering Ice’s question and Paige quietly unwrapped your straw for you because your hands were full, KK looked at Azzi again.
Paige, for her part, seemed completely unaware she was doing anything worth noticing. She was busy talking about the shooting drill from yesterday, arguing lightly with Nika over whether or not Nika had counted one of her own makes after the buzzer.
“I’m just saying,” Paige said, leaning back in her chair with the kind of confidence that made people want to argue with her even when she was right, “if the ball’s still in your hand when the time’s done, that’s not a make.”
Nika stared at her. “It left my hand.”
“After.”
“During.”
“After.”
“You were not even looking.”
“I felt it.”
“You felt it?”
“Yeah. Spiritually.”
Nika blinked. “You are so annoying.”
“You’re mad because I’m right.”
“You are loud because you are wrong.”
Paige grinned. “I’m loud because I got a voice.”
You reached across Paige for the honey packet near her tray, and before your fingers even touched it, Paige picked it up and handed it to you.
Still arguing. Still looking at Nika. Still mid-sentence. But the honey packet was in your hand.
“Thank you,” you said softly.
Paige’s voice dropped out for half a beat. She turned toward you, expression easing. “Yeah.”
Nika stopped talking. Only for a second. Then she looked at Azzi with a flat expression.
Azzi pressed her lips together.
“What?” Paige asked, noticing too late.
“Nothing,” Nika said.
“Your face says something.”
“My face says I’m tired.”
“You’re always tired when you’re losing.”
Nika shook her head, but she was smiling now. “Eat your breakfast, Paige.”
Paige looked like she might push back, so you bumped your knee lightly against hers under the table.
Paige sat back.
Picked up her fork.
Started eating.
Nika’s eyes dropped to the movement.
KK saw it too.
The table went silent for half a beat.
Then KK nearly lost it.
“Oh my god,” she said. “No way.”
Paige pointed her fork at her. “You want attention so bad.”
KK shook her head, eyes bright. “Nah, this is educational. I’ve never seen somebody go from talking crazy to trained that fast.”
“I’m not trained.”
Nika made a face. “Mmm.”
You glanced at Paige, amused. “You’re not.”
Paige immediately relaxed, like your words had settled something in her. “Thank you.”
You took another sip of matcha. “You just listen well.”
Nika gagged.
“Actually disgusting,” she said.
Paige smiled down at her plate, trying and failing not to look pleased.
That was the thing that got her teased the most. Not that she listened to you. Not even that she was softer with you. It was that she liked it. Paige, who had a comeback for every person at every table, got visibly happy when you praised her for something as simple as bringing the right drink or remembering your slides or waiting by the door.
You could ruin her with a soft “thank you.”
You never abused it. That was why it worked.
You were not demanding. You were not constantly telling her what to do. If anything, you asked less of Paige than Paige wanted you to. You carried your own weight, on and off the court. You were steady and sharp and calm in ways Paige admired even when she pretended to be too cool to say it out loud. You did not need Paige to take care of you.
That was exactly why she liked doing it.
It felt like being chosen for a job nobody else even knew existed.
By the time practice rolled around, Paige had gone through three different arguments, won two of them by volume alone, and lost the only one that mattered because you had tilted your head and said, “Let it go.”
She let it go.
Nika saw.
Nika suffered.
Practice was the one place where the softness sharpened into something else.
You and Paige had always had chemistry on the court. It was one of the first things people noticed about you as freshmen, before either of you admitted what was happening, before the late-night talks and lingering hallway moments turned into something too obvious to keep pretending around. Back then, it had been basketball first. Timing. Trust. The kind of connection that made passes look cleaner than they were because both of you were already moving before the ball left the other’s hands.
Paige knew where you wanted it.
You knew when Paige was about to cut.
She could throw a pass through traffic without looking and you would be there. You could drift to the corner half a second early and Paige would find you. You screened for her without needing the call. She slipped the ball to you in pockets that made coaches nod and teammates roll their eyes because of course.
Of course it was you two.
Of course Paige could be triple-covered and still somehow locate you.
Of course you could be running full speed and still know exactly where Paige had gone without turning your head.
The team had stopped reacting dramatically because it had been years. But KK still noticed sometimes. The newness had not worn off her yet. She would watch Paige thread a pass to you on the wing, watch you catch in rhythm and knock down the shot, watch Paige point at you with that smug little look like she had personally assisted the sun into rising.
Then KK would look at Azzi like, “Do they always do that?”
And Azzi, who had seen too much, would just nod.
That day, during a half-court drill, Nika was pressing Paige high, talking in her ear the entire time.
“You’re not getting by me.”
Paige dribbled low, grinning. “I’m already by you mentally.”
“You are so annoying.”
“You love guarding me.”
“I love humbling you.”
“You can try.”
Nika bumped her with her chest. Paige laughed, shifted her weight, eyes flicking once to the left.
You saw it.
You cut.
The pass came before Nika could turn her head.
It snapped through a narrow lane, quick and clean, landing in your hands exactly where you liked it. You rose into your shot without thinking. It dropped.
Paige’s grin went wide.
“Talk to me nice,” she told Nika.
Nika turned slowly, expression flat. “You passed.”
“And?”
“To your girlfriend.”
“And?”
“That is not humbling me. That is flirting with cardio.”
You laughed, jogging back on defense.
Paige looked entirely too proud of herself.
A few possessions later, your shoe came untied.
Later, during a pause in drills, you found yourself holding a ball under one arm, your water bottle tucked awkwardly against your side, and a towel hooked over your fingers when you looked down and realized your lace had come loose.
You made a face.
Paige was several feet away, mid-bicker with Nika again.
“I’m telling you, that was a foul.”
“It was not a foul.”
“You grabbed me.”
“I breathed near you.”
“You wish.”
“You complain so much.”
“You foul so much.”
You shifted the ball against your ribs and called, “Paige?”
Paige stopped mid-sentence.
Not gradually.
Immediately.
Nika’s mouth stayed open around whatever she had been about to say.
Paige turned. “Yeah?”
“Can you help me real quick?” you asked, polite and distracted, glancing down at your shoe. “My hands are full.”
Paige was already moving.
You did not even ask. She crossed the space between you, dropped down to one knee, and tied your shoe like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Because to her, it was.
The gym went weirdly quiet for one second.
Not fully quiet. Balls still bounced. Someone’s sneakers still squeaked. Coaches were still talking. But the pocket around you shifted, just enough for the people closest to notice Paige Bueckers, who had been arguing a foul call like she was preparing a court case, suddenly kneeling in front of you with your shoelace in her hands.
You looked down at her.
She double-knotted it.
“You gotta stop leaving them loose,” she muttered.
“You always say that.”
“Because you always do it.”
“You always fix it.”
Paige glanced up.
Bad idea.
Very bad idea.
Because you were looking at her with that small, private smile, the one that made her forget there were other people in the room. Her hands paused at your shoe, and for a second she just stared up at you, eyes soft and stupidly fond, like she could not believe this was her life.
Nika made a sound of genuine distress.
“I hate this,” she said.
KK, from somewhere behind her, whispered loudly, “She got on one knee.”
Paige snapped out of it and stood so fast she almost bumped your shoulder.
“It was untied,” she said defensively.
KK’s mouth twitched like she was physically fighting the urge to say something.
Nika made a face over her water bottle, eyes flicking from Paige to you and back again, unimpressed in the way only Nika could pull off without actually being mad.
By the time practice ended, the story had already become bigger than it was. Not because anyone was shocked, exactly, but because KK had narrated it like a sportscaster in the locker room until even Azzi told her to breathe.
“She said, ‘Paige, can you help me real quick?’” KK insisted, sitting on the bench while pulling off her shoes. “Casual. Normal, right? And Paige stopped like somebody hit pause on her whole body.”
Paige, from two lockers over, threw her towel at KK.
KK caught it and kept going. “Then she said her hands were full, pointed at the shoe, and Paige dropped. Dropped. Like we were watching a proposal video.”
“It was a shoe,” Paige said.
“It was history.”
Nika nodded grimly. “Freshman is right.”
Paige looked betrayed. “You’re encouraging her?”
“I am processing trauma.”
You sat at your locker, laughing quietly while you changed into slides. Paige heard it and turned toward you instantly, her annoyed expression easing before she even realized she was doing it.
KK pointed. “There. Again.”
Paige looked back at her. “What?”
“You heard her laugh and forgot you were mad.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“You smiled.”
“People smile.”
“Not like that.”
Paige opened her mouth, then seemed to decide there was no way to win without making it worse. She turned back to her locker, mumbling something under her breath.
You leaned closer as she sat beside you to tie her own shoes.
“You’re getting cooked today,” you said softly.
Paige looked at you from under her lashes. “You enjoying it?”
“A little.”
“That’s messed up.”
“You make it easy.”
“I make a lot of things easy for you.”
Her voice dropped just enough that the words slipped under the noise of the locker room, warm and teasing in a way that made your stomach flip even after all this time.
You gave her a look.
Paige smiled.
There she was. Cocky again, but only because she knew she had gotten to you.
“Careful,” you said.
Her smile grew. “Or what?”
You did not answer right away. You just reached over and tugged gently at the front of her hoodie, barely enough to move her. Paige leaned in without hesitation, like her body had accepted your gravity years ago and never bothered resisting after that.
Her knee touched yours.
Her eyes dropped to your mouth.
Then Nika groaned from across the room.
“Not in the locker room.”
Paige did not look away from you. “Nobody told you to watch.”
“You are both in public.”
“You’re just jealous nobody ties your shoes.”
Nika stood up. “I’m transferring.”
Azzi, calm as ever, said, “You said that yesterday.”
“And I meant it yesterday too.”
You laughed again, pushing Paige lightly away before she could get herself in more trouble. She let you, of course. She always let you. But she stayed close enough that her knee remained pressed against yours.
That was how your day was supposed to go.
Practice. Teasing. Food. Maybe film. Maybe homework neither of you wanted to do. Paige pretending she was not going to end up in your room later, sitting on your floor while you studied, claiming she was only there because your Wi-Fi worked better even though you lived in the same building.
You had forgotten, almost completely, that your childhood friend was coming.
Not because you did not care.
Just because Storrs had a way of swallowing everything into its routine. Basketball, classes, lifts, team meals, recovery, sleep, repeat. Outside people became messages you answered late at night and calls you returned walking between buildings. Home existed, but differently. Childhood existed, but in flashes.
Then your phone buzzed while you and Paige were leaving the practice facility.
Eli: just got here Eli: this campus is confusing as hell btw Eli: if i go missing it’s uconn’s fault
You stopped walking.
Paige stopped too, because you stopped.
She did not ask why immediately. She just looked at you, then at your phone, reading your face first.
“Oh,” you said. “Eli’s here.”
Paige’s expression did something small.
Not enough for most people to notice.
You noticed.
“Today?” she asked.
“Yeah. I told you he was visiting this weekend.”
“I know.”
“You forgot.”
“I didn’t forget.”
You raised your eyebrows.
Paige shifted your bag on her shoulder. “I remembered conceptually.”
You smiled. “That means you forgot.”
“It means I remembered there was a concept of him arriving.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yet you keep me.”
She said it lightly, but there was something underneath it. A tiny searching thing she would deny if you called it out.
Eli texted again.
Eli: are you ignoring me already Eli: fame changed you
You shook your head, typing back quickly.
me: stay where you are. i’ll come get you.
Paige watched you text. She was quiet in a way that was not quite quiet. Paige had many versions of silence. There was tired silence. Thinking silence. Annoyed silence. Film-room silence, rare and usually forced. This one was the kind where she was pretending she was not curious.
You put your phone away. “He’s by the student union.”
Paige nodded.
“You coming?”
Her head snapped toward you.
You almost laughed at how fast it happened.
“You want me to?” she asked, trying and failing to sound casual.
“I mean, yeah.” You adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “Unless you had something else.”
“No.” Too fast. “I’m coming.”
You looked at her.
She looked away.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“Am I?”
“You are.”
“Maybe you’re cute.”
Paige’s face changed instantly. The attitude vanished so quickly it was almost funny, replaced by that pleased, slightly bashful look she only got when praise came from you. It was not that Paige did not know she was cute. Paige had confidence for days. She knew what she looked like. She knew the effect she had. But compliments from you landed differently. They got under the armor.
She cleared her throat. “Yeah, okay.”
“Yeah, okay?”
“Trying to be humble.”
“You?”
“It’s new. Support me.”
You laughed again, and she smiled like she had earned something.
The walk to meet Eli took longer than it should have because Paige kept slowing whenever you got a notification, kept shifting closer whenever a group passed too near.
By the time you spotted Eli, he was standing with his hands in his jacket pockets, looking around with the slightly overwhelmed expression of someone who did not spend most of his time on a campus where everyone seemed to be either carrying a backpack, wearing athletic gear, or moving like they were late to something.
He saw you and grinned.
“There she is,” he called. “Miss Big East.”
You groaned before you even reached him. “Don’t call me that.”
“What, too humble now?”
“I was always humble.”
Eli laughed and pulled you into a hug.
It was normal.
It was childhood-normal. Easy. Familiar. The kind of hug that belonged to old photos and family barbecues and summers when you had both been shorter, louder, and convinced adulthood would feel more organized than it did. He smelled faintly like airport air and cold wind, and for a second you remembered being thirteen and racing him down a street near your old house, both of you breathless and dramatic over absolutely nothing.
Paige stood beside you, holding your bag.
She did not move. She did not interrupt. She did not look upset, exactly. But her posture shifted.
When you stepped back, you turned immediately. “Paige, this is Eli. Eli, Paige.”
Eli’s eyes moved to Paige.
Recognition hit him quickly, because of course it did. Even people who did not follow women’s basketball closely tended to know Paige, or at least knew enough to do a small double take when they realized she was standing in front of them with your practice bag on her shoulder.
“Yeah,” Eli said, smiling. “I know who Paige is.”
Paige gave him a polite nod. “What’s up?”
Not rude.
Not warm.
Controlled.
You glanced at her.
She glanced back, and her expression softened for you immediately before she looked at Eli again.
Eli noticed.
You didn’t.
Or if you did, you filed it away with all the other Paige things that had become normal over the years.
“Good to finally meet you,” Eli said. “I’ve heard a lot.”
Paige’s eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You cut in before Paige could decide whether that was a challenge. “He means from me.”
Paige looked at you. “You talk about me?”
The question came out softer than she probably intended.
You stared at her. “Paige.”
“What?”
“You know I talk about you.”
“I mean, I assumed.”
“You assumed?”
“Was hoping.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“But you do?”
Eli looked between you with the growing expression of someone who had just realized he had walked into a conversation with its own private rules.
You shook your head, but you were smiling. “Yes, P. I talk about you.”
Paige nodded, trying to look cool and failing because the corner of her mouth kept betraying her.
“Cool,” she said.
Eli looked like he was fighting a laugh.
Paige watched the two of you go back and forth, and there it was again. That small, quiet pinch in her chest. Not jealousy in the sharp, ugly way. Not distrust. Nothing that made her doubt you.
Just awareness.
Eli knew a rhythm with you that Paige did not.
He knew how to tease you from before. He knew old versions of your expressions. He knew references she had not been there for. He knew the shape of your life before Storrs, before UConn, before Paige had learned your drink order and your favorite practice socks and the exact way your voice changed when you were trying not to laugh.
Paige did not like not knowing things about you.
She especially did not like when somebody else did.
But she stayed quiet, because it was not her place to make that your problem.
That was the thing about Paige’s jealousy. It could be loud in her head, but she had learned where the boundary was. She could be clingy. She could hover. She could make one too many jokes. She could insert herself into plans with embarrassing speed.
But she would not make you smaller to make herself feel bigger.
Eli was your friend. Your childhood friend. He had come to Storrs to see you. Paige understood that.
She just wished understanding made her less annoyed.
You spent the next hour showing Eli around the parts of campus that mattered to you. Not the formal tour version, though he joked that you were a terrible guide because half your descriptions were things like “this is where Nika yelled at someone once” and “that hallway always smells weird after games” and “Paige almost ate it on that patch of ice sophomore year.”
“I did not almost eat it,” Paige said immediately.
You looked at her. “You grabbed my sleeve and screamed.”
“I slipped.”
“You screamed.”
“It was a strategic noise.”
Eli laughed. “Strategic?”
Paige narrowed her eyes. “You weren’t there.”
“No, but I can picture it.”
“She was very dramatic,” you said.
Paige pointed at you. “You promised not to bring that up.”
“I did not.”
“You did emotionally.”
“That’s not legally binding.”
“It should be.”
Eli grinned. “She always this argumentative?”
You and Paige both answered at the same time.
“Yes,” you said.
“No,” Paige said.
You looked at each other.
Paige sighed.
Eli laughed again.
The thing was, Paige did argue. Constantly. With everybody. With Nika, with KK, with Azzi when Azzi was in the mood to entertain it, with coaches under her breath when she thought they were wrong but knew better than to say too much. She argued because she cared, because she was competitive, because her brain moved fast and her mouth often got there even faster.
But with you, she folded around the edges.
The first time Eli saw it clearly was outside the dining hall.
Nika had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, because Nika had a talent for entering scenes already annoyed.
“There you are,” she said to Paige. “You still owe me.”
Paige frowned. “For what?”
“For lying.”
“I lie about a lot of things. Be specific.”
“For saying you beat me in shooting yesterday.”
“I did beat you.”
“You did not.”
“I did.”
“You counted one twice.”
“You missed enough that it didn’t matter.”
Nika stepped closer, hands up. “You are so—”
“Paige,” you said, barely looking away from your phone.
Paige stopped arguing.
Again.
Instantly.
She turned toward you. “Yeah?”
You held out your empty matcha cup. “Can you help throw this out?”
Paige took it from your hand before the question fully finished. “Yeah.”
She walked to the trash can.
Eli watched her go.
Nika watched Eli watching her.
Then Nika looked at you, looked at Paige, looked at Eli again, and made a face.
“See?” she said to Eli, despite the fact that nobody had asked her anything. “This is what I deal with.”
Eli blinked. “What?”
Paige returned. “Don’t talk to him.”
Nika ignored her. “All day. She talks crazy to me, then Y/N says one thing and suddenly she’s customer service.”
“I’m helpful,” Paige said.
“You are house-trained.”
Paige’s mouth dropped open. “Bro.”
You coughed around a laugh.
Paige looked at you immediately, then smiled despite herself.
Nika pointed at her own face like she was presenting evidence. “Disgusting.”
Eli was laughing now, eyes bright with the kind of amusement that made Paige want to be annoyed but also weirdly proud. Because yes, fine, maybe she was easy for you. But that was not embarrassing to her in the way everyone seemed to think it should be.
She liked being yours.
She liked when people could tell.
Not too much. Not enough to put words on it that you had not both agreed to share. But enough that people understood there was a line around you, and Paige lived somewhere inside it.
KK joined you near the entrance, looking way too excited for someone who had only caught the tail end of the conversation.
“What happened?”
Nika pointed at Paige. “Same thing that always happens.”
KK’s eyes lit up. “She folded?”
“I did not fold,” Paige said.
You looked at her.
Paige glanced at you and lowered her voice. “I didn’t.”
KK slapped Nika’s arm. “She said that quieter to Y/N.”
Nika nodded. “Different tone.”
“Y’all study me too much,” Paige said.
“You make it easy,” KK replied.
Eli leaned closer to you as Paige got pulled into another bicker with Nika and KK. “Are they always like this?”
“Yes.”
“And Paige is always like…” He trailed off, eyes flicking toward her.
You followed his gaze.
Paige was pointing at Nika, fully animated again. “You literally foul every possession and then act confused.”
Nika fired back instantly. “Because you complain every possession and then act like a victim.”
“I am a victim.”
“You are a problem.”
KK looked thrilled. “This team is so unserious.”
Paige turned toward her. “You’re part of the team.”
“I’m observing as a scholar.”
“You’re observing your way onto the line.”
You smiled, then said, “P, leave the freshman alone.”
Paige stopped. Her hand dropped. “She started it.”
Nika closed her eyes like she was in pain.
KK whispered, “That is insane.”
Eli looked at you.
You looked back at him, confused. “What?”
He shook his head, smiling. “Nothing.”
Because to you, that was just Paige.
Your Paige.
The one who would talk back to the entire world and then hand you obedience like it was the easiest thing she had ever given anybody.
Dinner was not supposed to become a thing.
That was how it happened.
Eli, after wandering campus and pretending not to be tired from travel, rubbed a hand over his stomach and said, “I actually haven’t eaten since this morning. You wanna grab something?”
Paige answered too fast.
“We were actually going somewhere.”
You turned your head slowly.
Paige did not look at you immediately.
Eli looked between you. “Oh. My bad. Can I come along?”
There was a pause. Not long enough to be rude. Long enough for Paige’s soul to briefly leave her body.
You could see her processing it. She had inserted herself because she wanted to be included, because you were hers and she was not above being obvious about it, but now Eli had done the reasonable thing and asked to come too. Paige could not say no. It was not her place. He was not her friend, not really, but he was yours. He had come all this way. He was being nice. He had not done anything wrong except exist with childhood memories and apparently no girlfriend, which Paige had already decided was suspicious on principle even though she had not yet confirmed it.
So she swallowed whatever first response had tried to climb out of her mouth.
Then she nodded.
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s fine.”
The words were polite.
Her face was not thrilled.
You smiled at her softly.
Paige caught it and looked away, jaw shifting like she was trying not to smile back because she had a reputation to maintain and was currently losing it in front of everyone.
Eli did not ask what that meant.
He was starting to understand.
You ended up at a casual spot not far from campus, the kind of place athletes drifted toward when the dining hall felt too loud or too repetitive and everyone wanted something that did not taste like it had been planned by a nutritionist with a clipboard. The evening had settled cold around Storrs, the sky dark early in that Connecticut way that always made the day feel shorter than it was. Paige walked on the outside of the sidewalk without thinking, switching places with you so smoothly that Eli noticed before you did.
You were talking about something from childhood, hands moving as you explained a story involving a bike, a hill, and Eli apparently making a terrible decision at age twelve.
Paige listened.
Mostly.
She was trying.
But every old story felt like opening a door into a room she had never been inside. You as a kid. You before UConn. You before the girl Paige met freshman year, sharp and pretty and impossible not to look at across a gym. Paige knew that version. She knew who you became under pressure. She knew how you handled bad shooting nights and sore knees and exam weeks. She knew the way you taped your fingers. She knew how you looked when you were locked in during a close game. She knew your coffee order when you were too tired for matcha. She knew your favorite hoodie, the one you denied was hers even though it had started in her closet. She knew what made you laugh now.
Eli knew what made you laugh then. That should not have bothered her.
It did anyway.
Inside the restaurant, you slid into a booth, Eli across from you. Paige sat beside you before anyone could even pretend there was another arrangement. Her thigh pressed against yours under the table. She spread the menu open with one hand, her other resting near her own knee.
You leaned slightly into her without looking, shoulder brushing hers.
She relaxed instantly.
Eli saw that too.
The conversation stayed easy at first. Food orders. Travel complaints. Eli making fun of how cold Storrs was. You telling him he was dramatic because it was not even winter yet. Paige muttering that he would not survive January, which made you laugh.
Then Eli mentioned an old nickname. It slipped out casually, like he had said it a thousand times before.
Paige’s head turned.
You groaned. “Do not call me that.”
Eli grinned. “What? It’s classic.”
“It is not classic. It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s history.”
“It’s banned.”
“You can’t ban history.”
“I can ban you.”
Paige looked at you. “What nickname?”
“No.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “No?”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting. I’m asking.”
“You’re starting by asking.”
“I wanna know.”
Eli smiled like he had just been handed a weapon. “You don’t know?”
Paige’s eyes flicked to him.
There was no heat, not really.
But there was something.
You felt it immediately.
Not jealousy, exactly. Something softer and more sensitive than that. Paige hated being outside of anything involving you. She would never say it that plainly, but you knew. She wanted every version of you she could get. Not to own, not to control, but to understand. To keep safe. To love properly.
You nudged her knee under the table.
She looked at you.
Your hand slipped down, quiet and easy, finding hers under the table.
Paige went still.
Then her fingers wrapped around yours.
Just like that, the sharp thing in her expression eased.
Nobody above the table needed to know.
Eli kept talking, but his gaze dipped once. Maybe he saw the movement. Maybe he only saw how Paige’s shoulders dropped the second your hand touched hers.
Either way, he did not mention it.
Your food came, and Paige immediately pushed the sauce you liked closer to your side before you reached for it. She pulled a napkin from the dispenser and put it beside your plate. When you got distracted answering one of Eli’s questions, she moved your drink away from the edge of the table because you had a habit of gesturing too much and almost knocking things over.
Eli watched all of it.
After a while, he started testing it. Not cruelly. Just curiously.
“You always take care of her like that?” he asked Paige.
You looked up, confused.
Paige did not hesitate. “Yeah.”
Your face warmed.
Eli’s eyebrows lifted, amused by the directness.
Paige shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. “She forgets stuff.”
“I do not forget stuff.”
Paige looked at you.
You looked back.
She said nothing.
You frowned. “Okay, I forget some stuff.”
“You forgot your keys this morning.”
“I was testing you.”
“She says that every time,” Paige told Eli.
Eli laughed. “Sounds like her.”
Paige’s smile tightened at the edges.
There it was again.
Sounds like her.
Like he knew. Like he had known longer.
Your thumb moved over Paige’s knuckles under the table.
She inhaled quietly.
You kept talking to Eli, but your hand stayed in hers.
Paige clung to that small contact like it was a lifeline.
The night got warmer after that. Not because Paige stopped feeling strange, but because you kept choosing her in ways that did not interrupt the conversation. Your knee stayed against hers. Your hand returned to hers whenever you could. Once, when Eli was telling a story about some mutual childhood disaster, you leaned sideways and murmured, “You okay?” so softly only Paige heard.
She nodded.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re quiet.”
“Listening.”
“To him?”
“To you.”
You looked at her then, and Paige looked right back, no joke ready, no smirk, just that open fondness she sometimes forgot to hide.
You squeezed her hand.
She squeezed back.
Eli watched you both from across the table and smiled faintly to himself.
Later, when Paige stepped away to take a call from one of the staff members about something schedule-related, Eli waited until she was out of earshot before leaning back in the booth.
“So,” he said.
You looked up from your drink. “What?”
He nodded toward the direction Paige had gone. “That’s Paige.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Obviously.”
“No, I mean…” He smiled. “That’s Paige.”
You looked down, fighting the way your mouth wanted to curve. “Yeah.”
“She’s intense.”
“She’s Paige.”
“She looks at you like you hung the moon.”
You went quiet.
That was not the kind of teasing you could swat away easily.
Eli softened a little, elbows resting on the table. “You happy?”
The question settled between you.
You looked toward the hallway where Paige had disappeared, then back at him.
“Yeah,” you said. “I am.”
He nodded. “Good.”
You stirred your straw through the ice in your cup.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. The noise of the restaurant filled the silence: silverware, voices, the low hum of music, someone laughing too loudly near the front. It was strange, having someone from before sit across from you in the life you had built after. Strange, but not bad.
Then Eli asked, quieter, “Who is she to you?”
You did not answer right away.
Not because you did not know.
You knew exactly who Paige was to you.
She was the girl outside your door with matcha. The hand under the table. The pass before you cut. The hoodie on your chair. The person who had learned you in details so small other people would have missed them. She was cocky, impossible, soft where it counted, annoying when she wanted attention, loyal in a way that made your chest ache. She was the person who could make you roll your eyes and feel safe in the same breath.
But the relationship was not only yours to hand out.
Even after almost three years, even when the team knew, even when people close to you could figure it out, you were careful with it. Not ashamed. Never ashamed. Just protective. Paige was not a headline to you. She was not gossip. She was not something you tossed casually onto a table just because someone asked.
You looked toward the hallway again.
Paige was still gone.
Then you smiled faintly.
“She’s important,” you said.
Eli studied you for a second.
Then he nodded, like he understood exactly what you were not saying.
“Yeah,” he said. “I figured.”
You did not deny it.
You did not confirm it either.
You only took a sip of your drink, still smiling down at the table like you could not quite help yourself.
Eli leaned back, satisfied. “For what it’s worth, she seems good for you.”
“She is.”
“She’s also wildly obvious.”
You laughed.
“She is not subtle,” he said.
“No,” you admitted softly. “She’s not.”
“And you don’t notice?”
You frowned. “Notice what?”
Eli stared at you.
Then he started laughing.
“What?”
“You’re kidding.”
“What?”
“She follows you around like you’ve got her on a leash.”
You rolled your eyes, but your face felt warm. “She does not.”
“She absolutely does.”
“That’s just Paige.”
“With you,” Eli said. “I’m getting the sense that is just Paige with you.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it.
Because the easy answer was to deny it. To say Paige was like that with everyone. Helpful. Touchy. Loyal. Big-hearted beneath all the attitude.
But that was not fully true.
Paige cared about her people. She would do anything for her team. She would show up, protect, support, fight, love hard. But with you, there was a softness that had its own shape. A quiet automatic obedience that did not appear anywhere else. Paige could argue with a coach, a teammate, a ref, a wall, and herself.
But you said her name, and she stopped.
You had never really thought about how that looked from the outside.
Before you could answer, Paige came back.
Her eyes moved between you and Eli immediately. “What?”
“Nothing,” you said.
She did not believe you. “Why you smiling like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you were talking about me.”
Eli lifted his drink. “We were.”
Paige slid into the booth beside you, suspicious. “What about me?”
You leaned toward her, shoulder brushing hers. “Good things.”
Her suspicion wavered.
“Good things?” she repeated.
You nodded.
Paige tried to hold onto the attitude, but your knee pressed into hers under the table and your fingers found her wrist. Her entire expression softened again, helplessly.
Eli watched it happen.
Then he laughed under his breath.
Paige looked at him. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep saying nothing.”
“Because it’s nothing.”
Paige narrowed her eyes. “You’re annoying.”
Eli pointed at you. “She used to say that to me all the time.”
Paige’s attention snapped toward you. “Did you?”
You blinked. “Probably.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“You had other annoying people before me?”
You smiled. “P, nobody is annoying like you.”
She looked pleased before she could stop herself.
Eli covered his mouth with his hand.
“You’re laughing again,” Paige said.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m just seeing the vision.”
“What vision?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
Paige looked at you. “I don’t trust him.”
You patted her hand under the table. “Be nice.”
Paige immediately muttered, “I’m being nice.”
Eli whispered, “Leash.”
You kicked him under the table.
He laughed so hard he almost choked on his drink.
Paige looked between you again. “What?”
“Nothing,” you said, but you were laughing now too.
Paige huffed, but she was smiling because you were smiling, and that was usually all it took.
By the time dinner ended, Paige had relaxed more. Not fully. She still watched Eli with that quiet competitive focus whenever he mentioned something from your childhood. She still asked too many casual questions that were not casual at all. She wanted to know how long you had known each other, when you stopped living near each other, whether he visited often, whether you two still talked a lot, whether he had a girlfriend.
That last one came out too smooth.
Too smooth meant dangerous.
“So,” Paige said, pushing fries around her plate like she did not care. “You got a girlfriend or something?”
You turned your head slowly.
Eli blinked, then smiled. “Subtle.”
Paige shrugged. “Just asking.”
“Uh, no. We broke up a few months ago.”
Paige’s hand paused.
You felt it because you were still holding it under the table.
There it was.
The clocking.
The immediate mental file opening in Paige’s head.
Single childhood friend. Knows your old nickname. Makes you laugh. Came to Storrs. Hazard level: annoying.
You squeezed her hand before she could spiral too visibly.
Paige looked at you.
You gave her the smallest smile.
She exhaled through her nose and nodded once, like fine, okay, she would behave.
“Sorry,” you told Eli. “That sucks.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “It was mutual. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Okay, maybe not fully mutual.”
You gave him a sympathetic look.
Paige, to her credit, said nothing mean.
You were proud of her.
So proud, actually, that under the table, you brushed your thumb over the inside of her wrist.
Paige’s posture changed.
A tiny shift. Barely visible.
But you felt it. The way she melted in increments, like you had found the exact place to touch to make the jealousy drain out of her. Her shoulder pressed more firmly into yours, and when you did not move away, she stayed there.
Eli saw that too.
He smiled to himself again, less teasing this time.
Something gentler.
After dinner, the three of you walked back toward campus under streetlights, the air cold enough that your breath showed faintly when you laughed. Eli told more stories. Paige listened more than she spoke, but she was not withdrawn anymore. She made comments. Teased you. Asked questions. Got offended when Eli claimed you used to be faster than you were now.
“She is faster now,” Paige said immediately.
Eli lifted his hands. “I’m just saying, at twelve—”
“At twelve she was racing you on a street. Now she’s training every day.”
You glanced at her, amused. “You sound personally offended.”
“I am.”
“On my behalf?”
“Always.”
The word came out too easy.
You looked at her.
Paige looked back, realizing after the fact what she had said. Her cheeks pinked slightly, though she would blame the cold if anyone asked.
Eli looked away politely.
You let your hand brush hers as you walked.
Paige caught it.
Just for a second, your fingers linked.
Then you let go before it became too obvious to anyone passing by.
Paige did not complain.
She just smiled at the ground.
Eventually, Eli had to head back to where he was staying. He hugged you goodbye, promised he would text in the morning, and told Paige it was good to meet her.
Paige nodded. “You too.”
Then, after a beat, she added, “For real.”
Eli seemed to understand the effort in that.
He smiled. “Take care of her.”
Paige’s expression shifted.
Not defensive.
Certain.
“I do,” she said.
Your heart did something stupid.
Eli glanced at you, then back at Paige. “Yeah. I can tell.”
When he left, the quiet that followed felt bigger than it should have.
You and Paige walked back toward the dorms side by side. For the first minute, neither of you spoke. The cold pressed in around you. Somewhere in the distance, people were laughing. A car passed, headlights sliding over the sidewalk before disappearing around the curve.
Paige had her hands in her hoodie pocket.
You had your arms crossed against the chill.
Normally, she would have said something by now. A joke. A complaint. A dramatic comment about the cold. A question she pretended was casual.
Instead, she stayed quiet.
You glanced at her. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“P.”
She looked at you.
You stopped walking.
Because that still worked too.
Paige stopped immediately, turning to face you.
The streetlight caught the side of her face, softening the sharpness of her features. She looked younger like this, hood up, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes searching yours with the kind of openness she rarely gave anyone else.
“You were hovering,” you said.
Paige’s mouth twitched. “Was not.”
You gave her a look.
She held out for maybe two seconds.
Then she folded.
“A little.”
You smiled. “A little?”
“Medium.”
“P.”
She sighed. “Fine. A lot.”
Your smile widened.
She rolled her eyes, but there was no bite in it. “Don’t look all happy.”
“I’m not happy.”
“You are.”
“Maybe I think it’s cute.”
Paige looked away quickly.
There it was again. That pleased, shy little crack in her confidence.
“You think everything I do is cute,” she muttered.
“Not everything.”
“Name one thing.”
“When you leave your socks on my floor.”
“You love that.”
“I do not.”
“You love that I’m comfortable.”
“I love you. That is different.”
Paige went quiet.
It still got her sometimes.
Even after almost three years.
Especially after almost three years.
Her eyes came back to yours, softer now. “Yeah?”
You stepped closer. “Yeah.”
The tension in her shoulders dropped.
For all her confidence, for all the attitude and cockiness and noise, Paige still looked at you sometimes like she could not believe she had gotten this. Like there was a part of her still standing in freshman year, watching you across a gym, wondering how someone could be that pretty and that good and that calm under pressure. Like some part of her was still amazed that you had chosen her back.
You reached for her sleeve, tugging her closer.
She came immediately.
Of course she did.
“You know you don’t have to compete with him, right?” you said.
Paige’s eyebrows pulled together. “I wasn’t.”
“P.”
She looked down.
You waited.
The thing about Paige was she could argue with everyone else forever, but with you, silence usually worked better. You did not have to push. You just had to stay.
Finally, she said, “He knows a lot about you.”
“He knew me when we were kids.”
“Yeah.” Paige swallowed. “That’s the part.”
Your chest softened.
There it was.
Not jealousy, not really.
Want.
Paige wanted every version of you. The teammate. The girlfriend. The girl who forgot her keys. The girl who hit corner threes. The girl who got quiet when she was tired. The girl who used to race bikes down hills and apparently had an embarrassing childhood nickname she refused to share.
She wanted all of it.
Not because she felt entitled to it.
Because she loved you so much she hated the idea of missing anything.
You slid your hand down her sleeve until your fingers found hers.
“You can ask me anything, you know.”
Paige looked up. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What was the nickname?”
You groaned immediately. “No.”
“You said anything.”
“I said anything, not that.”
“That is included in anything.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You love me.”
“I do, unfortunately.”
Paige smiled, bright and victorious. “Tell me.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Baby.”
You looked at her.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
The nickname landed soft and low, wrapped in that pleading tone she only used when she wanted something from you and knew she had a decent chance of getting it. Paige could be shameless when she wanted attention. Worse, she knew you liked it.
“Don’t baby me,” you said.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Is it working?”
You stared at her.
She smiled.
You sighed. “You’re impossible.”
“But it’s working?”
“Maybe.”
She stepped closer, fingers tightening around yours. “Then tell me.”
You looked around, even though nobody was close enough to hear. “If I tell you, you can’t laugh.”
Paige’s face turned serious immediately. Too serious. Fake serious. “I would never.”
“You absolutely would.”
“Not at you.”
“At the nickname.”
“That’s different.”
“Paige.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t laugh.”
You hesitated.
She leaned in slightly, eyes fixed on yours like this mattered more than anything else in her entire night.
So you told her.
Quietly.
Paige stared at you.
Her lips pressed together.
“Don’t,” you warned.
Her shoulders shook once.
“Paige.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You are literally laughing.”
“I’m holding it in.”
“P.”
She stopped.
Mostly.
Then she cleared her throat, face red from the effort. “It’s cute.”
“It is not cute.”
“It’s very cute.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“You’re done.”
“No, wait—”
You started walking again.
Paige followed instantly, still holding your hand.
“Baby, wait.”
“No.”
“I’m serious. It’s cute.”
“You’re never allowed to say it.”
“I won’t.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
You glanced at her.
She looked sincere for about half a second.
Then she said it under her breath.
You stopped.
Paige immediately tried to run.
You grabbed her sleeve, laughing despite yourself. “Paige!”
She was laughing now too, stumbling backward as you pulled her close. “I had to.”
“You promised!”
“I said it quiet.”
“That does not count.”
“It counts emotionally.”
“You are so annoying.”
“But you love me.”
“Barely.”
Paige gasped. “Barely?”
You tried to pull away, but she caught your waist gently, tugging you back in like it was instinct. Not rough. Never rough. Just enough to make you step into her space, your hands landing against the front of her hoodie.
Her face was close now.
Too close for a public sidewalk, maybe.
But not close enough for either of you to move away.
“You love me barely?” she asked, voice softer.
You looked up at her. “Maybe medium.”
“Medium?”
“Fine. A lot.”
“How much?”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re needy.”
“For you? Yeah.”
That shut you up.
Paige smiled, but it was not cocky this time. It was honest. Warm. A little vulnerable around the edges.
“I am,” she said, like she had decided there was no point pretending otherwise. “I’m real needy for you.”
Your fingers curled in her hoodie.
“Everyone noticed,” you said softly.
“I don’t care.”
“You cared earlier.”
“I cared that he knew stuff I didn’t.” Paige’s thumb moved lightly at your waist. “Not that he noticed I’m obsessed with you.”
Your face warmed. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I am.” She leaned closer, nose brushing yours for half a second. “Still got you though.”
You smiled. “Yeah.”
“Still don’t know how.”
Your expression softened.
Paige said it like a joke, but her eyes gave her away.
You lifted one hand to her face, thumb brushing her cheek. She went still under the touch. Completely still. Paige Bueckers, who could not stop moving most days, who bounced and shifted and talked with her whole body, froze like your hand on her face had turned the world quiet.
“You don’t have to know how,” you said. “You just have to stay.”
Her eyes searched yours.
Then she nodded once.
“I can do that.”
“I know.”
“I’m good at that.”
“You are.”
“Best thing I do, probably.”
“You play basketball pretty well too.”
Paige smiled. “Pretty well?”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.”
You laughed, and Paige kissed you before the sound could fully leave your mouth.
It was quick, soft, familiar. A kiss that belonged to quiet sidewalks and cold nights and the kind of love that had been built over years of mornings, practices, passes, arguments, teasing, and Paige waiting outside your door with your drink in hand.
When she pulled back, she was smiling.
You tapped her chest. “Come on. It’s cold.”
Paige immediately stepped beside you.
Then, after two steps, she gently took your hand again.
You looked at her. “You’re clingy tonight.”
“I’m clingy every night.”
“True.”
“You like it.”
You did not answer.
Paige bumped your shoulder. “You like it.”
“Maybe.”
“You do.”
“P.”
She grinned. “Okay.”
And just like that, she stopped pushing.
The walk back was quiet after that, but not empty. Paige kept your hand in hers until you reached the building. She opened the door for you. Followed you inside. Pressed the elevator button before you could. Stood close enough that your shoulders touched as you waited.
When the doors opened, KK was inside again. Because apparently the universe had a sense of humor. She looked at your joined hands.
Then at Paige.
Then at you.
A slow grin spread across her face.
“Damn,” KK said. “Still on the leash?”
Paige’s eyes narrowed. “You got one more time.”
You squeezed Paige’s hand.
Paige shut her mouth.
KK’s grin got huge. “Oh, this is sick.”
You stepped into the elevator, laughing.
Paige followed, muttering, “I hate everybody.”
KK looked at you. “She don’t hate you.”
“No,” you said, leaning slightly into Paige’s side.
Paige looked down at you, all soft again, all helpless again, all hers and yours and gone in that way everyone could see except maybe the two of you.
“No,” Paige said quietly. “I don’t.”
KK made a gagging noise.
Paige ignored her.
You smiled.
And when the elevator doors closed, Paige was still holding your hand, still carrying your bag, still standing close enough to follow wherever you went next.
Like always.
Like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Like she had never once wanted to be anywhere else.
